Class 1-D emptied in a flash. After placing their bags on their respective seats—a symbolic act of marking their territory—the students flocked out toward the gymnasium for the entrance ceremony.
Seiji Koroizumi walked leisurely down the corridor, flanked by two opposing yet harmonious forces. To his right, Horikita Suzune moved with a steady, efficient rhythm, her gaze fixed straight ahead as if parting the crowd. To his left, Kushida Kikyo walked with light steps, occasionally casting a charming, manufactured smile at students from other classes passing by, before reverting to a flat expression the moment she turned back to Seiji.
"It's so crowded," Kushida muttered softly, her tone laced with a hint of annoyance. "How many of them do you think will survive until graduation, Koroizumi-kun?"
"National statistics for elite schools are usually strict," Seiji replied, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "But here? I think the question isn't who survives, but who eats whom."
They turned the corner of the corridor connecting the first-year building to the main building. It was there, amidst the stream of maroon-clad bodies, that Seiji saw her.
A girl with shoulder-length blonde hair tied in a side ponytail.
Karuizawa Kei.
In another life, or perhaps in a timeline untouched by Seiji, that girl might have looked anxious, her eyes darting wildly in search of a "host" or protector for her parasite. She might have tried to cling to the top of the hierarchy as quickly as possible.
But the Kei standing there was different.
She was adjusting the collar of her blazer in the reflection of a window. Her back was straight. When a large male student accidentally bumped into her shoulder, Kei didn't cower in fear.
"Watch where you're going," Kei snapped, her eyes flashing coldly. The student, startled by the dominant aura radiating from the girl's petite frame, mumbled an apology and hurried away.
Seiji smiled faintly. Good. The wound has become armor.
Kei turned, sensing someone's presence. Her eyes met Seiji's. For a moment, the mask of the popular girl she wore cracked slightly, replaced by a look of recognition and deep respect. She gave a small nod—barely visible—as a sign of gratitude to the "teacher" who had once taught her how to bite back in that rainy, dark alley.
Seiji responded with a brief wink. Kei smirked, then turned and walked away with confidence, merging into the crowd without needing to cling to anyone.
"An acquaintance?" Suzune asked, her observant eyes missing none of the micro-interaction.
"Former patient," Seiji replied ambiguously. "Glad to see she's made a full recovery."
The Koudo Ikusei gymnasium was a magnificent structure capable of holding thousands, yet the air felt dense and stifling. Thousands of students lined up neatly by class. Class A in front, followed by B, C, and D at the very back.
A simple yet brutal visual hierarchy.
Seiji stood in the back row of Class D. For most students, this was just a boring ceremony. But for Seiji, it was an information buffet. His teacher instincts—a legacy from his days teaching as a yellow tentacled creature in Class 3-E—were fully active.
"Ritsu," Seiji whispered without moving his lips. "Overlay data."
"Copy that, Sir," Ritsu's voice echoed directly in the micro-implant earpiece Seiji wore (or rather, through bone conduction from a device he had assembled himself).
Special contact lenses in Seiji's right eye flickered, displaying Augmented Reality (AR) data above the heads of specific students who caught his interest.
His gaze fell on the very front row. Class 1-A.
There, sitting in a special chair due to her physical condition, was a petite girl with short silver hair. She held an elegant cane.
[Target: Sakayanagi Arisu][Status: Chairman's Daughter / 'The Queen']
"That girl is dangerous," Seiji muttered inwardly.
Though her body looked frail, the aura radiating from her was a deep purple—the color of manipulation and pure intellect. She wasn't looking ahead at the stage; she was looking around, smiling amusedly as if watching a circus performance she owned. Seiji could sense that behind that innocent smile lay a brain working ten steps ahead of anyone else in the room.
Seiji's gaze shifted to the Class 1-B lines.
unlike the cold aura of Class A, the Class B formation felt warm. The source of that warmth was a girl with strawberry-pink hair standing in the center.
Ichinose Honami.
She was talking to a friend beside her, laughing crisply. Her charisma wasn't forced; it was a natural magnet.
Seiji remembered the time he drew business schemes in the dirt with a twig for Honami. The girl who had nearly destroyed her future for a hair clip now stood as a pillar of light for her class.
You've grown beautifully, Honami-san, Seiji praised silently. But be careful; kindness without fangs in this school will only make you a meal.
Then, in the Class 1-C lines.
Amidst students who looked like thugs or delinquents (Seiji noted a student named Ryuen who had the eyes of a hungry wolf), there was a single point of tranquility.
Shiina Hiyori.
The girl stood quietly, her eyes slightly distant, perhaps pondering the plot of a mystery novel she hadn't finished reading. She was an anomaly in that chaotic class. Seiji knew Hiyori was the observer type. She wouldn't move unless necessary, but her knowledge was a library of weapons waiting to be unlocked.
"Small world," Seiji whispered. All the seeds he had watered while skipping school in junior high were now gathered in the same garden.
"Please rise for the Student Council President's address."
The announcer's voice broke Seiji's reverie.
The spotlights dimmed, focusing on the podium in the center of the stage. Firm footsteps echoed.
Horikita Manabu stepped onto the stage.
Seiji felt Suzune's body tense up beside him. Not the tension of fear like before, but the tension of an athlete readying themselves at the starting line.
Manabu stood before the microphone. He carried no speech text. He simply stood there, letting silence blanket the room for a few seconds. His gaze was sharp behind his glasses, sweeping across the entire first-year cohort with assessing eyes.
"Boring," Seiji murmured softly.
He was reminded of Asano Gakuho, the principal of Kunugigaoka. Their speeches shared the same frequency. A tone that was condescending yet motivating, demanding absolute perfection.
"Welcome to Koudo Ikusei High School," Manabu's voice was calm yet authoritative, filling every corner of the room without the need to shout. "You are the chosen ones who carry the future of Japan on your shoulders."
The speech continued with standard rhetoric about responsibility, achievement, and discipline. Seiji listened half-heartedly, until that moment happened.
Manabu paused. His gaze, which had been sweeping generally, suddenly locked onto a single point in the back row.
In the Class 1-D line.
He was looking at his sister.
Usually, in the past, Suzune would have looked down or trembled under that gaze, feeling unworthy. She would have hidden her face behind her long hair.
But not today.
Seiji turned slightly to view Suzune's profile.
The girl looked up. Her neck, now exposed by her short haircut, looked slender and strong. Her eyes stared straight at her brother—not with a look begging for acknowledgment, but with a gaze of equal challenge.
Look at me, Nii-san, that gaze seemed to say. I am no longer hiding in your shadow. I am standing here, on my own two feet.
On stage, Manabu's expression didn't change. His face remained as cold as ice.
However, Seiji, with vision capable of capturing micro-muscle movements (remnants of the Reaper's dynamic visual acuity), saw it.
The corners of Manabu's eyes softened by about two millimeters. His pupils dilated slightly.
It was surprise.
And beneath that surprise... was a deeply hidden sense of pride.
Manabu saw the short hair. He saw his sister's posture, which was no longer defensive. He realized that the "imitation" was gone, replaced by a budding originality.
In Manabu's mind, a massive question arose: Who? Who was capable of breaking down Suzune's stubborn walls and reshaping her like this? I couldn't do it for years. Who has that kind of influence?
Manabu's gaze shifted slightly, sweeping the area around Suzune.
The Student Council President's eyes met Seiji's, who was standing right next to Suzune.
Seiji smiled.
A polite smile, yet there was a glint of the "teacher" leaking through.
Manabu narrowed his eyes slightly, his instincts telling him that the young man smiling pleasantly next to his sister was no ordinary "background character."
Manabu broke eye contact and resumed his speech. "I hope you all prove your worth. Do not become trash that this school must discard. That is all."
He descended from the stage with brisk strides.
"He saw you," Seiji said quietly to Suzune after the applause died down.
"I know," Suzune replied. Her voice was steady, but her hands were clenched tight at her sides—containing her excitement. "He didn't look away in disgust this time."
"Of course not," Kushida chimed in, leaning forward. "You looked cool back there, Horikita. If I were your brother, I would've jumped off the stage and hugged you. Too bad your brother is the robot type."
"Don't speak carelessly about Nii-san," Suzune scolded, but there was no bite in her voice.
Seiji patted Suzune's shoulder gently. "Step one complete. You've declared your existence. Now comes the proof."
The ceremony ended. The students were dismissed to return to their respective classrooms.
Seiji walked behind the crowd. His mind spun, processing all the data he had just gathered.
This school was full of monsters. There were natural geniuses like Sakayanagi. Charisma monsters like Ichinose. Monsters of suppressed violence like Ryuen. And manipulation monsters like Ayanokouji, whom he had seen on the bus earlier.
And in the middle of it all was Class 1-D. The class of "Defective Products."
Seiji felt a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time. The same sensation he felt when he first landed in the courtyard of the old Class 3-E school building and saw the desperate looks of students holding BB guns.
Adrenaline. Purpose.
In his previous life, he had to die to save his students. In this life, he would ensure his students (his friends) lived and ruled.
"Let's go," Seiji called to Suzune and Kushida, who were waiting for him at the exit. "We can't be late for the first homeroom. I have a feeling our teacher is going to be the... interesting type."
Suzune raised an eyebrow. "Interesting?"
"Yes," Seiji smirked, imaginary tentacles waving behind his back. "The type of teacher who has given up on their students. And there is nothing I love more than proving a teacher wrong."
The three of them stepped out of the gymnasium, meeting the blazing sunlight.
The game of survival in the Classroom of the Elite had just begun, and the God of Death was ready to roll the dice.