Chapter 3: Bombshells, Bathing Suits, and Brotherly Blunders
The very next day, the oppressive atmosphere in Class 1-D had somehow thickened, as if the air itself was bracing for impact. Chabashira Sae entered, not with her usual tablet, but with a large, rolled-up white chart tucked under her arm. Hikigaya Hachiman, whose internal Hachiman-dar was finely tuned to impending doom, saw the expression on her face – a subtle, almost predatory gleam in her eyes – and knew. This woman, he thought with a familiar weariness, is about to drop a tactical nuke on this unsuspecting village of idiots.
She unrolled the chart with a dramatic flourish and pinned it to the blackboard. It was, as suspected, the results of the "reference test."
"As you recall," Chabashira began, her voice dripping with a satisfaction that bordered on sadistic, "I administered a small quiz. Purely for my reference, of course." She gestured to the chart. "These are your scores."
A collective gasp, followed by a frantic craning of necks. Hachiman scanned the list. His own score, 83, was respectable. Not great, not terrible, perfectly average for someone who put in minimal effort but wasn't a complete moron. Horikita Suzune, predictably, topped the list with a perfect 100. Yukimura Teruhiko was close behind with 98, followed by a girl Hachiman vaguely recognized as Wang Meiyü (he mentally nicknamed her Miu-Miu for simplicity) with 97.
Then came the red ink. A significant portion of the class had scores well below 50. The lowest of the low were starkly highlighted:
Ike Kanji: 21
Yamauchi Haruki: 18
Sudou Ken: 14
"Fourteen?!" Sudou bellowed, jumping to his feet. "That's impossible! I know I answered more than that!"
Chabashira arched an eyebrow. "Indeed? Perhaps your answers were simply… incorrect. This test, barring the final three questions which were admittedly at a university entrance level, was composed of material covered directly in class. Material that some of you," her gaze swept over the slack-jawed failures, "clearly chose to ignore."
Her eyes then landed on Koenji Rokusuke, who was meticulously polishing his fingernails, utterly unconcerned by the unfolding drama. "Koenji-kun," she said, a note of academic curiosity in her tone. "An impressive 91. You even correctly answered the three most difficult questions. However, you left three of the easiest questions blank. Each worth three marks. Had you answered them, you too would have achieved a perfect score. May I ask why?"
Koenji paused his grooming, looked up as if noticing Chabashira for the first time, and gave a dazzling, utterly self-absorbed smile. "My dear teacher, those particular questions… they were simply not befitting of a perfect existence such as myself. Too mundane, you see. My intellect yearns for a challenge, not trivialities."
The sheer, unadulterated narcissism of his statement left the entire class, and even Chabashira, momentarily stunned into silence. Hachiman felt a perverse sense of admiration. To be that unapologetically self-centered took a special kind of talent.
Chabashira blinked slowly. This one, she thought, is a problem far beyond my pay grade, or indeed, my inclination to deal with. She decided to ignore him and proceed to the main event.
"Now," she continued, her voice regaining its earlier, ominous edge, "while this reference test does not directly affect your grades, it serves as a rather accurate predictor for the upcoming midterm examinations." She paused for maximum impact. "And let me be unequivocally clear: any student who fails even a single subject in the midterms will be expelled from this school."
Panic erupted.
"Expelled?!"
"You can't be serious!"
"But… but our scores!" Ike wailed, pointing a trembling finger at his pitiful 21.
"The current average score required to pass, based on these reference results, is 43%," Chabashira announced, her eyes glinting. "Anyone scoring below that on any midterm subject will be packing their bags."
Hachiman's mind, however, snagged on two words: 'current average.' He replayed her sentence: "...average score right now is 43%." Right now. That implied it wasn't fixed. It could change. But how? What were the variables? His brain started churning through possibilities: a curve based on overall class performance? A sliding scale? Was there a minimum number of students the school needed to pass, or fail? The permutations were numerous, and while his analytical skills were sharp, pinpointing the exact mechanism quickly was not his forte. He was great at identifying the 'what' and the 'why' of a problem, but the 'how to definitively solve it' often eluded him without more data or a different kind of insight.
He glanced at Horikita. She was staring at the chart, her brow furrowed in intense concentration, not at her own perfect score, but at the implications for the class. He leaned over slightly.
"Horikita," he muttered. "She said 'right now.' The pass mark can change. What's the catch?"
Horikita didn't look at him, her eyes still fixed on the board. "The 'average'… if it's based on the collective performance of the class in the actual midterms…" Her mind worked with a speed and precision Hachiman envied. "It means if the entire class scores zero on a test, the average score required to pass would also be zero. Everyone would theoretically pass."
Hachiman blinked. That was… deviously simple. "So, we all just flunk intentionally and live to fight another day?"
"No," she stated flatly, finally turning to him, her eyes sharp. "That's the trap. Passing the exams, especially with decent scores, will undoubtedly award Class Points. If we all score zero, we pass, yes, but we gain zero Class Points. Our total would remain a pathetic 211. We'd survive, but we wouldn't advance. It's a lose-lose scenario for a class aiming for A."
Damn. Hachiman thought. She's good. It was fascinating, really. He could dissect the problem, see its components, sense the underlying deceptions. She could take those components and assemble the most logical, often brutal, conclusion in an instant. They were like two mismatched gears that somehow meshed perfectly, covering each other's operational weaknesses.
"So, we need the idiots to actually pass," Hachiman grumbled, already feeling a headache coming on. "And not just pass, but pass well enough to contribute to a decent class average and earn us points."
Hirata, ever the golden boy, stepped forward, his expression earnest. "Everyone, this is serious! But if we work together, we can overcome this! I propose we start a study group! We can help each other prepare!"
His call was met with some nods of agreement, especially from the students hovering near the passing mark. But the "Three Idiots," as Hachiman had privately dubbed Ike, Yamauchi, and Sudou, were having none of it.
"Study group? With him?" Ike sneered, jerking a thumb at Hirata. "No way. I'd rather fail."
Yamauchi nodded vigorously. "Yeah, who needs studying? We'll just wing it!"
Sudou just grunted, arms crossed, radiating defiance.
Hachiman sighed internally. Of course. Hirata's popularity, especially with the girls, probably made these rejects feel even more inadequate. Their refusal wasn't about the efficacy of studying; it was about pride and a healthy dose of stupidity.
Two days later, the schedule decreed swimming class. Two hours before it was due to start, Hachiman was unfortunate enough to be in the classroom when Ike, Yamauchi, Sudou, and a few other leering degenerates were huddled together, voices low and snickering.
"Dude, I'm telling you, Kushida-chan's gotta be at least a C, maybe even a D!" Ike was saying with the authority of a seasoned connoisseur.
"Nah, man, Hasabe-san! She's got that hidden dynamite vibe!" Yamauchi countered. "I'm betting she's the biggest!"
They were, with a complete lack of shame, discussing the female classmates' breast sizes and placing bets. Hachiman felt a wave of secondhand embarrassment mixed with disgust. Their grand plan, as it unfolded, was to enlist Sotomura Kōji – a quiet, bespectacled boy they'd dubbed "The Professor" due to his encyclopedic knowledge of otaku culture – to surreptitiously take photos of the girls during swimming class.
"Professor, you're on camera duty, right?" Ike asked, nudging Sotomura, who was practically vibrating with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.
"L-leave it to me!" Sotomura stammered, adjusting his glasses. "I have… optimal vantage points scouted!"
They even had the audacity to extend an invitation to Hachiman. "Yo, Hikigaya! Wanna get in on the action? We can share the pics!" Yamauchi offered with a wink.
Hachiman just gave him his signature dead-fish stare. "I'd rather staple my eyelids to my desk."
His refusal was met with shrugs.
Unbelievable, Hachiman thought. The sheer audacity. This wasn't just perverted; it was monumentally stupid. If they got caught, the fallout could be disastrous for the class's already abysmal reputation and, more importantly, their Class Points. He discreetly pulled out his phone.
To: Horikita Suzune
From: H.H.
Subject: Impending Pervert Attack
Our resident morons (Ike, Yamauchi, Sudou & Co.) are planning to have Sotomura take unauthorized photos of the girls during swimming class. Might want to give the girls a heads-up. Could negatively impact class evaluation if it blows up.
He hit send. Let her deal with it. He'd done his civic duty.
Later, at the pool, Hachiman noted with a grim satisfaction that the girls, despite Horikita presumably relaying his warning, were all present. They looked wary, their gazes occasionally darting towards the upper railings and any suspicious lurking figures, but they were there. The fear of losing more Class Points, it seemed, outweighed the fear of being ogled. Such was life in Advanced Nurturing High School.
The perverts' master plan unraveled spectacularly. Matsushita Chiaki, a girl Hachiman hadn't paid much attention to before, apparently had an eagle eye. She spotted Sotomura, armed with his phone, attempting to get an "optimal vantage point" from a slightly obscured section of the upper deck. A sharp cry, a pointed finger, and The Professor's dreams of photographic glory shattered. The boys' collective groan of despair was almost comical.
Hachiman, lounging on a bench at the side of the pool, feigning disinterest in the proceedings, received a few discreet, thankful nods from some of the girls. The pervert brigade, too busy moping, noticed nothing. Good, he thought. Less attention on me is always preferable. He could guess why Horikita gave his name as the source of information after all he was in the class when the planning was happening so girls are likely to as you that he was one of them so horikita gave his name so she wouldn't be seen as someone who hangout with a boy who not only has dead fish eyes but is also a pervert she saved both her and hsi reputation.
His gaze, despite himself, drifted towards Horikita. She was standing by the edge of the pool, her black swimsuit sleek and simple, accentuating a figure that was, objectively speaking, quite striking. Years of solitude had made Hachiman an unwilling observer of human forms, and even his cynical eyes had to admit Horikita possessed a natural elegance. Her posture was perfect, her skin pale and smooth. He noted, with the detached air of a biologist classifying a specimen, that she was well-proportioned. Probably a D-cup, his internal, unwanted assessor chimed in, could develop into an E with time. Then his eyes, almost of their own accord, traveled lower. Ah, but I'm more of a thighs man, really. And Horikita's legs were… undeniably well-formed. Not too thick, not too thin, tapering elegantly. Combined with her hips, which also held a certain… perfection of curve…
He mentally slapped himself. Stop it, Hachiman. You're one step away from being Ike. He quickly averted his gaze, focusing intently on a particularly interesting crack in the poolside tiles. He did not want to be labeled 'that pervert.'
Unknown to him, Horikita had noticed his brief, analytical gaze. She wasn't accustomed to being looked at in that way – or perhaps she just hadn't noticed before. It was… mildly annoying. Yet, there was a distinct lack of the leering quality she saw in Ike or Yamauchi. Hikigaya's gaze had been quick, almost clinical, and he'd looked away almost immediately, a faint flush rising on his own neck. He was at least trying to be respectful in his own awkward, fish-eyed way. With a small, almost imperceptible sigh, she walked over to him.
"Enjoying the view, Hikigaya-kun?" she asked, her tone neutral.
Hachiman nearly jumped. "I was observing the structural integrity of the poolside drainage system," he said, perhaps a little too quickly. "Fascinating stuff."
Horikita merely raised an eyebrow. Before she could comment further, the swimming instructor blew a whistle.
"Alright, settle down! We're going to have a friendly race! Boys and girls separately. Winners in each category will receive 5,000 private points!"
A buzz of excitement went through the students. 5,000 points was a decent incentive.
In the girls' race, Horikita, surprisingly agile and strong in the water, secured a solid second place. The winner was a girl named Onodera Kayano, who apparently was in the swimming club. Hachiman watched her sleek form cut through the water and a strange thought popped into his head: She kind of reminds me of the protagonist from that one… uh… specialized manga I accidentally clicked on a few days ago. Best not to dwell on that.
In the boys' race, Koenji, with infuriating effortlessness and a dazzling smile, cruised to an easy victory, barely breaking a sweat. Hachiman, who participated mainly to avoid looking like a complete shut-in, finished somewhere in the unremarkable middle.
That night, unable to sleep, Hachiman found himself taking a stroll under the peaceful, dark sky of the school campus. The high-tech walls seemed less oppressive at night, the silence a welcome change from the daily chaos of Class D. As he rounded a corner between two of the less frequented academic buildings, he saw a familiar figure: Horikita Suzune. She was slipping into a narrow, unlit alleyway. Curiosity, a rare but potent motivator for Hachiman, got the better of him. He followed at a discreet distance.
In the dim light filtering from a distant lamp, he saw her meeting someone. A tall, imposing figure with the same straight black hair and intense eyes – Horikita Manabu, the Student Council President. Hachiman instinctively flattened himself against the wall, observing.
"…an embarrassment," Manabu was saying, his voice low but carrying a distinct chill. "Your placement in Class D is a stain. For me, as Student Council President, to have a sibling in the lowest-ranked class… it's untenable. You should just leave this school, Suzune. Stop this pointless charade of chasing after me."
Hachiman saw Suzune flinch as if struck. Her usual icy composure had crumbled, her shoulders slumped. "Nii-san… I… I am trying to change," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm working on my flaws."
Manabu scoffed. "Change? Your very presence in Class D is irrefutable proof of your incompetence. You are not fit to aim for Class A. You lack the fundamental qualities."
Then, something shifted. Suzune straightened up, a flicker of her usual fire returning, but mixed with a new, raw honesty. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I am flawed. Perhaps I was arrogant. But I see that now."
Manabu actually looked taken aback. "What?" he muttered, clearly not expecting this admission. His little sister, who always believed herself superior, acknowledging her imperfections?
Before Manabu could recover, Hachiman decided his voyeurism had run its course. Plus, as a fellow older brother, Manabu's approach was grating on his nerves. He stepped out from his hiding spot. "Yo."
Both Horikitas turned, startled. Suzune's eyes widened, a mixture of shock and something else – embarrassment? – flashing across her face.
"Hikigaya-kun! What are you doing here?"
Then, to Hachiman's utter astonishment, and clearly to Manabu's even greater surprise, she added, turning to her brother, "Nii-san, this is Hikigaya Hachiman. He's… my friend."
Friend? Hachiman blinked. That was a new one. He hadn't signed up for that designation. But seeing the stunned look on Manabu's face was almost worth the social awkwardness.
"A friend?" Manabu repeated, his gaze sharp and appraising as it fell on Hachiman.
Hachiman sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, Prez, not to butt in on a touching family reunion, but as a fellow long-suffering older brother to a perfect little sister, your methods are, frankly, terrible."
Manabu's eyes narrowed. "And what would you know about it, Class D student?"
"I know that if I ever spoke to my Komachi like that, she'd probably bake me cookies laced with laxatives and I'd deserve it," Hachiman said flatly. "It's obvious you care about her, in your own twisted, emotionally constipated way. But telling her she's an embarrassment and should quit? That's not motivation, that's just being a jerk. It's not how a healthy sibling relationship looks, and it's definitely not how you help someone improve."
Manabu was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on Hachiman, then shifting to his sister, who was looking at Hachiman with a complicated expression. He saw the subtle shift in Suzune's demeanor, the way she stood a little straighter, the hint of defiance in her eyes that hadn't been there moments ago when she was alone with him.
This boy, Manabu thought, a strange mix of emotions swirling within him, has influenced her more in one month than I have in her entire life. Oddly, there was no resentment, only a grudging respect and a surprising flicker of… relief. Perhaps Suzune was finally finding her own path, developing a resilience he hadn't managed to instill.
"Perhaps…" Manabu said slowly, his tone softening fractionally. "Perhaps you have a point, Hikigaya Hachiman." He looked at Suzune. "Continue to… change, Suzune. We will speak again." With a final, lingering look at the unlikely pair, he turned and walked away.
An awkward silence descended.
"So… 'friend,' huh?" Hachiman eventually said, breaking the tension.
Horikita flushed slightly. "It was… a strategic utterance. To de-escalate the situation."
"Right," Hachiman said, unconvinced but letting it slide. "Want a MAX Coffee? My treat. For the emotional damage of witnessing that."
To his surprise, Horikita nodded. "Yes. That would be… acceptable."
They walked to the nearest vending machine. As they sipped their coffees – Horikita, Hachiman noted with amusement, actually seemed to be enjoying the cloyingly sweet beverage – they began to walk back towards the dorms.
"So," Hachiman said, "about those three idiots and the midterms. Telling them they'll be expelled clearly isn't enough. We need a new angle if we're going to drag their sorry-ass grades over the 43% line."
Horikita took a thoughtful sip. "Indeed. Direct confrontation is ineffective. We need leverage. Or a different kind of motivation."
The path back was quiet, the only sounds their footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves. A problem lay before them, a significant one, but for the first time, they were facing it with a shared purpose, two cans of MAX Coffee, and the tentative, unspoken label of "friend." It was, Hachiman had to admit, a slight improvement over abject solitude. Slight.