The thought was heavy and dull. He didn't care about the P.E. exemption. He didn't care about the cash prize.
But the three-year scholarship was too much to lose. That was a lifeline. That was three years of breathing room he was about to lose just because a guy named Jake thought it was a big headache.
He looked up at the bright blue sky.
I guess they aren't entirely wrong, he thought, shifting his weight. Even if we take this seriously, the probability of getting the top three over 1000 groups is exactly 0.3 percent. It is a statistical nightmare.
He kicked a stray pebble across the concrete path.
So the decision to not take it seriously might actually be the optimal move. If we put in three months of blood, sweat, and arguments, and still lose to a group of professional dancers, it will just crush our morale. That way, we won't waste valuable energy on a competition we are not sure to win. I can dance a little bit, but I'm definitely not that good. I can't carry nineteen people. This might be for the best.
He walked over to the nearest wooden bench sitting under the shade of a tree and sat down.
He opened his damp backpack. He wanted to read the latest volume of "Welcome to the High School of Meritocracy" right away. He wanted to escape the frustrating reality of college and lose himself in a fictional world where logic actually won.
He reached inside. His hand brushed against the tight plastic seal of the new book. He was about to take it out.
Then, he paused. He noticed another book sitting right next to it.
He pulled his hand out. Not the latest release. Just a faded, well-read paperback.
It was the very first volume of "Welcome to the High School of Meritocracy." The exact same copy he had purchased years ago during his own failing high school days. He always kept it in his bag as a habit.
He took it and ignored the latest volume still wrapped in plastic inside his bag.
He looked down at the glossy book cover.
A girl with flat dark reddish-brown hair stared back at him. She stood against a sterile white background. Her amber eyes were cold, sharp, and completely devoid of panic.
It was Reine Asakura staring directly at him.
He looked right into her printed eyes. The distant campus noise around him completely faded out.
Wait, what am I thinking?
The sudden realization hit his chest. He gripped the edges of the paperback.
If Reine is here,sitting on this exact bench and facing those terrible odds, she would never say the odds are not in her favor. She would never look at a 0.3 percent chance and conclude that doing nothing is the optimal move.
She does not want to make a move on a regular, boring daily exam. But if the stakes are high? A three-year total monopoly on tuition? She will move. She will not think about the impossibility of the situation.
Instead, Reine will calculate the best possible move to victory.
Mark stared at Reine's blank expression.
The best possible move cannot be seen on the surface level. It is always hidden in an entirely different angle of perspective. That is the exact reason why people with average minds often missed the best possible move. They just see the surface-level odds and give up. They are not looking for a different perspective and they don't look at the structural flaws of the game itself.
That is a real application of thinking outside the box concept.
Mark looked up from the book. He scanned the vast open field of the university campus. He saw the towering brick buildings and the rows of empty classrooms with windows reflecting the afternoon sunlight. He watched the college students walking past in their college uniform.
Man, I wish I could go to Japan, he thought. High school in Japan must be amazing.
The wind blew harder, whipping across his face.
I've always dreamed of experiencing a battle in a special exam, he thought, closing his eyes for a second. Competing with other hostile classes in high school? That is super exciting. But during my own high school days, there was none of that. It was just boring study guides and math tests.
When I read the book "Welcome to the High School of Meritocracy," it made me dream to participate in those brutal special exams. It makes me want to work right alongside Reine and be her ally. I don't mind being her pawn at all, as long as I could stand on the same board as her.
He opened his eyes and looked down at the faded first volume in his hands. He carefully put the very first volume back into his damp backpack. He reached in and took the latest volume wrapped in plastic.
He held it up and looked at it intently.
I always dreamed of having a real-life special exam in real life.
He didn't tear the plastic open. No reading. He slowly lowered the book and put the latest volume back into his bag.
He stood up from the wooden bench.
I decided.
His jaw set in a tight, determined line.
I'll take this contest exactly like a special exam. My goal is to win. Not because I want the scholarship anymore. I don't care anymore about that money. I'll take this contest seriously because I want to be like Reine.
He visualized the scenario in his head perfectly.
If she is here right now and part of this fractured dance group, she wouldn't yell at Jake to practice. She would probably just look at me with those cold, empty eyes and will not say anything. Then, a few days later, I'll be completely surprised that the whole group is voluntarily practicing the dance choreography in the middle of the field.
And when I look at her, she would act like she did not do anything at all. She would play the fool. But behind the scenes, pulling the invisible strings, she is the one who made the whole group take the contest seriously.
Mark looked ahead at the long paved path stretching across the campus.
He took the first step forward with his right foot.
"This is a big hassle."
---
Inside the dim, quiet space of his room, the harsh backlight of a smartphone screen cast long shadows across Mark's face. He sat slumped in a cheap desk chair and stared at the empty messaging app.
Our group consists of twenty members including me, he thought while swiping his thumb down the blank glass. My objective is to make the whole group take this dance contest seriously. I will treat this like a special exam.
With a heavy sigh, he picked up a yellow pencil and rolled it back and forth across the scratched wood of the desk.
I need to move nineteen people. If there were only three people, that would be easy. But nineteen? That's difficult.
He planted both elbows firmly on the table and clasped his two hands together tightly, resting his chin against his knuckles. A quiet frustration settled in his chest.
"No," he told himself while staring at the wood grain. "I'm looking at it in the wrong way. I have to think harder."
The hands of the cheap wall clock ticked past a full hour. The room remained perfectly still until a sudden realization broke the silence. Mark brought his right hand up and hit the bottom of his fist into his left palm.
"Got it," he whispered to the empty room. "It was actually so simple. I don't need to move all nineteen people."
He planted his elbows back on the table and clasped his hands together again, his mind rapidly mapping the new parameters.
"Trying to convince a fractured mob of nineteen stubborn strangers is a beginner's mistake. If Reine were standing on that field, she wouldn't even bother. I just need to move three people."
"In the middle of the field earlier today, the entire group had naturally divided itself into three distinct chunks. Each chunk possessed an unofficial leader, someone who was actively leading the smaller group. There was Jake, the loud and confident leading figure of the extroverted kids. Then there was Chloe, a girl highly influential within her circle who always talked about fashion trends. Finally, there was Sheila, the acting president of their gaming club."
"That's it. If I can convince these three people, I can convince the whole group. They would listen to their chunk leaders without putting up a fight."
Mark pushed his chair back and walked over to his bed. He lay down flat on the mattress and looked up at the plain white ceiling.
The sterile, unblemished surface instantly reminded him of the pristine white classroom described in the novel "Welcome to the High School of Meritocracy."
"Oh man," he muttered to the ceiling. "I wish I could understand Japanese so that I can read the three volumes ahead. I should probably study how to speak Japanese."
He closed his eyes, shutting out the dim glow of the room. He saw the cold, unbothered face of Reine Asakura drift into his thoughts and imagined her standing in the shadows, executing a flawless plan to solve the problem.
A sudden burst of energy pulled him up. He sat down on the edge of his bed, planting his bare feet firmly on the floor.
"I should gather data on these three."