—"Sato, how many points do you have?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer before she opened her mouth. I'd warned her a thousand times to stop spending like she had an unlimited black card. But no. This girl is the modern reincarnation of impulsive capitalism.
—"Don't worry, I have enough to survive another month," she replied with a little smile that basically said, "I'm not bankrupt, just on the verge of financial ruin."
—"How many exactly?" Matsushita asked, applying her tax-auditor stare.
—"Uh... well... 61,456 points," Sato said, looking away as if the floor had suddenly become fascinating.
I swallowed.
—"Sato... we told you to save as much as possible. Where on earth did you spend that much?"
—"Hey! I saved as much as I could, okay?!" she protested, crossing her arms. "But at night I get hungry and... well, let's just say there were some cravings."
Translation: her wallet died from gourmet instant ramen, drinks with unpronounceable names, and probably some limited-edition anime plush.
—Sigh... well, at least you'll survive —I said, resigned to the fact that my friend has the soul of a mogul but the budget of a broke student.
—"Besides! It's not like we can't get points back after the exams, right?!" she added with an optimism that hurt more than my diagnostic grades.
—"The maximum you can earn is 100 class points," Matsushita said, with the calm of someone who has already accepted the chaos.
—"That's almost impossible. We'd have to get perfect scores as a class. And I can't even remember my tablet password, imagine a quadratic equation," I said, feeling personally attacked by math logic.
—"Obviously, it's unrealistic," Matsushita added, shrugging as if confirming that Santa Claus doesn't exist and lottery tickets aren't a life plan.
—"I guess you're right..." Sato said, dropping her shoulders. "I never got 100 even in elementary school, let alone now. I barely survived fractions class."
And in case you're lost in all this —yes, you, dear imaginary mental reader— let me give you a quick summary courtesy of your favorite narrator:
Chabashira-sensei dropped an informational bomb this morning: there's a way to earn class points, and no, it's not extortion or illegal gambling —though that would have been more fun. It's through exams. Serious exams, not those diagnostic ones where most of us draw swords, ninja cats, or write song lyrics.
Depending on the class average, we can earn class points. The maximum: 100 points. Sounds good, right?
Now, before you get excited, remember: getting a perfect class score is as likely as seeing Yamauchi voluntarily clean his desk.
Oh, and there are also "special exams." We have no idea what they are yet, but if they have "special" in the name, they probably mean trouble, tears, and more chances for me to get into trouble.
So yes. Welcome to the school where studying is literally the only way not to starve.
...
—"I give up! I can't anymore, I feel my brain frying..." Sato said, massaging her head as if trying to stop it from exploding like popcorn.
—"Yeah, I think I see smoke coming out of your head..." I said, watching her with fake astonishment. "Is that steam or are you evolving into your final form?"
—"Can you two focus? And stop wasting time!" Matsushita intervened, who, for the past few hours, had officially taken on the role of our academic dictator. I mean, tutor. I mean... both.
Current situation: the three of us —Sato, Matsushita and I— are in full "Study or die" mode, preparing for exams that will be held in fifteen days. Although Horikita and company formed their own organized study groups, we decided to take the indie route.
Our strategy? Let Matsushita, who surprisingly seems to have the knowledge of ten libraries stored in her head, teach us.
Spoiler: it's like studying with a hybrid of Google, Wikipedia, and a military drill sergeant.
—"Sorry, Matsushita-sensei... but... can we take a break? Just five minutes... or ten... or the whole day..." I asked, using my best defeated puppy look.
—"No," she replied with the coldness of an iceberg. "And if you keep wasting time, I won't teach you anymore."
Ouch. Right to the heart.
—"So you're just going to let us fail and get expelled without mercy?" I dramatized, clutching my chest as if Matsushita had just stabbed my soul with a ruler.
—"I can't believe it..." Sato added with a Shakespearean tragedy expression. "I thought we were friends!"
—"Yes, Sato..." I nodded solemnly. "Clearly Matsushita never saw us as friends. We're just pawns to be sacrificed in her chessboard of wisdom. She doesn't care about us..."
Sato and I hugged in a telenovela-worthy scene, fake tears streaming down our cheeks. Well, at least in our imagination. In reality we were just whimpering loudly and looking at Matsushita with "please let us play for five minutes" faces.
She only sighed. I'm pretty sure she was considering hitting us with the math notebook. And I wouldn't blame her.
Matsushita-sensei: strict, efficient, and emotionally impenetrable. But without her... we'd probably have confused a square root with a plant.
So yeah... the road to success is paved with tears, unnecessary drama, and passive-aggressive threats from our favorite tutor.
And there are still fifteen days left.
Send help.
...
—"That bitch! She should die or disappear or... something! I can't stand her!" a familiar voice shouted, breaking the peaceful ocean breeze like someone had just thrown a brick into a zen fishbowl.
I was walking near the shore, planning to enjoy a quiet afternoon, when suddenly furious screams interrupted me that honestly sounded like the prelude to a school tragedy... or the trailer of a low-budget soap opera.
"Why!? Why did you have to ruin a new stage of my life!? Just because!?!" the voice kept yelling.
And then I saw her.
A girl who, in theory, had a reputation for being "angelic, sweet, and purer than holy water." That same girl was shouting words so sharp that if you turned them into knives they'd cut diamonds. Her public image and those rage-filled screams were like day and night. Like strawberry cake and liver soup.
Like Hello Kitty turning into Godzilla.
And, for reasons unknown to the universe and completely unfair to me, I was the only witness to this emotional collapse.
—"Don't you dare tell anyone what you saw or heard," she told me suddenly, looking at me with eyes that said "I'll kill you" but a smile that said "I'll bury you alive in style."
—"If you do... I'll make your life a living hell."
Now, one would think those threats would come with distance, drama, maybe even a mysterious pose. But no. She decided... to sit on top of me to say it. Literally.
Yes. Me, lying on the sand, and her sitting on me like I was her human throne.
Look, I'm no expert in human behavior (or hidden kinks), but did she really need to sit on me to threaten me? Or does this girl have a weird fetish for asserting dominance from above?
I don't know.
The only thing I'm sure of is that I'm neck-deep in trouble.
And that I'll probably die before the final exam.