To summarize the information I uncovered:
First, the class divisions at this school weren’t random. They were deliberately set according to predetermined evaluation scores, ensuring that each class matched the students’ ability gaps. In other words, Class A gathered the highest-rated students while Class D was composed of those with the lowest ratings. And mind you, the evaluations were based on something far more complex than just written test scores.
Second, the points weren’t simply increased by 100,000 every month. The school calculated class points through a combination of a special exam system and everyday study habits, then deposited an amount corresponding to those points each month.
In short, the living expenses allocated to each class would vary. Although everyone started with the same 1,000 class points, just as the classes were stratified, the points would diverge over time—and not by a small margin.
"Even looking at our own class, some of these guys are nothing but monkey-like idiots," someone remarked.
What’s more, a student’s everyday behavior affected their points significantly. It didn’t take long to realize why there were so many surveillance cameras in this school. They weren’t just there to prevent theft or handle major incidents; they served another purpose entirely.
"Sudo Ken, was it? That gorilla-looking brute is bound to cause trouble," another comment went.
Watching him rampaging without a care made me feel queasy—as if I were forced to relive my own past. Yes, the ability gap was enormous, but still...
"If what that upperclassman said turns out to be true, I’ll have to knock him down a peg before long."
Anyway, moving on.
Third, there was a system here known as [Special Exams].
This system wasn’t about minor fluctuations from daily behavior; it involved class-versus-class competitions where points could swing by hundreds. I couldn’t quite grasp all the details from the explanation, but apparently something significant was coming soon, so I decided to set that aside for now.
Then came the secret that might not be hugely important to me but could prove vital to everyone else.
Fourth, only students who graduated from Class A could use the Advanced Nurturing High School’s recommendation system.
In other words, that special privilege—which supposedly guaranteed employment opportunities after graduation—was reserved exclusively for Class A.
This also meant that a student’s class could change based on their point gains and losses, and from what that upperclassman let slip, it sounded as if individual transfers between classes were even possible.
However, that same upperclassman had warned that in the entire history of this school, no class starting as D or C had ever graduated as Class A.
Of course, that wasn’t really my concern.
"I’ve come across some pretty important information," I thought.
This was the turning point.
Should I share this information with the rest of the class or keep it to myself?
Neither option seemed particularly beneficial for me.
If I went with the former, the mere fact that I had uncovered this information would soon spread among the first-years, and if it reached the ears of upperclassmen or teachers, I’d draw a lot of unwanted attention. I’m not one for the spotlight—I’d rather live quietly.
If I kept it to myself, our starting position might fall further behind. As that upperclassman had pointed out, it would be nearly impossible for Class D to climb to Class A if we started too far back. By the time the hidden rules were all revealed next month, the point gap would have widened to a critical level. Closing it would be difficult unless we managed to carry the special exams in our favor.
But that wasn’t a disadvantage for me. I’m naturally low-maintenance, so saving points wasn’t a problem. Besides, the free perks here were pretty good, ensuring I could live comfortably without much hassle.
Most importantly, I had no desire for any special privileges like graduating from Class A.
The more I thought about it, the more the idea of keeping the secret to myself appealed to me.
But...
"Following the options laid out for me is just too boring."
The only moments in this tedious life when I ever found even a hint of enjoyment were when I chose a new path.
So, I decided to choose a new option here as well.
"I’ll share the secret. But as long as it doesn’t come directly from me, it’s fine."
I’d set up a proxy.
With my policy now decided, the only remaining question was...
"When should I let the information out?"
I wasn’t going to spread it the very next day; a bit of a pause was necessary.
If someone else uncovered the truth and shared it with the class in the meantime, it would be even better for me—I’d get off scot-free.
More importantly, I still had to decide who I’d use as my proxy.
For a while, I’d just sit back and watch the class unfold.
Grrr...
"...I’ve spent too long pondering this."
I should probably head home and grab a bite to eat.
Over the next two weeks, I carefully observed the class.
In that time, I came to fully understand the dynamics of class divisions and the differences between them, just as that upperclassman had described.
Whether it was tardiness, absences, chatting during lessons, using phones, or even sneaking in a game or two—teachers let it all slide.
It was a laissez-faire approach, to say the least.
All these behaviors drained class points, yet not one teacher intervened—not even our homeroom teacher, Chabashira-sensei.
Or rather, she seemed to be faintly smiling about it.
At this rate, our class points were going to vanish before I could set up my proxy, so I knew it was time to act.
Even after waiting two weeks, it seemed no one else in our class had picked up on this hidden system like I had.
"She mentioned it during the entrance ceremony—that this school evaluates a student’s ability above all else," I recalled.
Now I finally understood what that meant. Sure, more than half of our class might be clumsy jokers, but...
When I compared notes with other classes, it became clear that we were the only ones rapidly losing points. Class C, which initially seemed comparable, had started to show a subtle shift in atmosphere.
"There’s something different about Class C now," I noted.
Maybe they had even found a leader. Every one of them seemed like a hotheaded delinquent. But there was no time to concern myself with other classes.
Over these two weeks, I had already identified the perfect proxy.
"Hirata Yosuke."
Just as I had initially thought, he was steadily building trust and recognition within the class. Among the boys especially, he enjoyed overwhelming support regardless of the group. More than anything, he was genuinely kind and decent—and, not to mention, quite good-looking.
He also possessed a natural leadership quality. Sure, he had his awkward moments, but we were in high school—those things could be overlooked.
"A popular guy like him will have everyone’s trust no matter what he says. He’s almost the perfect proxy," I mused.
Frankly, the other candidates weren’t even worth mentioning.
If I were considering a girl, there was Kushida Kikyo—the girl who once asked for a seat on the bus and seemed to be expanding her circle. But my gut told me she wasn’t the one, so I decided to pass.
Not to mention, dealing with the opposite sex always added an extra layer of complication. Using someone as a proxy required too much extra effort.
So, Hirata Yosuke, you’re the one!
"Haha, this is the first time you’ve called me out to discuss something important," he said with a grin.
"Thanks for agreeing to meet on such short notice, Hirata."
"No, thanks to you for calling me. So… Ian?"
"Ah, just Ian is fine. There’s no need to add something like '-kun' to it."
"Really? Then call me Yosuke too. It would be odd if only my name was used informally, right?"
"...Alright, Yosuke it is."
"Yeah, nice to meet you, Ian."
Sitting at a café with the class’s shining social butterfly felt a bit awkward.
I had summoned him via email, but honestly, over the past two weeks, how many connections had he built? We’d barely set off and he was already being greeted by acquaintances at every turn...
Anyway, let’s get down to business.
I summarized the information I got from the upperclassman, leaving out details that weren’t immediately necessary, and carefully dressed it up so it sounded like something I’d heard from a friendly senior.
After listening, Yosuke’s expression grew serious.
"If that’s true... then we’re in serious trouble. There could be major upheaval next month," he warned.
"That’s exactly why I reached out to you. You naturally excel at leading the class, Yosuke."
"No! Ian, you’re more than capable of—"
He tried to protest after my self-deprecating remark, but since it was all made-up anyway, I let it slide and got straight to the point.
"Oh, and when you share this with the class, please don’t mention my name. Say it came from an anonymous source or that you heard it from a senior you’re close to—something along those lines."
"Huh? Why?"
"I don’t like drawing attention to myself."
"But this is crucial information you uncovered, Ian!"
"It’s fine. I’m not expecting any reward for doing this for the class."
"Ian...!"
Yosuke looked at me with a shimmer in his eyes, clearly moved by the lie that had slipped out as naturally as breathing.
I felt a twinge of guilt.
In any case, I had passed the information to Yosuke and secured my anonymity in return. Later, as instructed, Yosuke posted in the class group chat that there would be something important the next day, urging everyone to come to homeroom on time.
The next day.
After hearing through Yosuke, the class erupted into a frenzy over the news.
For the final step, as planned, we approached Chabashira-sensei during homeroom to verify the truth of the information.
At first, she looked taken aback, then she smiled faintly and said,
"I’m not sure how you managed to uncover the truth, but I suppose I can give you some credit."
With that, Chabashira confirmed that everything Yosuke had mentioned was indeed true, and then she declared it to us almost as a challenge.
"In the history of this school, there has never been a case of Class D rising to Class A—not even a gradual transfer, let alone graduating as Class A. That’s how lowly Class D is regarded. And based on your behavior when I first observed you, I thought this year was already a lost cause."
Even though they were her own students, she delivered the verdict without any emotion.
But then she added,
"Still, it seems there are a few promising students among you this year. It’s not too late. Before the gap widens further, make sure you at least maintain your current standing. Now, let’s take attendance."
Unlike her usual cold, machine-like responses, this time she spoke with an unusual warmth before returning to normal.
"Now then, let’s wait and see the results."
I’m looking forward to next month.
Great chapter kukukukukukuj