In Japanese high schools, the homeroom period is the administrative anchor of the day. It takes place at eight in the morning, right before the first period begins.
It is typically a brief 10-to-15-minute window reserved for the teacher to take attendance, verify the schedule, and deliver standard announcements to the students. It is supposed to be a predictable, ordinary routine.
Today, however, the teacher walked into the room carrying a stack of single-page printouts.
She did not say good morning to them. She walked straight to the front row and handed the stack to the first student, gesturing for them to pass the papers back.
Reine looked at her copy when it reached her desk. It was titled: *Standard Conduct Guidelines.*
"Your first official exam is a practical assessment," the teacher said, her voice cutting through the morning chatter of the students. "It is an evaluation of your basic conduct as students of this school. The parameters of good conduct are printed on that paper. Read it and act accordingly."
She did not explain how the exam would be graded. She did not mention a deadline, a passing score, or what the penalty for failure would be.
Nothing.
She checked her silver wristwatch, turned on her heel, and then walked out the door.
The classroom was dead silent for a full minute after she left. The threat of an "exam" on the very first real day of school immediately forced everyone into a state of nervous compliance.
No one wanted to be the first person to fail a test they did not fully understand.
For the rest of that day, Class 1-D was a model of academic perfection.
Everyone sat up straight. No one whispered to their neighbors. They took detailed, quiet notes during every lecture.
That perfect behavior lasted three school days.
By Tuesday, the illusion cracked. It started with Sugimoto. During a particularly boring history lecture, the large, muscular boy simply crossed his arms on his desk, buried his face in them, and went to sleep.
The history teacher noticed it immediately. He paused his lecture, looked directly at Sugimoto's snoring form, and then turned back to the whiteboard and continued writing.
There was no scolding or penalty. Sugimoto was not sent to the faculty office.
The rest of the class watched this happen. Teenagers are highly adaptable creatures, especially when they are looking for the path of least resistance.
If an authority figure, like the teachers, does not enforce a rule, the rule essentially does not exist.
The class collectively assumed the "conduct exam" was just a scare tactic meant for the first few days of orientation. Since there was no visible punishment, they figured the test was already over.
By the second week of school, the classroom had devolved into a zoo.
Students openly messaged on their smartphones under their desks. A group of girls in the front row spent entire math lectures whispering about makeup and passing notes.
Sugimoto and his friends brought comic books to read and talked loudly across the aisles.
The teachers never once stopped their lessons to correct the behavior.
They taught the material to the few students who were actually taking notes and completely ignored the rest of the room.
Reine watched this degradation from her seat in the back corner. She did not participate in the loud chatting, but she did not try to stop it either. She simply observed from behind.
This behavior was not just happening in the classroom. It was happening outside the school campus.
A few days later, Reine went to the campus mall. It was a massive, sprawling complex with cafes, boutiques, and electronics shops. She was not there to hang out. Living in the dorms meant she had to manage her own supplies, and she needed to purchase school materials.
As she walked out of the stationery store on the second floor, she paused by the glass railing. She looked down at the arcade and the clothing stores below. Groups of her classmates were wandering in and out of expensive shops, laughing, trying on clothes, looking at gaming consoles, and leaving without buying a single item.
They were window shopping.
This is a massive drain on corporate resources, Reine calculated, watching a group of boys waste time in the arcade without spending any money.
These establishments are paying for the industrial air conditioning to keep this massive building cool. They are paying the electricity bill for the high-voltage lighting. They are absorbing the wear and tear on the flooring and the infrastructure. And these students are generating absolutely zero revenue in return. They are just wasting the mall's energy for nothing.
During a particularly loud math class in the third week, the noise level was so high that the teacher's voice was barely audible over the chatter.
Beside her, Hori Seiji let out a quiet, irritated sigh. He had been staring at the whiteboard with perfect posture, completely ignoring the chaos around him for weeks, but he finally broke.
"Are they actually idiots?" Hori asked. His voice was low, meant only for her. He did not even turn his head to look in her direction.
Reine kept her eyes on her notebook. She was the only person in the room he had spoken to since the first day, mostly because she was the only person who did not try to force him into a friendly conversation.
"The teachers haven't stopped them," Reine replied simply, tracing a geometric shape on her paper. "Maybe the school's curriculum prioritizes students' freedom over strict discipline."
"Freedom," Hori repeated. The word dripped with quiet disgust. "That's just a convenient excuse for a complete lack of self-control. If they cannot even manage basic human decency during a simple lecture, they have no future here. It's pathetic."
"I guess so," Reine said simply.
A few days later, the social web of the classroom finally caught up to her.
It was after classes had ended for the day. Reine was quietly packing her textbooks into her bag when Hirano Yui walked up to her desk.
Hirano had spent the last month successfully becoming close friends with almost every single person in the class. She was universally liked, acting as the friendly anchor for the entire room.
"Hey, Asakura-san," Hirano said, offering a bright, genuine smile. "Do you have a minute?"
"Yes," Reine said as she stopped her hands.
"I was wondering if you could do me a huge favor," Hirano said. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so the few remaining students in the room would not overhear. "It's about Hori-san. I really want to be friends with him, but every time I try to talk to him, he just shuts me out or walks away. You sit next to him, and I've seen you two talking a few times. You're the only one he actually responds to."
Reine mentally corrected her.
He doesn't respond to me. He just occasionally complains out loud, and I happen to be in the immediate physical vicinity.
"I want to invite him to the cafe at the mall," Hirano continued as she clasped her hands together pleadingly. "Just to talk. But if I ask him, he'll say no. If you invite him, and I just happen to be there when you arrive... maybe he'll stay long enough to give me a chance? Please? I just want our whole class to be close."
Reine stared at Hirano's hopeful expression.
Refusing her outright would just cause unnecessary trouble, Reine thought. Hirano is the social center of the class. Making an enemy of her over a simple cafe visit would draw attention. It's easier to just comply, bring him there, and let Hori deal with the fallout himself.
"Fine," Reine said. "I will ask him."
"Thank you so much!" Hirano beamed.
The execution of the plan was incredibly simple. Reine waited until Hori was packing his bag the next afternoon.
"I'm going to the cafe at the mall to get coffee," Reine told him, her tone completely flat. "Are you coming?"
Hori paused and looked at her with a hint of deep suspicion. "Why are you inviting me?"
"Because if I go alone, I look pathetic. If I ask one of the loud girls, I'll be stuck there for two hours listening to them gossip," Reine lied smoothly, keeping her expression perfectly bored. "You'll just drink your coffee and leave me alone."
Hori considered this for a moment. A purely selfish, antisocial reason made perfect logical sense to him. Finding no obvious deception, he slung his bag over his shoulder.
"Fine. But I'm not paying for yours."
They both walked to the mall in complete silence. When they arrived at the designated cafe, Reine led him straight to a booth in the back corner.
Sitting at the table while sipping a vividly pink iced drink, was Hirano.
"Oh! Hori-san! Asakura-san!" Hirano smiled brightly, waving them over as if she had just noticed them. "What a coincidence! Sit down, let's hang out for a bit."