"Sensei, can real money, the yen, be converted into points? If I have a lot of money in my pocket, I want to buy more points."
"No," she answers flatly. "You cannot buy points with real money directly."
"Directly?" I repeat the word, tasting the implication. "I see. To my next question. Let's say Student A goes to the mall on campus and buys a brand new game console and some food. A week later, Student A decides to sell those goods to Student B for half the original price. Student B pays with their points. Is that against the rules?"
Chabashira keeps her face entirely still. "No. There is no rule prohibiting the exchange of goods between students."
"Excellent. Then the third question." I take a half-step forward, closing the distance just a fraction. "Is it allowed for students to accept free won items from the convenience store or the mall?"
Chabashira's left eyebrow twitches. A tiny, almost imperceptible break in her armor. "What do you mean?"
"For instance," I say, keeping my voice light and conversational. "Let's say a student is suddenly chosen by a department store as a lucky winner of a brand new laptop. Or perhaps a student is given a free voucher for a convenience store, allowing them to get free meals for three years simply because they were the very first person to make a purchase during a store anniversary. Is there a rule prohibiting a student from accepting those rewards?"
She stares at me. The silence stretches out in the empty hallway.
I press the logic a bit further. "I was just thinking about it from a legal perspective. If a company operating on campus promotes a lottery or hands out a voucher, failing to fulfill that promise to the winning customer would be against the law. The school couldn't possibly force a private business to break consumer protection laws, right?"
Chabashira narrows her eyes. I can practically see the gears turning behind her dark stare: This kid...
She does not answer right away. I don't let her finish her thought.
I strike while she is still off balance. A human mind needs closure. When you tell someone you have three questions, they subconsciously build a mental finish line. They budget their attention and their defensive walls for exactly three inquiries.
By waiting until she is deep in thought processing the strange legal loophole of the third question, I shatter that framework.
Dropping an unannounced fourth question at the exact moment she is trying to formulate a safe, non-committal answer to the third forces a cognitive stumble.
It breaks the rhythm of a conversation. It denies the listener the chance to prepare their defenses, forcing a purely reactive, instinctual response. I want to see her flinch.
"Actually, Sensei, I have a fourth question," I say quickly, dropping the bomb before she can open her mouth. "If a convenience store drops its prices to half for all students simply because the store owner feels like it, will that be allowed?"
Chabashira's expression does not shift a millimeter.
"I cannot answer both of your questions," she states. Her voice is much colder now which carries a heavy edge of authority.
"Huh?" I feign innocent surprise.
"Go back to your classroom," she orders, turning away from me with a sharp pivot. "The opening ceremony will start soon."
She walks away, her heels striking the floor with significantly more force than before. She does not look back.
I stand alone in the bright, pristine hallway. I watch her figure disappear around the corner leading to the faculty lounge. A wide, uncontrollable smile finally breaks across my face.