Wednesday, lunchtime. The cafeteria buzzed with activity, the air thick with the aroma of food.
A second-year Class D boy fidgeted nervously, his eyes darting around. "Uh... Ryūen-kun, thanks for the meal, but..." His voice trailed off. "I really don't have anything to tell you..."
Ryūen Kakeru leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lazily on the table as he studied the boy with detached amusement.
Before he could speak, the hulking Ishizaki Daichi slammed his palms onto the table with a deafening bang.
"Oi!" Ishizaki grabbed the senior's collar, veins bulging in his muscular arms. "You think you can eat for free?!"
His roar drew stares from nearby students. "Now you're saying no intel?!"
"I—I never asked for this! You approached me!" The second-year's retort lacked conviction, his eyes flicking toward the ceiling's security cameras. "Let go! There's cameras here! You really wanna throw hands?!"
Ishizaki's fist clenched with an audible crack, poised to strike—
"Cool it, Ishizaki." Ryūen's languid voice cut through the tension as he rose, placing a casual hand on Ishizaki's shoulder. "This is our senpai, after all."
He emphasized "senpai" with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"But..." Ryūen suddenly leaned in, his whisper icy. "I can stop him once. Doesn't mean I will every time. Yeah, there's cameras here..." His gaze slid meaningfully toward the empty hallway outside. "But some places? Blind spots."
"Damn right!" Ishizaki released the senior with a shove, grinning savagely. "You think a free meal gets you off the hook? I'll beat the lesson into you, even if it costs me a demerit!"
The senior paled. "Are you really Class C? You act worse than Class D! Or—" His voice dropped to a whimper. "Is it because your points got zeroed out, so you've got nothing to lose?"
Trembling, he added, "It's not that I won't talk... If he finds out, my recommendation letter is toast!"
"You bastard—!" Ishizaki reared back for another swing.
"Stand down." This time, Ryūen crushed Ishizaki's wrist in a grip so tight it made the larger boy wince.
Turning back to the senior, Ryūen's smile turned chillingly pleasant. "Let's compromise. I'll respect your position..."
His voice dropped to a silk-covered threat. "Just tell me who you're scared of, and hint at the rules. For that... I'll transfer you 50,000 points. Fair, no?"
The senior's eyes darted wildly.
After thirty seconds of silence, he finally cracked.
"...Vice President Nagumo Miyabi. Class A gets top resources, the rest scramble for scraps! All four classes are rivals!" He clapped a hand over his mouth. *"T-that's all! Where's my 50,000?!"*
Ryūen's lips curled into a mocking smirk as he adjusted his cuff. "Who said anything about 50,000?"
He tilted his head, feigning confusion. "Ishizaki, did I say that?"
Ishizaki burst into exaggerated laughter. "Pfft—senpai, you hallucinating?!"
"Y-you—!" The senior shook with rage, his pointing finger trembling.
Ryūen's expression darkened instantly. "Leave. Now. Before I lose my patience." His voice dropped to a growl. "Be grateful I'm not making you vomit up that meal."
The senior opened his mouth—then flinched at Ryūen's glare and fled.
Ishizaki scratched his head as he watched the senior scurry away. "Ryūen, we already knew that from the 'kind soul' who tipped us off day two."
Ryūen scoffed. "Second-year D-Class trash. This was his limit." His fingers resumed tapping the table. "What about Nagumo Miyabi? Any progress?"
Ishizaki's face turned grim. "Just his full name. But..." He lowered his voice. "Every time we ask second-years, they clam up. Beyond the name, nothing."
Ryūen's eyes narrowed as he gazed out the window. "To silence an entire grade... Now that's an opponent." A smirk. "But challenging second-years is premature. First, we break the other classes."
(What game is this school really playing?)
From day one, Ryūen had sensed something off.
The school's mantra—"points can buy anything"—and their homeroom teacher's cryptic hints all pointed to hidden rules.
Yet after days of probing cowering seniors, he'd only pieced together fragments:
Classes were ranked by ability.
All four were competitors.
That's it.
Second-years were locked down under Nagumo's iron grip.
When he'd tried approaching third-year D-Class, student council members materialized to shut him down.
The upperclassmen were muzzled, as if bound by some invisible web.
As Ryūen and Ishizaki strode toward the exit, a flash of silver caught Ryūen's eye.
By the window, a silver-haired girl with an ornate cane ate with refined elegance.
Sensing his gaze, she looked up—her eyes locking onto his through the crowd.
Her lips curled into a smirk, the expression of a chess master eyeing a rogue pawn.
"Ryūen? What's up?" Ishizaki followed his stare.
"...Nothing." Ryūen looked away, his voice deceptively calm.
That condescending gaze was his trademark—a tool to unsettle prey.
Yet this cane-wielding girl had mirrored it perfectly, adding her own layer of arrogance.
(Another Class A elitist? Tch. One punch, and she'd sob for hours.)