Inside the school's cavernous indoor swimming pool, the clamor of youth reverberated off the tiled walls. Water splashed in chaotic arcs, laughter rose and fell in waves—Class D students, for a brief window, seemed to have shed the weight of the month's devastating revelation, losing themselves in the cool, forgiving embrace of the water.
During the free activity period, the class had fractured into its natural groupings: the majority engaged in boisterous play, a few serious swimmers carved laps with focused efficiency, and a handful lingered on the periphery, watching.
But not everyone was swept up in the release.
Ayanokōji Kiyotaka sat alone at the pool's edge, his feet submerged in the cool blue. His gaze was a calm, detached lens observing the frolicking chaos, his expression its usual mask of placid indifference. A quiet, internal sigh echoed in the silence of his mind. Making friends… it really is as difficult as ever. Integrating into this kind of aimless, exuberant play remained an alien calculus.
"What are you pondering all by yourself?"
The voice was clear, cold, and familiar. He turned to see Horikita Suzune standing beside him, her arrival as silent as a shadow. She wore the standard school swimsuit, which outlined a figure both slender and poised. Her long black hair clung damply to her neck and cheeks, accentuating the pale severity of her skin and the unwavering seriousness of her expression.
"Just a passing thought," Ayanokōji deflected, his gaze returning to the water.
Horikita did not press. She simply took the empty space beside him, her own eyes turning toward the aquatic cacophony. "Even after everything that's happened, our class certainly knows how to… unwind," she remarked, her tone flat.
"Perhaps they're trying to clear their minds," Ayanokōji offered.
The joyful noise from the pool washed over them, making their quiet corner feel like an isolated island of sober observation.
"They're carrying on like children," Horikita said, her gaze sweeping over the laughing faces. A rare trace of something softer than disdain colored her next words. "But… I suppose the situation isn't entirely hopeless."
It was a concession, bleak but significant. According to the S-system's brutal logic, they were collectively branded as defective.
"You're one of them, too," Ayanokōji noted, his tone matter-of-fact, not accusatory.
Horikita merely offered a quiet "Mm," neither refuting nor affirming. The shared silence that followed was thick with unspoken acknowledgment. Both were pulled back to the morning of May 1st—the dead silence that had gripped the classroom, the cold shock that had solidified into a lingering panic.
Horikita had not shared in the widespread outrage. Her reaction had been one of grim confirmation. Over the past month, her sharp eyes had catalogued the stark contrasts: the disciplined order of Class A, the cohesive energy of Class B, set against Class D's indulgent chaos. The S-system's revelation had merely codified her private suspicions into public, humiliating fact.
In the aftermath, she had sought out Chabashira Sae alone. She demanded an answer—a personal one. She had tested into this school with excellent scores. Her conduct had been flawless. By what hidden metric had she been condemned to Class D?
That conversation in the counselor's office… Ayanokōji remembered it too. He had been summoned over the intercom that same day. On his way, he had encountered an unexpected obstruction: Class B's homeroom teacher, Hoshinomiya Chie.
The woman with the gentle smile and brown curls, who carried herself more like a mischievous senior than an instructor, had seemingly taken a sudden interest in him. She had blocked his path, peppering him with friendly, probing questions he had no intention of answering. Just as he was calculating an exit strategy, a timely intervention arrived.
Ichinose Honami, her pink hair a splash of color, had appeared with a warm smile, deftly extracting her curious teacher with a mix of apology and charm, sparing Ayanokōji a final, friendly glance before guiding Hoshinomiya away.
Ayanokōji had noted her then. The leader of Class B. He'd learned her name during his own, quiet investigations into Sakamoto.
Finally free, he had proceeded to the counseling room. The atmosphere within had been a different kind of chill altogether—heavy, clinical, and charged with a tension that still lingered in his memory.
Chabashira Sae had sat behind her desk, a monument to impassive authority. Horikita Suzune stood before her, a statue of stubborn defiance, her question a blade: "Why was I assigned to Class D?"
The reply had been a clinical amputation. "The assignment was no error. You are precisely the caliber of student destined for Class D." Chabashira's voice held no malice, only a colder thing: dispassionate fact. She had offered the sterile carrot: "Class placements are fluid. Promotion to Class A by graduation remains possible." It was a statement that sounded like hope but felt like a refined form of mockery.
Horikita had pressed her lips into a thin line, swallowing further protest.
Then, Chabashira's gaze had shifted to the newcomer, Ayanokōji. She produced a transcript, laying it flat. On it, every entrance exam and quiz score for Ayanokōji Kiyotaka was etched with impossible uniformity: *50 points*. Every subject. Every time.
"This cannot be a coincidence," Chabashira had stated, her eyes boring into him. She didn't accuse him of hiding his abilities outright, but the implication hung in the air, thick and undeniable.
The meeting had dissolved into a charged, silent stalemate. No answers for Horikita, no admissions from Ayanokōji, only the quiet hum of unresolved tension.
***
The memory faded, replaced by the present cacophony of the pool.
Ayanokōji glanced at the silent Horikita beside him. "Are you serious about reaching Class A?" he asked, his tone neutral.
"Of course." Her reply was instantaneous, her gaze hardening with resolve. "Given the available data, accumulating class points requires a systemic correction of behavior. The first concrete step is a dominant performance in the upcoming First-Year Midterm Exam."
Her attitude toward him had undergone a subtle, significant shift. The counseling room revelation had shattered any illusion of his mediocrity. That perfect, impossible control over his scores was a signal. This unassuming boy was an anomaly—a potential asset, or a hidden variable she needed to understand.
***
High above the watery chaos, on the second-floor observation level, a world apart existed.
A thick blind covered one window, sealing a room in absolute darkness—a stark contrast to the sun-drenched noise below. A hand parted a single slat, creating a narrow aperture.
Through it, a pair of hawk-like eyes gazed down, their sweep methodical and detached. They first passed indifferently over the frolicking mass of Class D, then catalogued the smaller cliques and solitary figures lingering at the pool's edge. Finally, they settled, for a measured few seconds, on the two isolated figures seated apart from the revelry: Ayanokōji Kiyotaka and Horikita Suzune.
The hand withdrew. The slat closed, swallowing the light.
In the restored darkness, a low, authoritative voice broke the silence, its tone one of cool appraisal.
"First-Year Class A: Sakamoto. First-Year Class C: Ryūen Kakeru."
A deliberate pause followed, as if the speaker was tasting the weight of the names.
"Congratulations are in order. The class points your sections accrued this month stand at 1,000 and 910, respectively."
Another pause, then a single, measured phrase, laden with unspoken calculation:
"Well done…"
The speaker turned slowly. The faint ambient light from the sealed window faintly outlined a stern, sharp profile. It was the apex of the school's hierarchy, the president of the Student Council and leader of Third-Year Class A: Horikita Manabu.
The distant, unreachable star by which Horikita Suzune unconsciously charted her course.