Club Undercurrent and Silent Harvest

Ten Thousand Points was a fortune for an ordinary student, but in Fūki Ran's eyes, it was merely seed capital. What truly caught his attention was the inconspicuous note in the corner of the student handbook: "School-certified clubs may establish internal funds and bounties in accordance with their charters, with operations supervised by the School Administration, profits and losses borne by the club itself."

This rule left room for a real game of capital.

Fūki didn't head for the public "Challenge Bounty" booths—those were just petty tricks for ordinary students to earn pocket change. His target was several "privileged clubs" with independent activity rooms and long histories. These clubs had deep foundations and massive internal fund pools, often running "advanced challenges" or "betting agreements" not open to the public, requiring a certain threshold and referral to participate.

Drawing on his past life's memory of similar systems and days of covert observation of the campus financial flows, Fūki locked onto a club called the "Strategy Game Research Society." In name, it studied board game strategies, but in reality, it was one of the school's recognized "High-IQ Gambling Dens."

He didn't apply through the main entrance. Instead, he circled to the back of the club building, entered a sequence of numbers based on the password pattern he'd observed, and opened a hidden door leading to the underground activity room. Behind the door, a different world awaited.

The spacious room was designed in the style of a High-Class Private Club, with soft lighting and a quiet atmosphere. Several tables hosted various games: Go, shogi, chess, and even complex multiplayer strategy board games. There weren't many participants, but each carried themselves with steady composure and sharp eyes—clearly no ordinary students. The badges pinned to their chests were mostly from Class A or Class B. An invisible pressure filled the air, along with an absolute respect for intellect.

A third-year student who seemed to be the person in charge walked over, wearing frameless glasses with shrewd eyes. "New face? Class D?" He glanced at Fūki's class badge, his tone flat—no disdain, just confirmation.

"Fūki Ran. I heard you can play... challenging games here." Fūki stated his purpose directly.

The person in charge raised an eyebrow and handed over an electronic tablet listing various off-the-books "projects" and their corresponding "chips," with units no longer in "Points" but "K" (thousand points). The minimum entry chip was 50K, or fifty thousand points. Projects included High-Difficulty Endgame Solving (odds 1:1.5 to 1:3), Timed Blind Chess Match (odds 1:2), and even Short-Term Trading Competitions based on real-time financial data simulations (odds fluctuating, up to 1:10).

The stakes here were far beyond the petty games outside.

"Newcomer, know the rules? Chips at your own cost, profits and losses on you, information confidential." The person in charge was concise.

"Understood." Without hesitation, Fūki exchanged all his Ten Thousand Points for chips on the spot—200K (here, 1K represented 500 points, equivalent to 100 basic point units; Ten Thousand Points equaled 200K chips). This move made the person in charge take a second look at him.

Fūki didn't choose projects with heavy luck elements. Instead, he walked straight to the "High-Difficulty Endgame Solving" area. This section offered classic dead-end positions or complex mid-game puzzles that even professional players would need long deliberation to solve, with a one-hour time limit. Solving them earned high odds.

He selected a Go endgame with odds of 1:2.5. Investing 50K chips, success would net him 125K.

Under the slightly mocking and curious gazes of a few Class A students nearby (a Class D freshman daring to play this?), Fūki sat down at the Go board. He didn't place a stone immediately but closed his eyes, as if resting. In truth, memories of game records from his past life and computational abilities surpassing computers were running at full speed. Every possibility on the board, every subsequent variation, unfolded, simulated, and filtered in his mind like a galaxy of stars.

Three minutes later, he opened his eyes, picked up a black stone, and placed it on a seemingly irrelevant spot.

"Hm?" A Class A Go expert watching nearby let out a puzzled sound.

But as Fūki's subsequent moves fell, the lifeless black stones seemed to gain a soul. A hidden path to survival was precisely carved out, and the white stones' encirclement collapsed in an instant. In less than ten minutes, the endgame was solved.

The person in charge looked at the result on the screen and silently transferred 125K chips to Fūki's account.

Fūki didn't pause. He moved to the "Timed Blind Chess Match," simultaneously facing two computers, memorizing two different games and playing blind, with odds of 1:2. He invested another 50K. The result was beyond doubt—while his opponents were still struggling to recall the board positions, Fūki accurately called out every move, achieving a double kill.

His chips became 275K.

Next, he joined a small financial simulation competition. Leveraging his past life's deep insight into economic laws and analytical models ahead of their time, he precisely seized several minor fluctuation opportunities in just twenty minutes of simulated trading, quadrupling his principal.

When he felt he'd been flashy enough for the day and prepared to stop, his chips had become a staggering 1.15M (1.15 million points). The entire process took less than two hours.

The activity room fell silent. All the students who had looked at him with scrutiny or mockery now stared with shock and gravity in their eyes. On this battlefield of intellect and capital, strength was the only pass. Fūki had earned silent respect with undeniable performance.

"Cash out." Fūki handed his chip card to the person in charge.

The person in charge gave him a deep look, asked no questions, and skillfully transferred the massive 1,150,000 points into Fūki's account. "Welcome back anytime, Fūki-kun." His tone now carried a note of equality.

Fūki gave a slight nod, turned, and left, disappearing silently through the hidden door just as he had arrived.

Throughout the entire process, not a single Class D student or peer was present. This primitive accumulation of capital was completed in the shadows, unseen by anyone.

When he returned to Dorm 129 and checked the astonishing number on his account, there was no joy on his face. This was only the beginning. This massive sum would be the crucial lever he used next to pry open the class structure, even the entire grade's landscape. He didn't need to flaunt it—he only needed to let this power reveal its due weight at the critical moment.

The process of earning points hadn't been witnessed by his peers, but the result would eventually stir waves at the right time.