I inspect them quickly and point to the one on the right. The corners are sharp and the cardboard is not crushed.
"I will take that one. Sir, can you help seal this box? It is required for the special exam to look completely unopened."
The manager raises an eyebrow but gestures to the clerk to grab the packing tape dispenser.
Before the clerk can fold the cardboard flaps down, I quickly slide my heavy canvas shoulder bag off my arm. I lift the bag and drop it directly inside the empty console box.
The heavy textbooks and notebooks hit the bottom of the cardboard with a solid, weighty thud.
The young clerk stares at me, completely baffled by the action. He looks at the manager, silently asking for permission to continue.
"Just seal it," the manager orders quietly.
The clerk pulls a long strip of clear packing tape across the top flaps. The adhesive rips off the roll with a loud, tearing screech. He presses it down firmly, securing the box shut.
With my bag inside, the package now possesses the heavy, dense weight of actual electronic hardware. It looks entirely brand new and unopened.
"How much do I owe you, sir? I will pay," I say, reaching toward my pocket.
The manager shakes his head. "It's fine. Empty boxes are not part of our inventory anyway. We would have just crushed it. Just go and study hard."
I smile warmly. "Thank you so much. I really appreciate the help."
I grab the sides of the large box and lift it off the counter. The weight of my textbooks shifts slightly inside, but it feels convincing. Carrying a huge, expensive-looking electronics box, I walk out of the store and head back down the escalator.
It is already noon. My stomach gives a low, quiet rumble.
The cafeteria is the next logical stop.
I walk out of the Keyaki Mall and carry the heavy box across the campus grounds. The main cafeteria building sits near the center of the school, designed to handle hundreds of students simultaneously.
Pushing through the double doors, a wave of noise washes over me. The room is massive, filled with long rows of white tables and orange plastic chairs. Dozens of students line up at the various food stations, ordering steaming bowls of ramen, crispy pork cutlets, and fresh salads. The smell of fried food and rich broth hangs heavy in the air.
I scan the crowded room. Near the center, a loud group of boys from Class D sit around a table. Ike Kanji and Yamauchi Haruki are stuffing their faces with expensive premium set meals. They are laughing loudly, showing off the food they bought with their huge new point balances.
Perfect. The audience is in position.
I execute the plan.
Walking directly to the very end of the service counter, I bypass the glowing menus displaying the expensive dishes. I reach the small, neglected section labeled "Free Meals."
A bored cafeteria worker stands behind the glass. I point to the tray of free food. He wordlessly scoops a portion onto a plastic plate and slides it across the metal counter.
It is the infamous Mountain Vegetable Meal. It looks like a pile of sad, boiled weeds sitting next to a lump of dry, gray rice.
I pick up the tray with one hand and balance the heavy game console box under my other arm. I walk steadily toward the center of the room and pick an empty table situated right near Ike and Yamauchi's loud group.
Setting the large, expensive-looking box down squarely in the middle of the table, I place my tray of free food next to it. I pull out a plastic chair and sit down.