The following day, Hirata Yosuke stood upright at the front of Class 1-B. On the blackboard, he had drawn a massive pyramid dividing the forty students into three operational groups. In the back row, Horikita Suzune sat observing carefully, while Koroizumi Seiji leaned back casually in his chair.
"In accordance with the results of last night's discussion among several representatives, Class 1-B will be divided into three functional groups to maximize our chances at the Sports Festival," Hirata began, cutting straight to the point. No small talk.
Hirata pointed to the peak of the pyramid. "First, The Vanguard. Our front line. Students with physical abilities above the average will be focused in this group to sweep the victories in the individual events."
Hirata then lowered his pointer to the middle section of the pyramid. "Second, The Shield. The backbone of our defense. The majority of us are here. Your task is to maintain stability in the group events, hold formations, and drain the stamina of the opposing classes' aces.
Finally, The Shadow," Hirata pointed to the base of the pyramid. "For those of you with extreme physical limitations, you will not be forced to run on the track. Your task is purely to gather passive points in non-physical events like the Scavenger Hunt."
Hearing that explanation, Sotomura Hideo and Sakura Airi immediately let out rather loud sighs of relief. The fear of fatal physical exhaustion and the threat of a ten-mark deduction on the written exams vanished instantly. This division was logical, placing the right people in the right positions.
Karuizawa Kei, sitting in the middle, crossed her arms. "The point is, nobody be selfish. Obey the training schedule and the dietary menu the class has prepared. If anyone secretly eats junk food and ruins their own stamina, they'll have to deal with me."
Kei's endorsement instantly silenced any potential complaints from the female students. This strategy was accepted unanimously.
However, behind his calm facade, Hirata still harbored a sense of curiosity. Even though Seiji Koroizumi had given him an incredibly precise biometric data document last night, Hirata wanted to test the accuracy of that data firsthand. He had to be certain before submitting the list of representatives for the thirteen event branches to Chabashira-sensei's desk.
That opportunity arrived two hours later, during the Physical Education period.
"Before we finalize the event placements, let's measure your base strength first with a hand dynamometer," Hirata said, holding up a small, silver digital measuring device. "We'll start with grip strength to measure explosive muscle power."
"My turn first!" Sudou exclaimed, stepping forward and shoving Ike out of the line.
The red-haired young man grabbed the device, took a stance, and squeezed it with all his might. The muscles in his forearm tensed until the veins bulged out. The digital screen beeped and stopped at a solid number.
"82.4 kilograms," Hirata read with an amazed tone.
The boys' group cheered in awe. That result was to be expected. While Kouenji only squeezed the device halfheartedly just to preserve the aesthetics of his hands, and Seiji refused to participate out of sheer laziness, Sudou unequivocally led the physical peak of Class 1-B. Hirata's admiring nod served as proof that the number was on a completely different level.
"Here, Ayanokouji," Sudou said casually, tossing the device toward the brown-haired young man standing quietly in the back row.
Ayanokouji Kiyotaka caught the dynamometer with his trademark flat expression. Inside his head, his analytical gears immediately began constructing a scenario. His primary goal at this school was singular: maintain his position as an average student to avoid standing out.
The problem was, although his memory was filled with millions of data points on science and combat tactics from the White Room, he was completely blind regarding the sociological standards of normal high school kids. He didn't know the exact figure for the average grip strength of a teenage boy in the outside world.
To avoid a result that was either too high or too low, Ayanokouji decided to ask the nearest reference. He turned toward Sudou.
"Hey, Sudou. For a boy our age, what's the average grip strength number?"
Sudou, who was stretching his shoulders, merely shot a brief glance, answering without thinking because he genuinely never cared about the average numbers of ordinary people. "Huh? Beats me. Maybe 60?"
Ayanokouji gave a slow nod. He accepted the arbitrary information from the meathead as an absolute benchmark. Sixty. That is the normal limit, Ayanokouji thought.
Calmly, he positioned his fingers on the metal lever. Without taking a deep breath, without breaking a sweat, and without showing the slightest bit of muscle tension, Ayanokouji squeezed the device. His brain and nerves functioned like a hydraulic machine. He halted the pressure the exact moment his instincts detected the pressure limit he desired.
Beep.
Ayanokouji walked over to Hirata, handing the device over. "Here's mine."
"What's the value?" Hirata asked, preparing to write on his clipboard.
"60.6," Ayanokouji answered flatly.
Hirata's pen suddenly stopped moving across the paper. The blonde-haired young man looked up, staring at Ayanokouji with an astounded expression. "You're... pretty strong, Ayanokouji-kun. I mean, very strong."
Instantly, Hirata recalled the biometric document from last night. Among all the precision data compiled by Seiji Koroizumi, only Ayanokouji Kiyotaka's physical data was left blank without a number.
Ayanokouji tilted his head, genuinely confused by Hirata's reaction. "No, the value is average, right?"
Hirata smiled awkwardly. "The average value is much lower than that, Ayanokouji-kun. Normally it's only around 45 to 50 kilograms. 60 is... already entering athlete level."
As if the universe wanted to prove Hirata's words instantly, Ike Kanji, who took the next turn, yelled loudly.
"Uwoooogh! Take this!"
Ike squeezed the device with all his might until his face flushed bright red like a boiled crab. The digital screen beeped. The number displayed 42.6 kilograms. Ike immediately slumped to the ground, panting heavily, staring at the screen weakly with a disappointed face. A result that didn't even touch the fifties immediately triggered a mocking laugh from Sudou.
Ayanokouji fell dead silent. His expression didn't change, but his eyes stared intently at Ike's number, then shifted toward Sudou, who was laughing uproariously, mocking Ike's score.
I drew the wrong conclusion, Ayanokouji thought, analyzing his calculation error objectively. I shouldn't have used Sudou as a benchmark. As an individual who routinely engages in training, his perception regarding the strength standards of ordinary people was clearly biased from the start.
Ayanokouji quickly deduced the implications of this result. By scoring 60.6 kilograms without showing a single drop of sweat from exhaustion, Hirata would undoubtedly move him instantly from the safe group to the elite candidate list. He was forced into The Vanguard team. His facade of an average student had just shattered into pieces simply because of a single foolish blunder of a question.
Seiji intentionally left Ayanokouji's data column blank on the biometric blueprint last night purely because he already possessed the White Room files hacked by Ritsu; therefore, the school's physical testing was completely unnecessary to measure his true capabilities. He had absolutely no intention of setting him up. Today's blunder was purely due to Ayanokouji's own sociological miscalculation, and seeing the masterpiece of the White Room commit such a ridiculous error was entertainment for Seiji.
"Alright, since the basic calibration is done!"
Seiji's voice suddenly sliced through the air, loud and full of authority. He stepped forward to the center of the field, instantly taking control from Hirata. His relaxed aura evaporated completely, replaced by the sharp, imposing presence of a mentor ready to forge his students.
"Recording numbers on paper won't win medals! Those numbers are empty without execution!" Seiji declared as he reached into his pocket. He blew his silver whistle loudly. TWEEEEET!
"Third layer, The Shadow, separate yourselves to the grassy area on the side. Focus on training basic balance and hand-eye coordination. Hirata has prepared tennis balls for you. For The Vanguard and The Shield, prepare yourselves physically. Today we are jumping straight into sprint trials, relay practice, group sports simulations, and ending with core weight training!"
The training Seiji implemented was far from conventional. He compressed Koro-sensei's lethal teaching methods into his human physical limits, forcing Class 1-B to evolve through extreme pressure.
During the relay race trials, Seiji didn't just stand on the sidelines shouting stopwatch times. He got down onto the track. When Sudou passed the baton to Onodera, Seiji ran backward right in front of them, maintaining a speed impossible to match by the two fastest students in the class.
"A relay isn't just about handing over a stick!" Seiji yelled without panting in the slightest, looking straight into the eyes of Onodera, who was running for her life. "It is a transfer of momentum! If your speed drops when receiving the baton, or if that baton falls, our entire class dies! Focus on the palm of the receiver, don't look at the ground! Straighten your back, Sudou, your steps are too heavy!"
Finished with the relay, Seiji moved on to the Tug of War simulation for The Shield group.
He didn't let them pull an empty rope. At the end of the rope, Seiji had tied a giant truck tire he borrowed from the school's maintenance facility.
Ike, Yamauchi, Kushida, and several other students immediately pulled the rope. However, the tire barely budged, turning their hands red.
"Don't use your backs!" Seiji's instructions echoed firmly, walking along the line of grimacing students. "If you use your backs to pull a weight ten times heavier, your spines will snap! Lower your center of gravity! Use the opponent's body weight as a weapon! Drop your hips, drive your heels into the ground, and lock your knees! Pull with the earth, not with your arms!"
Kushida Kikyo bit her lip, putting Seiji's instructions into practice. When she dropped her center of gravity and braced with her heels, the giant tire slowly began to drag. Kushida smiled in satisfaction between her heavy breaths.
When the intensity of the sun grew harsher and the students began to run out of breath, many bending over holding their knees, Seiji blew his whistle again. He implemented the ultimate training system he had mentioned last night: the Bounty Tag System.
Seiji slapped a bright red sticker onto the back of his shirt.
"You only have thirty minutes!" Seiji yelled, spreading his arms. "Whoever among you, whether alone or in a group, manages to rip this sticker off my back, I will instantly transfer 100,000 private points to your account today!"
Hearing that massive sum, the eyes of several students immediately gleamed with greed.
"But," Seiji pulled a transparent water bottle out of his bag. Inside it was a thick, dark green liquid that bubbled and emitted a pungent odor like a mixture of bitter grass and wild acid.
"If within thirty minutes you fail to touch me, every student on this field must take one sip of my Special Nutritional Herbal Drink. It is incredibly healthy for your muscles, but the taste will make you beg to have your tongues ripped out."
To prove his words, Seiji dropped a single drop of the liquid onto Yamauchi's palm. Yamauchi licked it. A second later, the young man's face turned purple, he dry-heaved, and rolled around on the grass clutching his throat.
Witnessing Yamauchi's reaction, pure terror instantly surged through every member of the Vanguard and Shield. The fear of the hell juice punishment combined with the greed for hundreds of thousands of points instantly ignited their remaining energy.
"Surround him!" Sudou yelled, shooting straight toward Seiji.
"Form a net formation! Don't let him run into a corner!" Hirata commanded, rallying the boys from the Shield group to cut off escape routes.
Screams of exhaustion, the roar of heavy breathing, and torrents of sweat soaked the athletic field. Sudou lunged from the left, Onodera from the right, while Ike's group tried to trip his legs. However, Seiji moved like a ghost. With incredibly smooth pivoting movements, he dodged Sudou's lunge, jumped over Ike's sweep, and slipped through the gaps in Hirata's formation without letting the edge of his shirt be touched in the slightest.
"You're too slow! Don't just chase where I'm standing right now, predict where I'm going to step!" Seiji taunted, constantly moving, forcing every student on the field to run at a sprint intensity many times that of normal training. Every time their formation fell apart, Seiji corrected it while continuing to evade. Without realizing it, the class was practicing the absolute combat formations for the Cavalry Battle and Capture the Flag events.
Amidst that highly structured chaos, Ayanokouji Kiyotaka, who was now forcibly registered in The Vanguard, ran along with a highly controlled breathing rhythm. He intentionally ran in the second layer, pretending to try and catch him while actually just observing Seiji's movement patterns.
However, Seiji didn't let Ayanokouji slack off. Suddenly, Seiji darted backward and stopped exactly two handspans in front of Ayanokouji. Ayanokouji was forced to react, increasing his speed to reach for the sticker so as not to look suspicious. His hand nearly grasped the red sticker, but Seiji ducked a fraction of a millimeter, spun behind Ayanokouji's back, and patted the White Room young man lightly on the shoulder before darting away once more.
Right when everyone's breath was on the absolute brink and their leg muscles felt like lead, a long, piercing whistle split the field.
TWEEEEET!
"The thirty minutes are up!" Seiji exclaimed cheerfully. He landed smoothly in the center of the field, not sweating in the slightest. "Zero winners. Not a single one of you managed to touch my sticker."
Instantly, all the students in the attacking and defending groups collapsed to the ground. Sudou lay flat on his back, his chest heaving drastically. Onodera clutched her knees, while Ike and Yamauchi were already sprawled out like dead fish.
"And as per our agreement," Seiji smiled widely, walking to the edge of the field and lifting a large thermos gallon filled with the frothy, thick green liquid. "For the losers, it's time to drink the Special Nutritional Herbal Drink!"
"W-wait Koroizumi! We just ran our asses off!" Sudou protested, his face deathly pale, remembering Yamauchi's previous reaction, nearly passing out from a single drop.
"That is exactly why you need instant muscle recovery!" Seiji retorted mercilessly.
With hand movements far too fast for the eye to follow, Seiji poured the herbal drink into paper cups and distributed them to every collapsed student. Even Hirata and Suzune—who had run along to coordinate the class formation—were not spared from their portion.
"Drink it all. Or tomorrow's running portion will be doubled," Seiji threatened with a friendly smile that somehow felt incredibly terrifying.
There was no other choice. Under that intimidating gaze, Sudou, Ike, Suzune, and the others gulped down the herbal drink in unison.
The next second, the athletic field transformed into a scene from hell.
"Gahhh!" Sudou clutched his own throat, his face instantly turning purple.
Ike rolled around on the grass, his body trembling rigidly. Horikita Suzune immediately fell to her knees, holding her dizzy head and covering her mouth tightly with both hands. Her face went deathly pale from the combination of intense bitterness, stinging acidity, and the aroma of rotten wild plants that assaulted her taste buds mercilessly. Her body shook violently, rejecting the trauma of the liquid, yet she forced herself to remain upright.
In another corner, Ayanokouji Kiyotaka still stood staring at the empty cup in his hand. His usually unchanging flat face now twitched violently. During his time at the White Room facility, he had swallowed various tasteless artificial nutrients and chemical supplement pills, but never in his life had he tasted something that felt like liquid despair extract. This was the first attack that successfully penetrated the masterpiece's emotional defenses.
"You see? Your muscles and nerves react instantly!" Seiji said proudly, standing with his hands on his hips, ignoring his students who were dying on the ground. "Tomorrow we increase the intensity again!"
Although they were currently lying helpless due to physical torture and Seiji's hellish herbal drink, one thing was certain: their egos had been reunited in shared suffering. In a matter of weeks, the monster standing before them would ensure Class 1-B transformed into a formidable team that would be unstoppable by any faction in the sports festival.
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