Shimizu Akira narrowed his eyes slightly, fingers tapping the desk. "So... you're here to buy information from me?"
Horikita Suzune's expression froze for a split second before settling back into its usual cold neutrality. "...Yes."
—She had been thinking about this for a while.
The dense scribbles in her notebook were proof enough.
Asking upperclassmen directly would've been the simplest solution, but for Horikita, who despised socializing, it was an impossible hurdle.
(Then…)
Her gaze sharpened on Shimizu.
(A straightforward transaction with someone I already know is far more efficient.)
Shimizu stood at the cafeteria counter, scanning the menu.
"One hamburger curry rice." No hesitation.
If she was paying, he saw no reason to hold back.
The tray arrived quickly—golden curry draped over rice, topped with a thick, juicy patty, its glistening fat seeping into the sauce. The aroma alone was intoxicating.
As he turned with his tray, he caught Horikita's movements from the corner of his eye.
After paying, she'd already settled at a corner table, pulling a sad-looking tuna onigiri from her blazer pocket. Her motions were precise, almost mechanical, as if this were routine.
He raised an eyebrow, then ordered two miso soups before walking over.
Placing one steaming bowl in front of her, the ceramic clinked softly against the table.
"For you." His tone was flat.
Horikita stared at the soup. "I'm the one treating you today."
"100 points. Transfer it later."
"Shimizu-kun…" Her eyes flicked up. "Are you that eager to add me as a friend?"
His eyelid twitched. Pulling out his phone, he flashed his contacts list—dozens of names scrolled by in an instant. Nearly the entire class was there, along with A-Class's Sakayanagi and Kamuro, even B-Class's Ichinose.
"See? Do I look like I need one more friend?"
Horikita's lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze swept over the names.
Ignoring her reaction, Shimizu picked up his spoon.
He tore open a ketchup packet, drizzling a spiral of red over the patty—the sauce slid down the meat's curves, seeping into the curry's crevices.
The first bite sent tangy sweetness bursting across his tongue, perfectly cutting through the patty's richness. A follow-up spoonful of curry-soaked rice delivered spicy warmth and chewy texture in one go.
(Not just delicious—nutritionally optimal too.)
His plate was nearly empty by the time Horikita finished her stale onigiri.
"At this rate, you won't last a round in the ring next month."
"Amateur boxing clubs don't have weight classes."
"By the way, which club did you join, Horikita-san?"
"Not interested."
"Not even the student council?"
"..." She didn't answer this time.
Shimizu didn't press further.
Scraping up the last of his curry, he downed the miso soup in one go.
When he looked up, Horikita had already finished her pathetic sandwich, quietly crumpling the wrapper in her fist—a habit starkly different from A-Class's refined prodigy.
His eyes landed on her untouched soup.
"Finish it," he tapped the bowl's rim with his spoon, "then we'll talk business."
A pointed glance at the wall sign: "WASTING FOOD IS SHAMEFUL."
After a brief pause, Horikita lifted the bowl, sipping gingerly.
As she set it down, a drop of broth clung to her lip. Her eyes darted subtly across the table—searching for a napkin.
A hand entered her periphery.
Shimizu held out a tissue, arm unwavering.
"Wipe your mouth."
The refusal was already on her tongue—"I don't rely on others," her usual line.
(But the transaction…)
(I've already taken a favor…)
A half-second later, she took it, feigning indifference.
"Don't overthink it. Dinner settled the debt. This is just business."Shimizu saw right through her. "So? What intel are you buying? Just the class division truth?"
Horikita's gaze turned razor-sharp. "Shimizu-kun… Are you implying you have more?"
"You could say that." A faint smirk.
A beat of silence. Then—
"...Start with the class divisions."
"Simple." He leaned back. "The school sorts us by merit. Our entrance interviews were scored. Based on those and other criteria, they slotted everyone into A, B, C, or D."
His stare was unflinching. "Elites go to A or B. The mediocre get C or D."
"...That's impossible. You're certain?"
"I tested it on Chabashira-sensei day one. An upperclassman confirmed it."
"But—"
"Still doubting?" He cut in smoothly. "Then tell me, Horikita-san—what class is your exceptional brother, the student council president, in?"
"Third-year… Class A."
The words hit like a sledgehammer.
Horikita's frame shuddered. "I'm in D-Class… So the school thinks I'm… not even 及格线 (passing standard)?"