Character Motivations

At 5pm, after my lunch date with Mari (though some would be more inclined to call it dunch or linner) I found myself sitting alone in a spartan living room devoid of a couch and television. On my mind was a single, particular thought.

The issue of classism.

It wasn’t because my life goal was to become a minister or anything like that. I had a typical high schooler mindset that ‘isms’ only existed in the realm of Social Studies class, and frankly speaking, there was never a point in my life where I bothered to pay attention to societal issues—Japanese or otherwise. Basically, this isn’t a thinly veiled attempt at political allegory disguised as narration but something much more connected to the events of my story.

What I’d been thinking of was the divide between the ‘upper half’ and the ‘lower half’ of Kitazawa High School: How students of supposedly different calibres perceived each other.

A very literal definition of classism.

So far, I’d not observed anything like that within the first-year cohort except on two occasions—but I figured that based on how the STD System quantified everyone and how often the classes were supposed to shuffle that it would become an inevitability. If not for those two reasons by themselves, then monetary imbalance would surely be the cause.

Introducing the ‘Student Perks’ feature, aka, what allowed Sakura to grab drinks from Kitazawa Café for free.

Students at Kitazawa received ‘perk points’ every semester that functioned as our scholarship allowance. Points served as a 1-to-1 Yen voucher within the school campus, which included stuff like konbini, bookstores, cafés, and even a department store that sold chairs.

Yes, the department store sold chairs, yet it so happened that 16 year old Mizuhara Kohei was sitting on the floor. Don’t pay any mind to that detail, it’s not important.

What’s actually important was that when Mari used her perk points to pay for her curry rice at Kitzawa Café, I’d looked over her shoulder and noticed a disgustingly large number.

For context, I’d started with 200,000 points and spent my way down to 187,260 after 11 days of school. For a semester four months long, that came to an average of 50,000 yen per month—on the very rich side for a high schooler, admittedly, but it wasn’t unheard of for a student to be receiving that kind of money from their parents.

Mari had something in the region of 1 million points.

In hindsight, maybe I should’ve realised it wasn’t that surprising given Japan’s emphasis on meritocracy and how the school was taking it to its logical extreme—but after I’d calmed down in my couch-less, TV-less, chair-less living room, I did some quick maths and figured it out:

1. Class F students received 200,000 points per semester.

2. Higher ranked classes received more points as an incentive for improvement, likely in intervals of 200,000—so a Class A student would receive 1,200,000.

3. It was entirely possible for Mari to spend 200,000 yen in 11 days.

Of course, this was all just an educated guess, and there wasn’t a way for me to confirm this unless I spoke to Mishima or someone else who knew the system. And furthermore, there was a big hole in my logic I couldn’t address no matter how much I contemplated—if Watanabe was loaded, why was he so insistent on splitting the cost of our furniture?

Anyway.

Linking back to my throwaway comment earlier about two occasions of classism.

One of them was when Watanabe pointed out I was in Class F after calling me a smart guy—essentially irrelevant, since it’s Watanabe. The other occasion was much more notable and recent.

Mari’s reason for suspecting Sakura… was entirely based on classism, was it not?

It boiled down to this: If she was really as good as her stats showed, why was she put in Class F?

I think Sakura Emi is hiding something, said Mari.

Truth be told, it was a rather compelling argument.

But just like mathematics without axioms or science without controlled variables, claiming an answer to a mystery without gathering all the clues is at best irresponsible and at worst impossible—the proof is in the pudding, whatever that means.

If the initial configuration of students held no greater meaning, then any suspicion was unwarranted.

If Mari had an ulterior motive, her argument was a smokescreen for something else.

If the school lied about their lack of data, Sakura Emi could just be terrible at everything besides the three As.

Stupidity, malice, innocence.

There are many ways to explain things you don’t understand the root cause of.

Personally, I feel that consulting an expert is one of the quickest ways to get up to speed.

And so, once again linking back to a throwaway comment—this time about ‘someone else who knew the system’, I decided to call someone for information from my desolate living room floor.

She picked up on the second dial.

“Hello, this is the Yukimura residence,” said an emotionless voice.

“...What? I’m calling your personal phone, aren’t I?”

“Oh, a telemarketer. Please don’t call this number again, we’re not interested. I’m hanging up.”

“W-wait, Senpai! It’s me, Mizuhara!”

“So, a telemarketer?”

“......”

I didn’t even know Yukimura’s house number, actually, so I have no idea why I was confused by her joke—never mind the fact that she lived in the dorms.

“You have ten seconds to revise your business pitch, otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll have to pull out of this investment,” the Ice Queen said.

“I went from telemarketer to business associate?”

Wasn’t that a pretty big promotion?

“...Ten, nine, eight—”

“I-I was just wondering if you were free to talk now, Yukimura-senpai.”

“Depends what the talk is for.”

“It’s about the school. A lot of stuff happened today that I’m confused about… To be honest, it’s like I’ve just read a web novel where the chapters are nothing but info dumps one after another, and I need your help to decipher it all. In person, preferably.”

That statement felt oddly poignant for some reason.

Hmm, I wonder where I’d read something like that?

“In that case, I’m not free,” she deadpanned.

“......”

“Jokes aside,” she said, her voice still devoid of any inflection whatsoever—which made me question if she actually understood the meaning of a joke, “I’m not free.”

“Why did you repeat the same thing?!”

“I was referring to the idea my schedule depends on what you want to talk about, Kouhai-kun. This might be hard for someone as lax as you to comprehend, but I actually have responsibilities to attend to.”

“...Oh.”

“So, threaten me as much as you’d like, but I refuse to meet you now.”

“When have I ever threatened you with anything?”

“P-p-please don’t touch me there... it’s really sensitive.”

“We’re on a phone call!”

“Sir, if you keep up with your sexual advances, I’ll have no choice but to file a formal complaint with the school.”

“H-how is this a 'sexual advance'?!” I moaned.

“See?”

“Wait, how did you do that?! Stop! Stoooooop!” I moaned harder, desperate for Yukimura Kiku’s attention.

“Kouhai-kun, I might have to think of a new nickname for you. How about Yamete-kun?”

“Please, can we just advance the narrative?!"

“Fine. I’ll stop changing the dialogue tags,” she sighed. “But in all seriousness, I really am busy.”

Well, it didn’t sound like she was lying—then again, no matter what Yukimura said, she always sounded one hundred percent serious.

“...I understand. I’ll—”

“Though I could spare you a few minutes on the phone out of sheer kindness. Be grateful.”

An involuntary smile crept onto my face. It was so involuntary, the sentence was written in the passive and not the active voice.

“Thanks,” I said. “What are you busy with?”

“You want to waste this precious time you have on the phone with me on small talk?”

“W-well… I don’t mind, actually.”

“Okay. At five-thirty, I’m having a video conference with my classmates for an hour or so about a special project, after which I’m going to run five kilometers. Then an abs workout. Then I’ll shower, get back to my room by seven-thirty, cook dinner, consume dinner, wash the dishes and be done with sustenance by eight. Then an English assignment. Then I’ll—”

“Uh, sorry to say this, but people only expect the most immediate event as a response when they ask that kind of question.”

Actually, I would’ve been interested if not for her comment about a ‘special project’—it’d brought my theories regarding the STD System back to the forefront of my mind.

Which made it particularly difficult to enjoy the sound of her voice.

“Oh, is that so? I’ll remember that if I ever attempt small talk again.”

Thank you so much for the tip, Yukimura said.

Judging by how sincere she sounded, it’d probably been her first try.

“...In any case, Yukimura-senpai—forgive me if I’m making assumptions, but do you happen to be strapped for points?”

“What you’re really asking is, ‘do you happen to be poor?’”

“Oh no, I’m having a flashback.”

“Heheh. To answer your question, I have exactly four million, six hundred and twenty-four thousand, four hundred and fourty points.” As if she could read my mind, she continued, “But I still cook dinner for myself because that’s what I grew up doing.”

“R-right. You used to be poor. 4,624,440 points, huh? What a mouthful.”

I couldn’t tell if I was thrown off because I’d heard her laugh for the very first time, or because of the astronomical figure Yukimura so calmly recited, or because my theory about the point system had been correct after all.

I’d also started to feel like I wanted my other gut feeling about the school to be wrong.

But eventually, I'd have to confront the truth no matter what—and so I went ahead and asked Yukimura an important question.