Akira narrowed his eyes slightly, his index finger tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the cafeteria table.
“I see.
Does this mean you want to buy information from me?” Horikita stiffened.
Her dark eyes wavered for a fraction of a second before the signature frost returned to her features.
“…Yes.” She had spent the last two days agonizing over this decision.
The dense, erratic scribbles filling the margins of her notebook were proof enough of her internal struggle.
Seeking out upperclassmen was the most logical route, but for someone as aggressively anti-social as Horikita, initiating contact with strangers was simply an unsolvable equation.
‘Rather than that…’Her sharp gaze locked onto Akira.’It is better to just trade directly.
At the very least, this person is a desk mate I already know.’ Akira stood before the bustling ordering window, his gaze sweeping over the illuminated menu board.
“One hamburger steak curry rice,” he instructed the staff without a hint of hesitation.
Since she was footing the bill, he saw absolutely no reason to hold back or be polite.
The cafeteria worker quickly slid a heavy tray across the counter.
A sea of rich, golden curry sauce blanketed a mound of steaming white rice, crowned by a thick, pan-seared hamburger patty.
Hot oil sizzled faintly along the edges of the meat, sending a heavy, savory aroma wafting into the air.
Akira picked up the tray.
As he turned away from the counter, he caught sight of Horikita out of the corner of his eye.
Having already paid for his meal, she had retreated to a secluded table near the back.
With light, overly restrained movements, she pulled a plastic-wrapped tuna rice ball from the pocket of her uniform blazer.
The rice ball looked squashed and thoroughly unappetizing, a far cry from the exquisite cuisine one might expect a proud girl like her to eat.
Yet, she sat there with perfect posture, looking entirely composed, as if this meager ration was a long-accepted routine.
Akira raised an eyebrow.
He turned back to the counter, ordered two bowls of hot miso soup, and carried the laden tray toward her table.
He set his curry down, then pushed one of the steaming black bowls across the tabletop.
The ceramic base clinked softly against the laminate surface, coming to a halt right in front of Horikita.
“For you,” Akira said, his tone perfectly flat.
Horikita stared at the swirling clouds of miso paste in the broth.
She frowned and shook her head.
“I am the one treating this time.” “One hundred Private Points.
Just transfer it to my account.” Akira stated the price without missing a beat.
Horikita looked up, her brow furrowing in suspicion.
“Akira-kun…
do you really just want an excuse to add me as a friend?” A dry sigh escaped Akira’s lips.
He casually pulled his smartphone from his pocket and tapped the screen.
The backlight flared to life, illuminating his messaging app.
He turned the device toward her, laying his contact list bare.
“You are overthinking things.
I just thought you should have something hot for dinner.” His thumb flicked across the glass, sending the dense list of names scrolling rapidly.
The roster included a massive chunk of their own class, alongside heavy hitters from other factions: Arisu Sakayanagi and Masumi Kamuro from Class A, and Honami Ichinose from Class B.
“Look at this and tell me,” Akira drawled, “do I look like I need you as a friend?” Horikita’s eyes tracked the passing names.
The corners of her lips tightened into a thin, imperceptible line.
Ignoring her sudden silence, Akira picked up his spoon and focused on his meal.
He tore open a small packet of ketchup and methodically squeezed a bright red spiral over the center of the hamburger patty.
The thick sauce slid down the curved edges of the seared meat, bleeding into the savory depths of the curry.
He used the edge of his spoon to cut a piece of the sauce-drenched patty and carried it to his mouth.
The sharp, sweet-and-sour tang of the tomato exploded across his tongue, perfectly neutralizing the heavy grease of the beef.
He followed it up with a generous scoop of curry-soaked rice.
The rich, spicy heat mingled with the sticky sweetness of the grains, filling his mouth with satisfying warmth.
‘Not only delicious, but the nutritional balance is impeccable,’ he noted silently.
The mountain of food on his tray vanished at a rapid pace.
Across from him, Horikita took tiny, measured bites of her squashed rice ball, chewing in total silence.
“Eat like that, and you won’t even have the energy to step into the ring next month,” Akira remarked casually.
“The amateur Boxing Club does not have weight classes,” she shot back, her voice clipped.
“By the way, Horikita, what club did you end up joining?” “I have no interest in clubs.” “Not even the Student Council?” “…” This time, she offered no rebuttal, her jaw setting firmly as she looked away.
Akira let the silence stretch, choosing not to press the obvious nerve he had struck.
He finished the last bite of his curry, picked up his own bowl of miso soup, and drained it in one long draft.
Setting the empty bowl down, he noticed Horikita had finished her sad little meal.
She was quietly crumpling the plastic wrapper into a tight ball within her palm, a gritty, pragmatic habit that sharply contrasted with the image of an elegant, genius young lady from Class A.
His gaze drifted to the untouched bowl of miso soup sitting in front of her.
“Finish your soup,” Akira instructed.
He tapped the rim of her bowl lightly with the back of his spoon.
The crisp sound drew her attention.
“Once you are done, we can continue discussing our transaction.” As he spoke, he tilted his head toward a laminated sign taped to the nearby wall.
It read: ‘Waste is Shameful’.
Horikita stared at the sign, then back at the soup.
After a prolonged moment of stubborn hesitation, she finally reached out, wrapping her slender fingers around the warm bowl, and began to sip the broth slowly.
When she lowered the bowl, a single drop of light brown broth clung to the corner of her lips.
She unconsciously pursed her mouth, her dark eyes darting across the empty tabletop in search of a napkin dispenser.
A hand with pronounced knuckles suddenly entered her field of vision.
Akira had already pulled a tissue from his pocket and was holding it out to her, his arm suspended casually in the space between them.
“Wipe your mouth,” he said, his fingers perfectly steady, waiting for her to take it.
The rejection was already loaded on the tip of Horikita’s tongue.
‘I don’t want to rely on anyone.’It was her default armor.’But the deal…’she reasoned silently.’I already owe him a favor just by sitting here.’ After half a second of internal debate, she raised her hand.
Feigning absolute indifference, she plucked the tissue from his grasp and dabbed at her lip.
“You don’t need to feel indebted, and you don’t need to feel bad about it,” Akira said, easily reading the conflict in her eyes.
“Buying me dinner tonight settles our accounts.
For me, this is just a convenient opportunity to earn some points.
It is purely a fair transaction.” He leaned back in his plastic chair, crossing his arms.
“So, tell me.
What information are you planning to buy?
Do you just want to know the truth behind the class assignments?” Horikita’s eyes narrowed, the temperature in her gaze dropping to absolute zero.
“Akira-kun, from the way you phrased that…
it sounds like you possess other information as well.” “Hmm.
You could certainly say that,” Akira replied, a faint, cynical curve touching his lips.
Silence hung over the table for a few seconds before Horikita lifted her chin, her pride demanding she control the pace of the conversation.
“…First, tell me the truth about the class assignments.” “It is actually quite simple.” Akira adjusted his posture, his demeanor shifting into something far more calculating.
“The school assigns classes based on a student’s overall excellence.
During the entrance exams, the interviewers assign us a hidden score based on our performance, behavior, and background.
Combining those metrics with certain special criteria, every student is ultimately filtered into one of four classes: A, B, C, or D.” He paused, letting the weight of the system settle over the table.
“Class A is reserved for the absolute best.
Class D is a dumping ground for the worst.” He looked directly into Horikita’s eyes, his tone calm, measured, and utterly merciless.
“In other words—the elite go to Classes A and B.
The mediocre are left to rot in Classes C and D.” “That is impossible!” Horikita snapped, her voice rising a fraction above its usual quiet register.
“Are you absolutely sure this is true?” “I tested Chabashira-sensei on the very first day of school,” Akira replied smoothly.
“And the mechanics of the system were directly confirmed to me by a second-year senior.” “But…” “Still doubting the reality of your situation?” Akira interrupted, his voice dropping to a softer, more dangerous pitch.
“Then tell me, Horikita.
Your exceptionally excellent brother—the current Student Council President—what class is he in?” “Third year…” Her voice trembled slightly.
“Class A.” The words landed between them like a lead weight.
Horikita’s shoulders swayed, her rigid posture finally cracking under the sheer force of the revelation.
“I was assigned to Class D…
So, according to the school’s judgment…” She stared blankly at the table, her voice hollow.
“…I did not even meet the passing mark?” [Inorin’s Note: Hey guys, hope you’re enjoying the novel!
Hate waiting for updates and cliffhangers?