Classroom of the Mediocre Supremacist

I couldn't understand it. I had clearly shown him that I never trusted him, even feeding his information to the Empress Group, who would cause him trouble. So why was he looking at me with approval instead? Shouldn't being betrayed by a friend be something painful and infuriating?

This incident even shook the values I had built as an ordinary person. And if I tried to view him through the White Room's lens, his actions contradicted the White Room's Victory-Firstism.

Why? I didn't understand.

He kept showing me kindness as always, but I had no idea what to do.

Should I be wary of his actions? Or should I continue accepting his goodwill? Both responses seemed to serve his purposes, and as someone opposing him, I shouldn't follow his plan.

So what was I supposed to do?

"If you can't figure it out, why not just accept everything wholeheartedly? As the Masterpiece, are you really afraid of my little tricks?"

That was his advice to me in my confusion—a clumsy, laughable provocation.

"If you're really scared, you could try expelling me from this school. I'd look forward to seeing you try."

Another obvious provocation.

But I wouldn't fall for it.

Expelling him would mean saying goodbye to my current leisurely and free life and reverting to how I was in the White Room—which went against my original intentions.

So I wouldn't take any of his advice. I am who I am, and I would only fight for my freedom.

And so... a month passed. I kept using my own methods to get closer to Horikita Suzune, while he made no moves at all. He still taught me how to interact with people, cooked me delicious food with new variations every day, and forced me to wash the dishes and pay for ingredients under the excuse of He Who Does Not Work Shall Not Eat.

I really couldn't figure out what he was trying to do.

So today, April 30th, after much deliberation, I decided to have an honest talk with him.

I knocked on his door.

The door opened, and I was greeted by his usual kind smile.

But instead of inviting me in like always, he said—

"Kiyotaka, there's an extra person joining us for dinner tonight. You can use her to practice your friend-making skills."

"And as a show of good faith, she'll be washing the dishes today. So you only need to pay for the ingredients and just wait to eat."

He spoke to me like I was a friend, but his words made me breathe a sigh of relief.

A month had passed. Was he finally ready to make a move?

Was the person coming his hired muscle? Or an assassin from the White Room sent by that man?

But it didn't matter who it was. What I had to do was no different from before—just become the final victor.

My blood boiled. This was a feeling I had never experienced before.

But when I saw Kushida Kikyo sitting in what should have been my seat, the fire in my heart was instantly extinguished.

"Good evening, Ayanokoji-kun."

"...Good evening, Kushida-san."

I remembered her. She was one of the few girls in class who actively talked to boys other than Hirata. With her incredible charisma, she was adored by many male students and also quite popular among the girls.

Her social skills were something I could never hope to match, but that didn't pose any threat to me—because I had chosen to reject Hoshino En's proposal and instead connected with Ike, only to be dragged down by Ike and Yamauchi. Now, my reputation in class was already in shambles.

A beggar has nothing to lose. He should understand that logic too. So why would he choose someone like her to deal with me?

"Oh my~ I originally came to talk to Hoshino-kun about something, but I lost track of time and ended up chatting until now. Then Hoshino-kun told me that Ayanokoji-kun gets to drink his miso soup every day, so I wanted to stay and try some... I hope I'm not imposing?"

"Not at all. This is En's room. It's his freedom to invite whoever he wants to dinner. I won't interfere with his decisions."

In front of outsiders, I still put on the act of being close with him.

"Oh~ You call Hoshino-kun by his first name too? I never would have guessed from how you act in class. You two must be really close!"

"We're friends, after all."

I brushed off her gossip with a generic response.

She didn't seem like she was here to target me, but for the sake of my freedom, I needed to confirm further, just in case.

But how could I extract information from someone with such advanced social skills? The techniques I used to get close to Horikita Suzune were nowhere near enough.

Then, I suddenly remembered the Social Skills he had been drilling into my ears every night.

Should I try them?

If he had been teaching me wrong social skills, I would lose face in front of Kushida-san... but my reputation was already terrible. It probably couldn't get any worse.

A deal with only rewards and no risks—I had no reason to refuse.

So, I began using the Social Skills he had been teaching me to strike up a conversation with Kushida-san.

And the result... was surprisingly effective!

I easily got Kushida Kikyo to reveal why she was here.

In short—even though she was Everyone's Kushida, she had her own troubles. So she sought out Hoshino En, the kind person who had given up his seat to an elderly person on the bus, hoping he could help her.

Listening to her evaluation of Hoshino En, I suddenly realized something: Hoshino En treated me the same way—tolerant, understanding, protective, friendly... Even knowing I came from the White Room, he didn't seem to treat me any differently from others.

Could it be that he really had nothing to do with the White Room? That he was just an ordinary person who happened to know my background?

Five

"Chicken soup's here~"

Just then, Hoshino En walked over carrying a heavy clay pot.

He set the pot down on the low table in the room, then fetched three sets of bowls and chopsticks from the kitchen, placing one in front of each of us.

"Tonight's late-night snack is chicken soup made from a whole bird. Besides the chicken, I've added mushrooms, tofu, and various other ingredients—the flavor is really rich."

As he spoke, he lifted the lid off the clay pot.

The pitch-black sky overturned; golden light bathed the earth, accompanied by an aroma seductive enough to make one lose themselves.

A golden-brown chicken did the backstroke in an equally golden broth, one sexy little leg kicking diagonally toward the heavens, proclaiming its defiance and fury.

Tender white tofu and sliced mushrooms surrounded the charging chicken general in a tight encirclement, as if guarding this [Golden Soup Hero].

No flowery words were needed—just one look at that ethereal, steaming surface told me how delicious this chicken soup was.

Kushida Kikyo, seeing Hoshino En's cooking for the first time, was also stunned.

While we were lost in our daze, he went back to the kitchen to grab some staple foods to go with the soup.

But by the time he returned to the low table, we were still immersed in the chicken soup's delicious aura, unable to snap out of it.

"Huh? The dishes are all ready—why aren't you eating?"

"No, I was just a little stunned."

Kushida Kikyo was the first to respond to him.

"I didn't expect Hoshino-kun's cooking skills to be this impressive."

"Well, I have to take care of my little sister at home, so it'd be a real hassle if I couldn't cook."

"Anyway, enough talk—let's eat first. There are only two drumsticks, you know!"

At his urging, the three of us dug into the chicken soup together.

In the end, though, he gave both drumsticks to me and Kushida.

After the meal, Kushida Kikyo went to wash the dishes, while he and I sat cross-legged by the low table, quietly watching her scrub the bowls and the clay pot.

Normally, I'd be the one washing dishes at this time, and he'd sit watching me while tirelessly chatting to keep me company.

But today, with both of us unexpectedly free, he didn't say a word—which made me wonder if he was angry at me.

I suddenly felt guilty about my earlier [unreasonable tantrum] toward him.

Why? I recognized this emotion, but I'd never felt it before. Why was it suddenly surfacing now?

My intuition told me that if I let this emotion take root in my heart, it would eventually become my weakness.

No. To become the ultimate [Victor], I can't afford weaknesses!

My reason told me that, but I couldn't control this feeling right now.

Why? This kind of thing... the instructors at the [White Room], and that man... they never taught me...

"Kiyotaka."

Just as my thoughts began to churn, he suddenly called my name.

Was he finally making a move on me? Was he finally showing his hand?!

That was my first thought.

The second was a powerful sense of relief.

Finally... he's finally making his move, so I don't have to hold back anymore. Good!!

I waited for him to ask a sharp question, like "This isn't where you belong!" or "Does a tool like you deserve this kind of freedom?" Then I could drop this [play house] mask and calmly declare war on him.

But in the end, I was overthinking it.

"Kiyotaka, how was the chicken soup tonight? Was it good?"

He just asked me that, with a smile on his face, just like he had for the past twenty-eight days.

"Didn't you boast earlier that it was delicious? Why the lack of confidence now that we've finished eating?"

To cover up my increasingly tangled thoughts, I instinctively used the [Social Skills] he'd taught me to tease him.

"The soup alone would definitely be tasty, but this is my first time adding so many extra ingredients to chicken soup. Of course I want to know what the diners think of the changes."

He looked at my face and replied with a smile.

"But judging by your expression now, the reception seems pretty good."

He shifted his gaze to Kushida Kikyo, who was washing the clay pot in the semi-enclosed kitchen, and suddenly asked again.

"So, Kiyotaka—how did it feel to have a proper chat with someone?"

He was referring to my earlier conversation with Kushida Kikyo.

How did it feel? In the end, it was just about gathering information, so I didn't have any subjective feelings about it.

I didn't answer. This outcome didn't seem to surprise him, and he continued.

"Kiyotaka, there's something you might not know: this school admits students based on recommendation letters from their middle school principals. Without that, no matter how well you score on the entrance written exam and interview, this school won't take you."

"Your common sense is so fragmented that I doubt you ever attended middle school, so there's no way you could have a letter of recommendation... yet here you are, enrolled anyway."

"Maybe your judgment is off."

I couldn't help but retort. This school had never stated that enrollment required a letter of recommendation; his judgment might just be conjecture.

"Perhaps. But someone must have pulled strings to get you in, and I learned about your past from that same person."

He laid it out plainly, leaving me with no room to argue.

"To be honest, I have no interest in this so-called 'Artificial Genius.' The 'White Room' is just a tool for politicians to court votes and political funds—it has nothing to do with me either."

"But—"

He looked at me, the starry eyes beneath his purple-black bangs glimmering, his gaze so gentle it seemed to overflow with water.

Based on micro-expressions, he appeared to be quite excited right now.

"I'm very interested in you, Kiyotaka."

"You left the 'White Room,' seeking freedom, trying to live as an 'ordinary person,' but have you noticed—your way of thinking is still the 'White Room's' way of thinking. It makes you too fixated on victory, on the final outcome."

"Take my goodwill toward you, for example. You keep pondering what hidden motives lie behind it, trying to trace the initial reason and the final result, yet you forget to enjoy the relaxation and pleasure my goodwill brings."

"But is this so-called 'victory' really what you want? Do you feel excitement, emotion, or joy from your own 'victories'?"

A tangle of thoughts kept me from maintaining calm, independent reasoning, and I couldn't help but follow his question into deeper reflection.

Would I feel joy from my own 'victories'?

No. I could answer that with certainty.

At least in the sixteen years within the 'White Room,' I had achieved countless 'victories,' yet I had never once felt the emotion of 'joy.'

Those instructors said, 'You must achieve victory,' that man said, 'You must achieve victory,' so I went and 'achieved victory.'

I... was like a marionette.

Then what was it that drove me to leave the 'White Room' and come to this school?