The first thing that hit me was the noises.
A group of rough-looking guys had claimed the back-right corner, their feet propped on desks as they roared with laughter at something on a phone.
Two girls by the windows were locked in a heated argument, one of them jabbing her finger at the other's chest. Another girl was openly painting her nails, the chemical smell of polish cutting through the air.
Someone was asleep, face-down on their desk, a small puddle of drool forming beneath their mouth.
"Whoa. Okay, so... interesting bunch," Ichirou said beside me, his grin wide but slightly strained. His eyes darted around the room, trying to find a friendly face in the mayhem.
Yumeko's reaction couldn't have been more different. Her crimson eyes widened with unmistakable delight. Her lips parted slightly, and she drew in a soft, appreciative breath.
My attention immediately locked onto the source of the classroom's gravitational field—a boy with magenta hair lounging in the back corner. His legs were stretched across an empty desk, his uniform disheveled.
Three other students hovered around him like satellites, hanging on his every word. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp and predatory, already sizing up everyone who entered.
Primary obstacle, I noted clinically.
A girl with chestnut hair in a neat French braid sat near the front, her back perfectly straight, a notebook already open on her desk. While chaos raged around her, she remained focused, her crimson eyes occasionally flicking up to survey the room with obvious disapproval.
Near the middle of the room, a bespectacled boy with short black hair was growing visibly agitated by the noise. He kept checking his watch, adjusting his glasses, and rearranging his perfectly aligned pens and notebook.
"Hey, Shiro, should we grab seats?" Ichirou nudged my shoulder, pulling me from my analysis.
Before I could answer, the bespectacled boy stood up, tapping his pen against his desk in a futile attempt to get everyone's attention. When that failed, he cleared his throat and raised his voice.
"Everyone! If I could have your attention, please!" His formal, stiff tone barely cut through the noise. "The teacher will be arriving shortly! I propose we conduct ourselves in an orderly fashion and perhaps begin with introductions to foster a cooperative classroom environment!"
His plea was swallowed by the continuing chaos. Most students didn't even glance his way.
The few who noticed gave him looks ranging from amusement to pity.
Then, from the back corner, a lazy, mocking voice sliced through the din.
"Kukuku... Shut up, four-eyes. Nobody asked you to play teacher."
The room didn't quite go silent, but the volume noticeably dropped. The bespectacled boy flinched as if he'd been slapped. His shoulders slumped, and he sank back into his seat, his attempt at order thoroughly crushed.
I shifted my attention back to the magenta-haired boy. He hadn't moved from his lounging position, hadn't raised his voice.
Interesting.
Ichirou, ever the good-hearted idiot, stepped forward. "Hey, he's got a point! It's our first day, we should at least get to know each other!"
The magenta-haired boy's gaze slid from the glasses-wearing kid to Ichirou. He examined him briefly, then looked past him—directly at me. A cruel smirk spread across his face.
"Well, look at that. The big one can talk," he drawled.
The room grew quieter. Students sensed the brewing confrontation and turned to watch. Even the nail-painting girl paused, brush hovering over her pinky.
I met his gaze evenly, letting my expression convey mild, academic curiosity, as if he were an unusual specimen in a petri dish. I allowed the silence to linger for exactly three seconds, then spoke.
"He's my friend. And you should learn some manners." I paused, giving him a slow, deliberate once-over, as if evaluating a disappointing piece of equipment. "Or is 'fuckface' your family name? If so, my apologies for the misunderstanding."
The classroom went dead silent.
The magenta-haired boy's smirk vanished. For a split second, genuine rage flashed across his features before he locked it down. He pushed himself off the wall, his movement deliberate and controlled.
Just as he took a step forward, the classroom door slid open with a deafening THWACK that made several students jump.
Framed in the doorway stood not a prim and proper teacher but a mountain of a man in a slightly too-tight suit. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with steel-grey hair and the build of a former athlete who'd gone slightly to seed but could still bench press a car if he felt like it. His eyes swept the room, taking in the entire tense scene in a single glance.
He took a long sip from a can of what smelled like overly sweet coffee, then let out a low, gravelly chuckle that contained absolutely zero warmth. It was the sound a wolf might make while watching chickens squabble.
"Heh. Well, well. Looks like the puppies are already trying to establish the pecking order." His eyes flicked between me and the magenta-haired boy. "Everything alright in here?"
In that moment, I recognized a superior threat, and apparently, so did my new rival. Without looking at each other, we both simultaneously relaxed our postures, the confrontation temporarily shelved.
"Fine," we said in unison.
The teacher grinned, revealing teeth that were surprisingly white and even. "Good. Find a seat. Orientation starts now."
A mad scramble ensued as students rushed to claim desks. The magenta-haired boy and his crew secured their territory in the back corner. I deliberately walked to a seat in the second row—close enough to appear engaged but with a clear view of the entire room.
The girl with the French braid was already seated to my left, her back perfectly straight, pretending the chaos around her didn't exist. Ichirou predictably took the seat to my right, his massive frame making the standard desk look comically small. Behind me, I felt rather than saw Yumeko glide into place, her presence a cool shadow at my back.
The bespectacled boy who'd tried to establish order earlier hurried to a seat at the front, arranging his supplies with nervous energy.
Our teacher lounged against the podium, making no effort to silence the remaining chatter. He surveyed us with the satisfied expression of a man watching cockfights he'd secretly arranged himself.
"Alright, listen up," he finally announced, his voice easily filling the room without seeming to rise in volume. "I'm Kazuma Sakagami. You'll call me Sakagami-sensei, though most of my previous students ended up calling me 'Gramps.' I don't particularly care which you use."
He crushed his empty coffee can in one hand and tossed it perfectly into the trash bin without looking.
"Welcome to Class C. Or as I like to call it, Purgatory."
He let that hang in the air for a moment.
"You're not in Hell. But you're definitely not in Heaven either. You're in the in-between place. Whether you rise or fall from here depends entirely on your own actions."
He pushed away from the podium and began to pace, his large frame moving with surprising grace.
"Some of you are here because you have glaring academic deficiencies. Others have behavioral issues. Some of you have physical limitations. And a few of you—" his gaze swept over specific students, lingering briefly on me, "—are here because you have potential that you refuse to fulfill. You're all, in the school's estimation, defective products."
The straight-backed girl to my left stiffened at this, her knuckles whitening around her pen.
"I don't give a damn about any of that," Sakagami continued. "I'm not here to fix you. I'm not here to coddle you. I'm here because I believe diamonds are formed under pressure."
He stopped pacing and crossed his arms. "This class will operate differently than what you might expect. I won't micromanage you. I won't hold your hand. If you want to succeed, you'll figure out how to work together. If you want to tear each other apart, that's fine too. Just understand that your actions have consequences."
The girl next to me raised her hand sharply. Sakagami raised an eyebrow but nodded at her.
"Sensei, with respect, that approach seems counterproductive to fostering academic growth," she said, her voice firm and articulate. "Shouldn't we be establishing clear guidelines for classroom conduct and collaborative work?"
Sakagami's mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. "Name?"
"Makoto Sumida, sir."
"Well, Sumida, let me ask you this: if I give you rules, what will you learn?"
She blinked, clearly thrown by the question. "Uh… discipline and structure, sir."
"Wrong," Sakagami said flatly. "You'll learn to follow someone else's rules. What happens when there are no rules? When you graduate and enter a world that doesn't give a shit about your structured academic environment? You'll be lost."
Sumida opened her mouth to object, but Sakagami continued.
"In this classroom, you'll learn how to survive and thrive in chaos. You'll learn to make your own rules and enforce them. You'll learn that sometimes, the most valuable lesson comes from getting your ass handed to you."
From the back of the room, the magenta-haired boy let out a low laugh. "Kukuku... I like this guy."
Sakagami turned his attention to him. "Name?"
"Ryuen. Kakeru Ryuen."
"Well, Ryuen, don't get too comfortable. I'm not on your side either. I'm on the side of whoever proves they deserve it."
The bespectacled boy raised his hand timidly. "Sir, what about the curriculum? The textbooks? The class schedule?"
"Another name for the record?"
"Hiroya Tokito, sir."
Sakagami nodded. "Tokito, we'll cover the required material. I'm not trying to get fired. But how we get there is up to you all. Form study groups. Work independently. Duke it out in a tournament. I don't care, as long as you pass the exams."
He glanced at his watch. "Now, we're supposed to spend the rest of this period going over school rules, but they're all in the handbook you received. Read it or don't. Your choice, your consequences. Pick up your school provided phones whenever."
Sakagami walked back to his desk and pulled out a worn paperback novel. "I'm going to read my book now. You have the rest of the period to sort yourselves out. Get to know each other, establish your little hierarchies, whatever. Just keep the property damage to a minimum."
With that, he sat down, opened his book, and promptly appeared to fall asleep, though I suspected he was still keenly aware of everything happening in the room.