The classroom door slid open with a quiet, deliberate glide.
A female teacher stepped over the threshold, her stride measured and steady.
Her dark hair was pulled back into a sharp, capable ponytail that swayed slightly with her movements, matching the strict authority radiating from her posture.
“My name is Chabashira Sae.
I am the homeroom teacher for Class D, and I will be instructing you in Japanese History.” Chabashira stood at the center of the podium, her sharp gaze sweeping across the room.
The ambient chatter died instantly under her heavy scrutiny.
“The entrance ceremony will commence in exactly one hour,” she stated, her voice as crisp and unyielding as her appearance.
“Additionally, this institution applies a fixed-class structure.
The people sitting around you right now are the ones you will spend the next three years with.” She casually flipped open the thick entrance handbook resting on the lectern, her manicured fingertip tapping lightly against the printed clauses.
“This is a boarding school.
Leaving the premises without explicit permission is strictly prohibited.
Also…” Her gaze shifted, taking on a darker, more meaningful weight.
“Starting today, you will be operating under a brand-new framework—the S-System.” Following her subtle gesture, the students hastily dug into their pockets and bags, pulling out their newly issued student ID terminals.
After downloading the school’s dedicated application and scanning their personal barcodes, a collective gasp swept through the room.
Displayed clearly on every single screen was a starting balance of 100,000 Points.
“Your allowance is automatically credited on the first day of every month.
One Point is equivalent to one yen,” Chabashira explained, her tone entirely indifferent to the shock rippling through her audience.
“Within this school, there is nothing that cannot be bought with Points.
As long as it exists within the confines of these grounds, you can buy anything.” Excited exclamations erupted across the desks.
Students whispered frantically to their neighbors, their faces flushed with disbelief and sudden greed.
For an ordinary high schooler, receiving a monthly stipend of one hundred thousand yen out of thin air was nothing short of a utopian fantasy.
Sitting near the back, Shimizu Akira raised a single brow.
This academy was certainly built different.
It was the first time he had ever heard of an educational facility that essentially paid its students a corporate salary just for attending.
Yet, what truly caught his attention was Chabashira’s deliberate phrasing.
‘You can buy anything.’ That specific choice of words carried a heavy, almost dangerous implication.
It sounded suspiciously like the premise of a late-night adult visual novel, where currency could purchase far more than just cafeteria food and textbooks.
Chabashira’s knuckles rapped heavily against the wooden podium.
The dull, commanding thud echoed through the room.
The excited chatter vanished in an instant.
All eyes snapped back to the front.
“Listen closely,” her voice rose by a fraction, her piercing gaze locking onto the students who had been celebrating their newfound wealth just seconds prior.
“Everything in this facility—is based strictly on ability.” She let the silence stretch deliberately, observing the varied reactions of the teenagers below.
Some looked confused, tilting their heads in naive wonder, while others wore expressions of arrogant dismissal.
“These Points,” Chabashira held up her own teacher terminal, the digital numbers reflecting coldly against her eyes, “are the school’s evaluation of you.
Remember this well: it is strictly prohibited to obtain another student’s Points through any fraudulent or coercive means.” When she delivered those final words, the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Her tone had turned entirely glacial.
Turning her back to the class, she picked up a piece of chalk.
The crisp, rhythmic scratching filled the quiet air as she wrote a string of numbers neatly across the blackboard.
Finally, with a sharp flourish, she added a social media handle.
“This is my direct contact information.
When you add me, remember to include your full name in the notes.” She paused, tapping the chalk dust from her fingers.
“For daily trivial matters, a simple message will suffice.
You are also free to seek me out in the faculty office.
If it is a genuine emergency, call me directly.” A flurry of button presses and screen taps broke out as the class hurriedly saved her information.
Akira unlocked his screen and typed the number into his contacts.
His thumb hovered briefly over the LINE icon—the dominant messaging app in Japan, making it the most logical choice for school communications.
He tapped the screen.
A soft chime confirmed the friend request had been sent.
Glancing up from his device, Akira studied the woman at the front of the room.
Chabashira was leaning casually against the lectern, her arms crossed beneath her chest.
The cuffs of her suit jacket rode up slightly, exposing her pale wrists, while her own phone remained hidden away in her pocket, untouched.
His dark eyes narrowed slightly as he analyzed the situation.
Her exact words played on a loop in his mind.
Ability first.
Points are an evaluation.
You can buy anything.
‘Is the evaluation standard based purely on written test scores?’Akira mused silently.’What about physical fitness exams?
Club contributions?
Behavior?’ More, the cruel, underlying logic of this S-System was already beginning to take shape in his mind.
If Points were a direct reflection of a student’s worth, then they were not a fixed salary.
They had to fluctuate.
They could increase, but far more likely, they could be stripped away as a penalty.
In the most extreme scenario, did a balance of zero equate to immediate expulsion?
By replacing physical cash with a digital merit currency, the academy had artificially manufactured a ruthless sense of equality.
Students from impoverished backgrounds would no longer suffer the indignity of financial hardship, while the spoiled heirs and heiresses born with silver spoons could no longer rely on their parents’ wealth to buy them special treatment.
Here, they were all reduced to a number on a screen.
This school was already proving to be far more entertaining than he had anticipated.
“Then, I wish you all a highly productive school life.” With that final, dry dismissal, Chabashira turned on her heel.
The sharp clack of her high heels echoed against the floor tiles, the sound gradually fading as she stepped out into the hallway.
Before the classroom could fully erupt into chaotic chatter again, Akira pushed his chair back and slipped out the door, trailing after her.
Out in the quiet corridor, his long strides quickly closed the distance to her slender figure.
Just as he stepped within a three-pace radius, Chabashira abruptly stopped.
Without even glancing over her shoulder, she spoke.
“The question period is over.” Akira halted his advance, his shoes making no sound against the linoleum.
Question period?
He mentally reviewed the events of the past ten minutes.
After finishing her explanation, the homeroom teacher had simply observed the room in silence before announcing their dismissal.
At no point had she ever opened the floor to questions.
Was this a deliberate psychological trap, or just a careless slip of the tongue?
Either way, it was clear the woman had absolutely no intention of volunteering any free information to a first-year.
“Sensei,” Akira began, his voice calm and perfectly measured.
“I didn’t come to ask a question.
I came to report an incident.” Chabashira turned around slowly.
A flicker of genuine surprise briefly broke through her stoic mask.
“What is it?” “Actually…” Akira maintained a serious, slightly hesitant expression.
“After the entrance interviews last week, I accidentally overheard a conversation between two of the faculty interviewers in the restroom.
Because of Kouenji Rokusuke’s incredibly arrogant attitude, they deliberately tanked his intelligence and judgment scores, forcing him down to a C grade.” He let the silence hang for a fraction of a second before delivering the killing blow.
“One of them specifically said, ‘A student this arrogant belongs in Class D.'” Chabashira’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, her sharp gaze dissecting his expression for any sign of deceit.
“…Why are you only bringing this up now?” “Because I only realized today that he was assigned to my class,” Akira answered smoothly.
His logic was airtight.
When he had supposedly heard the conversation, it was just idle gossip about a stranger, meaning there was no incentive for him to intervene.
But now that the stranger was a classmate whose evaluation might affect the entire class, the dynamic had shifted.
It was a flawless justification that perfectly aligned with the self-preserving nature of a high school student.
“…Understood.
I will report this matter to the School Administration,” Chabashira said, giving a slow, almost imperceptible nod.
Having planted the seed, Akira smoothly pivoted to his true objective.
“Come to think of it, does this academy have an active Student Council?” “It does.” Chabashira quickly regained her usual cold composure.
“However, it is exceptionally difficult for a first-year student to join.
It requires the direct approval of the Student Council President.” “Is that so?
What is the President’s name, then?
Which class does he belong to?” Akira asked, his tone casual, as if he were merely making polite conversation.
Chabashira paused for half a second, her dark eyes locking onto his.
“Horikita Manabu…
Class 3-A.”