Examination

The busy time for review slipped away quietly amidst the subtle friction of pen tips against book pages.

Even though the study group had relocated to the dormitory of Hoshino Kanade, when Hoshino took a moment one afternoon to visit the library to borrow some psychology books, the tension and desperation permeating the air, almost thick enough to touch, remained clearly palpable.

The number of students rushing through the hallways clutching heavy textbooks had increased significantly, the reading room was packed to capacity, and even the hushed whispers of discussion were imbued with a near-tragic sense of earnestness.

Through the glass door of the reading room, Hoshino's gaze inadvertently caught the sight of the famous "three idiots" from Class D.

Sudo Ken was irritably clawing at his striking red hair, baring his teeth at an open English workbook as if he wanted to stare right through the tadpole-like letters; beside him, Yamauchi Haruki and Ike Kanji were slumped over their desks like defeated roosters, looking miserable over their math worksheets. Yet, the constant movement of their hands and the occasional scribbles on their scratch paper silently declared that they were still engaged in a desperate struggle.

However, Hoshino understood clearly that the direction of this struggle seemed to have veered off the right track from the very beginning.

A few days before the exam, a soul-crushing piece of news was delivered like a delayed verdict under almost absurd circumstances—it had been leaked inadvertently by a student from Class C while they were picking a fight with Class D in the library.

Upon hearing the rumors, the students of Class D finally intercepted their homeroom teacher, Chabashira Sae, as she was heading back to the office.

Their faces were a mix of a final shred of hope and heavy unease, their voices trembling with an imperceptible tremor: "Teacher... is the... scope of the exam... changing?"

Chabashira Sae stopped in her tracks, habitually crossing her arms, her eyes—always carrying a hint of weariness—sweeping over the anxious, tense faces before her.

Her tone was as flat as if she were discussing the trivial weather outside: "Ah? That?" She tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable as to whether she had anticipated this or simply didn't care, "...Right, the midterm exam scope was changed last Friday. Sorry, I guess I forgot to tell you all."

Her tone was devoid of ripples, as if she were merely answering the most ordinary of questions.

This overly nonchalant attitude left the students surrounding her frozen in place, their complexions shifting from confusion to deathly pale.

Clearly, she had known about this so-called "change" for a long time, yet she had never taken the initiative to reveal a single detail to her class.

Hoshino Kanade and Kiyona were sitting side-by-side on a bench in the open-air corridor connecting the two school buildings at the time.

The afternoon sun spilled through the glass ceiling, casting dappled light spots onto the notebooks spread across their laps.

Kiyona's shoulder rested lightly against Hoshino's arm, the warm sensation transferring through his thin shirt.

The students of Class D walked past him, looking utterly dejected, their discussions sounding like wilted eggplants, filled with bewilderment and the anger of being fooled.

"To find out only now... how could there be enough time..." "The scope for all five subjects has changed, what are we supposed to do?"... No one mentioned, or rather, no one even thought to dig up past papers to look for "archived exams" as a clue or direction for their review.

To Hoshino Kanade, this was practically common sense in exam preparation—after all, past exam questions often contained the codes to a teacher's testing preferences and the emphasis on specific knowledge points.

He was, of course, aware of the school's convention—that quizzes, midterms, and finals often reused the questions from the previous year. (He felt a bit puzzled as to whether the school's exams hadn't changed in a decade, given they kept using the previous year's material.)

Hoshino Kanade's fingers, gripping the spine of his book, unconsciously rubbed against the rough edge of the cover, the subtle friction felt at his fingertips, but in the end, he simply pushed the thought aside.

Selling this information? The risk was simply too great. Whether it was the exposure to the teachers' eyes while contacting upperclassmen or choosing someone to pass the information along.

More troublesome was that regardless of whether Class D performed well or poorly in the end, he would likely be dragged into the center of the vortex of trouble.

Furthermore, the personal points he could gain from this news were pitifully small compared to the risks he would have to shoulder.

The cost of investment and the potential return were severely out of balance on the invisible scale in his heart.

Not worth it, absolutely not worth it.

Moreover, his gaze traveled through the bustling crowd and landed once again on that distant, red-haired figure scratching his head in frustration.

Watching Sudo Ken's anxious appearance as he nearly went berserk over his English workbook, a flash of near-pitying understanding crossed Hoshino Kanade's mind.

He remembered that in another similar timeline, even when someone had laid out the complete "original questions" and answers almost right in front of Sudo, his hopeless foundation in English was like an uncrossable chasm, and he still ended up failing.

Hoshino Kanade even found it hard to understand: even if one didn't know a single letter, just rote-memorizing the positions of the multiple-choice answers shouldn't result in that kind of score... this level of difficulty was almost inhuman.

Now, even that theoretically existing help of "original questions" was gone, and in Hoshino Kanade's cold assessment, the probability of Sudo passing was as dim as a flickering candle in the wind, ready to be extinguished at any moment.

He sighed silently in his heart, a trace of imperceptible regret passing by—he hoped that this boy who treated basketball as his life could continue to burn with that pure passion in the vast world outside after this inevitable setback, and eventually realize his dream.

'Amen.' This silent sigh only rippled across the lake of his own heart before returning to calm.

Everything that followed proceeded like a precisely set program, step by step.

The day of the midterm exam arrived as scheduled.

A solemn silence permeated the school building, broken only by the footsteps of the proctors and the rustling sound of paper as the test papers were distributed.

Countless exam papers, carrying both anxiety and hope, were passed under the fluorescent lights into hands that were either nervous or steady.

The scratching of pen tips against paper gathered into the most dominant, monotonous, yet heart-tugging notes in the exam hall.

Hoshino Kanade sat upright in his seat, his gaze sweeping calmly over the questions on the paper.

His brain functioned like a high-efficiency precision instrument; there were no questions that could truly pose a difficulty, and his vast knowledge reserve was enough to handle them with ease.

The sunlight outside the window slanted through the glass, casting square patches of light onto the clean surface of the desk, quietly witnessing the life trajectories of these countless tiny individuals, their lines being silently outlined in these few short hours of silence.

The bell signaling the end of the exam rang suddenly, shattering the solidified air.

A brief clamor washed over the hallway like a tide, and soon after, it gradually faded back into silence.

The dust settled, and everything seemed to have returned to its previous track: desks, books, blackboard erasers... only the yet-to-be-announced report card, carrying judgment and the future, hung like an unfallen weight, quietly waiting for the moment it would drop to deliver the verdict.

The busy time for review slipped away quietly amidst the subtle friction of pen tips against book pages.

Even though the study group had relocated to the dormitory of Hoshino Kanade, when Hoshino took a moment one afternoon to visit the library to borrow some psychology books, the tension and desperation permeating the air, almost thick enough to touch, remained clearly palpable.

The number of students rushing through the hallways clutching heavy textbooks had increased significantly, the reading room was packed to capacity, and even the hushed whispers of discussion were imbued with a near-tragic sense of earnestness.

Through the glass door of the reading room, Hoshino's gaze inadvertently caught the sight of the famous "three idiots" from Class D.

Sudo Ken was irritably clawing at his striking red hair, baring his teeth at an open English workbook as if he could stare right through the tadpole-like letters. Beside him, Yamauchi Haruki and Ike Kanji were like two defeated roosters, slumped over their desks with grimaces on their faces as they stared at their math worksheets. Yet, the constant movement of their hands and the occasional scribbles on their scratch paper silently declared that they were still putting up a desperate struggle.

However, Hoshino knew clearly that the direction of this struggle seemed to have veered off the right track from the very beginning.

A few days before the exam, a sinking piece of news was delivered like a delayed verdict under almost absurd circumstances—it had been leaked inadvertently by a Class C student while they were bickering and taunting Class D in the library.

The students of Class D, having caught wind of the rumors, finally cornered their homeroom teacher, Chabashira Sae, in the hallway as she was returning to the office.

Their faces were a mix of a final shred of hope and heavy unease, their voices trembling with a subtle tremor: "Teacher... the scope of the exam, is it... has it changed?"

Chabashira Sae stopped in her tracks, habitually crossing her arms, her eyes—always carrying a hint of weariness—sweeping over the anxious and tense faces before her.

Her tone was as flat as if she were discussing the indifferent weather outside: "Ah? That..." She tilted her head slightly, her expression impossible to read as either expected or purely indifferent, "...that's right, the midterm exam scope was changed last Friday. Sorry, it seems I forgot to tell you."

Her tone was devoid of any ripples, as if she were merely answering the most ordinary of questions.

This overly nonchalant attitude left the students surrounding her frozen in place, their complexions shifting from confusion to deathly pale.

Clearly, she had known about this so-called "change" for a long time, yet she had never taken the initiative to reveal even a fraction of it to her class.

Hoshino Kanade and Kiyona were sitting side by side on a bench in the open-air corridor connecting the two teaching buildings at the time.

The afternoon sun spilled through the glass ceiling, casting mottled light spots on the notebooks spread across their laps.

Kiyona's shoulder rested lightly against Hoshino's arm, the warm sensation traveling through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Class D students passed by him in low spirits, their discussions like wilted eggplants, filled with bewilderment and the anger of being fooled.

"Only finding out now... how could there be enough time..." "The scope for all five subjects has changed, what are we supposed to do?"... No one mentioned, or rather, no one even thought to dig up past papers to find "archived questions" as clues and direction for their review.

To Hoshino Kanade, this was almost common sense in exam preparation—after all, past exam questions often contained the code to a teacher's testing preferences and the emphasis of their knowledge points.

He certainly knew the school's convention—that quizzes, midterms, and final exams directly reused the questions from the previous year. (He felt a bit puzzled that the school's test questions hadn't changed in a decade, but he kept it to himself.)

Hoshino Kanade's fingers unconsciously traced the rough edges of the book cover, the friction felt at his fingertips, but in the end, he simply suppressed the thought.

Selling this information? The risk was simply too great. Whether it was the exposure to teachers' eyes while contacting upperclassmen or choosing someone to pass the information to.

More troublesome was that regardless of how well or poorly Class D performed in the end, he would likely be dragged into the center of the vortex of trouble.

Furthermore, the personal points he could gain from this information were pitifully small compared to the risks he would have to bear.

The cost of investment and the potential return were severely out of balance on the invisible scale in his mind.

Not worth it, absolutely not worth it.

Moreover, his gaze passed through the bustling crowd and landed once again on that red-haired figure in the distance, scratching his head in frustration.

Watching Sudo Ken's anxious appearance as he nearly went berserk over his English workbook, a flash of almost pitying understanding crossed Hoshino Kanade's mind.

He remembered that in another similar timeline, even when someone had laid out the complete "original questions" and answers right in front of Sudo, his hopeless English foundation was like an insurmountable chasm, and he still ended up failing.

Hoshino Kanade found it almost hard to understand: even if one didn't recognize a single letter, just rote-memorizing the positions of the multiple-choice answers shouldn't result in that kind of score... this level of difficulty was simply not human.

Now, with even this theoretically existing "original question" aid gone, the probability of Sudo passing, in Hoshino Kanade's calm assessment, was as slim as a flickering candle in the wind, ready to be extinguished at any moment.

He sighed silently in his heart, a trace of imperceptible regret passing by—he hoped that this boy who treated basketball as his life would continue to burn with his pure passion in the vast world outside after this inevitable setback, and eventually realize his dreams.

'Amen.' This silent sigh only caused a ripple in the lake of his own heart before returning to calm.

Everything that followed proceeded like a precisely set program, step by step.

The day of the midterm exam arrived as scheduled.

The teaching building was filled with a solemn silence, broken only by the footsteps of the proctors and the rustling of paper as the test papers were distributed.

Countless test papers, carrying anxiety and hope, were passed into hands that were either nervous or steady under the fluorescent lights.

The scratching of pen tips against paper gathered into the most dominant, monotonous, yet heart-wrenching notes in the exam hall.

Hoshino Kanade sat upright in his seat, his gaze sweeping calmly over the questions on the paper.

His brain was like a high-efficiency precision instrument; there were no questions that could truly pose a difficulty, and his vast reservoir of knowledge was enough to handle them with ease.

The sunlight outside the window slanted through the glass, casting square patches of light onto the clean desk surface, quietly witnessing the life trajectories of these countless tiny individuals, their lines silently traced during these few short hours of silence.

The bell for the end of the exam rang suddenly, shattering the solidified air.

A brief clamor surged through the hallway like a tide, and soon after, it gradually returned to silence.

The dust settled, and everything seemed to have returned to its previous track—the desks, the books, the blackboard erasers... only that as-yet-unannounced report card, carrying judgment and the future, hung like a weight that had yet to fall, quietly waiting for the moment it would drop and pronounce the result.