Class-E, The Experiments

Chapter XI: Spider Web

As Horikita was about to step into the elevator, I grabbed her wrist, stopping her. She turned to me, her eyes narrowing. "What? Do you have a rebuttal?" she asked. "The problem's bigger than the two of us. In the end, the school holds all the answers. All we can do is argue back and forth. I'm free to interpret things my way, and you're free to do the same. That's all there is to it, right?"

"You're quite talkative. I never expected you to be this loquacious," I said, observing her closely.

"What? That's just because you've been insistent," she replied, her voice still firm, but there was something else—hesitation.

Under normal circumstances, Horikita would have never allowed me to keep talking like this. If I grabbed her wrist like that, she'd normally respond with a swift hit, sharp and precise. But she didn't strike me. That difference was telling.

"The day we met," I continued, "do you remember what happened on the bus?"

"You mean when we refused to give up our seats to the elderly woman?" she asked, her tone calmer now.

"Yeah. Back then, I thought about what it meant to give up my seat. Should I have done it? Which was the right answer?"

"I thought it would've been meaningless, so I didn't give up my seat. No matter what reward might come, there was no merit in it. It was a waste of time and effort," she replied confidently.

"Merit, huh?" I mused, leaning slightly against the elevator wall. "So, you think only in terms of gain and loss."

"Is that bad? People are calculating creatures. If you sell goods, you receive money. If you do someone a favor, they owe you a debt of gratitude. By giving up a seat, you gain the satisfaction of contributing to society. Am I wrong?"

"No, I don't think you're wrong. I think the same thing," I replied.

"So why—"

"If you keep that mindset," I interrupted, "you'll need to maintain a much broader perspective. You're so focused on gain and loss, so angry and dissatisfied, that you can't see what's in front of you."

Horikita's glare sharpened. "Who do you think you are? Do you even have the ability to find fault with me?"

I looked at her, calm and unshaken. "I don't know what abilities I have, but I do see something you're missing. It's the flaw in the otherwise perfect person known as Horikita Suzune."

For a moment, the space between us was filled with nothing but silence. The elevator doors remained open, but neither of us made a move. She stood there, caught between her usual self-assurance and the cracks that were beginning to show in her worldview.

Horikita gave an amused snort, her expression almost daring me to say more. It was clear she thought my claim about her flaw was absurd.

"If you think I have a flaw, go ahead, say it," her eyes seemed to say.

"Your flaw is that you see everyone else as a burden. You detach yourself, and you don't let anyone get close. Isn't it possible they put you in Class D because you see yourself as superior to everyone else?"

Her amusement faltered for a moment before she muttered, "It's almost as if you're saying I'm the same as Sudou-kun and his group."

"Are you saying you're not equal?" I asked, tilting my head slightly.

"Yes. It's obvious if you look at our test scores. That's proof enough that they're mere baggage for our class to carry."

"If we're talking about studying, then sure, Sudou and the others are two or three steps behind you. No matter how hard they try, they likely won't catch up. But we both know this school doesn't just focus on intelligence. Imagine the next test is a physical one. The results would look very different then, wouldn't they?"