As Sakayanagi Arisu and Kamuro Masumi disappeared into the bustling crowd,
Linmu Fujimiya promptly put the unexpected little encounter behind him.
To him, they were just two slightly unusual passersby he'd happened to meet while running his stall.
Their lofty status aside, they were nowhere near as tangible or important as the steady stream of customers and the points pouring in before his eyes.
Whether she was the young lady from Class A or the Chairman's daughter, as long as she didn't interfere with his business or his life afterward, she had nothing to do with him.
He turned his attention back to his "workplace" and lounged lazily on the little stool as before.
He popped a fresh lemon-flavored lollipop into his mouth. Its sweet-and-sour taste spread across his tongue, chasing away the faint drowsiness of the afternoon.
Maintaining his boneless, languid posture, he mechanically repeated the familiar routine.
He invited customers to draw a card or choose the Crystal Ball, gazed at it for a moment, then offered a few concise but incisive "predictions" before confirming that the points had come through.
(There aren't that many prophecies in the world. Maybe it's just a matter of probability. Whatever you want to accomplish, whatever dream you hope to realize, you just have to work hard, and then work harder.)
He was miserly with words throughout. Apart from explaining the necessary rules and interpreting the results, he never said a word more than he had to. His expression remained as placid as ever.
And yet, with only a few words, he could always pinpoint the deepest, most secret worry or the most fervent desire in someone's heart.
The commotion at the Club Recruitment Plaza nearby was still deafening. Music, hawking, and the sounds of people trying things out blended together into a lively backdrop.
The line in front of his fortune-telling stall had shortened a little from its busiest point, but it was still impressively long and orderly.
Second- and third-year students still made up a sizable portion of the people in line.
After saving or accumulating points over time, they had more Private Points to spare. They were also better able to appreciate the value of the "precise predictions" they were paying such a high price for.
There were also a few bold first-years—or students troubled by some particular problem—who gritted their teeth, scraped together enough points, and even pooled their money to get a reading.
After receiving answers that were often jaw-droppingly accurate, they invariably left full of awe and conviction, eagerly turning into Linmu's most enthusiastic unpaid promoters.
In their classes and little social circles, they described the wonders of the "Divination Immortal" in vivid detail.
Every so often, Linmu's fingers would tap the velvet-covered table as if absentmindedly.
With each tap, Psychokinesis nudged the freshly shuffled box of Tarot Cards into the handiest position for the customer, as obedient as a little sprite.
Or the Crystal Ball on the table would catch the sunlight at just the right angle without anyone touching it, producing a faint, fleeting, almost imperceptible haze of light.
These little tricks struck just the right balance: they maintained the indispensable atmosphere of a "mysterious fortune-teller" without requiring him to lift a finger. They perfectly suited his philosophy of "if you can slack off, slack off; if you can make things easier, do it."
The points balance on his terminal screen kept climbing steadily, as if it were alive.
It had already passed the one-million mark and was now making steady progress toward an even higher figure.
Linmu couldn't even be bothered to check it closely. He only glanced at the growing string of digits from the corner of his eye now and then, keeping a rough tally in his head.
Today's earnings definitely wouldn't be worse than yesterday's "great start"—they might even surpass them.
That made the lollipop in his mouth taste a little sweeter.
As for skipping class today? Linmu didn't feel the slightest bit guilty.
What a joke. Going to sit obediently in a classroom and listen to a lesson would be the biggest waste of time and energy.
Besides, through his precognitive ability and by reading Chabashira Sae's memories, he had already clearly "seen" what would happen to Class D next month: its Class Points would be wiped out, and the distribution of Private Points would be suspended.
The "cause" of all that seemed to be right around the corner.
(Not gonna say much—skipping class, bros.)
Since he already knew that a month of pretending to work hard in class would ultimately earn him nothing, he might as well skip it outright and spend his time on something more "profitable," like running a stall and earning points.
He had no interest whatsoever in some passionate story about "leading Class D in a comeback and rising to Class A."
I learned from Chabashira-sensei that the school rules included a provision allowing you to apply to change classes once you'd accumulated twenty million Private Points.
With that "pay-to-win route" available, why should he waste time and effort leading a bunch of people he barely knew—
people who might even hold each other back—
in a bid for collective victory, only for those who might have contributed nothing to share in the reward?
He believed in fair exchange: you got what you put in.
As for roles like "savior" or "leader," whoever wanted them could have them. Just don't bother him.
Time slipped quietly into the afternoon. The blazing sunlight gradually softened, taking on a golden-red hue.
It filtered through the increasingly dense branches of the cherry trees at the edge of the plaza, casting wavering patches of light and shadow across the pale fabric of the tent.
As evening approached, the line naturally grew shorter, but more than a dozen people still stubbornly waited in place.
They didn't want to miss their chance to get a reading today, as if that mysterious window into destiny would close if they waited another moment.
Linmu had just finished a reading for a third-year student who had been agonizing over whether he should do something. 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 the trees nearby.
Then he saw her.
Her golden hair no longer bounced with each step as full of energy as it usually did. Instead, it hung quietly over her shoulders.
Her eyes, usually curved into crescents and brimming with warmth, were now slightly furrowed beneath a faint veil of worry.
The sweet, characteristic curve of her lips had vanished, replaced by a trace of unmistakable disappointment.
Her hands unconsciously clutched the hem of her uniform skirt. She stood still, her gaze wandering before finally settling on Linmu's fortune-telling stall. Her eyes held a mixture of hesitation, nervousness, and a faint, hard-to-detect hope.
An air of loneliness surrounded her, at odds with the lively scene all around.
It was Ichinose Honami.
The moment he saw her, Linmu had a pretty good idea why she was there.
He could even "hear" the tangled echoes of her thoughts.
(I hear the Echo of Calamity. Heh heh heh.)
Class B happened to have no classes that afternoon.
And she had, just as expected, failed to get selected for the Student Council.
(A failed art student...)
(Event period: May 1 to May 5)
Before you continue