"Then I'll be blunt. Why was I placed in Class D? My entrance exam results were excellent. Shouldn't I have been assigned to Class A?"
"Why do you hold yourself in such high regard? Where does this confidence come from? Based on social skills alone, you're the worst in Class D! The placement was flawless—your abilities are only fit for Class D. You're defective goods."
Horikita took half a step back, her voice icy. "As for whether I belong here… I'll verify that with the school directly."
"Be my guest." Chabashira Sae smirked, flipping open the registry on her desk. "But before that—" Her finger slammed down on a name. "Why not ask your illustrious oniichan? Horikita Manabu."
Her voice softened, yet each word cut like a dull blade. "In his first year, he earned the support of nearly the entire student body, becoming the first first-year in history elected as Student Council president." She flung the registry toward Horikita. "Right now, you can't even cast half his shadow."
The page fell open to a group photo of the Student Council. Horikita Manabu stood at its center.
Shimizu Akira noticed Horikita Suzune's breath hitch—her gaze burned into the photo as if trying to sear a hole through the insignia.
Chabashira suddenly relaxed her shoulders, her tone dripping with disinterest. "Though… it's not impossible for you to reach Class A. As for the specifics—"
Her finger shot toward Shimizu, already at the door. "Ask him. After all, the other 39 of you did pay for the intel."
She shooed them away like flies.
Shimizu had one foot out of the office—the 1 million points were secure, and he left without hesitation.
Quick footsteps followed. Horikita Suzune soon matched his stride.
"You—"
"We'll talk while walking."
The S System's logic wasn't particularly complex—the moment he'd first heard the rules, Baka to Test to Shōkanjū's class warfare mechanics came to mind.
A similar hierarchy. The same allowance for underdog uprisings.
But the critical difference? This school's evaluation criteria clearly extended far beyond academics.
(What metrics determine class placement?)
The question still gnawed at him.
Yet Chabashira's scathing remarks to Horikita revealed one certainty—social aptitude held significant weight in the system's assessment.
"The worst in social skills." A brutal label.
But it inadvertently exposed the school's true rules.
Here, lone geniuses with glaring weaknesses might be branded defective goods.
Which meant… Class D might not actually be the weakest class overall.
"..."
After hearing Shimizu's intel, Horikita's expression darkened. She turned away without another word.
She didn't even ask the obvious—can Class D still advance to A through later performance?
But Shimizu understood. Learning that her brother had led Class A and seized the Student Council presidency at her age… that kind of gap required digestion.
Come to think of it, Yukinoshita Yukino also had an older sister she chased after.
Too similar.
(Still…)
His thoughts shifted to Chabashira's task.
Shimizu pulled out his phone, scrolling through contacts until his thumb hovered between two names—Kushida Kikyō and Hirata Yōsuke.
The 1 million points were already in his account. A deal was a deal—equivalent exchange.
"The homeroom teacher… sees people clearly." He muttered.
Chabashira was right. Currently, Class D's cohesion relied entirely on these two.
Kushida ensnared hearts with terrifying charm. Hirata united the class with innate leadership.
Once the intel reached either, it would spread through Class D within hours.
Shimizu locked his phone, tapping a knuckle against his chin.
By sheer interaction frequency, Kushida was the obvious choice.
The ever-smiling girl often sought him out to discuss Horikita—at least two or three "check-ins" per day.
But beneath that saccharine facade lurked a girl who relieved stress by kicking doors and cursing.
(Compared to her…)
Hirata Yōsuke was almost blindingly upright.
As a fellow male, Shimizu naturally respected such consistency.
Yet the memory of Hirata's frozen expression upon reading those two messages still made him frown.
A model student like Hirata shouldn't be in Class D—unless his records hid shadows even his perfection couldn't mask.
After all, Chabashira had declared it: Class D was defective goods.
For now, the priority was creating a burner account.
He had to be careful—if envious classmates traced the intel back to him, unnecessary trouble would follow.
Shimizu didn't fear confrontation, but avoiding nuisances was wiser.
Moreover, with a hidden account, he could trade anonymously with other classes.
After deliberation, the need for an alias became undeniable.
But Shimizu soon hit a wall—all student accounts were strictly tied to real identities.
True anonymity required a second legitimate ID.
He messaged Chabashira directly:
"Sensei, does the school have untraceable trading accounts?"
The reply was instant:
"No. All point transactions are monitored."
"I just need to hide it from other students. The school can know."
A pause. Then:
"You can register a secondary sub-account under your real ID. Cost: 10,000 points."
"Deal." He transferred the points without hesitation.
Within seconds, a new account appeared on his terminal.
Still linked to him, but its balance read zero—a blank canvas for his schemes.
Now then…
Who should receive the intel?