Just then, a message arrived from the student council president, informing him that the school had already intervened in the shop investigation and would provide a response by noon tomorrow at the latest.
That made sense.
Advanced Nurturing High School was, after all, a prestigious institution in Japan with deep-rooted connections—likely backed by influential figures whose own children might even be enrolled here.
The school would never stand by while its students were exploited by external businesses.
In their eyes, competition between students and disparities between classes were "internal affairs"—if their own kids lost to peers, they'd have to accept it, however grudgingly.
But if an outside vendor dared to scheme? That was a different story.
At worst, they could just replace the shop.
The campus had no shortage of stores, and losing one would hardly make a dent.
A memory surfaced—his middle school had only had a single small shop. Between classes and lunch breaks, the counter was always swarmed, its shelves raided the moment popular snacks were restocked.
And this school was fully enclosed, with students barred from leaving even on weekends.
From first-years to third-years, daily necessities and indulgences alike relied entirely on campus vendors.
Running a business here was practically a guaranteed goldmine.
Still, Shimizu decided to relay the school's intervention to Kushida Kikyō.
His gaze drifted to the classroom—Kushida was currently encircled by a group of giggling girls.
"So, how was your date with Shimizu-kun? Where'd you go?" one asked eagerly.
"We had parfaits first, then karaoke!" Kushida's eyes curved into crescents. "It was really fun—Shimizu-kun is so considerate. He paid attention to everything I might've wanted."
"Wait, wasn't this to settle last month's bet?" another teased. "Typical Kushida-san, always keeping your word! Oh, and we saw your post—we're boycotting that shop too!"
"Hehe, thanks, everyone~" She nodded gently, her smile softening further.
Shimizu hadn't expected an immediate reply, so he withdrew his gaze after sending the message.
Yet within minutes, she checked her phone, murmured something to her friends, and extricated herself to approach him.
"Shimizu-kun, good morning!" Kushida stopped at his desk, eyes sparkling. "Did you already report that shop to the student council? That's amazing!"
Without missing a beat, she added: "Speaking of which, the student council president here is so efficient. A complaint filed yesterday is already being handled today. No wonder teachers and seniors call him the most outstanding president in the school's history—he's truly reliable."
Just as Shimizu opened his mouth to respond, he noticed Horikita Suzune's fingers stutter beside him. Her gaze flicked toward Kushida, a ripple of surprise flashing through her eyes before vanishing as quickly as it came. The tight line of her lips loosened slightly.
—Of course. Being sincerely praised, especially when it concerned her brother, would move anyone.
This subtle shift didn't escape Kushida's notice.
Her smile deepened.
(I see.)
Shimizu understood instantly.
(She only learned about Horikita Manabu's relation to Suzune yesterday, and now she's testing the waters with flattery?)
(Judging by Horikita's reaction, it's working.)
Kushida's praise wasn't forced—the president's efficiency was legendary, and her delivery came across as effortlessly genuine.
"Come to think of it, President Horikita must be Horikita-san's brother, right? Your shared surname isn't exactly common in Japan," she mused aloud, her tone light but her gaze subtly lingering on Horikita.
"..."
Horikita's grip on her pen froze. She shot Shimizu a sidelong glare.
(Don't tell me Shimizu was the one who leaked this?!)
The realization struck belatedly—no wonder Kushida's been hovering today.
What exactly did they talk about during that "date"? He usually seems sharp, so how did he not notice being pumped for information?
Or… is this just how all high school boys are? The moment a cute girl gives them the slightest attention, they'll spill anything?
She forcibly quashed the thought.
"So," Kushida continued, undeterred by her silence, "Horikita-san must know your brother well, right? How did the president become so exceptional? Could you share some insights? I'd love to learn from his example."
Her curiosity was so earnest that it was hard to distrust.
Against her will, Horikita felt the urge to speak rise—when it came to her brother's merits, she'd never been able to stay quiet.
As a younger sister who revered him wholeheartedly, she had no defenses against such questions.
Even if the asker was Kushida Kikyō, whose fake smiles usually grated on her—her brother's brilliance outweighed any distaste.
She lowered her eyes to her textbook, her voice marginally softer, laced with quiet pride:
"My brother isn't the talented type. When he started middle school, he wasn't ranked first. But he woke up early every day, studying relentlessly while maintaining physical training—never slacking. He kept at it without fail, and now, he's surpassed even so-called 'geniuses.'"
"So don't bother asking. You couldn't do it." Her gaze lifted, sharp and unflinching.
In her eyes, Kushida was the antithesis of perseverance.
Last month's exam results had placed her steadily in the 80s—not bad, but far from "giving her all."
How could someone like that ever emulate her brother's years of discipline?
"Oh?" Kushida's smile didn't waver. If anything, she tilted her head, pivoting seamlessly: "If I can't do it, maybe Shimizu-kun* could?"*
The suffix drop was smooth—"Shimizu-kun" now, where it had been "Shimizu-san" moments ago.
Shimizu blinked, blindsided. It was like watching a soccer match only to have the ball suddenly smack into his face.
He glanced at Horikita, who was staring at him with a "how did this become about you?" look. Clearly, she hadn't anticipated Kushida redirecting the spotlight either.