There is something wrong with Hikigaya’s classroom of the Elite, as expected

Chapter 153: Crossing the Line

“It’s about the basketball club!”

Hachiman was slightly surprised to hear this from Vice President Nagumo, but after a moment’s thought, he understood the reason behind this meeting.

Was he here to hold him accountable?

“You’ve got some guts. Do you even realize that because of the four basketball club spots for the external event, someone has already come to me to file a complaint?”

Nagumo’s tone was unfriendly, carrying a subtle hint of threat.

“Oh, so it’s about that.”

Hachiman’s expression remained unchanged. “If I recall correctly, the two originally designated students were both from Class 2-B. So they came to Vice President Nagumo to plead their case?”

“Plead their case? You must be mistaken.”

Nagumo suddenly burst into laughter, as if he had heard something ridiculously amusing. “I’m here to inform you that club spots for external events have always been reserved for second and third-year students. That’s an unspoken rule that has been upheld for years. By allowing two first-years to take those spots, do you even understand what that means?”

As he spoke, Nagumo’s expression darkened. “I’m here to tell you that you crossed the line. Some rules exist not because they’re fair, but because everyone follows them. You’ve broken that rule this time—so what about next time? Eventually, you’ll move up to the second year, and when that time comes, you’ll understand why this is a ‘rule that everyone acknowledges.’”

It was clear that Nagumo had come because Hachiman had interfered with the basketball club’s allocation. Originally, the four spots were meant for two second-years and two third-years. But due to Hachiman’s involvement, Komiya and Kondo, two first-years, had taken the places meant for the second-year students.

This had naturally sparked discontent among the second-years, prompting them to complain to Nagumo, who in turn was now pressuring Hachiman.

Nagumo’s words made his stance clear: while the rule may seem unfair to first-years now, eventually, they too would rise to the upper grades and become its beneficiaries.

In one conversation, Nagumo had laid out both the advantages and disadvantages of the situation. And he wasn’t entirely wrong—rules don’t persist because they are fair, but because the majority abides by them.

The unspoken rule of seniority in club spots was no different.

Nagumo had expected Hachiman, a mere first-year from Class D, to hesitate and then nod in reluctant agreement. But unexpectedly, Hachiman simply looked at him quietly and then… smiled.

“Vice President Nagumo, your words are quite interesting.”

Hachiman spoke with neither arrogance nor humility. “People who lack ability will always complain about their environment. If those two upperclassmen were truly skilled, why weren’t they able to secure a spot on the official roster? The official selections are made up of only the most outstanding players. If those two were only slightly lacking, then why would the Coach agree to let first-years take their place?”

Hachiman met Nagumo’s increasingly grim expression with a calm voice. “When it comes to club matters, the student council can only provide recommendations—the final decision rests with the head coach. Vice President Nagumo, you’re overestimating me. I’m just a lowly first-year student council member. Do you really think I have the power to influence a basketball club head coach? Wouldn’t you agree, Vice President Nagumo?”

Nagumo suddenly started clapping. “Well said. In fact, I don’t particularly care about the two students who came to me to complain. Only weaklings act like dogs, wagging their tails and begging for sympathy. To be honest, I despise that kind of person the most. On the contrary, students with real ability—like you—shouldn’t be stuck in Class D.”

Hachiman hadn’t expected Nagumo to be so blatantly arrogant—or rather, so utterly unrestrained. It wasn’t just about his words or manner of speaking, but his entire mentality.

Nagumo didn’t even respect those two Class B students. His attitude was exactly as Hachiman had initially perceived: he was someone filled with pride, even extreme arrogance. From his words, it was also evident that he was someone who believed in absolute meritocracy.

“But…”

Nagumo’s gaze sharpened as he locked eyes with Hachiman. “Trash is trash, and rules are rules. They are two separate matters. Even if I don’t care about those two students, the rules must still be followed. Do you understand what I mean?”

Nagumo’s point was clear—even if those two students hadn’t come to complain, he still wouldn’t allow anyone to break the rules.

“Don’t do things that disrupt unity.”

Nagumo crossed one leg over the other, looking at Hachiman with an air of certainty, as if he had already won.

Hachiman didn’t directly respond to Nagumo’s statement. Instead, he suddenly asked, “Vice President Nagumo, have you heard that this year, a first-year student from the basketball club has a high chance of making it onto the official team?”

Nagumo nodded, showing that he was quite well-informed about club matters. “That kid is from your Class D, right? I heard from a few people that this new student from Class D is incredibly skilled—but has a terrible temper and doesn’t show an ounce of respect for his seniors. Just like you.”

After all, Hachiman had been calling him “Vice President Nagumo” instead of “Nagumo-senpai.” It was the same in the workplace—normally, even if someone was only a deputy leader, their subordinates wouldn’t emphasize the “deputy” part when addressing them. While the leader might not say anything outright, they could easily find subtle ways to make life difficult for you later.

So to Nagumo, hearing Hachiman repeatedly call him “Vice President” was extremely irritating.

“Sudo is indeed a student from my class,” Hachiman continued, unbothered by Nagumo’s veiled jab. “But he recently got into a fight and has been suspended from school for three weeks.”

“Oh?”

Nagumo narrowed his eyes slightly, as if contemplating the implications of Hachiman’s words.

“Sudo was able to make the official basketball team as a first-year, which speaks volumes about his skill level.”

Hachiman looked straight at Nagumo. “But when evaluating a student, we can’t look at ability alone—character is just as important. The basketball team represents our school in competitions. They are the face of our student body.”

At this point, Hachiman paused slightly before continuing in a serious tone.

“So if a student with extremely poor conduct were to represent our school, to represent all of us, I believe that would be highly inappropriate—something that should never be allowed to happen. Wouldn’t you agree, Vice President Nagumo?”