Endurance

Horikita Suzune's fingertip hovered over the call button on her phone for several seconds before she finally pressed it.

This action exhausted a certain stubborn persistence, her knuckles turning slightly white from the force.

"Moshi moshi? Oh my, is that Horikita-san?" Kushida Kikyo's voice came through the receiver, sweet and laced with just the right amount of surprise. "What a surprise! Is something the matter?"

"..." A brief silence. Horikita's voice sounded as if it were being squeezed out of a dry throat, her tone deliberately flattened. "Regarding Hirata's study session. Sudo, Ike, and Yamauchi haven't attended." She skipped all pleasantries and cut straight to the core, as if wasting a single extra word were too much.

"Ah, that matter," Kushida's tone immediately shifted to one of worried consideration. "It really is a headache, isn't it? Horikita-san is worried that they'll drag the class down during the exams, right?" She precisely pinpointed the "concern" that Horikita found so difficult to voice.

"...Their grades will affect the class points." Horikita corrected her stiffly, as if reading from an objective report.

Admitting to the word "concern" still felt like tearing at her own flesh, but she forced herself to continue: "I..." The words stalled between her teeth for a moment. "Need your assistance." The final three words landed heavily, like signing an unequal treaty.

"You're asking for my help?!" Kushida's pitch rose sharply, filled with a performative, exaggerated delight. "Really? Horikita-san is willing to come to me? That's wonderful! Leave it to me!" Her enthusiasm was so thick it was almost tangible. "You want me to get them to join the study session, right? I guarantee I'll handle it! Oh, by the way—" Her tone shifted lightly. "Let's exchange LINEs? It'll make communication much faster!"

The cheerfulness in the receiver made Horikita's jawline tighten. That overly saturated enthusiasm did nothing to dispel the humiliation in her heart; instead, it acted like a searchlight, leaving her nowhere to hide from the embarrassment of being forced to bow her head.

She could almost imagine the thoughts hidden behind the flawless, friendly smile currently plastered on Kushida's face.

"...Fine." Horikita's response was mechanical and cold. She recited her ID, each syllable sounding like an ice pick striking stone.

As the busy signal of the disconnected call rang out, Horikita leaned her back against the cold dormitory door and slowly slid to the floor.

The breath that had been pent up in her chest was finally released in a long, silent exhale, carrying with it a sense of bone-deep exhaustion.

Taking the initiative to ask for help from Kushida Kikyo—someone she instinctively repelled and intuitively felt was "suspicious"—the taste of this self-betrayal was more bitter than she had anticipated.

But her brother's cold mockery and the glaring reality of Class D's "zero" points were like two heavy shackles, leaving her with no other choice.

She closed her eyes, her palms pressing against the cold floor.

This was not a compromise, but a strategy—if the aloof glacier was to move, it must first learn to endure the muddiness of melting water.

The air in the corner of the library was thick and stagnant.

Kushida Kikyo's social skills were truly not to be underestimated. A few precise "compliments"—"Sudo-kun's basketball talent requires top-tier judgment, surely you can break through in your studies too?" and "Ike-kun and Yamauchi-kun are so loyal, you wouldn't just watch your friend struggle alone, would you?"—acted like invisible ropes, finally binding the three reluctant boys to the chairs opposite Horikita Suzune.

Sudo Ken sat with his arms crossed, his chair tilted back on its rear legs, his gaze stubbornly pinned to the window. Ike Kanji and Yamauchi Haruki sat on pins and needles, their fingertips tapping the table restlessly, the creases on the covers of their workbooks betraying their distraction.

"Alright, let's get started!" Kushida pressed her palms together, her smile as constant and bright as a finely tuned light source, attempting to melt this frozen tundra. "Horikita-san is one of the top students in the grade, you know! If you follow her lead, you'll definitely pass!"

Horikita did not respond to this deliberately manufactured warmth.

She opened her workbook in silence, the sound of paper rubbing against paper sounding exceptionally sharp in the quiet.

"We'll start with the basic formulas." Her voice was steady, almost mechanical, as her pen tip pointed to the math chapter. "Solving linear equations in one variable, for example—"

"Wait!" Yamauchi suddenly looked up, scratching his hair in confusion. "L-linear equation? What's that supposed to mean?"

Horikita's explanation came to an abrupt halt.

She closed her eyes for half a second, and when she opened them again, the fluctuations had vanished from her gaze. "An equation containing one unknown variable where the highest power is 1." Her pen tip traced a mark on the scratch paper. "2x + 3 = 7, solve for x."

Ike Kanji stared fixedly at the equation, his pen nearly bending under his grip. "x is... 3.5? That's not right... 2 times 3.5 is 7, plus 3 is 10... but the right side is only 7?"

It was clear he hadn't even established the basic logic of transposing terms.

Horikita's knuckles turned slightly white as she turned her gaze to Sudo. The latter had his entire face buried in his arms, his muffled voice coming through: "Don't look at me... I don't even know the whole alphabet."

A sense of absurdity washed over her like ice water, yet it failed to stir a ripple.

The collision between the three boys' crumbling foundations and her grand ambition to reach Class A was intense. Her brother Horikita Manabu's mockery of a "zero-point class" echoed in her mind, and the humiliation of bowing to Kushida still burned in her throat.

The words "How did you even get into this school?" nearly broke past her lips—but she only pressed her pale lips into a tight line.

Strategic necessity, not emotional venting—this realization acted like a steel cable, restraining her surging disgust.

Her nails pressed silently into her palms, the stinging pain anchoring her rationality.

When she looked up again, only the cold clarity of a glacier remained in her eyes. "My judgment was flawed." She turned to the slightly stunned Kushida, her tone brooks no argument. "Find a few first-year middle school math textbooks. The current situation..." Her gaze swept over the three boys. "...requires a complete reconstruction of our teaching plan."

Her pen tip pressed into the blank paper, leaving a deep mark. This line didn't just divide the study plan; it severed the "code of aloofness" she had once held as her guiding principle.

For the goal of reaching Class A, she was willing to stoop down and pick up these fragments—even if it meant piecing them together from "1+1" all over again.

The air stagnated. Ike Kanji's Adam's apple bobbed silently, Sudo Ken's nails sank deep into his palms, and Yamauchi Haruki subconsciously hunched his shoulders. The oppressive atmosphere radiating from Horikita Suzune was not one of anger, but a cold, coercive pressure mixed with the iron law of "expulsion," like a final judgment gavel before the bench, crushing the last shred of wishful thinking in the three boys.

They exchanged glances, reading the same answer in each other's pupils: the price of resistance far outweighed the cost of endurance.

In the silence, the three of them lowered their heads and opened the title pages of the middle school textbooks.

Horikita Suzune's fingertip hovered over the call button on her phone for several seconds before she finally pressed it.

This action exhausted a certain stubborn persistence, her knuckles turning slightly white from the force.

"Moshi moshi? Oh my, is that Horikita-san?" Kushida Kikyo's voice came through the receiver, sweet and laced with just the right amount of surprise. "What a surprise! Is something the matter?"

"..." A brief silence. Horikita's voice sounded as if it were being squeezed out of a dry throat, her tone deliberately flattened. "Regarding Hirata's study session. Sudo, Ike, and Yamauchi haven't attended." She skipped all pleasantries and cut straight to the core, as if wasting a single extra word were too much.

"Ah, that matter," Kushida's tone immediately shifted to one of worried consideration. "It really is a headache, isn't it? Horikita-san is worried that they'll drag the class down during the exams, right?" She precisely pinpointed the "concern" that Horikita found so difficult to voice.

"...Their grades will affect the class points." Horikita corrected her stiffly, as if reading from an objective report.

Admitting to the word "concern" still felt like tearing at her own flesh, but she forced herself to continue: "I..." The words stalled between her teeth for a moment. "Need your assistance." The final three words landed heavily, like signing an unequal treaty.

"You're asking for my help?!" Kushida's pitch rose sharply, filled with a performative, exaggerated delight. "Really? Horikita-san is willing to come to me? That's wonderful! Leave it to me!" Her enthusiasm was so thick it was almost tangible. "You want me to get them to join the study session, right? I guarantee I'll handle it! Oh, by the way—" Her tone shifted lightly. "Let's exchange LINEs? It'll make communication much faster!"

The excitement in the receiver made the line of Horikita's jaw tighten. That overly exuberant enthusiasm did nothing to dispel the humiliation in her heart; instead, it acted like a searchlight, leaving the embarrassment of being forced to bow her head with nowhere to hide.

She could almost imagine the thoughts hidden behind the impeccable, friendly smile currently plastered on the face of Kushida Kikyo.

"...Fine." Horikita's response was mechanical and cold. She recited her ID, each syllable striking like an ice pick.

The busy signal of the disconnected call rang out, and Horikita leaned her back against the cold dormitory door, slowly sliding down to the floor.

The breath that had been pent up in her chest was finally released in a long, silent exhale, carrying with it a sense of utter exhaustion.

The taste of this self-betrayal—actively seeking help from Kushida Kikyo, someone she instinctively repelled and felt was "suspicious"—was more bitter than she had anticipated.

But her brother's cold mockery and the glaring reality of the "zero" points in Class D were like two heavy shackles, leaving her no other choice.

She closed her eyes, pressing her palms against the cold floor.

This was not a compromise, but a strategy—if a solitary glacier is to move, it must first learn to endure the turbidity of melting water.

The air in the corner of the library was thick and stagnant.

Kushida Kikyo's social skills were truly not to be underestimated. A few precise "compliments"—"Sudo-kun's basketball talent requires top-tier judgment, so you can definitely break through in your studies too," and "Ike-kun and Yamauchi-kun are so loyal, you wouldn't just watch your friend struggle alone, would you?"—acted like invisible ropes, finally binding the three visibly resistant boys to the chairs opposite Horikita Suzune.

Sudo Ken crossed his arms, his chair teetering on its back legs as his gaze remained stubbornly fixed out the window; Ike Kanji and Yamauchi Haruki were like ants on a hot pan, their fingertips tapping the table restlessly, the creases on the covers of their workbooks betraying their distraction.

"Alright, let's get started!" Kushida pressed her hands together, her smile as constant and bright as a carefully calibrated light source, attempting to melt the frozen earth. "Horikita-san is a top-tier honor student in our grade, you're sure to pass if you follow her lead!"

Horikita did not respond to this deliberately manufactured warmth.

She silently opened her workbook, the sound of paper rubbing together sounding exceptionally clear in the silence.

"We'll start with basic formulas." Her voice was steady to the point of being mechanical, her pen tip pointing at the math chapter. "Solving linear equations in one variable, for example—"

"Wait!" Yamauchi suddenly looked up, scratching his head in confusion. "L-linear equations? What does that even mean?"

Horikita's explanation came to an abrupt halt.

She closed her eyes for half a second, and when she opened them again, all fluctuations had vanished from her gaze: "An equation containing one unknown variable where the highest power is 1." Her pen tip traced a mark on the scratch paper. "2x + 3 = 7, solve for x."

Ike Kanji stared fixedly at the equation, his pen nearly bending under his grip. "Is x... 3.5? No, that's not right... 2 times 3.5 is 7, plus 3 is 10... but the right side is only 7?"

It was clear he hadn't even established the basic logic of transposing terms.

Horikita's knuckles turned slightly white, and she shifted her gaze to Sudo. The latter had his entire face buried in his arms, muttering, "Don't look at me... I don't even know the whole alphabet."

A sense of absurdity washed over her like ice water, yet it failed to stir any waves.

The stark contrast between the crumbling foundations of the three boys before her and her grand ambition to reach Class A, the echo of her brother Horikita Manabu's mockery of a "zero-point class" in her mind, and the humiliation of bowing to Kushida still burned in her throat.

The words "How did you even get into this school?" nearly broke past her lips—but she merely pressed her pale lips into a tight line.

Strategic necessity, not emotional venting—this realization acted like a steel cable strangling her surging disgust.

Her fingernails pressed silently into her palms, the stinging sensation anchoring her rationality.

When she looked up again, only the cold clarity of a glacier remained in her eyes. "My judgment was flawed." She turned to the slightly startled Kushida, her tone brooks no argument. "Find a few first-year middle school math textbooks. The current situation..." Her gaze swept over the three boys, "...requires a complete reconstruction of the teaching plan."

The tip of her pen pressed into the blank paper, leaving a deep mark. This line severed not only the study plan but also the "solitary code" she had once held as her guiding principle.

For the goal of reaching Class A, she was willing to stoop down and pick up these fragments—even if it meant piecing them together from "1+1" all over again.

The air grew stagnant. Ike Kanji's Adam's apple bobbed silently, Sudo Ken's fingernails sank deep into his palms, and Yamauchi Haruki subconsciously hunched his shoulders. The oppressive atmosphere radiating from Horikita Suzune was not one of anger, but a cold coercion mixed with the iron rule of "expulsion," like the final gavel before a tribunal, crushing the last shred of wishful thinking in the three boys.

They exchanged glances, reading the same answer in each other's pupils: the cost of resistance far outweighed the cost of endurance.

In the silence, the three lowered their heads and opened the front covers of the first-year middle school textbooks.