Invitation

During Chinese class, Ryuji Kanzaki's fingertips rested unconsciously against the edge of his open book, but his eyes weren't on the printed words. Yun Lan's casual remark—"act like a good student"—had dropped into the depths of his thoughts like a cold stone. Instead of splashing, it sent out ripple after ripple, each carrying a bone-deep chill.

"Act."

His rigorous mind automatically underlined the word. Not "become," but "act." That meant there was an expected outward template, a set of behavioral guidelines to be observed and judged. So who was observing? Who was judging? And what were the standards?

His gaze lifted slightly, passing over the shoulders of the students in front of him and settling on the teacher's desk. The Chinese teacher was unhurriedly opening his lesson plan, his eyes behind his glasses sweeping over the class out of habit. It was a routine, unreflective calm. Yet in Kanzaki's interpretation, that calm had somehow taken on an air of scrutiny.

Test the teacher's reaction...

A thought surfaced like the tip of an iceberg in dark waters, suddenly clear.

If "how a student should act" was a performance subject to observation, then what about behavior that went against it? For example, something as ordinary as talking during class.

Kanzaki's gaze shifted discreetly to the right, toward the middle of the classroom. Ryota Beppu didn't seem to have fully come down from the excitement of recess. He was turned toward the boy beside him, speaking softly, a smile still tugging at his lips. His voice was so low that it was almost inaudible beneath the teacher's opening lecture. The teacher's gaze swept past them, paused for perhaps just a tenth of a second, then moved on as if nothing had happened. He continued explaining how particles connected in classical grammar.

Once might have been a coincidence.

Kanzaki's breathing slowed slightly, like an instrument entering observation mode. His hearing seemed to detach from the rest of him, filtering out the teacher's steady lecture and catching the faint "background noise" scattered through the classroom. Behind him to the left came the soft rustle of pages being flipped quickly—not the sound of someone searching for information, but more like a way to pass the time. Two girls at the front right exchanged a word or two in hushed voices behind their textbooks, then pressed their lips together to stifle a laugh.

The teacher's gaze swept over these areas again and again. Had he noticed? Without question. From his elevated position at the front, those small movements were almost impossible to miss. But had he stopped them? No. He hadn't even given them a warning look or coughed pointedly. He simply continued teaching at his own pace, as though the class below him were a sanctuary of perfect discipline.

If everyone's behavior was being judged... then the teacher wouldn't stop them from talking in class, even though it wasn't how students were supposed to act.

The conclusion took shape, cold and clear, in Kanzaki's mind. Not because the teacher was negligent or permissive, but because perhaps this degree of "deviance" didn't warrant immediate correction. Or, more unsettling still, perhaps it was being tacitly allowed—even expected?

The teacher's calm, unruffled gaze no longer seemed merely lazy or tolerant to Kanzaki. It had become a deliberate act of "nonintervention," a silent record. He could almost see an invisible system operating behind the teacher's gaze, coolly evaluating every minor transgression: who was testing the limits, who was openly disregarding them, and who could remain absolutely still amid all the chaos that was being permitted.

Tetsuya Hamaguchi's profile, as motionless as a statue and absorbed in his book, stood out all the more in that moment. Perhaps that wasn't simply a matter of temperament. It might also be an unconscious, highly skillful performance.

A chill crept slowly up Ryuji Kanzaki's spine. Yun Lan's seemingly unnecessary reminder now carried an entirely different weight. This classroom was filled not only with the restlessness and fatigue of adolescence, but also with something far more covert—a contest over evaluation and survival, played out beneath a magnifying glass, while its rules remained hidden in the shadows beyond the sunlight.

This was an assessment of how conscientiously we acted as students, and there was no telling how long it would last!

"Looks like he's already noticed something's off. No wonder he's the strategist of Class B in the original story. He catches on with just one hint." Yun Lan watched Ryuji Kanzaki's reaction and marveled.

The morning passed in the blink of an eye.

"Ah, it's finally over~"

Yun Lan stretched out his arms. After sitting all morning, even his back was starting to ache.

Ryuji Kanzaki turned and asked Yun Lan quietly, "Did you realize this was an assessment from the start? If so, why didn't you tell everyone?"

Yun Lan replied calmly, "I realized it early on. A school like this wouldn't give us such generous privileges at graduation without any strings attached. Anyone who thought it through could have figured that out."

"I've been observing," Yun Lan continued, his voice as steady as ever, as if stating an objective fact. "Among the boys, especially those who value order and logic, you have a certain amount of influence. They won't dismiss your opinion as a joke. And Honami..." His gaze swept over the straight-backed figure in the row ahead. "She has a natural warmth and leadership potential that can bring most people together. But have you noticed? Sometimes she's too idealistic. She needs someone to fill in the gaps in her strategy from a practical perspective. A rational, level-headed partner who's good at weighing the pros and cons would be just right."

"Don't you worry I'll betray the class? If points can buy anything, I imagine a place in Class A could be bought too."

After hearing that, Yun Lan didn't show the slightest sign of wariness or anger. Instead, his smile deepened a little. It was the approving look of a teacher watching an excellent student solve a difficult problem.

"Correct." He nodded lightly, sounding almost pleased. "You've drawn a logical conclusion. You've already gotten to the heart of the potential conflict between 'personal best interests' and 'the collective good.'" He shifted gears, his gaze growing more profound. "But, Ryuji, precisely because you're the heir to the Kanzaki Zaibatsu, I'm even less worried."

He addressed Kanzaki by his given name, his tone certain.

"For you, how much real added value does this so-called 'Class A graduation' title offer? A nice-looking résumé? Do you need one? No. You were born with everything it could give you—or you have more direct ways of getting it." Yun Lan leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. There was a force to it, as if he could see right through people. "What you really care about might be the 'game' itself—its rules, its challenges, and... the process of reaching your goals through intelligence and skill within those rules. Pure business logic might point toward maximizing personal gain, but the desire for a good 'gaming experience' and the need to 'prove yourself' can sometimes outweigh it."

"So, play this game with me. Not as a pawn pushed around by the rules, but as a player trying to understand them—and even use them. What do you say?" Yun Lan extended an invitation to Ryuji Kanzaki.