Morning sunlight poured through the windows of Class 1-D, warm and bright, but its glow did little to hide the slouching figures of my classmates. The first few days of excitement had evaporated. Now, laziness reigned. Half the class leaned on their desks, chatting in small groups, others scrolled through their phones or dozed.
I'd expected Sae Chabashira to scold them—to reassert control—but she simply stood at the podium, arms folded, eyes unreadable. When the chatter rose too loud, she turned a page in her binder and ignored it.
That was my first confirmation: she wasn't careless. She was watching us dig our own graves.
I tapped my pen idly, pretending to take notes while studying the scene. Yamauchi joked loudly about the arcade, Ike laughed like a hyena, and even Kushida had stopped pretending to pay attention. Only a few kept a straight face: Horikita, cold and focused; Ayanokoji, motionless at his desk, his expression hidden behind half-lidded eyes.
So this is how it begins, I thought. The great descent of Class D.
No rules were being broken on paper. But the spirit of discipline had already rotted.
Fractures
After class, Ayanokoji lingered near his desk, watching the room empty. I'd seen that look before—the detached frustration of someone who understood too much to act carelessly.
He sighed softly. "I can't seem to connect with anyone here."
Horikita, packing her bag, glanced at him. "You say that as though it bothers you."
He gave a small, humorless laugh. "Maybe it does. Isn't that normal?"
"Not really. Most people crave connections to validate themselves. You seem different." She paused, her tone sharpening. "Besides, this class doesn't need bonds. It needs competence."
"And yet," he murmured, "competence alone doesn't win wars."
Her eyes narrowed, clearly disinterested in philosophical debate. "If you have energy to waste on sentimentality, spend it on studying."
I hid a smirk behind my notebook. The two of them were like oil and water—similar enough to clash endlessly. Their dynamic fascinated me, partly because it revealed cracks neither wanted to admit. Horikita's pride. Ayanokoji's quiet loneliness.
When the conversation ended, I slipped out of the room. But as I passed the corridor, I saw Kushida pull Ayanokoji aside, her smile dazzling as always.
"Hey, Ayanokoji-kun! Can I ask you something?"
He blinked, mildly surprised. "Sure."
"I wanted to talk about Horikita-san." She clasped her hands innocently. "She's so distant, right? I really want to be friends with everyone, but she won't even talk to me. You two seem close, so I thought maybe you could help?"
"I wouldn't say close," he replied. "We've just spoken a few times."
Kushida giggled lightly. "Still, you know her better than I do."
He shook his head. "Sorry. I don't think I'd be much help."
Her smile faltered for half a heartbeat—just a flicker—but then returned, brighter than ever. "Ah, I see! Well, thanks anyway!"
As she left, her cheerful steps echoed down the hall. Ayanokoji watched her go, expressionless. I turned away before he noticed me, pretending to adjust my tie.
Two faces behind one smile, I thought. That girl's playing her own game.
The Club Fair
Later that afternoon, the school buzzed with new energy. Posters lined the hallways announcing the upcoming Club Fair for first-years. Every club—from sports to cultural societies—was recruiting.
I overheard some classmates chattering excitedly, planning which clubs to join purely for fun. But this wasn't an ordinary school. Clubs here meant influence, information, and reputation. They were micro-networks—potential tools in the social hierarchy.
So when I saw Ayanokoji lingering near the bulletin board, scanning the notice, I knew he was thinking along similar lines.
A few minutes later, he approached Horikita, who stood by the stairwell reading quietly.
"Hey," he said.
She glanced up, clearly surprised. "What is it?"
"There's a club fair today," he said casually. "Want to check it out together?"
She blinked. "Why would I?"
He smiled faintly. "You could call it… field observation."
"Observation?" she repeated, skeptical.
"Of me," he said simply. "You can watch me fail to make friends."
Her brows furrowed. "You really have no shame."
"I've accepted it."
There was a pause. Then, with an exasperated sigh, she closed her book. "Fine. I'll go. Someone has to keep you from embarrassing yourself."
Their banter drew a few curious stares as they walked toward the gymnasium. I followed at a distance, blending into the flow of students. Observation was my art, after all.
The gym buzzed with hundreds of first-years. Booths lined the walls—sports teams shouting slogans, cultural clubs offering brochures, seniors waving banners like carnival barkers.
"Join the Track and Field club! Push your limits!""Photography Club welcomes newcomers!""Martial Arts Club—strength through discipline!"
The atmosphere was infectious, but beneath it, I saw calculation. Upperclassmen evaluated us like investors sizing up assets.
Ayanokoji and Horikita stood near the center, quietly observing the chaos. He watched the crowd; she watched him.
"Not interested in joining?" he asked.
"No," she said flatly. "Pointless distractions."
"You might change your mind if you find something that suits you."
"I doubt it. Clubs are for people who can't stand solitude."
He chuckled. "You sound lonely saying that."
Her glare could have frozen lava.
I hid a smile. Their chemistry was oddly entertaining.
One by one, club representatives took turns giving short speeches on stage. Enthusiastic appeals, polite applause, the usual. Then the final speaker stepped forward.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
A tall, commanding student with sharp eyes and posture straight as a blade. Silence rippled through the crowd. He didn't need to raise his voice; his presence alone demanded it.
"I am Manabu Horikita, student council president," he said.
Suzune stiffened visibly at the name. I saw the resemblance—the same dark hair, same precision in tone—but his aura was worlds apart. Authority radiated from him effortlessly.
"The student council is recruiting new members," he continued. "However, only exceptional students will be considered. If you think yourself capable, prove it through results."
His gaze swept over the audience. For a heartbeat, it landed near where Suzune stood. Her expression froze.
When he finished and left the stage, murmurs spread through the gym. Students whispered excitedly, but Suzune said nothing. She stood motionless, as if her mind had left her body.
Ayanokoji glanced at her. "Family?" he asked quietly.
She flinched, eyes darting toward him. "Don't pry."
He didn't press further. Smart move.
Small Connections
Not long after, three familiar figures appeared—Sudō, Ike, and Yamauchi. Their energy was a chaotic mix of enthusiasm and insecurity.
"Yo, Ayanokoji!" Ike called. "You thinking of joining any club?"
"Not sure," he said. "Still deciding."
Sudō grinned. "You should join the basketball team. I'll make you my apprentice!"
Yamauchi snorted. "Don't scare him off, dude. He doesn't look like the type."
They laughed. Harmless banter. But I saw something else—social weaving. Bonds forming, however shallow.
"Anyway," Ike continued, "we're starting a class group chat. You in?"
"Sure," Ayanokoji replied.
They exchanged contact info. Horikita watched from the side, silent and unreadable. When Ayanokoji turned to include her, she simply muttered, "No, thank you," and walked off.
The boys shrugged and moved on, their laughter echoing through the gym.
I watched from the bleachers, noting how quickly small alliances were forming. Weak bonds, maybe—but even weak strings could pull weight when woven together.
That's when I decided it was my turn to act.
That night, I sent a few discreet messages—to classmates who stood outside the noisy groups, the ones overlooked or too shy to push themselves forward.
Teruhiko Yukimura. (Academic, introverted, a thinker.)Haruka Hasebe. (Laid-back, but observant.)Akito Miyake. (Calm, athletic, reliable.)Mei Yu Wang. (A transfer student from abroad, intelligent and curious.)Kyosuke Okitani. (Sociable, yet aimless.)Wataru Ijuin. (Easygoing, friendly, connects easily.)Airi Sakura. (Timid, withdrawn, always watching.)An Maezono. (Quietly practical, grounded.)
Eight of them. Each useful in a different way. I invited them to a private group chat I titled "Miyamoto Group."
When they joined, messages trickled in:
Haruka: lol what's this, some kind of secret society?Yukimura: I hope this isn't a waste of time.Airi: um… hi everyone…Miyake: Sounds interesting. What's this about, Miyamoto?Mei Yu: If it's something weird, I'm leaving.Okitani: Nah, let's hear him out.Wataru: Yeah, boss, explain yourself.An: …Boss?
I smiled slightly. The word "boss" was a joke, but I let it hang.
Me: Let's call it an information exchange. This school runs on data—who knows what, who does what. I've noticed the teachers let us fall into traps. We can avoid that if we share intel.Haruka: And you're in charge?Me: Only if you want me to be. I'm not here to control anyone. You can question me, disagree, ignore my orders if you want. But someone has to organize it, and I'm volunteering.
Silence for a few moments. Then:
Miyake: Works for me.Yukimura: Fine. Logical approach.Mei Yu: I'll observe for now.Haruka: As long as it's fun.Okitani: Sure, boss.Wataru: Let's see where this goes.Airi: I'll try my best…An: I'm in.
Eight confirmations. My first network.
The next day after classes, we met quietly at the back of the library. The scent of old paper hung in the air, and the silence offered privacy.
"I appreciate you all coming," I said, lowering my voice. "We'll operate discreetly. No boasting, no mentioning this group publicly."
Haruka leaned on a chair backward. "And what exactly are we doing?"
"Collecting information," I said. "If we understand the system better than everyone else, we can avoid being manipulated—and maybe manipulate others."
Mei Yu crossed her arms. "You sound like a spy."
"Think of it as research."
I laid out a small notebook on the table, pages filled with observations and task divisions.
"Haruka Hasebe and Mei Yu Wang—you'll blend into the girl groups in our class and other classes. Gossip, rumors, teacher moods, anything about the point system. Nothing is useless."
Haruka grinned. "So we're the social butterflies."
"Exactly. Just don't get caught spreading false info."
"Wouldn't dream of it," she said, smirking.
"Next—Airi Sakura and An Maezono. You two handle surveillance."
Airi blinked nervously. "S-surveillance?"
"Photography," I clarified. "Take pictures of camera placements around campus. Find blind spots where the school's monitoring system doesn't reach."
An nodded seriously. "Understood. That could be useful."
"Good. Be subtle."
I turned to the next pair. "Teruhiko Yukimura and Akito Miyake—you'll observe upperclassmen territories. Study their bulletin boards, announcements, patterns in club hierarchies. We need insight into second and third-year dynamics."
Yukimura adjusted his glasses. "Risky, but logical."
Miyake nodded. "We'll handle it."
"Finally, Wataru Ijuin and Kyosuke Okitani—you two infiltrate boy groups across classes. Get close to loudmouths, gather casual intel—student rumors, teacher reputations, spending habits."
"Sounds easy enough," Okitani said.
Wataru chuckled. "We're good at pretending to be idiots anyway."
Laughter rippled softly through the group. Even Airi smiled faintly.
I leaned back. "That's it. Report to me quietly every few days. I'll compile what we learn."
Haruka tilted her head. "And what's in it for us?"
"Survival," I said. "And maybe power."
They exchanged looks—half skeptical, half intrigued.
Then Yukimura said, "You're ambitious, Miyamoto."
I shrugged. "I'm realistic."
Days passed quietly, but under the surface, threads began weaving.
Haruka and Mei Yu slipped easily into gossip circles. They'd return with whispers about point spending, petty rivalries, and rumors of a "Class D curse."
Airi and An returned with dozens of discreet photos—tiny lenses hidden in corridors, elevators, even bathrooms' entrances. They mapped every blind spot. I marked each one in my notebook like a strategist plotting enemy territory.
Yukimura and Miyake's reports were pure gold. The upper-class bulletin boards displayed point distribution charts—proof that classes could indeed rise or fall based on merit. More crucially, they overheard talk of Class C's leader, Ryuen, already infamous for brutal tactics. His reputation was more legend than rumor.
Meanwhile, Okitani and Wataru became minor celebrities among the boys, laughing at crude jokes while fishing for clues. From them, I learned which teachers were lenient, which clubs had hidden benefits, and who the influential students were in other classes.
Piece by piece, a map of the school's hidden structure formed.
But as our network grew, so did the feeling that we were being watched.
One evening, while reviewing notes in the dorm common room, I felt a gaze on me. When I looked up, Ayanokoji stood by the vending machine, eyes calm as ever. He didn't speak—just nodded once, as if acknowledging something he'd already suspected.
I returned the gesture, equally silent.
So, he's noticed.
It was inevitable. He was sharper than anyone else here. Maybe even sharper than me. But that didn't scare me. It intrigued me.