"This is a point card," Chabashira said, handing over a sleek black chip-card. "It's anonymous. You can scan points from your student ID onto this card, or transfer them back whenever you need to."
She flicked her ponytail slightly as she elaborated. "You can purchase these from the electronics shop in the shopping district. One card costs 100 points. With it, you can hide your actual point balance. Convenient, right?"
Hachiman studied the card between his fingers. "So the school encourages competition… but also allows point concealment. Doesn't that create openings for manipulation? Bribes? Or even more… obscure strategies?"
Chabashira chuckled.
His eyes narrowed.
That laugh.
It wasn't amusement.
It was resignation.
"This kid's been here less than two days," she thought. "And he's already seeing through it all."
"Go ahead and check your balance," she said. "I've transferred 200,000 points to your account. Withdraw however much you want at your own pace."
He nodded slightly, sliding the card into his pocket without scanning it.
To scan now would suggest distrust. And right now, trust was a commodity.
She had secured him the authorization to convert points into cash. That was a valuable negotiation. She wouldn't risk burning that bridge, not so soon.
More importantly, she seemed desperate.
A desperate person keeps their promises.
"What are your future goals?" Chabashira asked, watching him closely.
He glanced away, remembering the frail girl with silver hair and a cane from the Keyaki Mall. Surrounded by others. Respected. Admired.
He didn't want that.
He didn't want to be surrounded.
If he could put it into words…
"I want to be a househusband," Hachiman said.
"...Huh?"
"I don't want to work. Why should boys be the only ones supporting a household? I'd rather stay at home, cook, clean… maybe raise a cat."
Chabashira stared at him blankly.
"I want to be taken care of," he added.
She blinked, her expression unreadable.
"...Then you better work hard," she muttered. "You won't find a rich wife just by dreaming. But you can get rich in this school."
He raised a brow.
She continued, "Start with Horikita Suzune. She's like you."
"...Like me?"
"Withdrawn. Isolated. Smart, but cold. You'll understand. File on her. Same pay—200,000."
So that made it two.
Kushida and now Horikita.
Two students, 400,000 points.
That was worth a househusband's attention.
***
Horikita Suzune.
Class D, first year.
Her posture was refined, almost regal, her obsidian-black hair flowing like ink down her back, a slim braid tied with a white ribbon resting against her shoulder.
A trace of lily lingered in the air—shampoo or something fancier.
She sat with poise, a picture of elegance. Long lashes, amber-tinged foxlike eyes, porcelain features.
But her expression was distant, like staring into frost.
An untouchable aura clung to her, repelling anyone who dared to come close.
To most, that would be intimidating.
To Hachiman, it spelled one thing: value.
Value worth 200,000 points.
He glanced at his phone.
[Name: Hikigaya Hachiman
Class: 1-D
ID: 108510000
Private Points: 89,100]
A drop from yesterday. Proof of spending.
But quietly, he had already replenished those losses. Scanning the anonymous card earlier revealed 200,000 points in reserve. The payoff from his Kushida analysis.
He had earned it, even if what he offered about her was just the surface.
Kushida was a bomb wrapped in a bow.
To dig deeper, it'd cost more than an analysis. It might cost him everything.
But now, it was Horikita's turn.
Chabashira's words echoed.
"She's the same as you."
What did that mean?
A loner?
An observer?
Or a misanthrope?
---
Horikita sat quietly at her desk.
The classroom was emptying out. School had ended, but she was flipping through a physics textbook, eyes calm and focused.
Her fingers, slender and still, turned pages methodically. The book already had annotations—tiny notes scrawled in neat handwriting.
[Listen carefully here]
[Memorize before quiz]
[This section: probability of pop test]
She had only received the textbook yesterday.
So she had already studied. Maybe all night.
Hachiman hadn't opened his once.
She was a different breed.
But not unreachable.
That's when it began.
A light, cheerful voice floated across the room.
"What do you want?" Horikita asked, not even glancing up.
The voice belonged to Kushida Kikyo.
Blonde, bright, and smiling as always.
It was almost surreal—ice and fire sharing a frame.
As someone who had spent a life watching from the margins, Hachiman was an expert at vanishing.
He had slumped over his desk, face hidden in his arms, pretending to nap.
Perfect angle. Perfect distance.
He called it: The Passive Lens.
No one questioned someone sleeping.
But they often forgot how sharp a sleeping person's ears could be.
"I'm Kushida Kikyo. I invited you to join our class group yesterday," she said. "You didn't respond. Maybe you missed it?"
Horikita didn't even blink.
"I didn't miss it."
"...Oh?"
"I don't need the class group," she replied.
Kushida's smile faltered—just a hairline crack.
"Everyone's in the group. We share information. Help each other out."
"It's a waste of time."
Kushida was still smiling, but now it was visibly forced.
"You pressed the wrong button maybe? It was pretty late when I sent it."
"I didn't press anything by mistake."
Horikita's tone was ice over steel.
"I simply chose not to join."
"But—"
"My study time is my priority. Not idle chatter."
Every word hit like a slap.
The class group, the mutual support, the artificial friendships—
All meaningless.
---
Hachiman observed.
No judgment. Just data.
Kushida wanted everyone united.
Horikita didn't care about unity.
Two opposing philosophies.
And both were in Class D.
He chuckled internally.
Chabashira really was assembling a team of misfits.
If these girls were bombs, this classroom was a powder keg.
And Hachiman?
He was the guy sitting on top of the fuse.
Waiting.
Watching..
**"
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