Shimizu Akira could not hold back a laugh.
“With what kind of resolve did you just deliver those embarrassing lines?
Are you in the middle of a chuunibyou phase?” He had gone through a similar phase in his own youth.
Back then, he was inexplicably confident, stubbornly convinced that he was a unique existence, far smarter than the mundane masses surrounding him.
It wasn’t until he entered university, and subsequently the unforgiving meat grinder of corporate society, that his childish sense of superiority was thoroughly crushed.
Looking at the silver-haired girl standing before him, Akira felt a distinct sense of déjà vu.
‘As expected…
she is just a sheltered young lady who hasn’t been educated by reality yet.’ He made the judgment silently.
This condescending, arrogant posture mostly stemmed from a completely smooth-sailing upbringing.
She had never experienced a true setback, nor had she ever encountered an opponent capable of utterly dismantling her worldview.
His internal assessment was simple: suffering a catastrophic loss would serve as a necessary lesson, one that might finally correct her inflated ego.
“Fine, fine, you are absolutely right about everything.” Akira waved a hand dismissively.
“The entrance ceremony is about to begin.
I’ll be taking my leave.” He turned his back on her.
His retreat was crisp and decisive, projecting zero intention of continuing their little chat.
Sakayanagi Arisu’s slender fingers tightened around the grip of her cane.
She certainly understood the concept of ‘chuunibyou’—the childish, grandiose delusions of adolescent boys.
But how could such a pathetic psychological phase be mentioned in the same breath as her own self-perception?
Her superiority was a proven fact, based on rigorous, obvious logic.
‘Classmates?
They are nothing but a collection of rigid pawns on a chessboard.’In her eyes, the ordinary students were not even qualified to warrant her serious attention.
Yet this boy walking away from her…’He really is aloof.’ What bothered her most was the look he gave her right before turning around.
It was a look of deep pity, the exact kind of gaze an adult might direct at a toddler throwing a tantrum.
This feeling of being treated with such casual condescension was entirely unmatched for her.
If it were an ordinary person, she would simply commit their name to memory and slowly, methodically ruin them in the future.
But it had to be this specific boy—an opponent she had barely begun to acknowledge, who was currently acting as though she wasn’t even worth his time.
The desire to crush him fair and square in a battle of wits flared up, making the bitter taste of unwillingness in her mouth all the stronger.
“What, do you doubt my judgment?” Sakayanagi quickened her pace slightly to follow him.
Seeing the boy’s stride slow down ahead, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
Given her physical condition, if he actually started running, catching up would be impossible.
Her voice regained the airy composure of a player holding the winning hand.
“Why don’t we make a bet on exactly when Kamuro Masumi will make her move?
This serves as an excellent test of observation and deductive reasoning—” Akira took a deep breath.
His eyes hardened with sudden resolve.
Before the silver-haired girl could finish her sentence, the boy clenched his fists, dropped his center of gravity, and dashed forward in a full sprint.
Ten seconds later, he had completely vanished down the corridor.
“H-he actually…
ran away?” Sakayanagi froze in place, the tip of her cane tapping sharply against the floor.
“He wouldn’t even tell me his name?!” A rare look of utter astonishment broke through her refined facade, quickly melting into a deep, angry flush.
By the time Akira pushed open the heavy double doors of the gymnasium and walked briskly toward the Class 1-D formation, he could feel the heavy weight of dozens of inquiring gazes.
The thirty-nine other students had already lined up perfectly.
As he approached, they eyed him with a mixture of curiosity, mockery, and thinly veiled schadenfreude.
‘So I really did become the center of attention.’ Arriving late under the watchful eyes of the entire freshman class was bound to draw heat.
However, having his ego tempered by years of adult society meant Akira had long since stopped caring about the judgment of teenagers.
The homeroom teacher, Chabashira Sae, shot him a frigid glare.
She tapped her roll book idly against her palm.
“Late on the very first day of school?
Shimizu-kun?
Get in line quickly.” A few muffled snickers erupted from the back of the formation.
Chabashira’s sharp gaze swept over him once more.
“Wait.
Go stand at the very front position of the first row.” She paused, her lips curling into a meaningful angle.
“At the very front of the Class 1-D queue.” Akira walked to the designated spot, his expression perfectly placid.
He quietly observed his new homeroom teacher.
She had not only called his name with absolute certainty but had deliberately emphasized the words ‘Class 1-D’.
‘So she figured it out.’ Earlier, he had intentionally lied to her face, even testing the waters by claiming that arrogant students belonged in Class 1-D.
The matter-of-fact expression she wore back then had already given away the truth—Class 1-D was the dumping ground, the absolute lowest tier of this academy.
This public placement at the front of the line was clearly a petty retaliation for his earlier deception.
Just as he settled into his spot, the gymnasium doors were pushed open once more.
Sakayanagi Arisu walked in slowly, leaning on her cane.
After a brief, quiet exchange with the Class A homeroom teacher, she took her place at the very front of the Class A queue.
Their gazes met across the silent gymnasium.
Sakayanagi’s lips parted slightly, flashing a trace of genuine shock.
She clearly hadn’t expected the boy who dismissed her so casually to be a defective student from Class 1-D.
Akira, however, felt zero surprise regarding his placement.
His written test scores were an absolute disaster.
Going by his current academic memory, he couldn’t even solve basic algebraic equations.
With that level of academic incompetence, being thrown into Class 1-D was the only logical outcome.
Shortly after, the Student Council President—Horikita Manabu—stepped up to the podium to deliver the opening address.
The speech was heavily padded with standard academic clichés, but one specific piece of information stood out sharply: the academy strictly upheld the educational philosophy of the ‘dual path of academics and martial arts’.
In the modern era, outside of specialized athletic institutions, ordinary high schools rarely advertised such a cutthroat, retro ideology.
As the lengthy ceremony finally drew to a close, the classes maintained their strict formations.
The homeroom teachers stepped forward to deliver their final instructions.
Chabashira paced slowly to the front of the Class 1-D ranks, her cold eyes scanning the fresh faces.
“Classes officially begin tomorrow.” She stopped pacing.
“For the rest of the day, you are free to do as you please.
I suggest you use this time to familiarize yourselves with the campus environment.” Without another word, Chabashira turned on her heel and walked out.
The freshmen began to disperse, following the flow of the crowd out of the gymnasium.
Amidst the shuffling feet, Akira keenly sensed a sharp, piercing gaze directed at his back.
He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Horikita Suzune.
Her dark eyes were as cold and still as a frozen pool.
“Late on the first day of school.
It seems you care very little about your identity as a student here.” “I was collecting some necessary information and got held up by a rather tricky person,” Akira replied, his tone perfectly even.
“…People with a poor sense of time rarely achieve great things.” “You make a fair point.” Akira shifted his posture, looking down at her.
“Speaking of which, I’m quite interested in the Student Council.
How about we go take a look together right now?” He dropped the invitation as casually as if he were discussing the weather.
Horikita gritted her teeth silently.
Every single time she tried to pierce him with sharp words, he absorbed the impact effortlessly, redirecting the flow of the conversation toward a topic that caught her off guard.
She hated to admit it, but his emotional intelligence and conversational control were leagues above her own.
And this time, he had directly targeted the Student Council.
“You…” Her voice faltered, her elegant brows furrowing.
“You know the Student Council President is my brother, don’t you?
Is that why you intentionally brought it up?
Because you thought I would be interested?” Akira tilted his head, a faint, dry amusement in his eyes.
“Well, the surnames are identical.
And…
the way you were looking at him during the opening ceremony was quite complex, wasn’t it?” Horikita’s breath hitched in her throat.
She had been seen through.
Again.
The realization made her fingers curl tightly into her palms.
She had always taken immense pride in her own intellect, firmly believing that no one among her peers could surpass her in insight or observation.
Yet, ever since she met Shimizu Akira, every minor confrontation ended with her internal thoughts being laid bare.
It gave her the suffocating illusion of standing in front of her own brother.
Even her secret, lingering desire to sneak off to the Student Council room just to catch a glimpse of Manabu had been completely predicted.
That was exactly why he had proposed the invitation.
She pressed her lips together, a wave of inexplicable, chaotic agitation rising in her chest.
If a girl were actually dating a guy like him, he would probably be the type to intentionally show up ten minutes late, hiding in the shadows just to quietly enjoy the sight of his girlfriend looking anxious, before finally stepping out with a perfectly crafted, apologetic smile.
But strangely, this heavy, suppressive feeling…
it really did remind her of her brother.
It was the exact same sharpness.
The exact same piercing intelligence.
The exact same overwhelming presence that left her entirely unable to formulate a rebuttal.
Their outward personalities were entirely different, yet the psychological weight they imposed on her was identical.
She absolutely hated this feeling of being analyzed and dismantled.
Yet, looking at his calm face, she found herself unable to truly treat him with her usual icy hostility.
She just couldn’t bring herself to hate him.
“…Stop looking back at me in the future.” Horikita finally turned her face away.
Her voice dropped a few degrees lower than usual, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible waver.
“Let’s go.” She turned and walked toward the exit.
But rather than moving with her usual composed grace, her hurried footsteps looked far more like someone fleeing in a panic.
[Inorin’s Note: Hey guys, hope you’re enjoying the novel!
Hate waiting for updates and cliffhangers?