Tal's POV
The harsh smell of cheap chlorine clings stubbornly to my skin. Even after a quick shower in the locker room, the chemical scent bleeds from my pores, mixing with the damp fabric of my uniform shirt. I sit at my desk in the quiet classroom, resting my chin on my knuckles. The afternoon sunlight bakes floor.
My mind naturally drifts back to the fifty-meter freestyle race an hour ago. The heavy-set physical education coach paced the wet tiles, barking orders and blowing his silver whistle.
*I'll give out a special bonus to the first-place winner: 5000 points. The student who comes in last place, however, will have to take supplementary lessons...*
Yeah, right. As if.
The threat hangs in the air like a paper tiger. Supplementary lessons mean absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of this facility. The school projects the image of a standard, rigorous academic institution with weekend detentions and extra laps around the pool.
But the reality is far more brutal. If a class bombs the upcoming midterms and drops their total class points to zero, the school will let them starve. They will let the students turn on each other.
A supplementary swimming lesson is a pathetic facade meant to keep the freshmen blind to the actual meat grinder they are standing inside.
I rest my right hand flat against the scratched surface of my desk. Slowly, deliberately, I move my fingers.
Index.
Thumb. Thumb. Thumb.
In my previous life, I sat in a cramped, dark bedroom for nearly twelve months practicing that exact motion. I stare at the blank wall and twitch my digits until the tendons in my wrist burned and my knuckles cramped.
Why put myself through that physical torture? The answer exposes the exact gap between a regular fan and a super fan.
Regular fans buy the printed volumes. Arguing on message boards takes up their evenings. Collecting a few expensive plastic figurines probably makes them feel dedicated. That constitutes a regular fan.
A super fan, however, drags the lore straight off the page and forces it into reality. The "Classroom of the Elite" universe acts like oxygen to me. When a character utilizes an obscure, highly technical communication method, I refuse to just scan the text and turn the page. I master the technique immediately. My muscles have to know exactly how it feels to execute the movement in the physical world.
Not to mention, I read the Light Novel a hundred times over. That's how dedicated I was during my previous life.
That's how a super fan like me is significantly different from regular fans who just read the Light Novel, argue in online forums, and criticize Fanfic Stories even though they don't fully understand everything beneath the surface of the "Classroom of the Elite" universe.
It is that exact level of obsession that drove me to test my finger-tapping experiment during history class. Doing visual Morse code is incredibly hard. Reading it is a nightmare.
"Kikyou-chan, do you want to stop by a café on our way back today?"
A high, bubbly voice drifts over from the classroom doorway. I turn my head slightly. A few girls stand near the front, adjusting their heavy school bags.
"Sure, let's go! Oh, but wait just a minute, okay? I want to invite one more person." Kushida Kikyou smiles brightly, spinning around on her heel. She walks directly toward the back of the room, approaching Horikita Suzune. Horikita is quietly shoving a thick textbook into her bag.
I look back down at my hand. The truth is, relying on sight to translate Morse code breaks standard human processing. Traditional Morse code relies entirely on sound duration.
Your ear naturally catches the rhythm of a short beep versus a long beep. It translates the spacing automatically. Visual finger-tapping removes that auditory crutch.
To read it, you have to stare at a tiny joint movement. You must visually measure the exact microsecond a thumb stays depressed against a surface, differentiate a dot from a dash in real-time, hold that sequence in your short-term memory, and map it to a letter.
You have to do all of that while the sender is moving, shifting their weight, or actively talking to someone else.
That is exactly why Ike and Yamauchi failed to decipher the message I tapped out during history class.
*This teacher's butt is huge, don't you agree Ike? Yamauchi?*
I deliberately fed them a crude, degenerate joke to test their visual awareness. They just stared at my hand like I was having a severe muscle spasm.
It is illogical to expect them to catch it. Their IQ levels hover near the bottom of the academic barrel. They lack the sustained focus to pay attention to a teacher writing giant chalk letters on a blackboard.
Expecting them to read the spatial-temporal micro-movements and translate them into a coherent alphabet on the fly is a joke.
"Horikita-san, would you like to come with us to a café today?" Kushida asks. Her voice is sweet, thick with forced friendliness.
"Not interested."
Horikita does not even look up. She throws the invitation back with the force of a slammed door. The rejection is cold and leaves absolutely no room for interpretation or polite excuses.
This brings me to the biggest logical contradiction in the entire anime adaptation:
The Episode 7 of Classroom of the Elite.
The infamous pool scene. The writers entitled it "Nothing Is as Dangerous as an Ignorant Friend; a Wise Enemy is to Be Preferred."
In the anime, Ike, Yamauchi, Sudou, and Sotomura launch "Operation: Peep on the Girls' Dressing Room."
During this operation, they supposedly communicate across the crowded, chaotic pool deck using index and thumb finger Morse code. They execute it flawlessly. They look like a covert intelligence unit.
That is a blatant, ridiculous lie.
The Light Novel never mentioned them using Morse code in that scene. The original text remained logically consistent. The anime completely exaggerated their abilities for visual comedy.
No normal high school student can transmit and read visual Morse code at that speed without extensive, grueling practice. Even after practicing it myself for a year, catching a rapid transmission requires absolute silence and perfect line of sight.