Fourth year.
Eighty students.
Four classes.
Twenty per class.
The list was posted at the center of the bulletin board.
Cold white paper.
Edges sharp.
Transparent tape pressed it flat—no curling, no looseness. The wind was light. The paper moved.
Barely.
As if something was holding it down.
Seven remained in Class 4-1, Number 7.
No change.
Number and name aligned side by side, spacing fixed, order stable.
No one had been reassigned.
Monday morning.
The air was slightly cool.
The grass on the field still held traces of moisture that had not yet evaporated. Sunlight fell at an angle, striking the surface of the paper, reflecting sharply.
The title sat centered—
Curriculum Stratification Reform Plan
The font was controlled.
Lines clean.
No excess decoration.
Below it, a smaller line:
Efficiency Optimization
Students slowed as they approached.
Shoe soles dragged slightly against the ground, the sound stretching longer than it should.
Some raised their heads to confirm their numbers.
Some read the title under their breath—
then stopped.
No discussion.
No conclusions.
Only breathing rising and falling in the air.
On the classroom blackboard, the new schedule was written.
Tuesday afternoon — Ability Training
Thursday afternoon — Ability Training
Saturday morning — Ability Training
All other courses remained unchanged.
Language.
Mathematics.
Foreign language.
History.
The same as any ordinary school.
Stratification existed only within those three periods.
A red line was drawn beneath each of them.
Clean.
Decisive.
The first class began as usual.
The bell rang—clear.
Students took their seats.
Chair legs scraped briefly against the floor.
Books opened.
The teacher explained.
Chalk moved across the board, leaving behind fine white dust.
Twenty students.
Fixed seating.
No hierarchy.
The air remained stable.
Tuesday afternoon.
At the entrance of the experimental building, the crowd gathered.
The glass doors reflected overlapping figures.
A grouping list was posted at the entrance.
Layer A.
Layer B.
Layer C.
Three columns.
Names aligned.
No explanation.
"Seven, what do you think? A lot of people feel uneasy."
The voice was lowered.
Eyes shifted between the list and Seven.
Seven glanced at the grouping.
Paused.
Less than two seconds.
"It's nothing. Just follow the academy."
His tone was flat.
No fluctuation.
The other student nodded.
Breathing slowed.
A few nearby heard the response.
Shoulders relaxed.
Their gaze no longer lingered.
The crowd moved forward.
Ability training began.
Fourth years assembled by class—
then separated by layer.
Seven stood.
Natural.
No hesitation.
On the second-year side, 77 stood within the crowd.
Light fell across his face from the side.
He saw his number—
Layer A.
His gaze stopped.
Two seconds.
Breathing even.
No expression.
Then it moved away.
Layer A students were guided into a separate training room.
Brighter lighting.
Colder air.
The spacing between seats was reduced.
Desk edges nearly touched.
The aisles were narrow.
Shoulders brushed occasionally.
A new monitoring terminal stood beside the podium.
The screen remained on.
Blue data scrolled continuously.
Numbers refreshed without pause.
The instructor spoke.
"Stratification does not represent superiority or inferiority. It is efficiency."
The voice was flat.
The room was quiet.
The timer started.
Beep.
First group stepped forward.
Start.
Accelerate.
Stop.
Turn.
Every step was recorded.
The sound of soles striking the ground was amplified in the enclosed space.
Breathing tightened—
then released.
Beep.
Second group.
Same motions.
Some moved slightly faster.
Some slightly slower.
Data jumped across the screen.
Training ended.
The bell rang.
Students returned to their original classes.
Regular lessons resumed.
Chalk across the board.
Pages turned.
No stratification.
Thursday afternoon.
Same process.
Same list.
Layer A.
Layer B.
Layer C.
Inside the training room, the air was dry.
Light fell along the white lines on the floor.
At the start, soles scraped briefly against the surface.
Sweat slid down along the sides of faces.
The timer ticked.
Rhythm fixed.
Saturday morning.
Sunlight entered through high windows.
Light and shadow shifted slowly across the ground.
Stratified assembly continued as usual.
Second week.
Evaluation sheets updated.
The original overall assessment was divided into three metrics—
Reaction Time.
Stability.
Execution Deviation.
Each precise to two decimal places.
After training, the electronic screen lit up.
Data arranged from top to bottom.
Rankings refreshed in real time.
Some students looked directly at the screen.
Pupils contracting.
Some lowered their heads, adjusting their sleeves.
Fingertips trembling slightly.
The air was quieter than usual.
77 repeated the sequence on the track.
Start.
Accelerate.
Stop.
Turn.
Each cycle under the timer.
Sweat fell.
Breathing grew heavier—
then controlled again.
He looked up at the screen.
The data was stable.
No fluctuation.
Regular classes continued.
The teacher explained problems.
Students recorded notes.
Stratification did not enter the classroom.
"What happens if you drop a layer?"
The voice was very soft.
It remained in the air.
No response.
Third week.
Psychological assessment forms were distributed.
Only for stratified training.
The questions were brief—
Do you feel uneasy due to stratification?
Do you feel anxious about ranking?
Five minutes.
Collected.
In class, a student raised a hand.
"Teacher, will the layers stay fixed?"
The teacher paused.
Two seconds.
"Only data matters."
Chalk resumed moving.
During breaks—
some fell silent as their rankings dropped.
Their gaze avoided the screen.
Some allowed a faint trace of a smile when they rose—
then quickly suppressed it.
The training field was re-marked.
White lines straight.
Numbers placed on the ground.
The slogan updated—
Focus on Execution
77 stopped at the edge of the track.
Sweat dripped from his chin.
Breathing gradually slowed.
He looked up.
The numbers on the screen stood in quiet order.
Stratification existed only on Tuesday afternoons, Thursday afternoons, and Saturday mornings.
All other times—
classrooms remained ordinary.
Courses remained ordinary.
At night—
lights in the dormitory went out one by one.
Outside, the wind was light.
Someone turned in bed.
The frame creaked softly.
Someone lay awake.
Staring at the ceiling.
The stratification list in the training building remained posted.
Its edges still flat.
Ability training stratification had become routine.
Structure fixed.
Students were categorized during those three periods.
77—
still placed complete trust in the system.