The next day.
April 7 — 8:30 a.m.
The first official day of classes at Advanced Nurturing High School had begun.
The first period was Japanese History, taught by Class 1-D’s homeroom teacher, Sae Chabashira.
As the bell rang, the classroom door slid open.
Chabashira entered with her usual detached expression, carrying an attendance sheet, a stack of textbooks, and a box of chalk.
She walked to the podium without wasting a single movement.
“Take your seats.”
“Class is beginning.”
Her voice was as flat as ever.
There was no enthusiasm.
No attempt to energize the room.
She simply stated the facts.
Kaoru Hanayama sat perfectly upright.
On his desk rested the review books Horikita had recommended the previous day, neatly stacked beside his Japanese History textbook.
His hands rested flat on the desk.
His eyes never left the blackboard.
A student should behave like a student.
That was Hanayama’s personal code.
In the underworld, every position carried responsibilities.
A boss had duties.
A lieutenant had duties.
An ordinary member had duties.
Failure to fulfill those responsibilities carried consequences.
Now…
He was a student.
Therefore, he would fulfill a student’s responsibilities.
Whether he understood the lesson or not was irrelevant.
Maintaining the proper attitude came first.
To Hanayama…
Even attending class was a form of discipline.
“Turn to page twelve.”
“Today we’ll begin studying the establishment of the Heian Period.”
Chabashira calmly wrote dates and historical terms across the blackboard.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The sound of chalk echoed through the silent classroom.
At first…
The atmosphere remained tense.
Everyone still carried the seriousness of newly enrolled freshmen.
They sat up straight.
Opened their notebooks.
Pretended to take diligent notes.
But…
That discipline didn’t last long.
About twenty minutes into the lesson…
The cracks began to appear.
The reason was simple.
Chabashira’s class was unimaginably dull.
She merely copied information onto the blackboard.
Read directly from the textbook.
Never asked a question.
Never called on a student.
Never added a story or explanation beyond the printed material.
It was less like listening to a teacher…
And more like listening to an audiobook.
One by one…
Students began losing focus.
Haruki Yamauchi folded a sheet of notebook paper into a ball and flicked it toward another student.
Nearby…
Ken Sudō stretched, yawned loudly, rested his head on his desk…
And quietly fell asleep.
Soft snores soon followed.
Scenes like these could be found in almost any ordinary classroom.
Hanayama watched silently.
He wasn’t disturbed by the students.
People were weak.
People became lazy when discipline disappeared.
That was simply human nature.
No…
What bothered him…
Was the teacher.
From the podium, Chabashira could clearly see everything.
Sudō sleeping.
Ike using his phone.
Yamauchi fooling around.
None of it was hidden.
Yet…
She did nothing.
She didn’t call anyone’s name.
She didn’t issue a warning.
She didn’t throw a piece of chalk.
She didn’t even pause her lecture.
She simply continued reading from the textbook in the same emotionless voice.
As though nothing were happening.
Hanayama quietly searched his own memories.
Back in junior high…
Even the most indifferent teachers would wake up a sleeping student.
Confiscate a phone.
Or at least give a verbal warning.
That was simply part of a teacher’s responsibility.
Which meant…
Only two possibilities remained.
The first…
Sae Chabashira was an utterly irresponsible teacher.
But Hanayama dismissed that idea almost immediately.
Before enrolling, Kizaki had thoroughly investigated the school.
Advanced Nurturing High School was an elite government-funded institution established to cultivate Japan’s future leaders.
It was unthinkable that such a prestigious school would employ a teacher incapable of maintaining basic classroom discipline.
That left only one possibility.
(This is deliberate.)
(It’s a trap.)
Immediately, Hanayama translated the situation into terms he understood.
Imagine a yakuza office.
A safe filled with cash sits in plain sight.
The guards deliberately disappear.
No one tells the lower-ranking members not to touch it.
Greedy fools assume they’ve found an opportunity.
They steal the money.
No one stops them.
No one warns them.
The higher-ups simply watch through hidden security cameras.
Then…
When the time comes…
Punishment is delivered all at once.
Without mercy.
Hanayama’s thick eyebrows slowly furrowed.
Nor admiration.
It was…
Displeasure.
A school existed to educate.
Young people were inexperienced.
They would inevitably make mistakes.
When that happened…
A teacher’s duty was to guide them.
Correct them.
Even scold them if necessary.
Watching students walk toward failure without saying a word…
That violated Hanayama’s sense of responsibility.
Ding-dong…
Ding-dong…
The bell announcing the end of first period echoed through the building.
“That’s all for today.”
Without adding another word, Chabashira set down the chalk.
Picked up her materials.
And walked out of the classroom.
She never looked back.
The moment the classroom door closed…
The room exploded with noise.
“Man, that class was torture!”
“I didn’t understand a single thing!”
Yamauchi stretched lazily as he complained.
“Seriously.”
“The teacher doesn’t even care what we’re doing.”
“I could’ve played games on my phone the whole period.”
Ike laughed.
Within seconds, the classroom became as noisy as a marketplace.
Hanayama didn’t join the conversation.
Nor did he stand up to lecture anyone.
He had neither the authority nor the desire to interfere with his classmates’ choices.
Every person was responsible for the consequences of their own actions.
Silently…
He reached for the pencil lying on his desk.
He intended to review his notes.
Crack.
The wooden pencil shattered inside his hand.
The sharpened graphite snapped in half.
Wood splinters scattered across the desktop.
Hanayama slowly opened his hand and looked down at the remains.
He had crushed it without realizing it.
The tiny sound was completely drowned out by the classroom’s chatter.
No one noticed.
Almost no one.
From the neighboring desk, Suzune Horikita, who had just opened a book to begin reading, sensed the subtle change in the atmosphere.
She turned her head.
Hanayama’s face showed no anger.
No frustration.
Yet the pressure surrounding him was noticeably heavier than before.
He looked…
Disappointed.
Not with his classmates.
But with something else entirely.
(…What is he thinking?)
Horikita wondered silently.
In the end, she chose not to ask.
She quietly returned her attention to her book, leaving Hanayama alone with his thoughts.