Superficial and one-sided Suzune Horikita? Poker-faced and silent Kiyotaka Ayanokoji? Judgment confirmed!

Akiyama Shin withdrew his gaze, the confrontation between Kushida Kikyo and Koenji Rokusuke already filed away in his mind.

To him, it was nothing more than a trivial interlude.

A man like Koenji Rokusuke, marching to his own beat, self-centered to the extreme, his behavioral logic entirely serving his own preferences, indifferent to outside judgment and conventional moral constraints—as long as his actions didn't actively infringe on others' tangible interests, no matter how unsociable he appeared, in Akiyama Shin's view, it was merely a lifestyle he had chosen, neither right nor wrong.

As for Kushida Kikyo, whether her inner motives were to satisfy her own desire for attention, accumulate social capital, or genuinely harbor pure goodwill, as long as her final decision was to help others, then Akiyama Shin felt he had no standing to criticize her.

He quite admired an old Chinese saying: A gentleman judges by deeds, not by heart; judge by heart, and no one in the world is perfect.

The objective outcome of an action often holds more evaluative value than the unfathomable inner motive.

The commotion on the bus eventually subsided in its own way.

A woman in a professional suit, who looked like a school staff member, couldn't bear it any longer, stood up, and offered her seat to the elderly woman with the bad leg. Koenji Rokusuke showed no reaction, continuing to fiddle with his mirror.

Kushida Kikyo softly thanked the woman, still carrying a hint of grievance, but soon fell into hushed conversation with other new students trying to comfort her, her face once again adorned with that highly approachable, gentle smile.

The bus drove steadily across the long Cross-Sea Bridge.

Finally, it stopped before the imposing main gate of Tokyo Advanced Nurturing High School.

Akiyama Shin stepped off the bus with the crowd, and what greeted his eyes was a bustling throng of new students.

Most were gathered in front of a large electronic bulletin board erected near the school gate, looking up to find their names and class assignments.

The air was filled with the faint scent of cherry blossoms, mingled with the new students' anticipation, anxiety, and excitement for their new environment.

Akiyama Shin also intended to step forward and check his class placement. He had just taken a step, heading toward the crowd, when suddenly, a clear, distinctly disdainful tch came from his side and slightly behind him.

The sound was very soft, not particularly noticeable in the surrounding noise, yet it drilled into his ears with exceptional clarity.

Akiyama Shin paused mid-step, turned his head calmly, and found behind him a girl of striking beauty.

She had hair as smooth as a waterfall, jet-black and straight down to her waist, with a strand on her left front side delicately braided and adorned with a pure white butterfly bow, adding a touch of subtle refinement to her cool demeanor.

Her figure was well-proportioned, her legs long and slender.

The same custom-tailored uniform, when worn by her, exuded an icy aura that warned others to keep their distance.

Her features were as delicate as a doll's, but her clear eyes held no warmth—

only a distant aloofness and a hint of undisguised contempt?

Akiyama Shin quickly searched his memory, certain he had never seen her before.

This was their first meeting.

He didn't know her, nor did he understand the reason for this sudden, negative attitude.

Akiyama Shin wasn't one to care about others' opinions, but this groundless, clearly targeted hostility made him decide to get to the bottom of it.

He was accustomed to controlling information; any unexplained enmity could become a potential future problem.

Though the problem might be trivial, knowing in advance was better than knowing nothing.

He turned to the black-haired girl, his tone flat and unruffled, betraying no irritation at being slighted, more like he was stating an objective fact.

"Excuse me, is something the matter?"

"If I heard correctly, was that tch just now directed at me?"

Horikita Suzune, upon hearing this, met Akiyama Shin's red pupils, half-hidden by his black hair, with a cold, unflinching gaze.

She seemed not to have expected him to question her so directly, but her expression didn't change. She simply spoke, her voice as lacking in warmth as her eyes.

"It's just an instinctive discomfort toward men who lose their composure over appearances."

"You were staring at that girl who struck up a conversation on the bus for quite a while, weren't you?"

"That obvious people-pleasing personality—was it really enough to captivate you?"

Her tone carried a condescending judgment, as if she had already seen through Akiyama Shin's shallowness.

Just then, a somewhat bland, even monotonous male voice cut in, attempting to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere.

"Um... I'm Kiyotaka Ayanokoji."

The boy standing slightly behind Horikita Suzune suddenly introduced himself. He had an ordinary, center-parted brown hairstyle, a clean but expressionless face, and eyes devoid of any emotion, making it hard to guess his thoughts.

"This is Horikita Suzune. We... got to know each other on the bus just now."

Kiyotaka Ayanokoji, born in the White Room and cultivated as its greatest masterpiece, was at this moment following the directive to experience an ordinary high school life, diligently mimicking the behavior patterns of a normal student.

Yet, in essence, he lacked a deep understanding of emotions, human relationships, and human nature.

Most of the time, his emotions existed in a state of near-vacuum calm.

But facing this sudden standoff between Horikita Suzune and Akiyama Shin, he felt a hint of... trouble.

Based on his brief study, this kind of situation was usually awkward. He chose to intervene partly because he felt Horikita's behavior was too direct and rude—not in line with the ordinary social norms he understood—and partly because he was currently trying to build a friendship with Horikita Suzune.

Even though she had absolutely no interest in that.

And on the bus, he had already experienced firsthand Horikita Suzune's style: extremely self-centered, saying whatever came to mind without regard for others' feelings, and possessing a severely lacking ability to communicate.

The reason she clicked her tongue at Akiyama Shin was simply because she caught him looking in Kushida Kikyo's direction on the bus. She arbitrarily categorized him as an ordinary boy captivated by beauty, immature, and inexperienced with girls, thus looking down on him. Ayanokoji found this confidence in jumping to conclusions based on a one-sided observation quite helpless.

Horikita Suzune merely furrowed her brows slightly at Ayanokoji Kiyotaka's unsolicited introduction, giving him a cold glance, but she didn't refute him verbally.

In her eyes, Ayanokoji Kiyotaka was a baffling escapist, mediocre in ability, yet inexplicably clinging to her side, claiming he wanted to be friends.

After listening to Ayanokoji's introduction and looking at Horikita Suzune, whose expression screamed "I'm stating facts," Akiyama Shin understood.

He nodded slightly, his tone still devoid of any fluctuation.

"Akiyama Shin, Class 1-D."

He directly stated his class information, which he had just glimpsed from the nearby bulletin board, as a response to Ayanokoji's self-introduction and to identify himself.

Then, he turned back to Horikita Suzune. He showed neither anger nor eagerness to defend himself against her earlier accusation. Instead, he replied in a tone that simply stated facts.

"I see."

"Just because you saw me looking in a certain direction, you concluded I was spacing out at a girl, and then deduced that I'm childish and shallow. Is that right, Horikita?"

He paused briefly.

His dark red pupils, visible through his hair, calmly fixed on Horikita Suzune's stubborn eyes.

"I don't really care about that. After all, I'm not so desperate for the opposite sex that I need to lose myself staring at a stranger on a bus. As for what I was looking at or thinking about, it doesn't seem necessary to explain to you. If you're used to judging people based on one-sided observations and believing in them without doubt..."

Akiyama Shin's voice remained flat, but his words carried a sharp edge.

"Then it only shows that your level of perception might be stuck at the very level you look down on. Shallow people see everything as shallow."

Horikita Suzune's finely shaped eyebrows visibly knitted together. Akiyama Shin's response was completely unexpected. There was no panicked defense, no embarrassed anger at being caught out—only an almost cold calm and a blunt counterattack.

She was always confident in her judgments, but Akiyama Shin's eerily calm red eyes and his completely unshaken demeanor made her first, fleeting doubt creep into her instant assessment.

This attitude—completely unaffected by her appearance and presence, even turning around to accuse her of shallowness—didn't seem like playing hard to get. She wasn't good at socializing, but she wasn't stupid; she had basic discernment.

Her pride wouldn't let her back down immediately, but the facts didn't seem to match her assumption.

She pressed her lips together, her face covered in frost, but in the end, she didn't argue further.

She just let out a cold snort and turned her head away, no longer looking at Akiyama Shin.

In a way, she temporarily withdrew her verdict of Akiyama Shin as a shallow otaku, upgrading him to a level that might not be so simple. But that didn't mean she approved of him; she simply filed him under "needs further observation."

Seeing this, Akiyama Shin couldn't be bothered to say more.

He had little interest in delving into characters like Horikita Suzune—overconfident, poor communicators, with rigid and stubborn thinking patterns.

In his view, unless people like her encountered a major setback, it was hard for them to change their ingrained behavior. Analyzing her was a pure waste of time.

He gave Ayanokoji Kiyotaka a slight nod, then ignored the two of them, turning and walking straight toward the crowded bulletin board.

Watching Akiyama Shin's retreating figure, Ayanokoji Kiyotaka turned to Horikita Suzune, who was still wearing a cold expression, and tried to communicate in his flat tone.

"It seems not everyone is as you initially judged them to be, is that right, Horikita?"

Horikita Suzune didn't turn her head, her voice cold.

"He might not be as shallow as I first thought. At least, when faced with doubt, he showed a calmness different from ordinary people."

She paused.

But her tone still carried her inherent subjective bias.

"However, he still didn't explain what he was actually looking at, did he? And it's a fact that he was staring at that girl. Even if he wasn't spacing out, his attention was on her. He's probably just a little better at hiding it than the average guy."

She stubbornly clung to her initial judgment, refusing to fully admit she was wrong.

In her view, Akiyama Shin's lack of explanation was an admission, and she would never accept that he simply felt no need to explain himself to her.

Ayanokoji Kiyotaka fell silent.

He could detect the sophistry in Horikita's words, but based on his learned social common sense, continuing to argue in this situation didn't seem wise.

He chose to shut up and say nothing more.

He silently filed away the name and image of Akiyama Shin—a special existence with keen observation, a calm mind, and an apparent immunity to beautiful women.

Akiyama Shin didn't take Horikita Suzune to heart; he didn't even bother to analyze her.

Instead, his attention was briefly caught by Ayanokoji Kiyotaka. That boy appeared utterly unremarkable on the surface, his emotions excessively flat, and his speech carried a deliberate imitation of ordinariness. But Akiyama Shin didn't think it was just natural expressionlessness; it seemed more like the result of a long-term, specific environment. He was consciously learning how to communicate and react like an ordinary high school student.

"Ayanokoji Kiyotaka, huh..."

A flicker of minor interest passed through Akiyama Shin's mind, but at the moment, there were more important things to confirm.

He squeezed into the crowd and looked up at the giant electronic bulletin board, searching for his name.

His eyes quickly scanned the lists for Classes A, B, and C, finally finding the name "Akiyama Shin" in the Class D section.

"Class D, huh..."

He murmured to himself, his face betraying no hint of surprise. His gaze swept across the top of the notice board, where information for the first-year students was displayed: four classes in total, each with forty students.

Forty students per class, four classes totaling one hundred and sixty people.

This number further deepened Akiyama Shin's speculation about competitive relationships between the classes.

Such enormous expenses could hardly be sustained by government funding alone. The school must have its own internal mechanism for generating revenue or screening students, and the division into Classes A, B, C, and D carried an obvious hierarchical implication.

Under the banner of meritocracy, this kind of hierarchical division was almost inevitably tied to resource allocation and evaluation systems.

He was well aware of his own problem.

He was not an all-around genius, but an undisputed specialist with glaring weaknesses.

In science and physical education, he was confident he could reach the peak level for his age—sharp-minded and physically robust.

However, in humanities subjects like Japanese and social studies, his grades barely hovered around the average, occasionally dipping slightly below it.

More importantly, he was not adept at proactive teamwork. While his social skills weren't so poor as to make communication impossible, they were far from his strong suit.

He could hold a normal conversation, but forming deep connections or maintaining an extensive social network was neither his desire nor his forte.

"The positioning of Class D..."

"If we follow conventional understanding, Class A is the best and Class D the worst, then placing me in Class D—does that mean the school, upon enrollment, has already evaluated each of our overall strengths or weaknesses through some unknown method?"

Akiyama Shin analyzed calmly.

"Was it the entrance exam?"

"That could indeed count as a form of assessment. Since my humanities are weak and I'm not good at collaboration, was I judged as lacking in ability and thus assigned to the bottom-tier Class D?"

This speculation was reasonable.

If that were the case, then this school's definition of "ability" was likely far more complex and stringent than its surface propaganda suggested.

It didn't just value academics; it also valued comprehensive capabilities, including soft skills like socializing and teamwork.

He stood before the notice board. Cherry blossoms continued to fall, and sunlight gilded the magnificent school building with a layer of gold.

"Looks like life from now on won't be peaceful after all..."