The lingering hum of gossip died down as Kyouya's gaze sharpened, signaling a new directive. His soliloquy, a cold testament to his true intentions, remained confined within the labyrinth of his mind. Outwardly, he was the composed, slightly aloof heir fulfilling a father's wish. Inwardly, he was the meticulous researcher, ready to apply pressure.
"Now that the purpose of your presence here is clear," Kyouya announced, his voice devoid of any inflection that might hint at the underlying scheme, "we shall proceed with the initial assessment. Marriage into the Saionji family is not merely a matter of lineage or beauty. It requires a mind capable of navigating complex challenges."
He paused, letting his words sink in. The women, still seated on the rugs, exchanged uneasy glances. They braced themselves for questions of etiquette, or perhaps a display of artistic talent. What came next, however, was far more jarring.
"Therefore," Kyouya continued, his hand gesturing towards a stack of tablets a maid was now discreetly placing on a low table nearby, "your first task will be a series of mathematical equations. These will range in difficulty, designed to test your logical processing and endurance under pressure." He then glanced pointedly at their current, somewhat awkward, seated positions. "This is one of my crucial criteria for a potential wife. A sharp mind is paramount."
A wave of confused shock rippled through the group. Math equations? In a setting like this? Disbelief warred with indignation on their faces.
This is a lie, of course, Kyouya mused internally, his eyes sweeping over their expressions, already logging their initial reactions. The 'criterion' is a convenient cover. My true objective is to observe their capacity for resilience and problem-solving under palpable, if minor, physical discomfort. Performing complex mental tasks while seated ungracefully, in dresses ill-suited for the floor, and under the scrutiny of rivals – this creates a controlled, high-pressure environment. It strips away pretense and reveals raw aptitude and endurance. The equations themselves are secondary; the process of enduring them is the experiment.
Just as Kyouya finished his silent assessment, a furious voice cut through the stunned silence. It was Ayaka Kurose, her face once again contorted in outrage. She struggled to sit up straighter on the rug, her elegant dress bunching around her.
"You are the worst!" Ayaka shrieked, her voice shaking with indignation. "Forcing us girls to do maths in a dress like this?!"
Kyouya met her furious gaze with unflappable calm. He simply raised an eyebrow, a faint, almost imperceptible hint of amusement in his eyes. "Eh," he drawled, his tone perfectly flat, "it would be much more convenient to do it on the spot, no?"
The calm, almost amused indifference in his voice, coupled with the utterly preposterous suggestion, was the final straw for Ayaka. Her eyes, already blazing with fury, snapped wider. With a guttural cry of pure indignation, she launched herself forward from her awkward seated position on the rug. Her hand shot out, not with the grace of a lady, but with the raw, unadulterated force of someone pushed to their absolute limit.
SMACK!
The sound of her palm connecting sharply with Kyouya's cheek cracked through the poolside silence, echoing with a surprising loudness. His head snapped slightly to the side, but he otherwise remained perfectly still, his sunglasses undisturbed.
A collective gasp ripped through the assembled women. Jaws dropped. Eyes widened in horrified fascination. No one, not even the most aggressive among them, had anticipated such a raw, visceral reaction. Scarlet Vermillion's crimson eyes flared, a mixture of shock and grudging admiration flickering within them. Seira Kagurazaka, whose own smugness had momentarily vanished, blinked once, slowly, her single blue eye betraying a rare flicker of genuine astonishment. Even she hadn't predicted this variable.
Kyouya slowly turned his head back, facing Ayaka. There was no redness on his cheek, no visible mark of the slap. His expression remained utterly deadpan, his eyes hidden behind the dark lenses.
"Predictable," Kyouya stated, his voice still calm, utterly devoid of pain or anger, as if merely commenting on a poorly executed calculation. "Peak force detected: approximately 87.3 Newtons. Insufficient for a sustained kinetic transfer above target's pain threshold. Your technique requires optimization."
Ayaka, her hand still tingling from the impact, stared at him, her chest heaving. The sheer, infuriating lack of reaction from him was a fresh insult. "Improve?!" she sputtered, her voice choked with outrage, yet her own expression had gone curiously flat, mirroring his. "You're telling me I should practice slapping you better, you infuriating lump of data?!"
"Only if the objective is maximum impact," Kyouya replied, tilting his head fractionally. "However, given the negligible physiological effect, I would suggest a more efficient vector for expressing... emotional dissatisfaction."
Ayaka let out a short, sharp burst of air that was closer to a snort than a laugh. "Emotional dissatisfaction? You're a walking, talking exercise in emotional nullification, Saionji-kun! You probably measure the force of your own apathy in joules!"
"An intriguing concept," Kyouya mused, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor at the corner of his lips that might have been the shadow of a smile, or perhaps just a muscle twitch. "To quantify such an abstraction... one might require a non-real component. Perhaps an imaginary number, or the elegant simplicity of Euler's identity, to capture the true zero of existential ennui."
"Oh, I propose a standard unit for punching you repeatedly until a reaction is achieved!" Ayaka retorted, her voice dry, completely devoid of the hysteria that her initial slap might have suggested.
The exchange continued, a bizarre, deadpan banter that was utterly incomprehensible to everyone else. It was a rapid-fire volley of absurd, intellectualized insults and detached counter-arguments, delivered by both parties with expressions that conveyed nothing but complete, almost robotic, seriousness. There were no actual giggles, no lighthearted chuckles, yet the rhythm of their peculiar conversation, the shared understanding of its inherent ridiculousness, felt like a series of private "gags and giggles" passing between them.
The other women watched, utterly bewildered. The immediate shock of the slap had given way to profound confusion.
What was this? Had they just witnessed a display of extreme hostility transform into some kind of bizarre, intimate performance?
Ayaka, the furious, outspoken victim of Kyouya's previous dismissal, was now engaged in a surreal, almost comedic exchange with him. It was as if they had slipped into an entirely different dimension, one where only Kyouya and Ayaka spoke a shared, baffling language. The heirs-in-waiting could only stare, their minds struggling to process the bewildering dynamic between the man they were supposed to marry and the girl who had just slapped him.