I remember every single line in that light novel.
For a person like Ayanokouji, he is unnaturally observant. He notices the smallest details about people's breathing, their eye movements, and the exact placement of objects in a room. It seems entirely impossible for him to miss the fact that contraceptives are sold openly in the campus convenience store. Unless, of course, he made a complete rookie mistake by overlooking the hidden but obvious messages the administration is broadcasting.
The presence of these items proves that sex is actually allowed at this school.
In Year 2, Volume 2, Chapter 3.2, Amasawa Ichika spells it out perfectly. She mentions that the official school rules stating "unsuitable romantic relationships were frowned upon" act as nothing more than a strict formality. They are just lines printed on paper to appease the government watchdogs and the parents outside the walls.
Amasawa even admitted that she came to this exact convenience store and bought a contraceptive. She said the clerk just scanned it and pretended she did not see anything at all.
This convenience store is heavily monitored. Security cameras hang from the white ceiling tiles in every single corner, and the school administration has full access to the footage. They know exactly what the students purchase.
So, how is it possible that Amasawa easily realized the truth while Ayanokouji completely missed it? She understood instantly that physical intimacy is permitted as long as nobody gets caught causing a public scandal. Meanwhile, Ayanokouji convinced himself in his opening monologue that it was strictly outlawed.
Did he know the truth but lie to himself in his own internal thoughts? That would be ridiculous. A person doesn't lie to their own internal monologue unless they are suffering from a severe psychological fracture.
Well, the best hypothesis I have is simple. Ayanokouji just overlooked the contraceptives entirely. He was probably being lazy while scanning the store aisles on his first day, choosing to focus on the free items and the food prices instead of the bottom shelves of the personal care section. It is a rare, entirely human mistake from a boy who usually operates like a machine.
Shaking my head, I step away from the display and walk up to the checkout register.
A young woman in a green apron stands behind the counter. She looks bored, resting her chin on her hand. I place my plastic basket onto the black laminate surface. Inside the basket sit three identical, plain white boxes containing a toothbrush, a cheap bar of soap, and a small tube of toothpaste.
The clerk glances down and blinks in mild surprise.
Usually, on the very first day of the semester, the freshmen act like lottery winners. They flood the store and throw down huge amounts of private points on expensive sodas, imported chocolates, and premium lunch boxes.
Seeing a first-year student wearing a crisp new uniform intentionally select the absolute worst, lowest-quality free items available probably breaks her expected daily pattern.
She doesn't say a word. She just picks up the items one by one. The barcode scanner beeps three times. The red laser flashes across the cheap cardboard.
"That will be zero points," she says dryly.
I tap my student ID card against the plastic payment terminal. A small green light flashes, confirming the transaction. I grab the three small boxes, shove them into my pocket, and walk out of the automatic glass doors.
The morning air outside feels slightly warmer now. The heavy crowds of students have thinned out around the convenience store. Most of them are likely heading to the cafes or exploring the massive campus grounds.
I adjust the heavy canvas strap of my shoulder bag.