May 25th, Monday – Results Day.
A charged silence filled the Class 1-A room as their homeroom teacher, Mashima Tomoya, took the podium. In his hand was a single sheet of paper, the ink still smelling faintly of the printer. His expression was its usual granite slab, but those who knew him might have seen a fractional softening around the eyes.
"Now, I will announce the midterm exam rankings and scores."
No preamble. No commentary. He turned and pinned the list to the blackboard with two sharp tacks.
A collective lean forward. A held breath. Then, a wave of relieved murmurs.
The data was unmistakable: Class 1-A's overall performance was, as expected, formidable. The failure column was a beautiful, empty zero. No expulsions. A baseline expectation met with quiet, collective assurance.
But then, as inevitably as gravity, every eye was drawn to the very top of the list. A familiar, almost ritualistic sigh—a mix of awe and weary resignation—rippled through the room.
Rank: 1
Name: Sakamoto
Scores: 100, 100, 100, 100, 100
Total: 500
Another perfect score. A clean sweep.
Yet, beside the surname "Sakamoto," the given name was obscured. A smudge of gray toner, a printer's glitch or a cosmic joke, blotting out the characters as if by design. It was the same frustrating blank space, the same unanswered question.
"Not again!" Morishita Ai hissed under her breath, glaring at the imperfection on the page. Why did the machine always fail there?
A few knowing chuckles sounded around her. Some mysteries, it seemed, were institutionally enforced.
Mashima-sensei's gaze also settled on the top line. The stern lines of his face yielded, for a moment, to pure, unadulterated professional admiration. He cleared his throat, his voice carrying a rare weight of acknowledgment.
"Sakamoto."
All attention pivoted to the window seat.
"You have once again achieved a perfect score across all subjects. You have not only maintained but defined the exemplary standard for this class. This is commendable."
In Mashima-speak, this was a standing ovation.
Sakamoto rose. His movement was fluid, his bow precise. "Thank you, sensei. I have merely fulfilled the basic obligations of a student." His tone was so matter-of-fact, so devoid of pride, that it made the achievement seem mundane. He sat down, the moment passing as smoothly as it had arrived.
Mashima gave a single, slow nod. I misjudged you at the start, he thought, the admission internal but absolute. You are not a performer. You are a phenomenon.
Class 1-B
Here, the air was thicker, tinged with the acrid scent of anxiety. When Sakasue-sensei posted their list, the scramble to see was less orderly, more desperate.
The initial scan brought a cascade of relieved sighs and muted cheers. The graph of their scores was spikier, less uniform than A-Class's plateau of excellence. But the crucial number held: Expulsions: 0.
In the back row, Ryuuen Kakeru's lips curled into a thin, victorious smirk. The gamble had paid off. The changed questions had nullified the poisoned papers, but his brutal training regimen had forged a foundation solid enough to withstand the shift. The fear in his classmates' eyes was now alloyed with something new: reliance. A leader's authority, freshly cemented.
Sakasue-sensei observed the room, his gaze lingering on Ryuuen. A faint, approving nod—almost imperceptible—passed between them. The class had stabilized. The engine was now running.
Class 1-C
"Helloooo, my wonderful students~!" Hoshinomiya Chie's voice trilled with genuine delight as she clasped her hands together, beaming at the results sheet. "Look at this! A one hundred percent pass rate! And these averages! If we keep soaring like this, catching up to those ahead of us isn't a dream—it's a forecast!"
The classroom buzzed with a confident, earned energy. Their scores were a testament to unity and disciplined self-reliance.
Ichinose Honami turned from her place near the front, her smile a sunbeam cutting through the room. "Everyone!" she called out, her voice warm and bolstering. "This is all because of our shared effort! This victory belongs to every single one of us!"
The atmosphere in Class C was not one of relief, but of triumph—a class standing firmly on the ground they had chosen to cultivate together.
"Everyone, this proves what we can do when we work together!" Ichinose Honami's voice rang out, clear and bright, over the celebrating class. "Our goal was never just survival—it's advancement! Let's keep climbing, together!"
A roaring "Yeah!" echoed back, a wave of collective determination that made the very air in Class C feel lighter, charged with potential.
Class 1-D
When Chabashira Sae entered, the grade sheet in her hand was less a piece of paper and more a verdict. Her expression, however, held something new: not warmth, but a stark, undeniable relief. She posted the list without ceremony.
"The results. Congratulations. No expulsions."
For a single, suspended second, there was silence. Then—
"YES!"
The eruption was visceral, a blast of pure, unfiltered survivalist joy. The idiot trio in the back nearly overturned their desks, whooping and pounding each other on the back. They'd made it!
Chabashira's voice cut through the celebration like a blade. "Do not mistake relief for victory." Her sharp eyes pinpointed the back row. "Some of you are clinging to the cliff's edge by a single fingernail. The fall is always waiting."
All eyes snapped to the bottom of the list. The evidence was brutally clear.
English - Passing Score: 40
Sudo Ken: 41
A single, solitary point. Sudo felt the blood drain from his face, replaced by a cold, slick sweat. He knew the truth. He'd banked everything on Kushida's papers and walked into the exam to find a foreign language. Every point on that 41 was a scrap of knowledge Horikita had hammered into his skull against his will. It wasn't luck; it was a rescue.
Ike's scores were similarly anemic, a hair's breadth above the abyss. Only Yamauchi had managed a middling rank—a small, unexpected testament to his newfound, idol-driven focus.
When the bell finally rang, the trio didn't need to confer. With shuffled steps and shared, grimacing looks, they converged on Horikita Suzune's desk.
"Horikita…" Ike began, the words dragged out of him. "Seriously. Thanks."
Yamauchi, uncharacteristically solemn, nodded. "You… didn't let us drown."
Sudo grunted, looking at the floor. "...Yeah. Thanks."
Horikita looked up. The usual mask of impatience and disdain was absent. In its place was a quiet, profound scrutiny. She saw not the boisterous idiots, but three students who had, against all odds, chosen to use the tools she'd forced into their hands. The rigid tension she carried in her shoulders eased, fractionally. A hard, earned warmth—foreign but undeniable—touched her heart.
It worked. They listened.
"It is good you passed," she said, her voice level, the frost thawed to a simple chill. "Remember the feeling of that one point. Chabashira-sensei is not exaggerating. Your margin for error is now zero."
They mumbled acknowledgments and shuffled away, leaving her in a silence that felt different—not empty, but settled.
Across the room, Kushida Kikyo's perfect smile remained plastered on her face. But as she watched the trio direct their gratitude to Horikita—again—the warmth in her eyes cooled, solidifying into something hard and opaque. Her fingers, hidden below her desk, curled tightly until her nails bit into her palms. The sting was a welcome counterpoint to the hollow feeling spreading in her chest.
In a heartbeat, the moment passed. She took a soft, controlled breath, and when she looked up again, her expression was once more a masterpiece of genial sunshine, bright, harmless, and utterly unreadable. The perfect class idol, untouched and untroubled. But the seed of a new, quiet calculus had been planted. Horikita was no longer just an aloof loner; she was becoming a rival for influence, and that changed everything.