Chapter 162 Nagumo Miyabi: I Have Suffered a Crushing Defeat
"I'm sorry, Vice President Nagumo." The Class 3-B representative shook his head, his tone resolute.
"I cannot agree to your request. Class Points are public knowledge; you should be aware of how massive the gap is between us and Class A. You want me to hand over our past test papers and assist you in dealing with Special Exams in exchange for the entire second-year grade helping our class deal with Class 3-A? I won't do it. This past year, there haven't been many cross-grade Special Exams to begin with. Therefore, I must decline."
Nagumo Miyabi could only watch helplessly as the other boy refused him, his fists unconsciously tightening.
'Rejected again!
That makes three now, doesn't it!'
He took a deep breath, recalling yesterday—the responses he received when meeting with the leaders of Class 3-D and 3-C were almost identical. They were all "painfully aware they couldn't compete with Class 3-A," and even their phrasing carried a similar sense of helplessness.
Worse still, just moments ago, his homeroom teacher had sent a message stating clearly that the school would not intervene in the matter of the "test papers."
'President... is this what you look like when you get serious?'
By now, he finally sensed how thorny the situation had become. It seemed that buying the test papers from the third-year classes as collective units was going to be impossible. He couldn't help but feel a pang of regret—why had he been so adamant about preventing the other classes from buying the test papers in the first place? If he had loosened his grip then, perhaps the situation wouldn't be in such a stalemate now.
But on second thought, he convinced himself: this decision was inevitable for him. After all, his personality had long ago dictated his choices.
'...President, oh President, is all of this within your calculations?'
Nagumo Miyabi's mood was complex, carrying a few parts of suppressed resentment, yet hiding a sliver of secret excitement—the genius he regarded as his arch-rival had finally made a move. And the strike was so crisp and direct, without the slightest hesitation. A strange sense of joy even bubbled up in his heart.
'Does this mean the President has actually been paying attention to me all along?'
After all, if he hadn't been watching him, how could he have devised a method so precisely targeted at him?
But the President had still underestimated him—he still held one last trump card.
"What if I said I intended to use eight million private points to buy the third-year test papers from you?" Nagumo Miyabi suddenly spoke, his tone sharp with the edge of a desperate gamble.
"As the representative of Class 3-B, after three years of class fund subsidies, you must have accumulated quite a lot of private points personally. I'll give you eight million, which is enough for you to transfer to Class A directly. In that case, you should be willing to sell the papers to me, right?"
The expression of the Class 3-B representative finally showed a sign of wavering.
Eight million private points—it was enough for any ordinary student to live without worry after graduation, or even directly bridge the point gap to transfer to Class A. It was a figure he hadn't dared to dream of over the past three years.
Nagumo keenly caught the surprise in the other's eyes, and the corner of his mouth hooked into an imperceptible arc.
"Senpai, you should realize this is a deal where you can't lose. Just a few used test papers in exchange for a direct chance to enter Class A. It's worth it."
The representative's Adam's apple bobbed. His gaze drifted toward the end of the hallway as if weighing the options.
"Vice President Nagumo," he suddenly said, his voice deeper than before, "Unfortunately, I still cannot agree."
"What?!"
"I don't have that many private points on me to begin with. Twelve million... you really think too highly of me."
"Even so," Nagumo pressed on, "eight million points should be considered a significant sum for any student, shouldn't it?"
"It's not worth it." The representative shook his head, his tone carrying the clarity of someone nearing graduation.
"We third-years are about to graduate; points have long since lost much meaning to us. Furthermore, the President has already promised everyone in the third year—as long as we agree to block the test papers, he will arrange corresponding resources for us after graduation. As you know, that group in Class A is guaranteed to enter prestigious universities after graduation. I don't need to offend the entirety of Class A for this small benefit. If I did that, I wouldn't be able to survive in society later."
Nagumo Miyabi's face darkened completely. He truly hadn't expected this Class 3-B representative, who usually had little presence in the third year, to weigh the pros and cons so thoroughly.
"Resources?" He raised an eyebrow in retort.
"The 'big pie' the President drew—you actually believe it? Once you graduate, he might forget today's promise entirely."
The representative looked as if he had heard the world's biggest joke, his eyebrows shooting up.
"You're questioning the President's character? Nagumo Miyabi, consider for yourself how ridiculous that sounds!"
Nagumo froze on the spot. He knew better than anyone how ironclad the character and integrity of his Student Council President were—having served as President for three consecutive years without ever accepting a single extra point was the strongest proof. When the President spoke, his words carried weight and never went unfulfilled.
"Nagumo, you are still young; perhaps you don't understand the weight of character and promises." The representative's tone softened, and he sighed gently. "Some promises are much more precious than points. Especially for those of us about to graduate, it's even more so."
His tone took on a hint of solemnity: "Furthermore, this matter was agreed upon unanimously by our entire class. As the representative, I cannot easily betray everyone—this also concerns my own character. Whether it's Class A or Class B, we won't stop existing to each other after graduation. Connections and character are the most fundamental things when stepping into society. We can't stay in school forever; eventually, we have to go out and make our way. Having people you know makes it easy to accomplish anything."
He checked his watch and said no more, turning toward the stairs.
"Excuse me."
Nagumo Miyabi stood paralyzed. A thought flashed through his mind—should he go to other classes to test them? But the moment the idea appeared, he crushed it.
'If even the Class 3-B representative can't produce twelve million private points, there's no need to mention the other classes.
Unless I'm an idiot and directly shell out twenty million points to buy test papers from a single individual. But doing that would be worse than agreeing to the President's demand—after all, he only wants ten million.
Furthermore, the President actually gave them a promise.'
Another terrible thought emerged: should he send some people to a place without surveillance—like the Special Annex, where there are no cameras—grab a random third-year, and use physical threats to force them to hand over the papers?
But as soon as the thought took shape, he snuffed it out. If he actually did that, he couldn't imagine how the President would look at him. Just imagining the image of his rival looking at him with that contemptuous and disdainful gaze made him so agitated his whole body tensed, his fingernails nearly sinking into his palms.
This feeling was several times worse than when Asahina Nazuna refused to go on a date with him.
"This contest with the President... it seems I have suffered a crushing defeat." He whispered to himself, yet suddenly realized that his tone didn't contain the dejection he expected. Instead, a strange excitement surged in his heart.
Was it because the President was finally willing to use his full strength to clash with him seriously? Or was it that he felt a genuine sense of admiration for the performance a true genius should have?
But in his heart, another more important question lingered. He personally knew the President far better than that woman Tachibana Akane—this move clearly wasn't the President's style.
Was it a tactic he came up with because he was pushed into a corner, or was there someone else behind the President?
In this school... could there be another "genius"?
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