ADVANCED NURTURING HIGH SCHOOL DATABASE
§ NAME: Hikigaya Hachiman
§ CLASS: First year, class D
§ STUDENT ID: S0689FG4008
§ CLUB AFFILIATIONS: None
§ DATE OF BIRTH: August 8th
EVALUATIONS
§ ACADEMIC ABILITY: (D)
§ INTELLIGENCE: (B-)
§ DECISION MAKING: (B-)
§ PHYSICAL ABILITY: (C)
§ COOPERITIVNESS: (E)
COMMENTS FROM ADMISSON BOARD:
According to preliminary reports, he previously performed well in both academics and physical ability. However, the poor results of his entrance exam indicate a significant decline in these areas.
It should be noted that due to a lack of available data, some of these evaluations may not reflect his current capabilities.
Interview observations raise several concerns about his behaviour and his apparent lack of interest in student life. He expressed no clear vision for his future, stating aspirations such as becoming a househusband or a freeloader dependent on his younger sister. He also displays a cynical and emotionally detached view of high school life and society as a whole.
Additionally, he dropped out of junior high during his second year and has a record of being involved in some severe violent incident.
Despite his negative and cynical outlook on society, his essay revealed a surprisingly logically mature and insightful perspective on societal dynamics, surpassing that of any other first-year student. Because of this, we believe he may be capable of improvement.
However, due to numerous problematic factors and uncertainty, the board has decided to place him in Class D.
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Manabu silently flipped through the report on Hikigaya Hachiman, his gaze sharp and focused. Beside him, Tachibana observed his expression, unsure of what he was thinking.
Tachibana broke the silence. "This is rather… concerning."
Manabu gave a short nod. "Indeed, it is… he says he wants to become a freeloader who relies on his younger sister."
He said it so seriously, as if it were just another line in the report.
"…Wait what?" Tachibana asked, visibly confused. "That's the part that concerns you the most, President?"
Manabu didn't even blink. "It's a clear indication of intent. He has deliberately chosen a future that places the burden of his livelihood on a middle school girl. That requires a certain level of conviction I find… troubling."
Tachibana stared at him, unsure whether he was joking or not. "President… are you seriously evaluating his moral character based on that?"
Manabu continued his expression unchanged. "A student who says something like that either doesn't care what people think or really means it, Tachibana. Either way, it's not a good sign."
"But…but he also said he wants to be a househusband." Tachibana asked.
Manabu nodded again, solemnly. "An equally passive path. Though less problematic if his partner is consenting and financially stable. In this case, however, he's chosen to lean on his own little sister."
He paused, eyes narrowing at the page of the report.
"And that is rather concerning," he said with such deadpan voice that it almost sounded like a national security threat.
Tachibana opened her mouth to respond but closed it again, completely thrown off by the president's deadpan seriousness.
Tachibana blinked in disbelief. 'Seriously? Of all the red flags in that report, this is the one president focuses onto? The little sister thing? What kind of priorities are these…?'
"President… I was referring to the concerning part where he dropped out of junior high or the violent incident, he was involved in according to this report."
Manabu's face froze for a moment, then he cleared his throat. "…Apologies. I let myself get momentarily distracted."
He tapped his finger once against the file before continuing. "It's not that I overlooked those incidents. I simply… wasn't expecting that particular line."
Tachibana tilted her head. "I mean… yeah, it's a strange thing to put in an official report, President. But really, he just comes off like your usual troublemaker. It's not that uncommon to see students like these, especially in Class D."
She shrugged, eyes scanning the page. "Maybe he only brought it up because he overheard someone else say something similar—like he mentioned before."
Manabu closed the report and continued.
"…That could be the case," he said, his tone flat. "Either way, there's no need for us to dwell on this any longer. I was simply curious to get a better sense on what kind of student he is."
He looked up at her. "You should get back to your duties now, Tachibana. We'll need to start planning the new budgets after new students join clubs, and review the applicants for the student council."
Tachibana nodded and quietly gathered her things, but Manabu's thoughts remained elsewhere.
The evaluation report on Hikigaya painted a picture of a student who was disinterested, cynical, and detached—someone who hardly seemed to care about the school's expectations or the freedom students were granted.
'So why would someone like that ask what kind of student the school wants him to be? Why question the balance between freedom and responsibility if he truly doesn't care?'
This wasn't the innocent curiosity of a troubled kid either. There was something else, something deliberate, behind those questions. The way he phrased them, the timing… it wasn't casual.
He's planning something. That much is clear.
'And if he's already thinking on that level… then Class D this year may prove far more unpredictable than anyone expected.'
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Click! Click!
Hikigaya stood in front of the notice board, raising his phone to snap another photo. The list of the top scorers in the entrance exam was posted there.
"That should do it," he muttered.
Earlier, he had also taken a picture of the seating chart outside Class D.
His plan, at least for now, was straightforward: match the names of the top scorers with the students in his own class. If he could identify one or two high performers, he could approach them for tutoring him and offering points in return. After all, that was basically the currency of this school.
"If I want to survive the first month's evaluation, I need to secure at least the minimum marks. As long as I don't fail, that's good enough."
On top of that, he'd need to gather study materials — textbooks, notes, anything useful. There were a few more preparations he had in mind, but this was the first step. For now, this was his top priority.
As Hikigaya glanced at the courtyard, he saw most of the first-year students wandering around carefree, chatting and laughing. It was only the second day of school, after all. Everyone was still caught up in the illusion of freedom and new beginnings.
He felt strangely detached from it all.
Maybe it was envy. Or maybe just a quiet reminder that he was never really part of that kind of youth in the first place.
"Am I overthinking this?" he muttered. "Maybe something like that won't even happen… or maybe I'm just fussing too much."
Hikigaya lightly hit his head and then shook it.
"They can relax all they want. I can't. Not when I don't even know what kind of battlefield I've stepped into. What I fear most isn't failure… it's walking blind into a trap. That's why I rely on logic. It's not just a tool. It's the only thing keeping me from falling apart."
This analysis, the cautious approach, was his way of preparing for the unknown. Still, Hikigaya couldn't help but recall his brief exchange with Student Council President Horikita.
Still, his thoughts drifted back to his conversation with President Horikita during the club fair. He hadn't originally planned to ask anything, but something about the way the president spoke had compelled him to.
Afterall the best way to navigate any system is to understand what it expects from you.
Every institution, be it a school, workplace, or organization, has expectations. Some are clearly outlined through rules and responsibilities. Others are left unspoken, buried beneath tradition, social pressure, or hidden incentives. But one thing is constant: individuals are always being measured.
Whether it's through performance, discipline, conformity, or initiative, there's always a standard, some idea of what the ideal member should look like. Those who align with that standard tend to be rewarded. Those who don't usually aren't.
Understanding that framework is the first step. Adapting to it is the second.
Hikigaya's goal was to understand what expectations the school had for its students, especially after granting them this level of freedom. This, in turn, would help him grasp the meaning behind what Chabashira-sensei had called the "worth as a student" on the first day
That's why he decided to ask it in a way that sounded more like someone trying to discover their own worth out of curiosity. But he didn't expected to get so many hints from that. He couldn't help but recall what the President had told him.
"The freedom you mentioned is meant to test how each student chooses to shape their own path. There isn't one clear answer because there isn't just one goal. You're allowed to pursue whatever you believe in, as long as it doesn't break the rules set by the school.
"The duty of a student to their school, and the school's duty to its students. Our interests, when aligned, create the framework I follow. I apply that concept to everything I do here."
The way the president told him, it seemed he was trying to say that the school's expectations were mostly focused on results and just like in real society, you are allowed to choose your own path or method to achieve them, as long as it stays within the school's rules.
But just as in society, not everyone shares the same goals or ambitions, even if they're working toward a common purpose. That's why individuals come together based on shared interests, despite their different personal objectives.
If that logic applied to a class as a whole, it would also apply to each student within it. After all, a class is just a group of individuals. So there had to be some common interest that connected them all.
Right now, that shared interest was obvious—the 'points' they all received as currency.
'If Chabashira-sensei really meant that the school rewards students based on their worth and merit, then why did everyone in the class receive the exact same 100,000 points? Each student's value should be different, so why were we all given an equal share?'
'It's just a rough guess,' Hikigaya thought, 'but maybe the school first evaluates each student individually, then combines those results into a collective average at the class level.'
Suddenly, a series of thoughts began to take shape.
'That collective result might play as a major factor in point allocation too after all this way, not only are we showing our worth as a student at individual level but also at a class level too.'
It made perfect sense. If the school simulates real society, everything would be measured both on micro and macro levels.
And when you add the factor of class Hierarchy in this too. It makes even more sense.
"Heh… hahahaha… so that's how it is," Hikigaya muttered, as he let out a quiet creepy laugh, which was loud enough to catch attention.
A few nearby girls glanced at him, clearly grossed out.
"Ew… what a creep?" one whispered and other laughed.
Hikigaya turned slowly, a creepy smile already on his face. His dead fish eyes met theirs coldly.
The girls exchanged uneasy looks, stepping back nervously.
"Okay, yeah… let's just… go," one said, pulling her friend away.
As he looked at those girls leaving the area, he couldn't help but let out a comment in a mocking tone.
"Of course. Can't let kids enjoy school for too long, right? That'd be bad for business."
He glanced around at the smiling, clueless faces in the courtyard. Most hadn't realized anything yet. Maybe they wouldn't, not until it was too late.
It didn't make him feel smarter. Just more tired.
He stuffed his phone back into his pocket, lips curling into a strange smirk.
"Yeah. What a great school. Really warms my heart... with anger."