*Flashback: The Cafeteria at Noon*
The two of them sat in silence for a long moment, staring at the exam papers purchased for 10,000 points.
"What is your assessment?" Horikita Suzune finally broke the quiet, her slender fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the table, her gaze fixed on Ayanokōji.
Ayanokōji picked up one of the papers with an expressionless face, his eyes scanning it briefly. "The papers require verification. As for the source…" He paused, his voice flat. "It doesn't align with his profile."
Despite their limited interactions—the breathtaking resolution of the bus conflict on the first day, the aura of effortless perfection that surrounded him—the style attributed to Sakamoto seemed utterly incompatible with clandestine "aid" or the peddling of exam answers.
Horikita even recalled her own aggressive, foolish words to him on that bus, a memory that now tasted of ash.
But suspicion aside, with Class D's fragile hopes for the midterms hanging in the balance, every variable had to be treated with extreme caution.
"An investigation is necessary," Horikita concluded, her tone decisive. "The papers' authenticity, and… whether they truly originated with Sakamoto."
"Agreed," Ayanokōji nodded.
"Then we divide the tasks." Horikita's mind was already moving. "I will investigate the origin and validity of the papers. As for you," her eyes locked onto him, "you will handle the problem of those three idiots. Ensure they attend the study sessions."
The thought of dealing with Yamauchi, Ike, and Sudō—a trio defined by obstinacy and a complete lack of academic drive—filled her with visceral distaste. That kind of labor, requiring bottomless patience and a social flexibility she lacked, was "perfectly suited" for Ayanokōji and his veneer of total indifference.
Ayanokōji glanced at her, seeing through her transparent attempt to offload the most odious chore. He offered no resistance, merely replying with a bland, "Understood."
***
*The Present: Outside Class 1-A*
This was why, after school, Horikita found herself in the hallway near Class 1-A. Investigating the exam papers was the primary objective, but a powerful, competing curiosity pulled at her.
It had been a month. She had never properly observed the class that had achieved the legendary, overwhelming perfect score. Class A was the summit she was sworn to conquer, the ultimate adversary. Know your enemy. This chance to glimpse the daily atmosphere of this "miracle" class was intelligence she could not pass up.
She pretended to be merely passing by, but her sharp eyes performed a swift, comprehensive sweep of the classroom through the window.
And then she saw it.
Inside the clean, sun-washed classroom, bathed in the gold of the setting sun, Sakamoto stood by the window. His posture was erect. In his hands was an unfolded sheet of paper, dense with text. The layout, the formatting—it was a perfect match for the papers she had bought at noon.
The sight was a physical jolt.
Disbelief was her first, overwhelming reaction. Sakamoto? The boy who moved with such detached, self-contained elegance, who seemed to operate by a private code of conduct—would he truly engage in something as crude as distributing exam answers? It violently clashed with the persona he projected.
Yet the evidence was irrefutable. He was holding the midterm papers. It was a chilling corroboration of the second-year's claim at noon. The trail did lead back to Sakamoto.
A torrent of complex emotions flooded her: sharp skepticism, a pang of profound disappointment, and beneath it, a hot sting of humiliation. Was this pity? Did he view Class D as so irredeemably pathetic that he felt compelled to "bestow" upon them this crutch?
Her thoughts scattered into chaos. Her first, instinctive command to herself was: Do not be seen.
The moment Sakamoto's head began to lift, his gaze starting to drift toward the window, Horikita pivoted sharply. She melted back into the corridor's shadows and retreated with silent speed, her heart hammering against her ribs.
She needed to process. She needed to think.
And she needed to find Ayanokōji. They had agreed to reconvene at the library. The puzzle had just gained a critical, and deeply unsettling, piece.
*The Library*
By the time Horikita composed herself and entered the library, the scene awaiting her made her already taut nerves pull tighter.
Ayanokōji Kiyotaka was there, as agreed, his face its usual blank slate. But he was not alone. The "problem trio" was also present—Yamauchi Haruki, Ike Kanji, and Sudō Ken. And, to her immediate displeasure, so was Kushida Kikyō.
The class's beloved social nexus wore her signature, radiant smile, seemingly attempting to inject warmth into the palpably stiff atmosphere. It appeared Ayanokōji had leveraged Kushida's influence to corral the trio. A flicker of contempt crossed Horikita's mind. She despised reliance on such superficial sociability, and Kushida's effortless, universal likability grated on her.
But the larger objective took precedence. To climb to Class A, adaptation was necessary. Emulating the strong was the first step. For Class A's perfect score, Sakamoto's role had been pivotal. Therefore, adopting his calm, composed demeanor—however perplexing his recent actions—might be a required exercise.
Horikita took a steadying breath, forcibly suppressing her impatience. She forced her expression into a mask of neutral politeness.
"It seems everyone is here," she began, aiming for a tone she hoped was approachable. Her eyes settled on the trio. "Regarding the study group, I urge you to seriously consider participating. The upcoming quiz is critical for class points. We can't afford further losses."
But the trio lived up to their designation.
Ike Kanji was the first to scoff, slouching deeper into his chair as he gave Horikita a sidelong look. "Study group? You lost it, Horikita? Since when did you get so 'nice'? We don't need that. Cramming the night before works fine."
Sudō Ken crossed his arms, his expression a mirror of discontent. "Yeah, sounds like a pain. And why should we listen to you? You're always acting so high and mighty."
Horikita bit back a sharp retort. Stay calm. Emulate composure.
She shifted her focus to Yamauchi, the only one who hadn't immediately joined the rebellion. His reaction was uncharacteristic. There was no instant mockery, no crude remark. Instead, he seemed hesitant, his eyes shifting uneasily as if performing a private calculation.
"Yamauchi-san," Horikita tried, softening her tone further. "Your thoughts? A little preparation is rarely a disadvantage."
Yamauchi opened his mouth, his gaze darting between the defiant postures of Ike and Sudō, the expectant smiles of Horikita and Kushida, and finally, the impassive figure of Ayanokōji. He wavered visibly—perhaps swayed by Kushida's presence, perhaps genuinely anxious about failing. But ultimately, the gravitational pull of his friends' solidarity and their unspoken "bro code" proved stronger.
"Uh… I guess… Ike and Sudō kinda have a point…" he mumbled, rubbing his nose awkwardly. "Maybe we don't need to make it so complicated…"
Ike snorted in triumph. Sudō shot Yamauchi a look of gruff approval.
"See?" Ike said, standing up and dusting off his pants. "Birds of a feather, Horikita. You guys have fun with your studying. Let's roll."
Arm in arm, the three of them bustled out of the study room, their loud chatter echoing until the door swung shut behind them with a definitive thud.
Silence crashed down in their wake.
Horikita Suzune stood perfectly still, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles blanched. She had restrained herself. She had altered her approach. She had tried.
And the result was precisely the same. A cold wave of frustration, tinged with something dangerously close to humiliation, washed over her. The elegant composure she had sought to mimic felt like a brittle shell, cracking under the weight of sheer, stubborn incompetence.
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