By the time Hanayama left the judo club, the sun had completely disappeared below the horizon.
The artificial island was bathed in the warm glow of evenly spaced streetlights.
With both hands tucked into his pockets, Kaoru Hanayama walked slowly along the road leading from Keyaki Mall back to the student dormitories.
His mind never rested.
Every piece of information he had gathered throughout the day fit together like pieces of a puzzle, gradually revealing the true structure hidden beneath the school’s surface.
The straightforward judo captain, Oki.
The kind senior from the Tea Ceremony Club.
Without realizing it, both of them had revealed secrets the school clearly intended to keep hidden.
After entering the dormitory, Hanayama crossed the first-floor lobby and stopped in front of a vending machine tucked away in a quiet corner.
He pressed the button for a small can of black coffee.
Clunk.
The can dropped into the tray.
He picked it up, flicked open the pull tab with his thumb, and took a slow sip.
The bitter taste spread across his tongue.
Carrying the can with him, he sat on a nearby bench.
His thoughts turned to one word.
Privilege.
The conversation with the Tea Ceremony Club had made one fact obvious.
The four classes weren’t simply divided by academic performance.
They formed a hierarchy.
A pyramid.
Hanayama knew such systems well.
The yakuza world was built upon a strict hierarchy.
The main family.
Direct affiliates.
Branch organizations.
The higher one’s position…
The greater the authority.
The greater the wealth.
The greater the security.
This school appeared to operate under a remarkably similar structure.
Which raised one important question.
What exactly did Class A receive?
People didn’t devote themselves to fierce competition for meaningless rewards.
Honor alone wasn’t enough.
Neither were certificates.
If the prize amounted to nothing more than prestige, rational people would eventually stop competing.
But if every student in this school was driven to climb toward Class A…
Then the reward waiting at the top had to be extraordinary.
Without question.
Perhaps guaranteed admission into Japan’s most prestigious universities.
Perhaps preferential employment at elite companies.
Perhaps even direct recommendations backed by the government itself.
Whatever the reward was…
It had to be valuable enough to justify turning hundreds of teenagers into relentless competitors.
For students…
Few things could possibly hold greater value.
Hanayama quietly exhaled.
If this had been the underworld…
The solution would have been painfully simple.
Violence.
It was humanity’s oldest method of solving problems.
If only graduates of Class A could obtain those privileges…
Then the fastest way to secure them would be obvious.
One by one…
Break the arms of Class A’s top students.
Shatter their kneecaps.
Leave them unable to write exams.
Unable to compete.
In the yakuza world…
Removing obstacles through force was hardly an unusual strategy.
But this wasn’t the underworld.
It was a school established under strict rules.
Naturally…
Such crude methods would have already been accounted for.
Individual violence would almost certainly result in expulsion.
More importantly…
Given how Class Points worked, any serious offense would probably drag down the offender’s entire class.
The rules themselves discouraged that path.
Hanayama nodded to himself.
(I understand the board now.)
(The next step is deciding how to play.)
Information.
That was the true currency of the underworld.
Police movements.
Business opportunities.
The weaknesses of rivals.
The newest information was always the most expensive.
And right now…
Hanayama possessed information that almost none of the first-years knew.
It was priceless.
But only temporarily.
By the first day of next month…
Once the school’s evaluation became public and every student understood how Class Points worked…
That information would become worthless.
Knowledge held value only while it remained exclusive.
(If I keep this to myself…)
(By the end of the month, it won’t be worth anything.)
His eyes narrowed slightly.
(Then there’s only one answer.)
Yakuza never wasted profitable opportunities.
“…Tomorrow.”
“I’ll make a deal.”
Which class would become his customer?
Class A?
Class B?
Class C?
He didn’t know yet.
But at least one of them would certainly be wealthy enough—and intelligent enough—to recognize the value of what he knew.
Hanayama looked down at the empty coffee can in his hand.
Then another thought surfaced.
(What about Class D?)
He already knew the answer.
(If nothing changes…)
(Our Class Points will almost certainly fall to zero.)
Images from today’s classes replayed in his mind.
Sudō sleeping through lessons. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
Ike secretly playing with his phone.
Yamauchi boasting loudly while accomplishing nothing.
And many others who treated every class period as though it had no consequences.
Every minute they wasted…
Every rule they ignored…
Was quietly reducing the points that should have become next month’s income.
(If they belonged to the Hanayama-gumi…)
(I’d beat some discipline into them.)
The Hanayama-gumi wasn’t merely an organization.
Its members had willingly pledged themselves to Hanayama after sharing sakazuki.
They accepted responsibility.
And Hanayama, in turn, accepted responsibility for them.
He guided them.
Protected them.
And if necessary…
Bled for them.
Class D was different.
The students hadn’t chosen one another.
They had simply been placed together by the school.
There was no oath.
No bond of brotherhood.
No shared loyalty.
Most of them didn’t even see Hanayama as anything more than another classmate.
Yet…
Several faces surfaced in his thoughts.
Yōsuke Hirata.
Working tirelessly to keep the class united.
Kikyō Kushida.
Always smiling as she tried to maintain harmony.
And Suzune Horikita…
Sharp-tongued and distant…
Yet still willing to help him choose study materials despite clearly being uneasy around him.
Hanayama quietly smiled.
“…They say even a chance encounter is a bond formed by fate.”
Perhaps that saying wasn’t entirely wrong.
They weren’t sworn brothers.
But in the yakuza world…
Fate could sometimes outweigh blood.
(I’ll charge the other classes whatever the market will bear.)
(But my own class…)
(I’ll show them a little mercy.)
That didn’t mean giving away information for free.
People who paid nothing rarely valued what they received.
There had to be a price.
Otherwise…
They would never learn.
But neither would he exploit them.
That was Hanayama’s own balance between business and honor.
A yakuza’s version of justice.
A cool evening breeze drifted through the dormitory grounds.
Tomorrow…
Within this academy ruled by merit and competition…
Kaoru Hanayama intended to make his first business deal.
And the information he possessed would become the opening move.