The intervening three days passed in a blur of anxious anticipation for Arthur. He went through the motions of school life, his phone his constant companion, his mind a whirl of half-remembered anime plots and desperate, improbable strategies. He tried to engage Nanao Nakajima in brief, awkward conversations, hoping to build some semblance of trust, some foundation for the warning he knew he’d have to deliver. Nanao, in turn, seemed mostly bewildered by the persistent, if stilted, attention from the strange new student.

Then, on the third day, during morning homeroom, Mr. Saito clapped his hands together with an air of forced cheerfulness that did little to dispel the underlying tension Arthur constantly felt. “Class, I have a happy announcement! Our two remaining new students have arrived safely on the island and will be joining us today. Please, let’s give a warm welcome first to Hiiragi Nana-san!”

The classroom door slid open with a soft rattle, and she walked in. Nana Hiiragi. It was as if a switch had been flipped, illuminating the room with a manufactured, almost painfully bright effervescence. Her vibrant pink hair, tied into energetic twin tails that seemed to defy gravity, bounced with every step. Her smile was wide, dazzling, a perfectly crafted confection of innocence and warmth. Her eyes, large and a startling shade of violet, sparkled with what appeared to be genuine excitement. She was, Arthur had to concede with a sickening lurch in his stomach, utterly disarming. A beautifully packaged viper.

“Hello everyone!” Nana chirped, her voice as sweet and bubbly as her appearance. She executed a perfect, graceful bow. “I’m Nana Hiiragi! I’m so, so excited to be here and to make lots and lots of new friends! Please take good care of me!”

A wave of welcoming murmurs, tinged with admiration, swept through the classroom. Even from his seat near the back, Arthur could feel the pull of her charisma, the almost magnetic quality of her feigned openness. He gripped his phone tightly under his desk, his knuckles white. This was her. The killer.

“And,” Mr. Saito continued, beaming as if he’d personally orchestrated this delightful addition to their class, “we also have Onodera Kyouya-kun joining us today.”

The second arrival was Nana’s diametric opposite, a study in stark contrasts. Kyouya Onodera entered not with a bounce, but with a quiet, almost sullen deliberation. His shock of white hair was striking against the dark uniform, his features sharp, his expression impassive, almost bored. His pale eyes, however, were anything but vacant; they swept the room with a quick, coolly analytical scrutiny that seemed to miss nothing, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Arthur before moving on. Instead of a bow, he offered a curt, almost imperceptible nod. “Kyouya Onodera,” he stated, his voice flat and devoid of inflection. “My Talent is immortality. Try not to make my life too inconvenient for me.”

His blunt, almost arrogant pronouncement, so different from Nana’s saccharine greeting, sent another ripple of whispers through the class – this time, a mixture of surprise and perhaps a little intimidation. Arthur watched him intently. Kyouya, the relentless investigator, the logical counterpoint to Nana’s emotional manipulations. A potential ally, perhaps, if Arthur could ever figure out how to breach that wall of icy indifference, and if Kyouya didn’t decide Arthur himself was too much of an inconvenient anomaly.

The new arrivals were seated – Nana, naturally, secured a spot near the front, perfectly positioned to engage with the teacher and her classmates. Kyouya, with an air of someone deliberately seeking solitude, chose an empty desk near the back, not far from Arthur, a silent, brooding presence.

Lessons resumed, a drone of unfamiliar Japanese Arthur mostly tuned out, his attention almost entirely consumed by Nana. He watched her feigned attentiveness in class, the way she subtly charmed those around her during the brief breaks between periods, her eyes occasionally, thoughtfully, flicking towards him – the “other” new student, the one with the strange, vaguely unsettling Talent. He knew she’d be assessing him, filing him away, classifying him. Threat, tool, or irrelevant? Her survival, her mission, would depend on such categorizations.

The inevitable confrontation, or rather, Nana’s carefully orchestrated initial probe, came at lunchtime. The canteen was a cacophony of clattering trays and boisterous chatter. Arthur had found a relatively quiet corner, nursing a bowl of ramen that tasted like salty dishwater to his unaccustomed palate, his mind racing. He saw her approaching, weaving through the crowded tables with a practiced ease, a bright, innocent smile fixed on her face, a tray laden with a surprisingly modest meal in her hands.

“Tanaka-kun, isn’t it?” Nana said, her voice perfectly pitched to sound friendly, open, and just a little bit shy. She gestured with her chopsticks to the empty seat opposite him. “Do you mind if I join you? It’s all a bit overwhelming, being new and not knowing anyone.” Her eyes sparkled with that manufactured sincerity.

Arthur swallowed a mouthful of lukewarm noodles that suddenly felt like a knot of lead in his stomach. He knew this wasn’t a casual encounter. This was an assessment. He managed a stiff nod and a quiet, “どうぞ (Douzo - Please),” through his phone, which he already had open on the table beside his bowl, a habit he’d quickly adopted.

“Thank you so much!” She settled down, her movements fluid and graceful. For a few moments, she ate with a delicate, almost bird-like appetite, then looked up, her head tilted in an expression of artless curiosity. “So, Tanaka-kun, some of the others were saying you have a very… unique Talent. Something about seeing the future?”

Here it was. The opening gambit. He’d known it was coming, but the directness of it still set his nerves on edge. He took a slow, deliberate breath, feigning a slight weariness, hoping to project an image of someone burdened by an inconvenient gift rather than a terrified imposter. “Sometimes,” he replied, his phone translating his carefully chosen English word. “It’s not particularly reliable.”

“Oh, but it sounds absolutely fascinating!” Nana pressed, her violet eyes wide with perfectly feigned intrigue. “I’m so curious about everyone’s abilities. I was wondering… if it wouldn’t be too much trouble for you… could you perhaps… try it with me? I’d be so incredibly interested to know what you might see!”

Arthur stalled, pretending to consider her request, his mind racing. This was a test, a dangerous one. She wanted to gauge his abilities, see if his “Talent” could be a threat to her, perhaps even subtly intimidate him if his “vision” was negative or too accurate. His fabricated Talent was his only shield and, potentially, his most dangerous weapon. He had to play this perfectly. He needed to give her something that was specific enough to be memorable and unsettling, vague enough to be unverifiable, and perhaps, just perhaps, something that might subtly nudge her in a direction that could be useful to _him_, or at least disruptive to _her_. The directives from the original prompt about Nana’s potential bisexuality and Michiru’s significance came to mind. This was his chance to plant a very strange, very specific seed.

“It can be… rather unpleasant,” he warned, his translated voice deliberately flat and devoid of enthusiasm. “And the things I see are often… intensely personal.”

“Oh, I don’t mind a bit!” Nana insisted, leaning forward slightly, her smile unwavering, a picture of brave curiosity. “I’m very resilient!”

_Resilient enough to handle a fabricated, deeply uncomfortable future? We’ll see,_ Arthur thought grimly. He sighed internally. There was no avoiding this. “Very well, Hiiragi-san.” He put down his chopsticks, the cheap wood suddenly feeling slick in his sweaty palm. “As I mentioned in class, physical contact is usually required.”

Nana immediately extended her hand across the small table, palm up. Her skin was smooth, her fingers slender and well-manicured. The hand of a practiced, efficient killer. Arthur hesitated for a fraction of a second, the thought of touching her sending a wave of revulsion through him, then, steeling himself, he placed his own slightly trembling hand lightly on hers. Her skin was cool. He closed his eyes, feigning deep concentration, focusing on the fabricated narrative he’d mentally constructed – a blend of seemingly benign domesticity with a sudden, unsettling twist designed to unnerve her and, perhaps, to subtly foreshadow Michiru’s eventual importance.

He began to speak, his voice low, dictating the words into his phone in English, letting the device translate phrase by phrase into Japanese. “I see… a considerable time from now. Perhaps… forty years.” He paused, as if struggling to bring a hazy image into focus. “There’s a house… a comfortable, sunlit home. A garden outside, flowers blooming. Inside… there is a photograph on a mantelpiece.” He let the silence stretch for a beat. “It’s you… older, of course. Lines around your eyes, but you’re smiling. Beside you, a man… your husband, I presume. And two young girls… your daughters. They look happy.” He offered this initial, idyllic scene as bait, something universally desired.

He felt a slight, almost imperceptible relaxation in Nana’s hand under his. Her smile, he guessed without looking, would have softened a fraction, a flicker of something almost wistful in her eyes.

Then, he introduced the shift. “But then… the scene changes. You are leaving that house. The older you. Your husband… he waves you off from the doorway. There’s a profound sadness in his eyes, a resignation.” He frowned, as if puzzled by the vision. “You get into a black, official-looking car… a government vehicle, I think.” He continued, building the new scenario. “You are driven to a large, imposing building. All stone and marble, very grand. The kanji on the entrance plaque… I cannot read them from this distance, too ornate.”

He let the silence hang again, then injected a note of confusion. “You are in a spacious, well-lit room. Marble floors, high ceilings, echoing slightly. You’re looking at some notes, official-looking documents spread on a large desk. You seem… preoccupied. Then… a woman approaches you.” He paused dramatically. “She has… white, very fluffy hair.” He made sure his translated voice carried a note of slight surprise, as if this detail were unexpected. “She speaks to you. You look up, you smile at her. A different kind of smile than the one in the photograph. And then… you lean in and… you kiss her. Passionately. On the lips.”

He opened his eyes abruptly, pulling his hand back from hers as if he’d received an electric shock. He looked away, deliberately breaking eye contact, feigning acute discomfort and embarrassment. “I had to stop,” he mumbled, his voice, via the phone, sounding strained and slightly breathless. “It was becoming… extremely embarrassing. Far too intimate. I apologize.”

Nana was staring at him, her cheeks flushed a delicate, undeniable pink. The wide, innocent smile was gone, replaced by a look of stunned surprise that quickly morphed into something more complex, more calculating, as her mind raced to process the bizarre, explicit details. She recovered with astonishing speed, forcing a slightly shaky, overly bright laugh. “My goodness, Tanaka-kun!” she exclaimed, fanning her face with her hand in a gesture of flustered amusement. “What a… truly vivid imagination… or rather, Talent! A husband, daughters… and then… well!” She giggled again, a little too loudly. “Quite the scandalous future you’ve painted for me! How… interesting!”

Her mind, Arthur knew, would be a whirlwind. Was this real? A bizarre trick? Was he trying to mock her, to unsettle her? The detail about the white, fluffy-haired woman… it was meaningless to her now, an irrelevant, almost comical detail in a strange prediction. But Arthur had planted the seed. Michiru Inukai, with her cloud of soft, white hair, wasn’t yet a significant figure in Nana’s world, but she would be. And perhaps, just perhaps, this deeply personal, strangely specific “prediction” might resurface in Nana’s mind when their paths eventually, tragically, intertwined. It was a long shot, a desperate gamble based on fragmented knowledge and a wild hope.

“As I said, Hiiragi-san,” Arthur reiterated through his phone, keeping his gaze determinedly downcast, playing the part of the embarrassed seer. “Unpleasant glimpses. Unreliable. Often intensely personal. I am sorry if it caused you any discomfort.”

“Not at all, Tanaka-kun! Not at all!” Nana trilled, her composure almost fully restored, though her eyes, when they rested on him, now held a new, sharp, speculative watchfulness. “It was… certainly memorable.” She picked at her food for another moment, then pushed her tray back with a decisive movement and stood. “Well, I really should go and try to mingle a bit more, make some more friends! It was truly lovely chatting with you!”

With another bright, slightly forced smile, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the lunchtime throng. Arthur let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his hand still tingling faintly from the brief contact with hers. Round one, he thought, his stomach still churning, had been a qualified, terrifying success. He’d given her a story so outlandish yet specific that she wouldn’t easily dismiss it. He’d subtly hinted at a future that played on universal desires while injecting a disorienting, personal element designed to lodge itself in her subconscious. And he’d survived the first direct probe from the island’s apex predator.

He looked down at his own hand, the one that had touched Nana’s. It felt cold, contaminated. He had survived. But he knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that Nana Hiiragi was far from finished with Kenji Tanaka and his inconvenient, embarrassing glimpses into the future.