The classroom door clicked shut behind Mashima Tomoya, and with it, a subtle, collective exhalation seemed to pass through Class 1-A. The formal restraint loosened, replaced by a palpable air of self-satisfied pride. A perfect thousand points—an unprecedented feat. It was a triumph that validated their status, their discipline, their collective intellect.
But the celebratory mood was a shallow one, and it began to recede as quickly as it had risen. As the initial flush of victory cooled, more analytical eyes returned to the stark figures lingering on the blackboard:
Class A: 1000 points
Class C: 910 points
Class B: 820 points
Class D: 0 points
Class A's perfect score was their due. Class D's zero, while stark, aligned perfectly with the month's chaos. Class B's 820 was respectable, understandable for a cohesive group.
But Class C… 910.
The number hung in the air like a sour note in a symphony. For most in Class A, the impression of Class C was one of controlled anarchy at best, delinquent laxity at worst. It was not a class that conjured images of meticulous rule-following. How could such a group not only avoid major deductions but score so highly—surpassing the seemingly harmonious Class B? The logic of it frayed at the edges, revealing a disturbing inconsistency.
Katsuragi Kōhei's broad frame was taut, his thick brows drawn together in a deep frown. His eyes were locked on Class C's offending score. As someone who prided himself on systemic order and data-driven outcomes, the anomaly screamed at him. He was nearly certain: Class C's result was not born of innate quality or diligent effort. It was the product of foreknowledge. They had cheated the test by reading the answer key.
But who had provided the key? Sakamoto was the obvious, immediate suspect. He was the source of Class A's own advantage. Yet, Katsuragi dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it came. His observations of Sakamoto painted a picture of deliberate, almost surgical action. He was not a disseminator of information; he was a strategic deployer of it. The leak, therefore, had to be internal. Someone within Class A's own ranks had traded their strategic advantage to an external rival.
The realization settled in his gut like a cold weight. Their perfect fortress had a crack. His resolve hardened silently: he would need to monitor the class's internal currents more closely, to identify this potential traitor.
In another part of the room, Hashimoto Masayoshi—blonde hair slicked back into a small, cynical ponytail, a perpetual smirk playing on his lips—was also dissecting Class C's score. Hashimoto occupied a unique space in Class A. He appreciated the benefits of their Sakamoto-driven success but maintained a private wariness of the boy's inscrutable, hands-off control. He preferred options, contingencies, backdoors.
Weeks ago, anticipating that the school's conflicts would be class-based, he had begun cultivating external connections. Class B, their nearest rival, was the logical starting point. But he bypassed the obvious leader, the radiant Ichinose Honami. His target was Kanzaki Ryūji.
On the surface, Kanzaki was the picture of calm reliability, a steady but unremarkable presence. Through carefully crafted interactions, however, Hashimoto had detected something else—a sharp, calculating mind operating just beneath the placid exterior. Kanzaki was no mere follower; he was a strategist, a thinker. And thinkers, Hashimoto knew, were often the most useful—and most dangerous—allies.
Hashimoto had not engaged in any substantive exchange of points or intelligence with Kanzaki. He understood the art of the long game; at this stage, establishing a channel of communication and a veneer of amicable neutrality was far more valuable than pressing for immediate gain. Future class conflicts were inevitable. It never hurt to plant seeds early.
Through these carefully measured interactions, he gleaned that Class B was indeed actively deciphering the school's systems on their own. Ichinose Honami was guiding her classmates toward better behavioral discipline—a confirmation of his own deductions. Hashimoto would occasionally, and seemingly offhand, drop vague hints about how daily conduct might influence evaluations, offering just enough perceived value to keep the line open without ever revealing the core mechanics he and Class A possessed.
When it came to Class C, however, his approach was one of extreme caution. He waited a full two weeks into the term before turning his attention to them. What he found was more layered than expected. Externally, Class C students maintained their reputation for roughhousing and laxity, but within the classroom, they displayed a jarring transformation into models of order. He did not make direct contact. Instead, he used his own discreet network to investigate their rapidly consolidating leader, Ryūen Kakeru.
The findings gave him pause. While rumors painted Ryūen as a brute who ruled through fear, the reality of his methods appeared more nuanced. He hadn't just bullied Class C into submission; he seemed to have first secured absolute dominance, then pivoted to a program of forced "improvement"—actively stamping out delinquent behaviors and instilling a harsh, fear-based discipline. The pattern felt familiar. It was a crude, heavy-handed echo of a style Hashimoto knew all too well.
It was an imitation, however distorted, of Sakamoto's influence in Class A. That subtle guidance from within, shaping behavior rather than merely suppressing it… the ghost of the method was there.
A chilling hypothesis took shape: Was there a hidden connection between Ryūen and Sakamoto? Had Ryūen received some form of tutelage, or—more alarmingly—direct intelligence from him?
This conjecture suddenly made Class C's anomalous 910 points frighteningly plausible. If Ryūen had been armed with the rulebook from the start and wielded his iron fist to enforce its every letter, a high score was not just possible—it was inevitable.
The detached observer within Hashimoto Masayoshi fell silent. A more urgent, proactive instinct took over. Passive investigation was no longer sufficient. He could not afford to remain on the periphery, piecing together puzzles from a distance.
It was time to step into the shadows with purpose. He needed to move beyond proxies and whispers. He would have to initiate direct, and undoubtedly dangerous, contact with the architect of Class C's disturbing rise: Ryūen Kakeru himself. The game of subtle alliances was over. A more overt, and riskier, gambit was about to begin.