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ArabicClassroom of the Elite: Surviving with the Intel System — Chapter 23
Chapter 23: Stepping Into the Ring
Just as the senior was about to continue his pitch, a cold, commanding voice cut through the ambient noise of the gymnasium.
“It is my turn.”
The man who had been standing quietly in the shadows of the stage suddenly stepped forward into the harsh overhead lights. Upon seeing his face, the Boxing Club senior froze. The easygoing confidence vanished from his features, replaced by a rigid mask of sheer panic.
“President Horikita.”
The senior immediately bowed at a sharp angle, his tone dripping with absolute reverence. He did not dare lift his head.
“Freshman, come down with me,” the senior muttered out of the corner of his mouth, grabbing Shimizu Akira by the sleeve. “It is time for the Student Council President’s speech.”
Akira allowed himself to be led down the wooden stairs of the stage. As they reached the floor, he cast a glance back over his shoulder. The imposing figure adjusting the microphone was none other than Horikita Manabu, the Student Council President who had delivered the chilling address at yesterday’s entrance ceremony. He was also the older brother of Akira’s current deskmate, Horikita Suzune.
“Senior, you seem genuinely terrified of the Student Council President,” Akira noted, keeping his voice low as they moved through the crowd of murmuring first-years.
“Junior Shimizu, you really do not understand the hierarchy here,” the senior whispered frantically. “In this school, the Student Council wields absolute authority. If you offend President Horikita…”
The older student let out a long, shaky breath, wiping a layer of cold sweat from his forehead.
“Luckily, the President let it slide. I was a fraction of a second away from crossing a very dangerous line just now.” Regaining a fraction of his composure, the senior stopped walking and patted Akira heavily on the shoulder. His eyes gleamed with a predatory sort of admiration. “Regardless, I have incredibly high hopes for you. That Private Point subsidy I offered is a unique arrangement. Absolutely no one else gets that kind of signing bonus.”
He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If it were not for your specific class placement, combined with your obvious physical baseline…”
Leaving the sentence hanging, the senior turned toward the Boxing Club’s designated recruitment booth. Just before stepping away, he tossed one final look over his shoulder.
“If you are interested, the door is always open. You are welcome to sign up anytime. Even next month is perfectly fine.”
Before the echo of his words faded, the senior had already taken his seat behind the recruitment desk, projecting an aura of absolute certainty. He looked entirely convinced that Akira would come crawling to him eventually.
Akira simply gave a faint nod in response.
The senior was an interesting variable. He was willing to hand over a generous subsidy of ten thousand Private Points simply because Akira was a student assigned to Class D. The absolute certainty in the older boy’s eyes suggested a deeper calculation. Had the senior already deduced that Akira, along with the rest of his oblivious classmates, would inevitably fall into a severe financial crisis by the start of next month?
Up on the stage, the Student Council President began his address, his voice echoing through the massive speakers with unhurried precision. He outlined the structural hierarchy of the council before moving to the recruitment phase.
“We are currently opening applications for reserve members,” Manabu stated, his tone devoid of warmth. “Those who pass the initial screening will face a far more rigorous official selection process.”
The President’s sharp gaze swept across the sea of freshmen, the glare of the stage lights reflecting off his pristine lenses.
“We do not welcome those who harbor naive fantasies of prestige. Nor will we tolerate the existence of any blemishes on your academic or behavioral records.”
The underlying message was brutally clear to anyone paying attention. The doors of the Student Council were effectively locked to anyone outside the elite ranks of Class A and Class B.
As Akira turned to leave the assembly hall, a familiar silhouette caught his eye. Horikita Suzune stood completely motionless near the back of the crowd, her gaze locked onto her older brother with a desperate, unblinking intensity.
Manabu’s eyes briefly drifted over the crowd and landed on her. He stared at his sister for a fraction of a second with utter indifference before smoothly looking away, continuing his speech without missing a beat. Between the two siblings, an invisible, suffocating wall of rejection stood tall.
The week passed in a blur of mundane routines, bringing them to Friday afternoon.
Over the past few days, the daily intelligence feeds refreshing in Akira’s mind had yielded nothing but trivial, low-value data.
[Miyake Akito joined the Archery Club]
[Sudo Ken Admission Stats: Intelligence – E | Academic Ability – E | Physical Ability – A | Judgment – D+ | Teamwork – D]
It was a steady stream of personal privacy leaks that offered zero immediate tactical advantage. Information, stripped of context and opportunity, was just raw data. Akira understood this reality perfectly. He never expected his daily intel to hand him instant victories on a silver platter. The Advanced Nurturing High School was a three-year battlefield. Information was a long-term investment, an auxiliary tool meant to secure use when the right moment presented itself.
Despite the lack of actionable secrets, Akira had made one significant move. On Wednesday, he officially submitted his application to the Boxing Club.
True to his word, the club captain transferred the promised ten thousand Private Points to Akira’s student account the very moment the paperwork was stamped.
Since then, Akira spent exactly two hours every day after school sweating in the club’s training facility. The first week defied his initial expectations. There were no dramatic ring duels, no heavy bag work, and he had not even been allowed to wrap his hands.
Instead, the regimen was a grueling gauntlet of pure physical conditioning. Endless rounds of jump rope and jumping jacks pushed his cardiovascular endurance to its limits. He spent hours drilling basic footwork, sliding forward and backward across the canvas until the movements burned into his muscle memory. The head coach noted his rapid progress, mentioning that if he maintained this pace of adaptation, they could schedule his first live sparring session by next month.
The final bell of the day rang, signaling the start of the weekend. As Akira systematically packed his textbooks into his bag, the sound of light, hurried footsteps approached his desk.
“Shimizu-kun!”
Kushida Kikyo leaned over his desk, her signature sweet perfume wafting through the air. Her eyes sparkled with perfectly manufactured curiosity.
“Have you bought your boxing gloves yet?”
“Not yet,” Akira replied evenly, zipping his bag shut and slinging it over his shoulder. “I plan to purchase them next month.”
“Then, when you finally get in the ring to compete, can I come watch?” Kushida brought her hands together beneath her chin, her expression the picture of innocent excitement. “I have never seen a boy box in person before. It sounds so intense.”
“You can come if you want,” Akira said, his expression neutral. “Though I hear you have to spend Private Points just to buy a ticket.”
The Boxing Club at this school operated on a unique economic model. While boxing was a forgotten niche at most ordinary high schools, here it was a massive spectacle. The club boasted a professional-grade elevated ring and regularly hosted exhibition matches that drew packed crowds.
The School Administration turned a blind eye to the violence, largely because a former club president had paid an astronomical sum of Private Points to purchase exclusive operational rights directly from the governing board. It was a fully sanctioned micro-economy. Students paid Private Points to watch the fights.
Akira was still piecing together the exact distribution metrics, but the core concept was simple. Fighters who stepped into the ring received a guaranteed base appearance fee, supplemented by massive bonus payouts for securing a knockout or a judge’s decision. It was a perfect cooperation of his goals. He could forge his body into a weapon while simultaneously farming the school’s currency.
“Damn it! I really wanted to join the Boxing Club too,” Yamauchi Haruki whined from the back of the classroom, dramatically beating his chest. “But the president told me the roster was completely full.”
“Exactly,” Ike Kanji chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a dreamy look in his eyes. “Standing in the ring, dodging punches looking all cool… it would definitely attract a massive crowd of girls.”
The two idiots continued to mutter their delusions in the corner.
The reality of the situation was far different. The Boxing Club currently had fewer than twenty active members. The regular exhibition matches had been fought by the same small rotation of veterans for so long that the paying audience was beginning to suffer from severe aesthetic fatigue. Ticket sales were dropping.
This financial crisis was the exact reason the club president was aggressively scouting the freshman class for fresh blood.
Naturally, the barrier to entry was brutal. The absolute minimum requirement was a documented history of long-term athletic conditioning. Any applicant who threw a weak punch, or who failed to hit the upper percentiles of the school’s physical fitness test, was swiftly and politely rejected. The president simply handed them the standard excuse that the club was not currently looking for new members, leaving fools like Yamauchi completely in the dark.