Lunch break had begun, and the schoolyard buzzed with the usual midday chatter. Students swarmed the vending machines, others lounged beneath the half-bloomed sakura trees. Yet, three of them moved differently through the day.
Yamada Koji sat alone under the window awning, notebook on his knees, eyes quietly scanning the sunlight filtering through the treetops. His gaze wasn't vacant; it was focused. Intentional. Like he was measuring the angle of the light itself. Occasionally, he scribbled something with his favorite black pen—small notes in shorthand, invisible to everyone else.
Kana Ishikawa sat nearby, back resting against a tree trunk. Her survey sheets lay untouched beside her, but she was deep in thought. Her eyes darted between the passing students and a fresh page of ideas. Her usual energetic movements were subdued now, her expression more introspective. Something was changing inside her.
She closed her eyes briefly and opened the interface. The familiar soft glow danced behind her vision.
[Brain Power: 0.65x]
Life Points: 2.0
[+]
She had been hesitant. But now, after days of observation and analysis, she understood the system better. She pressed the [+].
"Upgrade Brain Power to 0.7x for 1 LP?"
A quiet breath. A single nod.
Yes.
A wave of clarity surged through her. It wasn't overwhelming. Just a slight shift—like someone had cleaned a smudged lens. She looked at the students around her and began to see patterns in their behavior more clearly than before. Emotional rhythms, attention dips, the subtle dance of thoughts unspoken.
So this is what sharper thinking feels like.
She flipped open her notebook and began outlining her next survey, her hand moving with practiced speed.
Takeshi Murata leaned over the railing on the third floor, watching students move below like fish in a pond. For the first time in weeks, he wasn't cracking jokes or getting scolded. He was... quiet.
"Yo, Takeshi," a classmate called. "You're not skipping again, are you?"
He smirked. "Nah. Got stuff to think about."
His fingers tapped lightly against the railing in rhythm, not with music, but thought. He'd been sketching machines again. This time, complex ideas from memory—wiring diagrams, airflow systems. Things he shouldn't understand yet... but somehow did.
From below, a pair of first-years glanced up at the third-floor landing.
"Isn't that the guy who used to get detention twice a week?"
"Yeah. He's been... different lately."
Inside the classroom, Souta reviewed his students from behind his glasses, pretending to read.
Yamada's progress had been steady. His task logs were now laced with small hypotheses. He'd even started an independent side experiment with filtered light.
Kana had moved from raw data to theory building. She was now exploring the psychology of motivation through structured frameworks. That required a deeper kind of cognition.
And Takeshi... the system hadn't predicted how quickly he'd adapt. Curiosity had rooted itself in him like a living vine, pulling him toward more complex machines.
Souta minimized his interface and looked at the broader classroom. Their trio now stood out, if only slightly.
A girl in the front row glanced at Kana, then leaned over to whisper to her friend.
"Kana's gotten weirdly serious lately, hasn't she?"
Another student murmured about Yamada being in "deep thought mode" even during lunch. The whispers were harmless for now, but Souta noted them.
The system encourages evolution, but evolution creates difference. And difference gets noticed.
He scribbled that thought down for later.
After school, as the corridors began to empty, Souta caught up with the three quietly.
They met behind the old gym—a place rarely used, shaded by tall cedars. The system had no formal rule for meetings, but this felt... necessary.
Yamada was first to speak. "I changed the light conditions and tracked each leaf movement. It's definitely reactive. But I think I can isolate the variable if I run it again with a control group."
Kana followed. "My data suggests people are more motivated by peer recognition than personal ambition. It contradicts some standard models... but it's repeatable."
Takeshi grinned. "I disassembled the portable fan in the nurse's office and fixed the wiring. The air flow doubled. I think the capacitor had some interference."
Souta nodded, listening not just to their words, but the rhythm beneath them.
They were changing.
"Keep going," he said simply.
As they parted ways under the falling dusk, Souta lingered.
The interface flickered.
"Resonance Return: +0.3 LP"
He smiled faintly and looked up at the darkening sky.
Seeds grow slowly. But roots? Roots run deep.