Chapter 219: What a Beautiful Encounter, Miss~

Advanced Nurturing High School, Class A classroom.

The early morning sunlight slanted into the bright, pristine classroom. The air was saturated with the scent of chalk dust and paper.

Mashima Tomonari, as usual, strode into the Class A classroom carrying a stack of test papers and got straight to the point.

"According to standard practice, a small quiz will be held today. Students in the front row, pass the papers back."

The moment the words fell, a faint stir of commotion and the rustling of paper arose in the classroom. Before long, everyone had received their test papers.

Normally, during a formal exam, the proctoring teacher was probably the most bored person in the room—no test paper to work on, nothing else to do, just staring blankly at the students from a distance.

However, this exam was merely an ordinary classroom quiz. The school wasn't so strict as to require the teacher to monitor the students the entire time for this kind of test.

Mashima habitually clasped his hands behind his back and paced a couple of steps before the lectern. After roughly sweeping his gaze across the classroom and seeing that no one raised a hand with any questions, he turned and returned to his seat at the lectern, preparing to work on tomorrow's lesson materials.

However—just as he pulled his teaching notes from his folder, his movements abruptly froze.

Among the students who usually began writing furiously the moment they received their papers—a small portion of them were now, at this very moment, in precisely the same state he was in when proctoring. Chins propped on their hands, they were staring idly at him at the lectern.

Mashima Tomonari: "..."

The assembled Class A students: "..."

Mashima, his face stiff, silently locked eyes with the students below. For a moment, the atmosphere was rather awkward.

So that was it...

As an elite instructor of Advanced Nurturing High who had guided first-year classes three times already, he swiftly sorted out the underlying logic.

Because the pairings in the special exam were based on matching high and low scores—in order to ensure, to the greatest possible extent, that the pairings for the special exam were based on the students' true academic abilities—they were directly manipulating the score results?

That made sense. The content of the small quiz was generally relatively simple, making it difficult to accurately measure the students' true ability. For a class like Class A, packed with high-achieving students—if artificial adjustments weren't made—it was very likely that everyone would score high, resulting in a tangled mess of final pairings.

It was just...

The corner of Mashima's mouth twitched. His eyes swiveled toward the lower right corner of the classroom—toward that certain someone who had already set down his pen and was now watching him like some old master watching a performance.

[What are you doing here too?]

Logically, the ones who shouldn't be writing were the students with normally lower scores in the class. This student of his—by now, his grades were firmly among the top ranks of the class. So why was he now putting on the appearance of having nothing to do?

[What kind of talk is that? Which side I'm on—isn't that entirely up to me to choose?]

Fuyuji Mikage's mouth split into a grin. As though inadvertently, he pinched the corner of his test paper between his fingers and gave his wrist a light flick, blowing at the still-damp ink. He seemed to unintentionally expose the test paper to Mashima's gaze.

He'd actually finished already?!

Mashima's expression darkened. His temples seemed to throb once more. Dead memories began their assault.

He recalled that additional event last time—doing advanced mathematics—and the painful memory of being crushed and hung out to dry by his own student.

The questions on the small quiz were never particularly difficult to begin with. On top of that, the majority of students with relatively weaker grades were only required to answer a small number of questions. The rest were the higher-performing students, who handled the questions with even greater ease.

The hands of the wall clock moved steadily, unhurriedly. Within the classroom, only the rustling scratch of pen tips against paper remained—but this sound, too, quickly grew sparse.

Before long, the majority of the students in the class had grown idle. Their gazes, half-intentionally and half-unintentionally, swept across Mashima.

And so—this session of small quiz time, amidst this bizarre atmosphere of teacher-student role reversal, slowly trickled by in this peculiar manner—a collective student spectatorship of their teacher preparing lesson materials.

In the lower right corner of the classroom, Fuyuji had already set his pen down. His test paper lay spread flat at the corner of his desk.

He lazily propped his chin on his hand, his gaze drifting aimlessly throughout the classroom. The sunlight outside the window pierced through the glass and spilled across the desks, forming patches of interwoven light and shadow.

Then—his drifting gaze came to a halt.

In the neighboring seat, Shiraishi Asuka sat quietly in her chair, her head lowered slightly.

A few strands of pale golden hair slipped down from the fair curve of her neck and draped softly across her flawless profile. The sunlight happened to pass through the gaps between the strands, dancing upon the tip of her delicate nose and the line of her elegant jaw. Her legs—wrapped in pure white knee-high socks—were drawn together gracefully and slanted beneath her desk. The cuffs of her socks pressed faintly against her slender ankles, leaving the slightest trace of soft, lovely flesh.

The sunlight happened to fall upon her lashes. Her violet eyes appeared especially serene and tender. At the corner of her pink, glossy lips lingered the faintest trace of a smile—as tranquil as cherry blossoms quietly blooming in early spring.

This girl—as gentle as water—was his.

No matter how many times he looked, it was always so refreshing to the heart.

Shiraishi seemed to be fully focused on something. One hand pressed down on her already-completed test paper. The other hand gripped a pencil and was writing with focused concentration. The tip of the pencil produced a faint, rustling scratch against the paper.

Still...

Those delicate earlobes—now tinged with a faint flush of pink at some unknown point. The visible blush of pink upon her snow-white cheeks. And those increasingly moist, captivating eyes—all of it had long since betrayed the girl's current state.

"Still not going to turn around? Miss Asuka?"

Fuyuji tilted his head slightly to the side. Lowering his voice, he spoke in a teasing, breathy whisper that only the two of them could hear.

The girl's tender frame trembled faintly. Struggling to maintain her composure, she continued staring fixedly at the notebook on her desk.

"Actually ignoring me? How bold! In that case—nothing can be done about it." Fuyuji feigned heartbreak and let out a long sigh. "I can only bring out my final, ultimate weapon—to perform a deep, soulful awakening upon Miss Asuka."

The girl quietly perked up her burning ears.

"I will forever love Shiraishi Asuka."

He drew just a little closer and once again lowered his volume. "She's adorable and crafty. She often likes taking advantage of when the others aren't paying attention to secretly steal a kiss from me. Then, with a blank, innocent look in her eyes, she'll appear before me pretending as though nothing happened at all.

She's very soft to hold. Her whole body carries a faint fragrance. The moment you pick her up, her shyness and adorableness undergo a super-multiplied boost. Her clever little brain will, at that moment, suffer a complete system crash. Her entire body will shrink and curl up in my arms, never wanting to move again..."

At last—beneath Fuyuji's increasingly fierce offensive—the girl could hold out no longer. Turning that flushed, wine-reddened cheek—as though intoxicated—her gaze rippled and swirled as she shot Fuyuji a single, coquettish, soul-stirring glance.

[Bad boy. Always bullying me.]

"How could that be? You're my most, most beloved Shiraishi-mama."

"Wrong. I love Fuyuji even more." Shiraishi smiled and earnestly corrected him.

"Impossible. Clearly, I love Shiraishi-mama more. Look—I've been gazing at Shiraishi-mama for so long already. Doesn't that prove I love you more?"

"Really? Fuyuji thinks so?" She blinked her moist violet eyes, carrying a trace of anticipation.

"Of course." Fuyuji puffed out his chest.

Shiraishi let out a soft laugh and brushed the stray strands of hair behind her ear. With one hand, she grabbed the paper from her desk and displayed it toward Fuyuji.

Upon it—a Q-version pencil sketch of Fuyuji propping his chin on his hand—entered his line of sight.

The girl covered the corner of her mouth. Her brows and eyes curved like crescent moons.

"I win~"

Fuyuji clutched his chest and stared at Shiraishi in disbelief.

Bad woman. So it wasn't that I was looking at you—but that you had been staring at me long before?

"Therefore." Shiraishi gazed at his dramatic reaction, her smile deepening. "I love Fuyuji even more~"

The dismissal bell rang out with crisp clarity, shattering the tender atmosphere within the classroom.

Mashima, finally liberated, rose to his feet on the very first chime of the bell. With swift movements, he began collecting the test papers. Without a backward glance, he strode out of the classroom.

Fuyuji—whose body had grown somewhat stiff from sitting for so long—stood up and stretched with a great, wide yawn. He rolled and loosened his somewhat rigid neck and shoulders. His joints produced faint clicking sounds.

He rubbed the back of his neck and bent down, once again pulling from his desk drawer that mystery novel whose author was listed as "Shina Katsumi."

This novel—he had already flipped through it two or three times over these past few days.

Mm... to be perfectly honest...

He felt that this mystery novel was written very ordinarily. It lacked the earth-shattering, perception-altering grand tricks of Shimada Soji's works. It also lacked the profound insight into the hidden depths of human nature found in Higashino Keigo's works. The plot was somewhat formulaic. The deductive process was steady and unremarkable. The characterization couldn't be called particularly vivid, either. It was, in every aspect, a perfectly middle-of-the-road, standard type of work.

But—come to think of it, that being said—if there were ever an event to select the undisputed Top Ten Mystery Novels of the World—he, loyal reader Fuyuji Mikage!—would resolutely cast his solemn vote for this very novel.

Not for any other reason. Simply because this novel's cover design was exceptionally pleasing to the eye. Its paper felt extraordinarily comfortable to the touch. Its typesetting appeared particularly agreeable. It was especially suited to his personal taste.

Really!

Before Fuyuji could once again reread this singular work—Katsuragi Kohei had already made his way over, his accessory in tow.

"Fuyuji-kun. It's been confirmed." Katsuragi came to a stop beside Fuyuji.

Fuyuji raised his head and set the novel aside on his desk for the time being. "How is it? How many points?"

"200,000 per class."

"And the other side?"

"If it's access to browse Advanced Nurturing High's exam question database—1,000,000 per day."

"That's not expensive." Fuyuji waved his hand grandly. "Buy it!"

Eight subjects. Fifty questions per subject. With one month remaining—to simultaneously satisfy the requirements of question volume, difficulty, and the school's designated scope for exam questions—even entrusting this task to Class A, with the highest academic ability, was still a task of no small difficulty.

If they followed this standard—they could absolutely set the questions in the style of civil service exams from his previous life.

Could you do them?

Yes!

How many points did you score?

Fifty.

This single, seamless little combo—no matter who it hit, they'd be left stupefied.

Still—judging by the fact that the passing total scores in previous years had always been controlled within the range of seven to eight hundred points—the school most likely adjusted the exam difficulty based on the actual circumstances.

Otherwise—if one could simply focus single-mindedly on stuffing the questions full of underhanded tricks—there was no way that, every single year, at most only one or two groups would be expelled.

But—all roads lead to Rome. If this road proved impassable—they'd simply take another.

As the wealthiest first-year class, Class A could expect roughly six million points in income per month.

A school like Advanced Nurturing High, which had its own dedicated exam-setting team, certainly possessed its own exam question database. And since this was an exam that appeared every year—they could directly purchase the exam papers of several upper-year classes from previous years as reference material.

As long as they identified the question types with higher error rates and set their questions accordingly—they could suppress the opponent's scores without raising the difficulty of the exam questions themselves.

The class points they contributed were, in the first place, meant to be used someday in class competition. Spending this amount of points to save time and increase the probability of success—was absolutely no loss at all.

"Understood. I'll go make the preparations shortly." Katsuragi nodded heavily.

When the resonant chime of the Big Ben bell rang out—the students concluded their day's lessons. One after another, they zipped up their backpacks and prepared to head to their respective self-study locations to claim their spots.

By now, the pairing results for the exchange exam had already been released. The study groups that had been organized last semester were once again activated. Everything proceeded in an orderly fashion.

However—among the many students who were now well-acquainted, holding hands and departing with cheerful laughter and chatter—one young girl remained seated in her chair. Her eyes were fixed deathly upon the pairing results on her phone screen. Her expression was exceptionally grim.

"Yo~"

Fuyuji leaned one hand against Kamuro Masumi's desk and casually swiped Kamuro's satchel, slinging it over his own shoulder. In a teasing tone, he spoke.

"Miss—are you alone? What a beautiful encounter this is."

"How could it be you?" Kamuro abruptly raised her head and glared at him, grinding her teeth.

A class of forty people. Her current grades weren't even that bad anymore. Why had she been matched with this guy?

Casting her mind back to the very beginning—the two of them had been companions in misery, both scoring nine points in Japanese Literature together. Comrades-in-arms, studying side by side in the library!

Now—only a single semester had passed. How had it turned into this?

And this guy—on top of that—always wore that sloppy, lackadaisical, never-serious expression. How unfair this world was!

Fuyuji blinked and spoke with matter-of-fact certainty. "Of course I took the initiative to match with you. You're my pal, after all. How could I possibly abandon you?"

"How is something like that even possible?"

One had to realize—there were forty people in the class. Even though one could pair based on score tiers—for instance, matching those who scored in the single digits with those who scored in the nineties—to precisely pinpoint one's own ranking among those forty people, and then perform the corresponding score manipulation...

"Of course. If it's me, I can do it." Fuyuji switched tones with the speed worthy of an opera face-change. In a grave voice, he spoke.

"I'm telling you—don't you have anything else to do?" Kamuro let out a long sigh and pressed a hand to her forehead.

"That kind of thing—just leave it to Katsuragi." Fuyuji rubbed his palms together. "Pal is still just a little more important. Let's go. In a bit, we'll head to the library together and relive the glorious days of our first meeting."

"Shut up. Shameless bastard."

Kamuro's cheeks instantly flew up in two blushes of red. After fiercely gouging Fuyuji with a glare, she swung her long, well-proportioned legs and strode off toward the library in a huff.

"Eh, eh—wait for me!" Fuyuji called out from behind her, backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Well then... shall we go..."

Shiraishi Asuka, who had long been waiting at the doorway, smiled radiantly at the two of them and quickly fell into step with light, graceful strides.

-----------------------------------------------------------

If you want to Support me, you can Read Extra Chapters on : [email protected]/Yuni_TL

75 [Power Stones] = Bonus Chapter!