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ArabicClassroom of the Elite: Surviving with the Intel System — Chapter 41
Chapter 41: Who Should I Tell the Information To?
“Then I will get straight to the point. Why was I assigned to Class D? My entrance exam scores should be near perfect. Shouldn’t I have been placed in Class A?”
“Why do you think so highly of yourself? Where exactly does this baseless confidence come from?” Sae leaned back, her tone dripping with cynical amusement. “Based solely on social skills, you are the absolute worst in Class D. The class assignment result is not a mistake. Your overall ability only qualifies you to stay in Class D. You are a defective product.”
Suzune took half a step back, her posture rigid. “Regarding whether I am suitable… I will personally verify that with the School Administration.”
“Go right ahead.” Sae scoffed, casually flipping open the thick faculty roster resting on her desk. “But before you do that…” Her fingertip tapped heavily against a specific printed name. “Why not ask your impressive older brother? Horikita Manabu.”
The homeroom teacher’s voice dropped, softening into something that cut through the quiet office like a serrated blade. “In his first year, he gained the overwhelming support of his classmates, becoming the first student in this academy’s history to be elected as Student Council President as a freshman.” She suddenly slammed the open roster forward, pushing it right to the edge of the desk. “Right now, you cannot even touch the shadow of who he was back then.”
The open page displayed a formal group photograph of the Student Council executives. Manabu stood at the absolute center, projecting an aura of absolute authority.
Akira watched from the sidelines, noting how Suzune’s breathing completely halted. Her dark eyes locked onto the photograph, glaring with enough intensity to burn a hole straight through the silver badge pinned to her brother’s lapel.
Sae relaxed her shoulders, the brief flash of intensity fading back into her usual disinterested drawl. “But… you are not entirely without a chance to move up to Class A. As for the specific details…”
Her finger shifted, pointing directly at Akira, who already had his hand resting on the doorknob. “Go ask him. After all, the rest of your thirty-nine classmates have genuinely paid for this information.”
She waved her hand dismissively, shooing them out of her office like bothersome insects.
Akira had already stepped out into the corridor. A cool one million Private Points sat securely in his account, making his departure swift and decisive.
Urgent footsteps clicked against the polished floorboards behind him. Suzune quickly closed the distance, falling into step beside him.
“You…”
“Let’s talk as we walk.”
‘The S-System’s operational logic is not actually that complicated,’ Akira mused as they handled the quiet hallways. When he first learned the underlying rules of this academy, a very specific fictional setting had immediately crossed his mind: Baka and Test.
It featured a similar hierarchical grading system, complete with a competitive mechanism allowing the lower ranks to overthrow the elites. The critical difference here was that the Advanced Nurturing High School did not evaluate its students based purely on academic merit.
‘What exact metrics are used for class assignment?’
The question still lingered in his analytical mind. Yet, based on Sae’s brutal reprimand just moments ago, one fact stood out clearly. Social adaptability held massive weight within the school’s hidden algorithms.
Calling someone the absolute worst at socializing was a cruel metric, but it perfectly exposed the academy’s true nature. A brilliant genius who excelled academically but operated as a lone wolf would be instantly branded a defective product by the system.
Following that logic, Class D was not necessarily the class with the worst overall potential. They simply had the most glaring personality flaws.
Suzune walked beside him in complete silence. After hearing the harsh reality of her situation, her expression had turned incredibly grim. She eventually stopped walking, turning down a different corridor without saying another word.
She did not even bother to ask the most crucial question: whether Class D actually had a realistic path to reach Class A through future exams.
Akira understood her reaction perfectly. Learning that her brother had already conquered the entire school hierarchy at her exact age was a massive psychological blow. That kind of suffocating disparity required time to process in isolation.
Watching her retreating back, he was briefly reminded of Yukino. That girl also had a perfect older sister she constantly exhausted herself trying to chase.
‘They are far too similar.’
His thoughts naturally shifted back to the task Sae had essentially dumped on him.
Akira pulled out his phone, scrolling slowly through his limited list of chat contacts. His thumb eventually hovered over two specific names: Kikyo and Yosuke.
He had taken the one million points from the class. Since he accepted the payment, he had to deliver the product. It was a simple matter of equivalent exchange.
“Our homeroom teacher is quite good at reading the room,” Akira muttered under his breath.
Sae clearly understood the social ecosystem of her own classroom. Class D was entirely held together by those two individuals. Kikyo maintained morale with her astonishing charisma and massive network, while Yosuke united the fractured groups with his innate leadership and diplomatic nature.
If the truth about the S-System reached either of their hands, it would organically spread to every single student in Class D within half a day.
Akira locked his screen, gently stroking his chin with his knuckles as he weighed his options.
Based purely on interaction frequency, Kikyo was the obvious choice. The girl who constantly wore a sickeningly sweet smile went out of her way to seek him out, usually to pry into Suzune’s business. She checked in with him at least two or three times a day.
But beneath that sugary exterior hid a deeply twisted dual personality. Her preferred method of stress relief involved violently kicking doors and spewing venomous curses in empty stairwells.
Yosuke, on the other hand, was almost blindingly upright.
As a pragmatic guy, Akira naturally preferred dealing with someone who maintained a consistent, predictable character. Yet, he still remembered the way Yosuke’s expression had instantly frozen upon seeing those two specific text messages earlier. The memory made Akira narrow his eyes.
A model student like Yosuke, who boasted excellent grades, athletic prowess, and flawless social standing, had absolutely no logical reason to be placed in Class D. That meant his permanent record contained some deeply buried darkness—a fatal flaw his perfect prince facade could not entirely conceal.
Sae had stated it clearly: everyone in Class D was defective.
Before choosing his messenger, Akira needed to handle a more pressing logistical issue. He had to create an anonymous alternate account.
Operating in the shadows required caution. If the more envious and volatile students in Class D realized he was the one hoarding information and points, it would spark endless, annoying drama. While he never feared a direct confrontation, crushing bugs was simply a waste of his time.
More, a secure alternate account would allow him to broker high-stakes information trades with the other three classes without exposing his identity.
Establishing a ghost account was an absolute necessity for his future plans.
However, the school’s digital infrastructure presented an immediate roadblock. Every student terminal and point account was strictly bound to their real-world identity. Achieving total anonymity meant he needed a legally recognized secondary identity within the system.
He opened his chat with Sae, typing out a direct inquiry.
“Teacher, does the school offer unlisted transaction accounts?”
Her reply arrived seconds later, cold and concise.
“No. All point transactions are strictly monitored by the School Administration.”
Akira did not back down. “As long as the other students remain entirely in the dark, it does not matter to me if the School Administration knows what I am doing.”
A heavy digital silence stretched for nearly a full minute. Finally, a new message popped up on his screen.
“You can open a secondary sub-account tied to your real ID. The processing fee is ten thousand Private Points.”
“Deal.”
Akira authorized the transfer without a single second of hesitation.
Almost instantly, a fresh batch of account credentials downloaded into his terminal. Though technically tethered to his primary identity in the school’s master database, the new profile displayed a completely blank slate to the public. It sat at a zero balance, waiting for him to mold it into his personal black market ledger.
The stage was set. Now, he just had to decide.
Who was going to receive the truth?