Capítulo 3: Class C
The door creaked open as I stepped into the classroom marked Class C.
My first impression? Chaos. Groups of students sprawled across the room, some huddled together in tight-knit circles, others slouched in their seats as if pretending not to care. The noise was overwhelming—laughter erupted in uneven bursts, a few arguments flared and fizzled, and beneath it all, an undercurrent of tension simmered. Everyone here was jockeying for position, staking claims in a social hierarchy still in its infancy.
This wasn't new to me. I'd seen environments like this before—raw, unpolished, brimming with desperation masked as confidence. It shouldn't have been a problem, but that didn't mean I liked it.
As I scanned the room, it quickly became clear how alliances were forming. Students exchanged names, handshakes, and strained pleasantries, each interaction a painfully transparent attempt to secure a foothold in this new world. It was like watching clumsy actors stumble through the first rehearsal of a poorly written play.
I walked past a group of girls giggling over something trivial—a joke they'd probably forget in an hour. One of them glanced up, her eyes locking with mine. Laughter caught in her throat as I met her gaze, my crimson eyes lingering just long enough to make her cheeks flush. I smirked faintly, savoring the moment before she turned away, flustered. She wouldn't forget me anytime soon.
Continuing my way through the maze of desks, I found my assigned seat near the back of the room, next to the window. A prime location—isolated enough to observe unnoticed and perfect for napping during any dull lectures. The faint hum of excitement in the classroom was palpable as students continued mingling, testing boundaries, and trying to carve out their roles.
After a few minutes, the first bell rang, slicing through the noise like a blade. The classroom quieted in waves as a man stepped through the door—a middle-aged teacher in a plain brown suit, his glasses perched neatly on his nose. He carried himself with a no-nonsense air that immediately demanded attention.
"Quiet now," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
The last traces of chatter died down as all eyes turned to him. He strode to the blackboard, picked up a marker, and wrote his name in neat strokes: Kazuma Sakagami.
Turning to face the class, he wasted no time on pleasantries. "I'll be your homeroom teacher for the next three years," he began, his voice steady and measured. "The entrance ceremony will take place in the gymnasium in one hour. For now, I will distribute your student ID cards. These cards are more than just identification; they're the key to navigating life here at Advanced Nurturing High School."
As he spoke, he began handing out the cards, moving methodically through the rows. The class buzzed with muted curiosity.
"Each card has been preloaded with 100,000 points," he continued, pausing briefly to let the statement sink in.
He kept explaining all the rules that the school has. The S-system—a very interesting concept, to say the least.
Anything is Available for Purchase.
The freedom to purchase "anything" on campus was creating a seemingly open system where individual choice was paramount. If he was saying the truth right now, this could technically mean that points might not only be used for material goods but also for privileges and services.
The student ID also acted as a credit card, meaning all transactions were tracked. This likely made it impossible to spend anonymously or evade scrutiny. The ID card wasn't just a convenience—it was a tool for surveillance and accountability. The school could monitor every transaction, potentially using this data to evaluate students or enforce rules.
"Your student cards can be used simply by swiping them through the machine scanner. The method is simple, so you shouldn't get confused. Points are automatically deposited into your account on the first of every month. Keep in mind that one point is worth one yen. No further explanation should be necessary."
100,000 yen was no small sum. That's like $700–$900 USD depending on the day. It was a rather large amount of money for a normal high schooler to have.
One student leaned forward, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Did he just say 100,000 yen? As in, like, real money?"
"No way," another muttered.
A boy near the front of the class already had his student ID in hand, inspecting it like it was a golden ticket. "This is insane," he said, grinning ear to ear. "We can buy anything with this?"
I leaned back in my seat, watching the spectacle with mild amusement. The reactions were predictable. Greed, excitement, skepticism, and confusion played across their faces like an open book. This was exactly the kind of environment where people's true colors would begin to show.
"Anyways, I don't think anyone has any questions, right? Well then, you guys can do what you want until the entrance ceremony starts," Sakagami said.
"Hey, how about we introduce ourselves?" a girl in front suggested brightly.
"Can you shut your mouth?" a student from the middle shot back loudly.
"...Do you have a problem with me?" she asked, facing the purple-haired boy. He had a rebellious look, his posture exuding defiance.
I understood his intent.
Even Sakagami seemed to notice, his gaze lingering on the two students, a faint flicker of amusement in his otherwise composed demeanor.
Then, unexpectedly, he did something strange.
From the drawer of his desk, Sakagami pulled out a red balloon. The classroom watched in baffled silence as he began to inflate it. Slowly, methodically, with exaggerated effort.
"What the hell…?" someone murmured, echoing the confusion we all felt.
The balloon grew larger with each puff until, improbably, it floated upward. With a flick of his wrist, Sakagami released it, and the balloon drifted lazily across the room before bumping into the security camera mounted in the corner. It clung there, obscuring the lens completely.
The class burst into murmurs.
"Is he serious?"
"What's he doing?"
I couldn't suppress a grin. Sakagami knew exactly what he was doing.
The girl and the boy glanced at the balloon, then back at Sakagami, who stood with an air of casual indifference, as though nothing had happened. He leaned against the desk, his eyes scanning the room.
"No need for introductions if you don't want them," he said, his tone light and detached. "But if anyone feels like settling things… go ahead. Just know that whatever happens next is your responsibility."
A chill ran through the room. He wasn't just inviting chaos—he was daring us to indulge in it.
I leaned back in my chair, the smirk still playing on my lips.
The purple-haired boy chuckled, clearly unbothered, and shot a glance at the girl. "You heard the man. You wanna throw hands?"
She glared at him, her fists clenched, but she didn't move.
Smart.
"Anyways, the name is Ryuen Kakeru. If you motherfuckers want to receive 100,000 points every month, you better listen to me."
Interesting; it seemed he understood a bit how the school works at bare minimum.
Like a proud tyrant, Ryuen was trying to control everyone here.
Bang! The sound of a fist slamming on the desk echoed through the room as a muscular boy with small eyes and a crew cut stood up. "Damn it! What a joke! You want to be the boss of the class? Why don't you ask my fist first?!" Saying this, the crew-cut boy charged toward the lectern. His skilled posture and delinquent aura suggested that he, too, was a well-known troublemaker.
The sudden outbreak of conflict startled many of the girls, who either gasped or screamed, instinctively moving away from their seats and crowding toward the edges of the classroom. Keeping distance from the center of the fight was their only semblance of safety. They really hadn't expected this! On the very first day of school, the class had erupted into full-blown violence!
This was absolute cinema right now!!
"What's your name?" Ryuen asked the boy.
"Ishizaki Daichi."
"So you don't accept what I am saying Ishizaki, well then I guess I will have to teach you the hard way huh."
"Fuck off."
Ryuen grinned all ears. It was exactly what he was trying to get...a reaction.
Ishizaki had barely charged forward when Ryuen reacted with lightning speed, delivering a brutal kick to his abdomen. The force of the blow sent Ishizaki stumbling back, his breath knocked out of him before he could even throw a punch. His face turned pale as he doubled over in pain, gasping for air.
Ryuen wasted no time. He moved in with the precision of a predator, unleashing a flurry of vicious punches to Ishizaki's face. Each strike landed with a sickening thud, echoing through the chaotic classroom. Ishizaki's head snapped back with each blow, the impact leaving him with a bruised eye socket and a trickle of blood streaming from his nose.
"Bastard!" Ishizaki managed to gasp, his voice barely above a whisper as he crumpled to the floor, clutching his face in agony.
Ryuen stood over Ishizaki, his expression a mix of triumph and disdain. "Next time, listen to me," he warned, before turning to the rest of the class. "I'll be the one calling the shots around here. Who's next?"
The atmosphere in the classroom shifted. It was as if a switch had flipped; the excitement of the crowd turned to a dangerous mix of exhilaration and fear. Some students cheered Ryuen on, adrenaline coursing through their veins. "That's pretty good! Count me in!" one boy shouted, perhaps spurred on by the sight of Ryuen's ruthless efficiency.
In an instant, several other boys—rough around the edges, with fire in their eyes—rolled up their sleeves, their expressions shifting from curiosity to a primal eagerness for violence. The air crackled with anticipation as they prepared to prove themselves, seeking glory in this unexpected bout of chaos. The classroom had transformed into a gladiatorial arena, and they were ready to throw themselves into the fray.
As the fight escalated, more students began to join in, each eager to claim their stake in this unfolding drama. Shouts and cheers erupted, echoing off the walls, fueling the madness. A mixed-race student burst onto the scene, his imposing physique reminiscent of a bodybuilder, muscles taut under his shirt. He exuded an aura of raw power, making him a formidable addition to the escalating melee.
Sakagami, the teacher, remained seated at his desk, an amused expression on his face. He watched the mayhem unfold with a casual detachment, arms crossed, as if he were observing a particularly interesting performance. His relaxed demeanor contrasted sharply with the chaos around him, and it became evident that he relished this display of raw human emotion.
"Hey, can I join in your little fight?" I called out, my grin widening as I stepped forward, eager to engage in the unfolding spectacle. The room quieted momentarily as all eyes turned to me, curiosity mixed with anticipation.
"Who the hell are you?" one of the boys snapped, skepticism lacing his tone.
"I'm just here to make sure this chaos has some direction. We're fighting for who leads the class, right? Then I'll fight..."
(for anybody asking, I changed the classes from D to C cause I felt it was too cliche to have him in D...)
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