Classroom of the Elite: Surviving with the Intel System — Chapter 92

Chapter 92: Arisu Sakayanagi: Shall we bet if I can win over Kamuro Masumi in a week?

Akira held the undisputed top rank in Class D for both Mathematics and English. Not a single student even came close to brushing against his scores.

The reason was brutally simple—the difficulty curve of the exam papers bordered on the absurd. The final cluster of major problems in every subject violently exceeded the standard curriculum of a first-year high school student. The mathematics paper, in particular, had casually thrown in advanced matrix equations. How many freshmen could realistically solve something like that? Even if they were graded as bonus questions, the difficulty coefficient was entirely disproportionate.

‘Am I sitting the Chunin written exam?’ Akira mused, the association forming instantly.

It was the classic setup from Naruto—deliberately planting questions far beyond the candidates’ knowledge base, slipping in perfect-score plants, and allowing a strict quota of cheating before disqualification. In a hidden village selecting elite ninjas based on intelligence gathering and espionage, it made perfect sense.

But this was the Advanced Nurturing High School. He was just a student. Here, ordinary teenagers couldn’t simply rely on raw intellect to secure a perfect score, nor could they afford to cheat. The moment a proctor caught someone copying, the only reward was a cold zero and immediate disciplinary action. The Student Handbook outlined the regulations with merciless clarity, leaving zero margin for negotiation.

Yet, the School Administration had deliberately engineered this academic slaughter. Just like the point allocation trap of the first month, there had to be a hidden mechanism at play.

‘Could this be the hidden assessment for the second month?’

The moment the thought crystallized, the scattered anomalies clicked into a perfectly logical framework.

A sharp vibration against the table shattered his train of thought. Akira set his chopsticks aside, picking up his phone to find a new message illuminating the screen. The sender was Kamuro Masumi.

“I underestimated you guys. I fully expected you to get a big fat zero.”

Akira raised an eyebrow. Word traveled fast. Class A already knew that Class D had somehow scraped together 530 Class Points. Was this… a compliment?

After a month of dealing with Kamuro, his brain automatically filtered out the abrasive layers of her tsundere disposition to extract the actual meaning. Translated into normal human interaction, her text roughly equated to: “Good job securing 530 points, Akira.”

Perhaps she wasn’t quite that honest, but the core sentiment remained. However, the very second the read receipt triggered, the message vanished.

Sender has recalled this message.

Before he could even process the sudden retraction, a new text flashed across the screen.

“Where’s your dorm?!”

Akira paused, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, before slowly tapping out a response.

“Room 402. Is something wrong, Kamuro?”

Her reply arrived a second later, practically dripping with digital venom.

“Good! I’m coming over at seven tonight. You’d better spend the time reflecting on your mistakes. Otherwise, prepare to die!”

The sheer hostility bleeding through the pixels was unmistakable.

‘Did my background get exposed?’he wondered, though that hardly warranted such a violent reaction.’Or… did she find out about the bet I made with Sakayanagi on the first day of school?’

That was the only logical variable. Akira rubbed the back of his neck, a rare flicker of awkwardness settling over him. Strictly speaking, he had stopped Kamuro from committing theft that day. But as the unwitting subject of a wager between him and Sakayanagi, her pride would undoubtedly be bruised.

In all fairness, Kamuro had treated him surprisingly well since then. She had warned him to conserve his Private Points, bought him meals, and even lent him money when he played the fool. But she couldn’t have just stumbled upon the truth of that bet out of thin air. Someone had deliberately fed her the information.

‘That smug little cane-wielding brat.’

Akira opened a new chat window and fired off a blunt text to a specific contact.

“Was it you?”

The reply arrived instantly.

Sakayanagi Arisu: “?”

Akira stared at the solitary punctuation mark, a distinct wave of déjà vu washing over him. He remembered pulling this exact same stunt on her previously—replying to her sudden accusation with a single, dismissive question mark.

‘Her capacity for holding petty grudges really exceeds expectations,’ he noted dryly. He typed another line.

“Was it intentional or accidental?”

Sakayanagi’s response carried an almost audible, airy giggle.

“Fufu… It was entirely accidental, of course. I simply assumed she already knew~”

Akira read the text with deadpan clarity. It was a highly premeditated accident. Before he could reply, Sakayanagi pivoted the conversation.

“Speaking of which, I intend to recruit Kamuro as an assistant. Would you be so kind as to help me persuade her?”

“No,” Akira typed back without a second of hesitation. He was neither her subordinate nor under any obligation to help her little schemes.

What truly puzzled him was her sheer confidence in asking. Given Kamuro’s fiercely stubborn nature, persuading her to submit to someone like Sakayanagi was a fool’s errand., Akira had already explicitly warned Kamuro to keep her distance from the Class A mastermind. Sakayanagi was bound to hit a brick wall.

Unfazed, Sakayanagi cast a new line.

“Care to make a wager? Let’s bet on whether I can win Kamuro over within a week.”

“Not interested,” Akira refused flatly. “Save your points.”

His rejection was rooted in pure pragmatism. First, his Daily Intel System ensured he had zero shortage of Private Points. Second, Kamuro was currently on her way to murder him over a secret bet. Agreeing to another wager involving her would be the equivalent of tap-dancing on a landmine.

Sakayanagi Arisu: “Ninety-five thousand points. Do we have a bet or not?!”

Akira stared at the screen. Was this girl developing a severe gambling addiction?

Akira: “Keep your points. I’m eating. We’re done talking.”

He locked his screen, entirely ignoring the rapid-fire notifications that followed as Sakayanagi protested his abrupt exit. Silence returned to the room, leaving him with a far more pressing issue: how exactly was he going to appease Kamuro?

A specific, rather violent memory surfaced. She had once told him, in no uncertain terms, that unless he prostrated himself and let her step on his face, he shouldn’t even dream of earning her forgiveness.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. He had to admit, purely from an objective, aesthetic standpoint, Kamuro possessed an incredibly striking figure. When encased in her signature black stockings, the sleek, firm curves of her legs were captivating enough to make any normal high school boy entertain some highly questionable thoughts…

‘Stop right there.’

Akira pinched the bridge of his nose, forcefully aborting that dangerous train of thought. Letting a girl step on his face was absolutely out of the question. He didn’t harbor those kinds of niche fetishes.

Analyzing the situation logically, this wasn’t an unsolvable crisis. Kamuro had a notoriously abrasive exterior, but beneath the thorns, she wasn’t inherently unreasonable. Akira possessed zero fragile male ego when it came to admitting fault. A sincere apology cost him nothing, especially when dealing with someone who had genuinely looked out for him.

When girls lashed out with extravagant threats, they usually just wanted to see a display of genuine contrition.

‘If I just admit I was wrong and take the scolding, she’ll let it go… probably.”It seems Room 402 is going to be rather lively tonight.’

Right on cue, the glass screen of his phone lit up with one final, ominous vibration. Kamuro Masumi’s parting shot sat prominently in his notifications.

“Wash your neck and wait for me!”