In Other Words, We Are Screwed

Yukinoshita's sharp eyes narrowed slightly as she tilted her head, the subtle shift in her posture signaling her readiness to engage. She always carried herself like she was seconds away from dismantling someone's argument—calm, composed, and deadly in debate.

"Special Exam?" she repeated, her voice crisp but laced with mild curiosity. Her eyes flicked toward Hiratsuka-sensei for a brief second before settling back to the student called Horikita Manabu. "That's the first time I've heard such terminology."

It wasn't just the words that caught her attention. The air in the room had shifted like someone had pressed pause on reality. The weight of the announcement hung there, palpable, stretching the silence as if daring anyone to break it. Yukinoshita wasn't the type to ignore something like that.

Horikita Manabu, however, seemed entirely unbothered by the rising tension. If anything, he thrived in it. He stood in the center of the room like a painting hung just slightly higher than eye level meant to make you feel small without ever having to say a word.

Before he responded, his gaze shifted slightly to a girl standing near the side of the room—the one who had her hands clasped nervously in front of her, visibly shrinking under the pressure.

Ah, right. Shiromeguri Meguri.

I recognized the uniform but not much else. From what I remember, she was Sobu High's current Student Council President. Which, of course, raised the obvious question. How did someone that nervous end up at the top? Did Sobu's election process involve a raffle draw? Or maybe rock-paper-scissors in the hallway?

I feel like I know the answer already.

Horikita Manabu's eyes lingered on her for a beat longer than necessary, and for a second, I thought she might evaporate under the weight of his gaze. It is that guy's fault.

"Before I continue…" he began, his tone as calm as ever, "Would it be acceptable if I took a seat?"

His words were polite, but there was something about the way he spoke that made it sound less like a request and more like a foregone conclusion.

Shiromeguri-senpai jolted upright as someone had just called on her in class when she wasn't paying attention. "O-of course! Please, go ahead!" she replied hastily, nodding far too many times to seem natural.

And just like that, the imposing Student Council President of Advanced Nurturing High School walked over and sat down. Not just anywhere but directly in the chair reserved for Sobu's Student Council President.

His movements were fluid, graceful even, as if the seat had been waiting for him this entire time.

Huh!?

The chair practically seemed to adjust to him.

It was the kind of thing that would normally spark quiet outrage or hushed whispers from the rest of the room. But instead, there was silence.

A silence that felt less like an accident and more like something he had personally curated.

Yukinoshita's eyes flickered as if committing the entire scene to memory for future reference. Even Yuigahama, whose default mode was "open book," seemed to register that something was… off. Or maybe even impressive.

Horikita Manabu's eyes swept over the room once more, each glance like a mental checklist, peeling back layers of unspoken questions.

How does someone suppress an entire room without even needing to raise their voice?

Maybe that's his Special Exam. Silence 101.

At last, he spoke.

"As I was saying," Horikita Manabu began, his tone even but definitive, "The Acting Director of Advanced Nurturing High School recently contacted the principal of Sobu High."

His gaze drifted to Hiratsuka-sensei for a fleeting second before continuing.

"It was decided that we will proceed with a collaborative form of Special Exam, designed as a test for students from both institutions."

Yuigahama hesitated before timidly raising a hand as if she were about to interrupt a sacred ritual. "So, um… what does that mean exactly?"

Her voice broke the silence, but only just.

Before Horikita could answer, Yukinoshita's voice cut through the air with its usual precision.

"It means the schools will likely be competing against one another, Yuigahama-san," she said smoothly, her arms crossing in that signature way that somehow made even basic explanations feel layered with subtext. "I imagine it will be some sort of academic or collective challenge against another school. A way to measure our abilities in comparison to theirs."

Yukinoshita seemed content with that explanation. For a brief moment, the room felt lighter, as if the problem had been neatly categorized and filed away.

But Horikita Manabu was still watching her.

And if I wasn't mistaken, there was the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes.

"You're only partially correct," he said at last, his words deliberate, as though he were savoring the process of correction. A small, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "However, the exam is not structured in a way that directly pits our schools against each other."

Yukinoshita's brows furrowed slightly. "Then what?" she asked, leaning forward just a fraction. "If this Special Exam takes place at Sobu High and involves the entire student body, how exactly do you intend to monitor everyone?"

Valid point. Though if I had to guess, Yukinoshita just didn't like being told she was "partially correct."

Hiratsuka-sensei chuckled softly, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe.

"Relax, Yukinoshita. Let him finish explaining," she said, her tone more amused than strict.

Akane Tachibana stepped forward, finally deciding it was time to speak.

"With all due respect, Yukinoshita-san, it's inappropriate to interrupt Horikita-kaichou during his explanation," she added, her voice polite but sharp enough to remind everyone of her role in the room.

Ah. So she's the "strict secretary" type.

Horikita Manabu raised a hand slightly, signaling for her to stand down.

"It's fine, Tachibana. I don't mind."

He turned his attention back to us.

"The Special Exam will only involve the first-year students," he clarified, his gaze settling on Yukinoshita, waiting to see how she'd respond.

Well, at least that narrowed it down. Fewer participants meant fewer complications.

Still, I couldn't help but feel like whatever this "Special Exam" entailed, it wasn't going to be as simple as a friendly academic competition.

But hey, maybe I'm just pessimistic by nature.

Or I've just been through enough school events to know that nothing is ever as straightforward as it sounds.

Hiratsuka-sensei shifted her weight slightly against the doorframe, her arms still crossed but with a flicker of genuine curiosity dancing in her eyes.

"Out of curiosity," she began, her voice casual but laced with just enough interest to suggest she already suspected the answer, "who exactly is responsible for designing this Special Exam?"

It seems even Hiratsuka-sensei doesn't know the exact details of this procedure.

"I am," Horikita Manabu said, his tone carrying the quiet confidence of someone delivering a fact rather than an opinion. "While the Acting Director initiated the process by reaching out to Sobu High, I am the one who designed and will be overseeing the exam."

Speechlessness.

Yuigahama blinked, tilting her head slightly in confusion. Even Yukinoshita's normally unflappable demeanor cracked, her brow twitching faintly at the unexpected revelation.

I glanced at Hiratsuka-sensei, half-expecting her to laugh and call it a joke. But there was no trace of humor in her eyes.

Wait. Hold on.

"So… let me get this straight," I spoke, staring long enough to convey my disbelief without being too obvious about it. "You're telling us that the Student Council President of ANHS isn't just participating in this, but you actually created the entire thing?"

Horikita met my gaze without even the slightest shift in his expression.

"Yes."

Yukinoshita's arms tightened across her chest, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly like trying to spot the hidden catch in his words.

"That's… unusual," she remarked, her voice carefully measured. "For a student to be entrusted with something like this… Doesn't it undermine the authority of your faculty?"

Her tone was polite, but there was that familiar edge—the one she always used when she thought someone was overstepping.

Tachibana took half a step forward, but Horikita raised his hand again, halting her response before it could even leave her lips.

"It's not a matter of undermining authority," he explained smoothly. "The Acting Director believes that fostering leadership skills in students capable of handling responsibility benefits the school. As such, only Tachibana and I, aside from the first-years, were permitted to participate indirectly. That is why I am here."

Indirectly?

His gaze flicked briefly to Shiromeguri-senpai, who straightened like she'd just been reminded of her own rank.

I glanced at Yukinoshita again, waiting for the inevitable follow-up. Sure enough, she wasn't going to let this slide.

"I see," Yukinoshita said slowly. "Then this Special Exam—how do you plan to ensure it remains fair? If your school's Class A, B, C, and D all participate, but Sobu High has more first-year classes—E, F, G, H—how exactly do you account for the disparity in numbers?"

There it is.

A good question. Yukinoshita had a knack for drilling straight through to the core of any problem, like a surgeon dissecting whatever poor soul wandered into her path.

I gave a slight nod to myself. Fair point. If ANHS was structured into four distinct classes with their whole rigid hierarchical system, but Sobu had more, wouldn't that skew the balance?

Horikita didn't flinch.

"The difference in class structure has already been accounted for," he replied. "From Sobu, the participants will consist of first-year students with notable achievements—whether academic or athletic. Those interested may also volunteer. Should participation fall below expectations…" He let the words linger, almost daring us to guess the rest.

"Then what?" I asked, already bracing for whatever absurd condition he'd throw at us next.

"The faculty of Sobu High School will make selections on behalf of the students," he said, his tone light but leaving little room for argument. "And failure to comply will result in lowered evaluations."

So, to summarize. Sign up for this bizarre cross-school academic deathmatch, or risk tanking your report card. Subtle. Real subtle.

Yuigahama's hand twitched upward, though she hesitated as if rethinking whether it was worth the effort.

"Uh… that seems kinda harsh, doesn't it?" she asked, half-laughing nervously.

The uncertainty in her voice was obvious—like someone testing the waters of a frozen lake, half-expecting it to crack beneath their feet. She glanced sideways at Yukinoshita, maybe hoping for some backup, but found nothing except a calm, calculating gaze that seemed more focused on dissecting SCP's words than offering moral support.

"It's a Special Exam," Horikita replied, for that justified everything.

His tone was flat, but there was an underlying weight to it, as if the phrase alone should carry enough authority to end the discussion.

His next words came with the kind of cold precision that made the temperature feel like it dropped a few degrees.

"Additionally," he continued like the conversation hadn't been grim enough, "unlike the students of Sobu High, those with the lowest results in ANHS will face immediate expulsion."

A rare, almost sacred kind of deafness, the kind that usually only happens in the split second before someone drops their phone on a crowded train.

Yuigahama visibly stiffened, and I could practically see her brain freeze mid-process, the gears grinding to a halt as she tried to decide whether she'd misheard him. Her eyes widened just slightly, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat like she'd suddenly realized this wasn't the kind of meeting where raising your hand got you out of trouble.

"W-Wait, wait, hold up," she said, waving both hands slightly, her voice teetering between disbelief and nervous laughter. "Expelled? Like, kicked out for real?"

Horikita Manabu's calm, unwavering stare didn't even flicker.

"Yes."

It was a simple answer, but somehow it felt graver than it had any right to be.

Yukinoshita's expression sharpened, not dramatically, just enough for someone paying attention to notice the faintest narrowing of her eyes. Her arms crossed smoothly, fingers tapping lightly against the opposite sleeve in a rhythm too steady to be accidental. A sign she was thinking. Hard.

"Isn't that a bit excessive?" she asked, her voice cool but deliberate.

A bit excessive was putting it lightly.

I glanced at Hiratsuka-sensei, half-expecting her to step in, throw out a dismissive joke, or at least soften the edges of the conversation with one of her usual offhand remarks. Instead, she remained silent, arms crossed as she leaned casually against the doorframe. Her expression didn't shift, but there was a glint of something in her eyes. Interest? Amusement? Hard to tell.

"Discipline and meritocracy are the foundation of ANHS," Horikita explained without missing a beat. His words were precise like he'd rehearsed this speech long before today. "Students are fully aware of this upon admission. The stakes reflect the level of excellence expected of them."

In other words, cold logic. Survival of the fittest, but in a blazer and tie.

Yuigahama looked around the room, clearly hoping someone else would jump in. When no one did, she steeled her expression, though the slight slump in her shoulders made it clear she wasn't exactly comforted by the silence.

"But… isn't that a little unfair compared to us?" she asked. "I mean, worst-case scenario, we just get a bad grade. You guys could, like… end up school-less."

Horikita's eyes narrowed just a fraction, and for a brief second, I could've sworn his already minimal smile disappeared entirely.

"The difference in consequences," he said, "is a reflection of the difference in standards."

Hah. It was the polite way of saying, "We're just built differently."

Yukinoshita finally exhaled softly, her arms still folded as she leaned forward just slightly. Her gaze bore into him, sharp and unwavering.

"I see," she said, though something about her tone suggested she didn't entirely accept it. "Still, there's a significant disparity. How exactly do you expect to maintain fairness when Sobu's students have far less to lose?"

The response was immediate.

"The goal isn't fairness. It's competition," he said, his tone absolute. Then, with a faint tilt of his head, he added, "Tell me, is everything in modern society fair?"

The rhetorical question slipped into the room like ice water being poured over an open flame. Yukinoshita's eyes narrowed slightly, the flicker of annoyance barely visible beneath her otherwise composed exterior.

It wasn't like he was wrong. If anything, he was frustratingly right. The world was rarely fair, and high school wasn't exactly known for being a bastion of equality. Still, pointing it out so bluntly felt like rubbing salt in the wound.

"Even so, I doubt the fairness – or lack thereof – will be the only issue to arise from this."

Horikita Manabu didn't waver under that icy glare.

"Perhaps. But overcoming obstacles, regardless of their fairness, is precisely what separates those who succeed from those who fail."

Yuigahama shifted nervously in her place again, scratching her cheek in a way that made it painfully obvious she wanted to object but had no idea how to phrase it without sounding ridiculous.

"But like… we're talking about high schoolers here," she said, scratching her cheek nervously. "Shouldn't there be some kind of safety net?"

His eyes briefly flicked in her direction.

"There is," he replied. "It's called competence."