Part 5 — The Invisible Price of Freedom
The sunrise in Kurohana was almost too perfect.
The sun filtered through the building's glass with almost artificial precision, as if someone had calculated the exact angle to make the light appear natural.
Even the air smelled of control.
I went down to the central dining hall early.
The hallways were silent, save for the sound of automatic doors and the buzzing of electronic panels.
Some students were already eating breakfast: trays laden with food, desserts, imported juices.
They were laughing, talking, making plans.
A seemingly normal scene.
The menu floated on the holographic panel in front of me.
"Basic breakfast – 1500 Kurei."
"Full breakfast – 4200 Kurei."
"Premium – 8900 Kurei."
Without much thought, I chose the simplest.
Not out of austerity, but out of observation.
Watching how others spent revealed more than any exam.
In less than a minute, several classmates had already spent more than half their daily allowance.
One of them kept ordering dishes, as if he wanted to challenge the system.
Daichi Okabe, on the other hand, smiled elegantly, inviting others—his "allies"—to his table, paying for them without hesitation.
Money was his first social tool.
As I watched them, Kaori Hasegawa sat across from me.
Her tray was just as plain as mine.
Silence. Only the sound of cutlery.
"You don't look surprised," she said finally, without looking up.
"Should I be?" I replied.
"Most people act like this is a reward... not a test."
I smiled faintly.
Kaori had understood something that many would take a while to discover.
"The hardest tests are the ones that don't feel like tests," I said.
She nodded slowly. We didn't need to say more.
Shortly after, a notification appeared on my digital watch:
"Daily Consumption Report Available — Voluntary Access: 9:00 a.m."
Out of curiosity, I opened the link.
It showed the average class spending during breakfast:
−18,700 Kurei total.
Observation: High consumption tendency. Self-control level: Low.
"Observation."
That word said it all.
It wasn't an expense log. It was an evaluation.
Every purchase, every gesture, every decision was stored in the system.
"Merit is not measured only in results, but in everyday decisions."
That phrase appeared at the end of the message, signed by the Kurohana Board of Trustees.
I stared at the screen for a few seconds.
I didn't feel fear. Nor surprise.
Only the certainty that we were already being graded... without anyone knowing.
When I turned off the timer, the dining room was still filled with laughter and noise.
No one seemed to notice.
That was the difference between them and me.
They enjoyed the game.
I had begun to understand its rules.