Shimizu Akira considered himself an honest person.
He wasn't opposed to deepening relationships with girls, but the idea of associating with "public transportation types" was unacceptable—just the thought of potential disease risks was revolting.
It wasn't that he was sexually repressed to that degree.
Nor was he incapable of getting a girlfriend.
As for this "Hoshinomiya Chie" mentioned in the intel, Shimizu was thoroughly puzzled.
*Which class's beauty is this open-minded?*
It never crossed his mind that it might refer to faculty. After all, even the most unscrupulous Japanese teacher wouldn't dare cross that line with students—there had to be some basic professional ethics.
The second piece of intel—seemingly useless at first glance—would probably be priceless information to certain perverts.
It did, however, deepen Shimizu's understanding of Horikita Suzune.
Apparently, the system occasionally provided seemingly trivial but subtly useful intel.
Currently, only the first piece seemed genuinely actionable.
...
To be clear, he wasn't completely unprepared for this transmigration.
Just the day before, a mysterious email from "System" had appeared in his inbox, notifying him that he'd been selected as a freshman at Tokyo Metropolitan Advanced Nurturing High School and instructing him to customize his background and abilities.
Dismissing it as a prank, he'd filled it out casually: "Orphanage-raised orphan" for background, and for abilities—he'd copied Saitama's training regimen from *One Punch Man*: "100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, and a 10km run daily for eight years."
Now that he thought about it, his memories did have gaps. Beyond fragments of his training and the entrance exam, everything else was hazy.
At least his identification documents were all in order—he wasn't a complete non-entity in this world.
Shimizu felt terrifyingly strong now.
But then again, how much advantage could physical prowess provide in a high school setting?
At best, it guaranteed perfect scores in P.E.
Watching the impeccably polite students before him, Shimizu shook his head at his own absurd comparison.
...
According to the orientation notice, Shimizu was assigned to Class 1-D.
When he arrived, each desk bore a neatly placed nameplate.
Following the plates, he found his seat—center of the back row.
The window-side spot was already taken by that unremarkable brown-haired classmate.
To his left, Horikita Suzune was arranging her stationery with precise movements.
Shimizu hung his bag on the desk's side hook.
"160 freshmen, four classes..." he murmured, tapping the desk lightly. "40 students per class—a standard arrangement."
"The classroom has five columns and eight rows," Horikita responded without looking up. "Since we're in Class D, there must be A, B, and C ahead of us. These two data points confirm at least 160 students."
**"Horikita-san's deduction is quite sharp,"** Shimizu praised.
**"You'd already figured it out, hadn't you?"** She shot him a cold glance. **"Otherwise you wouldn't have suggested the 'four classes of 40 students' hypothesis."**
**"You misunderstand—that wasn't the case."** Shimizu blinked before retrieving the orientation handbook.
Black text on white paper clearly stated: *Each class consists of 40 students, divided into A, B, C, and D.*
Horikita's expression froze momentarily.
Yet she recovered swiftly, returning the handbook with practiced nonchalance.
**"It seems the school provided explicit numbers from the start."** Her tone remained cool, but her words came slightly faster. **"Objectively speaking, my reasoning wasn't incorrect."**
She immediately pulled *Crime and Punishment* from her bag, lowering her head to emit a clear "do not disturb" aura.
**"Horikita-san,"** Shimizu couldn't resist adding, **"Weren't you already reading this on the bus? Why restart from page one?"**
Her fingers stiffened imperceptibly. **"My habit is to reread books at least three times."**
Her voice stayed flat, but the page-turn carried extra force, producing an audible snap.
*(I see...)* Shimizu concluded internally. *(Using the book to mask her earlier lapse?)*
He discreetly observed her.
Horikita's long lashes fluttered with each line read.
Even in embarrassment, she maintained that innate elegance.
*(...Kinda cute.)*
More surprisingly, this was her first initiative to converse with him.
Perhaps this ice-cold honors student wasn't as socially averse as she appeared?
Still, he averted his gaze appropriately.
Staring longer might genuinely irritate his proud desk neighbor.
They'd have plenty of interactions as classmates anyway.
Shimizu's attention shifted right.
The red-haired girl in round glasses sat hunched over, her fiery cascade of hair nearly swallowing her petite face.
Her slender fingers twisted her skirt anxiously, her nervous glances around screaming social anxiety.
*(Huh? Another beauty...?)*
Her porcelain skin glowed vividly against crimson locks, her cherry lips occasionally nibbled in unease.
Though she radiated "please don't notice me," her striking looks made that impossible.
*(Let's see who else is here.)*
From his vantage point at the back center, Shimizu surveyed the classroom.
His gaze first caught Kushida Kikyō at the room's heart—the vibrant girl leaned over a desk, hands planted as she chatted with surrounding students, already the nucleus of a social circle.
To the right sat Kōenji Rokusuke from the bus, legs arrogantly propped on his desk as he filed his nails.
His explosive musculature made him impossible to overlook.
Shimizu estimated their physical prowess might be comparable.