Masterpiece: One final Test

Chapter 4: Stakes.

The library's calm enveloped me as I stepped inside, the air carrying the faint scent of aged paper and polished wood. The rows of books stood like silent sentinels, indifferent to the noise of the outside world. I moved past a few students hunched over desks, some absorbed in their textbooks, others exchanging quiet whispers. It was a space of focus, where time seemed to slow down to the rhythm of turning pages.

I navigated toward a secluded corner, where distractions were minimal and visibility to others even less. Settling into a chair, I reached for a stack of books I had selected—historical records of the school and policies that detailed class performance metrics. Their combined weight felt like an unspoken reminder of this institution's relentless pursuit of excellence.

I flipped through pages methodically, scanning for any pattern that hinted at the factors influencing a class's rise or fall. Each detail painted a more complete picture, small pieces aligning in my mind as if forming an unseen mosaic.

Numbers, dates, and footnotes whirled together, crafting a narrative that wasn't visible at first glance. I sifted through mentions of class points, evaluations, and rare cases where classes advanced or fell in the rankings. It was all there, hidden under the weight of historical precedence and obscure rules. My eyes moved over charts and notes, considering how each piece aligned with what I already knew about the S-System.

Despite my deliberate pace, I felt an odd familiarity in this setting—an echo of how I used to parse information, calculating potential outcomes and preparing for contingencies. Here, it was no different, though now there was more at stake than just understanding rules; there were students, personalities, power plays. Each page brought me closer to figuring out the nature of this game.

I sighed as I flipped another page, piecing together more of the intricate web that formed this school's ecosystem. The data I had found so far laid out a pattern as clear as day—classes rising and falling based on subtle shifts in behavior, unexpected alliances, and sheer cunning. But one detail stood out among the rest, a nugget of information that aligned perfectly with Chabashira's cryptic hints: the ability to prevent expulsion by using private points.

Twenty million points. The sheer number was staggering, almost surreal. Yet there it was, buried within the records—a note on how Class A, and occasionally Class B, had managed to shield their students from expulsion, saving their ranks by leveraging their immense point pools.

I leaned back in my chair, the polished wood pressing against my spine as I considered the implications. Chabashira's claim that almost everything could be purchased wasn't hyperbole; it was a reality so blatant it was easy to miss until one peeled back the layers. The school wasn't just testing academic prowess or social aptitude—it was measuring how well students could navigate an ecosystem where currency held ultimate power, where influence could be built or shattered in the span of a month.

It made perfect sense now. This was why Class D's predicament was so dire; they lacked not just discipline, but the capital needed to play in this high-stakes game. Private points were life insurance in a system designed to weed out the unfit. The higher classes weren't only better at studying or sports; they were more adept at protecting their own through financial and strategic means.

The weight of the information settled on me, not heavy enough to evoke any concern of course, but significant enough to command respect. My eyes fell on a page detailing the last instance where Class B pooled points to save one of their own—a student on the verge of expulsion. They had succeeded, barely, but it had set them back in other ways.

So, everything Chabashira said was true. The unspoken rule here was simple: those who wielded points wielded power.

This place really was a miniature version of society, where wealth and influence could buy you out of consequences. The concept was almost laughable in its simplicity, yet it was executed with such precision that many students likely overlooked it until it was too late.