First-Year International Culture Class.
The exact millisecond Hiroto Tachibana stepped into the classroom, Eriri noticed him.
Seated in her designated spot adjacent to the window, her line of sight casually drifted across the room, casting a brief glance over his form.
She had already caught wind of yesterday’s dramatic events.
It was the absolute first instance she had ever witnessed someone reducing that bloated carcass of a Kasumigaoka to such absolute silence.
Eriri originally assumed Utaha’s venomous tongue was entirely unmatched beneath the heavens, yet out of nowhere, Hiroto Tachibana had materialized to thoroughly shatter that myth.
However, looking back at her memories from middle school, Hiroto had undeniably been a rather gentle, mild-mannered individual.
Could it be that even his core personality had undergone a complete overhaul?
Initially, upon reviewing Tomoya Aki’s structural project proposal, Eriri hadn’t harbored much active desire to join the ranks either.
Yet, the other party had used every conceivable argument to persuade her, and Utaha had simultaneously pledged her involvement.
As for marching over to the Service Club to formally request assistance, Eriri had explicitly chosen to opt out.
It wasn’t because she possessed any profound foresight, but rather because she had caught wind of the fact that Hiroto Tachibana was present in that room.
She simply remained entirely clueless as to how she was supposed to face him.
Consequently, she had simply avoided the trip altogether.
The class bell rang.
Today’s opening period was designated for Shizuka Hiratsuka.
For some inexplicable reason, she possessed a recurring fondness for donning that white lab coat, structuring her presentation precisely like a research scientist embedded within a high-tech laboratory.
The entire classroom plunged into absolute silence the exact frame she crossed the threshold.
Shizuka marched up to the podium, her hands propped securely over both flanks of the desk as her gaze swept across the room.
”I have an announcement to deliver.
It is highly possible that a vast majority of you are already privy to the baseline details without me spelling them out.
However, the upper administration has drastically altered the parameters, meaning the reality might deviate significantly from whatever information you currently possess.”
She retrieved a piece of chalk, scribbling a handful of characters across the blackboard with a series of sharp, rhythmic clacks.
”The school field trip is officially slated to commence at the end of next month.
Simultaneously, the middle of next month marks the formal administration of the first-year academic examinations.”
A scattering of soft, whispered discussions rippled through the ranks of the classroom.
”Naturally, the entire student body is structurally eligible to participate in the field trip.
However, the excursion is explicitly bifurcated into two entirely separate tiers.” Shizuka tapped the chalkboard firmly.
”The first tier carries zero baseline restrictions.
Provided you are an actively enrolled student of this institution, you are fully eligible to participate; however, the geographical parameters are strictly confined within the boundaries of Sakura Prefecture.”
”The second tier constructs a deployment completely outside the prefecture, specifically structured to broaden your global horizons.
Every single logistical arrangement for the second tier represents the absolute pinnacle of premium specifications, and participants will simultaneously secure access to attend localized high-society banquets and academic conferences of various calibers.”
”Naturally, because the second tier demands an immense expenditure of social resources and financial capital, the allocated roster slots are exceptionally finite.” She lowered her hand, her tone entirely flat.
“The administration has fought rigorously to secure a grand total of three hundred slots.
In other words, only the individuals occupying the top one hundred ranks of each respective grade are eligible to participate.”
The classroom plunged into a momentary shock of absolute silence, before completely exploding into a chaotic din.
”The top one hundred?!”
“How is an asset like that even structurally possible?!”
“My aggregate grade ranking is floating somewhere in the three-hundreds…”
Shizuka slapped the desk firmly, waiting for the volume to recede back into absolute quiet before continuing, “Furthermore, the individual occupying the number-one spot of each respective grade will formally operate as the designated Captain.
Logistical arrangements spanning clothing, sustenance, lodging, and transport will be fully delegated to the Captain’s absolute discretion.”
She cast a brief glance toward Yukinoshita Yukino seated in the front row.
Yukinoshita’s expression remained thoroughly pristine and detached, entirely devoid of any visible emotional fluctuation.
”Consequently,” Shizuka delivered her final summary.
“Those harboring the explicit desire to secure a deployment outside the prefecture had best prepare themselves thoroughly for the upcoming examinations.
Dismissed.”
She retrieved the eraser from the chalk tray, casually patting the residual dust off her hands before turning around to exit the premises.
The classroom instantly buzzed with an intense wave of discussion.
The top one hundred of the grade.
Back when Hiroto Tachibana had initially enrolled in this institution, his aggregate performance had logged him squarely at the number-three spot for the entire grade.
Later on, due to the grueling manuscript grinds and severe sleep deprivation, his operational state had degraded significantly, causing his rank to plunge down into the middle tiers around the 500s.
But looking at the situation now, his physical status had been completely restored, and his outstanding debts were on the absolute brink of being entirely liquidated.
Securing a slot within the top one hundred harbored zero structural difficulty for him, meaning Hiroto didn’t pay the metric much active mind.
However, the clause stating that the number-one rank would operate as the designated Captain represented an exceptional opportunity to formally validate oneself within the social landscape.
For a school field trip to be executed on such a grand, magnificent scale meant it would naturally capture a substantial volume of societal attention.
Furthermore, securing access to high-society banquets and conferences across various regions served as a disguised elevator to assist individuals in breaking past their rigid class boundaries.
Weighing the implications, if he could successfully lock down the position of Captain, it might yield a noticeable layer of momentum for his future professional trajectory.
If he genuinely pushed his academic capabilities to the absolute limit, there were very few individuals capable of matching his pace.
Precisely because he possessed the passive buff of permanent, optimal physical health.
The baseline concept basically translated to: a flawless maintenance of his physical status even when enduring extreme fatigue.
Transforming that into raw data meant he could structurally subsist on a mere two hours of sleep per day, while continuously preserving absolute, prime health over a prolonged timeline.
The solitary drawback was a minor wave of physical discomfort, but that was strictly confined to the initial hours of waking up and right before turning in; outside of those windows, he felt completely fine.
Hiroto methodically calculated the parameters within his mind before smoothly retracting his train of thought.
Lunch break.
Rather than marching directly toward the cafeteria to forage for sustenance, Hiroto rose from his seat and exited the classroom.
Bocchi-chan’s designated classroom was located within Class C.
The absolute closest stairwell landing flanking Class C—the single most secluded, shadowy, and dark corner available—was situated right over here.
He made a direct line toward that specific vector.
Students drifted back and forth across the hallway corridors, clusters of twos and threes clutching their bento boxes as they chatted and laughed dynamically.
Hiroto sliced through the crowd, turning sharply into the stairwell enclosure and descending half a flight of stairs before bringing himself to a halt right at the landing corner.
Sure enough, it didn’t take long before the resonant, elegant strain of music drifted up from the lower flight.
The guitar notes emerged in a slightly disjointed, unstable cadence, yet one could easily discern that the performance was executed with absolute seriousness.
It would occasionally grind to a halt, before launching right back from the absolute beginning, continuously repeating the identical musical segment over and over again.
Leaning his back against the wall with his hands tucked into his pockets, Hiroto cast a casual glance downward.
Hidden within the deep shadows of the stairwell corner sat a distinct pink silhouette.
She held a guitar tightly against her chest, her head deeply lowered as her fingers meticulously and cautiously plucked the strings, her entire physical form curled into a tight mass, looking precisely like a hermit crab desperately hiding within its shell.
Hitori Goto was completely locked into a state of absolute concentration, entirely oblivious to the fact that someone was actively observing her form from the upper flight of stairs.
As the piece reached its final chord, Hitori Goto lifted her head, staring at Ikuyo Kita standing before her with a delicate blend of anticipation and sheer anxiety.
”U-Um…
Kita-san…
have you managed to grasp the progression?”
”I am entirely clueless!” Kita noted, looking thoroughly exhausted.
“The guitar is simply far too difficult!
Furthermore, Bocchi-chan, the technical proficiency you put on display just now was incredibly high—it was completely night and day compared to your performance during our actual live show!”
”Ehehehe…
is that truly the case?” Hitori scratched her head, a radiant gleam of joy washing across her features, her entire form looking precisely like a mimosa plant suddenly kissed by direct sunlight, progressively unfurling itself.
Yet the exact millisecond she lifted her head, her vision locked squarely onto Hiroto Tachibana standing along the upper corridor.
”Ah—!”
Hitori’s entire body delivered a violent backward flinch, her guitar nearly sliding straight off her lap.
She scrambled frantically to secure the chassis of the instrument, her entire frame retreating into the absolute corner of the wall at a velocity visible to the naked eye.
Her face flushed a deep crimson within a fraction of a second, her eyes dilated into wide circles, and her lips trembled violently, looking precisely like a small, defenseless animal that had been abruptly lifted by its scruff.
”Bocchi-chan?” Kita tracked her line of sight, turning her head around to spot Hiroto leaning casually against the corridor railing.
“Eh, Tachibana-kun?
You’re out here as well?”
Hiroto stepped down the flight of stairs, offering a swift nod to Kita before locking his gaze onto that pink mass huddled within the absolute corner of the wall.
”Ta—Ta—Tachibana-kun…”
Hitori’s brain had effectively entered a state of absolute system failure.
This individual’s name was Tachibana.
Kita-san had explicitly branded him Tachibana-kun…
which meant he was…
the exact individual Ryo-senpai had spoken of?
The specific individual who had cross-examined her to extract her class details?
The terrifying individual who had systematically hunted down her class metrics was currently standing right before her very eyes.
Hitori’s pupils quivered violently.
Kita-san actually recognized him?
Could it be that he had already…
already successfully infiltrated their inner sanctum?!
The more her mind churned through the terrifying implications, the more absolute her dread became, causing her to shrink into a microscopically small ball, leaving only a pair of gorgeously wide eyes staring up at Hiroto in sheer, unadulterated terror.
”Let me introduce you, this is our band’s guitarist, Hitori Goto, though her official nickname is Bocchi-chan,” Kita smoothly executed the introduction.
“Bocchi-chan suffers from a bit of social anxiety.”
”But it’s completely fine!
Bocchi-chan doesn’t need to harbor a single shred of fear, Tachibana-kun is an exceptionally good person.”
A g-good person…?!
Ryo-senpai had previously branded him a good person as well, and look how that scenario had ultimately concluded.
She subconsciously shrunk back another fraction, her spine pressing hard against the icy surface of the concrete wall, looking as though she desperately wished to embed her entire physical mass directly into the structure.
Bocchi-chan was a bit skittish around strangers; it was perfectly standard behavior.
Kita didn’t pay the reaction much active mind, especially considering that Ryo-senpai recognized Tachibana-kun as well.
The moment Kita concluded her piece, Hiroto opened his mouth.
“Kita, weren’t you currently learning the guitar under Yukinoshita’s tutelage?
Why exactly are you out here doing this now…?”
”Ah!” Kita looked a touch embarrassed.
“The reality is that Yukinoshita-san has been continuously instructing me, yet I am simply incapable of grasping the concepts…
which is why I resorted to troubling Bocchi-chan.”
Hiroto turned his head to inspect Hitori Goto.
Hitori hurriedly averted her gaze, yet the frantic lines of her expression had already laid bare the entire story.
She was clearly fully aware of the context beforehand; Kita had presumably briefed her on the details in advance.
”Kita,” Hiroto noted.
“I suspect that if you simply chose to lay the reality bare to Yukinoshita with perfect honesty, she would absolutely alter her pedagogical methodology or allocate a vastly larger volume of time to thoroughly instruct you.”
”Mm…
though I acutely perceive that Yukinoshita-san is precisely that caliber of individual,” Kita hesitated for a brief frame.
“But I simply feel far too embarrassed to continue piling complications onto her.
She already went to such extraordinary lengths to assist me initially, even going so far as to loan me her personal guitar, and Yukinoshita-san possesses her own designated club activities to manage…”
”No, no, no, you are completely miscalculating the logistics here.” Hiroto shook his head, adopting the absolute posture of an enlightened industry insider.
“Yukinoshita is actually exceptionally idle.
At this very millisecond, she is highly likely sitting entirely solitary within the Service Club room, shedding silent, lonely little tears all by herself while consuming a completely freezing lunch in absolute isolation.”
”Eh?” Kita was completely dazed.
“Would Yukinoshita-san genuinely exhibit a vulnerability of that nature?
She looks far more like an individual possessing an immensely resilient internal fortitude…”
”That is undeniably the factual reality as well,” Hiroto nodded in agreement.
“But her absolute lack of friends remains an undisputed metric.
Consuming lunch in complete, solitary isolation—framing it in that light, isn’t she incredibly pitiable?”
”That…
That genuinely seems to be the case…”
”Furthermore, Yukinoshita had already formulated an explicit resolution to instruct you in the guitar, yet right now, you are out here outsourcing the task to an entirely different individual.” Hiroto’s tone assumed a fraction more gravity.
“An actively enrolled student simultaneously harboring two identical instructors—what exactly does that amount to?
Is that not a text-book manifestation of absolute betrayal against Yukinoshita?”
”Ah!” Kita’s eyes dilated into massive circles.
“Is…
Is the situation truly that severe?!”
”Indubitably,” Hiroto delivered the word with absolute, ironclad finality.
“However, taking into consideration that Yukinoshita possesses virtually zero individuals to speak with and a complete absence of friends, if you march over to her coordinates right this second, there might still be a window of opportunity to salvage the situation.”
”Y-Yes, you’re right…
there’s still a window of opportunity!”
The more Kita’s mind processed the terrifying implications, the more panicked she became, hurriedly bending down to frantically pack away her gear.
“Um, Bocchi-chan!
I must depart for a brief moment, I am so incredibly sorry!”
”Ah…
ah…” Hitori parted her lips, desperately wishing to articulate a counter-argument, yet the sounds remained entirely trapped within her throat, completely incapable of surfacing.
Kita had already swung the guitar case over her shoulder, sprinting up the flight of stairs at breakneck speed, the rhythmic thudding of her footsteps rapidly fading into the distance.
Hitori Goto watched blankly as Hiroto Tachibana systematically bamboozled Kita away with nothing more than a mere handful of statements.
She kept her mouth half-open, desperately wishing to initiate a sequence to halt her departure, yet she remained entirely clueless as to what words to deploy.
Furthermore, she flat-out lacked the courage to speak up.
What if the exact millisecond she opened her mouth, he moved to execute a lethal strike against her person?
Waaaaah, it’s far too terrifying…
The stairwell landing plunged into an absolute, dead quiet, leaving nothing but the distinct, resonant breathing sounds of two individuals.
Hiroto turned his body around, staring intently at Hitori Goto huddled within the absolute corner of the wall.
He progressively squatted down, bringing his line of sight to a perfectly level plane with hers.
”Alright then.” Hiroto’s tone was entirely flat, yet framed against the current atmosphere, it exuded a profoundly terrifying aura.
“Now it’s just the two of us left here.”
Hitori’s physical frame delivered a massive, violent tremor.
Her grip around the chassis of her guitar tightened to an absolute chokehold, her entire being shrinking into a microscopically small mass, her rims completely moist as though she were going to burst into a torrent of tears at any given millisecond.
”I…
I…
I…” She finally managed to squeeze out a singular syllable.
Hiroto waited patiently.
”…I don’t taste good at all.”
The exact second Hitori delivered the line, she buried her face completely behind the neck of her guitar, her entire physical form transforming into an absolute, tightly wound pink sphere.
Hiroto was briefly dazed by the response, before entirely losing his battle against gravity and letting out a sudden burst of laughter.
”Rest assured,” he noted smoothly.
“I don’t consume human flesh.”
Hitori exposed a singular, cautious eye from behind the guitar neck, casting an exceptionally wary glance over his form.
The look explicitly translated to: Are you telling the factual truth?
Hiroto offered a firm nod, before murmuring quietly to himself, “I strictly limit my operations to slaughter; I never consume the victims!”