I wake early.
The moment my eyes open, I first stretch and loosen my stiffened body.
Next, I wash my face to fully rouse my consciousness.
Once awake, I neatly make the bed and head to the kitchen.
While toasting bread, still in my pitch-black pajamas, I efficiently prepare a bento using leftovers from last night's dinner.
I take one of the free bottled waters I'd stockpiled from the school vending machines, letting the first liquid of the day slide down my throat.
As the cold sensation registers, the toaster dings, producing perfectly crisp toast. I spread the leftover anko from making kusamochi and some higher-end store-bought butter, then begin breakfast.
Once finished, I wash the dishes.
After that, I change into this school's distinctive uniform.
Finally, I pack everything I'll need for school into my bag.
"Living on my own isn't as bad as I thought."
Back at Hope's Peak, meals appeared without me lifting a finger.
Perfectly balanced nutrition at set times—nothing else but talent experiments and research. A thoroughly managed routine was boring; my will was never considered.
During the despair era, it was day-to-day survival, but luck talent alone made it possible—no interest there.
Now, though, I can think and live for myself.
This is ordinary life. It'll repeat countless times, filled only with boredom, but since I can change it with my own hands, it's far better than before.
"Exactly 7:00, I see."
I check my internal clock against my phone.
The digital AM 7:00 reflects in my deep blood-red eyes.
Boring. My body feels no discomfort today either.
Morning homeroom starts at 8:30. With nothing particular to do until then, I finish minimal rest and hair grooming, then leave my dorm room.
The click of the lock echoes in the empty space as I head straight to the elevator without stopping.
No encounters on the way; I reach it and operate the buttons mechanically.
Descending to the first-floor common area, a few early risers like me, dorm staff, and the manager come into view.
Large tables big enough for party games, multiple comfortable three-person sofas—all unoccupied.
Plenty of other spaces too, but something feels lacking.
Each step echoes crisply—stap, stap.
Ah, boring.
I bow to the manager diligently working early, then exit the dorm.
Outside, strong sunlight greets me, summer heat soaking into my skin.
This school has no summer/winter uniform distinction—blazers even in summer.
The short walk to school is hot, enough to dampen moods just heading there.
But once inside, it's paradise. Full air conditioning keeps it cool.
The lavish spending reminds me this is a government-backed school.
"Come to think of it, I forgot to give Ishizaki-kun the photos."
Walking, I scan memories for anything to prevent today from being boring.
After seconds, I recall: one day until the Class C and D discussion.
The boring dispute—where Ishizaki-kun and the others just claim innocence—is about to begin.
Ryuuen-kun is putting some effort in, but only strongly threatening Ishizaki-kun and the other two not to bend, not to confess.
There's a chance of losing—leaving it be means Ryuuen-kun still needs room to grow.
"Short commutes have downsides too."
Lost in thought, I suddenly reach the shoe lockers. No time for deep reflection.
As usual, I start changing shoes.
With no one around, voices from the sports field echo clearly.
Distance muffles words, but likely club chants.
Their energized activity reminds me this school promotes excellence in both academics and athletics.
Clubs earning results get bonus points, so about seventy percent of Class C joins some activity.
Of course, not unique to Class C—similar ratios across classes.
But Class C students likely put more effort in.
Mainly due to bonus points. Collected monthly in Class C, they desperately chase results for more freely spendable points.
Those chants might include Class C students.
If so, positively impacting class points. His tax system works well—I feel faint admiration.
"...That's..."
Changing into indoor shoes, heading to class, I stop.
An unusual sight.
Past the lockers, on the landing before the stairs, there's a bulletin board for students and school.
There—a notice recruiting info on the Class C-D dispute—
"Yeah, my face is beautiful today too~."
—blocked by a weirdo primping with an expensive hand mirror.
Standing before the board, staring at the mirror instead of postings. The slight unexpectedness feels interesting, so I observe briefly.
"Oh, you are..."
Stopping draws his notice.
He pockets the mirror and approaches.
"That long hair~ You're Kamukura-boy."
He speaks to me in oddly accented English.
Tall, carefully styled blond hair, light red eyes unlike mine—he blocks my path.
I know him.
From gathering Class D info.
"Kouenji Rokusuke, correct? What do you want?"
"Indeed—I am the only son of the Kouenji conglomerate, future president, Kouenji Rokusuke."
Hand on hip, flipping hair, striking an exaggerated self-promotional pose.
Immense annoyance—instinct says dozens of times worse than Ichinose-san.
"And the purpose? Nothing! A whim."
"I see."
"Hah hah hah—mornings tough? Lacking a bit of energy?"
He shows mysterious concern, then laughs loudly.
"That said... Hmm... I see, I see."
Finishing his boisterous laugh, he starts eyeing my body.
"Even through clothes—good body. Pardon~."
A compliment.
Then, fluidly, he thoroughly checks me over.
Not lewd—just assessing muscle development.
"...Magnificent potential. Equal to mine... no, greater. Excellent!"
After freely touching, he slings an arm around my shoulder familiarly, praising in accented English.
I knew what he'd do. Yet couldn't resist.
Partly no malice, but mostly his overwhelming ego left me passive.
"Kamukura-boy, dinner sometime? Some older ladies want to know about you."
"That's quite a leap."
"Oops—got ahead of myself. First, not business cards—email exchange."
Wrong.
In my mind, Kouenji-kun rivals Junko Enoshima in recklessness.
Storm-like, he swiftly pulls out his phone, opening contact exchange.
"Come on, hurry. I'm busy—meeting ladies soon."
"Understood."
No real reason to refuse, so I take out my phone.
We efficiently exchange contacts.
"Hmm, mission complete~. Farewell, Kamukura-boy! Until next time—adieu!"
Task done, he releases my shoulder and heads upstairs.
Few early arrivals, so his laughter echoes through the floor.
"Tremendous talent... but immensely troublesome."
...
"Good morning, Kamukura-kun."
Shiina-san greeted slightly brighter than usual.
Her refined smile and posture were elegant, full of kindness.
After the chance encounter with the super weirdo, I reached class without issue.
"Good morning."
Returning the greeting, welcoming the second arrival.
She's early too. After arriving, she prepares then always reads.
Mostly mystery novels.
From acknowledged masterpieces to obscure works—wide range.
I feel no attachment to books, so her hobby doesn't suit me.
Even acclaimed masterpieces are pointless to me.
More precisely—as masterpieces, they follow patterns. Patterns make endings predictable—easy.
At best time-killers; no enjoyment arises.
Flawed logic in so-called trash? No interest either.
Not boring because trash—trash because boring.
Either way, waste of time.
"As expected, Kamukura-kun is early. I lost again."
"No need for win-loss."
"True, but always second—doesn't it spark some rivalry?"
Smiling, she clearly enjoys the chat.
Her uncharacteristically simple phrasing feels off, but she's having fun, so I ignore.
"More importantly—that's not why you spoke to me."
"Fufu, right... Then, hand over the goods."
"What novel are you into now?"
Opposite her beaming smile, the words slip out—clearly inspired by recent reading.
"Crime-themed. Last scene last night had a line that fit, so I borrowed it."
"Glad you're enjoying."
"Very fun. This could get you into reading too, Kamukura-kun."
She persistently inviting me to join while still smiling.
I've accompanied her to the library a few times, but reading never appeals.
I always decline, yet she never gives up.
"Persistent. Discuss with other classmates, not me."
"...That's the issue—no one. Did you know? In our generation, book lovers are markedly declining. Matching data, no one in class likes them."
"Ibuki-san, Ryuuen-kun, Kaneda-kun have more potential than me."
"Ibuki-san turned me down. Rarely talk to the others. But Ibuki-san was close—she watches many films, so adapted book discussions worked, but..."
Started happy, but as words trail, her face grows disappointed.
"Book enjoyment varies—many imagine backgrounds, emotions from prose. Films provide fixed visuals—image quality, acting. Different appreciation, slight mismatch."
"Exactly. She talks excitedly—I understand—but misalignment persists."
She slumps, shoulders dropping.
Energy lower than usual; pale skin from little outdoors makes her seem unwell.
If I had protective instincts, it'd trigger charm.
"Your 'goods.'"
To cheer her, I pull something from my bag, playing along slightly, and hand it over.
Seeing it erases her sadness.
Pure, age-appropriate joy shines.
"This is—Kamukura-kun's sakura mochi?"
Shiina-san's eyes sparkle like a child with a new toy.
Made yesterday with Ibuki-san.
As declared, we made kusamochi and sakura mochi.
Long time using patissier talent, so for verification I made extra—but issue arose.
—I couldn't eat the sakura mochi. The weirdo, the delinquent, and the helper item
As the Ultimate Hope, the fact that I—Izuru Kamukura—had a food I disliked was nothing short of astonishing.
The moment it touched my tongue, it triggered a rejection response; I nearly spat it out on instinct.
I somehow forced it down with water, but an indescribable discomfort lingered in my mouth, and for the first time, I felt my body protest.
Interesting. Truly interesting.
I never imagined something could bring me to my knees like this.
"I'll donate these to the tea ceremony club after school. I'm looking forward to it."
I'd made far too many sakura mochi that I couldn't eat, leaving me unsure how to dispose of them.
Just then, an email arrived from Shiina-san asking for recommendations for tea sweets—she was looking for treats to prepare for the tea ceremony club.
Perfect coincidence.
In the end, the excess sakura mochi escaped disposal by becoming a donation to the club.
Thanks to that timely message, the tragedy of Ibuki-san's weight increasing never occurred.
"It's still morning, you know."
"Oops, you're right. Fufu—I just can't wait."
Good to see her in high spirits.
Talking with her passed a fair amount of time.
By then, other students were trickling in.
Among them, I spotted Ishizaki-kun and Ibuki-san.
Shiina-san returned to her seat with the pack of sakura mochi.
In her place, Ishizaki-kun—face covered in bandages and gauze—appeared before me.
"Good morning, Kamukura-san!"
"Good morning, Ishizaki-kun. As I've said before, there's no need to come all the way to my seat just to greet me."
"No way! I respect you, Kamukura-san, so I wanna start with the formalities!"
"Then at least lower your volume a bit. In that case, greet me as much as you like."
"Roger that!"
He obediently quieted his voice and saluted.
Ishizaki-kun's favorability toward me was unusually high. We hadn't talked much, yet it had risen considerably.
Pure goodwill—delinquent-style straightforward hierarchy.
"More importantly, Ishizaki-kun—take out your phone."
"My phone?"
"I'm sending you photos for emergencies. If Class D corners you, flash these."
I operated my phone, sending him multiple shots of the scene.
"...These are photos of the incident site, right? Why give them to me?"
"Think of them as evidence to block one likely tactic Class D might use to win. I'll explain when to use them."
"S-So... you're helping me, Kamukura-san! This is worth a hundred—no, a thousand men!"
Coining new phrases, he grinned happily despite his injured face.
Purity is a virtue. Like dealing with an oversized child.
"Hey, hey, Kamukura. Looks like fun. Count me in."
"R-Ryuuen-san! Good morning!"
Third visitor to my seat today.
Shouldering his school bag, he'd likely just arrived.
Albert trailed behind. Our eyes met; he gave a polite nod, which I returned.
In that moment, Ryuuen-kun plopped onto my desk.
Ibuki-san, seated in front, wore an expression of utter disgust.
"Yo, Ibuki. Nice face as always."
"Don't talk—your spit flies."
"Kuku, hated that much, huh?"
"Recall everything you've done, one by one?"
"Fair. Last night was a fun, wild one."
"Die."
Ryuuen-kun, basking in amusement, drew a full grimace of revulsion from Ibuki-san.
"So—what'd you give Ishizaki?"
"Photos of the incident scene."
"Why? What's the point?"
"There is one. You just can't see it yet."
"Kuku, big talk. Then explain this 'point.'"
Seated on my desk, he recrossed his legs, waiting.
Ishizaki-kun and Albert drew closer to hear.
Ibuki-san peeked over, interested.
"You're still too soft. You've only shallowly considered how the opponent might objectively handle this incident."
"Yeah. But my plan isn't something they can easily break."
"Offense is first-rate. Defense is thin."
"Tch—hate long explanations. Conclusion first."
"One way Class D could prove complete innocence: install 'fake surveillance cameras,' threaten with them, and force withdrawal of the complaint."
At that, Ryuuen-kun crossed his arms, thought seconds, then grinned fearlessly.
"...Kuku, I see. Lie with a lie. Yeah, I wouldn't have thought of something that sneaky."
"Which mouth is saying that?"
I agree with Ibuki-san.
"But success rate's low. Interesting idea, but Ishizaki staying calm handles it. I've instructed him accordingly."
"Y-Yeah, Kamukura-san! Even threatened, if I stay silent, no problem!"
"That's why they add layers. First: the special building's heat."
Hearing that, Ryuuen-kun's eyes widened slightly before he smirked.
"I scouted it too—that stifling heat... yeah, impossible not to lose thinking and calm. Pile on another layer, create more panic, dominate the atmosphere."
"Quick understanding, as expected."
Fast thinker—he already grasped the full tactic.
Ibuki-san in front seemed to follow too.
"But heat—I can endure!"
"Ishizaki-kun, humans surprisingly resist heat, but we're delicate too. Imagine a quiz in a bathhouse sauna. Could you concentrate?"
"...Nah, I'm dumb anyway—in a sauna, no way I could focus or solve anything."
"The special building isn't quite sauna-level, but close. Thinking and focus disrupt heavily. Lose calm, and humans corner themselves with anxiety. In that state, normal thinking's impossible."
Even I'd lose slight focus.
For others—needless to say—calm thought would be impossible.
"...I get it. Having scene photos beforehand keeps calm even if they pull it. Plus, proves Class D's new lie—potential counter from there."
"H-Huh, Ibuki's pretty smart!"
"You're just too dumb."
Ibuki-san sighed in exasperation, not mockery.
"But Kamukura—can Class D even think of that? You said only you could."
"Just a possibility."
"Kuku—damn shame you're not an enemy."
Talk over, he laughed heartily in high spirits.
Most allies would say "Glad you're not an enemy."
But he's Ryuuen Kakeru through and through.
No boring lines from him.
Laughter done, curiosity struck; he voiced it casually.
"So—how'd you come up with it? Normal people wouldn't even think to buy surveillance cameras..."
Rare—Ibuki-san nodded agreement.
Noticing my gaze, she stopped, glaring sharply in her usual tsun way.
Seeing her, on a whim, I decided to tease a little.
And tried stirring my near-nonexistent emotions.
"Saw them by chance on a date with Ibuki-san."
"...Hah!?"
Of course, a lie.
Truth: about a week after enrollment, testing if I could hack school systems, I visited an electronics store.
"Hoo~ A date, huh. Kuku—you're full of surprises, Ibuki."
Fast thinker Ryuuen-kun fired perfect provocation at flustered Ibuki-san with a great smile.
"...Y-Yesterday wasn't a date!"
And Ibuki-san digs her own grave.
Panicking—losing calm—prevents normal thinking, demonstrated live.
"Kuku, yesterday. So—what's 'that'?"
"Just shopping, Ryuuen-kun. Though I didn't consider yesterday's shopping a date..."
Ryuuen-kun caught my intent. Rose from my desk, ready to bolt.
"I see, I see. Meaning only Ibuki thought it was."
"—You!!"
Low boiling point—she flushed crimson, standing with a loud scrape.
Anger narrows vision. Heat plus anger—no calm thinking.
Thus, current Ibuki-san couldn't grasp the time.
"...What's wrong, Ibuki-san?"
Seeing her lunge at Ryuuen-kun, Sakagami-sensei—just entering—asked worriedly.
Narrowed vision plus unusually open classroom door today—silent entry.
She never noticed.
"...I'm fine. No problem."
Voice desperately suppressing rage sounded anything but fine; Ryuuen-kun barely contained laughter at her.
"I-I see."
Confused, Sakagami-sensei instructed everyone to sit.
Once seated, he cleared his throat dramatically and continued.
"Good morning. Let's begin morning homeroom."
With that ordinary greeting, another boring school day began.
***
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