Class D is about to start reminiscing about the days of Zhou Yu

Linmu Fujimiya's seat was located in the very center of the back row, the "chosen spot."

He had a lollipop in his mouth (the flavor changed daily), one hand propping up his chin in a casual manner, his eyes half-closed as his gaze swept lazily across the entire classroom.

Like an observer standing outside the fray, he was appreciating a dynamic ukiyo-e painting titled Raising a Bunch of Losers.

(Happy education, truly too happy, the daily life of a vocational school.)

He had long since trained himself to turn a deaf ear to the surrounding clamor; his heart was filled with tranquility, and he even felt a hint of amusement.

What he saw clearly was that these peers were still drowning in the false prosperity and comfortable illusions brought about by the 100,000 points they received upon enrollment.

They likely felt that this elite high school was nothing more than this—loose management, generous benefits, simply a paradise.

They had never imagined that the school's "merit-based" rules were far more complex and cruel than they appeared on the surface, nor could they have anticipated what was to come.

On the first day of May, when the notification sound for the distribution of personal points failed to ring as expected, a thunderbolt would strike them, catching them off guard and shattering all their fantasies.

The class points for Class D would be a glaring "0," which meant the school would not distribute a single personal point to them.

At that time, they would have to rely on the free salad sets and the most basic supplies provided by the school to barely scrape by.

The snacks, drinks, and entertainment they had once squandered their points on would all become unattainable luxuries, and their good days would slowly pack their bags and leave.

Some might ask, since Linmu knew everything, why not warn his classmates? Even if it were just a subtle hint?

The answer was actually quite simple: he was merely an ordinary member among the forty-plus students in Class D, a good-for-nothing student who was frequently absent, looked lazy and casual, and had nothing to offer but his looks.

He had neither the leisure nor the obligation to act as a "savior" or a "prophet," and he knew full well that in this environment, "words are useless."

Even if he were to lay out the school's hidden rules, the secret of class points, and the potential crises they would face, how many would actually believe him?

In the eyes of those classmates immersed in pleasure and slackness, he, Linmu Fujimiya, would likely just be seen as a weirdo who liked to play mysterious, fear-monger, or was a failure himself and wanted to drag others down with him.

Building trust requires a foundation, and in Class D, aside from his reputation as the "Divination Immortal"—which was famous among some students in other classes but likely dismissed as a "money-grabbing trick" within his own—he had no capital to make anyone believe him.

What's more, the collective of Class D was "complex" by nature.

There were those like Kanji Ike and Haruki Yamauchi, who lived in a daze, knowing only how to play and having no ambition.

There were "ticking time bombs" like Ken Sudo, whose volatile temper could lead to fights and deductions of class points at any moment.

And there were eccentric brothers like Koenji Rokusuke, who went his own way and was completely unbound by the rules.

Even with students like Yosuke Hirata, who tried to unite everyone, Kei Karuizawa, who had influence among the girls, or Suzune Horikita, who possessed impressive personal ability, their efforts were often a drop in the bucket, unable to reverse the decline in such a generally crumbling environment.

Since that was the case, why waste his breath and add to his own troubles?

Linmu's choice was to watch quietly and let things take their natural course.

He had no need to stop anyone from "courting death," and he was too lazy to expend his own precious energy and emotions on life choices that others would likely refuse to heed anyway.

The ancestors said it well: experience teaches a person once and they learn, but when people try to teach others, they usually fail.

Some lessons must be experienced firsthand, with deep pain, before they can be remembered.

(After blowing through their living expenses at the start of the month and performing a survival stunt at the end, they probably won't be like this again.)

Throughout the entire month of April, the only thing that made Linmu's time in the classroom slightly less monotonous—or rather, required him to divert a sliver of attention to handle—was Kikyo Kushida.

This girl, whom he had met on the very first day of school and whose personality was so cheerful and enthusiastic that she seemed permanently fully charged, seemed to have a special sense of closeness toward him.

She had clearly heard of Linmu's reputation as the "Divination Immortal" outside, and while she might not have believed it entirely, curiosity was always there.

Occasionally, when Linmu made a rare appearance in the classroom, she would naturally sidle over, sit in the empty seat next to him, and wear that signature sweet smile.

She would chatter about the latest interesting events in the class or which club was having a fun activity, and sometimes she would share some cookies she had baked herself or candy she had bought.

Kikyo Kushida's purpose in approaching him did not seem complicated.

She wasn't necessarily obsessed with investigating the truth of his divination; although a glimmer of curiosity would occasionally flash in her eyes, even if she had doubts, she didn't seem to intend to get to the bottom of them.

It was more like she simply felt that the time spent with Linmu made her feel exceptionally relaxed and comfortable.

This "comfort" was different from the liveliness and adoration she received when surrounded by numerous classmates, which required her to constantly maintain a perfect smile and thoughtful responses.

It was also different from the intimacy she shared when chatting with her best friends, which required at least some common topics and emotional resonance.

When getting along with Linmu, her words could be many or few, and the topics could be wild or trivial and boring.

Linmu was always the same, with candy in his mouth, listening lazily, occasionally responding with an "mm" or "oh," and never interrupting or cutting in.

He would never be like some boys who approached her with a hidden agenda to pry into her privacy or preferences.

He was like a quiet tree hole that belonged only to her, allowing her to temporarily take off the perfect mask she wore at all times.

She could tell him about some harmless, even slightly silly little worries without fear of being judged or having them spread.

Every time Kikyo Kushida leaned in with a smile and started a conversation in her crisp voice, Linmu couldn't help but mutter to himself:

She really has boundless energy... Doesn't the nervous system of such a natural social butterfly, who always treats "becoming friends with everyone" as her life goal, ever overload?

Looking at her, she always seemed enthusiastic on the surface, smiling at everyone as if there were no shadows in her heart, but based on Linmu's understanding of human nature—and his suppressed, unused ability to read minds—he found it hard to believe that a girl who navigated complex interpersonal relationships so effortlessly could have no unknown thoughts, pressures, or even schemes hidden within.

He did occasionally feel a fleeting impulse to use his psychic powers to "hear" her true inner thoughts at that moment.

After all, Kikyo Kushida was the first person he had actively gotten to know at this school—though it was passive and they had maintained contact ever since—so in a sense, could she be considered a "friend"?

But the thought was merely a flash, and he quickly extinguished it himself.

He still chose to let things take their natural course. It wasn't out of some moral fastidiousness; he simply felt... it wasn't necessary.

(Event Period: May 1st to May 5th)