After returning to the dormitory and putting his things away, Shiraishi went to the cafeteria.
He casually ordered a set meal, then sat down at a seat near the free meal section to observe the students coming and going.
Distinguishing upperclassmen from first-years turned out to be even simpler than he’d expected.
When first-years saw the free section, their faces would more or less show surprise or confusion, while upperclassmen had none of those little reactions.
Just as predicted, none of the new students who’d just received their “fortune” of 100,000 points were willing to touch those free meals that didn’t look particularly appetizing.
After completing this round of reconnaissance, Shiraishi headed back to the school building.
When he reached the second-year classroom floor, he unexpectedly discovered a bulletin board in the hallway with class points for each class clearly posted on it.
In Shiraishi’s memory, the anime had shown class points written on the blackboard by the homeroom teacher after each exam, with students also able to check via their terminals.
He’d originally planned to try to glean information from upperclassmen indirectly, but he hadn’t expected the points to be displayed so openly.
“Did the school arrange this deliberately?” After checking the second-year points, Shiraishi went up to the third floor to check the third-year results, finding the same display of class points.
It was also possible that, since it was the beginning of the month and the upperclassmen’s points had just been updated, they were being publicly posted all at once.
He silently memorized all the class point totals before leaving the school building.
“What else am I missing…” On his way back to the dormitory, Shiraishi sorted through the “currently available intelligence”: First, the free goods at the convenience store and cafeteria indicated that Private Points weren’t simply handed out at 100,000 per month as everyone assumed.
Second, the class points of the upperclassmen corresponded exactly to class rankings—especially for the second year, where under Nagumo Miyabi’s control, the points for Classes A through D formed something close to an arithmetic progression.
As for how to connect these two clues and deduce the core rules—that class points determine class rankings, that class points affect Private Points, and that only Class A graduates receive preferential treatment—he didn’t actually need to force the reasoning himself.
The school only prohibited teachers from proactively explaining the rules; it didn’t prevent students from asking questions.
More importantly, even if teachers couldn’t directly answer specific rules, language was an art.
Different answers to the same question were inherently directional, and by repeatedly asking questions to eliminate wrong answers, one could easily get close to the truth.
After washing up, Shiraishi lay on his small bed, considering his next move.
At this school, there were two ways to graduate from Class A.
The first was the standard class advancement route.
The second was to accumulate 20 million Private Points and then spend them to transfer classes.
First of all, saving up 20 million Private Points through personal means was practically unrealistic for Shiraishi.
Though his mental age was a few years older than these students, as an ordinary student raised in an exam-oriented education system, his abilities outside of academics could only be described as “questionable.” Without any special training or social talent, Shiraishi doubted his ability to take the initiative in negotiations.
His encounter with Ayanokōji Kiyotaka earlier that day was a perfect example—he was still far from being able to keep his emotions off his face.
From this perspective, the safest approach was to stick with the class and follow the collective advancement route.
However, Class B had a major problem that was very apparent even in the original work.
The entire class was too “angelic.” There was no doubt that this class excelled in unity and camaraderie—they were a “model class” in that regard.
But in an environment where classes needed to compete by any means necessary, excessive kindness became a liability.
And this was inseparable from Ichinose Honami’s role as class leader.
That wasn’t to say she was unsuited for the position—she was the best leader Class B could have.
It was just that, like the leaders of other classes, she had her own issues.
So he needed to correct Ichinose Honami as soon as possible.
“Hmm, I’ll bring her along tomorrow.
Maybe Kanzaki Ryūji too.” Shiraishi considered for a moment, finalizing the two people he needed to win over.
In the original work, Kanzaki Ryūji served as Ichinose’s right-hand man, assisting her with the class’s internal affairs.
Of course, other classmates also contributed ideas during the various exams, but today was only the second day—he couldn’t manage that many people at once.
He’d start by guiding these two leaders.
He’d decided what his own class needed to do tomorrow.
Now, what about the other classes?
In Shiraishi’s memory, since the founding of the Advanced Nurturing High School, there seemed to have never been a case of a class overtaking a higher-ranked class within the first month.
And according to the school’s usual patterns, Class A of each grade would have 800–900 Class Points remaining after the first month, Class B 700–600, Class C 500–400, and Class D even less.
This indicated that the distribution of students followed at least one basic principle—the overall quality of their comprehensive abilities, particularly in terms of “self-discipline.” Class A students were generally more self-disciplined.
In an environment of self-discipline, they would unconsciously maintain that standard, encouraging and supervising each other.
That was why they consistently scored highest on the comprehensive ability exams without being told the rules.
However, looking at the bigger picture, the advantage of comprehensive ability in class competition was actually quite limited.
Self-discipline didn’t necessarily mean greater capability—for example, Class A had Totsuka Yahiko, a character with no particularly outstanding abilities, while Classes B, C, and D each had their own hidden talents.
That said, this year’s Class A was one of the strongest in the school’s history.
If he remembered correctly, they’d only lost 60 points in the first month—reaching a high score of 940.
The good news was that Katsuragi and Sakayanagi would be locked in internal conflict throughout the first year.
In particular, Sakayanagi’s faction would go so far as to sacrifice their own class’s interests to undermine their opponents.
Katsuragi, who led the class in the early stages, was also a more defense-oriented leader, making him relatively easier to deal with.
As for Class C—Ryūen Kakeru would use violent methods to consolidate his class first, so there was no need to worry about attacks from Class C in the short term.
However, for the most “straightforward” Class B, the underhanded Class C was the most dangerous, requiring extra attention going forward.
And Class D…
With the most problematic students of any class, they could be completely ignored until Ayanokōji Kiyotaka made his move.
With the “Three Idiots” of Class D causing chaos, they’d self-destruct on their own.
As for how to keep an eye on Ayanokōji Kiyotaka, Shiraishi already had a rough plan in mind—but the timing wasn’t right yet.
He thought further.
What else was there…
“There’s also the Student Council.” Tomorrow would bring club recruitment and Horikita Manabu’s moment of showing off, followed by…
Nagumo Miyabi.
Just thinking about Nagumo Miyabi made Shiraishi laugh in frustration, even while lying in bed.
He couldn’t come up with any solution for Nagumo Miyabi right now.
This idiot, who never considered whether he’d end up at the bottom of Tokyo Bay after graduation, was practically locked in as the next student council president.
He already ruled the entire second year—power and money in hand.
There was nothing Shiraishi could do about him at this point.
Still, in the first year, there didn’t seem to be any direct confrontation with him.
Nagumo’s focus was still on Horikita Manabu, so it wasn’t a major issue.
“That’s about it.” Feeling that he probably hadn’t missed anything, Shiraishi set aside all other thoughts and closed his eyes.