Hey lads.
Its been a long while since I updated this story. So I hope you all are looking forward to it!
Now that we're done with the pleasantries… LETTTTTSSSSSSS BBEEEEEGGIIIIIIINNNNNNN!!!!!!!!
Start:
The gentle hum of the air conditioner echoed faintly along the deserted hallway as Ayanokōji Kiyotaka walked at a steady, unhurried pace.
His hands were tucked loosely into his pockets, gaze drifting absently forward, but his mind was anything but idle.
It had been just over two weeks since the incident in the locker room — two weeks since the classroom had been plunged into chaos.
For days afterward, the atmosphere in Class 1-D had felt like a minefield: one wrong glance, one poorly chosen word, and the already strained peace would shatter. The girls, many still unsettled and uneasy, had recoiled from the boys with narrowed eyes and suspicious silence. And the boys, with tempers ranging from wounded pride to outright hostility, responded in kind, grumbling amongst themselves and casting irritated glares in return.
The air was thick with friction, as though the class had been split down the middle by gender.
Kiyotaka had watched it all from the sidelines.
Though he had not said much in the aftermath, the consequences of what had transpired that day rippled far beyond the mere expulsion of Tanaka. In many ways, it had redefined how their class operated. For a time, it seemed irreparable.
And yet — as he had anticipated — equilibrium was beginning to return.
Much of the credit for that could be attributed to Hirata Yōsuke and Kushida Kikyō. The former had tirelessly reached out to both sides, hosting lunch meetings, coordinating mixed-gender group activities, and gently diffusing tension wherever it sparked.
The latter, radiant and charming as ever, played the role of mediator with almost supernatural grace, bouncing between friend groups and repairing fractured relationships with cheerful persistence. The two of them, together, had softened the bitter divide, restoring a fragile, but growing sense of unity.
The class was even starting to draw attention from outside.
Rumors had spread quickly across the university — how Class 1-D had one of their own expelled over a massive scandal involving the theft of the girls' underwear.
How the same class supposedly harbored a boy who shattered an Olympic world record for swimming in broad daylight. How that same class included Kushida, whose nickname "the angel of 1-D" had begun making its way into the mouths of upperclassmen, and Hirata, whose reputation had only grown as a dependable and charismatic leader.
Fortunately for Kiyotaka, most of the students outside class 1-d didn't believe the rumor of an unknown student, aka himself, shattering the Olympic world record for swimming. And for that, Kiyotaka was grateful, just as he was grateful that no one knew his name outside his class.
If one good thing had come from the expulsion of Tanaka, it was the fact that his (Kiyotaka) incredible, record-shattering feat, had become mostly sidelined.
Still, as he turned a quiet corner, footsteps muted against the hall tiles, a thought lingered in his mind: When will the wounds finally heal?
Time had dulled the edge of the conflict, but not erased it. Beneath the smiles and casual conversations, remnants of suspicion still festered. Trust, once broken, was a difficult thing to fully rebuild.
And he knew the longer it lingered, the more dangerous it became.
Two weeks ago — a day or two after the locker room incident — he had finally unraveled the full truth behind the S-System. His quiet investigations, subtle observations, and some well-placed questions had unearthed enough for a complete picture to form. The school's facade of freedom masked a rigid structure of control, a game of invisible points and silent manipulations.
He had pieced it together. All of it.
Now normally he would have been content to simply find out in due time, but having grown to care for some of his friends, he figured there was no harm in investigating just in case.
But after he had pieced it all together, he hadn't mentioned anything
Maybe it was because he wanted to see whether the class could mend itself. Maybe it was because he still hadn't decided what role he truly wanted to play. Or maybe… it was just easier to let things unfold on their own. But regardless, he hadn't said anything.
The only exceptions to that rule was Sudo who while in disbelief, still believed him, and chose to keep it secret as well in case they were wrong.
Yet now, as he neared the classroom, he found himself wondering if that time of passivity was coming to an end.
If the wounds won't heal on their own… should he step in? should he tell them what he found out?
He exhaled softly through his nose.
But he didn't get the chance to finish the thought.
Because standing directly in his path — perfectly centered in the narrow stairway like an actor upon a stage — was none other than Rokusuke Kōuenji.
The flamboyant student stood with regal posture, dressed immaculately in his tailored uniform, one hand on his hip, the other holding a small golden mirror at a perfect angle to catch the light. His gleaming blond hair flowed like a river of gold, immaculately combed, cascading over his shoulders in waves that would make a fashion model weep. As if admiring a masterpiece, he slowly turned his head left, then right, adjusting the tilt of his chin by mere millimeters.
Kiyotaka stopped in his tracks, gaze neutral.
"…Kōuenji," he said, voice flat but polite. "You're blocking the stairway."
Kōuenji did not respond immediately. Instead, he ran a finger down the length of his own jawline, eyes narrowed at his reflection, lips parted in exaggerated awe.
"Aah… such sublime cheekbones," he murmured. "Like the chiseled edge of Michelangelo's David… No, more resplendent! The divine sculptor himself could only dream of capturing such symmetry!"
Kiyotaka blinked, he waited a beat longer before sighing softly.
"May I pass?"
"Fufu…" Kōuenji chuckled with a theatrical flourish, finally lowering the mirror. "Ayanokōji-boy. You wound me. Is this the face of a man who obstructs? Nay, I am but a connoisseur of divine aesthetics, basking in my own radiance."
"…Right."
"But!" he declared suddenly, raising a manicured finger. "As it happens, I was awaiting your arrival."
Kiyotaka tilted his head slightly, wary but not surprised.
"You were?"
"Indeed." Kōuenji tucked away his mirror with a dramatic flick of his wrist, his eyes now gleaming with something far more focused — a sharp contrast to his usual flamboyance. "You see, I find myself most intrigued by you."
Kiyotaka said nothing.
Kōuenji stepped closer, lowering his voice to a silky near-whisper, though his tone still carried that same theatrical flair.
"You are… different," he said. "While others clamor for attention, you withdraw. While others chase approval, you remain unmoved. Yet somehow… you dominate the stage without stepping foot upon it."
"…That's quite the analysis."
"Ha! Modest, too," Kōuenji said, clasping his hands behind his back. "Tell me, Ayanokōji-boy… do you believe in destiny?"
Kiyotaka didn't answer.
Kōuenji smiled wider.
"As the heir to a most prestigious business empire, I have long understood that influence is currency, and that allies — rare, capable allies — are the gems by which empires rise or fall." He narrowed his eyes. "You, my enigmatic companion, may well be such a gem."
Kiyotaka regarded him silently.
"You're asking to form an alliance?"
Kōuenji chuckled.
"Let us not soil it with mundane terms," he said, brushing invisible dust from his shoulder. "Consider it a… potential friendship of convenience. Mutual curiosity. A bond forged not of necessity, but of intrigue."
"…I'll think about it," Kiyotaka replied.
"Splendid!" Kōuenji stepped aside at last, making a grand sweeping gesture. "Then walk, Ayanokōji-boy! Walk boldly down the path of fate, and know that the eyes of Rokusuke Kōuenji shall follow your journey with great anticipation!"
Kiyotaka began to move past, but paused as Kōuenji added one final remark, voice low and almost genuine:
"I look forward to seeing what you do in this boring university."
And with that, he turned his attention back to his mirror, posing anew with the practiced flair of a narcissist entirely in love with his own reflection.
Kiyotaka continued walking without another word.
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Third period arrived with the quiet tension of unspoken expectation. The door to the classroom slid open with a mechanical hum, and Chabashira Sae entered with her usual commanding presence. Despite her arrival, the classroom remained steeped in chatter, students immersed in their idle discussions.
She walked to the podium and set a small stack of paper upon it, then looked out over the students with her trademark sternness.
"Quiet down a little, please. Today's lesson will be a bit serious."
At first, the class barely reacted. A few chuckles rose.
"What do you mean, Sae-chan-sensei?" one of the more casual students called out playfully.
They'd already grown comfortable enough to use a pet name for her—though she always ignored it.
Unbothered, she picked up the stack of single-sheet tests and began distributing them down the rows.
"It's the end of the month. We're going to have a short test. Please pass these to the back."
The pages began to circulate as students accepted the news with confusion and panic.
Kiyotaka took his sheet when it reached him. The test was surprisingly brief—just twenty questions total, four per subject across five categories: Japanese, mathematics, science, history, and English. Each question, he noted, was worth five points, for a total of one hundred.
A groan rose from someone near the back. "Huh? Why weren't we told about this test. This isn't fair!"
Chabashira didn't stop pacing. "Don't say that. This test is just for future reference. It won't be reflected in your report cards. There's no risk involved, so don't worry. Of course, cheating is prohibited."
Her voice was calm but firm, each syllable deliberate as her sharp gaze swept the classroom. She turned on her heel to continue walking between the rows, her heels echoing like a metronome of tension. Her long legs moved with practiced grace, and the slit of her skirt occasionally revealed a glimpse of sheer black stockings clinging to her thighs.
Kiyotaka glanced down at his paper. Something about her phrasing struck him.
Just for future reference.
He considered the implications. At first glance, it suggested the test was meaningless—just data collection. But the way she said it left the door open.
Still, he set that aside and began the test.
The first few questions were insultingly easy. High school level at best. Fill-in-the-blank history prompts, simple vocabulary, and basic arithmetic. He completed the first half of the page in less than ten minutes.
But then came the final three questions.
They were completely different.
Advanced calculus, obscure literary analysis, and a physics problem that required understanding of multiple-stage thermodynamic principles. The difficulty spike was dramatic—absurd, even. These were problems designed for top-tier upperclassmen or graduate candidates. Not first-year undergraduates.
Whispers began to rise from others.
"What the hell are these last ones…?"
"No way. Is this a joke?"
"Quiet." Sae immediately shushed the murmuring student pair, glaring at them coldly.
Kiyotaka remained silent, pencil in hand as he worked at those questions that he'd long been able to solve thanks to the brutal yet undeniable efficiency of the whiteroom training.
From the front, Chabashira continued pacing, her calm, confident steps punctuating the growing unease. She paused briefly near Kiyotaka's row, one arm folding under her chest as she idly adjusted her sleeve, pushing her bust forward just enough to draw a couple of glances though those who glanced quickly returned back to their test.
Her eyes remained unreadable as she looked towards the focused but secretly aware Kiyotaka.
She said nothing.
And kept walking.
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The final chime of the bell echoed gently through the classroom, signaling the end of the day's lessons. Chairs scraped lightly against the floor as students began gathering their belongings, conversations resuming with a subdued hum after the earlier test. Bags zipped, pens clicked shut, and notebooks were slid back into desks with practiced ease.
At the front of the room, Chabashira-sensei collected the last of the test sheets from the students nearest to her, stacking them in a neat pile with her usual mechanical efficiency. She gave one final glance over the class.
"That will be all for today. You're dismissed."
With that, she turned sharply and exited the room, heels clicking against the floor until her footsteps faded into silence.
Kiyotaka got up, As was often the case, he was among the last to pack up. A quiet routine. Predictable. Comfortable. He slid the strap of his bag over one shoulder and stood just as the classroom had thinned considerably.
Unbeknownst to him, a certain someone had been watching his every movement with growing intent.
Across the room, Kushida Kikyou sat at her desk surrounded by her usual group—Mori, Wang, and Maezono—each chatting animatedly as they prepared to leave. The familiar warmth in their circle dimmed for a brief second as Kikyou's eyes flicked toward the door. Kiyotaka had just stepped out.
"…I'll catch up with you later," she said cheerfully, standing quickly.
Mori, who had followed her gaze with sharp intuition, instantly giggled, her mouth curling in a knowing smirk. "Ooooh? Kushida-chan? Going somewhere? Or should I say… chasing someone?"
Wang raised her eyebrows, immediately picking up on Mori's tone. "Wait… was that Ayanokouji-kun you were just looking at?"
Maezono joined in with a teasing smile. "Don't tell me you're crushing on the quietest man of Class 1-D?"
Kikyou flushed a gentle pink, her hands fluttering slightly as she waved them. "N-no! It's not like that! I just… I just want to talk to him about something, that's all!"
"Oh yeah?" Mori teased, elbowing her playfully. "Well, if it's just 'talking,' then we'll let you go. Good luck though~"
"M-Mori-san!" Kikyou squeaked, her cheeks glowing as the other girls giggled in chorus. Flustered but smiling, she quickly spun on her heel and darted toward the door.
The teasing followed her, soft laughter echoing behind.
Just ahead of her, Kiyotaka walked calmly, oblivious to what happened in the classroom.
"Ayanokouji-kun!" Kikyou called sweetly, her voice bright and melodic like a spring breeze.
Kiyotaka paused the moment he heard his name, instinctively recognizing her voice. Turning, he blinked as she jogged toward him, a bit breathless but smiling.
His eyes, however, were momentarily caught by the movement of her chest—her immense breasts bouncing softly with each hurried step. The fabric of her blouse stretched snugly across her figure, amplifying every subtle curve, and her short skirt fluttered faintly with each stride. She stopped before him with a light flush in her cheeks.
"Kushida-san," Kiyotaka greeted evenly, straightening slightly. "Did you need something from me?"
Kikyou pouted. "It's been, like… three weeks since school started. And we're still not friends."
Kiyotaka blinked. "I see."
She hesitated a moment, her gaze dipping as her tone softened. "Back then… on the bus… I was so embarrassed, and I didn't really know how to be around you without feeling embarrassed.."
"Ahh," Kiyotaka murmured in quiet understanding, the memory returning. "That makes sense."
They both fell silent for a beat. The air between them carried the faintest awkwardness. But then Kikyou looked up again with a bright, warm smile—so cheerful and dazzling that it momentarily made Kiyotaka's chest tighten.
"I'd like to be friends with you now, if that's alright."
He gave a small nod. "Sure. I'd like that."
"Yay!" she beamed, clapping her hands together. "Then, please call me Kikyou, okay?"
"…If you insist," he replied, blinking once.
"And…" she added, her voice lilting with playful hesitation, "can I call you by your first name too?"
"I don't mind," he said simply.
Kikyou positively sparkled with delight, her smile blooming even wider. "Great! Then let's celebrate our new friendship!"
Before he could ask what she meant, she gestured excitedly. "There's a really cute café near the central courtyard. It's called Fleur de Miel—'Honey Flower.' They serve the most amazing crepes and seasonal parfaits. It's pretty famous, actually!"
He tilted his head slightly. "I've never heard of it."
"That's okay!" she chirped, clearly not discouraged. "You'll love it, I promise!"
He had no real reason to refuse. "Alright."
With that, the pair began walking through the main hallway, side by side. The space around them gradually emptied as students dispersed, the sunlight painting golden rectangles along the tiled floor. They fell into a relaxed conversation—soft and idle, the words flowing easily, mostly thanks to the expertise of Kikyou who was a social butterfly.
A couple minutes later, they reached their destination.
Fleur de Miel stood at the corner of a small, landscaped plaza near the edge of campus. The café was charming and softly modern, with delicate white-gold accents, large glass windows, and elegant hanging lights that gave it an ethereal glow. Delicate vines curled around its iron sign, and a faint aroma of vanilla and strawberries drifted out as the door opened.
The moment Kiyotaka stepped inside, his eyes widened faintly. He counted at least three dozen female students seated inside—groups ranging anywhere from two to even six. The atmosphere buzzed with friendly chatter and clinking glasses. Amidst it all, he spotted only three other male customers.
Kikyou led him confidently toward an empty corner table.
But just before he followed, something caught his eye.
Across the café, seated at a table near the window, sat a young woman with soft strawberry-blonde hair. Her heart-shaped face turned toward him in accidental synchronicity—and their eyes met.
It was her.
The woman who had groped him during that chaotic moment weeks ago.
She froze. Then her face exploded in color, crimson racing from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She quickly looked away, flustered, shifting nervously in her seat.
Beside her, Amikura tilted her head curiously. Then she followed her friend's gaze and spotted Kiyotaka.
Her eyes widened. A mischievous grin bloomed across her lips.
Amikura whispered something quickly into the girl's ear, earning an even deeper blush.
Then, she turned and gave Kiyotaka a wide, knowing wave.
He blinked. And hesitated a moment before lifting a hand to return it—shy, subdued.
Kushida, who had noticed the entire exchange from the side, raised an eyebrow as she turned toward him.
"How do you know Ichinose-San, Kiyotaka-Kun? she asked sweetly, her eyes wide and crimson with curiosity.
"…It's a bit complicated," he murmured, scratching his cheek lightly.
Kushida pouted adorably. "Hmm, secrets already? We only just became friends, you know…"
But inwardly, her thoughts had already soured.
'Tch… already flirting with some other girl? How disgusting. Hmph.'
Still smiling sweetly, she leaned slightly closer as they took their seats.
"Let's order!" she said cheerfully.
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Time-skip: One week later.
The morning sun filtered dimly through the tinted windows of Lecture Hall 1-D, casting soft shadows over the rows of seated students. Though the hour was still early, the atmosphere felt tense—unspoken questions hung in the air, threading between glances and murmured speculation.
The room fell silent as Chabashira Sae entered precisely as the bell finished chiming. She walked with her usual crisp precision, holding a slim black tablet in one hand and a stack of printed sheets in the other.
She walked to the front without a word, placing her materials on the podium.
"Before we begin homeroom," she said coldly, her voice sharp as a blade, "I'll address the issue that's undoubtedly on everyone's mind."
A beat passed. She tapped the tablet's screen once. "Why haven't you received your monthly point deposits?"
A hushed murmur swept the room, confirming what many had feared.
Kiyotaka sat toward the back as always, arms folded, eyes only half-lidded.
A hand shot up—Hondou's.
"Um, I checked my account this morning, Sensei. Nothing came in. I thought points were supposed to be given on the first day?"
"They are," Chabashira replied flatly. "And they were. The system confirms all deposits were successfully processed."
"But—!" Hondou protested, confused.
Sae's eyes narrowed. "Don't interrupt. Let me make this perfectly clear."
She lifted her chin slightly, scanning the room with ice-cold authority.
"Every class starts with one hundred thousand points per student. That total is then evaluated monthly, based on performance, behavior, and attendance. Your results dictate your income."
A hush fell, heavier than before.
Yamauchi leaned forward in his seat, his usual cocky slouch replaced with visible anxiety. "Wait… you mean we got judged already? And lost the points?!"
"Correct," Chabashira confirmed.
A few gasps rang out. Several students exchanged shocked looks. From the corner of his eye, Kiyotaka noticed the Professor—Sotomura—tapping rapidly on his tablet, presumably checking his point ledger again, his expression pale and disbelieving.
"We've assessed your class based on several metrics," Sae continued dispassionately. "In the month of April alone, there were ninety-eight absences or late arrivals. Three hundred ninety-one recorded instances of unauthorized phone use during lectures. Behavioral infractions. Sleeping during lessons. Disrespect toward faculty. Some of you didn't even bother submitting assignments."
Ike's face flushed bright red. Yamauchi grumbled under his breath. Even usually composed students like Maezono and Wang blinked in disbelief.
"All of these," she continued, "factor directly into your class's monthly evaluation. And the result?"
A long pause.
"You received exactly zero points."
The announcement hit like a hammer. Disbelief rippled through the classroom like a slow-motion explosion.
"What the hell?! We got nothing?!" Yamauchi blurted, half-standing in his seat.
"None of us?!" Mori cried out, stunned.
"It's not a mistake?" Maezono muttered under her breath, checking her phone again.
Ike's jaw hung open, his entire posture collapsing as if his body refused to accept the information. Yamauchi was still muttering angrily, gesturing wildly at his phone. The Professor had stopped tapping—he just sat still, glasses slipping down his nose as he stared at his screen in numb shock.
Even Kushida Kikyou—perfect, composed, sweet Kikyou—was visibly thrown, her lips parted in an incredulous little gasp as her fingers tightened around her tablet.
And yet… not everyone was surprised.
Apart from himself, two others seemed not as off guard as the rest.
Sudo and Kouenji.
Sudo was growling under his breath but didn't speak. Having already known about the system thanks to Kiyotaka, though even he was not expecting for them to not receive a single point. Kouenji, predictably, looked utterly unfazed. He was leaning back in his seat, arms folded behind his head, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as if he'd expected all this and found it amusing.
Chabashira wasn't done.
"And let me remind you," she added, tone sharpening, "that this total also reflects the class's disciplinary record—including the expulsion of one of your classmates."
Kiyotaka blinked slowly.
Tanaka.
Sae's voice rang out again.
"As you all know, student Tanaka was expelled three weeks ago due to the theft of personal items belonging to female students. That single expulsion cost Class 1-D three hundred class points from your monthly evaluation score."
Kiyotaka could feel the ripple of tension grow again, this time tinged with quiet rage. Girls like Shinohara, Mori, and Maezono visibly flinched at the mention of the incident. Even the usually mellow Hasebe frowned. Sato clutched her tablet tighter, while Kei's expression darkened in disbelief.
"Expulsions carry weight, even one expulsion affects the whole class dramatically." Sae said simply.
Ike raised his hand again, practically shaking. "But that's insane! You said at orientation we'd get 100,000 points every month!"
Chabashira's eyes gleamed coldly behind her glasses.
"Did I?" she asked.
"I—I mean, that's what we thought!" Ike stammered.
"I suggest," she said icily, "that next time you listen more carefully."
Kouenji chuckled from his seat. "Fufu. I must admit, I rather enjoy watching the herd squirm."
"You were evaluated from day one. This school measures your actual merit, not your assumptions. You were given the chance to prove yourselves. Instead, you wasted every single opportunity." Sae stated coldly.
Silence descended, thick and oppressive.
Hirata, ever the composed diplomat, finally raised his hand.
"Sensei, may I ask something?"
Chabashira gave him a nod.
"I just don't understand," Hirata began, his tone measured and respectful as always. "Could you please tell us why we didn't receive any points? We won't be able to move forward unless we understand completely."
A hush fell once again. Chabashira stood tall, back straight as a ruler. Her voice was as cold as the breeze through an open window in winter.
"This school evaluates you not by kindness or leniency, but by performance. By merit. This time, you were evaluated as being worth absolutely nothing, thanks to what I mentione earlier, the ninety-eight absences or late arrivals. the Three hundred ninety-one recorded instances of unauthorized phone use during lectures. Behavioral infractions. Sleeping during lessons. Tanaka's expulsion, and so on ."
Hirata's gaze faltered slightly, but he didn't back down. "I understand," he said, "but… I really don't remember you explaining any of this."
Horikita, meanwhile, had already begun scribbling in her notebook—an uncharacteristic display of nervous analysis. She was tallying numbers rapidly, attempting to verify the scale of their self-destruction.
Chabashira turned her sharp stare to Hirata again. "What's the matter?" she said coolly. "Are you incapable of understanding something unless it's explained to you in painstaking detail?"
"No, that's not what I meant," he replied, steady but clearly rattled. "But if we had been told ahead of time that we'd be penalized for those things, we would've avoided them."
She tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing with faint amusement. "That's quite a bizarre argument. You mean to say that you needed explicit instructions not to be late or not to talk during class? Didn't you learn these things in elementary school?"
"Well, yes, but—"
"In your twelve years of compulsory education, surely you were taught that tardiness and interruptions were bad. And now you're claiming that without my explicit warning, you couldn't avoid such basic infractions?" Her voice never rose, yet it echoed with condemnation. "That's not a failure of the school. That's your own failure. A failure to take responsibility."
An oppressive quiet took hold once again. The students, even those who'd grown numb, had no answer.
With her arms folded, Chabashira's presence dominated the room. "Did you really think you'd be given 100,000 points each month without condition?" she asked. "This is a facility designed to cultivate the gifted. And you think that kind of generosity would come with no strings attached? Try using some common sense."
Though he was clearly frustrated, Hirata did not back down. He straightened his back and met her gaze squarely. "Then, sensei… could you at least explain how points are gained or lost? We'd like to understand it clearly so we can improve from here."
There was a pause.
And then, to the surprise of the class, Chabashira gave the smallest hint of a smirk.
"I cannot tell you," she said flatly. "The system behind student evaluation is confidential—just like in any company. When you enter a corporation, they don't tell you exactly how your performance is measured. They reserve the right to evaluate however they see fit."
She began pacing slowly, deliberately. "I'm not trying to be cold," she added. "In fact, I'll give you a small mercy. One bit of advice."
Students sat straighter. Eyes sharpened.
"Let's say you fix your behavior. Let's say you stop being late, stop being absent. Even if zero infractions are recorded next month, that does not mean your points will increase. You will still receive zero points."
Her tone remained level, unflinching. "From another perspective, you could say that no matter how hard you try, nothing will improve. So tell me—are you really at a loss, or not?"
A strained silence answered her question.
Hirata exhaled quietly, shoulders lowering just a fraction. Her logic had been sound—brutally so. Even he, a beacon of optimism, could see how futile their situation suddenly felt.
And then, without warning, the bell rang—signaling the end of homeroom.
Chabashira didn't waste time. "It looks like we spent too much time yammering," she said. "I trust you understood the gist of it. Now then—let's move on to the main topic."
She bent down briefly and retrieved a long, narrow poster tube from her bag. Removing the contents, she unfurled a crisp sheet and pinned it to the blackboard using magnets. A grid of numbers and letters filled the page, bold and unmistakable.
Students blinked in confusion.
"Are these… the class rankings?" Horikita asked, eyes narrowing.
Chabashira didn't answer immediately. The data spoke for itself.
To the side of the chart, four letters were displayed—A through D. To their right, each class's point balance was written in large, black font.
Class D: 0000
Class C: 0490
Class B: 0650
Class A: 0940
Even the least academically inclined students gasped softly.
"In this system, 1000 points equals 100,000 yen," Chabashira explained. "Every class started with it. Every class has lost points. But as you can see…" She gestured at the list. "You've lost the most."
"You've all been doing whatever you wanted for the past month," Chabashira continued. "We didn't restrict how you spent your points. Your behavior, however, affected how many you retained."
"No fair!" came Ike's outburst at last. "We're supposed to enjoy university life! This is messed up!"
Yamauchi groaned beside him, clearly devastated. "I spent all my points already!"
Chabashira barely acknowledged them.
"Morons," she said, not softly. "Every other class had the same chance. We gave all of you the same starting points. That should've been enough to live on."
"But… why did they lose less than we did?" Hirata murmured.
"Because they behaved better than you," Chabashira replied, her voice curt. "They followed the rules. You didn't."
Silence fell once more.
Chabashira stepped forward again. "Do you understand now why you were placed in Class D?"
Many students looked confused, one brave soul decided to voice their confusion. "Aren't classes randomly decided?"
A bitter smile curled Chabashira's lips.
"That's what you assumed," she replied. "But in this school, students are sorted by merit. The best go to Class A. The worst end up in Class D."
Her gaze swept the room. "Class D is for failures. For those at the bottom. This isn't bad luck—it's a reflection of your potential."
Horikita flinched, the words striking her harder than she expected. Her lips tightened, her nails digging lightly into her notebook.
Kiyotaka, meanwhile, simply stared at the board. So that was it. The evaluation system's cold, brutal logic was confirmed. Every movement they made. Every absent-minded comment. Every infraction.
All recorded. All punished.
But he didn't flinch. If anything, he felt clarity solidify in his chest.
Chabashira's voice broke through his thoughts again. "Still, I must say… this year's Class D is truly something. You're the first to ever burn through your entire supply in the first month."
A sarcastic clap echoed through the room. No one joined her.
"Won't the other classes mock us?" another voice asked.
A loud thwack interrupted the air—Sudou slamming his desk with a leg.
Despair was setting in.
"Still worried about your pride?" Chabashira asked, arching an eyebrow. "Then earn it back. Work. If you want to rise, make this class the best one."
Kiyotaka's eyes narrowed… especially as she looked over them all before her gaze fell on him, it stayed there for a second longer than most.
…
End
I hope you all liked this. The scene hasn't ended, but rather, I decided to end this unfinished so can see the continuation in the next chapter.
Hope you all liked it though, this chapter was more tame compared to the previous ones, but we'll get back in rhythm next chapter.
Anyway, take care lads.
Peace.