So I Ask, What is the Price?

"Does equality exist?"

I remember her asking me that.

At the time, I didn't know. And honestly, I still don't. But I do know this: equality, as most people understand it, is an illusion. It's a concept that has been crafted to keep us all playing the same game, pretending that we all have an equal chance when we don't. Society is built on inequality—on structures that place some people above others, regardless of their effort or potential.

Everyone talks about meritocracy, but when I look around, all I see is the same old hierarchy, the same old power dynamics. School, society, it doesn't matter. The idea that merit alone gets you to the top is a fairy tale. The truth is, the only way to succeed in this world is to understand that the game isn't about being better—it's about being clever enough to play within the system.

Take Advanced Nurturing High School, for example. They preach merit, they preach equality, but do you really think that's what's going on here? No, what they're really doing is creating a system where they control who rises and who falls. And it's not about how hard you work. It's about how well you fit into the existing mold. If you can mold yourself to their expectations, you'll get rewarded. If not, you're cast aside.

Looking at it through the lens of Japanese societal norms, it's almost laughable. The concept of "tatemae" and "honne"—the public facade and the true feelings hidden beneath—has been drilled into us since we were children. We wear these masks, not because we want to, but because society expects us to. But what happens when those masks become more real than the truth beneath?

Take for example the teachers there. They're supposed to be guiding, and shaping them, right? But what are they really doing? All they do is enforce the system. They reward those who play the game well and let the rest flounder. The system isn't meant to help the weak become strong. It's meant to weed out those who can't conform to its rules. And that's where "meritocracy" falls apart. It's not about true merit.

And don't get me started on the adults who run this world. They talk about shaping the future, but they don't care about the future of the individual. They care about maintaining control. It's all a lie wrapped in a nice, shiny package. They create this illusion of opportunity, but they aren't handing out real chances. They're just offering you an illusion of progress, something that keeps you moving in circles, chasing after something that isn't even real.

So, what's the real answer to that question she asked me? Does equality exist? No. It doesn't. What exists is a game—a game that's rigged from the start. And the only way to survive it is to learn how to play by their rules. To understand the system better than anyone else. To manipulate the game in a way that benefits you, even if that means stepping on others along the way.

But here's the catch: none of us are truly in control. The system is what controls us. All we do is try to fit in it, trying to find the cracks where we can slip through and get ahead. So, maybe it's not about being the best or the smartest or the hardest-working. Maybe it's about understanding the system well enough to exploit it—without ever having to be the one who gets crushed by it.

The truth is, equality doesn't exist. What exists is the manipulation of what people believe equality is. And until you understand that, you'll just keep playing their game, like everyone else. And that's the most twisted part of it all. We're all just fighting for the prize, but no one's actually winning.

That's why I've made my choice:

Instead of winning, I will never be the one to lose.

ㅤ

ᛚᛟᚾᛖᛚᚤᚲᚤᚾᛁᚲᚨᛚᛋᛟᚢᛚ

ㅤ

Slipping into stealth mode was one of my 108 skills. The trick was to keep your steps soft, blend into the background, and above all, avoid eye contact. Yet recently, I started to notice a disturbing trend: my 108 skills were failing me. Whether it was some cosmic prank or just a sign that even the best skills dull over time, my once-reliable stealth had become less ninja and more awkward man caught lurking.

I was halfway to freedom when—

"Oi, Hikigaya! What do you think you're doing, sneaking around like some suspicious character from a bad drama?"

My steps froze mid-stride. Hiratsuka-sensei's sharp voice carried the weight of authority and weeks of pent-up frustration with my existence. Slowly, I turned, putting on my best innocent bystander face.

"I wasn't sneaking around," I said, deadpan, "I was… moving with purpose. Graceful purpose."

She crossed her arms, her expression unimpressed. "Graceful, huh? You looked more like a stray cat trying to avoid animal control."

"Well, in my defense, I don't usually have to move between classes that much. This time, I had to venture out of my natural habitat." I gestured vaguely behind me. "It's unfamiliar territory."

Hiratsuka-sensei smirked in what I'm sure is twisted satisfaction. She rested a hand on her hip. "Good. You could use the exercise. Sitting in one spot all day will turn you into a fossil."

"Considering the lifespan of fossils, I don't see the downside," I muttered under my breath. She probably heard me but chose to ignore it. Hiratsuka-sensei had a way of picking her battles, and she knew that arguing with me about my worldview was like punching water. It made no difference.

It was then that I noticed the woman standing beside Hiratsuka-sensei, a used cigarette balanced between her fingers. Around Hiratsuka's age, she had sharper features and an air of cool detachment that radiated something between menace and boredom. Her neatly tied-back hair framed a face that could probably cut through steel if her eyes weren't already doing the job.

This was not someone you wanted to end up on the wrong side of, yet here I was already.

She glanced at me briefly, then turned to Hiratsuka-sensei. "Is this one of yours?" she asked, her voice even and detached like she was commenting on a stray dog wandering too close to her yard.

Hiratsuka-sensei arched a brow. "What do you mean, 'one of mine'?"

The woman smirked faintly, eyeing me. "You seem pretty close for a teacher and a student."

Hiratsuka-sensei laughed, the kind of dry laugh that usually preceded me getting dragged into something troublesome. "Close? Hardly. Hikigaya here is just one of the… unique cases I advise as part of my club duties." She tilted her head toward me. "And don't let his face fool you. He's not as helpless as he looks. Well, most of the time."

"I don't look helpless," I interjected, disagreeing fully because it wasn't true.

Sensei shook her head in exasperation.

Hiratsuka-sensei shook her head in exasperation. Meanwhile, the other woman raised an eyebrow, giving me another once-over, her calculating eyes trying but failing to strip away my real defenses.

"Interesting," she said, her tone giving nothing away.

Interesting? What does that even mean? It's like saying "huh" in a conversation. It adds nothing but somehow leaves you paranoid. What was interesting? My expertly honed ability to look unimpressive? Or was this just some verbal tick people with sharp features developed to confuse the rest of us?

"Uh, who's this?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation before her vague commentary consumed what little peace of mind I had left.

"Oh, right." Hiratsuka-sensei gestured to the woman beside her. "This is Chabashira Sae. She's a teacher from Advanced Nurturing High School. She's here because of this Special Exam happening right now."

Then it hit me. "Wait… you're the one who taught that Japanese class that everyone called a slaughter, aren't you?" The words escaped my mouth before my brain could apply the brakes.

Hiratsuka-sensei groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Hikigaya, please."

Chabashira...sensei, to her credit, cracked a small smirk. "It's refreshing to hear a student speak so bluntly. You've got an amusing one here, Hiratsuka."

"Amusing isn't the word I'd use," Sensei muttered, shooting me a glare that promised retribution.

"Well," I began, deciding I'd already dug my grave and might as well add some decoration, "I didn't realize you were branching out. Promoting cigarette habits to your fellow teachers now, Hiratsuka-sensei?"

Chabashira glanced down at the cigarette in her hand, smirking again. Hiratsuka's eyes narrowed at me. "Hikigaya…" she started, her voice low and full of warning.

I shrugged. "I mean, it's a bold strategy. If students are supposed to respect their teachers, nothing says authority like synchronized smoking breaks."

Chabashira's smirk deepened and looked much more sinister. "You're lucky you're not a student of our school. A comment like that could already have you facing expulsion."

I kept my expression as neutral as possible, refusing to rise to her provocation. Responding would only encourage her, and honestly, Hiratsuka-sensei's glare was already punishment enough.

When I didn't bite, Chabashira leaned slightly forward, her sharp eyes gleaming with curiosity. "So, how's it going with your partner in the Special Exam?"

"We don't see each other too often."

Hiratsuka-sensei tilted her head, her expression turning incredulous. "Don't tell me you've already managed to make your partner dislike you."

"I have," I replied flatly. At least I was consistent.

Chabashira chuckled lightly, crossing her arms. "And what class are you teaching... Sensei?" I asked, steering the conversation in a less self-deprecating direction.

"I'm responsible for Class D," Chabashira replied without emotion. Then, her tone turned pointed as she added, "Your partner is Horikita Suzune, isn't it?"

"Unfortunately," I muttered, nodding. It seems that ANHS teachers at least knew something.

Hiratsuka-sensei stared at me, baffled. "How is it even possible that you've already alienated someone in such a short time?"

"I found a task even the Service Club wouldn't take on so easily." I paused to ponder my next words, "I've never met someone so utterly detached from social awareness."

Chabashira raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, while Hiratsuka-sensei gave me the kind of stare reserved for students still digging their own graves before her very eyes. "What did you do?" she asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and accusation.

"It doesn't matter what I did," I said, my voice carrying an edge of nonchalance. Instead, I turned my attention back to Chabashira, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as I addressed her. "The real question is, do you even know the current state of your class?"

For a split second, her expression didn't change, but I thought I caught a faint flicker of confusion in her eyes, quickly masked by her usual detached demeanor. "Of course I do," she replied smoothly as if the question were absurd. "But there's no need to discuss it. Class D is going to lose."

Hiratsuka-sensei looked shocked at this admission.

"You're wrong," I said flatly.

Her sharp gaze immediately shot at me, carrying the weight of an unspoken challenge. But unlike most people, who might wither under such a glare, I stood firm. My usual deadpan expression didn't waver, and I didn't falter as I continued.

"Class D is trying their best to beat this Special Exam," I stated plainly, with the conviction of someone who'd seen it firsthand.

Chabashira's lips quirked ever so slightly into a smirk, though her eyes remained cold. "And I suppose you expect me to believe that?"

She is exactly as Horikita Manabu said.

"Believe it or not, that's up to you," I replied, shrugging. "But maybe you should take the time to actually show some interest in them for a change."

Hiratsuka-sensei's jaw practically hit the floor, her shock palpable in the silence that followed. I could feel her gaze boring into me, undoubtedly contemplating the magnitude of my impudence. She opened her mouth to deliver what was probably going to be a tirade about respect or insubordination, but I turned my eyes to her, cutting her off.

Her words died in her throat as her eyes met mine.

"...Hikigaya," she finally managed, her voice quieter but still laced with disapproval.

I looked away, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. "Anyway," I said, back to my normal tone, "that's just my observation. Whether or not you do anything about it isn't my problem."

I crossed my arms, feigning disinterest while letting my words carry just enough power to provoke. "I always thought homeroom teachers were supposed to show at least a shred of responsibility for what happens in their classes. Then again, I guess it reflects on them when things fall apart, doesn't it?"

Chabashira's gaze sharpened, and her tone dropped a degree colder. "Responsibility, you say? Class D, along with every other class, received the same instructions and opportunities regarding the Special Exam and other tests. It's not my job to hold their hands and guide them through every step. Whether they succeed or fail rests entirely on their shoulders. A teacher's role is to provide the tools—what the students do with them is their own business."

Her words were precise and biting, the kind of logic designed to shut down arguments before they even began. For a moment, the silence prolonged between us, and I could almost feel Hiratsuka-sensei wincing at the tension in the air.

But, of course, this woman hadn't accounted for my specialty: weaponizing logic and pessimism in ways that left even the most seasoned adults stumbling.

I tilted my head as if genuinely considering her point. "That's a neat argument," I began, my voice laced with mock admiration, "but isn't it just a little too convenient to dump the entire burden onto the students? Sure, you handed them the tools, but did you ever stop to check if they knew how to use them properly? Or did you just assume they'd magically figure it out?"

Chabashira's smirk wavered slightly, but I pressed on, the words flowing now.

"See, the problem isn't just that Class D struggles—though they do, obviously. It's that the system you're defending assumes a perfect world where everyone starts on equal footing. But this isn't a perfect world. Your school school isn't an exception and you know it. Not everyone gets the same starting line. You've got students who don't even realize they're holding the wrong end of the hammer, let alone how to swing it. And if the teacher doesn't notice or care enough to step in, well... that failure isn't just on the students, is it?"

Chabashira's eyes narrowed slightly, her smirk returning as she folded her arms. "It's an interesting perspective, I'll give you that. But the flaw in your argument is simple: life isn't fair, Hikigaya. You are wrong to assume that our system is built to be perfect. It never has been, and it never will be. Schools like mine don't pretend to create a perfect world. Instead, they prepare students for the reality of one. If I were to step in and hold their hands every time they struggled, I wouldn't be teaching them how to survive in our society. I'd be giving them a crutch that would only leave them weaker when they face the real challenges later on."

Her tone was calm, and confident, as if she'd already won the debate. She glanced at Hiratsuka-sensei, who gave a slow nod not sure whether to agree with her colleague's reasoning.

Sensei... not even a little help...

But if she thought that was the end of it, she clearly hadn't dealt with me enough.

"You're not wrong about life being unfair," I began, my voice even but carrying an edge. "But the issue isn't whether life is fair or not. It's about whether you're okay with watching your students sink when you could've thrown them a rope."

I continued, "You say it's about preparing them for reality, but what you're really doing is creating the same flawed system that exists in our education system. You're just perpetuating the cycle. The truth is, that survival isn't just about strength or independence. It's also about knowing when to rely on others. And if your students don't even get the chance to learn that because you're too busy letting them 'struggle,' then you're not teaching them reality. You're just abandoning them under the guise of tough love."

Chabashira's smirk faltered, but I wasn't done yet.

"Besides, if you're so convinced your methods work, let me ask you this: do you even know why Class D is struggling so much? Have you actually stopped to figure out the root cause, or are you just assuming they're not trying hard enough and are defective? Because from where I'm standing, blaming their failures on them without understanding the full picture sounds less like teaching and more like passing the buck."

Chabashira's smirk tightened from sheer annoyance, her voice turning icy as she responded, "You think I don't understand the struggles of Class D? Let me tell you something, Hikigaya. I've been teaching every Class D for years, and I've seen the same patterns play out over and over again. It's not about abandoning them. It's about pushing them to grow. If I step in every time they stumble, I'll just be teaching them to rely on someone else to fix their mistakes. And as for understanding the root cause, believe me, I know it all too well."

She glared at me, "This school wasn't designed to cater to mediocrity. Class D is the bottom rung, the so-called 'class of defects,' filled with students who either lack the skills, the motivation, or the awareness to rise on their own. That's the system we have. It's ruthless, yes, but it's fair in its own way because it gives them the chance to rise above their weaknesses. If they fail, it's not because they were abandoned. It's because they didn't take that chance seriously enough."

She paused, her gaze sharp, almost daring me to counter. "And before you ask, yes, I was once in their position. I know exactly what it means to be underestimated, to be labeled as a defect. But I didn't let that define me, and neither should they. It's their choice whether to fight or not."

It was a solid argument, one that might have shut down anyone else.

I folded my arms, leaning slightly as I stared her down. "So, what you're saying is, you understand their struggles because you've been there yourself. And yet, instead of using that understanding to help them, you've decided the best way to teach is to throw them into the same cycle you escaped. That's... ironic, don't you think?"

Chabashira's expression didn't waver, but I caught the faintest flicker of something in her eyes—doubt, maybe. Encouraged, I pressed on.

"Let's assume your method works for a second. Let's say the students who rise to the top are the ones who deserve to be there. What about the rest? Are they just acceptable losses in your mind? Because that doesn't sound like a system designed to help anyone grow. It sounds like survival of the fittest and I heard far too much of it lately. And if that's all this school is, if all you're doing is weeding out the weak to make the strong look stronger then why bother pretending it's about education or growth at all?"

I met her gaze evenly, "You say it's their choice to fight, but what kind of choice is that when they don't even realize what they're up against? You want them to learn to survive, but the way you're doing it, you're not preparing them for reality. You're setting them up to fail. And worse, you know it. That's not teaching. That's just watching the same mistakes repeat themselves because it's easier than actually fixing the system."

The room was silent for a moment. Chabashira glared at me and I did the same. Hiratsuka-sensei looked between the two of us, her expression unreadable, while Chabashira's smirk had completely vanished, replaced by a cold, unreadable mask.

Finally, Hiratsuka-sensei opened her mouth, a stern "That's enough" poised on her lips, but I ignored her. My focus was still fixed on Chabashira, my words sharper than ever as I leaned slightly forward, locking eyes with her.

"Horikita Manabu, your most brilliant student—arguably the epitome of what your school claims to produce—said that ANHS was built to bridge the gap between merit and equality. It's meant to give every student, regardless of their background, the tools to succeed through their own efforts. So, explain to me how abandoning Class D at the bottom fits into that vision."

In my mind, the gears of logic turned with an almost eerie precision. I analyzed every word Chabashira had spoken, piecing together the quiet inconsistencies and contradictions in her stance.

She spoke so confidently about meritocracy as if her position as a teacher somehow absolved her from the responsibility. But the truth was, her whole approach was built on a warped interpretation of merit. Chabashira was treating Class D like a test subject, isolating them and pushing them to their limits without offering guidance or even a chance at real success.

"Meritocracy," she had said, but it seemed like she only cared about the results, not the process. To her, only those who could rise through the ranks on their own were worth acknowledging. But what about the students who were being crushed under the weight of that "meritocracy"? Why was she so desperate? Those who didn't have the tools or background to even know what they were up against? Her system was as blind to the weak as it was to the reality of the conditions they faced.

"If this place is truly about meritocracy, then your job as an educator isn't just to reward those who show strong potential. It's to make sure the weak have a chance to become strong. Otherwise, you're not fostering merit—you're just reinforcing inequality under a pretty banner."

I let the weight of my words settle before delivering the final blow.

"And if you think letting them struggle aimlessly somehow fulfills the 'equality' part of the equation, if yes then answer me. Do you really believe the Student Council President Horikita got to where he is because he never received guidance? Because he never relied on anyone? Or was it because people like you, people who should have been shaping these students, actually did their jobs and helped him hone his skills? If you're so determined to let Class D fend for themselves, then maybe you should ask yourself whether you are teaching them, or are you just washing your hands of them?"

I shrugged mockingly, "But hey, what do I know? I'm just another student who's been left holding the wrong end of the hammer. Guess we'll see who can actually build something with it."

Silence.

The moment my speech ended, the room descended into an eerie silence. The kind that made you question whether you'd said something profound or just horribly embarrassing. Not that I cared, of course. The silence was better than pointless arguments. Ahem, at least it gave me space to think.

But then, as if on cue, I felt it. The familiar tickle in the back of my throat. Before I could stop it, a coughing fit burst forth, breaking the silence like an off-key note at a piano recital.

Hiratsuka-sensei was at my side in an instant. "What happened?! Are you okay?" Her voice was uncharacteristically frantic as she leaned down, peering at me like I might collapse at any moment.

"It's… nothing," I managed between coughs. "I just… I've never talked this much in my life."

Her face shifted through several emotions—relief, confusion, and finally, exasperation. She smacked my shoulder lightly, mumbling under her breath, "Hi-ki-ga-ya. Here I thought you were dying."

Well, at least she cared. Sort of.

Before I could respond with something suitably sarcastic, the sound of a door creaking open pulled both our attention. A new figure entered the room, and my instincts immediately screamed danger.

She was… energetic, to put it mildly. Her soft, wavy hair framed a face that seemed perpetually on the verge of a mischievous smile. Her eyes sparkled with a kind of playful curiosity that made me feel like puking. And then there was… well, the obvious. Let's just say her proportions were distracting enough to warrant a hazard sign.

The woman beamed as she caught sight of Chabashira-sensei. "Sae-chan!" she called out, her voice annoyingly chipper, like a childhood friend who never learned boundaries.

Oh no. This was already shaping up to be a disaster.

I glanced at Chabashira, curious to see her reaction. Her expression tightened, her usual icy demeanor barely holding up under the assault of whatever this woman was bringing to the table. "Hoshinomiya," Chabashira greeted flatly, her tone laced with barely concealed irritation.

But before I could retreat into the safety of my own thoughts, the woman—Hoshinomiya, apparently—turned her attention to me. Her eyes lit up with the kind of excitement that made me instinctively take a step back.

"Oh? And who's this?" she asked, practically skipping over to me. She didn't even bother hiding the way she brushed past Hiratsuka-sensei, who let out an annoyed huff. "Are you okay? Sae-chan didn't scare you too badly with her death glare, did she?"

I frowned. Was this woman serious? "I think I've been adequately traumatized for one day, thanks," I said dryly.

Her expression shifted into one of exaggerated concern. "Oh no! Poor thing. Don't worry, if you ever feel like you need a safe space, you can always come to me, okay? A sweet boy like you deserves a little kindness."

Before I could react, she reached out and ruffled my hair. Like I was some kind of puppy. I stared at her, feeling the last shreds of my patience slip away.

"…Are you some kind of high school predator?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, but honestly? No regrets.

The room went dead instantly. Her hand froze mid-ruffle, her wide eyes staring at me like I'd just accused her of a federal crime. Hiratsuka-sensei gawked at me, her expression caught between horror and barely suppressed shock.

But then, the impossible happened. Chabashira—a stone-cold, unflappable woman—started shaking. At first, I thought she was angry, but then a strange sound escaped her. A half-snort, half-chuckle that quickly escalated into full-blown laughter.

"Pfft—ahahaha!" she burst out, clutching her stomach as she doubled over. "A high school predator—hah! Hoshinomiya, he got you perfectly! Oh, my God!"

Hoshinomiya's face turned bright red. She took a step back, her hand hovering awkwardly in the air. "Wha—what did you just call me?!" she sputtered, her voice several octaves higher than before.

Chabashira's laughter only grew louder, her usual composed facade completely shattered. "Oh, I think I actually like this kid!" she managed to choke out between breaths.

Hoshinomiya stared at me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Eventually, she crossed her arms, pouting like a child denied candy. "You're lucky you're cute, or I might actually be offended," she said, though her tone lacked its previous playful edge.

Hiratsuka-sensei groaned, standing closer to me, "You're all insane," she muttered. Then, shooting me a sharp look, she added, "And you're not helping."

Hoshinomiya seemed to recover quickly, her grin returning as she turned back to me. "You know, Sae-chan, you've got a fun one here. I think I'm going to enjoy keeping an eye on him."

Chabashira wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, smirking. "Feel free. Just don't scare him off with your… unique approach."

"Oh, Sae-chan, you're so mean to me!" Hoshinomiya whined, her tone exaggeratedly dramatic. "It's no wonder you're still single."

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Chabashira's smirk disappeared, replaced by a glare so sharp it could cut steel. "At least I don't need to cling to students for validation," she shot back coolly.

Watching their verbal sparring, I couldn't help but die internally. Another day, another reminder that adults were just as ridiculous as teenagers. Maybe more so.

As I prepared to leave them, the atmosphere still thick with tension, I turned and started heading toward my class. I could hear the faint sound of Hiratsuka-sensei muttering something, probably cursing the whole situation, but I wasn't sticking around to listen to her scold me again.

Just as I reached the corner, though, I heard her voice call out, sharp and clear. "Hikigaya!"

I paused, but I didn't turn around. "What now?"

"Why provoke a teacher like that?" she asked, her voice a blend of disbelief and concern. "You deliberately stirred things up just to prove a point. What's going on, Hikigaya? Is all this drama really necessary?"

I stood there for a moment, considering her question. Why did I do it? Was I trying to get under Chabashira's skin? Maybe. But then again, what other choice did I have?

No, Sensei, it wasn't worth it.

But then again...

I'm fulfilling a request.