Kuroba Akira's mind went blank.
Could it be that her "Academic Ability A" talent wasn't just about school grades, but extended to every other aspect of her life?
If that was true… that talent was absurdly powerful.
Of course, people with high IQs picked up everything faster. It was the kind of thing that made others envious and a little resentful.
As the saying went: "The more skills, the better." Learning a lot doesn't guarantee huge rewards, but it increases opportunities to show off (or bluff convincingly) and leaves multiple backup options for the future, regardless of what path you take.
But considering what he had just deduced about the class president possibly having family pressures, maybe these weren't skills she learned purely out of interest—they could very well be the result of an elite upbringing.
Kuroba Akira knew exactly how much effort it took to raise a skill's proficiency to Lv1, enough to have it recorded on the left hand.
He himself had only discovered this peculiar ability recently, when he saw "Japanese Lv1" appear in his left palm, along with a barely-filled experience bar. That's when he realized he could actually track his efforts in this bizarre way.
Lv1 meant beginner level. What did that mean?
It meant having a basic grasp, just enough understanding to say, "I've got this."
The difference between talent and proficiency was clear: talent was innate, unchangeable—a gift. Proficiency could be built through effort, even without natural talent.
Why hadn't he noticed this "cheat" ability earlier?
Because his right hand had no markings.
Was he incompetent? A complete failure?
Not exactly. He was just a normal human.
Talent was rare. From his summer observations, maybe one in ten people had it—and most of those were only level E, barely noticeable.
Someone like the class president, with an A-level talent, could easily be called a genius: truly one in a million.
But that didn't erase the fact that she had worked hard. To reach Lv1 proficiency across all those skills, she must have devoted incredible effort.
For an ordinary person, achieving that many Lv1 proficiencies would be impossible.
A person's lifetime has limits, and only skills learned could be recorded in proficiency. Without talent, accumulating proficiency was painstakingly slow.
For example, if Kuroba Akira had a talent for languages, he might have mastered the local language in three months—or even one. A true genius might pick it up in a week.
Talent was essentially a speed booster, a proficiency buff. Having it or not made a huge difference in leveling speed.
Kuroba Akira also suspected talent determined a ceiling.
Some people could work their entire lives and never reach the arena of the monsters.
For instance, in this world, maybe only a hundred people could run a 100-meter dash under ten seconds—fewer than the number of astronauts who've been to space.
And among them, only one could break 9.6 seconds. That was the true monster.
This was the "talent barrier"—a ceiling you could envy but never reach.
The class president's Academic Ability A showed that high school coursework was easy for her. She could likely pass top universities without much effort.
For ordinary students, the University of Tokyo was an impossible dream; for her, it was just a small hill in life.
"So… can you really tell all that from my palm?"
"Mm… your grades are excellent."
"Wow, that much? I am the top of the class, after all."
Hitomi Anri performed obediently, playing along.
"I'm also first… but in reverse," Kuroba Akira said.
Since he spent all his time on language practice, his other grades were abysmal.
"So… you want me to tutor you?"
"If you have time to teach me, I'd be grateful—but that's unrelated to our deal."
After examining all the proficiencies on her left hand, Kuroba Akira noticed something special.
Among the many Lv1 proficiencies, only one had reached Lv2:
"Cooking Lv2"
For context, the old lady landlord barely had Lv1, even though she was over seventy. Most housewives hovered around Lv2, while Lv3 meant they could run a professional kitchen.
Proficiency increased with difficulty. Without talent, progress could stall completely.
The class president had already reached an ordinary housewife's level at her age, which meant she had invested significant effort in cooking. Her food had to be delicious.
Decision made.
He was going to live off her cooking.
Kuroba Akira set her hand down.
"Class president, I can tell from your hand—you're really good at cooking."
"…Kuroba-kun, you really can read palms?"
Originally, she had learned it because of her mother: the old adage that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Cooking was a skill a wife could showcase to impress her husband, even if the family had a professional chef.
Although her initial motivation wasn't pure, Hitomi Anri gradually came to enjoy cooking—it allowed her to forget her worries.
"So… as my payment for joining the Literature Club, I'll need you to bring me lunch."
"You mean… make bento for me?"
"That's up to you. I just need something to fill my stomach. Even a store-bought onigiri or sandwich works."
"…."
"And just to clarify—it's not a one-time thing. For the rest of this year, I'll be relying on you for lunch."
Kuroba Akira shamelessly proposed to make her his permanent meal ticket. Feeling slightly guilty, he added,
"Of course, I won't just freeload. If you agree, I'll help find more members for the Literature Club. And if someone quits, I'll continue helping fill the spots. Basically, I'll make sure the club doesn't disband—so it's a fair deal, right?"
"I agree."
Unexpectedly, the class president said yes immediately.
Kuroba Akira turned to her, stunned.
The sunlight reflected off her face, her eyes sparkling, and her mouth curved in a satisfied smile.
An angelic, radiant smile.
"From tomorrow, I'll prepare handmade bento for you every day. Look forward to it, Kuroba-kun."
"Yesss! I'm set for life!"
He had officially secured free lunches.