Lin Mu's seat was in the "chosen spot" at the very center of the last row.
He had a lollipop in his mouth—different flavor every day—and casually propped his chin up with one hand, his eyelids half lowered as his lazy gaze swept across the entire classroom.
He was like an uninvolved observer, enjoying a moving ukiyo-e painting titled The Making of Useless Students.
(Happy education, too happy. The daily life of a vocational school.)
He had long since reached the point where he could ignore the commotion around him. His mind was perfectly calm; he even felt like laughing a little.
He could clearly see that these classmates of his were still immersed in the false prosperity and illusion of comfort brought by the 100,000 points they had received upon enrollment.
Perhaps they thought this elite high school was nothing special. Its rules were lax, its benefits generous—it was practically paradise.
They had never considered that the academy's "merit above all" rules were far more complicated and cruel than they appeared, let alone anticipated what was coming.
On the first day of May, when the notification for their personal points failed to arrive as promised, they would be hit by a thunderclap so sudden it would shatter every illusion they had.
Class D's Class Points would be an eye-catching "0," which meant the academy wouldn't give them a single personal point.
When that happened, they would have no choice but to scrape by on the free salad meals and basic supplies available on campus.
The snacks, drinks, and entertainment they had once bought with their points would become luxuries beyond their reach. The good times would slowly pack their bags and leave.
Some might ask: If Lin Mu knew all this, why not warn his classmates? Even if only through subtle hints?
The answer was simple: he was just an ordinary member of Class D's more than forty students—a slacker who often skipped class and seemed lazy and carefree, with nothing going for him but his looks.
He had neither the leisure nor the obligation to play "savior" or "prophet," and he knew full well that in this environment, "there was no point saying more."
Even if he laid out the academy's hidden rules, the secret of Class Points, and the dangers they might face in the future, how many people would believe him?
In the eyes of classmates immersed in pleasure and idleness, Linmu Fujimiya would probably just seem like a weirdo making things up, spreading alarm, or trying to drag others down because he couldn't be bothered to improve himself.
Trust needed a foundation. And in Class D, aside from his reputation as the "Divination Immortal"—a name known among some students in other classes, but possibly dismissed in his own class as a "scam to make money"—he had nothing that could make people believe him.
Besides, Class D was a "mixed bag" to begin with.
There were students like Kanji Ike and Haruki Yamauchi, who drifted through life, cared only about having fun, and had no ambition whatsoever.
There was also Ken Sudō, whose short temper made him a "ticking time bomb" who could lose the class points at any moment by getting into fights.
And there was the eccentric Koenji Rokusuke, who went his own way and was completely beyond the reach of rules.
Even with students like Yosuke Hirata, who tried to bring everyone together; Kei Karuizawa, who had influence among the girls; and Suzune Horikita, who had plenty of ability in her own right—
In an environment where the whole class was falling apart, their efforts were often no more than a drop in the bucket, powerless to turn the tide.
If that was the case, why waste his breath and give himself more trouble?
Lin Mu chose to watch quietly and let things take their course.
He had no reason to stop anyone from "digging their own grave," and he couldn't be bothered to waste his precious energy and emotions on life choices that others probably wouldn't heed his advice about anyway.
As the old saying went, people learned from experience in one lesson, but generally couldn't be taught by other people.
Some lessons had to be lived through, and hurt deeply, before they stuck.
(After blowing through their allowance at the start of the month and scraping by in a desperate fight for survival at the end, perhaps they'd learn not to do it again.)
Throughout April, the only person who made Lin Mu's time in the classroom a little less monotonous—or, rather, required him to spare a sliver of attention—was Kikyo Kushida.
The cheerful, warmhearted girl he'd met on his first day of school seemed to be perpetually charged with energy, and she appeared to feel a special closeness to him.
She had obviously heard about Lin Mu's reputation as the "Divination Immortal." She might not entirely believe it, but she was curious all the same.
Every now and then, when Lin Mu made a rare appearance in class, she would naturally come over and take the empty seat beside him, wearing her trademark sweet smile.
She would chatter about some new bit of class gossip or an interesting activity at one of the clubs. Sometimes, she would even share cookies she'd baked or candy she'd bought.
Kikyo Kushida's reason for approaching him didn't seem complicated.
She wasn't necessarily determined to find out if his fortune-telling was real. Though a glimmer of curiosity occasionally flashed in her eyes, she didn't seem intent on investigating, even if she had her doubts.
It seemed she simply felt especially relaxed and comfortable spending time with Lin Mu.
That "comfort" was different from the excitement and attention she got while surrounded by classmates, which required her to maintain a perfect smile and respond considerately at all times.
It was also different from the intimacy of chatting with her close friends, which called for some shared interests and emotional rapport.
When she was with Lin Mu, she could talk more or less, about anything under the sun or the most trivial nonsense.
Lin Mu was always the same: a candy in his mouth, listening lazily, occasionally answering with a "Mm" or an "Oh," never interrupting or butting in.
And he never pried into her private life or interests with some ulterior motive, the way some boys did.
He was like a quiet little confessional that belonged only to her, where she could briefly set down the perfect mask she wore every moment of the day.
She could share inconsequential, even slightly silly little worries without fearing judgment or having them spread around.
Whenever Kikyo Kushida came over with a smile and opened a conversation in her bright, clear voice, Lin Mu couldn't help thinking to himself:
She really has endless energy... This kind of natural social butterfly, who always makes "becoming friends with everyone" her life goal—doesn't her nervous system ever overload?
She always seemed so full of enthusiasm, smiling at everyone as though her heart held not a trace of darkness. But given Lin Mu's understanding of human nature—
And the mind-reading ability he kept repressed rather than using, it was hard for him to believe that a girl who navigated complicated relationships with such ease had no private thoughts, stress, or even schemes of her own.
Every now and then, he did feel tempted to use his superpower to "listen in" on what she was really thinking at that moment.
After all, Kikyo Kushida was the first person at this academy he'd gotten to know of his own accord. Though he'd been passive about it, he'd stayed in touch with her ever since. To some extent, that made her a "friend," didn't it?
But the thought only crossed his mind for a moment before he quashed it himself.
He still chose to let things take their course. It wasn't out of any moral scruples; he simply felt... there was no need.
Before you continue