The president's 5% fee, all donated to the school, felt like special treatment to Shimizu.
Though this high school emphasized self-sufficiency, compared to society's 20%+ cuts, Horikita's terms were generous.
(Can he even accumulate personal points this way?)
Shimizu doubted it.
Horikita Manabu's competence was undeniable, but his apathy toward points starkly contrasted Nagumo Miyabi's ruthlessness—the vice-president taxed all four classes.
In self-interest, Shimizu found Horikita far less shrewd.
He even suspected the president's point reserves paled next to Nagumo's.
Yet in prestige, Nagumo couldn't hold a candle to the most celebrated council president in school history.
"President," Shimizu ventured, "what's your take on Nagumo Miyabi?"
"...You care about second-years?" Horikita's gaze sharpened. "I appointed him. His ability is unquestionable. But..." A pause. "Our philosophies diverge. His focus is on third-years. As a first-year, you needn't concern yourself. I'll handle it."
"I see." Shimizu nodded.
Horikita's implication aligned with Chabashira's hints—Nagumo couldn't care less about first-years.
A relief.
Tachibana arrived with two cups of black tea.
Shimizu thanked her, sipping the amber liquid.
"You're selling hidden intel."
"You saw through me."
Horikita set his cup down. "Having learned these secrets, what's your assessment of the class system?"
Shimizu pondered. "Novel. Fair."
"It's the first school I've seen that doesn't prioritize academics. The inter-class competition is intriguing."
"But—" Horikita caught his hesitation.
Shimizu laid it bare: "The criteria are too vague. Class D has several A-tier talents yet was dumped at the bottom."
His brow furrowed. "Does the school overweight 'dark histories'? By that logic, Class C is the weakest."
These thoughts had festered since enrollment.
(Hirata's leadership. Kushida's social genius. Ayanokōji's unfathomable depth... Why are they here?)
(If anything, Class C should panic.)
Class D wasn't weak—just lopsided: exceptional in niches, but glaring flaws.
Class C? Mediocre across the board.
Yet somehow, they'd scored 490 class points—hardly 'weakest' material.
(If I were in Class C...)
The thought alone made his head throb.
How had Ryūen Kakeru pulled it off?
(Say what you will about his violent cafeteria tactics—the man gets results.)
In this meritocracy, effective methods trump morality.
Horikita's eyes flickered with surprise.
"...A sound analysis."
A rare admission: "Even I haven't fully deciphered the class system."
"Your take on Class C's weakness is accurate. Yet the system mostly works."
His tone steadied. "Class D's individuals outclass C's, but their disunity makes them double-edged. That said..."
A meaningful pause.
"Class D is the weakest overall—but the most likely to overthrow the hierarchy."
Shimizu nearly laughed.
(What is this, an underdog speech?)
Specialists could outshine even Class A in their domains—but such students were unruly wildcards, like Kōenji.
Though Horikita's words sounded inspirational, Shimizu remained unmoved.
(Feels like he's subtly hyping me up...)
"President, no need for that look. Class D suits me fine. No scrutiny. All eyes on each other. Easier to operate."
"Biding your time? ...Prudent." Horikita mused.
"Overthinking again." Shimizu chuckled.
(Smart people overanalyze everything.)
"Speaking of which..." Horikita adjusted his glasses. "Has Class D learned the hidden rules?"
"Yes." Shimizu admitted freely.
"Our conversation won't leak. A president's basic integrity."
A pivot: "But have you considered your oversight? How do you ensure classmates won't spill the intel? You'd lose all profits."
Horikita doubted this calculating boy would blunder so badly—coming here just to sell secrets.
"President, you worry too much." Shimizu spread his hands. "Who said I'm only selling intel? Leaks are inevitable—but the first sale is always the most lucrative. Information is inherently volatile... so I prepared a failsafe all four classes can't refuse."