Hishida's Perspective

The negotiation was over, the matters settled, the points assigned to their places, and we stood up to return to our respective classrooms. The students, wandering the hallways and cafeteria, all began heading in one direction: towards their classrooms. The sunlight filtered gently through the windows, filling the room with a bright light that added a special glow to the entire space.

It was clear that we were still in the middle of the day. I walked alongside Ayanokoji.

Hishida: – So, Ayanokoji, what did you think?

Ayanokoji looked at me with his usual indifferent expression, but it was easy to see he was slightly surprised by the events that had just unfolded. However, he showed nothing more. He quickly regained his composure. From his perspective, my way of negotiating with someone hadn't really surprised him; he knew, in other words, that I could be strategic. He knew that challenging my reasoning and anticipation skills would be a perilous task.

Ayanokoji: – I found it interesting, I suppose.

Despite this response, he preferred to remain evasive, as always. But I had picked up on the underlying element in his speech.

Ayanokoji: – I must admit, I'm a bit surprised. I thought it wouldn't be that easy.

In other words, Ayanokoji had doubts about the school system. He had probably anticipated that the school would offer many advantages, that students would be rewarded, and that we would be allowed to make mistakes, like in any typical educational institution. But this apparent generosity was concealing a trap, and the question he faced was simple:

Would it really be that easy?

Considering the school's reputation, recognized as the best in Japan with a 100% hiring rate, it seemed hard to believe that everything could be so simple. There had to be hidden stakes.

When Ayanokoji received his first points, he didn't flaunt them. He simply bought instant noodles to try, and that was it. It was just a small pleasure with little value. Even today, he didn't splurge and stuck to a cheap dish in terms of points. He knew, like I did, that taking advantage of something free could be a trap.

That was probably the reasoning he followed.

As for my opinion...

There's nothing more dangerous than something free.

To indulge in it without reserve, to overuse it, meant becoming dependent on it. Moreover, no one gives something for free without a reason. Whether it's to generate a feeling of gratitude, subtly manipulate us, or set up a trap later, there's always a reason behind a gift. In reality, this school wanted us to understand that outside its walls, nothing is free. If you realize this, if you reflect on this idea, then you can navigate the system with full awareness.

That was my interpretation of the situation.

Nothing is free.

Ayanokoji: – And you, Hishida, what are you going to do?

Hishida: – What do you mean?

Ayanokoji: – You've seen that our classmates seem a bit too distracted by their points. If we don't do anything, and if what the terminal said is true, we're heading straight for disaster.

Our classmates probably had doubts, but their mindset was mainly focused on the advantages the points could bring them, not on the hidden dangers. They chose to ignore the issue rather than examine it closely. This attitude showed that humans prefer to live in ignorance rather than confront the reality of their choices. If no one told them anything, they would continue to live in their bubble of illusion until they suffered the consequences.

Hishida: – Kushida will handle it. She'll ask Hirata for help, and knowing his character, he'll probably agree. They might not be able to convince everyone 100% about what we discovered, but at least our classmates will be more cautious.

Of course, this wouldn't radically change their behavior. They would probably continue with the same work pace as in middle school. It would require an adjustment effort. But it wasn't unrealistic to hope that a large part of the class would make an effort on simple things, like showing up on time, not chatting, and not using their phones in class. Everyone could make that effort, and it would be enough to avoid disaster. I wasn't worried about that.

Work would begin as soon as the teacher explained the consequences of academic negligence. It didn't matter whether it was me, Hirata, or Kushida talking about it; what mattered was how the class would react to the information. The impact was such that they often preferred to run away from the truth rather than face it.

Ayanokoji: – I see.

The reason for talking to Ayanokoji had a specific purpose in this context. I had hypothesized that he had lived in isolation, probably because of his parents. If the reason for this situation was that he was too intelligent for their comfort, I absolutely had to understand his reasoning and approach. It was a risky gamble, but it was also an opportunity. If what he said was true, maybe I had a cover for this situation. But if I was wrong...

That was also one of the reasons I had let him observe the negotiation with me. Every gesture, every response from Ayanokoji was a valuable source of information to better understand his abilities.

Later, I continued my classes, absorbing the concepts Ayanokoji had explained to me. Tokito joined me later in the day. She was silent, as usual, while I preferred to enjoy a pancake Horikita had given me. It seemed that Horikita had grown closer to Tokito than I would have expected. It was surprising to see how much Tokito seemed to open up, perhaps a little too much for my taste.

The day slowly ended. The sun gradually set, dimming the light that filtered through the windows. The students became increasingly scarce in the hallways. Streetlights began casting their light, illuminating the streets of this small society forming within the school. The calm settled in.

It was time to go home. I returned after this day full of information, but with no time to reflect on everything that had happened.

Tokito spent the evening gazing at the stars, silent, with her usual empty, detached look. As for me, I focused on my revisions, absorbing the lessons I had been taught. I didn't have time to think about my plans for now. That would come later. For the moment, I was immersed in my learning.

I had already been at the school for two years, after having missed 13 years of my life without attending school, barely able to write. Even though I was behind compared to others, I was learning quickly. In one year, I had covered the entire elementary and middle school curriculum. If I had to estimate, I still needed about two months to reach the level of a normal high school student and a year to fully grasp the high school curriculum.

Hishida: – Patience. Only perseverance will allow me to overcome this goal. My strategies won't work for this one. Only perseverance will give me the knowledge I need.

I had to give my all. I planned to take a break on Sunday afternoon, but in the meantime, I dedicated all my time to learning high school subjects. There are, of course, talents, physical strength, and strategies to adopt for each scenario. But one skill is more important than all the others: perseverance.

It was time to sleep. I went to bed at 11 PM to enjoy a restorative night's sleep. The human body needs rest, and for me, I needed at least six hours of sleep, but eight or nine hours would be ideal for quality rest. It was essential to maintain my mind and body in shape. Sleep time was crucial for my overall well-being, especially during such an intense period. There were many variables, and I was learning more and more to understand how to optimize my routine to reach my goals efficiently. Proper sleep management would be one of the keys to supporting my learning and long-term efforts.

Morning came quickly, and the day began with a sense of uncertainty. I had been waiting for this day for an entire month, anticipating every possible scenario. Today, I would find out if my class would receive points or not, and if my hypotheses were correct. I had observed this month closely, and several elements gave me clues. In particular, the tests we had the day before were a kind of trial. I knew from the terminal's information that they would be used to measure our abilities and justify the points that would be given to each student. Seeing this reality confirm before me proved that what the terminal had said was not a lie. The system worked as expected.

Therefore, the result of this day seemed already predictable, and I had mentally prepared myself. I had also anticipated the impact of this points distribution on my classmates. Some of them were likely to be too distracted by these easy points, believing they could get what they wanted without effort. It was a trap many would risk falling into, and I had to make sure to guide them in the right direction.

To be honest, this situation had placed me in a delicate position. I knew that managing the points could cause total confusion among my classmates. Some would take this "reward" lightly, while others, like me, would understand its significance. This difference in perception would determine the alliances and conflicts within the class. It was crucial to take advantage of this system to shape the upcoming events.

I also knew that if I wanted to maintain control over the class, I had to fully understand the social dynamics at play. Kushida and Hirata, for example, were crucial elements in this mechanism. Their social influence was a valuable asset, but also a danger if I wasn't able to manipulate them skillfully. My goal wasn't just to play by the rules, but to redefine those rules on my own terms. And for that, I had to be alert to every opportunity, every change in the environment.

Hishida: – It doesn't matter if Kushida finds out what I'm planning. I can always say that it was Horikita who gave me the order. Horikita will understand the importance of maintaining control over the class, and she can play a key role in covering for me. If my plan fails, it won't cause much damage. But convincing Horikita to do what I want is another story.

Horikita was a special case. She wasn't as easy to manipulate as the others, and I knew that would pose a problem. Convincing someone of their value as an ally was a difficult task. I would need to find a way to persuade her to follow me. After all, she didn't necessarily need friends in this context, but a strategic ally would be beneficial for her. I had to make her understand that she could benefit from this alliance, while presenting it as a way for her to secure her own future.

In the meantime, I had an immediate task to accomplish: making sure that the distribution of points wouldn't completely destabilize the class. I looked at my phone and saw the points assigned to me: 21,256 points, which made a total of 212 points. I had already spent about 20,000 points on various school-related expenses, as well as the 15,000 points I had given during the negotiation with the terminal. This left me with a significant balance, but the key was to keep control of my resources for the future.

Hishida: – Adding the points received today, I now have more than 100,000 points. I will probably have to make more negotiations in the future. I need to find a way to generate even more points.

That said, it was imperative not to get distracted. I had to anticipate the next moves, whether in terms of my relationships with my classmates or the management of points. Everything could change in an instant if I made a mistake. Every decision, every exchange was part of a larger plan that I had to orchestrate with precision.

At that moment, Chabashira entered the classroom. She had the same expression as when she arrived at the beginning of the year, a sort of neutrality that revealed nothing of her true intentions. Everything was carefully controlled with her, and she knew how to play her role as an authority figure. But I wasn't fooled. I knew she was a key piece in the puzzle of the educational system. Her role was to maintain order and ensure the students followed the rules.

Chabashira: I imagine you have some questions to ask. We will start with the class life.

She said confidently, standing in front of the board, her eyes scanning the assembly of students. She waited a few moments, but a heavy silence settled. No student responded, and an uncomfortable tension hung in the air. Finally, she broke the silence again.

Chabashira: Hmm? No questions?

A student eventually stood up. His upright posture and serious face betrayed a desire to understand.

Hirata: Let's just say we already have an idea of what happened, ma'am.

For the first time since entering the classroom, Chabashira showed a slightly surprised expression.

Chabashira: You know? Really? And what do you know then?

Hirata: Kushida explained to us that the points and our behavior directly affect our grades. You said that these reflect our value. Initially, we were each estimated at 100,000 points, but now, our collective balance is around 21,000 points.

Hirata demonstrated a clear and concise analysis. This young man was a rare element: intelligent, with sharp social skills, and naturally inclined to assume a leadership role. But like the others, he had his flaws. His desire for universal harmony and his inability to make difficult decisions made him an immature individual for this elite school.

Chabashira: Impressive, Hirata. I must admit, you've grasped certain aspects well. But what troubles you?

Hirata: I contacted friends in Class A, and they've lost barely 2,000 points. How could we lose so much? It doesn't make sense.

The fact that Class A had kept 98% of their initial capital highlighted the stark gap between the two groups.

Hirata: Yet, we were flawless in behavior, and our grades were good. So why such a difference?

That was Hirata's fundamental mistake: he considered this school to be a place where only academic results mattered, and where all students were presumed to be elites. He still didn't understand that this school wasn't just training intellectuals, but leaders and models adapted to Japanese society. The system didn't only evaluate objective performance but also the human flaws and potential.

Chabashira gave a smile that was almost mocking.

Chabashira: Interesting, Hirata. It's quite amusing to see that you've understood only a quarter of the rules of this school.

Hirata: Then explain it to us. How are we supposed to understand if you don't guide us?

Chabashira: Very well.

She turned around and wrote numbers on the board.

Class A: 980 points

Class B: 648 points

Class C: 456 points

Class D: 210 points

Murmurs began to rise among the students. The ranking was clear, and the hierarchy was obvious. Horikita frowned, while others seemed simply confused or shocked. As for me, I remained impassive, just like my sister, Tokito.

Hirata: What exactly does this ranking mean?

Chabashira: You still don't get it, Hirata? It's not that complicated. Just like in traditional systems, Class D is where... the failures are grouped. Those whom society considers defective products.

This remark made Horikita jump, her pride seemingly deeply wounded. She couldn't stand the idea of being associated with such a group. To her, her place in this class had to be a mistake, an aberration that needed to be corrected.

Chabashira: Oh, I almost forgot...

She took out a sheet and waved it so the whole class could see. It was the table of results from the last exam. An average of about 60 points was clearly visible, but that wasn't what was most shocking. The individual scores told a whole different story: Ike with a miserable 17, and Sudo, at the bottom of the list, with an astonishing 5 in mathematics.

Horikita, true to her image, had perfect scores, while my results were deliberately average: 49 in mathematics, 51 in Japanese, and similar scores in other subjects. However, one anomaly caught my attention.

50 points, right in the middle, across all subjects? Ayanokoji. He was playing a subtle game. Manipulating his grades this way discreetly drew attention from those capable of reading between the lines. It wasn't a harmless strategy, and it piqued my curiosity.

Chabashira: Honestly, you're pathetic. With scores like these, eight of you would have already been expelled.

The class began to stir. Ike was the first to stand up, panicked.

Ike: WHAT?! NO ONE TOLD US ABOUT THIS!

His cry, filled with despair, reflected the injustice he felt. However, as for me, I remained perfectly calm. This didn't concern me.

Chabashira: Oh, and for those who were hoping to graduate for free, only Class A has that privilege.

Yukimura: Is this a joke?!

Yukimura, a serious student with perfectly adjusted glasses, jumped to his feet. Despite his excellent results, he seemed on edge.

Yukimura: SO WHAT? ARE WE ALL FAILURES ACCORDING TO THIS SCHOOL?

Koenji: What a disgrace. Nothing is more pathetic than a man who panics like this.

Koenji, true to form, simply adjusted his hair in his pocket mirror before casting a condescending glance at Yukimura.

Yukimura: And you, Koenji? Don't you care that the school treats you like a failure?

Koenji elegantly closed his mirror, an arrogant smile on his lips.

Koenji: Me, a failure? What nonsense. If this school places me in Class D, it's only because it's incapable of evaluating my true worth. I couldn't care less about their opinions. After all, I'm destined to inherit my father's empire.

His boundless narcissism was both fascinating and exasperating.

As the chaos grew, Chabashira clearly savored the scene. She wore a satisfied, almost cruel smile. But this situation? I had anticipated it.

I could have, from the very beginning, given Kushida all the necessary information. But I didn't. Why? Because the class needed this shock. People really only change when they're confronted with their mistakes brutally. They needed to understand the consequences of their negligence.

By withholding certain information, I had allowed the class to adopt a slightly more responsible behavior, but still insufficient. This chaos would finally give them a reason to work. Sure, a minority, like Ike or Sudo, would likely remain indifferent to any effort, but I had a few ideas for them.

Chabashira: You can still turn things around. But let me warn you: in the entire history of this school, no Class D has ever climbed the ranks.

With those words, she left the room, leaving behind a heavy and oppressive atmosphere.

If what she said was true, then grades weren't the only determining factor. Other elements were at play: hidden aspects related to each student's past, potential, or ideals.

No matter what efforts it took, I had to reach Class A. Not for me, but for my little sister Tokito. I had promised her a normal life, far from our past problems. This school was a tool, a means to fulfill that promise.

And nothing would stop me.