"Of course, there's room to improve your approach," Natsukawa Kanade began, his tone measured. "But before we get to that, let's analyze the root of the problem."
Miko Iino leaned in slightly, listening intently.
"For instance, when you enforce punishments, no matter how severe or lenient, the students you penalize are bound to feel it's unfair. 'Why punish me and not others?' is a natural reaction."
"Now, obviously, you can't penalize every single offender. That's not feasible, so you resort to setting an example—a 'kill the chicken to scare the monkeys' approach. If the punished students are generally well-behaved and just happened to slip up visibly, they might grudgingly comply, submitting an apology out of fear or genuine remorse.
"But that's not how things usually go at Shuchiin. Many students already harbor a grudge against the Disciplinary Committee, viewing its members as busybodies. Add that to the highly emotional atmosphere of a camp, and your actions risk becoming a flashpoint for a reckoning."
Miko shifted uncomfortably at his words, but he pressed on.
"On normal school days, students won't openly rebel because the committee represents the school's authority. During the camp, though—especially at events like the test of courage—the school essentially turns a blind eye to rule-breaking.
"Why? Because the camp is an outlet. The test of courage is designed to let these teens blow off their restless energy. The school even adjusts the schedule for it: classes only in the morning, and the afternoon left free for students to prepare.
"But you didn't account for this. Instead, you carried on as if it were an ordinary school day, going so far as to wield their participation rights as a bargaining chip. Naturally, that level of pushback was inevitable."
After explaining her missteps, Natsukawa softened his tone.
"You mentioned feeling betrayed by the school, but I'd argue the school actually shielded you to some extent."
"But…" Miko began, visibly upset.
"Hold on, let me finish," Natsukawa interrupted with a calm gesture.
"You must've noticed that the camp's lessons aren't critical to the semester's curriculum. Most of the content is supplementary, optional even, allowing students to choose how much effort to put into it.
"In fact, the teachers have likely been told to just give their lectures without worrying about whether the students pay attention. It's a preview of what university-style learning might look like.
"But you and the Disciplinary Committee didn't adjust your approach to this context. You continued to enforce rules as if you were still on campus, which naturally frustrated the students.
"Think about it: the teachers don't care, so why should the committee? Who gave you the right to step in when even the school is lenient?"
Miko's expression grew increasingly somber as the implications sank in.
"Under those circumstances, targeting the Disciplinary Committee, and you specifically, was inevitable. Things escalated to the point that faculty had to intervene. And honestly, the school could've easily removed you from your position to appease the students.
"But they didn't. Why? Because they see you as too valuable for the role of committee chair. You're diligent, principled, and competent—traits they don't want to lose."
Natsukawa hesitated briefly, wondering if the blunt truth might be too harsh. Still, he decided she needed to hear it.
"That's why they worked to protect you. Sure, they made you apologize, but that was a small price to pay to maintain your position. As for the students, the so-called punishment they received—a warning and an apology letter—was barely a slap on the wrist. It likely felt more like advice to 'handle things more cleverly next time.'"
He sighed and shook his head. "Your approach didn't achieve what you wanted. Punishments like that rarely do. Even if someone submits an apology the next day, what's stopping them from causing trouble again later? And let's be real—if they sneak into the test of courage despite being barred, what can you do? Station guards at every corner?"
Miko's shoulders slumped.
"That's why I suggest a different approach," Natsukawa continued. "Instead of focusing on punishment, shift to incentivizing good behavior. For example, announce that students who excel during the camp—whether through academic performance or exemplary conduct—will have their partner requests for the test of courage prioritized.
"Think about it: rewards often work better than punishments. If you dangle the carrot of getting to pair up with their favorite… 'friends,' students will self-regulate. Your job becomes easier, and you can spend your time processing partner requests instead of chasing rule-breakers."
Miko blinked, her expression shifting from confusion to realization.
"You'd effectively redirect their energy. Instead of being frustrated with the committee, they'd compete among themselves to earn better privileges. Even the school would back you on this, since it promotes more focused and positive behavior."
"But… wouldn't that disrupt the existing rules?" Miko asked hesitantly.
"Rules exist to be improved," Natsukawa said firmly. "If a better system comes along, it should replace the old one. That's progress."
"But what about the students who already earned privileges?" she countered. "Wouldn't it be unfair to them?"
"This world isn't fair to begin with," Natsukawa replied, shrugging. "Besides, if they earned their privileges once, they can do it again. Competition keeps people sharp. If anything, this pushes them to perform even better."
He paused, then added, "And if the overall performance of the students improves, why not expand the rewards? Add more spots for outstanding behavior. Teachers are limited to verbal praise, but the student council can offer tangible incentives."
"…"
Miko fell silent, her expression contemplative. Then, as if struck by sudden clarity, she let out a loud "Oh!"
"I get it now! Simple punishments don't work. To manage people, you have to play to their desires!"
Natsukawa: "…"
That phrasing is… concerning. But close enough, I guess.
Seeing Miko's sparkling eyes and renewed enthusiasm, Natsukawa suddenly felt a pang of doubt.
Did I just steer her onto a dangerous path?
…No, it should be fine. Probably.
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