The gates closed behind them with a sound that felt final.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just decisive.
Ren stood still for a brief moment after stepping inside the campus, his bag resting lightly on his shoulder. The space beyond the entrance stretched wide and immaculate—modern buildings arranged with precise symmetry, clean pathways, manicured greenery that looked untouched by time.
It felt less like a school and more like a controlled environment.
A place designed to observe.
Students gathered instinctively, some whispering, some laughing too loudly, others staring around with barely concealed awe. Ren didn't join any group immediately. He walked forward at an unhurried pace, eyes scanning everything without lingering too long on any one detail.
This place rewarded awareness.
And punished assumption.
The dormitory assignment came first.
Keys were distributed efficiently. Instructions were clear. No unnecessary explanations.
Ren entered his assigned room alone.
The door closed softly behind him.
He took in the space—bed, desk, wardrobe, bathroom. Everything clean. Everything ready. Too ready.
Luxury wasn't generosity here.
It was leverage.
Ren placed his bag down and sat on the edge of the bed, exhaling slowly. The room didn't feel oppressive—but it didn't feel comforting either.
It felt neutral.
Like the school itself.
After changing into the uniform, he checked the mirror. The reflection looking back at him was calm. Collected. Ordinary.
Perfect.
The walk to the classroom began shortly after.
Students flowed through the halls, guided by signs and staff who offered directions without warmth or hostility. Ren blended easily into the current, neither rushing nor lagging behind.
He noted patterns.
Who walked confidently without looking around.
Who glanced at others for reassurance.
Who already looked irritated—as if offended by the idea of being evaluated.
When Ren reached the designated classroom, he paused outside the door.
Class D.
So it really was this class.
The lowest rank.
He felt nothing sharp—no sting of insult, no thrill of challenge.
Just understanding.
Class D was where contradictions gathered. Students with ability but flaws. Talent weighed down by attitude, circumstance, or unseen evaluations.
Ren stepped inside.
The classroom buzzed with unfiltered noise.
Some students immediately chose seats near the back. Others clustered together near the center. A few sat alone, creating invisible borders around themselves.
Ren selected a seat near the window, center-left. Close enough to observe, far enough to avoid focus.
He sat down quietly.
Then he looked around.
Horikita Suzune sat ahead of him, posture rigid, eyes forward. Her expression was sharp, controlled, and unmistakably irritated.
Hirata Yōsuke stood near the front, already talking with others, smiling gently as if trying to calm nerves.
Kushida Kikyo laughed brightly near the door, her voice light and welcoming.
Ren recognized her instantly.
And dismissed the smile completely.
The rest of the class filled in familiar shapes—loud boys, nervous girls, distracted faces. Imperfect pieces placed together without explanation.
This was Class D.
A class that looked exactly like a mistake.
The room fell silent as the teacher entered.
Chabashira Sae didn't waste time.
She walked to the front, wrote her name on the board, and turned to face them with eyes that showed neither interest nor sympathy.
"You have been assigned to Class D," she said.
Murmurs spread instantly.
"This school evaluates students objectively," Chabashira continued. "You are here because you ranked lowest among this year's intake."
Outrage followed.
"What kind of joke is this?!"
"There's no way!"
Ren didn't move.
Shock was natural.
Resistance was expected.
Reaction was part of the test.
Chabashira let the noise die on its own.
"This school does not operate on conventional rules," she said. "You will be evaluated continuously. Your performance will determine everything—from your class ranking to your daily life."
She wrote a single word on the board.
Points
Ren watched faces as understanding dawned.
Confusion.
Hope.
Fear.
As explanations continued, Ren listened—but more importantly, he observed.
Horikita leaned forward slightly, absorbing every word.
Hirata frowned, already concerned about group dynamics.
Sudō clenched his fists, clearly offended.
Kushida nodded along cheerfully.
Too cheerfully.
Ren leaned back slightly.
The structure was clear.
This classroom would fracture without guidance.
And guidance would come at a cost.
When the lecture ended, arguments broke out immediately.
"This is ridiculous!"
"So we're trash to them?!"
Horikita stood. "Complaining won't help," she said sharply. "If we want to move up, we need to earn points."
Some students nodded. Others scoffed.
Ren remained silent.
Horikita had drive.
But drive without allies was fragile.
Ren stood to leave when a voice spoke beside him.
"You're calm."
He turned.
Ayanokōji Kiyotaka stood there, expression unreadable, eyes neither curious nor bored.
"Should I panic?" Ren replied calmly.
Ayanokōji shrugged. "Most people are."
Ren smiled faintly. "Most people don't gain anything from it."
Their eyes met briefly.
There was no tension.
No rivalry.
Just awareness.
Ayanokōji nodded once and turned away.
Ren watched him go.
So that was how it would begin.
Quietly.
The cafeteria confirmed what the lecture hinted at.
Points appeared.
Prices shocked.
Panic followed.
Ren bought a simple meal, enough to sustain him without waste. He noticed Ayanokōji doing the same.
Not coincidence.
Observation.
Ren sat with Hirata and a few others. Conversation was cautious.
"We need cooperation," Hirata said earnestly.
Ren nodded. "But cooperation works best when people feel secure," he replied. "Fear creates mistakes."
Hirata looked thoughtful.
Good.
That night, Ren returned to his dorm.
He sat at the desk and opened a notebook.
Not to study.
To plan.
Strengths.
Weaknesses.
Names.
And one written separately.
Ayanokōji Kiyotaka.
Ren closed the notebook.
Outside, the campus lights glowed cold and artificial.
Class D had been labeled the worst.
But Ren knew better.
This class wasn't weak.
It was unstable.
And instability could be shaped.
Ren lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, the real evaluations would begin.
And this time, he wouldn't just observe.
He would decide when to act.
End of Chapter 3