Chapter 17
(Akane POV)
The gentle, rhythmic bubbling of miso soup on the stove was the only sound echoing through the room, accompanied by my own quiet humming.
If you looked at the room objectively, it was a standard, high-spec student dorm—neat, functional, and strictly organized according to school regulations. But right now? With the rich, savory aroma of fried ginger and warm broth drifting through the air, it felt like something straight out of a newlywed couple's domestic fantasy.
My heart did a little flutter as I stirred the pot. Sunny's advice really was spot on.
I remembered sitting in the Keyaki Mall food court day ago, listening to that silver-haired menace casually dispense relationship wisdom while slurping down his third boba tea.
"Tachibana, listen to me," Sunny had said, leaning across the table with terrifying intensity. "Manabu's brain is a fortress built out of strict logic and student council protocols. If you try to give him 'if I were you' advice, his mental firewall will just reject it. You have to bypass his defenses entirely. Put on his spare glasses, pull the ultimate cute act, and assert domestic dominance. He literally lacks the programming to refuse you."
It had sounded totally unhinged at the time. But fast forward to right now: a simple evening date had somehow transformed into me sleeping over in his room, and now I was in his kitchen making him breakfast.
I glanced toward the doorway. Manabu was currently hovering behind the kitchen doorframe, standing rigid as a statue. His dark eyes were wide, staring at me with a mix of utter bewilderment and existential crisis. I could practically hear his internal monologue processing the situation: How did a brief evening walk turn into her occupying my apartment and preparing morning meals? What is the protocol for this?
I turned around, holding a ladle, and offered him my sweetest, most sparkling smile—making sure my eyes crinkled just right behind the spare black-rimmed glasses I'd borrowed from his desk.
"Manabu~ breakfast is ready!" I said cutely.
Manabu flinched slightly, his posture straightening to military precision. He walked into the kitchen with stiff, robotic steps, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the small table. He didn't say a word at first, attempting to maintain his legendary stoic composure as he picked up his chopsticks and took a polite sip of the soup.
I leaned my elbows on the table, resting my chin in my hands, watching him like a girl completely, helplessly in love.
The silence stretched. My intense gaze was clearly making him profoundly uncomfortable. A faint pink tinge began to creep up the back of his neck, though he fought with every fiber of his being to keep his face completely blank.
To break the suffocating tension, Manabu cleared his throat and offered a flat, measured evaluation.
"The breakfast is delicious," he said smoothly.
He thought that would end it. It didn't. The awkwardness in the room remained stuck to us like superglue.
Desperate for a tactical distraction, Manabu quietly reached into his blazer pocket, pulled out his phone, and slid it under the table. I didn't even need my high-spec secretary intuition to know what he was doing—he was almost certainly trying to search the internet for "Appropriate conversation topics for new couples during breakfast."
I couldn't help it. I giggled, sliding my chair closer to him and leaning over his shoulder. "What is my new boyfriend trying so hard to hide from me?"
"I am merely checking the morning announcements," Manabu claimed, his thumb tapping the screen to unlock it.
The moment his home screen loaded, a video notification automatically popped up and began playing at maximum volume.
There was no vocal audio at first—just a smooth, ultra-groovy 1970s funk baseline blaring from the speakers, complete with a grainy VHS filter and neon-colored retro text overlays. The video opened on Miyabi Nagumo, the esteemed Vice President of the Student Council, wearing a blinding, cinematic smirk. Subtitles flashed across the bottom of the screen in a theatrical 70s font, translating his silent facial expressions into absolute arrogance.
Then, out of nowhere, Sunny glided into the camera frame.
The video cut to high-definition retro editing as Sunny flattered Nagumo to absolute death—bowing dramatically, placing a tiny golden crown overlay over Nagumo's head, and singing his praises like he was worshipping a deity. Nagumo, completely drunk on his own ego, took a massive, confident bite out of the custom cookie Sunny handed him.
The video immediately cut to a dramatic red strobe effect with a blaring 70s disco siren:
[CRITICAL DENSITY FAILURE DETECTED]
[MILITARY-GRADE LAXATIVE DEPLOYED]
The rest of the video was a pure, unadulterated shitshow. The camera tracked the chaotic aftermath as Nagumo's expression shifted from supreme arrogance to sheer, unbridled horror in 0.5 seconds, followed by clips of student council staff scattering like roaches while emergency text popped up on screen.
The comments section beneath the post was a literal warzone of absolute chaos:
@Gamer_God_99:"Oh, that's why my friend passed out when he was going in front of the student council room."
@Point_Brok3r:"I heard the third-floor restroom has been permanently decommissioned by order of the sanitation department 💀💀💀"
@Dragon_Boy_R:"Pahahahaha! The golden boy got wiped out by a cookie? Class A in shambles!"
@Caffeine_Addict:"I'm deducting 10,000 points from Class A for biohazard cleanup."
@Gojo_Fan_Sunny:"Remember guys, always inspect your baked goods! #NagumoPurge #70sDiscoLaxative"
@Anon_Student:"Why is the BGM 'Stayin' Alive' when Nagumo clearly was NOT stayin' alive??? [R.I.P.] Nagumo's Intestinal Lining."
I lost it. A loud, uncontrollable laugh burst out of my throat, and I had to clap my hands over my mouth to keep from choking on my air.
Manabu instantly stiffened, trying with all his might to suppress his reaction. He coughed into his fist, his jaw clenching as he fought the urge to break his flawless President persona. But the sheer absurdity of the video—combined with the groovy 70s disco soundtrack—was too much.
A sharp snort escaped his nose, and before he could stop himself, Manabu burst out laughing—louder and harder than I had ever heard him laugh in my entire life.
It was brilliant. The cold, unyielding President of the Student Council was practically wiping a tear from his eye over a shitpost video of his primary political rival getting taken down by a cookie.
After the initial wave of hilarity settled down, I wiped my eyes and looked at him, forcing a concerned expression onto my face. I stepped closer, wrapping my arms gently around his neck and hugging his face against my shoulder.
"Is Sunny and your little sister going to get into trouble for this with Nagumo?" I asked softly, my heart beating a little faster. "Nagumo isn't the type to let something like this slide."
Manabu remained still in my embrace for a moment, enjoying the warmth, before he leaned back slightly to look at me. His expression returned to its usual analytical calm.
"Nagumo will do nothing for the time being," Manabu stated calmly. "Mainly because he is currently in a state of severe medical dehydration. According to the infirmary reports, he will likely remain incapacitated for the next two days. And by the time he wakes up..."
He paused, a subtle, cold glint passing through his eyes.
"He will realize he is entirely powerless. The school's First-Year Protection Period strictly forbids senior students from initiating disciplinary actions or point penalties against the first-year class during their first month. Nagumo's hands are tied by the rules."
"And if he tries to do something secretly?" I asked teasingly.
Manabu let out a dry, quiet hum. "If he attempts a shadow operation against Class D... well, you have already seen what an anomaly like Sunny can do with a single batch of baked goods. Nagumo would be risking complete social destruction."
I thought about it for a second, nodding in agreement. Sunny really was a force of nature.
I leaned in closer, tapping my nose against his cheek playful. "So... since my genius President has everything under control, does that mean I get to hear some cute stories about your childhood now?"
Manabu's brain instantly shut down the idea. His expression flatlined into a deadpan wall. "No."
I pouted dramatically, crossing my arms over my chest and turning my head away with a huff. "Fine! Don't blame me if a certain silver-haired anomaly tells me all your embarrassing childhood stories behind your back!"
Manabu's eyes twitched. "He wouldn't dare."
"Try him," I giggled.
(Suzu POV)
If human brains could physically overheat and emit smoke, Class 1-D would currently be classified as a major fire hazard.
The air inside the classroom was so thick with tension, exhaustion, and sheer cognitive overload that it legitimately smelled like burnt brain matter. Every single student was sitting at their desk, staring at the blackboard with hollow, glassy eyes, looking like survivors of a natural disaster.
And I was standing at the podium, holding my pointer stick like a broadsword, completely unbothered.
Last night, I had taken absolute control of the situation. I had sent a direct, unyielding mandate to Kikyo Kushida and Yousuke Hirata at 10:00 PM:
"Get every single student in Class D into the classroom at least two hours before the morning bell. Tell them it is a life-or-death emergency. If anyone fails to show up, I will personally roast their soul into non-existence until they beg to transfer schools."
They had complied. At 6:30 AM sharp, all thirty-nine idiots had dragged themselves into the room, groggy, confused, and thoroughly terrified.
To ensure maximum psychological impact, Sunny had dropped a quick tip into the Class D group chat right before we started:
[Sunny]:"Pro Tip for my fellow defects! If our caffeine-addicted sensei (Chabashira) smiles while Suzu is speaking, it means Suzu is 100% factually correct and you should write down every word. If she frowns, Suzu is wrong. Observe the smile."
And to make sure the plan went off without a hitch, Sunny had somehow negotiated—or rather, blackmailed—Chabashira-sensei into standing right next to the podium for the entire two hours.
His instruction to her was simple: Smile until class starts.
So there Chabashira-sensei stood, wearing a forced, rigid smile that she was trying desperately to maintain. Because it was completely unnatural for her, the smile didn't look gentle or encouraging—it looked like a cold, psychotic, mocking sneer directed at every single student in the room. It was the face of a demon watching souls burn in hell.
Every time a student looked up at the teacher for salvation, they were met with Chabashira's terrifying, frozen grin, which instantly validated every single brutal roast I delivered.
"Let us review the basic arithmetic for the fifth time, since several of you seem to possess the intellectual capacity of a baseline organism," I said, my voice echoing sharply off the walls as I tapped the blackboard. "You were given one hundred thousand personal points on your first day. You assumed it was a gift. You assumed this school was a paradise."
I turned my gaze toward Yamauchi, who flinched so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.
"Yamauchi-kun," I said coldly. "You spent twelve thousand points yesterday on high-end comic books and luxury snacks. Do you know what those points represent?"
"I... uh... my monthly allowance?" Yamauchi stammered, sweating bullets.
"Incorrect," I snapped, bringing the pointer down on the podium with a loud CRACK. "Those points are a direct reflection of your Class S-Score. Every time you talk in class, every time you arrive late, every time you act like a mindless ape in the hallways, points are deducted from our collective pool. Next month, our point allocation will be exactly zero."
The entire class gasped in collective horror.
"Z-Zero?!" Ike screamed, clutching his hair. "No way! That's impossible! Sensei, tell us she's lying!"
Ike looked over at Chabashira-sensei for denial.
Chabashira didn't say a word. She just stood there beside Sunny, her forced smile widening slightly as her eye twitched from the sheer effort of maintaining it for two straight hours. To Ike, it looked like she was actively enjoying his suffering.
"S-She's smiling..." Ike whimpered, turning pale as a sheet. "Horikita is right... we're doomed!"
"We are only doomed if you continue to act like illiterate farm animals," I continued, stepping down from the podium and walking down the center aisle. My heels clicked with absolute authority. "From this moment on, Class 1-D is under strict economic and behavioral management. Private points will not be wasted. Classes will not be disrupted. Anyone who violates these rules will face immediate, comprehensive verbal annihilation by me, followed by strategic isolation."
Sunny, who was leaning lazily against his desk in the back row, raised two fingers in a silent salute.
"Furthermore," I added, looking back at the exhausted crowd. "Hirata-kun and Kushida-san will be managing the daily attendance and study groups. If you have a problem with this arrangement, you are welcome to step forward and debate me right now."
Silence. Total, absolute silence.
Even Sudō, who usually flew into a rage at the slightest provocation, sat quietly in his seat, staring at his desk like a disciplined soldier. My roasts over the last two hours had completely dismantled every single one of their egos. I had systematically dissected their habits, their academic scores, and their lack of foresight until there was nothing left of their pride.
The classroom clock finally chimed, signaling the official start of the school day.
Chabashira-sensei immediately dropped her forced smile, her face instantly relaxing back into her default, exhausted scowl. She let out a long, heavy sigh, reaching into her pocket to pull out a canned coffee.
"Class is officially in session," Chabashira said, her voice flat. "Listen to Horikita. Because if you don't... I won't be the one saving you."
She cracked open her coffee and took a long sip, looking like a woman who had just survived a war zone.
I walked back to my seat, smoothing my skirt as I sat down next to Sunny. My mind felt clear, sharp, and totally victorious.
Sunny leaned over toward my desk, his silver hair brushing against my shoulder as he flashed that familiar, insufferable smirk.
"10 out of 10 performance, Empress," he whispered, his blue eyes sparkling with chaotic pride. "You broke their spirits, secured the class hierarchy, and forced Sensei to execute a two-hour physical endurance challenge. The economic infrastructure of Class D is officially secure."
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, a tiny, unstoppable smile tugging at the edge of my lips.
"Naturally," I murmured under my breath. "Someone has to run this circus. Now hand over my tea, Butler Boy."
"Right away, Sugar Mommy," Sunny grinned, sliding a fresh, cold can of matcha tea onto my desk.
At long last, every idiot in Class D understood the S-System. And more importantly, they understood who ran the world.