Chapter 1: That Man, Enrolled
"Are humans born equal?"
In my previous school—Tokyo Metropolitan Advanced Nurturing High School, that so-called meritocratic society filled with lies—the answer to that question was a definitive no.
And now, after transferring to this Hyakkaou Private Academy to escape that man's gaze, I have found that the rules here are even simpler, and far more naked.
There are no hypocritical slogans of equality here.
In this prestigious institution with 122 years of history, there are only two kinds of creatures: predators and livestock.
Hyakkaou Private Academy, Class 2-H.
Even during homeroom, the air in the classroom remained murky. Students gathered in small groups; rather than discussing schoolwork, they seemed more concerned with the "chips" held in each other's hands.
The homeroom teacher stood at the podium and gave a routine wave of the hand.
"Alright, quiet down. We have a transfer student today."
The door was pulled open, and I stepped into the classroom.
I walked toward the podium at an unhurried pace, controlling the rhythm of my steps to appear neither anxious nor sluggish. My gaze swept across the room as dozens of eyes focused on me in an instant. They were the eyes of people evaluating merchandise, determining if I, the new "cargo," held any value.
I kept my facial muscles relaxed, maintaining my expression in its most natural, "lifeless" state.
"I am Ayanokoji Kiyotaka."
I spoke in a flat, monotonic voice.
"I don't have any particular talents I'm good at, nor any hobbies worth mentioning. I hope to spend my remaining school life peacefully. Please look after me."
After finishing, I gave a slight bow.
The classroom offered only sparse, scattered applause. A few boys in the front row fiddling with playing cards merely glanced at me before losing interest.
"Tch, looks like a guy who does nothing but study."
"Boring."
These whispers reached my ears clearly.
Good.
In this aggressive environment, being looked down upon is a form of protective coloring. As long as I am categorized as a "harmless weed," I can avoid a great deal of unnecessary trouble.
Under the teacher's direction, I headed toward a window seat in the very last row.
After sitting down, I habitually observed my surroundings. Although I appeared to be simply spacing out, my gaze had already performed a preliminary screening of the class's interpersonal social web.
Who was the central figure, who was a follower, and who was the outcast. By observing their posture, the frequency of their eye contact, and the volume of their speech, I could roughly deduce the hierarchy.
The bell rang, signaling the end of class.
No one took the initiative to approach me, until a brown-haired boy walked up to my desk with some hesitation.
"Um... Ayanokoji-kun, I'm the class monitor, Ryota Suzui."
His voice was soft and his eyes darted around restlessly, as if he were afraid something might pounce on him from behind at any moment. His uniform tie was slightly crooked, and there were wrinkles on his collar that hadn't been fully smoothed out—the marks of being grabbed roughly.
"The teacher asked me to help you get familiar with the campus environment."
"Ah, then I'll be in your care, Suzui." I picked up my bag and stood up, my tone remaining flat.
The corridors were extremely wide, with red carpets that swallowed the sound of footsteps.
"Ayanokoji-kun... it might be a bit meddlesome of me to say this," Suzui whispered as we walked, as if dodging invisible microphones, "but this school... it isn't normal."
"Not normal?" I asked, following his lead.
"Yes." Suzui stopped in front of a massive bulletin board. It was covered in a dense list of the names of every student in the school, accompanied by corresponding monetary figures. "Here, the Student Council decides everything. The core of it all is the 'Contribution' system. The bottom one hundred students on that ranking list..."
He swallowed hard, his fingers trembling slightly.
"...are stripped of their rights as 'humans.' The boys are called 'Pochi,' and the girls are called 'Mike.' Once you fall to the status of livestock, if you don't pay off your debt, you will be completely dominated."
In other words, slavery.
Maintaining rule by utilizing the fear generated by high-interest debt. Simple, efficient, and cruel.
"What happens if they don't pay?" I asked.
Just as Suzui was about to answer, a burst of raucous laughter echoed from the hallway ahead.
"Hey! Lift your head up, Pochi!"
A crowd had formed a circle. Peering through the gaps, I saw the scene.
A boy wearing glasses was kneeling on all replace, a wooden tag etched with the word "Pochi" hanging around his neck. Several boys were brazenly stepping on his back, even pouring leftover juice over his head.
The kneeling student offered no resistance, only shivering uncontrollably.
Standing in the center of the aggressors was a girl with golden twin-tails.
She had her arms crossed, looking down at the boy with unabashed mockery on her face.
"What's wrong? Don't want to be a footstool? But you still haven't paid back the five million you owe me." The girl's voice was crisp and piercing. "Since you can't pay the money, it's only natural that you use your body to repay your value as an 'object,' isn't it?"
"That's... Mary Saotome." Suzui's voice was filled with fear. "The central figure of our class. That Pochi... he lost to her in a gamble last week."
I watched the scene, feeling no internal ripple of emotion.
Bullying. This sort of thing exists in any school; it's just that here, it has been institutionalized and legalized.
My gaze shifted past Mary Saotome and looked above her head.
A surveillance camera was installed in that corner of the hallway.
However, the position where Saotome stood, and where the bullied boy knelt, happened to be half-blocked by a decorative Roman pillar. From the perspective of the monitoring room, one would likely only see a group of people gathered together, unable to discern the specific acts of abuse.
Was it intentional?
If it was a coincidence, then her luck was good. If it was deliberate, then this girl named Mary Saotome might be slightly more shrewd than she appeared on the surface.
But only slightly.
The expression of building one's pleasure upon trampling the weak exposed an overconfidence in her own status. People like that collapse faster than anyone else once they encounter a setback.
"Suzui." I withdrew my gaze, no longer looking at the farce. "Let's go."
"Eh? Ah... r-right." Suzui seemed relieved; he was likely terrified of being noticed by Saotome.
With my hand in my pocket, I lightly stroked the edge of a coin.
Money is the law.
Suzui's words echoed in my mind.
Since the rules are this simple, things will be easy. There is no need to rely on violence, nor on personal connections. As long as one controls the flow of money, one can control this prison called a school.
For someone like me, who studied countless economic models in the White Room, this is not a difficult task.
However, for now, I am merely an "unobtrusive transfer student."
Expressionless, I followed behind Suzui toward the library, away from the clamor.
Even so, I could feel that the gaze belonging to Mary Saotome seemed to linger briefly on my back the moment we turned away.
A hunter is usually curious about unfamiliar prey. But that's fine.
Because in this school, it is yet to be known who is the hunter and who is the prey.