Sakura Airi was painfully introverted.
No one in class spoke to her voluntarily. During lunch, she always sat alone in a corner, quietly eating her bento.
Since Shimizu Akira's seat was next to hers, they occasionally exchanged brief greetings—but even those were met with whisper-soft replies. She never initiated conversation.
So the idea that this girl would suddenly confess to Yamauchi Haruki?
It wasn't that Shimizu looked down on Yamauchi—but the guy was… something else.
He constantly spouted nonsense about "girls" and "dating", with 90% of his sentences revolving around his libido. He bragged about being popular, yet most girls in class couldn't even be bothered to glance his way.
Average looks, mediocre grades, unremarkable athleticism—he had zero redeeming qualities. Hell, most people probably forgot he existed the moment he left their sight.
Shimizu's gaze turned icy.
Considering Yamauchi's habit of fabricating stories and Sakura's near-invisible presence, the truth was obvious:
Yamauchi saw her as an easy target—someone too timid to call him out—and used her to prop up his pathetic ego.
Guys bragging was normal, but there was a line.
Boasting about test scores or past popularity? Fine. At least those lies only involved himself.
But Yamauchi? To inflate his self-worth, he dragged down a girl who couldn't even speak up for herself.
This wasn't just vanity—it was mental deficiency.
Already irritated by Class D's zero-point revelation, Shimizu shut him down without hesitation.
The result? Exactly as predicted.
Yamauchi froze, lips trembling, unable to muster a single coherent rebuttal.
Face burning, he mumbled "wrong person" and slunk back to his seat like a kicked dog.
(Can this school expel students…?)
Watching Yamauchi's hunched figure, the thought flickered through Shimizu's mind.
The guy was dead weight—bottom-tier grades, no skills, a walking nuisance. Even in Class D, the "problem child" group, he was the worst of the worst.
That said, since the entrance ceremony, Yamauchi hadn't directly crossed him.
This time, though blatantly lying, he'd at least backed down when confronted.
Shimizu noticed Hirata's concerned stare and raised an eyebrow.
(Hirata… thinks I'm about to throw hands?)
The idea almost made him laugh.
As frustrated as he was, he wouldn't resort to violence over something this trivial.
Besides, he respected Hirata—the guy helped shy classmates integrate, tutored struggling students, even funded class gatherings out of pocket.
While Shimizu could never be that "paragon of virtue", as a former JoJo fan, he held a quiet admiration for those with "golden spirit."
Pulling out his phone, he typed:
[Shimizu: Don't worry. I won't throw punches in a classroom—it's a place for learning.]
[Shimizu: Violence solves nothing. I prefer reasoning.]
After sending it, he glanced at Hirata—only to find the usually composed boy staring at his screen in open shock.
(Huh? Did I say something weird?)
He frowned. Those were just standard platitudes—firm but polite.
Given Hirata's social skills, he should've handled it effortlessly.
Yet his reaction suggested Shimizu had dropped some mind-blowing truth bomb.
(Did I accidentally hit a nerve?)
A vibration cut through his thoughts.
[Chabashira Sae: Come to my office after school. We need to talk.]
His brow furrowed.
Why would their hands-off homeroom teacher suddenly summon him?
(Is it about… not sharing intel with the class?)
But that didn't track—Chabashira wasn't the type to care about class performance.
She was more like a bystander, watching students flounder under the rules.
From day one, she'd been absentee at best, skipping even basic guidance.
If he hadn't chased her down for answers, she'd probably have never spoken to him again.
Yet during his showdown with Sakayanagi, she'd unexpectedly helped—even advising him to save his points.
(Contradictory woman…)
He replied with a terse "Understood."
While suspicious, ignoring a teacher's summons was unwise.
He recalled Horikita's Friday dinner remark—she'd gone to see Chabashira too.
(Wonder how that went…?)
His gaze drifted to Horikita's seat.
The black-haired girl's usual "stay away" aura had intensified to "approach and die."
"What did Chabashira say to you?" he asked casually.
"Hah." A cold laugh. "She told me—'I'm off the clock.'"
Each word dripped venom. "Told me to come back before 5 PM today."
"A homeroom teacher," her voice dropped to a dangerous calm, "with stricter hours than a civil servant."
"She called me in after school too. Let's go together."
Horikita paused, studying him.
(…More intel this way.)
She had to admit—with Shimizu's insight, efficiency would improve.
Since he was also summoned, this wasn't relying on others. It fit her "no dependence" principle.
After a beat, she gave a barely perceptible nod.
"Notify me once the time's set." A slight pause. "I'll do the same."
"Understood."
A wordless understanding formed between them.
(Exchanging contacts has improved efficiency…)
Not that she'd ever call it compromise—just optimal strategy.