At lunch, I headed to the cafeteria for the first time in nearly a year.
I usually just choked down a nutrition bar, but I’d overslept and hadn’t had time to grab one at the convenience store on my way in.
But since fourth period had run late, by the time I made it to the school shop, nearly all the food was sold out. I’d had to skip breakfast after waking up late that morning, and if I missed lunch, too, I wasn’t sure I’d make it through the day.
I fretted about it for a minute, then turned to the cafeteria—a place I’d long avoided.
Ugh. Guess I have no choice. Luck is just not on my side today.
The cafeteria was on the first floor, and there was a huge line stretching out from the ticket machines outside the door. I had a long wait ahead of me. Shrugging, I planted myself at the end of the line and patiently waited my turn.
Once I arrived at the machine, I grabbed a ticket for cold udon and headed inside.
I handed the lunch lady my ticket, and not long after, my dish came out.
“Here you go,” she said. “Come again.”
Putting this standard-issue meal on my tray, I headed toward the seating area.
I looked around for an open seat and was reminded of why I’d been avoiding this place.
Saigou High’s lunchroom had an unwritten rule. Specifically, the terrace and the sunny seats by the windows belonged to the students in the top-scoring classes. Everyone else had to use the sunless seats near the counters.
I doubted anyone had purposely established this rule. The students from better classes simply acted like they owned the place, and everyone else shrank away from them. It was just the usual school hierarchy at work—a natural by-product of the Saigou caste system.
“……”
And this unwritten policy of discrimination was clearly still in effect.
Students in the good seats and out on the terrace were yukking it up, while those on the other side of the room were shoveling food into their mouths like beleaguered office workers exhausted after a long day of work.
If a student from one of the top classes spilled something on an inferior student’s table, they would never help clean it up. They hogged all the condiments and seasonings, and if they didn’t feel like walking all the way back to the counter, they’d simply pile their dirty dishes on the end of one of the lower-ranked students’ tables.
Not one student from the inferior classes dared protest. It was a galling sight, no matter how many times I encountered it.
The faculty had created these performance-based castes, and the students simply followed their example, dividing themselves up accordingly.
The upshot was that everywhere you went in Saigou High, your grades determined how you were treated. Those in the better classes treated the rest of us like garbage, and those in the lower-ranked classes simply accepted it with a sense of resignation. That, or they’d fallen into the trap of thinking they’d one day prove themselves by clawing their way up the ladder. It was an infantile thought, especially when they’d long ago lost their dignity.
Determining class placement based on grades generated competition, and in turn, discrimination. That was Saigou High’s dark secret. And nowhere was that darkness more apparent than in the cafeteria.
“……”
I hesitated a few seconds, then headed to the gloomy seats near the counter.
Calculating a person’s worth based on grades was dumb as hell, and I would have happily ignored the unwritten rule and sat in one of the good seats. That said, I no longer had the energy to fight such things. I’d given up. We all had to get used to this, and so I was pretending I had, too. That was why I went along with it.
And besides, if my classmates spotted me sitting with the better classes, it might make things even worse for me. I didn’t need to stir the pot any more than I already had.
I sat down at the far end of one of the tables, said my thanks for the meal, and started slurping down my udon. If I could get through my food quietly and quickly, I could hurry up and get the hell out of here. I’d try not to oversleep again so I could get my lunch at the convenience store next time and forget all about this place. That would be the best thing for everyone. Little tricks like that helped me limit my stress.
With that in mind, I kept my chopsticks moving. But when I was about halfway through my udon, things took a turn.
“Uh-oh! Looks like we don’t have enough chairs.”
“Nowhere to sit? No worries, we’ll just grab one of these.”
I heard a nasty laugh and looked up. There was a group of five girls from the better classes trying to swipe a chair from this side of the room. It wasn’t an unusual sight. But there was one problem—I could see food set out in front of the chair they’d chosen to steal. In other words, that seat had already been claimed by someone who was about to eat lunch.
“Huh? Er, uh…”
And sure enough, a boy came back to find his chair gone. He had first-year slippers on, and he’d briefly left his seat to grab a pair of chopsticks.
He looked around and soon figured out what had happened. Someone had swiped his chair while his back was turned. The place was crowded, and there were no other empty seats.
What’s more, he knew exactly who’d stolen his chair. It was obvious—the group of girls had added it to the end of their table, and it stood out like a sore thumb among the even rows of seats.
But knowing who the culprits were meant nothing. Students from the lower-ranked classes couldn’t fight with those above them. That was the law of the land.
Poor guy. That really sucks.
I ate a little faster, figuring I might as well hurry up and leave him my seat.
But then something surprising happened—the boy went over and spoke to the group of girls.
“Er, um… Excuse me.”
All five girls turned to stare at him.
“…What?”
“That’s my chair.”
The girl who’d answered him seemed to be the group leader. The boy’s voice was barely a squeak. What he was doing had clearly taken a lot of courage.
“Huh? How is this your chair? It was empty.”
“Yeah, but my tray was there…”
At this point, the girls’ leader made a show of checking the boy’s slippers. Then she snorted and sneered at him.
“I see you’re a first-year. You still don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“How this school works.” She turned to a male teacher eating nearby. “Um, excuse me? Over here!”
Looking exasperated, the teacher stood up and joined the argument. “I’m in the middle of lunch. What is it?”
“This first-year is bothering me.”
“She stole my chair!” replied the boy. “My tray was right in front of it!”
The teacher turned to him and sighed dramatically. “What class are you in?”
“My class? 1-4.”
“What? That’s one of the lower-ranked classes. Stop rocking the boat, okay?”
“Um, what? Are you saying I’m the one in the wrong?”
“Yep, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Come over here.” The teacher then grabbed his collar and hauled him out of the lunchroom.
“Bye,” the girl said, fluttering her hand at him. “What a loser. Oh, he left his tray. Better return it for him.”
After that, she went happily back to her meal.
…Disgusting. It made me sick to watch.
Hadn’t they ever heard the story about the frog in the well? They probably had. They were in the good class, after all.
I know, I know. Making a few sarcastic remarks wasn’t going to change anything. They’d just bring up my grades and sneer at me, too. And this was just the tip of the iceberg.
Better students held sway all over the school. Only they could join the student council, for example. It was normal for them to run roughshod over the inferior students, and no teacher at Saigou would reprimand them for it. The faculty always gave the same reason: “You’re being put down because your grades are bad. If you don’t like it, study harder.”
Saigou High was a little world unto itself, structured on academic discrimination and unspoken arrangements. These social norms combined with the strict school rules to form a law. This was known as the SaiHigh Law, though no one knew who’d named it.
Perfect for a peak prep school like Saigou. So masterfully rotten and discriminatory, it’s almost awe-inspiring.
“…Screw this.”
Feeling sick to my stomach, I abandoned my meal and got to my feet. I’d just return my tray and go back to class.
“…?”
But then, sensing eyes on my back, I paused.
I glanced over my shoulder, and, to my surprise, I saw the girl who’d come to the roof the day before. She was staring at me, saying nothing, her face blank.
Had she heard me muttering to myself? I was sure I’d been quiet.
“Um…?”
But as I started to speak, she turned away and stalked off toward the gloomy seats.
…What was that all about?