With only one week remaining until the First-Year Midterm Exam, the very air in the school seemed stretched to its breaking point. Even the most indifferent students in Class D now wore expressions of grim urgency. The "idiot trio"—Yamauchi, Ike, and Sudō—moved with the frantic, trapped energy of ants on a hot plate, floundering helplessly between textbooks and worksheets.
After club activities, Sudō Ken, still damp with sweat from basketball practice, hurried towards the library for the day's mandated study session. His mind was clogged with defensive formations he couldn't crack, and his pace was agitated.
At a corridor junction, he collided squarely with a Class B student, Yamawaki, who was also rushing.
"Hey! Watch it!" Sudō roared, his temper instantly igniting.
"You came barreling out of nowhere!" Yamawaki shot back, refusing to yield.
The petty argument escalated swiftly into a shoving match, the air thickening with volatile tension.
The confrontation, however, quickly became unbalanced.
Drawn by the commotion, two other figures approached: Ryūen Kakeru, with Ishizaki Daichi shadowing him a step behind. Ryūen sauntered forward, hands in his pockets, a smirk of open derision on his face as he took in the red-haired Class D hothead.
"Well, well. Class D," Ryūen's voice dripped with contempt. "Can't even pass a simple quiz, but you've got plenty of fight? Daring to pick on someone from my class?"
In his calculus, Class D wasn't even competition; it was landfill. For its trash to dare challenge his own was an insult that demanded a public, humiliating correction.
At a subtle signal, Ishizaki and Yamawaki moved forward, pinning Sudō's arms from either side, immobilizing him.
Ryūen leaned in close, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper audible only to Sudō. "I'm genuinely curious… just how many of you worthless D-Class rejects will be packing your bags after the midterms? How many expulsions can we expect?"
The words struck Sudō's deepest fear like a physical blow. He thrashed violently, but the holds were too strong.
"Let him go."
The voice was clear, firm, and cold. Horikita Suzune, on her own way to the library, had witnessed the scene unfold. While she held no affection for Sudō's brutish impulsivity, she could not stand idle while a classmate was publicly cornered and threatened by another class.
Ryūen's gaze slid toward her, taking in the stern-faced girl with long black hair. "Oh? Class D wants to intervene? He laid hands on one of mine first."
Horikita showed no panic. She calmly retrieved her phone, raising it to frame Ishizaki and Yamawaki restraining Sudō. "I have recorded the altercation. If you do not release him immediately, I will have no choice but to submit this evidence of 'sustained harassment' to the faculty. I wonder how many class points your section can afford to lose."
She didn't know their specific class, but the phrase "class points" was a universal trigger, a pressure point she aimed for with precision.
Ryūen's eyes narrowed. He hadn't anticipated such a swift, rule-savvy counter from a Class D student. He stared at Horikita for a long, measuring moment before finally flicking his wrist in dismissal.
Ishizaki and Yamawaki reluctantly released Sudō.
"Hah! They started it!" Sudō blustered the moment he was free.
"Shut your mouth, you defective waste," Ryūen cut him off coldly, but his focus remained locked on Horikita. His mind, always calculating, saw an opportunity within the confrontation—a chance to both provoke and probe for crucial intelligence.
"You're from Class D," he stated, his tone shifting to one of mocking curiosity. "The midterms are right around the corner. Seeing how panicked you all are… how's the studying coming along?"
"That is our class's internal affair," Horikita replied, her composure unbroken. "It requires no concern from other classes."
A slow, meaningful smile spread across Ryūen's lips. The gambit was set.
"Is that so?" he mused aloud, his voice dropping again, yet pitched to carry. "I suppose you wouldn't be interested in a… reliable study aid, then? Something that could guarantee a passing grade?" He let the implication hang, watching her face closely for the telltale flicker of recognition—the sign that she, too, had received the mysterious, Sakamoto-branded exam papers.
"Then why is it I've heard… that your Class D has obtained some kind of 'special method' to guarantee a passing grade in the midterms?"
The words struck Horikita like a physical blow, puncturing her carefully maintained composure.
He knew?
He knew about the exam papers?
How could this stranger from another class be aware? Was it a probing shot, or did he possess concrete information? A torrent of questions crashed through her mind, and for a single, betraying instant, her face revealed a flicker of stark bewilderment.
She forced her breathing to steady. She could not afford to panic.
"What are you implying?" Her voice fought to remain level, even injecting a thread of counter-accusation. "We will pass on our own merit. It sounds more like your class would be the type to rely on such… dubious shortcuts."
Ryuuen was satisfied. He had seen the reaction he wanted—that brief, unguarded lapse. It was all the confirmation he needed. He didn't bother responding to her retort, merely emitting a low, knowing chuckle. With a dismissive gesture to Ishizaki and Yamawaki, he turned and led his entourage away.
His objective was achieved. That fleeting look of shock and confusion was conclusive: Class D had also received the mysterious papers. The second-year puppeteer's net had been cast wide indeed, delivering their "poisoned gift" to every target class. A cold smirk curled internally. The distribution pattern was now clear.
Left behind in the corridor's sudden quiet were Sudō, his face still mottled with anger and residual fear; Horikita, her internal calm shattered; and Ayanokōji Kiyotaka, who had observed the entire exchange from a few paces back, a silent, impassive witness.
He watched Ryuuen's retreating figure, then turned his gaze to Horikita as she recomposed herself to lecture Sudō. Her handling of the confrontation had been adept—using the school's rules as a precise defensive weapon. It was a side of her he hadn't fully catalogued.
Sudō, still rattled, blinked in confusion. "Hey, Horikita. What was that guy talking about at the end? What 'special method'?"
"It was nothing. Just bluster." Horikita cut him off sharply, unwilling to entertain the subject. "To the library. The study session is what matters now. The midterms are upon us. Do not create further disruptions."
She turned and strode toward the library, but her mind was a storm of calculation and alarm, her outward calm a thin veneer.
Ayanokōji fell into step behind her, his eyes on her rigid back.
The time had come to share his findings. At noon today, he had completed his own, more direct verification.
Those exam papers were authentic.
And the pattern appeared to hold true: the First-Year Midterm Examination questions were, year after year, substantially similar. The "gift," for all its suspicious wrapping, contained real, potentially vital answers. The implications of this truth now hung heavily over them all.
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