Director Sakayanagi felt as though a headache was creeping in, thanks to Yukio's audacious request. Even with his position as the director of AN High School, he'd never felt quite so cornered. Sure, the kid had indeed saved his daughter's life, but demanding ten billion was beyond outrageous.
All the same, Director Sakayanagi controlled his emotions. He admired Yukio's talents, was wary of his unknown background, and generally preferred not to burn bridges with the person who had saved his daughter. If it had been someone with less restraint in his place, they might have ejected Yukio on the spot.
After composing himself, Director Sakayanagi began to explain calmly, "Yukio-kun, perhaps you're unaware of one of our key school regulations: the S-System prohibits any teaching staff from transferring personal points directly to students. The entire private point transfer system is monitored by S-System. No matter what seemingly valid excuse might be proposed, it won't accept it, and both accounts would be frozen immediately."
He then offered an example. "Otherwise, consider what would happen if a homeroom teacher decided to donate a lifetime's worth of saved-up salary points to a class. It would grant that class an enormous advantage, throwing our entire system into chaos."
He added, however, that the reverse was allowed—a student could transfer points to a staff member. It was how certain more 'off-the-record' transactions took place, such as exchanging personal points for real money from a charter bus driver in the Workplace Special Exam.
Yukio listened carefully, and while he remained outwardly composed, inwardly he felt a jolt of satisfaction. 'So Director Sakayanagi doesn't know about the secret rule.' Having gleaned such a reaction, it became obvious that even the highest authority on paper wasn't privy to the S-System's hidden function—the ability for a student to buy the directorship for thirty billion points. The fact that the director claimed to have no power over the system also confirmed Yukio's suspicion: in the AN hierarchy, the S-System sat above any official position.
"Still," Director Sakayanagi continued, transitioning into a more conciliatory tone, "I truly am grateful to you. If you do manage to graduate successfully and ever find yourself with some free time, please consider visiting one of our family's properties in Tokyo. We'd be honored to host you."
Although he phrased it as an invitation, the director was basically offering up a slice of personal real estate rather than private points. After all, it wasn't as though he had ten billion yen lying around. At least—Director Sakayanagi reasoned—it would demonstrate his gratitude if he'd hand over a property or two.
He realized he might look somewhat passive in this exchange, which felt odd for an adult in such a powerful position. But he had his reasons. He lacked clarity about Yukio's background, genuinely felt obliged to repay a debt of gratitude for saving his daughter, and—truthfully—he wanted to avoid any escalation.
Yukio simply smiled at the offer, making it clear that mere real estate wasn't what he truly wanted. "Director, you're very kind. I appreciate the invitation. Perhaps I will visit the Sakayanagi residence if I have time after graduation."
Inwardly, Director Sakayanagi felt a sting of apprehension. He had absolutely no intention of letting this bold young man casually walk into his daughter's life any more than he already had. He's aiming to 'claim my precious daughter' or something to that effect, the director thought, his alarm bells ringing. 'No, I can't let that happen.'
Before he could craft a polite excuse about how their home might be too humble, Arisu suddenly chimed in.
"Yukio-kun, you'd like to visit my home? That's not a bad idea. Ever since I can remember, I've never actually invited any friend over."
Her father froze, his paternal warmth replaced by alarm as her words landed like a dagger in his heart. He forced a smile, but his expression fell stiff and brittle, as though he couldn't quite maintain the genial façade. He definitely did not like the sound of that.
'Daughter, you absolutely must not invite him! That kid is up to no good—he's after you!' The old father's heart was bleeding on the inside.
Seeing he couldn't get any points, Yukio didn't press the matter of a reward any further. Instead, he naturally picked up on Sakayanagi's topic: "That can't be right. Usually there's a circle of friends, isn't there?"
He was referring to the "second-generation circle." With Director Sakayanagi's high status, there would undoubtedly be a social circle of wealthy or influential families. Their children naturally formed a "second-generation group," meaning Sakayanagi, as the director's daughter, should have mingled with many peers in such a circle.
This practice was quite common. Children of elites worldwide typically play together in these circles from a young age—unless someone's status had risen suddenly, requiring them to gradually integrate.
Arisu, however, didn't notice her father's gloomy expression. Her gaze grew distant, as though recalling childhood memories. "Nope. As a child, I found everyone else far too childish, so I had no interest in associating with them. Naturally, I never invited anyone over."
Director Sakayanagi had been on the verge of telling his daughter not to invite Yukio home at all. But hearing this, he fell silent. The excuses he had prepared in his head died before leaving his lips.
Recalling Arisu's childhood, he remembered how she would spend her time quietly reading or playing chess by herself, or learning to handle paperwork alongside him—her admittedly negligent father—rather than having a normal little girl's life. Realizing this, the director let out a noiseless sigh, sadness filling his heart. If Arisu's mother were still here, her childhood would likely have been far happier.
If Arisu now wanted Yukio to visit their home, he couldn't stand in her way. After all, making her happy was what mattered most.
"Oh?" Yukio seemed oblivious to the director's gloomy mood. His eyes lit up in recognition, feeling a subtle connection to Arisu's words.
"When I was little, I couldn't really get along with many kids, either. They seemed too childish to me. Care to explain?"
Arisu's expression grew complicated as if remembering something indescribable—partly amused, partly nostalgic. "For example, when they had nothing else to do, they'd place bets," she said. "They'd bet on whether one of them could jump up and touch the leaves hanging from a tree branch. If he managed to grab a leaf, they'd consider him 'amazing.'"
"And back then," she continued quietly, "I just didn't understand the appeal. So I stayed out of it."
"Pfft," Yukio let out a small laugh of genuine amusement. He could understand the innocence of that behavior—a scenario that even reminded him of boyhood fun in another lifetime. "Honestly, I get where they were coming from. For kids, being told 'Wow, you're amazing' is just about the highest praise. It makes them feel accomplished."
Arisu only gave a gentle, knowing smile. She understood now, though she hadn't back then.
Observing this easy, harmonious conversation between them, Director Sakayanagi grew all the more unsettled. He also felt guilty about his daughter's lonely upbringing. He opened his mouth, intending to suggest, "Shouldn't you head back now, Yukio-kun?"—but seeing the happiness on Arisu's face, the words stuck in his throat. He could only stand, shaking his head in silent resignation.
"You… you two chat as you like," he managed. "I just recalled some work I need to finish in my office."
With that, he slowly turned and headed off, leaving only the sorrowful silhouette of an old father's lonely back.