(Say more… How could those mediocre people compare to my dedication?)
As early as last week, Kushida Kikyō had used her carefully woven social web to scout other classes' swim schedules.
Upon learning the PE teacher would host a freestyle race, she'd seized the opportunity—practicing every stroke, breath, and turn all weekend while others relaxed.
Her arms ached, but she'd just shaken off the water and dived back in.
(It has to be perfect…)
Now, having her secret effort exposed sparked a strange thrill—like an actor whose backstage prep was finally noticed.
The shame of being seen tangled with perverse pride, her pulse quickening.
The earlier malice faded, replaced by a perverse satisfaction.
(Hah… Shimizu-kun's being unusually perceptive today. I'll curse you less tonight. That bitch Horikita, though…)
The PE teacher's voice boomed: "Girls' 50m freestyle! 5,000 points to the winner!"
Minutes later, Kushida stood at the pool's edge, eyes scanning the lanes.
(Swimming isn't my forte… but I didn't waste those two days.)
(I meant to pry about Horikita… yet somehow, talking to him was… easy.)
(But… since Shimizu-kun's this naive…)
Her lips curled faintly.
(I'll save that for next time.)
(Kushida's so simple.)
A few well-placed compliments had lowered her guard—she'd even slipped into a self-congratulatory daze.
Though her original goal was unclear, he'd derailed it effortlessly.
(Praising someone is an art…)
The key? Target their insecurity.
For Kushida, the word "effort" was magic.
Especially when he'd exposed her secret training—that mix of shame and validation was more addictive than any flattery.
His claim about "only you prepped"? A complete lie.
He wasn't a skin-tone expert—he'd just known she'd visited the pool last weekend (Saturday's intel).
But white lies were harmless—like waiters calling customers "handsome."
Fake, yet pleasing.
In the end, Horikita and Onodera tied for first (26s), while Kushida placed third (31s).
As class ended, Shimizu noticed Kushida's lingering stares at Horikita—her usual smile tinged with something darker.
(That hung up on rankings?)
(Guess a door's getting wrecked tonight.)
Advanced Nurturing High mirrored typical Japanese schools—math, English, Japanese, science, etc., all graded out of 100.
After a week, Shimizu had mastered math and English.
Thanks to his previous education, the material felt laughably easy—like a bullet train versus leisurely sightseeing bus.
Japan's "relaxed education" policy had watered down curricula for decades.
Back in his world, students woke at 6 AM for self-study, left at 9 PM—compared to Japan's 8:30 AM to 3:30 PM "paradise."
Not that he judged—Japan's real competition began after school, in cram schools packed with college-hopefuls.
This "soft outside, cutthroat inside" system might be more suffocating than open grind.
But at this isolated campus, even cram schools were inaccessible.
Yet one truth held universal: mastering math, English, and Japanese guaranteed above-average grades.
These "golden trio" tested core skills—logic, memory, and expression.
For Shimizu, only Japanese class remained a wall.
A week in, classical grammar—"izenkei," "mizenkei"—still baffled him.
He'd failed his fellow transmigrators—his past life had zero exposure to Japanese linguistics.
Studying it now felt like deciphering oracle bones.