Skipping Class, Bro

After Sakayanagi Arisu and Kamuro Masumi disappeared into the bustling crowd.

Linmu Fujimiya completely put the sudden little interruption out of his mind.

To him, they were merely two somewhat unusual passersby he had happened to meet while running his stall.

Even if they had prestigious backgrounds, they were still nowhere near as practical or important as the steady stream of customers and the ever-rising points right in front of him.

Whether she was a young lady from Class A or the chairman's daughter, as long as she didn't interfere with his earnings or his life afterward, she had nothing to do with him.

He turned his attention back to his "workstation" and continued lounging lazily on the little stool.

He had switched to a fresh lemon-flavored lollipop. Its sweet-and-sour taste spread over his tongue, dispelling the slight drowsiness of the afternoon.

He maintained that boneless, languid posture, mechanically repeating the routine he had long since committed to memory.

He gestured for customers to draw a card or choose the Crystal Ball, gazed at it for a moment, then delivered a few concise but straight-to-the-point "predictions." Finally, he confirmed that the points had arrived.

(There aren't that many predictions in the world. Maybe it's just a matter of probability. Whatever you want to accomplish, whatever dream you want to make come true, there's only one way: work hard, work hard, and work harder.)

He used as few words as possible throughout. Apart from the necessary explanations of the rules and readings, he never said a word more than he had to, and his expression remained as placid as ever.

Yet with just a few words, he could always pinpoint the most secret doubts or deepest desires in someone's heart.

The commotion at the Club Recruitment Plaza nearby was still deafening. Music, shouts, and the sounds of people trying things out blended into a lively backdrop.

The line in front of his fortune-telling stall had grown a little shorter than it had been at its busiest, but it was still impressively long and orderly.

Second- and third-year students still made up a considerable proportion of the people in line.

They had had more time to save or accumulate their personal points, so they were relatively well-off. They were also better able to appreciate the value of the "precise predictions" they were paying a hefty price for.

There were also a few bold first-years, or ones troubled by some problem, who gritted their teeth, scraped together their points, or even pooled them with a few friends to get a reading.

Once they received answers that were often astonishingly accurate, they were invariably left amazed and convinced. Then they would turn around and spontaneously become Linmu's most enthusiastic volunteer promoters.

In their classes or little social circles, they vividly recounted the wonders of the "Divination Immortal."

Every now and then, Linmu's fingers would seemingly tap the velvet-covered tabletop without thinking.

With each tap, Psychokinesis would obediently nudge the neatly shuffled Tarot Cards box to the most convenient spot by the customer's hand, without anyone noticing.

Or it would make the Crystal Ball on the table catch the sunlight at a particular angle, even though no one had touched it, giving off a faint, fleeting, barely perceptible haze of light.

These little tricks maintained just the right atmosphere of mystery that a "mysterious fortune teller" needed, without requiring him to lift a finger. They fit perfectly with his philosophy of "slack off whenever possible, and save yourself trouble whenever possible."

The points balance on his terminal screen continued to climb steadily, as if it were alive.

It had long since broken the million-point mark and was now making steady progress toward an even higher figure.

Linmu couldn't even be bothered to look closely. Only now and then, in a lull, would he glance at the growing string of numbers from the corner of his eye, enough to get a general idea.

Today's earnings were certain to be no worse than yesterday's "strong opening," and might even surpass them.

That made the lollipop taste even sweeter.

As for skipping class today? Linmu didn't feel the slightest bit guilty.

What a joke. Going to the classroom to sit properly and listen to lessons would be the biggest waste of time and energy.

Besides, through Precognition and reading Teacher Sae Chabashira's memories, he had already clearly "seen" what would happen to Class D next month—its Class Points would be wiped out, and personal point payments would be suspended.

The "cause" of all this seemed to be right around the corner.

(No need to say more. We're skipping class, bros.)

Since he already knew that pretending to work hard in the classroom for a month would ultimately get him nothing, he might as well simply not go and spend his time on something more "profitable," like running a stall and earning points.

After all, he had no interest whatsoever in some fiery tale about "leading Class D in a comeback and ascending to Class A."

I learned from Chabashira-sensei that the school rules included a provision allowing students to apply for a class transfer once they had accumulated twenty million personal points.

Since there was a "pay-to-win route," why should he go to the trouble of leading a bunch of people he barely knew—

people who might even drag one another down—toward a collective victory, only for those who might have contributed nothing to share in the rewards?

He believed in equal exchange: give as much as you got.

As for roles like "savior" or "leader," whoever wanted them could have them. Just don't disturb his peace and quiet.

Time slipped into the afternoon. The blazing sunlight gradually softened, taking on a golden-red hue.

Through the increasingly dense branches of the cherry trees along the plaza, it cast shifting patches of light and shadow across the tent's pale fabric.

As evening approached, the line naturally began to thin, but more than a dozen people still stubbornly held their places.

They didn't want to miss their chance to get a reading today, as if the mysterious window into their fate might close if they waited a moment too long.

Linmu had just finished giving a reading to a third-year student who was agonizing over whether he "should or shouldn't..." The student thanked him repeatedly, looking thoughtful, then turned to leave.

Linmu's gaze wandered like a lazy bird, casually passing over a quiet patch of shade beneath a tree nearby.

Then he saw her.

Her golden hair no longer bounced with energy as she walked, as it usually did. Instead, it hung quietly over her shoulders.

Her brows, usually curved like crescents and filled with warm smiles, were now slightly furrowed, shaded by a faint sorrow.

Her signature sweet smile had vanished, replaced by an unmistakable hint of disappointment.

She unconsciously clutched the hem of her uniform skirt with both hands and stood there, her gaze wandering until it settled on Linmu's fortune-telling stall. Uncertainty, nervousness, and a faint glimmer of hope mingled in her eyes.

An air of loneliness surrounded her, completely at odds with the lively atmosphere around her.

It was Ichinose Honami.

The moment Linmu saw her, he more or less guessed why she had come here.

He even "heard" the jumble of thoughts echoing in her heart.

(I hear the echoes of disaster coming. Heh heh heh.)

Class B happened to have no lessons that afternoon.

And, just as expected, she had failed to get selected for the Student Council.

(Another failed art student...)