Horikita Suzune

Saturday afternoon, Keyaki Mall.

Kanzaki Toru arrived at the third-floor café ten minutes early. It was a minimalist shop with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the mall's atrium, offering a view of the students bustling about below. He chose a seat against the wall, ordered the cheapest black coffee, and began to wait.

When the coffee arrived, he noticed the price printed on the coaster: 300 points. That was on the lower end for this school. With a monthly allowance of 100,000 points, drinking one cup a day would only cost 9,000 points. It wasn't expensive. But if the class points dropped and individual points shrank accordingly, this cup of coffee could easily become a luxury.

He flipped the coaster over; the back was blank.

At 1:58 PM, the café door pushed open.

When Horikita Suzune walked in, her presence caused the students at the surrounding tables to fall silent for half a second. She wore her uniform neatly, her long black hair draped over her shoulders, and her stride was crisp and decisive. Her purple eyes scanned the shop, quickly locking onto Kanzaki Toru. She walked over and sat opposite him without ordering or exchanging pleasantries.

"Thank you for coming," she said, her tone polite but devoid of any extra warmth.

"You asked, so of course I came," Kanzaki Toru said, taking a sip of his coffee. "What is it?"

Horikita Suzune didn't answer immediately. She watched him, as if conducting an assessment. Her gaze was different from Sakura Airi's—Sakura's eyes were cautious, gathering information, while Horikita's were direct, delivering a verdict.

"On the first day of school," she finally began, "you blocked that guy who was hitting on Sakura Airi on the bus."

Kanzaki Toru set down his coffee cup. "You have a good memory."

"I'm counting," Horikita said. "There are forty people in Class D. I observed everyone on the first day. Most are either too noisy, too silent, or clearly afraid of something. You belong to the last category—but not entirely."

"How so?"

"You're too perfectly balanced," Horikita's tone remained flat. "Perfectly ordinary, perfectly low-key, perfectly careful not to attract anyone's attention. But a truly ordinary person wouldn't have spoken up in that situation on the bus. Nor would they have gone behind the gym yesterday afternoon to face three second-year students alone."

Kanzaki Toru didn't speak.

"I heard Sudo calling people out in the hallway," Horikita added. "I intended to go, but you were one step ahead of me."

"So you sought me out because you don't think I'm ordinary?"

"I sought you out because Class D needs someone capable of getting things done," Horikita Suzune said bluntly. "You must have sensed the rules of this school by now. Class points determine individual points, and the fluctuation of class points is tied to some kind of assessment mechanism. There hasn't been an official notice yet, but it's coming. If we wait for the notice to prepare, it will be too late."

She spoke like she was presenting a report, without any unnecessary embellishment. Kanzaki Toru assessed her silently—her judgment was sharp, and her initiative was strong. Seeking an alliance on the third day of school showed she possessed both crisis awareness and execution.

But her problem was also obvious. She was too sharp-edged.

"You're right," Kanzaki Toru leaned back in his chair. "So, you want to form a team?"

"Not a team," Horikita corrected. "A partnership. I have some information, and you should have some as well. We exchange information, act independently, and coordinate when necessary. We don't need to be friends; we just need to be useful partners."

"That's a cold-blooded way to put it."

"It's the most efficient way."

Kanzaki Toru looked into her eyes. There was no probing or hesitation in those purple eyes, only a stubborn, unwavering resolve. People like her weren't good at disguises, nor did they care to use them. She believed in strength and trusted that as long as she was strong enough, she could solve every problem—including the problems of Class D.

But he feared the rules of this school weren't something one person could handle alone just by being strong.

"Fine," he said. "I'll go first. Yesterday, the third-year students said something behind the gym: 'Those who are stubborn now won't be here after one semester.' From that, we can infer that this school has some kind of expulsion mechanism, and it happens within the first semester."

Horikita nodded. "I found the last clause in the student handbook appendix—individual student behavior records will be used as a reference for special exam evaluations. In other words, daily conduct will be factored into the assessments."

"Also," Kanzaki Toru hesitated before speaking, "there are some archives from previous years in the library. I looked through them. Last year, Class D's initial class points were 1,000. After the first special exam, they dropped to 600. Before the third special exam, twelve people were expelled."

For the first time, Horikita's expression changed. It wasn't surprise, but gravity. "Twelve people... are you sure about that number?"

"It was written in the records. But I can't guarantee the records themselves are entirely accurate. Besides, the records didn't detail the specific content of the special exams, only the results."

"That's enough," Horikita took a deep breath. "So the expulsion rate for special exams is high. And it targets the entire class—a drop in class points means individual points drop as well."

At this point, she paused, her gaze lingering on Kanzaki Toru's face.

"Are you observing my reaction?"

Kanzaki Toru picked up his coffee. "Aren't you observing me as well?"

The two stared at each other for a second before looking away simultaneously. It wasn't awkwardness, but a silent confirmation—each recognized the other's observational skills and judgment.

"One more thing," Horikita said. "Kushida Kikyo from our class, do you know her?"

"I've heard of her. Short hair, sweet smile, added over a dozen people's contact information on the first day."

"Right. I suspect there's more to her than meets the eye."

"Why?"

"Intuition," Horikita's tone held no hint of a joke. "If someone is equally gentle to everyone, they are either a saint or hiding something. And in this school, I don't believe in saints."

Kanzaki Toru didn't refute her. His mental catalog currently only included Sakura Airi. But if Horikita Suzune's judgment was correct, Kushida Kikyo—or perhaps other girls in Class D—would eventually enter his scope of observation.

But the prerequisite was that he needed to establish a connection with them first.

"Regarding the special exams," he finished his coffee and set down the cup, "I have a theory. The school won't announce the specific rules in advance; it's more likely they've hidden the rules in different places for students to discover themselves. So I suggest we split up to gather information over the next few days. Old library records, every appendix in the student handbook, gossip from upperclassmen—collect any useful clues, then consolidate them."

"Agreed," Horikita stood up. "I'll handle the student handbook and school regulations. You handle the old library records. Sakura—"

She paused.

"She is also helping me gather information. But she isn't very good at communicating with others, so I'll handle that connection."

Horikita glanced at him, the corners of her mouth seeming to twitch slightly, but she quickly returned to her usual cold expression. "Fine. Stay in touch."

She turned and walked out of the café, her stride as crisp and decisive as when she arrived, quickly disappearing toward the escalator.

Kanzaki Toru sat in his seat, watching the bustling students in the atrium below. They were laughing, shopping, and enjoying what looked like a perfectly wonderful school weekend. Yet, in this quiet corner on the second floor of the café, an alliance for survival had just been formed.

He closed his eyes, focused his attention deep within his consciousness, and opened the illustrated guide. From the moment Horikita Suzune had sat down, the blank pages at the back of the guide had shown faint signs of activity. Opening it now, as expected—following the page for Sakura Airi, a new entry was manifesting. Unlike Sakura's page, however, the content here remained blurry. Only the name was clear: "Horikita Suzune." The favorability column lacked a number for the time being, flickering slowly to indicate that the value was still forming. The title and status columns were both empty.

But her name had already appeared in the guide. This meant she had been judged by the guide as a "girl worth recording." He simply needed more contact for her page to fully manifest.

Kanzaki Toru opened his eyes, paid for his coffee, and stood up.

As he walked out of the café, his gaze inadvertently swept across the corridor opposite the third floor of the atrium. A short-haired girl was standing by the railing, talking on her phone with a gentle smile on her face. Several students passed by and greeted her, and she responded to each one, her smile never wavering.

Kushida Kikyo.

Kanzaki Toru did not stare for long before turning toward the escalator.

Her smile was indeed perfect. But in this school, the more perfect something was, the more suspicious it became.

Horikita's intuition might just be right.