"Didn't you come early too?" Chabashira Sae countered.
A short silence.
"…Hehe."
"…Hehe."
Their laughter was hollow. Awkward. A shared recognition passed between them—this wasn't casual conversation. This was a test, an exchange of daggers disguised as words.
Hachiman had intentionally brought up her early arrival, knowing full well it wasn't part of the plan. She had arrived because she was eager. Chabashira fired back, implying the same impatience on his part.
Neither backed down.
Neither blinked.
"A day has passed," Chabashira said, breaking the silence. Her tone shifted. The playfulness faded. "You must have something by now."
Hachiman looked out toward the lake. The wind skimmed across the surface, catching the moonlight in its ripples.
"Yeah," he answered. "This school is nothing like I imagined. Everything revolves around class competition."
Chabashira raised an eyebrow. "Explain."
"I walked the campus today with Kushida-san," he began. "First-year building, second-year, third-year. All had the same setup—an electronic bulletin board and a blackboard. Except the first-year blackboards were blank."
He glanced at her.
"The upperclassmen had numbers written. Class A, B, C, D. And each class had a corresponding score."
Chabashira said nothing.
"In the second year, Class A had 2000. Class B had 600. Class D had 200. In the third year, Class A had 2530. Class D had only 20."
"That's quite the observation," Chabashira murmured.
"The conclusion was obvious," he said. "Those numbers represent class evaluations, and they're tied directly to student privileges and living expenses."
He looked at her again, more directly this time.
"I also noticed many upperclassmen in Class D eating the free relief meals. Meanwhile, others walked around the shopping center dripping in gold."
She didn't smile, but her eyes sparkled. The corners of her lips lifted, just slightly.
So he really had seen it all.
"And your deduction?"
"This school isn't just about personal merit. It's about class merit. All privileges, all funding, all opportunities—it all depends on the class's collective score. The better the score, the better the treatment. The lower the score, the closer you are to poverty."
"Class D is a cage," he added. "Even talented students won't escape if they're assigned here."
"Which brings us to your job," Chabashira said. "Classmate evaluations. I offered 200,000 points per student. You explored with Kushida today. Start with her. What's your assessment?"
Hachiman didn't respond immediately.
"You hesitated," she said.
"I'm not unsure," he said. "But I'll be blunt. My evaluation of Kushida Kikyo… isn't very positive."
That piqued her interest.
"Go on."
"Let's assume Kushida is good at studies and sports. We've seen her social skills. She assisted Hirata in forming the class group. She gathered contact info from most students before lunch."
He raised his gaze.
"She's too perfect."
Chabashira stayed silent.
"The more flawless someone appears," he continued, "the more likely they're hiding something."
"She plays the friend-of-everyone role too well. It's not natural. And if she's hiding something that dangerous beneath the surface, it could destroy the trust she's building."
Chabashira slowly exhaled.
She was impressed.
Because everything he said was true.
She had reviewed all the student files before the term began. Kushida had excellent ratings across the board—academics and athletics both at B-level. Her interpersonal and organizational skills were rated A. She had been considered for Class B.
But then the deeper reports came in.
Her junior high school had imploded.
Students and teachers had turned against each other, the entire class had collapsed into chaos, and at the center of it all was Kushida Kikyo.
She had triggered it.
She was a walking bomb.
They couldn't risk placing her in Class B. If she detonated again, it would destroy the entire class. So she was sent to Class D.
That's what Class D was, after all.
A collection point for society's misfits and problem children. A training ground for the best students to face the worst people.
But how had Hikigaya figured it out?
Chabashira studied him.
He was a special admission, recommended by Hiratsuka Shizuka. The school had debated accepting him, but ultimately allowed it.
His academic record was average except for Japanese language—where he excelled.
A literary savant. Quiet. Detached. Failed at socializing. Always alone.
On paper, he was unremarkable.
In reality, he was razor sharp.
"You really do have excellent insight," she said at last. "You're right about Kushida. She's dangerous."
"But how did you reach that conclusion?"
"It's reasoning," he answered. "Assume the school uses class competition to allocate resources. That means the system has to be balanced—equal talent across all classes to ensure fair competition."
"But that's not what we're seeing," he said. "The data says otherwise. Class A consistently dominates. Class D always struggles. Look at the third-year scores. A has 2530. D has 20."
"That's not a temporary imbalance. That's systemic."
He paused.
"I concluded that Class A starts stronger. Class D is filled with flaws. If someone in Class D appears exceptional… it means they have a problem big enough to outweigh all their strengths."
She said nothing.
"So even Hirata… even he might be hiding something."
That hit her harder than she expected.
She closed her eyes briefly.
How far had he already seen?
She had underestimated him.
Completely.
"You've played reasoning games before?" she asked. "Mystery stories? Detective logic?"
He shook his head. "I didn't have anyone to play with. So I played all the roles myself."
That stunned her for a moment.
Then it made sense.
This boy was self-taught. Forged in solitude. He had no friends to train with. No one to bounce theories off.
But maybe that's why he was so sharp.
He didn't rely on others.
He didn't trust anyone.
"I see," she said quietly.
Then she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a sleek black card, roughly the size of a business card.
It had two QR codes printed on it.
One for payment. One for receipt.
She held it out.
"This is for you."
***
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