"Senpaku, I am Sakamoto. What brings you here?"

Mashima's gaze was sharp as a knife, scrutinizing him for several seconds. The reason was naive, yet unusually firm.

"Just this once,"

Mashima's voice was deep and authoritative.

"Class A is a model of high achievement, and nothing should be an excuse to disregard time discipline. Remember that."

He nodded.

"Take a seat."

He didn't directly accuse anyone of being late, but the subtext of emphasizing "time discipline" was crystal clear.

"Thank you, teacher." Sakamoto bowed again, his tone calm.

He straightened up, his gaze sweeping naturally across the classroom—for a brief moment, as if meeting the eyes of everyone watching. He took a step.

There was no awkwardness, no panic.

His steps were steady and fluid, as if he were walking in an empty corridor. The rhythm of each step seemed meticulously calculated, yet there was no trace of deliberate effort.

His arms swung with a moderate range, his shoulders and back straight as a pine tree. His goal was clear—the empty seat by the window—but his walking trajectory seemed to draw an invisible, elegant arc in the eyes of others.

As he walked through rows of seats, countless eyes were focused on him, but he seemed oblivious.

The bald, burly man had a furrowed brow, a tightly pursed mouth, and sharp, piercing eyes. He leaned slightly forward, his questioning almost bursting out of his body.

The silver-haired girl with the cane lightly tapped the tip of her cane with her fingertip, the playful smile on her lips deepening, and her gaze behind her glasses becoming more inquisitive.

The blond-haired boy's smile remained unchanged, but his eyes now held a hint of interest as he lightly tapped his fingers on the table.

The purple-haired girl's casual gaze shifted from the window to him. Her expression remained indifferent, but a very subtle ripple flickered deep within her purple eyes before returning to their still depths.

In the silence, only Sakamoto's footsteps could be heard. He walked to the empty seat by the window.

He did not sit down immediately.

With his left hand, he brushed across the air above the chair back with such natural ease that it was almost an illusion, and his body naturally turned towards the seat, his center of gravity lowered, and his posture became relaxed.

The moment your buttocks settle into the chair and perfectly conform to its surface—

"bell--"

The sharp, loud electric bell rang out without warning, as if precisely calculated! The sound wave filled the classroom and assaulted the eardrums.

hum!

Time seemed to freeze for a moment. One instant, silence; the next, a deafening roar. The stark contrast sent the entire class's hearts pounding! Many instinctively tensed.

Only the boy by the window calmly adjusted his posture amidst the noise, his gaze fixed on the podium. His composure seemed like a salute to him amidst the din.

He even tilted his head slightly to look out the window, as if searching for the shadow of cherry blossom trees.

Mashima stood on the podium, the bell rang, and his gaze was fixed on Sakamoto.

The perfect synchronization between his taking his seat and the official school bell was astonishingly precise! Sakamoto took his seat at the exact moment the bell rang—strictly speaking, he wasn't late.

That extraordinary composure, that rhythm precise to the second—was it calculation? Or a dazzling "performance" orchestrated by luck?

A ripple of mixed vigilance and absurdity spread through Majima's heart.

He gripped the folder tightly, cleared his throat, suppressed his turbulent thoughts, and regained his composure.

"Class meeting will now begin."

His voice was steady and powerful, but deep in his eyes, the name "Sakamoto," along with his lateness and the eerily precise sound of the seating bell, had been etched into his watchlist—this was someone who needed to be kept in special attention.

In the classroom, the bell gradually fell silent, leaving only the deep voice of Ms. Majima as she began her lecture. Sakamoto, the boy by the window, sat upright, his gaze fixed intently on the podium, his expression behind his black-rimmed glasses calm and serene, as if none of the turmoil that had just occurred had happened.

First Year Enrollment: Chapter 003: Sakamoto Asks a Question

Sunlight streamed through the clean windowpanes, illuminating the brand-new desks of Class 1-A, and the air was filled with the scent of new books.

Sakayanagi Arisu's fingertips unconsciously tapped lightly on the smooth tip of her dark wooden cane. Her gaze, seemingly calm, was fixed on the direction of the podium, but in reality, she had already taken in the diverse expressions of everyone in the classroom:

In the front row, there was the bald-headed Katsuragi Kohei, who sat motionless like a rock, his brows furrowed; diagonally behind him was Kamuro Masumi, whose purple hair cascaded down like a waterfall, as if separated from the world by an ice wall; and in the corner sat Kito Hayato, whose thick curly hair fell like seaweed, almost covering most of his face—this silent boy, like a shadow, was the only one in the classroom, besides that empty seat, who had never interacted with her.

Majima Tomoya picked up the chalk, turned around, and neatly wrote the Chinese characters "Majima Tomoya" on the blackboard.

"Mashima Tomoya."

He put down the chalk, his voice cold and hard.

"Serving as class advisors and English teachers."

His hawk-like gaze swept across the entire room.

"I hope that in the next three years, we can work together to defend the glory of Class A as the pinnacle of advanced training."

Concise and powerful.

A faint smile curved at the corners of Sakayanagi's lips.

Defend? Interesting wording.

Students in the front row stood up and distributed dark blue copies of "Key Points for Highly Cultivating Higher Education Institutions" and mobile phones printed with the school emblem.

Mashima holds up the same phone:

"This is your passport, your identity, and—most importantly—your means of survival in a highly developed society."

He paused deliberately, letting the words "survival tool" fall heavily to the floor.

"It incorporates the school's unique system—'S System' (School System)."

Sakayanagi's eyes flickered slightly behind his glasses. A survival tool?

The definition itself is full of implications.

She noticed that Katsuragi's back was straighter; Hashimoto Masayoshi still had a sunny smile, but the knuckles stroking the phone case revealed his focus; Kamuro Masumi's detached gaze seemed to focus for a moment as well.

"The S system integrates student ID, access control, all facility permissions, and the core function of financial payment."

Mashima's voice was steady.

All purchases on campus are made using "points." Points are the only "currency" on campus.

Sakayanagi paused. Survival tools were linked to currency—what a straightforward setup.

Majima's gaze swept across the entire class, passing over the seats by the window.

Sakayanagi knew who he was looking at—Sakamoto.

At this moment, Sakamoto was still facing the podium sideways, his serene profile bathed in light, clearly showing the lines of his nose and the beauty mark under his left eye. He rested his elbow elegantly on the windowsill, his fingertips supporting his chin, his posture as relaxed as if he were enjoying the scenery in a private garden.

This composure in the face of authority was particularly striking in the tense atmosphere of Class A.

Sakayanagi caught the surprised and puzzled looks and suppressed whispers around him.

Mashima's voice rose slightly:

"On the 1st of each month, the system automatically deposits a fixed number of points into each student's account. At this moment,"

He slowed his speech, "You should have 10 points in your account."

He paused,

"One point is equivalent to one yen."

Om-!

An invisible shockwave swept through the entire classroom.

10 yen! Even for these elites, this was a staggering sum that shook their very understanding. Katsuragi Kohei leaned forward instantly.

Sakayanagi clearly captured every subtle reaction, and various emotions surged beneath the silent commotion.

The discipline of Class A suppressed the noise, but it couldn't quell the sudden tension in the air and the accelerated heartbeats.

"Questions will inevitably remain."

Mashima's voice rang out again.

"Now, it's time for questions. Feel free to ask any questions you may have."

Before he finished speaking——

An arm was raised high from the back of the classroom near the window in a very standard and conspicuous posture.

The movement was so fluid and powerful, like a flagpole of a guard of honor suddenly rising, yet it carried an indescribable elegance—the shoulder and arm lines were straight, the fingertips pointed steadily to the ceiling, and the elbows did not sway at all.

There was not a trace of impatience or humility in asking questions; rather, it was more like calmly declaring to the world, "I have a question," forcibly drawing all eyes—including Sakayanagi's probing gaze.

Sakamoto, the boy who was just a moment ago absorbed in the scenery outside the window, has now turned around completely.

His posture was upright and straight, and his gaze behind his black-rimmed glasses calmly met Mashima's. His composed demeanor contrasted sharply with the abruptness of his raised hand.

Like a stage light suddenly illuminating the lead actor, instantly making them the absolute focus, some hushed whispers inevitably rose again in the classroom:

"I was just looking outside..."

"That pose...is kind of cool..."

"Pretending quite well..."

"Sakamoto-san."

Mashima's voice was calm, but Sakayanagi caught a fleeting glint of sharpness in his eyes.

Sakamoto stood up, his movements as graceful as a bamboo shoot growing.

He spoke, his voice clear and steady, carrying a thoughtful and cautious tone:

“Ms. Majima,”

He nodded slightly, his posture respectful yet composed.

"Thank you for your explanation. I have a question regarding the distribution of 10 points per month."

He looked directly at Mashima with calm eyes, his words clear.

"Is this generous monthly allowance of 10... a monthly gift equally given to all grades by highly skilled individuals? Or rather,"

He paused at just the right moment, then continued.

"Is it a privilege unique to our Class 1-A?"

The moment the question was posed, the air seemed to freeze!

Sakayanagi's fingertips suddenly stopped at the tip of his cane.

An equal gift? Or a privilege unique to Class A? He asked so casually, as if he was merely curious about whether the treatment was fair.

Was he looking out the window to observe other classes?

Sakayanagi felt his curiosity ignited and looked at Sakamoto with burning eyes.

Mashima's pupils contracted very slightly!

Clearly, no one expected that this seemingly detached student would ask such a tricky question that went straight to the heart of the matter.

He paused for two seconds, a brief pause that conveyed a great deal of information. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower and more cautious than before:

"The points are indeed deposited into personal accounts at a fixed rate every month."

He avoided the word "class," but then a subtle shift occurred.

"However, in advanced training, individual development and the honor and disgrace of the collective are inextricably linked..."

"I see! Thank you for your explanation!"

Sakamoto's voice was gentle, precisely cutting off Majima's attempt at a vague explanation!

Amidst the astonished gazes of the entire class and Majima's slightly stiff expression, he smoothly bowed towards the podium and then calmly sat down before anyone could react!

The movements were fluid and graceful, with an effortless elegance.

The abrupt end of the conversation was like a musical piece abruptly cut short at its most powerful moment, leaving behind a stunned silence. Katsuragi Kohei's forward-leaning body froze mid-motion, a barely perceptible shock flickering across his face. Hashimoto Masayoshi opened his mouth, but ultimately let out a silent sigh, his eyes now showing a renewed scrutiny of this "strange person." Kamuro Masumi's gaze darted rapidly between Sakamoto and Mashima, a crack of confusion appearing on her usually indifferent face for the first time. Kito Hayato remained hidden in the shadows, but Sakayanagi noticed that his usually lowered eyes had now slightly lifted, peering through the gaps in his curly hair towards Sakamoto with a hint of curiosity.

Sakamoto ignored the storm of gazes directed at him.

He deftly took a brand-new hardcover notebook and a pen from the drawer.

Amidst Majima's still-unsettled gaze and the class's silent astonishment, he held the pen in his right hand, while his left hand pressed against the edge of the paper at an incredibly subtle and elegant angle, both stabilizing the paper and cleverly obscuring most of the writing. Then, his wrist moved with a dazzling fluency!

The pen tip scratched against the paper, producing a rapid, fine "shh" sound, so fast that only a blurry afterimage could be seen! His left hand remained motionless, as steady as a rock; his right hand transformed into a stable phantom, wielding the pen with effortless grace. He lowered his head slightly, a few strands of hair falling across his forehead, partially obscuring his glasses, but only highlighting the focus and tranquility of his jawline.