Shimizu Akira was about to swipe his door card against the sensor of room 402 when the door of room 401 next door silently slid open.
A boy with short brown hair emerged expressionlessly, and their eyes met in the narrow hallway.
Shimizu Akira immediately recognized him as his classmate, Ayanokoji Kiyotaka.
The boy who had appeared exceptionally awkward during his self-introduction, "so introverted it was worrying," at least according to Ike Kanji's description of him.
Ayanokoji's eyes were as calm as still water, showing neither surprise at encountering a classmate nor any intention of greeting him.
Shimizu Akira's hand, holding the door card, paused slightly.
The aura emanating from the boy before him felt less like introversion and more like a profound, unfathomable reserve.
Like an undercurrent beneath a calm sea, outwardly placid but instinctively conveying danger.
While introversion and reserve sound similar, their meanings are entirely different.
Introversion is being timid about expressing oneself, whereas reserve is choosing not to express oneself.
The classmate before him was clearly the latter.
'This Ayanokoji doesn't seem so simple either. Could it be that all the other students in Class D are exceptional talents?'
In the brief moment he was lost in thought, Ayanokoji had already walked toward the elevator with precise, almost mechanical steps.
Shimizu Akira eventually withdrew his gaze.
After all, they were classmates, with only Horikita Suzune between them. There would always be opportunities to talk later.
Shimizu Akira turned and gently closed the door. With a soft click, he officially stepped into what would become his private space.
Looking around, bright windows let in sunlight, the private bathroom was clean and tidy, and the air conditioner hung silently on the wall.
The accommodation conditions were much better than he'd expected.
Shimizu Akira's gaze was drawn to the landline phone on the small table by the bed.
With some curiosity, he opened the dormitory regulations handbook provided by the front desk.
His eyes quickly scanned the garbage sorting schedule and daily rules, finally stopping at a special note:
"The landline in each room can directly contact front desk services. In emergencies, classmates can be contacted."
This discovery made his eyes widen slightly.
Emergency? Does it mean not having enough points to make a call?
If every room was equipped with the same landline, and the front desk had registered all student information, this meant that with a suitable reason, he could be transferred to any classmate of the same grade through the front desk.
However, with Shimizu Akira's current social circle, this service was indeed of no use—he could count the classmates he knew on one hand.
'I feel like I'll use it someday.'
He silently committed this discovery to memory.
The April weather already carried the heat of early summer, and Shimizu Akira felt a thin layer of sweat on his back.
Although the dorm room was stuffy and hot, adhering to the One-Punch Man principle of exercising without air conditioning, he decided to take a cold shower.
Ten minutes later, after a quick shower, Shimizu Akira stood in the bathroom's mist, casually wiping away the water droplets on the mirror.
In the hazy steam, his young body was faintly visible—six-pack abs clearly defined, yet not overly exaggerated, typical of an East Asian physique.
Unlike the intimidating blocky muscles of Western bodybuilders, his physique was more akin to a streamlined cheetah, every muscle fiber exuding refined power.
The bathroom steam gradually dissipated, and he dried the water droplets from his body.
His morning workout was complete, and having just showered, he decided not to start his training plan again today.
Shimizu Akira put on another loose T-shirt and casually tossed his changed school uniform into the laundry basket.
He picked up a broom and quickly swept the floor. Outside the window, the sunlight had already turned scorching.
His phone showed 11:30, and his stomach rumbled in protest.
"Let's go eat."
Shimizu Akira smoothly pulled on his uniform pants, tied his shoelaces, and casually closed the dorm room door.
The early summer wind, carrying the sound of cicadas, drifted in through the window at the end of the corridor.
He decided to check out the cafeteria for lunch today.
After all, it was the first day of school, and his points were still plentiful, so there was no need to agonize over the choice between rice balls and bread in front of the convenience store's refrigerated display.
As someone from his previous life, Shimizu Akira could never quite adapt to the Japanese eating habits of bread for breakfast and rice balls for lunch.
He still wanted to eat hot food whenever possible. Whether it was steaming hot soup noodles or freshly cooked fried rice, only that familiar hot meal in his stomach could make him truly feel the satisfaction of "eating."
Pushing open the heavy glass doors of the cafeteria, Shimizu Akira paused, taken aback by the sudden noise.
This spacious area, nearly two stories high, was much larger than he'd imagined. Rows of light-colored tables extended like a chessboard into the distance, roughly estimated to accommodate at least four or five hundred people.
He recalled the data from the enrollment handbook: four classes per grade, forty students per class, totaling 480 students across three grades.
The line for food was still very long, and Shimizu Akira noticed a window in the corner that offered free meals.
This time, there was no sign posted saying "Limit three per person" at this window. After all, the school couldn't possibly let students without points truly go hungry.
In stark contrast to the crowded paid windows, there were only a few scattered upperclassmen at the free window.
Shimizu Akira mused to himself. 'Those who end up eating free meals on the very first day of school are probably upperclassmen from Class D.'
Just then, a striking red-haired boy caught his attention.
The person had long, flamboyant hair and walked over to the free window, standing in front of two older male students, pointing at the upscale restaurant upstairs and saying something.
'I remember, he's a Class C student.'
He'd been standing at the very front of the Class C line during the entrance ceremony, so Shimizu Akira recognized him instantly.
He looked around again and spotted another familiar face from Class B.
Like the red-haired boy, this person also stood at the very front of their class line.
This pink-haired beauty was chatting with a few older female students.
Even though she wore the same school uniform as everyone else, she inexplicably exuded a subtle sense of allure. Perhaps it was the delicate collarbone revealed when her collar was slightly open, or perhaps the faint outline of her legs beneath her skirt.
Shimizu Akira narrowed his eyes slightly, observing the scene without a change in expression.
'Are the people from Class C and Class B also starting to gather information from the upperclassmen?'
'It seems there are quite a few far-sighted individuals in other classes too.'