Classroom of the Elite, A Hypocritical Gray Life

Classroom of the Elite, A Hypocritical Gray Life. Author: Nian Fu Yi Nian.

Introduction:

What is considered ordinary? Being average and unremarkable.

What is a human? The most advanced animal on Earth and the crystallization of wisdom, the ruler of all species.

If the definition is truly such, then I am fortunate to still fall within the scope of an ordinary person.

At least, I can still be called a "human."

However, my actions have always been "misunderstood" by others.

"Which type of ordinary person are you referring to? The average person who possesses neither the wealthy life of the industrial and commercial bourgeoisie nor the power of the ruling class? Or a god who can categorize all events as expected, view them as ordinary, and yet still maintain a human body?"

Ichinose Honami: "Don't try to change the subject, Luomu."

Ayanokoji Kiyotaka: "If I am not mistaken, you are the product of that project."

Ryuen Kakeru: "Even if there is absolute suspicion, you cannot be that person; you are merely a pawn being utilized."

Living in Class B, I was forced to bid farewell to a gray life after being confessed to by Ichinose.

Chapter 1: Luomu's Inner Monologue

"Pitter-patter--"

"Splish-splash--"

"Drip-drop--"

The sound of rain is always fascinating; it is constantly changing. It makes different noises depending on the objects it lands upon. I think that by looking at the world through the rain itself, one might have a different perspective.

The traffic light across the pedestrian crossing blurs into a block of red light within the curtain of rain. That bright red loses the harshness it should have had, becoming much softer.

Yet, it remains very conspicuous.

The dense "ticking" sound of my transparent raincoat, surrounded by a crowded mass of people.

"Boom--"

An explosive roar spreads across the dark night sky. Thunder on a rainy night should be a common occurrence, yet I cannot help but be drawn to this growl.

Dark purple lightning flashes with a dim white glow, vanishing in an instant within the thick layer of storm clouds. This bolt of lightning illuminated the world for a fleeting moment, but it also perished from this world right after that moment.

This sentence is just as repetitive as what I said just now.

Perhaps you cannot understand what I am talking about, but I think I just wanted to express that fleeting moment. Only in that moment did I feel a sense of novelty. In the end, everything that remains is just a repetition of the past.

I once heard a proverb—are you truly living for over ten thousand days, or are you merely living one day and repeating it ten thousand times? This quote comes from the Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa. Previously, I did not understand the meaning of this sentence, but now, I feel it deeply.

The past is nothing more than a wisp of smoke, and the present is like an old movie, imprinted onto black-and-white film and played on a loop inside an old-fashioned projector.

I stare at the pitch-black clouds of the rainy night, not knowing what I am thinking, or perhaps thinking of nothing at all. Holding onto these inexplicable thoughts, I shift my gaze back to the traffic light in front of me.

--Three, two, one.

This is not a lonely countdown, but an electronic timing more precise than a pendulum, combined with the red light and the joy of heading toward the end within my heart.

Unlike my attire, no one else in the crowd is wearing a raincoat; in their place, they hold umbrellas.

They all have their brows furrowed, distracted by the bright white light of the screens in their hands, walking in a hurry.

I try to step forward, but without exception, I fail. Immediately after, I feel a push from behind; the force is not great, but one can clearly sense the crude malice and impatience within it. The repeated shoves make it increasingly impossible for me to move forward, but fortunately, he soon changes his approach.

He forcibly turns sideways, pressing his shoulder against my arm, then pushes me backward while squeezing forward himself. Carrying a sense of hatred, he exerts significant pressure on me at the moment he passes. Because of this, half of his body becomes soaked by my raincoat.

This is not his fault.

The fault lies in my prolonged stagnation... probably.

In fact, it is not that I do not want to cross this pedestrian crossing, but because the surrounding crowd is so dense, I am forced to remain in place. I fantasize about scenes from anime, the kind where I don't have to move, and the flow of the crowd simply carries me forward automatically.

But clearly, this can only be my fantasy. Such things only appear in those unrealistic novels. In true reality, no one will spontaneously carry you forward; they will either replace you or destroy you.

The word "beauty" originates from the human heart, so it only exists in worlds constructed by the heart.

So, this world is truly cold and indifferent, isn't it? I let out a slight, self-deprecating laugh.

Indeed, from the very beginning, I never had the chance to roam in a utopia. The "crimes" I have committed only deserve this kind of treatment, or perhaps, even worse.

As the green light nears its end, the surroundings become slightly less crowded. The decline of an old era will always be accompanied by the rise of a new one. Because I know this truth well, I take this opportunity to walk quickly and alone, weaving through the night.

The brim of my raincoat is always shorter than I imagine, so I can only lower my head to cover my face, looking down at the hurried footsteps around me.

The sound of footsteps splashing in puddles is completely covered by the rain, a constant splashing, but I understand that it is not so much the sound of rain as it is the clamor of the crowd. After the mottled words of humanity constantly intersect, they always transform into the most boisterous natural sound.

Isn't this quite ridiculous?

They say nature is the purest sound, the most ethereal and purifying. But is that really the case?

The sounds of people rushing about, filled with all kinds of life's sentiments. Although different, without exception, their ultimate goals are the same.

The excuses for missing a gathering, the apologies trying to save face, the complaints of those still working and hauling cargo, the joy of lovers, the exhaustion of a snack shop owner... everything wears this face. The entire society, this second nature of humanity, ultimately cannot escape the word "profit."

Profit is the foundation of everything, and everything in human society is built upon the priority of profit.

And we humans are merely creatures who prioritize profit above all else.

I wandered toward the deep darkness of the corner alley, living like a worm in the gutter.

1

Although it might be a bit sudden, I would still like to interrupt everyone here for a moment.

I want to ask those of you present: what exactly is the meaning of life? Or rather, where does the meaning of existence truly lie?

Have you ever pondered this question? In the spare moments of your exhausting work, or perhaps when you were backed into a corner, forced to endure hunger and cold, have you ever experienced the same doubts as I have?

What exactly is the meaning of life? Where does the meaning of existence truly lie?

These two questions might seem unrelated, but in truth, the meaning I am asking about here is much the same; in short—what exactly am I existing in this world for?

Some say we live for money, to repay the kindness of our parents, for the happiness of our children, to leave a name for posterity, for a happy and fulfilling marriage in the future... such claims are not in the minority.

However, these are merely specific phenomena encountered during the pursuit of a life mission, not the essence itself.

So, what is this so-called essence?

The answer is—"nothing."

In the span of a mere hundred years, we spend our entire lives as nothing more than passersby in time, eventually becoming nothing but a speck of dust in the era, or perhaps not even that. All our achievements, like human life itself, are blown away in an instant.

After a dozen minutes of hasty reflection, I arrived at this conclusion:

—There is absolutely no meaning to being alive; we simply live for the sake of living.

Since that is the case, why must we cling to survival instead of just ending it all once and for all?

Perhaps you would ask me to think carefully, to use more profound arguments to prove this point, so I suppose I can offer a brief discussion on the matter.

According to the law of entropy, a system always has a tendency to develop from order toward chaos and disorder. Everyone has a moment where they will turn to dust; it is destined from the moment of birth. Therefore, our death is inevitable.

In other words, when we leave this world, those so-called material goods and money, or even our physical bodies, will be destroyed at that very moment. All we can take with us is the spirit and faith that remains within us.

That is, an indestructible consciousness and soul.

Let us just assume, for the sake of argument, that the soul and consciousness possess such properties.

Following this logic, when people are alive, they should pursue spiritual fulfillment. That is, to obtain emotional satisfaction and the enrichment of knowledge.

If that is the case, then what our lives require is pure sensibility.

To put it in the plain language of this world, that is happiness.

The meaning of our existence lies in the pursuit of happiness.

However, while we appear to be on the path to seeking happiness, we have actually strayed far from it. When we see the furrowed brows and hurried footsteps of everyone on the road, we should realize this.

The endless study material, the heavy burden of mortgages, the difficult struggles in the workplace... these things leave us with no room to breathe. It is called the pursuit of happiness, but in the end, it is all for one word: "money."

Or more precisely: "profit."

Human civilization has developed for thousands of years, and the operation of profit has driven the rapid development of society, even evolving to the point where we are now terrified to speak of money. It has become a state where living is solely for one's own benefit.

What a pathetic thing this is.

The original intention of civilization was not to acquire more profit, but to be able to spend the rest of one's life in the way one desires, thereby obtaining greater spiritual fulfillment. That is, to pursue what people today call happiness.

But now, this has become incredibly difficult.

People spend a vast amount of time and energy, even sacrificing their own bodies to trade for an unequal life, and a mere hundred years is but a blink of an eye. From birth to school, work, marriage, starting a family, raising offspring, and finally departing.

What can you really accomplish in this short hundred years? Can you truly attain spiritual fulfillment? No, you cannot. You exhaust everything you have, only to look back and realize you have always been living for the sake of material existence. Do not spout the foolishness that you at least tried; such words are merely a way to numb yourself.

What are these things, really?

In the savage age of apes, was strength happiness?

In the dangerous age of war, was survival happiness?

The happiness of the majority is merely a social phenomenon reflected against the backdrop of their respective eras. The happiness we speak of is not happiness at all; throughout our entire lives, we are simply pursuing the "second nature" of profit.

If you do not agree with what I have said above, then let us skip the rebuttal and approach this so-called happiness directly.

You did not fail; through your own efforts, you stood at the pinnacle of the pyramid. You achieved fame and success, and your name might even be passed down for a thousand years.

But you must accept that all of this is hollow.

Whether you are willing to accept it or not, after billions of years, all traces of human life will be erased. No matter what glorious achievements you created, no matter what status or power you possessed, it will all vanish forever.

It will be as if we never appeared in the universe at all. On the grand scale of the cosmos, everything about us humans is actually not worth mentioning.

Our existence and disappearance have no influence on the universe whatsoever.

Material satisfaction leading to spiritual satisfaction—ha, is that even possible? Can you really sustain it until that moment? Even if you reached the peak, I fear you would only be left with emptiness.

Since fate is no longer a subject that can be discussed, why don't people return to the dust early and seek a grand liberation?

At least, that is what I think.

I cast aside the darkness of this society all by myself, and at the same time, I felt a slight joy at the prospect of my impending death, though to a greater extent, I felt sadness.

I did not find anything wrong with this approach, but I was still stopped by him.

"...Is this the reason you are preparing to commit suicide?"

"Not preparing; this is a present continuous action, though it was interrupted by you." I knew well that this topic would not end in a short time, so I consciously climbed down from the stool.

"Do you really think your physical constitution would allow you to die from hanging?"

"I looked it up online, and it's one of the most common methods of suicide. Although I don't believe my cervical vertebrae would snap and cause my demise, I still wanted to give it a try."

"You must have experienced this before... even if you try to adjust, your body will reflexively develop an immunity to such situations."

"Reflexes aren't uncontrollable actions, and the previous experiments weren't something I volunteered for. Suicide is a death brought about by one's own hands... I didn't expect you to visit my residence unannounced today; that was my miscalculation. Next time, I will treat it as cautiously as a mission and try my best to ensure no one discovers it."

I brought two cans of cola from the refrigerator and sat on the sofa with him. I don't have any interest in drinks like this, but since he was already here, I figured I might as well treat it as a consolation prize for myself.

"You still want there to be a next time?!" He snatched the chilled drink from my hand, somewhat huffily, popped the tab with force, and took a large gulp. "You certainly have a way of making it all sound so logical."

"I am merely stating facts." I mimicked his movements, attempting to pull the tab on my own cola can.

"Did I give you your freedom so you could commit suicide?"

"Haven't I already completed all of your commissions? You said as much yesterday." After much painstaking effort, I finally managed to pull the tab open and took a sip.

...It didn't taste very good.

[From now on, I won't concern myself with you anymore. Do whatever you want.]

Yes, that was pretty much what was said. I confirmed the image in my consciousness and nodded.

Upon hearing my reply, he rolled his eyes at me.

"That didn't mean I wanted you to do this. When I said that, it was with a specific purpose in mind."

"Is that so? I didn't pick up on it."

"You really are..."

He shook his head, wearing an expression of utter helplessness. Then, he pinched his temples and closed his eyes, lost in thought for a moment.

"How about this, then? I'll arrange for you to go somewhere."