May 1st.
And well... we all know what that means, right?
Today is the big day. The moment of truth. Judgment Day.
The day we'll find out if Horikita's theories and mine were visionary... or just the delusions of two teenagers with too much free time and a suspicious obsession with school cameras.
But if you ask me, I'm 78.56% sure we were right.
Why that oddly specific number? Because I'm a genius, of course. And because leaving it at 78% felt like I wasn't being fully committed to the truth.
—"Endo-kun, you didn't get any points either, right?" —Matsushita asked me from beside me, as if confirming that the economic apocalypse had officially arrived.
Yes, you heard right. Today is May 1st, and according to the student manual, that means payday! The glorious moment when private points should've rained into our accounts like a blessed downpour.
But... nothing happened.
Nothing.
Zero. Not a single point. Not even a friendly notification. Just a frozen balance mocking me on my screen.
And that's when I knew: the theories were true.
—"No, but I think we already know why, right?" —I replied to Matsushita, putting on my best mysterious-know-it-all face.
Of course, what I discussed with Horikita, I also told Sato and Matsushita. Why? Because they're my friends. And because I'm an excellent human being who doesn't want to see them wasting points like falling stars.
Besides, sharing conspiracy theories with pretty friends is a life experience you don't get twice.
At that moment, the classroom door opened with the same dramatic flair as a soap opera scene.
Chabashira-sensei walked in with her usual expression of "don't talk to me unless you have a court order" and the firm stride of someone who could probably kill with just a glare.
But this time, she wasn't carrying her coffee mug or her boring clipboard.
No.
She had a giant white sheet. Festival-poster size. No cute doodles, no hearts, nothing remotely cheerful.
Just... our names.
And, next to them, our grades.
—"Oh no! It's the academic apocalypse!" —someone whispered. It might've been me, I won't deny it.
—"Allow me to enlighten you a little," —I said to myself, mentally turning toward you, my dear imaginary readers, with the wisdom of someone who's already watched this anime three times with different subtitles—. A week ago, we took a diagnostic test. Yes, the same one we half-slept through, with the motivation of a cat being forced into a bath.
They told us it wouldn't count toward our final grade.
And that was true.
But that doesn't mean it didn't have a hidden purpose. And by "hidden purpose," I mean something suspicious, possibly Machiavellian, and most likely involving Chabashira-sensei exposing us like educational memes.
I personally finished mine in 12 minutes. Not because I'm a genius or anything, but because I was more focused on drawing a ninja cat on the back of the test. And let me tell you: it was epic. If that exam was archived for posterity, I want them to remember my art, not my answers.
Chabashira-sensei entered the classroom with her "why am I still working here?" face and, without a word, slapped that giant sheet onto the blackboard. Big enough to be used as a camping tent.
Our names. And next to them, our grades.
The whole class went silent. A silence so heavy that, if someone had cracked a bad joke, it probably would've echoed.
Even Ike, who usually talks more than a top-10 YouTube narrator, looked like he was watching his life flash before his eyes in slow motion.
But relax.
It's not like our grades directly affected private points. At least, not yet.
This time, the purpose of showing those scores was something else.
Something much more interesting.
And what came next... well, it's better if Chabashira-sensei explains it. Because what she said completely changed our perception of this school.
But that, my friends, I'll tell you on the next page.
...
—"Are you idiots?" —Chabashira-sensei blurted out, with the same calmness one might use to toss a grenade at a family gathering.
The entire class froze. Like someone had hit the pause button on our lives.
And I don't blame them. Even I, who usually have a high tolerance for passive-aggressive comments, was left with my jaw halfway to the floor. I mean, what kind of teacher walks into a room and throws a "you're idiots" at you right off the bat? That's not something they teach in pedagogy, right?
But before you panic, let me sum up what happened. Yes, sum up again. Because I'm lazy, okay? Don't expect a 40-minute monologue when I can give you the express version.
Turns out Horikita's theories and mine... were right. As right as saying Ike won't study even if you pay him —which, ironically, they can't anymore, because we have no points.
It's all about a system. A system that constantly evaluates us through surveillance cameras. Tardiness, fights, shouting, monkey-like behavior with cell phones in hand... all of that subtracts something called class points.
When we entered this lovely educational prison, each class started with 1000 class points. Those points translated into 100,000 private points, divided among all students.
Guess how many class points we have now?
Exactly: zero.
And since 0 class points = 0 private points... Surprise! We're officially broke.
Pause for collective crying.
And the other classes? Well, they do have class points. For example, Class C ended up with 490 class points. That's 49,000 private points. Not bad, huh?
But here's the important part: if, by some miraculous cosmic alignment, we manage to get more class points than another class, we surpass them in ranking.
For example, if Class D (us, the rejects) somehow gets 500 class points, and Class C has 490... we move up to Class C!
And that, my dear readers, matters a lot, because only Class A gets the legendary perks of this school: 100% guaranteed access to any university or elite job we want. Basically, a VIP pass to adult life.
So yeah. This is war. A silent war between classes.
Oh, and if you thought that was all... take this!
If you fail an exam: immediate expulsion. Just like that. No tears, no letters of recommendation, no sad farewell song.
Chabashira-sensei even used our diagnostic test scores as an example. And you know what?
I would've been expelled.
I literally didn't write anything useful. I spent the whole time drawing a ninja cat riding a robot. A robot! With sunglasses! I don't know if that makes me an artistic genius or a functional idiot, but anyway...
Moral of the story: never underestimate exams with the word diagnostic in the title. Ever.