Private points are everything in this school.

They determine your freedom, your privileges, and, in some cases, your survival.

Ryuen understands this better than anyone.

That's why his real strategies never rely on brute force alone. Special Exams, class wars, psychological manipulation—he doesn't just fight battles. He orchestrates them. He makes you think you have control, only to reveal that he was pulling the strings all along.

But I've learned his tricks!

I've seen how he works!

His provocations, his mind games, and the way he sets up an illusion of chaos while operating under a perfectly calculated plan.

So when he mentioned placing bets, I immediately understood.

Gambling!

Probably.

It had to be something along those lines. A contest over private points, high stakes, high tension. Maybe a rigged game, maybe something designed to exploit weaknesses. A test of skill? A psychological showdown?

I ran through every possibility in my mind, preparing countermeasures.

This time, I'd win.

That's why—

That's why—

Why was this happening?!

[Holy shit, even I didn't expect that.]

Ayanokouji stepped into the room behind me, his gaze slowly sweeping over the bizarre setup before us. His eyes flickered toward the massive speakers positioned at both ends of the room, their polished surfaces gleaming under neon lights.

Then, his attention drifted toward the two glowing platforms embedded in the floor, each pulsating with shifting colors, as if waiting—no, demanding—someone to step onto them.

The entire room was bathed in a chaotic, multicolored glow, like a fever dream designed by an overenthusiastic arcade junkie.

I barely registered Ayanokouji's quiet look of intrigue before my attention snapped to the girl standing beside Ryuen.

Ibuki Mio.

W-What is she wearing?!

Gone was her usual sporty, no-nonsense look. Instead, she had on a black cropped jacket with metallic blue highlights, paired with fingerless gloves and ripped leggings that gave off an aggressively cool street-dancer vibe. A pair of heavy boots tapped impatiently against the floor as if she was barely holding herself back from showing off whatever nightmare-inducing routine they had planned for me.

A gaming reference suddenly popped into my head.

Final boss energy.

I swallowed nervously.

And then there was Ryuen.

If Ibuki looked like she stepped out of an underground dance crew, then Ryuen—Ryuen looked like a goddamn golden dragon who got lost on his way to a rap battle.

A shiny gold bomber jacket, magenta-streaked sneakers, and multiple rings on his fingers—it was as if he raided a high-end streetwear store with the specific goal of blinding his opponents into submission. His magenta hair, already ridiculous on a normal day, seemed to catch the neon light just right, making him look even more unreasonably pleased with himself.

I stared at the scene unfolding before me, my brain short-circuiting as I tried to process the reality of the situation.

This wasn't a gamble.

This wasn't a battle of wits.

This wasn't even a fight.

I slowly turned my head toward Ryuen, who was grinning like a smug bastard who had just shattered every expectation I had.

I suddenly had the intense urge to log out of reality.

"This… This is the challenge?!" I finally blurted out.

Ryuen's smirk widened, like a villain about to reveal the second phase of a boss fight.

"What? You scared?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. No words came out.

Because no amount of preparation could have possibly prepared me for this.

I had been ready for mind games.

I had been ready for manipulation.

I had not been ready for this!

Ryuen spread his arms wide, his golden jacket catching the neon lights as he introduced the last stage of the game.

"Welcome," he announced, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the gathered crowd, "to today's event at Keyaki Mall!"

Wait.

This is the so-called event?!

I blinked. That was when I finally noticed just how many people were watching.

Students from Advanced Nurturing High School filled the space, some standing in small groups, others sitting on nearby benches or leaning against the walls. The crowd wasn't massive, but it was definitely big enough to make me want to melt into the floor.

Ryuen gestured toward the glowing platforms. "Today's challenge is simple." His grin sharpened. "A dance battle!"

What.

I had no time to process before he kept going, completely ignoring the shock in my expression.

"You and Ibuki will compete for votes. The audience—" he waved a hand toward the students, "—will decide the winner based on who puts on the best performance. The loser hands over the agreed amount of Private Points. Simple, right?"

No. No, this was not simple.

This was not what I signed up for.

Of course. I had mentally prepared for

every single one of Ryuen's dirty tricks.

But this?

This was so far outside the realm of normal battlefield conditions that my brain still refused to process it as reality.

Ibuki let out an annoyed huff, shifting her weight to one side. "I still can't believe you talked me into this."

"Shut the fuck up and follow orders," Ryuen shot back without missing a beat. "I knew the second I saw you fighting that you'd be a natural at this. Those ridiculous moves you pull? All that flexibility? There's no fucking way I wouldn't use that to rob some losers blind."

Excuse me?!

I turned to Ibuki, who glared at him like she was debating whether losing the bet was worth roundhouse kicking him into next week.

Meanwhile, my own mind was spiraling.

A dance battle.

In front of a crowd.

For Private Points.

I had prepared countermeasures for every possible Ryuen scheme. Every single one.

But not once—not in my wildest, most ridiculous predictions—did I ever consider this absolute nonsense.

I narrowed my eyes at Ryuen, my brain still struggling to keep up with the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"Wait—hold on. Where the hell did you even get this place?!"

Because seriously, a fully decked-out event space, complete with neon lighting, massive speakers, and professional-looking dance platforms? There was no way this was just lying around waiting for him to use.

Ryuen tilted his head, smirking as I had just walked straight into his trap.

"Oh? Curious, are we?" He let out a low chuckle, stretching out his arms as if basking in his brilliance of plan. "Simple. I took every single private point from Class C and used it to rent this place out."

I stared at him.

Then I stared harder.

"…You what?"

Is he insane!?

"You heard me," he shrugged.

"You—" My voice almost cracked. "How are they supposed to afford anything now? How are they supposed to live?"

At that, Ryuen actually laughed. A full, unrestrained, smug-as-hell laugh.

"You're thinking too small," His golden jacket practically shimmered as he leaned in slightly, voice dripping with amusement. "You ever consider that this is an investment?"

My brain stalled.

"An… investment?"

"Damn right." He gestured around the room like a businessman showing off his empire. "Renting this place means I can bleed idiots dry after school, over and over again. I will make insane private points off dumbasses who think they can win against me. And on top of that? I get complete control over what goes on here. Kukuku!"

He laughed, sharp and predatory.

"Which means I can do whatever the hell I want—" he grabbed a nearby wine glass off a table, swirling the deep red liquid lazily before taking a slow sip, "—while sipping on a nice drink. So tell me, what exactly do you think you're gonna do about it?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Tried again.

Nothing.

I couldn't even argue.

Logically speaking, it was a ridiculously effective way to gain control over private points. Completely unethical, but effective.

And the worst part?

He looked like he was enjoying every second of watching me struggle to come up with a counterargument.

I stared at the neon-lit stage in sheer, unfiltered horror.

A dance battle.

A dance battle.

I wasn't a dancer. I wasn't even close to a dancer. I was a gamer. The only rhythm I had was the kind that came from hours of perfecting frame-perfect dodges in fighting games.

My stomach twisted as the reality of the situation set in.

[SYSTEM: WARNING! WARNING! ERROR: "Skill: Dance" not found!]

A familiar voice echoed in my head, completely unfazed by my spiraling thoughts.

[Just kidding! I have your back, girl! You can count on me!]

…Oh no.

The last thing I needed was for System to try to be helpful.

System, what the hell am I supposed to do?!

[Relax! It's just like playing a rhythm game!]

WAY MORE COMPLICATED!

[Ah, I see. You fear the unknown. But do not worry! Just let the beat guide you! Listen to the rhythm of your heart! Feel the music in your soul!]

I could feel a headache forming.

I don't even remember ever dancing before.

That was the problem. Even if I wanted to try, there was no past experience to rely on. No muscle memory, no strategy, nothing.

And then—out of the corner of my eye—I saw him.

Standing in the farthest part of the room, watching me.

A-Ayanokouji.

But I still remembered what he said before all of this.

A spark of something ignited in my chest.

Ayanokouji believed in me.

Which meant—

I had no choice.

I had to win.

I had to impress him.

I exhaled slowly, then turned to Ryuen with as much seriousness as I could muster.

"…Do I have to rap or something?"

Ryuen blinked at me. Then, a slow smirk spread across his face, like he just heard the funniest shit all day.

"The hell are you on about?" he scoffed. "It's a dance battle, not a rap battle. You and Ibuki dance to your own chosen track. The crowd votes. That's it."

So that was the setup. No tricks, no sudden microphone duels, no forced lyrical humiliations. Just pure dance.

That should've been reassuring.

It wasn't.

Because I still couldn't dance.

[WAIT. WAIT. THIS IS PERFECT!]

I nearly jumped.

What do you mean 'perfect'? This is literally the worst-case scenario!

[No, no, listen! You ever noticed how 'Dating Sim' and 'Dancing Sim' sound kinda similar?]

…What?

[EXACTLY. That means I have unparalleled expertise in this field.]

That—That didn't even remotely make sense.

[Just trust me! All you need to do is pick the song I tell you, and I guarantee—you won't just impress your dear Ayanokouji, you'll also CRUSH Boss Ibuki like she's the final boss of a rhythm game!]

I hesitated.

I didn't trust him. Not even slightly.

But then—

I felt Ayanokouji's gaze on me again.

I peeked in his direction.

I bit my lip.

…Fine. What's the song?

[AHAHA! YES! TRUST IN ME, MY CHOSEN ONE!]

I stepped toward the student controlling the music. The moment felt surreal—like a bizarre fever dream where, instead of fighting for survival, I was about to dance for my dignity.

The guy at the music station looked at me, waiting.

I took a deep breath. "Play this track."

He blinked, staring at me like I had just asked him to summon a demon. Then, after a moment, he gave a small nod. "Alright."

Before I could even process what I had just done, Ryuen's voice cut through the air.

"Oi, quit stalling! Get on the damn stage already!"

I scowled but moved toward the glowing dance floor, my steps feeling heavier than ever.

And that's when it happened.

PING!

A glowing notification popped up in my vision.

ㅤ

[New Quest: Dance or Die Trying]

Objective:

Defeat Dance Boss Ibuki.

Impress Ayanokouji.

Convince yourself this is a real strategy.

Avoid looking like a total clown. (Optional, but highly recommended.)

Don't let Ryuen get smugger than he already is.

Bonus Objective:

Execute at least ONE move that makes the crowd lose their minds.

Maintain confidence, even if you have absolutely no idea what you're doing.

Failure Conditions:

Public humiliation.

Eternal regret.

Ryuen laughing at you for the rest of your academic career.

Ayanokouji is left unimpressed.

Reward: ? (System refuses to elaborate, but strongly hints it's "life-changing.")

ㅤ

F-Failure conditions?

[Hey, don't blame me.]

I stared at the quest in horror.

What... did you do...?

[AHAHA! IT'S THE ULTIMATE TEST OF WILLPOWER AND SHOWMANSHIP!]

It's just a dance battle!

[NOW GO OUT THERE AND DANCE LIKE YOUR LOVE LIFE DEPENDS ON IT.]

…Oh god.

I was so screwed.

Then, the speakers exploded with the power of rhythm.

Kyary Pamyu Pamyu - PonPonPon (Y/2/K Remix) from 2:00 to 2:39

The moment the music started, a deep, pulsing bass reverberated through the room. The beat was fast—intense, filled with sharp percussions and a wild energy that practically demanded movement.

And Ibuki?

She owned it.

The second the first drop hit, she launched into a sequence so explosive that the entire crowd gasped. A sharp spin on her heel, a sudden drop into a low stance, and then— bam! She flipped backward into a perfect handspring, landing with the grace of someone who had spent their entire life defying gravity.

She didn't stop.

Every motion was precise, every movement fluid, like she was fighting an invisible opponent with nothing but raw athleticism. She twisted into a powerful aerial, flipping twice before landing into a crouch, then immediately pushed off into a rapid succession of breakdance-style spins.

The neon lights reflected off her figure as she moved—fast, relentless, untamed. Her blue hair laced with neon snapped through the air with every motion, and her fierce, determined expression never wavered.

The audience was eating it up—cheers and gasps echoing throughout the room as she flipped, spun, and absolutely annihilated the dance floor.

She executed a series of intricate flips and spins, each movement perfectly synchronized with the beat. Her athleticism and grace were on full display, leaving the crowd in awe.

As she concluded her performance with a final, gravity-defying backflip, the audience erupted into cheers, clearly impressed by her display of skill and showmanship.

A moment of stunned silence.

Then the crowd erupted.

…Oh, I was so dead.

[Okay, okay, don't panic!]

How am I not supposed to panic!?

[Because! I'm projecting your movements in real time. You just follow along—like a rhythm game! Remember? Easy, right?]

…That sounded like an absolutely awful idea.

[You'll have about 2.5 seconds to react, so just trust in the process! Meanwhile, I'll handle more complicated body movements. You'll be fine! Now go—music's starting!]

Wait—what?

Before I could even brace myself, the speakers pulsed with the first soft, sultry notes of the song.

"All I can do is try~"

…Wait. What kind of music is this?

(A/N: Just search for 'Horikita Dancing' :D or Henry Young - One More Last Time (feat. Ashley Alisha) dance)

A smooth, dangerously slow melody seeped into the air, each beat deep and intoxicating. The singer's voice dripped with honeyed emotion, laced with something almost… sensual.

Oh no. Oh no.

"Don't wanna let you go~"

I barely had time to react before my body moved on instinct, arms flowing across the illuminated room, following the precise projections flashing before my eyes. Each motion flowed seamlessly into the next, guided by something I didn't entirely understand.

But what I did understand?

This dance required my entire body!

A deep twirl sent heat rushing to my cheeks. My hips swayed in time with the music, far more than I would have ever consciously allowed. My arms followed, tracing fluid, elegant motions that felt way too suggestive for someone who had zero experience with this kind of thing.

"Thinking about you~ yeah~ only you~"

I forced my expression to remain composed, but inside? My brain was on fire.

This—This wasn't just a normal dance!

Every motion had this... slow, tantalizing grace to it. My body dipped lower into a sultry wave, rolling up into a seamless spin that made the hem of my outfit flare. The projections guided my hands up, tracing along my own silhouette before extending outward, fingers elegantly framing my face in a move that felt way too intimate.

My face was burning.

"Wanna hold you close just one more last time~"

I turned—locked eyes with the crowd for just a fraction of a second—only to realize the room had gone completely silent.

Was this too much? Too weird? Too—

Another beat pulsed through the air, and my body followed—spinning into a slow, deliberate movement that had my fingers grazing my collarbone before I extended outward, the rhythm controlling me completely.

I couldn't stop.

I didn't know how to stop.

"Hold me close~ one more last time~"

Someone in the crowd let out an audible gasp.

My stomach flipped.

Was I actually… winning?

The final notes of the song melted into the air, leaving a lingering hum of anticipation in its wake. My breath was shallow, my skin impossibly warm.

A silent, internal scream echoed in the depths of my mind.

This was too much. This was way too much!

How was I supposed to survive this humiliation!? My entire body was betraying me! My face felt like it was on fire!

[Quick! Now smile!]

What!?

[Trust me! You can't back out now! This is your one and only chance to seal the win!]

I wanted to die. Right then and there.

[Do it! Do it now!]

I'm g-going to k-kill you.

I hissed through clenched teeth, my lips already curving into what was hopefully a passable smile.

It felt unnatural. Forced. I wanted to curl up and vanish into the void.

But then—I caught movement.

H-him.

His unreadable eyes locked onto mine.

And just for a second—

I thought I saw the faintest trace of something flicker in his expression.

I could still feel the phantom rhythm pulsing through my limbs, but the music was gone. The spell was broken.

Everyone was staring at me.

Ibuki looked like she had just witnessed something deeply embarrassing—her entire face was practically on fire. She was frozen in place, eyes locked onto me like she couldn't process what she had just seen.

Ryuen's mouth was hanging wide open. Not in amusement. Not in mockery. But in something that I desperately did not want to analyze.

I was going to throw myself into the ocean. Immediately.

A sudden shuffle of movement. The student in charge of the music awkwardly stepped forward, his face just as crimson as the rest of them.

He held up a shaky hand.

"U-Um… based on… the votes…" He gulped. "The w-winner is…"

A pause.

A long, painfully awkward pause.

"…Horikita... Suzune-san."

The silence shattered into chaos.

Kyaaa—!

Somewhere, someone screamed. Not in protest, not in anger—just screamed. As if their soul had ascended to another plane of existence.

Ibuki choked on air. Literally. She doubled over, coughing violently like she was trying to expel the sheer secondhand embarrassment from her system.

Ryuen wheeze-laughed. His head was thrown back, hands on his knees, like he had just witnessed the single funniest moment of his life.

The crowd exploded—a mixture of wild, scattered cheers and complete emotional devastation.

I couldn't stop covering my face. I tried. I really did. But every time I thought about what had just happened—what I had just done—my arms moved on their own, shielding my burning face from the world.

I tried to shrink into myself. Maybe if I willed it hard enough, I would evaporate.

A sharp jolt shot through my head.

[Sh—i—t…]

System's voice crackled, distorted, like a bad radio signal.

[N—t e—pected… s—meone rec—r—ng…]

H-huh? W-what is happening?

[Too—m—ch en—rgy… st—bil—ty… c—mprom—sed…]

Not just static. Not just a flicker. But full-blown system failure.

The world around me lurched. My vision blurred, twisting at the edges like a corrupted video file.

The noise—the cheers, the laughter—faded, replaced by an eerie, unnatural ringing in my ears.

My legs suddenly felt like jelly. I swayed—stumbling forward—only barely catching myself as my knees buckled.

"H-Hey—"

Someone called out. I couldn't tell who. My head pounded. My hands shot up, grasping at my temples as if I could physically hold my consciousness together.

System's voice flickered in and out, words barely recognizable through the digital corruption.

[—d̕͜a̷̶t̛a̴—̷to̵͞o̴͟ ͠ư̴n͡s̷̨t̡a̸͠b̵͜l͞e—]

A harsh, distorted chime rang in my head.

Lines of text flooded my vision—flashing erratically, jittering in a place like the System itself was convulsing.

[Q̵͜͝u̴̞͝e̷̦͂s̴̢̎t̴̥̓ C̴̥͘o̸͎̕m̷̞̏p̷̺̓l̷̡̑e̴͈͝ẗ̶̘́e̷̳̍d̶͚͒!̵̞̂]

And then everything fell apart.

[R͞E͘͠W̕͠A̶͢R̕͠D̵̨ ̷̶C̢̕A͘N͜͞N͟͝͞O͘͞T̴̨͞ B͝E͘͟ ̷̴P̛͝R̶̕͢Ơ̵C̡̛E̷̕͠S̵̢S͏E͢D̷̢]

ㅤ

ㅤ

ㅤ

ㅤ

[S̶y̶s̸t̵e̶m̵ ̴O̵v̸e̴r̷l̷o̷a̵d̴ ̵D̶e̵t̴e̷c̵t̶e̶d̴]

ㅤ

[V̵͙̭͙̳̦͇͇̺̻̲̹̠̱̯̟̜͕̺̈́̅̒̎͂̾̑̀̈̑̀͌̕̚̕͜͠ͅĮ̷̞̻̝͕̲͉̹̝̼͚̟̬̪̱̏̂͌͌͊̇̑̍̄̒̅̇̄̊̕͝͝͝D̶̨̛̳̗̺̖̠̗͚̳͈̲̥̤̾̏̏̈́͂̓̊̓̈̎͐̏͊̄̇̕̕̕͜͜ ̶̼̗̭̤̲̠̘̭̗̗͎͒̈́̉̒̋̍̊͌̉̆̈́͆̾̈́̿̏͝͠R̶̞͉̪͖̦̻̳̬̝̜̰̯̲̘͇̳̞̀͆̽̈́̔̎͑̋̾͗̾̚͘͜͝͝͝͝E̸̛̪͉͖̙̼̼̦̗̗͆̿̊͊͌͆̈́̔̾̋̓̈́̈́͑̈́́̕͝W̶̨̺̲̳̰̤͌̅̍̊̑̄̀̑̒̄͌͋̎͒͘͝͠A̴̠͙͕̟̬̘̞͇̦̦̎̓̄̿̽̑̋̒̾͆̃̔͆̈͘̚͘R̵̢̞͓͎̘̩̺͍͎͓̝̘̰̲͎̺̂́̽̽͂̄̋͆̅̆͊̈́̎͘̚̕̚͠ͅD̷̢͉̱̘͗͛́̊̔̒̓̊̄͛͗͂͘͘̕͘͜͠͠]