#tuncelif

[ I hope we can still make you happy, even though the old admins aren’t writing with us anymore. I’m sure they would be honored than this blog and their writing was able to help you. Having such loyal readers is a gift and I sincerely hope that moving forward, we can uphold their standards. Nevertheless, thank you for writing in, and here’s to better times ahead!

                                                                         –Admin Giotto ]

[ Additional Notes: The grading system mentioned in Hibari’s portion is the American system where an A represents 90th percentile of a grade, a B the 80th, and so on. An F is anything below the 50th percentile, and the lowest you can receive in most schools, meaning that you’ve failed the class (or assignment).

The economics course only allowing the top 10% of students to receive an A and only half of the students to pass the class altogether is actually based on a real economics teacher I had in high school. He was a dick, and this was therapeutic to write. ]

Hibari:

“What a useless grading scheme,” Hibari turned over the syllabus in his long fingers, frowning at the percentages listed in bold. “It’s not even curved.”

“It’s an economics class,” You explain, and run a frustrated hand through your hair. “The professor is using the scarcity principle to game our grades. It’s stupid and completely rigged to justify favoritism. It’s been that way all semester.”

The heavy sigh that blew out of you pulled Hibari’s attention from the syllabus, and his dark eyes focused on the defeated slump of your shoulders.

“Half the class will actually fail? Only ten percent will achieve top marks?” He set the syllabus back with your things, considering the system’s merit.

“Yeah. My GPA shouldn’t take a blow just because someone else scored an A, too.”

“I see.” The answer seemed obvious to Hibari. If the goal of the class was to reflect the resource scarcity of real life, then the answer was to ensure your control of resources.

You gave an exhausted laugh, and let your head fall onto the pages of your textbook. “Yeah, me too.”

————–

“Hibari,” You called, wandering into the house. He looked up from his book, and you held your final grades transcript for the semester up in confusion. “I…. I got an A.”

“Don’t you usually?” The answer was casual, almost bored.

“Not in this class. Not my economics class.”

“You received an A because you have ties to the mafia.”

It took you a moment to process that. Hibari was never so…. so blasé about mafia business. Or using it to interfere in your life.

“I… I’m sorry, what? What about mafia ties?”

“The only solution to acquiring a scarce resource is to seize the control of that resource.” Hibari turned the page of his book, seeming to have lost interest.

“Hibari, what did you do? Did you rig my grades?!”

“Your professor wanted to simulate reality. Reality is that your ties to the mafia give you a means that other students don’t have. Those means secured your grade.” He raised an eyebrow, as if this were obvious.

“I worked so hard,” Your voice shook. “I studied for hours, and whatever grade I would’ve gotten, I would have deserved! Because it would have been me that earned it, not the mafia! Not my boyfriend! Not my professor being threatened!”

“Why are you upset about succeeding?” Hibari’s brow furrowed, his attention no longer on the book in his lap. “Is it so upsetting that you received an A you would have deserved, if it weren’t for his justifications for favoritism?” He threw your words back at you, like they justified what he had done.

“I wasn’t successful! You were!” You all but screamed, shaking the paper at him. “I worked hard, Hibari! I wanted to do this myself!”

“Success isn’t about hard work,” His tone was clipped. “It’s about strategy. It’s about playing the game, and using the means at your disposal. And you won this round, _____. That’s what success is.”

————————————————————————————–

Giotto:

“I’m never gonna finish this paper before the deadline!” Stress radiated from every tense line of your body as you frantically poured over research, hands flying over each keystroke like your fingers were on fire.

“Ah, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll have enough time!” Giotto laid a soothing hand between your shoulder blades, and kissed the top of your head.

Within an hour, your professor issued a class-wide extension of the deadline. You breathed a sigh of relief, and went to get a cup of coffee.

——–

“Oh, this class looks interesting. It even counts towards my prerequisites!” You tapped the title in your course book excitedly, showing the man poised over your shoulder. It was so rare to find enjoyable classes that counted towards your core curriculum. Skimming through the information listed, your good mood fell abruptly. Only worth three credits. Silently, you put an X through it and turned the page, continuing your search before the registration deadline hit.

His hand stopped yours, smoothing the page back down.

“You’re not going to take it?”

“No,” You sighed. “It’s only three credits. I’d have to take another class to get all my credits in under the prerequisites, and that’s too expensive and way too much time. I’ll have to find something else.”

You tried to keep the disappointed tone out of your voice, but Giotto’s thoughtful hum meant you had failed miserably. He took your pen and scribbled down the course number.

“Just in case,” He told you. “Keep looking. I’ll be back later.” The apologetic look usually meant he had mafia business. Brushing it off, you went back to your search.

A week later, students were issued an updated course catalog just in time for the semester registration. Of the notable changes made, there as just one that interested you- the credits for the course you had so badly wanted to take had changed.

Four credits. Just enough to fill the requirement.

You eyes narrowed suspiciously.

——–

“I think the university made a mistake.” You kept your tone casual, not ready to show your hand. Instead, you focused on the screen in front of you, wearing a face of light confusion.

“A mistake?” Giotto’s brow furrowed in concern, and he peered over your shoulder. “How so?”

“It says my tuition has been paid.” You narrowed your eyes, and looked up at him. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Giotto?”

His face pinched, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Of course not–  ”

“  –So if I ask your secretary, she’s not gonna show me a bank statement that has a withdrawal to my university in it?” You interrupted, crossing your arms. Giotto was a terrible liar, at least when it came to you.

He paused and took a breath, seeming to carefully consider his next words.

“…..I only want you to be able to focus on your studies without worrying about the money.”

“I have a job and I can pay my own tuition.”

“You shouldn’t need to work your way through school.” He frowned, mirroring your frustration.

“I can do this myself! I don’t need you to pay my way, especially without my permission.”

“You don’t have to do this yourself.” Although it hadn’t been cross to begin with, his tone gentled. “I know you can. But you don’t have to.”

Your arms fell apart, anger draining out of you at his words.

“There’s nothing you can’t do yourself. But I’ll always be here to support you. Always.”

————————————————————————————–

Hayato:

“Don’t you think you’re spending a little too much time with those shitty textbooks?”

You poke your head up from the stack of homework you’ve accumulated.

“Are you jealous of my assignments, Gokudera?” There’s a coy smile you’re fighting to keep off your of your lips, as you peer at him in amusement.

“I’m not fucking jealous, I just think you’re neglecting your duties to the Famiglia.” He fixes you with a glare, but you’ve learned to read Hayato’s moods like the back of your hand.

He’s not mad. He isn’t even worried about mafia business. He’s jealous.

“I just have to get through midterms and I’ll be back to normal, okay?” You give him a reassuring smile, turning the pen in your fingers. As cute as it is that he wants your attention, you really need to get this assignment done.

“No,” He snaps. “You’re spending too much fucking time studying and you’re always gone at classes when you’re needed here. This isn’t working, ____.”

The agreement had been that, even while taking classes, your first priority would the Famiglia. And in your eyes, you had upheld that bargain beautifully. Anger finally getting the best of you, you dropped the pen and stood, planting the hands on the pages in front of you.

“I never miss a training session! I never miss a mission! There’s not a day I haven’t sacrificed going to class if I was needed for something, and you know it! You want to talk about always being gone? Where are you, half the time anyways, huh?”

“I’m off taking extra missions to keep work off you back, idiot!” Hayato unfolds himself from the doorway, standing to his full height as his own anger flares to life. “I make sure you have time to go to class! I take other partners so you can write your shitty term papers! And it’s not gonna keep working like that!”

You blinked, staring at him open-mouthed. You’d had no idea he was working so hard to give you time for school. Hadn’t known there were missions he took behind your back so you could focus on assignments.

“I’m sorry,” The words spilled out of your mouth. “I’m sorry, Gokudera. I…. I didn’t realize.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, I bet you didn’t.”

“I’ll cut down to part time. I won’t make you cover for me, anymore.”

Hayato eyes you skeptically, but nods. The small gesture speaks volumes about his support. If he didn’t want you in university, he wouldn’t demanded you pull out altogether. If he thought your degree was a waste of time, he wouldn’t have cut down your mafia duties behind your back.

“And…..Gokudera?” He throws a glance over his shoulder, having turned to leave.

“Thanks.”

“Whatever. You’d better not fuckin’ fail those classes.”