Practical Classroom: Kaoru Hanayama's Classroom of Merit

the next day.

April 7th, 8:30 AM.

The first day of formal classes at the Advanced Educational College has begun.

The first lesson was on Japanese history, and the teacher was none other than Chabashira Sae, the homeroom teacher of Class D.

As soon as the bell rang, the classroom door opened, and she walked onto the podium with effortless steps.

She held the attendance sheet, chalk, and several textbooks in her hands.

"Return to your seats. Class will now begin."

The voice lacked intonation and warmth.

They maintained a completely businesslike attitude, without making any attempt to read the room.

Kaoru Hanayama sat upright in her seat.

On the desk, the heavy review materials that Horikita had helped him choose yesterday, as well as the Japanese history textbook assigned by the school, were neatly arranged.

He placed his hands flat on the table and looked intently at the blackboard.

High school students should follow high school rules.

That is the ultimate aesthetics that Huashan embodies.

In the underworld, those who fail to fulfill their duties will be ruthlessly eliminated.

The group leader has his rules, and the junior members have theirs. Since we are students now, we should just fulfill our duties as students, nothing more.

Even when the content being taught was completely beyond his comprehension, his attitude remained unwavering.

For him, this was nothing short of a spiritual practice.

"Turn to page twelve of your textbook. Today we'll begin with the formation of the Heian period."

On the platform, Chazhu held a piece of chalk in his hand and wove the facts of history in a flat, monotone voice.

Click, click, the stiff sound of chalk hitting the blackboard.

At first, the air in the classroom was filled with the tension unique to freshmen.

Everyone carried the preconceived notion that "this is an elite school," as well as the inertia from their junior high school days until yesterday, and for the time being, they were all facing forward, pretending to take notes.

After about twenty minutes, cracks began to appear on that thin, cicada-wing-like layer of discipline.

The reason is obvious: the lessons in the tea stalk class are just too easy.

She simply wrote the dates on the blackboard indifferently and read the textbook text in a emotionless voice.

He neither asked the students any questions nor interspersed any interesting small talk.

What exists there is utter boredom, like listening to a recording.

Starting with those who have low attention spans, they gradually reveal their true colors.

Ike Kanji's fingertips moved slightly under the desk, and the sound of tapping on the smartphone screen could be heard.

The trajectory of the crumpled note that Haruki Yamauchi threw to his neighbor was clearly visible to the classmate sitting next to him.

To the left front, after yawning widely, Takeru Sudo brazenly lay down on his desk and began to snore softly.

These are all commonplace scenes in bad schools or low-level public high schools.

Huashan's gaze fell on the tea pillar on the podium.

sense of violation.

Huashan wasn't bothered by the students' misbehavior itself.

As the pinnacle of the yokai, he was intimately familiar with human weakness and laziness.

In places where there is no iron fist to govern and no solid discipline, it is only natural for young people to be lazy and play around.

That's precisely why it seems unusual.

The problem lies not with the students, but with the teachers.

Chashu Sae did not take the slightest action.

There's no way her eyesight could be wrong. Looking down from the podium, which is a step above everyone else, you could see everything, from Sudo sleeping to the backlight of Ike's phone screen, no matter how much you didn't want to look.

Even if it weren't for a man like Hanayama, any ordinary adult could easily detect the level of laxity.

However, Chazhu neither threw chalk, nor called out students' names, nor banged on desks as a warning.

He simply and single-mindedly continued to convert the text in the textbooks into sound.

Hua Shan was digging into his rather few, ordinary memories of junior high school life.

Even the most unassuming teacher will still give a gentle nudge or a verbal reminder if a student is brazenly sleeping in class; it's simply part of a teacher's job.

If that's the case, there are only two possibilities.

First, Chabashira Sae is a potential scoundrel who has lost all self-respect and sense of responsibility as a teacher.

However, Hanayama had already received a report about the school from his confidant, Kizaki.

This is a top-level institution established with a huge national budget to cultivate talent capable of shouldering the responsibilities of Japan in the future.

It's unimaginable that someone would be assigned a third-rate teacher who couldn't even correct the students' discipline in such a place.

In that case, there is only one answer.

This is a trap.

If we replace it with the laws of the underworld, this composition becomes easy to understand.

For example, on the territory of a certain group, an unlocked safe is deliberately left.

The guards were deliberately moved away, making it appear as if no one was around.

An ignorant and greedy scoundrel might mistake this for an "opportunity" and reach for the cash in the safe.

Meanwhile, those in power are coldly observing all of this through surveillance cameras.

There will be no reminders or warnings.

But when the deadline arrives, cut that long-stretched arm off at the root.

Hua Shan's thick eyebrows furrowed slightly.

What welled up inside him was neither approval nor anxiety, but rather unpleasantness.

A school should be a place that guides and educates ignorant young people.

No matter how foolish a student may be, you must hold the reins tightly, and sometimes even yell at them to forcefully pull them back on track.

That is the responsibility and duty that a teacher should bear.

Abandoning this responsibility from the very beginning, and merely standing aloof and silently watching them sink into the mire, goes against Huashan's principles.

"Ding-dong-dong-dong"

Soon after, the bell rang throughout the corridor, signaling the end of the first class.

That concludes today's lesson.

Without leaving any lingering feelings or aftertaste, Chazhu put down the chalk and walked out of the classroom.

There wasn't a single trace of care for the students in those steps.

The moment she disappeared, the last remaining thread snapped, and the classroom was instantly filled with noise.

"This is incredibly boring! I don't understand history at all."

Yamauchi stretched out his arms and yawned loudly.

"That's right. The teacher doesn't even look this way; they can easily play on their phone."

Chi agreed with a grin.

The classroom was as noisy as a vegetable market.

Huashan didn't join that circle, nor did he stand up and shout "Quiet down!" like a disciplinary committee member.

He neither tried to mend the relationship between his classmates nor had the stance to do so.

What price they will pay at the end of those actions is their own responsibility.

Huashan simply sat quietly in his seat, holding the pencil on the table, intending to take some more notes.

"Click"

But under his unusually strong grip, the wooden pencil didn't bend at all and was crushed into powder.

Tiny wood shavings fell from my palm.

The tiny sound of destruction was drowned out by the noise in the classroom and should not have reached anyone's ears.

However, only Horikita Suzune, who was about to start reading in the next seat, felt the unusually heavy pressure emanating from Hanayama and reflexively glanced at his profile.

There was no anger on the man's face.

However, that posture completely disconnected him from the frivolous atmosphere around him, and was filled with displeasure.

(...What is this person thinking?)

Horikita thought to himself, choosing not to respond, and turned his gaze back to his book.