The chalkboard of Class 3-A was covered in a chaotic web of spider-charts, half-erased budget figures, and aggressive question marks. It was the "Emergency Festival Committee" meeting, and for the first time in history, the academic elite of the school were failing a test.
"We can't serve 'French Fusion' if nobody knows how to temper chocolate!" the class representative, Sato, yelled over the mounting chatter. "And the budget committee just informed us that our imported linen napkins cost half of our entire operating fund!"
"Just hire a catering service," someone suggested from the back.
"Against the rules! It has to be student-run," Sato groaned, burying his face in his hands. "At this rate, we’re going to be the only class in the third year with an empty room and a deficit."
Rika sat at her desk, her eyes scanning the budget sheet Sato had pinned to the board. To her, the errors were glaring—inefficient resource allocation, zero consideration for "rush hour" foot traffic, and a menu that was physically impossible to prep in a classroom sink.
She felt a familiar presence shift in the seat next to her. Rentaro was leaning back, his arms crossed, a look of pure, amused boredom on his face.
"It’s a train wreck," he murmured, loud enough only for Rika.
"It’s worse," Rika whispered back. "They’re treating a school festival like a corporate merger. They don't understand that a café isn't about prestige; it's about turnover and inventory management."
"Why don't you tell them, 'Ice Queen'?" Rentaro teased. "Or are you enjoying the show?"
Rika looked at the class—her peers, the people who had spent years looking at her with either envy or distance. Then she looked at Sato, who looked like he was about to have a nervous breakdown.
She stood up. The scraping of her chair against the linoleum was loud enough to kill the noise in the room.
"The French Fusion concept is a logistical impossibility," Rika stated, her voice projecting with the authority she’d developed while handling rowdy customers at 2:00 AM.
The class turned. Sato blinked. "Shinozaki-san? Do you have a better idea?"
"I have a realistic one," Rika said. She walked to the board, picked up a piece of chalk, and drew a sharp line through the word Fusion. "We change the concept to a 'High-Efficiency Bistro.' We limit the menu to four high-margin items that can be prepped in bulk. We move the seating to a 'U' shape to maximize flow, and we implement a digital ordering system using a QR code to prevent bottlenecking at the entrance."
"And who’s going to manage the kitchen?" Kenji asked, sounding skeptical. "This isn't a chemistry lab."
"I will," Rika said. "And Hanamachi-kun will handle the Floor Operations and Logistics."
Rentaro’s chair hit the floor with a heavy thud as he sat upright. "Wait, I don't remember volunteering for this."
Rika turned to him, a challenge in her eyes. "You’re the only person in this room who knows how to handle a rush without breaking a plate, Rentaro. Are you going to let our class's reputation tank because you’re 'too cool' to wear an apron?"
The room went silent, the tension between the two top students crackling like a live wire. Rentaro looked at Rika, then at the desperate faces of his classmates. He let out a long, dramatic sigh and stood up, walking to the board to stand beside her.
"Fine," Rentaro grumbled, taking the chalk from her hand. "But if I’m in charge of Logistics, we’re doing a 'First-In, First-Out' inventory system. And if any of you 'geniuses' messes up a customer’s change, you’re answering to me."
Sato looked like he’d just been handed a lifeline in a storm. "You heard them! Shinozaki and Hanamachi are co-managing. Everyone, give them your full cooperation!"
As the class erupted into a new, more focused kind of chaos, Rentaro leaned toward Rika.
"You realize we just signed up for seventy-two hours of hell, right?"
Rika tucked a stray hair behind her ear, a confident smirk touching her lips. "It’s just a long shift, Rentaro. And this time, we’re the ones in charge of the bonus."22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSK9rwCdejQ
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