Failing even one subject in midterms or finals meant expulsion.
This was one of Advanced Nurturing High's most critical hidden rules.
Before leaving, that Class D senpai had warned him:
"Lose to other classes, live off the free meal plan—just don't flunk out. That's too embarrassing."
Shimizu had no intention of leaving in disgrace.
But this school was far from normal—what high school expelled students for one failed subject?
The sole silver lining: midterms were over a month away.
Cramming Japanese from scratch to scrape a passing grade was just feasible.
Yet three Everests loomed before him: modern Japanese, classical Japanese, and classical Chinese.
Modern Japanese was manageable, but classical Japanese might as well be alien script—familiar kanji arranged into unfathomable puzzles.
(Feels like classical Chinese… but way harder because it's Japanese!)
Worse, a single kanji could have dozens of readings, with grammatical particles altering meanings entirely.
It was like decrypting a cipher where the key was lost to time.
"Headache…"
After Japanese class, Shimizu massaged his temples, fingers pressing against throbbing nerves.
Unlike math or English, Japanese seemedapproachable—even a child could grasp fragments.
But dive into kanji usage or archaic grammar, and his brain shut down like a fried circuit.
(Same kanji… why do they mutate like this?)
A feather-light voice snapped him back:
"U-Um… Shimizu-kun… thank you… for speaking up for me yesterday…"
He turned to find Sakura Airi, his right-side desk neighbor, fidgeting with her skirt.
Her voice was so soft, he'd have missed it without sharp hearing.
"No big deal. I was in a bad mood, and that guy's a chronic truant anyway."
He waved it off.
This wasn't entirely a brush-off—his frustration (Class D's zero points, largely Yamauchi's fault) was genuine.
"..."
Sakura fell silent, her gaze drifting to his pristine Japanese textbook—barely touched, its spine unbroken.
(He's… really struggling, huh…)
Her lips parted, then sealed shut, words unspoken.
"By the way!"Shimizu leaned in, faux-serious. "To confirm—you didn't confess to Yamauchi, right?"
"N-No!"
Her voice spiked, drawing curious glances.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, ears burning crimson.
Shimizu's brow rose at her flustered reaction.
(So it was bullshit…)
(But wow, she really can't talk to people.)
After school, Shimizu headed to meet Horikita, expecting lingering fury over the poolside brother remarks.
To his surprise, though frostily silent, she followed him to Chabashira's office.
When he opened the door, Chabashira was absent.
In her place lounged a young woman in a pink silk blouse, casually perched on the desk.
The blouse was tucked into high-waisted shorts, accentuating a slender waist.
But the real showstopper was her legs—long, toned, showcased by the short hemline.
Her outfit broke every "teacher" stereotype—yet here she sat in the teacher's chair.
Normally, female staff wore tailored suits with modest stockings, like Chabashira'sprim attire.
This woman?
The walking stereotype of a "parental complaint magnet"—"Dressed like that? No wonder my kid's grades dropped!"
But in this isolated campus, parents couldn't storm in—PTA meetings might not even exist.
As Shimizu pondered, the teacher noticed them, tilting her head with a lazy smile:
"Oh? Looking for someone, cuties?"
"Chabashira-sensei."Horikita's tone was icy.
"Ah, Sae-chan?~" The overly familiar nickname hinted at close ties. "She was here just now~"
When she beckoned them inside, Horikitarebuffed instantly: "Unnecessary."
Unexpectedly, the teacher stepped into the hallway, pointing at herself:
"I'm Hoshinomiya Chie—Class B's homeroom teacher. Sae-chan and I go way back~ Still call each other by cute nicknames!"
She leaned toward Horikita, eyes sparkling:
"You reek of Sae-chan's vibe. Why'd she summon you? So suspicious~"
A playful finger tapped her lips: "In trouble? Or… love counseling?"
Horikita's eyebrow twitched.