Classroom of the elite: Rival

Volume 0 - Chapter 4

Ayanokoji Kiyotaka

The gentle hum of the game console filled the room, punctuated by the frantic clicking of controller buttons and Eichiro's increasingly frustrated exclamations.

It had been two months since I'd left the sterile confines of the White Room, and life with Eichiro had settled into a comfortable rhythm. My days were a blend of rigorous exercise routines, assigned reading, and what Eichiro enthusiastically called "quality bro time."

"Dude, how are you this good?" Eichiro's voice cracked with a mix of awe and exasperation. His eyes were glued to the screen where our characters engaged in a pixelated battle royale.

I glanced at him, noting the way his brow furrowed in concentration. It was a stark contrast to the carefree expression he usually wore. "Practice, I suppose," I replied, my tone neutral despite the small spark of satisfaction I felt.

"We literally started this game yesterday!" Eichiro protested, his grip on the controller tightening. "I won all the rounds then! How did I not win a single one now?"

I watched as his character, a rotund pink blob, was unceremoniously launched off the screen by my sleek, sword-wielding warrior. The game announced my victory with a flourish of trumpets and confetti.

'Is this what they call a rage quit?' I mused internally, recalling a term I'd come across in one of my assigned readings on modern youth culture.

Eichiro tossed his controller aside with a huff. "I call hacks. You must have installed something. There's no way you could get this good so fast."

The White Room may not have taught me much about video games, but it had honed my ability to analyze patterns and adapt quickly. Still, explaining that seemed... unwise.

"Don't be a sour loser, Eichiro," I said, attempting to soften my words with what I hoped was a friendly tone. "This isn't the first time you've lost, nor will it be the last."

"Hah, you're such a dick sometimes, Kiyotaka," Eichiro grumbled, but there was no real heat in his words.

'Dick?' I made a mental note to consult internet-sensei later. The nuances of casual insults still confused me.

As quickly as his mood had soured, Eichiro's cheerful demeanor returned. "Let's do something else now," he suggested, clearly eager to change the subject.

I recognized this as his coping mechanism after a particularly humiliating defeat.

"Sure, what do you—" I began, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door.

Matsuo entered, his posture as impeccable as always. "Kiyotaka-sama, Ayanokoji-sama wishes to speak with you," he announced, his tone respectful but tinged with an undercurrent I couldn't quite place.

I exchanged a glance with Eichiro, who nodded in understanding. These summons from my father were infrequent but always significant.

"Alright, I'll be there," I replied, rising from my seat.

As I left the room, I caught sight of Eichiro hunched over the game controller, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He was likely already plotting strategies to defeat me in our next match.

'Good,' I thought, a hint of amusement coloring my internal monologue. 'He might stand a chance next time. Though I wouldn't bet on it.'

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I stood before the imposing mahogany door of my father's office, its polished surface gleaming under the soft hallway lights. Taking a deep breath, I raised my hand and knocked three times, each rap echoing in the hushed corridor.