A Nice Senior

"Uesugi, want to go sing karaoke with us? Ichinose said that to celebrate becoming classmates and get to know one another better, we should have a class party together."

Shibata excitedly invited Uesugi Gen.

"No, I'm going to check out my dorm room first. There's something I'm a little curious about."

Uesugi Gen waved a hand with a troubled look, declining the invitation.

You were standing right behind me just now. Where did you hear that?

"Then I'll go with Kanzaki. Oh, right, let's exchange LINE IDs. I'll send you mine, so if you change your mind, you can still come join us."

Shibata said, sounding a little disappointed.

Uesugi Gen made an OK sign, then looked at Kanzaki Ryuji, who was getting ready to go with them. Somewhat surprised, he asked,

"You're going too, Kanzaki? You don't seem like the sociable type."

After all, Kanzaki was always wearing the expression of a cool, aloof heartthrob.

"I may not like socializing, but I don't mind getting along with my classmates."

Kanzaki took out his phone and exchanged numbers with Uesugi, then asked curiously,

"Is the thing you said you were curious about the question of the 100,000 points we were just discussing?"

"If you can't figure it out, you could take a break. A party's a great way to build relationships. Uesugi, give it some more thought."

Kanzaki's reaction surprised Uesugi. Could this guy act like a cold, aloof heartthrob on the surface, but actually be a warmhearted person underneath?

"Fine. If I still have time after checking out the dorm, I'll come."

Uesugi didn't refuse outright, giving them an ambiguous answer instead.

It looked like if he didn't go, the two of them might keep persuading him. At this rate, they might not even make it to the party themselves.

Uesugi said goodbye to them and strolled lazily toward the dorm.

On the way, he bought a can of Coke from a vending machine, found a secluded spot, sat down, and slowly drank it.

Five minutes...

Ten minutes...

Twenty minutes...

In all that time, not a soul appeared besides Uesugi Gen.

And yet,

there were cameras here. Two hidden ones, at that.

What was the point?

Uesugi quietly pondered the matter while casually sipping his drink.

First, he could rule out the school installing them for safety. A few scraggly trees and a bench weren't worth as much as two cameras.

And if the goal was student safety, one regular camera would cover the area just fine. There was no need for two hidden ones.

With those possibilities ruled out, only the cameras' most basic purpose remained.

Observation and recording.

The school had even gone a step further and installed hidden cameras.

It was clearly meant to let the school observe the students more closely without them noticing the cameras.

Like lab mice that behaved differently when they knew they were being watched, ruining the experiment.

Likewise,

the school's goal was probably to observe the students' everyday behavior as naturally as possible.

What about students was worth observing?

Considering what Hoshinomiya-sensei had said earlier, the answer was obvious—value.

Uesugi stood up, tossed his can into the trash, and strolled back to the dorm.

What was a student's value? Academic ability, physical fitness, judgment, moral character, and so on.

But aside from academic ability, there was no way to assess any of those things precisely.

So they needed a way to quantify those traits. Otherwise, they couldn't determine each student's relative value.

In the end, the measure the school had come up with was probably—

points.

The 100,000 points they'd just received represented each student's value.

Uesugi arrived at the boys' dorm, got his key card from the dorm supervisor, and headed to his room.

From what the Class D students had said, they'd received 100,000 points too.

In other words, as far as the school was concerned, every student was worth 100,000 points.

But on the other hand, the school had also assessed the students' qualities and investigated their backgrounds, then sorted them into Classes A, B, C, and D according to their merits.

That was the key to the problem.

In the school's eyes, every student was currently worth 100,000 points. Everyone had the same value.

And yet, the school had sorted them into four classes based on their value.

A student couldn't have two different values at the same time.

There was only one possibility: in the school's eyes, this value was dynamic.

In other words, the students' value could change according to their words and actions.

At the beginning, every student was worth 100,000 points. But after the school observed them through cameras and other means, their class values would eventually shift into the four ranks, A through D.

And since the classes were ranked, there had to be competition between them, like the game the school was running now. The students' values would determine which of the four classes came out on top.

At the beginning of every month, the results of this game would be reflected in the points awarded to the students.

To cultivate better students, the school had divided the classes into four ranks and made them compete, like raising poisonous insects in a jar to produce the strongest one.

That was the truth the school was hiding.

Ding. The elevator doors opened, and it carried Uesugi slowly upward.

But,

if the school's real goal was to cultivate better students,

then there was one fatal flaw: no incentive to compete.

Competition needed rewards. You couldn't expect a cow to work without giving it grass to eat.

Points were probably only part of the reward, not the whole thing.

After all, if they didn't care about their quality of life, students could just coast along. They wouldn't starve to death at this school, and there was nothing the school could do about it.

Uesugi thought for a moment, then pulled out the booklet the school had just given him and looked at its claim of a 100% rate of advancement to higher education and employment.

That was probably the key to how the school kept the students in line. A 100% rate of employment and advancement to higher education was probably the ultimate reward for the winners.

One hundred and sixty people, all getting into top schools or major companies? However he looked at it, that was ridiculous.

He didn't like to say it, but if those Class D guys came running to work at his company with the school's recommendation letter, he'd probably kick them out in no time and blacklist the school forever, turning it into Japan's worst school.

What kind of people do they think they are, working at the same company as me?

Uesugi scratched his head and muttered,

"This school really does seem kind of boring!"

Never mind. He had more important things to worry about.

Uesugi looked at the room number in front of him. Room 404—a rather ominous room.

He opened the door and looked around. The room was small, only about fourteen cubic meters, but it had everything he needed.

Uesugi looked around the room, a little excited.

For the next three years, this place would be his. No one would tell him what to do, no matter what he did.

He could stay up all night playing games until he got sick of them, sleep whenever he wanted, and eat whatever he liked.

That was right: a sixteen-year-old boy's wishes were simple and unpretentious. Compared to Kōiku's boring student-development program, saving the world in another world sounded much more appealing.

Heh heh heh. Forget moral tests and proving his worth—his happy life was waiting for him.

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Chapter 4: A Nice Senior

"You're first-years, right? Get lost. This is our turf."

"What do you want? We got here first. You're in the way, so hurry up and get lost."

Ken Sudō felt like nothing had gone right today.

First, some blond guy in his class had forced him to introduce himself.

Then, because he hadn't learned the school's rules on the first day, he couldn't pay for anything at the supermarket.

And now these second-years were picking a fight with him.

What a joke. Why should he let some second-years look down on him?

If he just kept practicing basketball, he'd become a professional player someday. These guys in front of him would be under his heel.

With that in mind, Ken Sudō didn't hesitate to stand up to the three second-years.

"You hear that? He says to get lost. Looks like we've got a pretty cocky first-year here."

Hearing the second-year's taunt, Ken Sudō suddenly stood up and hurled the instant noodles he'd been eating onto the ground. Soup and noodles were scattered all over the area.

"Whoa, scary. What class are you in? Actually, let me guess—you're in Class D, right?"

"So what if I am?!"

"Did you hear that? He said Class D. Of course. The defects are showing already."

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean? Hey!"

After Ken Sudō answered, all the upperclassmen looked at one another. A moment later, they burst out laughing.

"Did you hear that? He said Class D. Of course. The defects are showing already."

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean? Hey!"

"We'll let you poor 'defective products' have this place for now. Let's go."

"Running away?"

"Keep yelling. Go on, keep yelling! You'll see what hell looks like soon enough."

The three walked away, laughing.

Oh?

Sounds like I just heard something pretty interesting.

Uesugi Gen, who had been eating noodles and watching the show from the sidelines, smiled meaningfully.

"Hahaha, I can't wait to see the look on that defective's face when he sees what hell looks like."

In a quiet alley, the three second-years walked along, discussing the red-haired first-year from before.

As their conversation grew more animated, exaggerated grins would occasionally spread across their faces.

"Wasn't his expression just now hilarious?"

"Yeah, this school's pretty interesting, isn't it, Senior? By the way, there are a few things I'd like to ask you. I'm sure you'll tell your junior, won't you?"

A warm voice suddenly came from behind the three second-years, startling them. They spun around.

A handsome young man was walking toward them with a smile. He held both hands slightly raised, one open and the other holding a phone, showing that he meant no harm.