Kuroha Akira was… gobsmacked.
Could it be that her [Academic Ability: A] talent wasn't just limited to schoolwork? Did it act as a universal learning booster across all disciplines?!
That kind of talent was downright unfair! It truly embodied the infuriating, protagonist-level truth that the intelligent grasp everything quickly—a fact that inspired equal parts envy and resentment.
As the saying went, 'many skills make light work.' While learning more didn't guarantee direct benefits, it undeniably increased one's capacity for showing off and provided a wider safety net, laying a foundation for development in any direction. However, coupled with his earlier deduction about her family pressure, it was likely these skills weren't cultivated from pure passion, but were the fruits of a rigorous, systematic 'elite education.'
Kuroha Akira understood intimately the sheer effort required to raise a skill to the Lv1 threshold—the level where it manifested as text on the left hand. He'd only recently discovered his own peculiar ability when the words [Japanese: Lv1] flickered into existence on his palm, complete with a tiny, barely-filled experience bar beneath it. That single Lv1 was a certificate earned through nearly half a year of brutal, all-consuming linguistic boot camp.
Lv1 meant entry-level. It meant grasping the fundamentals, gaining a foothold of understanding. In essence, it meant comprehension.
The distinction between talent and proficiency was stark. Talent was a gift, an innate, unchangeable modifier. Proficiency was the grind—the sweat equity accumulated through effort. Even without a relevant talent, one could slowly, painstakingly, gain experience.
The reason Kuroha Akira hadn't discovered his 'cheat' immediately was depressingly simple…
His right hand was blank.
Did this mean he was talentless, a complete good-for-nothing?
Not necessarily. It just meant he was the most ordinary of mortals. People with visible talents were rare. From his summer of covert observations, perhaps only one in ten possessed one, and most of those were faint, E-rank flickers. Someone like the Class Monitor with her blazing A-rank talent was a genuine genius—a one-in-a-million specimen.
Yet, this didn't diminish her own efforts. To raise that many skills to an entry-level understanding required immense dedication. It was a feat utterly impossible for an ordinary person. The range of skills one could even attempt in a lifetime was limited. Geniuses didn't just learn faster; they had the capacity to learn more.
For example, if Kuroha Akira had possessed a language-related talent, his half-year of linguistic hell might have been condensed to three months, or even one. There were probably monsters out there who could assimilate a language in a week. Talent was essentially an experience multiplier, a permanent double-XP buff. The difference between having it and not having it was the chasm between a casual player and a hardcore grinder with all the premium boosts.
And though unconfirmed, Kuroha Akira had a sinking feeling talent also dictated another, more brutal parameter: the ceiling.
Some people, no matter how desperately they poured their life's effort into something, could never breach the realm of monsters. The number of people on Earth who could run 100 meters in under ten seconds was smaller than the number of astronauts who'd been to space. And among those monsters, the ones who could break 9.6 seconds were a species of their own. This was the 'talent barrier'—an unreachable ceiling that couldn't be envied, only accepted.
The Class Monitor's [Academic Ability: A] meant high school curriculum was child's play for her. A top-tier university was likely a minor, easily-surmounted hill on her life's path. What was an unattainable dream for ordinary students was, for her, probably just… Tuesday.
"So?" Her voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. "Did the great palm reader divine anything of note?"
"Um… Your grades are excellent."
"Wow, you can even tell that? I am ranked first in the year, yes." Her response was perfectly synchronized, playing along.
"I'm also first. Just… from the opposite direction." Since all his time had been funneled into language acquisition, his other subject grades were, predictably, a catastrophic disaster zone.
"So, Kuroha-kun," she tilted her head, "are you hoping I'll tutor you?"
"If you had the time to instruct me, Class Monitor, I'd be eternally grateful. But that's separate from our current… transaction."
As he'd scanned the parade of Lv1s in her left hand, one entry had stood out, shining slightly brighter amidst the sea of beginner proficiencies:
[Cooking: Lv2]
This was significant. His landlady, Obaa-san, who had been feeding herself for over seventy years, was only Lv1. (Though to be fair, her cooking was so legendarily bad it might have been a contributing factor to her late husband's early departure.) In Kuroha Akira's observations, Lv2 was the domain of competent home cooks—the level of most skilled housewives. Lv3 was professional territory, the realm of restaurant head chefs.
Proficiency grew exponentially harder to increase. Without relevant talent, progress could hit a hard wall, becoming impossible to advance further. For the Class Monitor to already be at an 'average housewife' level at her age meant she had invested serious effort into cooking. The logical conclusion?
Her food must be delicious.
Alright… decision made!
Time to freeload!
Kuroha Akira gently released her hand, meeting her curious gaze.
"Class Monitor, my divination reveals… you are quite skilled in the culinary arts."
"…" A faint blush tinged her cheeks, a crack in her otherwise flawless composure. "Kuroha-kun, you really can read palms."
She'd started learning because of her mother's words: 'If you want to capture a man's heart, you must first capture his stomach.'
While their home chef handled daily meals, a wife's occasional display of culinary prowess was seen as a social asset. Though her initial motivation had been… pragmatic, Asato Hitomi had gradually come to enjoy the process itself. In the kitchen, she could forget her other troubles.
"Therefore," Kuroha Akira declared, striking while the iron was hot, "as compensation for my joining the Literary Club, I'll have to trouble you, Class Monitor, to provide my lunch."
"So… you want me to make you a bento, Kuroha-kun?"
"That depends on your willingness. I merely require sustenance. Even convenience store onigiri or bread would suffice." He laid the humble-brag trap expertly.
"…"
"But let me be clear," he continued, the picture of shamelessness. "This isn't a one-time deal. For the remainder of the school year, my lunch is in your hands, Class Monitor."
Having boldly proposed the long-term meal ticket scheme, a flicker of conscience (or perhaps fear of her queenly wrath) made him hastily add conditions.
"Of course, I won't be a complete freeloader. If you agree to this, I will assist you in recruiting willing members for the Literary Club. Should anyone drop out, I'll help find replacements. In short, I will work with you to ensure the Literary Club's survival. That should be a fair exchange, no?"
"I accept."
The reply came instantly, without hesitation.
Kuroha Akira turned to look at her fully, and then froze.
The late summer sunlight caught her face just so. Her eyes held a sparkling, genuine light he hadn't seen before, and the smile gracing her lips was one of pure, unadulterated satisfaction—an angelic, radiant expression that seemed to outshine the sun itself.
"Starting tomorrow, I will prepare a handmade bento for you every day. Please look forward to it, Kuroha-kun."
A wave of triumphant, borderline-delirious joy washed over him. He'd done it. He'd secured a stable food source! The first victory in his new, resource-scarce life!
"Alright!" he affirmed, his own smile widening.
I'm freeloading!