Karuizawa Kei should have been the most panicked person in Class D upon learning the truth: next month's personal points would equal class points × 100.
*(What?! The 100,000-point monthly deposit isn't guaranteed?!)*
Just last Friday, she'd struck a secret protection deal with Shimizu Akira: 80,000 points monthly in exchange for his in-class shielding.
It should've been perfect—yet now, she could barely afford his "services."
(Damn that limited-edition makeup! And that luxury restaurant...!)
A furtive glance at her phone revealed a gut-wrenching balance: 2,500 points.
She couldn't scrape together 3,000, let alone 25,000.
"Kei? You okay? You look pale." Matsushita Chiaki leaned in.
"N-Nothing~" Karuizawa forced her signature sparkling smile, fingers digging into her phone case.
Such was the price of being the top gyaru—maintaining the flawless facade while financially drowning.
But her panic ran deeper than empty pockets.
(If I lose Shimizu's protection...)
Unlike the lone wolf Horikita, Karuizawa knew her truth:
She was a parasitic vine—helpless without a host.
(80,000 points... At least 80,000...)
Her fingertips brushed the ugly scar hidden under her uniform as she calculated:
Though each class started with 100,000 points, her dozens of phone-checking incidents during lectures had chipped away at the total.
Not to mention Yamauchi and Ike's absences—who knew how much they'd already deducted?
(600 points would be a miracle... No, let's be realistic—half that! I'm not greedy!)
500 points = 50,000 personal points.
A 30,000-point deficit from her 80,000-point promise.
Her stomach cramped violently, the old wound throbbing in sync.
"You're so pale..."
"Just stayed up binge-watching dramas~" She beamed at Matsushita.
When Shimizu's probing gaze landed on her, she'd instinctively messaged him—only to realize how transparent her panic was.
(He knows... He HAS to know...)
(No points = He'll dump me next month.)
Cold sweat dripped down her spine.
The terror of walking on thin ice made her temple pulse, her breath turning ragged.
(Probably broke but putting on a front.)
(Desperate to hide her empty wallet...)
Shimizu noted Karuizawa's state in one glance, then looked away.
She'd sent 80,000 of her initial 100,000 points on day one.
Add her reckless spending...
Barely any left.
But he wouldn't intervene.
Their relationship wasn't that deep.
Unlike his seatmate Horikita—who, despite her prickly personality, honored every deal.
Every point he'd given her had been repaid fairly:
80,000 points for intel.
16,000 points for Japanese tutoring.
"...Friday after school, 5:30 PM. Library. For tutoring."
Speak of the devil—Horikita turned to him, voice hoarse from sleeplessness.
Shimizu studied her: dark circles, pale lips—yet she'd kept her word.
"The tutoring can wait." He cut to the chase: "Your thoughts on Class D now?"
Horikita's eyes sharpened. After a long silence, she admitted:
"...It's fair. The placement system is logical."
Memories of last night resurfaced:
Shimizu's words—"Your brother didn't rise alone"—had pierced her stubbornness.
She'd even texted Horikita Manabu for confirmation.
His reply still glowed on her screen:
[Tachibana Akane is indispensable to me in the Student Council.]
She knew—whether her brother or Shimizu, they only spoke facts.
After a sleepless night, Horikita had realized three truths:
1. Her Class D placement was justified.
—Her teamwork was zero, her social skills abysmal.
Like Kōenji, though skilled, she was ostracized.
The whispers, the disgusted glances—she felt them all.
(If this continues...)
Not only would her brother reject her—even Shimizu might—
Her teeth dug into her lip.
But this fear? She'd bury it forever.
A stubborn secret.
2. She'd drag Class D to Class A herself.
If fate threw her to the bottom, she'd claw her way up.
For her pride—and because Class A meant more points.
Surviving in Class D was already a struggle.
3. She needed an ally.
If her brother relied on others, so could she.
Those childish vows of "I'll do it alone"?
Gone.
As dawn broke, Horikita Suzune shed her past self.