---Notice---
I hope everyone enjoys, powerstones are appreciated and help the fanbase grow.
My discord (Best server in the world): discord.gg/DHFdh9Bj
--------------------------------
"People are strange: They are constantly angered by trivial things, but on a major matter like totally wasting their lives, they hardly seem to notice." ~Charles Bukowski
It was the day of the sports festival, but, of course, the student council didn't take breaks. Before the festival began, I had an important meeting—one that had been a long time coming, and one that was bound to be productive.
As I put on my shoes, preparing to leave my dorm, a familiar voice echoed.
"Why do you look so happy about a meeting, Light?" Ryuk asked, obviously amused.
I smirked slightly, tightening my shoelaces. "It's just funny. The world is a crazy place, after all. I can understand why you find it so intriguing."
Ryuk replied with a wide grin, the same as ever. "Fine. If you don't want to tell me, then don't."
Stepping into the elevator, I glanced at him. "You always say you prefer things that way anyway, don't you? Spoilers are boring. It's best to see things unfold with your own eyes." My voice held a touch of pleasure. "But what I said wasn't completely unrelated. People really are funny creatures."
"I guess so," Ryuk muttered, still watching me.
I leaned against the elevator wall, my arms crossed. "Just wait a while. It might be a few hours, a couple of days, or even weeks. But when everything is over, I'm sure you'll be glad you saw things through to the end."
Just as I finished speaking, the elevator suddenly stopped before reaching the bottom floor. The doors slid open, revealing a familiar figure.
"Good morning, Horikita," I greeted, my gaze meeting hers as she scanned me for a second before stepping inside.
"You're up early," she remarked as the elevator doors closed behind her.
I chuckled lightly. "When you say it like that, it makes me sound lazy." I slid my hands into my pockets. "Anyway, there's a student council meeting. I had no choice but to wake up early. What about you? I've heard you're a morning person, but this seems a bit too early even for you."
"It's the day of the sports festival," she replied simply. "Since I'm leading Class D, it doesn't hurt to get a head start. Given my role, I should take the festival seriously."
I considered her words for a moment before nodding. "I see. Honestly, that's quite noble of you, Horikita."
She shot me a glance; her expression was completely flat. "Don't flatter me."
The elevator doors slid open, and we stepped out, walking to school together.
"It's an honest compliment," I said casually. "People like your brother can be difficult to look up to. He's obviously a hard-working individual, but his strengths lie in a completely different realm than mine. You, on the other hand… you're someone I can admire far more easily."
Horikita's steps briefly faltered before she regained composure. "Is that so?" she muttered, clearly taken aback. Yet, being Horikita, she wouldn't take my words at face value. "I doubt someone like you has any reason to look up to anyone, though."
I gave a small smirk. "Maybe that's what you think, but everyone has a reason to push themselves, don't you agree? Not that it matters—it's a personal thing, after all."
She nodded slowly, conceding the point. "Anyway, I'm curious," she began, her voice shifting to something more analytical. "That meeting you're having today… it's about the school lunch situation, isn't it?"
I glanced at her briefly, impressed by her perceptiveness. "Sharp as always. Yes, it is. The situation has grown into quite an issue, so the student council has to deal with it."
Horikita kept her gaze on me as we walked; she was obviously suspicious of me. She was analyzing me, searching for an angle, some ulterior motive lurking beneath my words.
"I don't know what you're plotting," she finally said, "but I know it isn't good. If something bad were to come as a result of this, then—"
"Horikita." I cut her off, my tone now firm. "I know a lot of people doubt me. I know I can be harsh, and some may even find my methods… unsavory at times. But I like to think I'm a good person. I honestly do try to do the right thing when it matters. That's how I was raised, after all." I tilted my head slightly, glancing up at the bright morning sky. "I do my best to do good and prevent bad… even right now."
She studied me for a long moment, as if trying to pick apart my words for any hint of deception.
"Is that so?" she finally replied. "I don't doubt you. But I can't truly know what kind of person you are, either. And I have no reason to trust you." Her expression remained unreadable, but there was an unmistakable weight behind her words. "I suppose, for now, I'll have to hope you're being truthful."
I met her gaze evenly. "Thank you. I won't disappoint you."
Horikita frowned slightly, clearly caught off guard. "Why would you care about disappointing me?"
For a split second, her expression shifted—her mind retracing our conversation, likely recalling the moment I had called her admirable. Realization flickered across her face, but before she could say anything further, I spoke again.
"Well, this is where we part ways. I have to head to the student council room, after all."
Horikita gave a simple, short nod, choosing not to press the matter.
I turned and walked away, a faint smile playing on my lips.
Navigating the halls of the school had become effortless for me, especially when it came to reaching key locations like the student council office. Despite the school's size, it didn't take long to arrive at my destination. The layout was ingrained in my memory, and efficiency was something I prided myself on.
As expected, when I stepped inside, the office was empty. Not a single camera was installed in this room, and given how early it was, there was no one present to greet me. In terms of privacy, the student council office was one of the most secure places in the school. A lot of sensitive conversations took place here—students often expected anonymity when reporting others or bringing up personal concerns. That was precisely why I had been able to use Morofuji to gain leverage over Karuizawa without consequence. And it was also why the student council president, Tachibana, and I could speak freely—at least, as long as no one else was around.
Shifting my focus back to the matter at hand, I made my way toward the student council meeting room. Everything appeared to be in order upon my arrival. Horikita and Nagumo were already seated in silence, with Tachibana standing near Manabu, her posture straight as ever. The soft creak of the door cut through the tension as I stepped inside.
I closed the door behind me and took a seat across from Nagumo, while Manabu remained positioned at the head of the large meeting table.
"It seems we're all here now. We can commence this meeting," Manabu stated, his tone composed. His eyes barely left his laptop screen as he scanned through documents. "I assume you both know what this is about?"
"I have a good idea, yes," I replied without hesitation.
Nagumo let out an audible sigh, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Are we seriously all gathered here to talk about school food?" His tone was laced with irritation. "We had to wake up early for this, and later we all have to participate in the sports festival. No offense, but of all the problems currently plaguing this school, lunch doesn't exactly strike me as urgent."
"I can't say I completely disagree," Manabu admitted, his voice neutral. "However, this was an issue the school wanted us to prioritize on the agenda."
Nagumo scoffed. "Why? It's just food, for god's sake. This has been the system since the school's formation—if you don't budget your points properly, you're stuck eating vegetable soup. Had it for lunch? Tough luck. Learn to manage your resources better and have it for dinner too. It's that simple. Why is it suddenly such a major topic now?"
"As I said, I feel similarly," Manabu continued, his expression unwavering. "During my time here, the lunch situation had always been an accepted reality. It was never a significant issue… but it seems Yagami disagrees with our stance." He turned slightly, scrolling through his laptop screen before fixing his gaze on me. "You were the one who introduced the first-years to the idea of requesting meals from the infirmary, correct?"
I met his gaze evenly. "I would say it's simpler than that. I merely informed them that if they felt malnourished, the school would be obligated to provide for them."
Nagumo scoffed, shaking his head. "In my opinion, this just looks like simple exploitation of the school's policies." His tone was dismissive, but his sharp eyes studied me, waiting to gauge my reaction.
Manabu nodded thoughtfully, his sharp gaze fixed on me. "If I may ask, Yagami, why did you inform them of this?"
I leaned back slightly, keeping my expression composed. "My actions aren't complex or incomprehensible; they are rooted in justice." I paused briefly before continuing. "As a public institution, this school serves as the guardian of its students for the duration of their education here. That means their well-being—both academically and physically—is the school's responsibility. That includes ensuring students receive meals that meet the necessary nutritional standards required for young individuals to function at their best."
I let the words settle before continuing, my tone unwavering.
"What does that so-called soup actually provide? No protein, minimal calories, little to no fats, and an outright deficiency in vital vitamins and minerals. No offense, but one could eat that vegetable soup and piss it out within the hour with no difference in energy or sustenance. Given these circumstances, isn't it only natural that students report malnourishment? This isn't a matter of manipulation or exploitation—the school has a duty to uphold, and yet, it is failing to meet even the most basic of its responsibilities."
Nagumo exhaled sharply, bringing a hand to his head as he tossed it back in frustration. "We are really here, sitting in a meeting, talking about school food… vegetable soup, no less…" he muttered in disbelief.
Ignoring Nagumo's irritation, Manabu focused on me. "I see your point, Yagami, but isn't that exactly what the existence of private points is for?" he countered.
I let out a small breath, expecting that question. "Just because private points exist doesn't mean the school is magically free of all responsibilities—especially when classes like 1-D have had zero class points for months on end. Where are their private points supposed to come from? How are they meant to improve their standard of living when the system itself offers them no means to do so?"
Nagumo scoffed, shaking his head. "Vegetable soup… I still can't believe it," he whispered under his breath, before turning back to me. "Listen, just because a class has no points doesn't mean it's the school's fault. The school gives every class plenty of opportunities to earn points. I've seen Class 1-D's record myself—every time they manage to get a chance to earn points, they blow it the very next moment."
I let a small, almost indiscernible smirk creep onto my face. "Oh? If that's how the world works, then I suppose it would also be perfectly acceptable if an orphanage provided nothing but thin vegetable soup and told the children, 'If you want real food, you should venture out and earn some extra money yourselves.' That would be an acceptable standard to you?"
Nagumo's smirk faltered slightly, but I didn't stop there.
"Or imagine going home to some watered-down broth, telling your parents you're still hungry, only for them to shrug and reply, 'Well, you should have studied harder to earn better food.' No, that wouldn't be acceptable—that would be called neglect. In fact, in most cases, it would be criminal neglect."
I met his gaze head-on, finishing my argument with finality.
"If a real parent tried to pull something like that, they'd be called abusive. If an orphanage did it, it would be shut down. So tell me—why should a school be held to a lower standard?"
The room fell into a brief silence.
In a way, this was more than just a debate about school policies—it was a clash of ideologies.
Which system was superior? A pure meritocracy, where individual effort dictated rewards? Or a collectivist model, where the institution bore some level of responsibility for ensuring a baseline standard of care?
Manabu's sharp gaze flickered between me, Nagumo, and the documents laid out before him. Finally, he spoke.
"It seems we have far more to discuss than anticipated—too much to settle in one session. But before we suspend this meeting, we should at least clarify the severity of this issue."
"Severity?" Nagumo scoffed, though he adjusted his posture, facing Manabu with more attentiveness than before. "It's food. You could have settled this issue on your own, President."
"Yes, I thought the same at first," Manabu admitted calmly. "Initially, I assumed this would be a short discussion—perhaps a minor debate. Had we failed to reach a consensus, I would have made an executive decision myself. However," he said, picking up the papers before him, "this issue is far more complex than that."
He scanned the document once more before laying it flat on the table.
"On the first day of what we will now refer to as the food strike, the school incurred a loss of 129,500 private points. By day five, that number had skyrocketed to 1,221,000 points, as more students joined the strike. We are now past the second week of the strike, day fifteen. The total amount of private points lost due to the school providing meals?" He looked up, his expression neutral. "Over five million."
Nagumo's eyebrows twitched slightly at the figure. "...What? Five million?"
Manabu gave a slow nod. "The numbers surprised me as well. The infirmary is required to provide well-balanced meals to any student reporting malnutrition. This isn't something they can cut corners on as it pertains to student health. If a student were truly suffering from malnourishment and received inadequate nourishment, it could lead to severe consequences. No corners are cut producing these meals; it isn't cheap junk food."
He turned a page, continuing.
"A single infirmary-provided lunch costs the school around 1,500 private points. A dinner costs 2,200. By day five of the strike, approximately 80 students were utilizing this system. That means that on day five alone, the school lost approximately 470,000 points."
Manabu set the papers back down and folded his hands together. "This isn't an issue that can simply be ignored. Nor can we act too harshly, given that it pertains directly to student health. Keep that in mind for future discussions."
The atmosphere in the room had shifted. Before, Nagumo had treated this discussion as a mild nuisance, but now, there was a new weight behind his gaze. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose.
Slowly, both Manabu and Nagumo turned to face me.
It seems I have created quite a headache for them both.
Good.
--------------------------------
I love to hear your opinions. I asked this in my discord, but I know most of you arent there, so I'll ask here: Do you guys think the ongoing school lunch arc is stupid or boring? I know it seems kinda randomly thrown in, but I have plans in regard to it, so I'm a bit curious. Anyways the sports festival is next as you can all imagine.