Chapter 2: The Trap Named "Friendship"
Lunchtime.
I headed alone to the convenience store located in a corner of the school building.
Although Hyakkaou Private Academy is filled with wealthy children who spend money like water, not everyone is accustomed to such an extravagant lifestyle. At least for the current me, the primary objective is how to survive using limited funds.
I stood before the bread shelf, my eyes scanning the price tags.
Yakisoba bread: 250 yen.
Deluxe sandwich: 450 yen.
And then there was a premium lettuce salad that seemed popular with the girls: 800 yen.
While the prices weren't outrageous, if I used these as my standard for the next three years, the balance in my account would clearly dry up quickly due to an excessively high Engel's coefficient.
Ultimately, my hand reached for the very bottom shelf.
It was a pack of three red bean buns for 100 yen. Next to it was a carton of the cheapest milk for 80 yen.
While this combination would likely only provide basic calories and sugar—and the taste would probably remind one of Showa-era rations—it was currently the most cost-effective choice.
I took both items to the cashier.
"That will be 180 yen."
After paying, I found an empty bench to sit on and tore open the packaging of the bread.
The texture was dry, and the red bean filling was pitifully sparse.
As I chewed mechanically, I updated the income and expenditure spreadsheet in my mind for the month. Excluding necessary tuition and dormitory fees, if I stuck to this minimalist dietary standard, I would have a significant surplus each month.
In this school, where money is equivalent to HP, holding cash is a form of defense in itself.
Finishing the last bite of bread, I tossed the packaging accurately into the trash can and turned back toward the classroom.
My peaceful lunch break had ended.
Returning to the Class 2-H classroom, the subtle sense of restlessness in the air had not dissipated.
I had just put my bag down and was preparing to take out the materials for the next period.
"Um, Ayanokoji-kun?"
A crisp, energetic voice rang out beside my desk.
I looked up.
Greeting my eyes was a head of dazzling blonde hair and a flawless smile.
Mary Saotome.
She had her hands behind her back, leaning forward slightly as the hem of her uniform skirt swayed gently with her movement. Those deep eyes were staring intently at me, as if looking at the closest friend in the world.
"Since today is your first day after transferring, you really should interact more with everyone, right?"
Mary's voice was infectious; the surrounding noise dipped slightly the moment she spoke.
"Do you have time after school? Everyone wants to invite you to play a game."
"A game?"
"Mhm, to welcome the new student." The smile on her face grew even more brilliant. "You're a transfer student, so you might not be used to the atmosphere here yet. Building 'friendship' through games is a tradition of our class."
I see. Friendship.
To hear that word in a classroom that degrades people to the level of livestock certainly provided a sense of dark humor.
At that moment, Ryota Suzui, who was erasing the blackboard near the podium, stopped his movements.
He turned around, looking at me with a terrified expression. The moment our eyes met, he began winking desperately and shaking his head slightly. It was a silent, frantic warning—refuse, it's a trap.
I received his signal.
However, if I were to refuse now, I would inevitably spoil Mary Saotome's mood.
As someone trying to play the role of an "unremarkable, ordinary student," rather than becoming conspicuous by refusing, it is better to submissively blend into this collective "malice" and find a way to withdraw later.
Besides, I needed to confirm the essence of the "games" in this school.
Thus, I withdrew my gaze, pretending I hadn't understood Suzui's hint at all.
"Since it's a class tradition, I'll gladly accept."
I replied in a flat tone.
"However, I'm not very good at using my head. I hope it's a simple game."
Hearing my answer, Suzui's shoulders slumped in despair, as if he were witnessing the unfolding of a tragedy.
Meanwhile, the corner of Mary Saotome's mouth curled into a tiny arc for a split second.
It was the expression of a hunter watching their prey step voluntarily into a bear trap. Although she tried her best to hide it, in my eyes—which have observed countless data points on micro-expressions—that momentary muscle twitch exposed everything:
Certainty.
She possessed absolute certainty regarding the so-called "outcome."
In any gambling game involving luck, an absolute win rate does not exist. If it does, it means the element of luck has been completely eliminated.
In other words, she had already prepared to cheat.
"Great! Ayanokoji-kun, you're so straightforward!"
Mary clapped her hands, and the students who had been secretly watching from the sidelines quickly gathered around, their movements as polished as a rehearsed play.
A table was pulled into the center of the classroom.
Mary sat opposite me and took the props from her followers.
"Since Ayanokoji-kun likes simple things, let's play the most easy-to-understand one—'Voting Rock-Paper-Scissors.'"
She pointed to a black box and a stack of cards on the table.
"The rules are like this: each of the 30 students in the class draws 'Rock,' 'Paper,' or 'Scissors' on a card and drops it into this box. Then, the two of us blindly draw three cards from the box to engage in a best-of-three duel."
She explained with a smile, her eyes shimmering with a light called desire.
"It tests both luck and your grasp of everyone's psychology. Pretty fair, right?"
I glanced at the black box, then at the surrounding classmates who were smiling yet possessed cold eyes.
Is this the source of her certainty?
A so-called class-wide vote. A so-called fair blind draw.
Within this web labeled "friendship," I, the newly enrolled "fat sheep," seemed to have already been assigned my ending.
"It does sound quite interesting."
I looked at Mary and responded calmly.
"Then, please lead the way."