Skipped Class, Brothers

As the figures of Sakayanagi Arisu and Kamuro Masumi vanished behind the bustling crowd.

Linmu Fujimiya completely cast this sudden, brief interlude to the back of his mind.

To him, these were merely two slightly peculiar passersby he had encountered while running his stall.

Even if the other party held an illustrious status, it was far less tangible or important than the endless stream of customers and the continuously rising point balance before his eyes.

Whether it was the young lady from Class A or the daughter of the chairman, as long as they didn't interfere with his money-making or his future life, they had nothing to do with him.

He pulled his attention back to his "workstation," still leaning lazily against the small folding stool.

He switched to a fresh lemon-flavored lollipop in his mouth, the sweet and sour taste spreading across his tongue, dispelling the faint drowsiness of the afternoon.

Maintaining that boneless, languid posture, he mechanically repeated the process he had long since mastered.

He signaled for the customer to draw a card or choose the Crystal Ball, stared for a moment, spat out a few concise yet piercing "prophecies," and finally confirmed the transfer of points.

(There aren't that many prophecies in the world; perhaps it's just a matter of probability. As for what level one wants to reach or what dreams one wants to realize, it only comes down to effort, effort, and more effort.)

Throughout the process, he was a man of few words, never saying a syllable more than the necessary rules and interpretations, his expression remaining as calm and indifferent as ever.

Yet, he could always use a mere handful of words to precisely strike at the most secret confusion or the deepest longing in the other person's heart.

Not far away, the noise in the Club Recruitment Plaza remained deafening, with various music, shouting, and trial-play sounds mixing together to form a vibrant background.

And in front of his divination stall, although the line was slightly shorter than during the peak, it remained impressively long and orderly.

Among the people waiting in line, seniors from the second and third years still accounted for a significant proportion.

Having accumulated or saved their personal points over a period of time, they were relatively more affluent and better able to understand the value brought by this "precise prophecy" that required a high price to purchase.

At the same time, there was no shortage of bold first-year students, or those troubled by a certain problem, who gritted their teeth, scraped together funds, or even pooled money with others to come for a divination.

Upon receiving answers that were often astonishingly accurate, they would invariably turn into wide-eyed, convinced believers, spontaneously becoming Linmu's most diligent, unpaid promoters.

They would vividly describe the magic of the "Divination Immortal" in their respective classes or small circles.

Linmu's fingers would occasionally tap the velvet-covered tabletop, seemingly unconsciously.

With every tap, his psychokinesis would act like the most obedient sprite, pushing the shuffled Tarot Cards box to the most convenient position for the customer without a trace.

Or, he would make the Crystal Ball on the table reflect sunlight at a specific angle without anyone touching it, creating a fleeting, imperceptible, hazy halo.

These little tricks maintained the indispensable atmosphere of a "mysterious diviner" perfectly, without requiring him to do anything himself, fitting his "slacker" principle of "if I can be lazy, I will; if I can save effort, I will" perfectly.

The point balance on his terminal screen continued to jump and climb steadily, as if it had a life of its own.

Having long since broken the million-point threshold, it was steadily marching toward an even higher number.

Linmu didn't even have the interest to check it carefully, only glancing at the growing string of numbers with his peripheral vision during occasional gaps, knowing roughly where he stood.

Today's harvest would certainly not be worse than yesterday's "grand opening" performance, and might even be better.

This made the sweetness of the lollipop in his mouth seem even richer.

As for skipping class today? Linmu didn't have the slightest psychological burden.

Are you kidding? Sitting in a classroom and listening to a lecture obediently was the biggest waste of time and energy.

What's more, through his precognition ability and reading the memories of Sae Chabashira, he had long since clearly "seen" the outcome for Class D next month—class points wiped to zero, personal points suspended.

The "reason" that led to all of this seemed to be right before his eyes.

(Enough talk, time to skip class, bros.)

Since he already knew that pretending to work hard in the classroom for a month would ultimately result in nothing, it was better to simply not go and spend his time on things with more "efficiency," like running his stall to earn points.

Anyway, he had zero interest in the hot-blooded drama of "leading Class D to counterattack and rise to Class A."

Through teacher Sae Chabashira, he knew there was a rule in the academy: if personal points accumulate to twenty million, one can apply to change classes.

Since there was this "pay-to-win channel," why would he bother to lead a group of "strangers" he wasn't familiar with—who might even drag him down—to fight for a collective victory, only to let those who might not have contributed anything share the fruits of his labor?

He believed in equivalent exchange: you get what you put in.

As for roles like "savior" or "leader," whoever wants to be them can go ahead; just don't disturb his peace.

Time slipped quietly toward the late afternoon, the scorching sun gradually becoming gentle, stained with a golden-red hue.

Through the increasingly dense branches and leaves of the cherry blossom trees by the plaza, it cast mottled, swaying light and shadows on the light-colored fabric of the tent.

The line of people naturally thinned as the day grew late, but there were still a dozen or so people stubbornly guarding their spots.

Unwilling to miss today's divination opportunity, it was as if they felt that if they were a step late, the mysterious window into fate would close.

Just as Linmu finished a divination for a third-year senior who was struggling with "whether he should...", the man thanked him repeatedly with a thoughtful expression before turning to leave.

Linmu's gaze, like a leisurely bird, inadvertently swept across a quiet patch of shade not far away.

Then, he saw that figure.

The golden-blonde hair no longer bounced with vitality as it did on other days, but hung somewhat quietly against her shoulders.

The brows and eyes that were always curved like crescent moons, filled with warm smiles, were now slightly furrowed, veiled in a layer of faint melancholy.

The signature sweet curve of her lips vanished, replaced by a trace of undisguisable disappointment.

She gripped the hem of her uniform skirt with both hands unconsciously, standing rooted to the spot with a distant gaze that eventually settled on the fortune-telling stall of Lin Mu, her eyes a tangle of hesitation, nervousness, and a flicker of imperceptible hope.

An aura of loneliness clung to her, completely out of place amidst the surrounding bustle.

It was Ichinose Honami.

The moment he saw her, Lin Mu had already guessed the reason for her appearance here.

He could even "hear" the chaotic echoes of her inner thoughts.

(I hear the echoes of disaster, hehehe.)

As it happened, Class B had no classes this afternoon.

And as expected, she had failed her Student Council selection.

(A failed art student...)