The midday cafeteria thrummed with chaotic energy, a symphony of clattering trays and overlapping conversations. In a quieter corner, Horikita Suzune and Ayanokōji Kiyotaka sat across from each other, an island of stark contrast.
Horikita's tray held a spartan, economical student set meal. Ayanokōji's, in stark opposition, was laden with a luxurious deluxe plate—a thick pork cutlet, crisp tempura, and an extra soft-boiled egg. This feast was Horikita's treat, the result of an uncharacteristically stiff request she'd made during the morning break: "Ayanokōji-kun. Are you free for lunch? I… would like to discuss something."
Ayanokōji had merely given her an impassive look and nodded. And so, here they were.
They ate in a silence broken only by the subtle sounds of cutlery. Horikita's movements were precise and measured; Ayanokōji maintained his usual, steady pace. Finally, Horikita set her chopsticks down with a soft click. She dabbed her lips with a napkin and fixed her gaze on him.
"There is a matter I need to discuss." She was direct, as always. "Hirata Yōsuke and others have begun organizing study sessions for the upcoming midterms."
Ayanokōji continued chewing, his eyes lifting to signal his attention.
"They have formed a study group," she continued, a faint frown etching her brow. "However, the three students with the lowest scores—Yamauchi, Ike, and Sudō—have refused to participate."
"They have no interest in studying," Ayanokōji stated blandly after swallowing. It was a self-evident truth.
"To fail even the simplest pop quiz… I hadn't imagined such hopeless individuals truly existed," Horikita said, her tone laced with icy contempt. "But leaving them to their own devices will guarantee their failure on the next exam. That will lower the class average and directly impact our class point acquisition."
She leaned forward slightly. "We are at zero. We cannot afford to forfeit a single point we could potentially earn. If we wish for the class to improve, we cannot lose points on such fundamental assessments. Correct?"
Ayanokōji set his own chopsticks down. The implication was clear. She wanted to delegate the unenviable task of corralling the "idiot trio" into the study group to him. He was weighing a response when a new, uninvited voice sliced through their conversation.
"Pardon the interruption, you two. Mind if I join?"
Horikita's head snapped up, her gaze instantly sharpening into a blade of ice aimed at the intruder. Ayanokōji turned more slowly.
A male student in uniform stood by their table, wearing a smile that was too bright, too practiced. His hair was styled with a deliberate flashiness, and he carried an air of slick affability that felt alien in the school setting.
"No harm intended!" he said quickly, raising his hands in a placating gesture at Horikita's glare. "Just passing by and overheard you talking about class points. Sounded interesting, so I thought I'd say hello!" His eyes danced between them. "First-years, right? I'm a second-year."
Ayanokōji observed him silently. He had no memory of this face among the first-year cohort.
"Is there something you wish to teach us, senpai?" Horikita's voice was frost-laden, the title laced with skepticism. "Methods for improving class points, perhaps?"
The senior's smile widened, as if he missed the barb entirely. "Sharp as a tack! May I ask which class you're in?"
Horikita hesitated, her analytical mind weighing the risk versus potential gain. After a moment, she opted for the truth, perhaps to test his reaction. "Class D."
"Class D?!" The senior's face lit up with exaggerated delight. "What a fantastic coincidence! I'm in Class D as well! To see such drive in first-years is truly wonderful!"
The performance was too broad, too forced. Ayanokōji's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
This time, it was Ayanokōji who spoke, his voice flat and cutting straight through the theatrics.
"Can you provide actionable information? Or, to be more precise," he met the senior's eyes, his gaze unnervingly direct, "what is it that you require from us?"
The second-year senior seemed momentarily winded by Ayanokōji's bluntness, but his slick smile snapped back into place like a rubber band. "No need to be so guarded, juniors! You have your first-year midterms coming up, don't you?"
As he spoke, he produced a neatly folded stack of papers from behind his back with a theatrical flourish—they bore the unmistakable appearance of exam booklets. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "Truth is, there's an… unwritten tradition at this school. The first-year midterm has a high question recurrence rate. The core topics, the question styles—they're practically recycled year after year!"
He placed the papers on the table with a definitive tap of his finger. "With these—last year's actual midterm exams—I guarantee you'll pull off some spectacular results."
He leaned back, that expectant grin plastered on his face, awaiting their awe or gratitude.
Horikita Suzune's expression was pure, icy skepticism. Such a blatant loophole in the school's famously stringent system? Her mind raced, dissecting the probability of it being a trap.
Ayanokōji, however, bypassed the debate entirely. His response was flat, devoid of curiosity about the papers' legitimacy. "How much?"
He went straight to the heart of the transaction. A second-year from Class D, hawking exam papers to first-years. The currency wasn't friendship; it was points.
The senior's eyes glittered, as if this was the question he'd been waiting for. "Straight to the point! I like it. Let's cut the chase: ten thousand points. For 'invaluable experience,' it's a steal."
The price, relative to the potential payoff, was not exorbitant.
Before Ayanokōji could formulate a response, Horikita spoke, her voice firm with decisive risk-assessment. "Deal."
She had made her calculation. Ten thousand points was a significant but bearable loss if it was a scam. If it was real, it was a lifeline for Class D. Moreover, Ayanokōji's immediate focus on the price suggested he saw potential value—a silent cue she chose to follow.
"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!" The senior beamed, whipping out his phone. "Scan here, junior. A quick transfer will do!"
Horikita operated her device with swift efficiency. The ten-thousand-point transaction was completed in seconds.
The senior, satisfied, slid the stack of papers across the table. But as he turned to leave, he pivoted back as if struck by an afterthought, his expression shifting into something stranger, more knowing.
"Ah, actually… since you two were so professional about this, I'll throw in a bonus. Free of charge."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Truth is, these papers… they're worth way more. I'm just the messenger. The one who actually procured them and told me to find a chance to sell them to Class D… was that kid from your year. Sakamoto. From Class A."
He paused, visibly savoring the flicker of shock that passed over their faces.
"Seems his idea was… he couldn't stand seeing your class stuck at zero after the first month. Wants you to at least build a decent foundation for the midterms, so you don't get completely annihilated? Something like that. Anyway, message delivered! My job's done!"
Without another word, he melted into the churning crowd of the cafeteria, vanishing as quickly as he had appeared.
Horikita Suzune and Ayanokōji Kiyotaka were left alone at the table, the stack of exam papers suddenly feeling like a lead weight between them. They looked at each other, the noisy cafeteria fading into a muted backdrop.
Sakamoto?
The legendary figure from Class A?
He had orchestrated this? Using a second-year proxy to "support" Class D with last year's exams, at a bargain price?
The gesture was ostensibly charitable. But in the ruthless calculus of Koudo Ikusei, no move was ever so simple. Was it pity? A strategic investment? Or the first move in a deeper, more inscrutable game? The papers in their hands were no longer just potential exam answers; they were a cipher, and Sakamoto was the code.