The morning sunlight streamed into Class 1-D through tall windows, painting pale squares on the polished wooden floor. The atmosphere in the classroom had shifted since yesterday's introductions. Students sat in scattered groups, already forming the fragile bonds of familiarity. Conversations overlapped: laughter from one corner, whispers from another, and the occasional scrape of a chair.
I leaned back in my seat, eyes half-lidded, outwardly indifferent. Inwardly, I was cataloging every shift in dynamic. Who sat closer to whom. Who gravitated toward the center. Who positioned themselves on the edges, content to remain unseen. Patterns always emerged quickly if you knew how to look.
The door slid open.
Instant silence fell.
A woman entered—a teacher, presumably our homeroom instructor. She moved with measured confidence, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she approached the podium. Her black hair was neatly tied in a low bun, her sharp eyes sweeping across the class with unsettling precision. She was young, perhaps in her late twenties, yet there was nothing soft about her expression.
"Good morning, Class 1-D." Her voice was clear, smooth, carrying authority without effort. "My name is Saeko Shizuru. I will be your homeroom teacher for the duration of your first year at Mizuhara Academy."
A collective murmur of greetings followed. She acknowledged it with the barest nod.
"I imagine you're all curious about what life will be like here," she continued. "This is no ordinary high school. Mizuhara Academy operates on principles unlike any institution you've known." She set a black tablet on the podium. The screen lit up, casting a faint glow against her face.
"You will find your education here both liberating and unforgiving."
Several students leaned forward, intrigued. Others shifted uncomfortably.
Shizuru tapped the screen, and suddenly, every desk in the room chimed faintly. Each student's tablet—issued during admission—came to life. Numbers glowed on the display, identical across the room.
100,000 points.
Gasps erupted.
"Whoa!" Aya Suzuki's voice burst out first, cheerful as ever. "That's insane!"
Emi Yamaguchi clapped her hands together, already grinning. "This is perfect—I can finally get those new accessories I wanted."
The boys were no calmer. Ryo Tanaka let out a low whistle, leaning back with a lazy grin. "Guess I won't have to beg my parents for allowance anymore. Sweet."
Shinji Ito punched the air. "This school is amazing!"
Even Haruto's eyes widened, though his expression quickly settled into hesitant responsibility.
I looked down at my own screen. 100,000 points. Equivalent to 100,000 yen. For high school students, it was a fortune. But fortune, I knew, always came with a catch.
Shizuru raised her hand slightly, and the room quieted again. "Those points are your monthly allowance. They may be used as currency within the academy. Food, supplies, clothing, entertainment—all can be purchased with points. The academy is fully equipped to provide anything you may require, so long as you can afford it."
The class buzzed again, excitement uncontainable. Aya practically bounced in her seat. Emi whispered to Naomi Takahashi about shopping trips. Kenta Yamashita was already daydreaming aloud about protein supplements and gym equipment.
I remained silent, gaze fixed on the glowing number. Monthly allowance… 100,000 points. Too generous. Schools don't give without purpose. This is bait.
Shizuru's expression didn't soften as she observed the bubbling enthusiasm. "Points reflect more than mere allowance. They represent your value to the academy. Points will be distributed on the first of each month, but the amount you receive depends entirely on your performance as a class."
The excitement faltered slightly. "Performance?" Daichi Nakamura frowned.
"Yes," Shizuru said simply. "Behavior. Academic results. Cooperation. Discipline. Your class standing in comparison to other first-year classes. Everything is evaluated. Fail to meet expectations, and your points will decrease. Meet them, and you will continue to enjoy privileges."
The room buzzed again, but this time with confusion.
"So… if we slack off, we'll get less money?" Ryo asked, his grin faltering.
"Precisely," Shizuru replied. "Mizuhara Academy rewards competence. Mediocrity and failure are punished accordingly."
A chill swept through the classroom. The initial euphoria began to curdle into unease.
I studied their faces. The shift was predictable—joy transforming into doubt, then into whispers of anxiety. Aya's smile wavered, though she tried to keep it bright. Emi frowned faintly, tapping her nail against her desk. Kenta scratched the back of his head, muttering under his breath.
Haruto glanced around, clearly sensing the tension, before raising his hand hesitantly. "Sensei… um, could you clarify what 'performance' means exactly? How is it measured?"
Shizuru's lips curved into the faintest smile—though not a kind one. "That is for you to discover. Suffice it to say, every action you take in this academy is observed. Whether you follow rules. Whether you disrupt. Whether you contribute. The academy sees all. Do not assume carelessness goes unnoticed."
The murmurs grew louder now, anxious energy thickening the air.
I let my gaze wander, filing away every reaction. Some students dismissed her words with bravado. Others paled. Some looked thoughtful. This was the first crack, the first test. Already, fault lines were forming.
Shizuru tapped her tablet again. "You may use your points freely. The academy stores accept digital transfers. However, I advise you to consider how long a month is before spending carelessly."
A few chuckles followed. Ryo leaned back, smirking. "Relax, Sensei. With 100,000 a month, we'll be fine."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "We'll see."
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, then swept across the entire room, sharp as a blade. "Class dismissed. Explore the campus if you wish. Learn the system. But remember—this academy is not kind to the foolish."
She left as swiftly as she came, leaving silence in her wake.
The classroom erupted instantly.
"Shopping trip after class!" Emi exclaimed, already texting someone on her phone.
"I'm going to the cafeteria. Bet they've got something better than convenience-store junk," Kenta said, flexing his shoulders.
Aya clasped Hana Morimoto's hand, giggling. "Let's go together! We can try everything!"
Naomi frowned, muttering, "Don't be reckless…" but her voice was drowned in the noise.
Haruto sighed, rubbing his temples. "Everyone, maybe we should—"
But no one listened.
He glanced toward me, perhaps hoping I'd say something. I met his gaze briefly, expression neutral, before looking away. This was not my battle. Not yet.
They'll spend. They'll indulge. They'll forget the warning. And then… when the month ends, reality will crush them. Perfect design. Classic bait-and-trap. Mizuhara Academy isn't giving freedom—it's testing restraint. Those who fail will drown themselves, no intervention required.
I folded my arms, watching the chaos unfold. Haruto tried again, voice drowned out by laughter and chatter. Already, alliances formed around shopping plans, cafeteria groups, and whispered fantasies of luxury.
The system had begun its work.
And I? I would watch. Record. Remember.
Because when the hammer fell, knowledge would be the only currency more valuable than points.
The final bell had barely rung before chaos overtook Class 1-D.
Chairs screeched back, chatter erupted, and the atmosphere shifted into a frenzy of unrestrained excitement. Emi Yamaguchi was already pulling two other girls toward the door, gushing about accessories she planned to buy. Aya Suzuki skipped along behind them, humming about trying every dessert the cafeteria offered. Kenta Yamashita boomed about protein shakes, and Shinji Ito bragged about racing anyone on the academy's track once he got proper shoes.
The allure of one hundred thousand points had blinded them.
"Let's go shopping!"
"We can buy anything we want!"
"This school is amazing!"
The classroom emptied like water spilling from a cracked jar.
I remained seated for a moment longer, watching. Haruto lingered by his desk, shoulders tense, gaze darting between groups as if he wanted to intervene, to remind them of restraint. His lips parted once, then closed. He glanced toward me—but my chair was already sliding back.
I rose, silent as ever, and slipped through the door. By the time Haruto turned, I was gone.
The academy's shopping district was alive with movement. Students thronged the polished walkways, their crisp uniforms juxtaposed with the flashing lights of electronic stores, cafes, and boutiques. It was designed like a miniature city, humming with life, a manufactured utopia contained within the academy's walls.
Excited voices echoed everywhere.
"Look at this jacket!"
"Ten thousand points, who cares—it's worth it!"
"Hey, buy that one for me too!"
My classmates scattered through the streets, their laughter blending with the sound of cash registers and digital scanners. Points flowed like water, their balances draining with every frivolous purchase.
I ignored the noise.
My steps were measured, deliberate. I entered the general supply store, bypassing displays of luxury electronics and shelves of imported snacks. My eyes scanned for necessities: soap, notebooks, pens, toothpaste, detergent. Practical
Night had begun to settle over Mizuhara Academy. The artificial glow of street lamps flickered to life across the campus grounds, casting long shadows against the polished walkways. The frenzied chatter from earlier—students parading their shopping bags, laughing, boasting about their new possessions—had dulled into a calmer hum as groups retreated toward the dormitories.
I carried a modest paper bag in one hand, its contents neatly arranged: toiletries, two notebooks, pens, and a pack of plain bread. No luxuries, no frivolity. Just the essentials.
The boys' dormitory rose before me—sleek, modern, and imposing. Its architecture mirrored the academy's style: elegance designed to impress. Wide glass doors reflected the faint glow of the moon, opening to a spacious lobby adorned with marble flooring and minimalist furniture. It felt less like a school residence and more like a high-class apartment complex.
Inside, students clustered in the lounge area, their voices carrying in bursts of laughter. Some showed off expensive headphones; others bragged about brand-name shoes or snacks imported from abroad. The scent of takeout food lingered in the air.
I ignored them.
My gaze shifted to the wall-mounted directory, listing the room numbers. It took little effort to find mine. Room 507. Fifth floor.
The elevator ride was quiet. A pair of students entered behind me, deep in conversation about a video game console one of them had purchased. They paid me no mind.
When I stepped out onto the fifth floor, the air was noticeably calmer. The hallway stretched long and carpeted, lined with identical doors bearing silver number plates. I walked steadily, counting down until I stopped in front of 507.
Sliding the card key, I entered.
The room was pristine, almost hotel-like. A spacious bed with crisp sheets, a desk fitted with a digital panel, a wardrobe polished to a shine. A small balcony overlooked the academy's courtyard, where the lights of the shopping district still glimmered faintly in the distance.
It was… comfortable. More than expected.
I set my bag on the desk, removed my blazer, and stretched briefly before collapsing onto the bed. The mattress yielded just enough to make me sink slightly, enveloping me in its softness.
For a while, I stared at the ceiling, letting the silence seep in.
So this is the dormitory… fitting of an "elite" school, I suppose. But luxuries have a price. Nothing here is truly free.
I closed my eyes. Thoughts drifted forward to tomorrow. Another class, another step into the academy's carefully constructed system. My classmates would continue wasting points. Haruto would keep trying to guide them. And me? I would watch. I would wait.
The sound of the doorbell broke my silence.
A sharp ding-dong, echoing through the quiet room.
I opened my eyes, frowning slightly. Who would seek me out?
I rose, crossing the room, and pressed the intercom. My voice was low, flat. "Who is it?"
The monitor flickered, revealing a familiar face. Haruto Shimizu stood outside, slightly disheveled, his expression both relieved and annoyed.
"Arata, finally! I've been looking everywhere for you."
I unlocked the door, pulling it open just enough. Haruto stood there, holding a small bag in one hand. The aroma of fresh food drifted out.
"I bought this for you," he said with a grin, though his voice carried a trace of exasperation. "You disappeared so quickly earlier. Thought you might've skipped dinner, so… here."
I glanced at the bag briefly, then back at him. My expression remained impassive.
"I don't need it. I already have food."
Haruto blinked. "Huh? But—"
"Keep it for yourself," I interrupted. My tone was calm, final. "You went through the trouble. Don't waste it."
I started to close the door.
Haruto's brows knit, his smile faltering. "Arata, you don't have to act so distant, you know. We're classmates. I was just trying to—"
The door clicked shut before he finished.
I leaned back against it for a moment, eyes closing briefly. On the other side, faint footsteps shuffled, followed by a soft sigh.
"Man… you're difficult," Haruto muttered, voice muffled through the door. "Fine, keep acting like that. But don't think I'll give up."
His footsteps receded down the hallway.
I exhaled quietly, pushing away from the door and returning to the bed. The room was silent again, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner.
Persistent, isn't he? Haruto Shimizu. Surrounded by admiration, yet he wastes time chasing after someone like me. Admirable… or foolish. Time will tell.
I lay back down, folding my hands behind my head, staring once more at the ceiling.
Tomorrow awaited. Another day of masks, another chance to observe the stage.
For now, the quiet walls of Room 507 were enough.