The pavement radiated the afternoon heat straight through the thin soles of my school loafers. I kept my head down and weaved through the slow-moving groups of students clogging the sidewalk.
My uniform shirt clung to my back with sweat. I did not care about the humidity. I just needed to reach the bookstore before the shelves were picked clean.
Today was release day. Year 3, Volume 12. I had been waiting for months to see the fallout of the latest special exam.
My name is [XXXXXXXXX]. I am a super fan of Classroom of the Elite.
That sounds like a generic introduction, maybe. But it is the simple truth. I spent my nights dissecting the rules of the school's point system, mapping out Ayanokouji's hidden moves, and analyzing the chaotic social hierarchy of the Tokyo Metropolitan Advanced Nurturing High School.
It was an obsession. I memorized the class rosters. I tracked the private point balances of the side characters just to guess who would be expelled next. I lived and breathed the psychological warfare printed on those pages.
The automatic glass doors of the animate store slid open with a soft mechanical hum. Cold, air-conditioned air washed over my face. It carried the familiar and comforting scent of printed paper and shrink-wrapped plastic.
"Move it, I need to see the illustration!" a guy in a high school track jacket barked, nearly tripping over my heels as he lunged toward the corner. Two girls huddled by a standee nearby were whispering loudly, pointing at the cover of the new volume. "If Horikita loses this time, I'm literally dropping the series," one of them muttered, her thumb scrolling frantically through a fan forum on her phone.
The shop felt cramped, vibrating with the nervous energy of people terrified of spoilers.
I bypassed the crowded manga aisles near the entrance completely. My target was the light novel section in the back right corner.
Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. A bubbly anime opening theme played softly from the ceiling speakers. I looked the new releases display.
There it is.
The glossy cover of Year 3 Volume 12 caught the glare of the overhead lights. I picked up a copy, feeling the satisfying weight of the thick paper block in my hands. I ran my thumb over the spine.
The synopsis on the back promised a brutal confrontation between the top classes. I gripped the book tightly and walked directly to the front counter.
A tired-looking cashier in a blue apron stood behind the register. She had dark circles under her eyes and was tapping her fingers rhythmically against the laminate counter.
I set the light novel down.
"Will that be all for you today?" the cashier asked. She sounded tired.
I opened my mouth to say yes. A flash of copper-brown hair caught my attention inside the glass display case positioned right beneath the register.
I stopped. It was a scale figurine.
Matsushita Chiaki.
She was posed dynamically in her red school uniform, one hand brushing her hair behind her ear. Her blue-violet eyes were captured perfectly in the molded plastic, holding that signature look of hidden observation.
Merchandise for the side characters was incredibly rare. To find a high-quality figure of the girl who secretly monitored the class from the shadows seemed like a stroke of absurd luck on release day.
"Actually, wait," I said. I pointed a finger at the glass case. "I want to add that figure. The Matsushita Chiaki one on the second shelf."
The cashier blinked and let out a quiet sigh and pulled a ring of small keys from her apron pocket. She bent down and unlocked the sliding glass door. The metal track ground loudly as she pushed the glass aside. Carefully, she extracted the boxed figure and set it on the counter right next to the novel.
Beep.
The barcode scanner flashed a sharp red line over the back of the book.
Beep. It flashed again over the plastic window of the figurine box.
"That comes to eight thousand four hundred yen," the cashier muttered. She pressed a button on the screen.
Ka-ching.
The cash register drawer popped open with a heavy metallic clatter.