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ArabicClassroom of the Elite: Surviving with the Intel System — Chapter 14
Chapter 14: The Unfathomable Neighbor
Shimizu Akira stood before Room 402, key card in hand, ready to tap the sensor. Before the plastic could make contact, the door to Room 401 slid open with a soft, metallic hiss.
A boy with short brown hair stepped into the narrow corridor. His expression was a complete void.
The two locked eyes in the confined space. Akira instantly recognized his classmate, Ayanokoji Kiyotaka.
This was the same boy who had stumbled through a painfully awkward self-introduction earlier that day. Ike Kanji had loudly branded him as introverted to a worrying degree.
Yet, looking at him now, Akira saw nothing resembling ordinary shyness. Ayanokoji’s eyes were as dead and calm as a pool of stagnant water. They registered no surprise at seeing a classmate, nor did they betray the slightest inclination to offer a greeting.
Akira’s hand hovered over the sensor, his movements pausing.
The aura radiating from the boy was not introversion; it was an unfathomable, suffocating restraint. It felt like a violent undercurrent surging beneath a perfectly placid sea—tranquil on the surface, but triggering primal alarm bells in anyone who looked too closely.
Introversion and restraint were fundamentally different beasts. Introversion was the fear of expressing oneself. Restraint was the deliberate, calculated choice not to.
The boy standing before him was undeniably the latter.
‘This Ayanokoji-kun… he isn’t simple either,’Akira mused, his gaze narrowing slightly.’Could it be? Are the other students in Class D actually hiding extraordinary talents?’
Before Akira could analyze the thought further, Ayanokoji broke eye contact and walked toward the elevator. His steps were precise, measured, and entirely machine-like.
Akira watched him go before finally withdrawing his gaze. They were classmates, separated only by Horikita Suzune’s desk in the classroom. There would be plenty of opportunities to probe his depths later.
Turning back to his door, Akira swiped the card. The lock clicked open, and he stepped into what would be his private sanctuary for the foreseeable future, letting the heavy door shut behind him.
He took stock of the space. Bright sunlight spilled through the large windows, illuminating a pristine, well-appointed room. The private bathroom was spotless, and a sleek air conditioning unit hummed quietly on the wall. The living conditions of the Advanced Nurturing High School were far superior to what he had anticipated.
His eyes drifted to the landline phone resting on the bedside table. Curiosity piqued, he picked up the dormitory regulations handbook provided by the front desk and flipped through the crisp pages.
Skimming past the mundane trash-sorting schedules and curfew rules, his gaze locked onto a specific clause.
“The landline in each room connects directly to the front desk. In the event of an emergency, students may request to be connected to their classmates.”
Akira’s eyes widened a fraction.
An emergency? Did that imply a scenario where a student could not use their cellphone because they lacked the Private Points to pay their mobile bill?
If every room possessed a landline, and the front desk held the registry of all student room assignments… that meant, provided he had a plausible excuse, he could bypass the need for phone numbers entirely and have the front desk patch him through to anyone in his grade.
Granted, given his current, practically non-existent social circle, the service was useless. The number of classmates he actually cared to speak with could be counted on one hand.
‘Still, I have a feeling this loophole will come in handy someday.’ He filed the information away in his mental vault.
The April weather already carried the stifling, humid weight of early summer. A thin layer of sweat clung to Akira’s back.
Despite the rising temperature in the room, he refused to touch the AC remote. Adhering strictly to the One Punch Man training philosophy—enduring the heat to forge mental fortitude—he opted for a cold shower instead.
Ten minutes later, he stood in the bathroom, the lingering mist swirling around his ankles. He dragged a towel across the fogged mirror, revealing his reflection.
His youthful physique was lean and defined. Six-pack abs cut sharp, distinct lines across his torso, entirely devoid of the bulky, oppressive mass favored by Western bodybuilders. Instead, his body resembled a coiled cheetah—simplified, hyper-efficient, with every dense muscle fiber forged for explosive power and refined kinetic beauty.
As the steam dissipated, he dried off. His morning workout was already complete, and he had no intention of working up another sweat today.
He pulled on a loose, comfortable T-shirt and tossed his discarded uniform into the laundry basket. Grabbing a broom, he made quick work of sweeping the floor as the midday sun outside grew increasingly harsh.
His phone buzzed. It was 11:30 AM. Right on cue, his stomach let out a low rumble of protest.
“Time to eat.”
He slipped into his uniform trousers, tied his shoes, and stepped out, making sure the door locked securely behind him. The early summer breeze, carrying the faint, rhythmic hum of cicadas, drifted through the open window at the end of the hall.
He decided to scout the cafeteria. It was the first day of school, and his Private Points were still at their maximum. There was absolutely no reason to stand in front of a convenience store’s refrigerated aisle, agonizing over cold rice balls and dry bread.
Retaining the culinary soul of his past life, Akira had never quite adapted to the standard Japanese lunch of cold bento boxes. He craved the visceral satisfaction of a steaming hot meal—whether it was a bowl of piping hot ramen or a plate of freshly wok-fried rice. Only that intense heat and rich flavor could make him feel like he was actually eating.
Pushing open the heavy glass doors of the cafeteria, Akira was immediately hit by a wall of sound and the rich aroma of cooking food. He paused, taking in the sheer scale of the facility.
The dining hall was massive, boasting a two-story-high ceiling. Neatly arranged, light-colored tables stretched out like a vast chessboard, easily capable of seating four to five hundred students at once.
He recalled the enrollment data. Four classes per grade, forty students per class. That meant 480 students across the three years. The cafeteria was built to accommodate the entire student body simultaneously.
The lines for the premium food stalls were already snaking through the aisles. However, Akira’s sharp gaze drifted toward a specific, isolated window in the far corner. It offered free set meals.
There were no limit-three-per-person signs posted. The school, despite its cutthroat nature, would not allow students who had squandered their Points to actually starve to death.
In stark contrast to the bustling premium lines, only a handful of ragged-looking upperclassmen lingered near the free window.
‘Those eating the free meals on the very first day of the semester… they are almost certainly the seniors from Class D,’ Akira deduced, his eyes narrowing.
Suddenly, a flash of vibrant color caught his attention.
A male student with flamboyant, shoulder-length red hair swaggered up to the free counter. He stood brazenly in front of two older male students, gesturing upward toward the upscale cafe on the second floor, a mocking smirk playing on his lips as he spoke to them.
‘I remember him. He is from Class C.’
Akira recognized the boy instantly; he had stood at the very front of Class C’s formation during the entrance ceremony, radiating an aura of absolute dominance.
Scanning the room further, Akira spotted another familiar face.
Like the red-haired tyrant, this person had stood at the vanguard of Class B. It was a stunning girl with flowing pink hair. She was currently engaged in a bright, animated conversation with a group of female upperclassmen.
Despite wearing the exact same uniform as everyone else, she exuded an effortless, magnetic allure. It lingered in the delicate curve of her collarbone visible beneath her slightly unbuttoned collar, and the graceful line of her legs beneath her pleated skirt.
Akira leaned against a pillar, his expression unreadable as he observed the bustling ecosystem of the cafeteria.
‘So, the leaders of Class B and Class C are already making their moves, gathering intelligence from the upperclassmen.’A faint, cynical smile touched the corner of his mouth.’It seems the other classes have their fair share of visionaries as well…’