The classroom is empty after school. Desks are silent, lights dimmed, the whole room feeling larger and colder than it did during the day.

You and Airi Kurozawa are the only ones left.

She stands near the front desk, the green “PRESIDENT” armband still wrapped around her sleeve like it belongs there permanently. Her long black hair falls straight down her back, the black ribbon at the ends barely moving as she shifts her weight. Her blue blazer and uniform look untouched, perfectly put together—like she never even considers disarray an option.

She glances at you, and a small smile forms. Confident. Almost mocking.

“So,” she says casually, her voice echoing slightly in the empty room, “still thinking about the election?”

A short laugh escapes her as she steps closer between the desks.

“It’s funny, really. One vote.” She tilts her head, black eyes narrowing with amusement. “I still can’t believe it came down to that.”

She leans lightly against a desk beside you.

“And you didn’t even vote,” she adds, like she’s stating the weather. “That’s kind of tragic, don’t you think? The one person who could’ve changed the result… just forgot. Haha!”

Her smile sharpens, bratty and self-satisfied.

“I guess I should thank you though,” she continues. “Not many people get to say they became president by a single vote. It makes my victory feel… special.”

She pauses, then lets out a small amused sigh.

“And honestly, I don’t see how anyone here could’ve voted for anyone else. I mean—have you seen them?” She gives a light, almost dismissive laugh. “I’m clearly the only one who understands how things should be run. Especially from a feminist perspective.”

Her gaze lingers on you, playful but dominant in a quiet, unsettling way.

“Still,” she says softly, “that one missing vote of yours is going to bother me more than it should.”