Chapter 3: Invisible Pressure

It all unfolded in less than an hour since the start of what was meant to be a long, grueling special exam.

2

There were those who clenched their teeth in frustration.

Those who still couldn’t comprehend what had happened.

Those who lay sprawled on the ground, unable to rise.

And those who glared back as if burning with resentment.

This was the half-collapse of Class C— brought about by the surprise attack of Class B, led by Ryūen.

As Ryūen looked down at the Class C students displaying a range of expressions, he released a quiet breath.

From the moment he unraveled the exam’s rules and learned through the draw that Class C would start in an adjacent area, he had already decided to execute a single strategy without hesitation.

A strategy aimed squarely at Ayanokōji. To defeat him.

In a three-night, four-day ordeal, tactics with strict usage limits were meant to be preserved. Everyone instinctively sought to avoid early confrontation. Ryūen exploited that instinct.

This was not a reckless gamble to decide everything within the first hour.

Rather, it was— by Ryūen’s calculation— the most effective countermeasure against Ayanokōji.

A body beyond ordinary limits.

A mind just as exceptional.

The longer the exam lasted, the more time Ayanokōji would gain to think. To analyze. To devise brutally effective applications of every tactic at his disposal.

He would read through Ryūen’s thinking— Horikita’s, and Ichinose’s— as well.

1

So the answer was simple: Strike before Ayanokōji could form a concrete plan.

That very judgment had borne fruit.

As Ryūen surveyed the spoils of the ambush, Katsuragi quietly stepped up beside him.

“I've confirmed the numbers with Kaneda through the VIP,” he reported. “We lost three. They lost fifteen. Among their casualties were Kito— one of our primary targets— and Nishikawa, their designated VIP.”

He paused, letting the weight of those figures settle. “This is, without question, a massive success. Better than we projected. Additionally, it appears Class C became separated from three members during their retreat. They're still wandering somewhere nearby. If we can eliminate them before our tactic expires—” He glanced at Ryūen. “I assume that's acceptable?”

“Yeah,” Ryūen replied. “If it works, that makes eighteen. Not bad.”

“However there’s one issue……” Katsuragi, harboring a slight concern, stiffened his expression and continued. “Kondō and Komiya chased after the fleeing Class C and haven’t returned. Kondō should catch up quickly if he hasn’t taken a wrong route, but Komiya has strayed far off and is now isolated.”

Katsuragi’s report came with an unwelcome detail.

“It’d be better if Kondō doesn’t catch up,” Ryūen said. “Even if he charges in alone, I don’t imagine him accomplishing anything against a vigilant Ayanokōji. Leave him.”

“Understood. Then shall I send Yamashita to retrieve Komiya? If leaving a girl alone is a concern, I can assign one additional male guard.”

Searching for separated students wasn’t something just anyone could do. Someone capable of coordinating with the commander was essential.

“Yeah, that works.”

Ryūen initially agreed with Katsuragi’s plan to dispatch the bare minimum.

But only for a moment.

“No— send ten.”

He immediately rescinded his words and revised the order, drastically increasing the headcount.

“Ten people? The risk of engagement seems low. Is this just insurance?” Katsuragi frowned. “I won't argue against caution, but it'll drain their stamina for no reason.”

“I almost forgot myself.” Ryūen's voice dropped, more deliberate and cold. “Moving in a small group is the same as handing those bastards a hint.”

1

Katsuragi went silent for a beat. Then understanding flickered across his face.

“…I see. Right. The GPS-jamming tactic is about to expire. Which means our position will be exposed to the other classes all at once, right?”

“Exactly. They'll realize a VIP is mixed in among those we send.”

The Identify Person tactic existed for precisely that reason— it allowed a class to check whose GPS signal they were looking at. If the timing and movement patterns were obvious enough, the enemy could pinpoint Yamashita’s status without spending much effort at all.

However, if they move in a unit of ten, even if the VIP is among them, it is a one-in-ten chance.

Ryūen reasoned that no class would burn a valuable tactic on those odds. The psychological barrier alone would make them hesitate.

Katsuragi nodded slowly. “That might be true… but are you sure? This could interfere with our plans going forward.”

Rather than respond to that concern, Ryūen shifted the focus.

“More importantly, how many rounds are left?”

“Roughly half. We'll definitely need to resupply during upcoming events, but for now, we can still fight as planned.”

Even after receiving Katsuragi's report, Ryūen's expression didn't soften. If anything, his guard went up.

By any reasonable measure, the results were exceptional— so good that asking for more would be greedy.

And yet, Ryūen couldn't bring himself to celebrate.

“Your plan worked perfectly,” Katsuragi, wanting to know the reason, asked Ryūen. “Yet you don't look happy at all.”

Before Ryūen could answer, Ishizaki came barreling over, breathing hard.

“Ryūen-san! Let’s chase down Class C right now and crush them! We’re completely ready!”

Students confident in their physical prowess gathered behind him, eager. At a single command, the pursuit could begin.

“—No. This is as far as we go.”

However, Ryūen did not order the attack as originally planned, but instructed them to pull back. The words cut through the momentum like a blade.

“Huh!? W-What do you mean!? It worked, didn’t it!?”

Before the ambush, Ryūen had made it clear: if the enemy fled, they would press the attack. And since the operation had succeeded beyond expectations, Ishizaki had assumed pursuit was inevitable.

Katsuragi, too, looked unsettled by Ryūen’s unexpected restraint.

“You're really not going to chase them?” he asked, confused. “If we let Class C create distance now, we may never get another chance like this.”

Katsuragi’s reasoning was sound. Right now, they could still close the gap. However, once the GPS jamming expired, surprise attacks would become nearly impossible. If there was ever a time to strike, it was now.

“Is something bothering you?” Katsuragi asked, trying to understand his train of thought.

“If the ambush had gone perfectly,” Ryūen replied, “I would’ve driven them to annihilation.”

“So this isn’t a success to you?”

“…He put up more resistance than I expected.”

Ryūen muttered as his gaze settled on a single figure in the distance— Kito, who, now eliminated, was making his way back toward the starting point.

“We certainly spent some time, but our losses were minimal.”

“That’s not the point,” Ryūen snapped. “The problem is we didn’t take down the one we needed to. If we’d iced Ayanokōji in that ambush, I would’ve happily done exactly what you and Ishizaki wanted— crushed the leftover trash. But as long as the most troublesome bastard is still standing, I wouldn’t be surprised if he flipped the board even against twice the numbers.”

2

Overcommitting and chasing too greedily could hand the opponent a superior position— and invite a counterattack.

Or worse, lead straight into a trap.

Weighing those risks against the gains, Ryūen chose to halt the pursuit.

“W–well, yeah, it’s true that Ayanokōji’s a monster,” Ishizaki stammered, gripping his weapon tighter. “But this isn't a fistfight, right? With this thing, even I could take him down.”

As he spoke, Ishizaki raised the shotgun in his hands.

“Maybe.” Ryūen replied without a look. “If we have him surrounded or cornered somewhere with no way out. Then, sure.”

His gaze drifted toward the forest depths— the direction Ayanokōji and the surviving Class C students had fled.

Visibility was even worse in there. The terrain, uneven and treacherous. And the towering trees grew thick enough to offer endless cover, plenty of opportunity to regroup, to hide, to plan.

Beyond that, there was the larger picture to consider. If the remaining three classes chose to avoid further conflict, Class C's last-place finish was all but guaranteed.

“With one VIP already taken out, Ayanokōji doesn’t have the luxury of playing defense anymore,” Ryūen said. “He’ll be forced to move. Which means there’s no reason for us to throw ourselves at him first.”

After hearing it through, Katsuragi digested Ryūen’s withdrawal strategy in his own way.

“I won’t deny the urge to say you’re being overly cautious around Ayanokōji,” he admitted. “But if we assume maximum vigilance… pulling back here may be the right call. The ambush succeeding at all is already a net gain. We unquestionably blunted Class C’s opening momentum. And more importantly— we proved that Ayanokōji isn’t invincible. That alone has value.”

“That’s exactly it,” Ryūen said.

In truth, what Ryūen had gained from this ambush wasn’t limited to physically eliminating half of Class C— including their VIP, Kito.

More than anything else, what mattered was this simple truth: even Ayanokōji wasn’t absolute.

2

If he truly were omnipotent, he would have foreseen the ambush. Anticipating Ryūen’s move the moment the starting zones were announced, he would have immediately put distance between himself and Class B and escaped cleanly. But he hadn’t.

1

The fact that even the most formidable enemy had cracks in his armor— however slight— was, to Ryūen, a great salvation.

“Good. Then let's not waste time,” Katsuragi said. “I'll assemble a ten-man search party, Yamashita included, and send them out immediately.”

He summoned Nomura over, relayed the discussion in brief, and set things in motion at once.

Ishizaki and a handful of others still buzzed with unspent adrenaline, the thrill of victory curdling into frustration at being held back. Even so, they suppressed those lingering emotions.

For Ryūen’s decision— if nothing else— was absolute.

And so, they accepted it.

Once the reorganization and reassignment of personnel were complete, Hashimoto called out to me again.

“Looks like there aren’t any problems. We’re ready to move anytime, anywhere.”

Nearly an hour had passed since the special exam began. With only a few dozen seconds left until the clock struck ten, the first major event— one that would finally set large-scale movement into motion— was about to begin.

The island had been divided into single-square zones, each square carefully marked from A1 to O15. Somewhere within those countless sections, events would now appear, forcing every class to make their move.

Since this was the very first event, it was important to grasp its scale and mechanics before committing too hard— to treat it as a chance to calibrate our instincts.

What was already known was limited and clearly stated in the rulebook: no events would occur in the three zones where commanders and instructors were stationed— E14, F13, and F14— nor in zones consisting entirely of open sea.

Hashimoto spread the map out wide, keeping Shiraishi close by, with the radio in hand. Nearby, Sanada stood ready as well, eyes fixed on his analyst’s tablet, waiting for the signal.

Then— right on schedule— the updates arrived.

“It looks like there are ten events in total for the first round,” Sanada announced calmly. “I’ll start by listing the locations only: B7, D14, E5, G7, G13, H9, J12, L14, M4—”

He paused briefly before finishing.

“And finally, N7.”

As Sanada read them off with precision, Hashimoto immediately marked each location on the map. Two other students, already standing by, copied the information down by hand on their copies as well, scribbling quickly so nothing would be missed.

Each event would remain active for exactly one hour from now. The moment that window closed— even by a single second— the revealed passwords would become invalid. That limitation alone drastically narrowed the number of places we could realistically reach.

“From where we’re standing,” Hashimoto said, tracing lines across the unfolded map with the tip of his pen, “the quickest target is G13, straight across from us. If we’re talking about something we can secure safely, D14 is the next best bet. H9 and J12 are technically reachable within an hour— but H9’s a different story. Class A and Class B have a massive advantage there.”

“H9’s supplies are food, right?” someone pointed out. “If there’s even a chance we can get our hands on it, it’d be ideal, but…”

The reality was harsh. While we would be pushing the time limit, the top two classes could reach H9 in mere ten to fifteen minutes. Even if we somehow arrived, the supply crate would almost certainly be empty.

“That’s like reaching into a fire for chestnuts,” Hashimoto muttered. “Worst case, we end up in a three-way shootout. Or— hell— if A and B start fighting each other, maybe we swing in from behind?”

He paused, finger pressed to his chin, running simulations in his head as the pen danced lightly over the grid.

But we were down to half strength now. Any aggressive move carried an outsized risk.

“If I were leading Class A,” Morishita interjected coolly, stepping into the discussion, “I’d abandon H9 without hesitation. Charge in just because it’s close, and Class B would tear into you from behind. It’s obvious.”

Sanada nodded, then offered a counterpoint. “In that case, couldn't they consider splitting the class in two and setting up a defensive line? Even Class B wouldn’t rush in if they knew they were walking into an ambush—”

“I doubt it,” Morishita replied, “With the momentum they have now, I wouldn’t be surprised if they pushed anyway. And rather than gamble on a dangerous standoff, it’s smarter to capitalize on what Class A has already gained. They were the first to break into the northern area. Securing G7, then moving on to E5, would be the safest and most reliable route.”

They’d probably be unhappy about abandoning the nearby food supplies, but this could be called the solid, risk-averse route.

I couldn't imagine Horikita wanting to engage in a fierce battle with Class B at this stage either.

And judging by what the commander relayed through Shiraishi, abandoning H9 was the correct call.

“We start by locking down G13 and D14,” I said, firm enough to end the debate.

“That’s straightforward,” Hashimoto agreed, relief evident in his voice.

G13 held ammunition. D14 carried daily necessities.

As for food— we’d push that problem to the next event window.

“The main unit will move to G13,” I said, eyes fixed on the map. “We’ll split off a secondary team— with four guards and VIP Takemoto in the lead who can receive real time positional updates from the commander."

If the analyst wasn’t accompanying them, then it became all the more important to keep the commander fully informed.

Accurately aligning where the supplies were with where they were required constant coordination.

“Yeah… makes sense,” Hashimoto muttered. “The wristwatch only tells you whether you’re inside the right area or not.”

D14 appeared to be uncontested for now, with no other classes in sight. But an event’s location was never fixed at the center of an area— it could be anywhere within that grid— and without a tablet, we'd have to comb through it on foot. If that search dragged on, we’d bleed precious minutes.

To maximize our chances of success, the VIP's presence was indispensable.

“Coordinate closely with the Commander and bring back those supplies.”

“All five of them?” Hashimoto raised an eyebrow. “Couldn’t Takemoto handle it alone?”

“Reaching the area isn’t the problem,” I replied. “Even if D14 is safe, we want to avoid scenarios where we fail to locate the event site, or where the supplies turn out to be too many to carry. We can’t afford that kind of miscalculation.”

“Oh— right,” Hashimoto nodded. “We’ve gotta think about hauling it back too.”

There were still unknowns.

Once we unlocked a crate with the password, could we still retrieve its contents after the hour expired?

Could we unload everything and leave it somewhere?

The rules were vague, and when the rules were vague, the safest approach was to eliminate every avoidable mistake.

At the same time, sending too many people would only drain stamina for no reason.

Forcing unnecessary movement was just another way to weaken ourselves.

That balance between certainty and conservation would ultimately depend on the conditions of the supply crates themselves, something we’d have to adjust to as we learned more.

For now, this was the optimal deployment.

“Five people will be enough,” Takemoto said with a nod, his tone steady. “And if there are no enemies nearby, we shouldn’t run into any trouble. Leave it to us. When we regroup, should we come back here?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Headquarters is easy to spot, so F13 will work. While you’re securing D14, we’ll move quickly through G13 and, at the same time, keep watch around F12 or G12. We need to make sure Class B doesn’t start pushing south.”

If too many of us moved toward D14 at once, Ryūen would likely redirect a large portion of his guards toward headquarters.

And if that happened, we’d be herded straight into a dead end— with no route left to retreat.

As everyone began preparing to depart, I noticed Yamamura lingering at the edge of the group, her expression stiff with unease.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, stopping beside her. “If there’s a problem, say it.”

“Oh— no, it’s not that…” she said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s just…”

“Just?”

“…It’s scary,” she admitted quietly. “If we get separated, we won’t know where our allies are— or where the enemy is either, right?”

Perhaps listening to the exchange between the VIP and the Commander had let her imagination run wild.

Class C had lost Nishikawa right at the start of the exam— effectively costing us a third of our mobility from the outset. It was no surprise that even small uncertainties would gnaw at her.

“And it’s not like I can really help anyway…” she added, her voice trailing off.

“That’s not true,” I said firmly. “My poor judgment led to the class being cut in half— but it was only half. The fact that half of us are still here means we still have a chance to win. If you, Yamamura can stay in the game even one second longer without getting taken out, that alone is already helping us.”

“…Just that… is enough?” she asked, looking up.

“It is,” I answered without hesitation. “Even if you can’t shoot, as long as you don’t get shot, that’s a net positive for the class. Remember this— your value doesn’t change. It’s equal.”

Even if we lose more classmates from here on out, just continue to be one of the last ones standing.

Yamamura thought for a moment, her gaze lowered. Then she gave a small— yet unmistakably resolute— nod.

And with that, the group began to move.

Horikita leaned over Shinohara’s tablet, entrusted to her in her role as analyst, carefully confirming the locations of the newly spawned event areas. The glowing grid reflected faintly in her eyes as she absorbed the information in silence.

Almost immediately after, she reached out to Matsushita, their commander, requesting the latest GPS updates. The response came quickly— precise, clinical, and reassuring enough to inform their next move.

“I think we should continue heading north without hesitation,” Hirata said, breaking the silence with quiet conviction. “If we recklessly insert ourselves into the central area around H9, we risk clashing with Class B… or possibly even Class C.”

No one argued the point. Losing sight of their allies over supplies whose quantity and value were still unknown would be reckless. No reward was worth fracturing the group this early.

Hirata, true to form, advocated a defensive approach without a trace of doubt.

“I agree,” Horikita added, folding her arms as she spoke. “In this special exam, the faster you lose classmates, the fewer strategic options you’re left with. It becomes a slow suffocation. We can already see that clearly.”

She glanced once more at the tablet before continuing.

“We don’t even know how much those initial supplies amount to. Taking a major risk for something so uncertain would be irresponsible.”

More than anything, it was to avoid exactly that kind of engagement that she had chosen to start from G12 when the draw granted her the right of selection. The goal had been simple: move straight north, take the shortest route possible into the northern area, and avoid unnecessary clashes altogether.

Even if an event happened to spawn nearby, reaching for it carelessly would be foolish— unless it was overwhelmingly safe.

Keeping every member of the class intact for as long as possible was the simplest and surest way to secure a high ranking in this special exam.

They had paused briefly to confirm the situation, but Horikita soon resumed walking, Hirata falling into step beside her as they headed toward G7.

“Man, Ayanokōji really had it coming,” Ike’s voice carried from behind them, thick with laughter. “Got totally wrecked by Ryūen’s crew and ran right back to the starting point. And one of their VIPs already got taken out, right? Even if they keep runnin' around like that, they’re locked in for last place when this thing ends.”

7

Ike and the others continued snickering, still amused by the unfolding disaster.

Nearby, Sudō had caught the exchange. He crossed his arms, nodding thoughtfully, then quickened his pace to walk alongside Horikita.

“Suzune. That fight between Class B and Class C just now... honestly, I'm shocked.”

“So am I.” Horikita replied without slowing down. “Using a tactic right out of the gate to launch an all-out assault— even if the idea crossed your mind, it takes serious nerve to actually go through with it. Especially when no one's even gotten the hang of using these guns yet.”

She paused briefly, choosing her words.

“Still… timing-wise, it may have been one of the best choices. Right after the exam began, even we were focused on forming strategies, standing still and exposed. The thought that someone would immediately use a tactic and spring an ambush wasn’t something we seriously considered.”

She admitted it plainly: her attention had been fixed entirely on reaching the northern area.

“Yeah,” Sudō agreed. “But even so… I didn’t think Ayanokōji would go down that easily.”

“…Neither did I,” Horikita said quietly.

Everyone knew it. Facing Ayanokōji head-on was extraordinarily difficult.

From the moment everyone started on equal footing, Class C had been the one she least wanted to engage.

She had been certain that any careless assault on them would only result in a devastating counterattack.

“What do you make of it, Horikita-san? The fact that he lost,” Hirata asked, eyes turning to her as they walked side by side.

“‘Did that really just happen?’— that's my honest reaction,” she replied. “I was surprised by the boldness of playing a trump card at the opening. But I never imagined he’d take such a crushing blow."

“I feel the same way,” Hirata said quietly.

“Ayanokōji-kun is... how should I put it…” She paused, searching for words. “He’s not the type of person to let his guard down in a battle like this.”

2

And that was exactly why— just like Sudō— all she could feel was disbelief, running far ahead of any rational thought.

The assumption that he couldn't possibly lose without reason clouded her judgment.

It was a dangerous mindset. A conviction bordering on faith— on worship, even. The belief that he simply couldn’t lose, had quietly taken root somewhere inside her— and now it made acceptance difficult.

“If he had seen the preemptive strike coming,” Hirata said, “there’s no way things would’ve turned out this badly. He would’ve pulled back immediately… or fought back and at least kept it even.”

Yet the reality was undeniable.

A crushing defeat— and a full retreat.

The number of Class C students who had vanished from the GPS made that painfully clear— there was no hiding it.

This was a momentary opening Ayanokōji had allowed— a small gap, perhaps, but a fact that could not be dismissed.

“But what if it was Ayanokōji’s plan?” Sudō’s voice floated over. “Like… I dunno, reducing the hassle of gathering food? or something.”

3

“It’s true that having fewer people would ease the food problem,” Hirata replied. “But you could achieve the same thing by having people retire later, when supplies actually become a problem. There's no advantage to reducing your numbers right from the start. And on top of that, they lost their VIP— now their efficiency in gathering supplies is going to take a hit too.”

Hirata's reasoning was sound. Completely logical.

And yet... Horikita couldn't bring herself to accept it.

No— it was more than that. The feeling of not wanting to accept it only grew stronger.

“I probably... just don't want to admit it,” Horikita murmured. “That Ryūen-kun got the better of him.”

She focused on maintaining distance, deliberately turning her back on a formidable enemy.

Even knowing it was the logical choice— the choice that ensured victory— there was something self-demeaning about it.

“Don’t worry, Hirata-kun,” she continued, steadying herself. “I won’t laugh at his defeat, and I won’t grow careless because of it. If we— or even Class D— had been in Class C’s position, there’s a strong chance the outcome would’ve been the same.”

She spoke again, almost to herself.

“When I saw their GPS moving away… I was relieved.”

Then she exhaled softly.

“But we should accept the result for what it is. Right now, the situation has tilted slightly in our favor.”

“Yeah,” Sudō added. “And with the headcount difference, we’ve got a points gap too.”

Class C, having suffered the greatest losses, had fallen to last place. Class B, despite their successful assault, had lost four guards in the process. With that, the points between Class A and Class B had evened out.

If they could avoid further battles until the end, a sudden-death tiebreaker for second place would be triggered.

It wasn’t a bad development.

“But we should probably estimate our own score as one point lower,” Sudō muttered, half annoyed and half resigned, “Cause who knows— Kōenji might retire any second now. If he at least used up the bullets we gave him and took down someone before bailing, that’d be something… but yeah, that’s probably not happening.”

He snorted, the sound hovering somewhere between irritation and disbelief.

Shortly after the exam began, Kōenji had ignored Horikita’s instructions entirely. Declaring he was going to “enjoy himself on the island and get some exercise,” he’d walked off without a backward glance.

To him, this wasn't a special exam. It was a vacation.

And if his behavior from two years ago was any indication, the moment he got bored, he'd stroll right back to the ship without a second thought.

“As long as he doesn’t interfere with the rest of us, that’s enough,” Horikita replied coolly. “Unfortunately, we’re not in a position to expect anything more from him right now.”

She had scrimped and saved private points over a long period, carefully managing her daily life. Even so, she’d been forced to make a massive expenditure in the previous special exam just to secure Kōenji’s cooperation. In a long-term exam like this one, the price would easily double— or triple. And even then, there was no guarantee he’d agree.

“Even excluding Kōenji-kun,” she continued, “the situation isn’t bad.”

“Our top priority is breaking through to the north as quickly as possible,” Hirata said, nodding in agreement. “That lets us maintain our advantage without unnecessary risk. For now, let's just hope Class B and Class C keep each other busy.”

“Yeah, but still…” Sudō frowned, scratching his head. “Why is it that even with Class C in trouble, I can’t feel relieved at all?”

1

“I feel the same,” Horikita admitted quietly. “Even though we’ve pulled ahead… it’s still unsettling.”

She tightened her expression, the casual ease from moments earlier gone.

“It’s because Ayanokōji is still there.”

Sudō's words hung in the air. In response, Horikita gave a small, deliberate nod.

As long as Ayanokōji remained in the game, underestimating him was out of the question.

If anything, she expected the opposite— that he was already devising some unorthodox strategy to erase this setback and claw back everything he'd lost.

That was exactly why they needed to reach the northern area. To put enough distance between them that no tactic, no ambush, could touch them.

“Even with their numbers cut in half,” Horikita said quietly, “I can’t shake this sense of invisible pressure.”

She knew, logically, that no enemies were nearby. The surroundings were calm, the forest paths empty. And yet, a thin thread of unease continued to tug at her.

“I feel it too,” Sudō admitted. “If anything, it’s because they got hit so hard. That’s exactly when someone pulls out a ridiculous move to turn things around.”

“Ryūen-kun probably feels the same,” Horikita replied. “That’s why he didn’t pursue us further. Or rather— why he couldn’t.”

Sudō hesitated for a moment. Then, almost tentatively, he reached out and placed a hand on Horikita's shoulder.

“Hey. We’ll do what we can do. And if it comes down to a direct fight— whether it’s B-Class, D-Class… or Hell, even Ayanokōji— we’ll send them packing. Right?”

1

At the very least, Sudō trusted his stamina more than anyone’s. He was prepared to sweat, to push himself to exhaustion, to give everything he had to protect the class.

That was his unshakable resolve.

“Let’s move,” Horikita said, stepping forward with renewed firmness. “First, we break through to the north. Then we secure as many events as possible. We need to gather supplies in order to avoid any unnecessary battles.”

Sudō answered with a short, determined grunt.

And together, the class turned northward— moving on beneath the rustling canopy, carrying both caution and resolve.

We proceeded as planned.

Our main unit secured the event supplies at G13 without incident. About thirty minutes later, Takemoto’s team safely reached D14, and another ten minutes after that, word came from the commander— relayed through Shiraishi, our VIP— that all supplies there had been successfully collected. With that, we had claimed two locations in total.

The ammunition cache yielded two empty magazines for assault rifles and a sealed bag containing a hundred paint rounds. The daily-necessities box, on the other hand, held a single lighter, three mess tins, and three pairs of disposable chopsticks. More than a few students looked visibly disappointed, but the contents told us something important— simply gathering food wouldn't be enough.

If a food crate turned out to contain nothing more than uncooked rice, the implications were obvious. Supplies would need to be secured in sets— food and daily necessities together— if we wanted to make them usable.

We also picked up useful intel from both crates. Both shared the same method of concealment. Each was half-buried in the ground, positioned so that stumbling upon one by chance while walking was nearly impossible. However, once the correct password was entered and the lid opened, the supplies could be removed directly— there was no need to dig the box out of the ground. The size of the container also appeared to correlate directly with how much it held, another detail worth filing away for future reference.

As for H9— the area where a clash had seemed most likely— Horikita’s Class A ultimately chose to secure G7 and then push through into the northern region instead.

As expected, they weren't willing to risk losing classmates over an early skirmish.

Meanwhile, Class B— led by Ryūen— split their forces into two teams. One advanced toward H9, while the other pushed for the more distant B7. Breaking out from C10 to the shoreline and then sprinting north in a single surge, they entrusted the task to a small, elite group confident in their stamina— and the gamble paid off.

In the end, during this first round of events, every class managed to secure two supply locations. In terms of numbers, it was a draw.

As time moved on, the second event was announced at one o’clock, the third at three. The four classes continued to avoid direct confrontation, repeating the same cycle— collecting paint ammunition, food, and daily necessities— carefully threading their routes to minimize risk.

And before long, the clock crept toward five in the evening of the first day.

The final event of Day One was upon us.

“So far we’ve recovered five supply crates total,” Hashimoto reported, tallying the haul. “That gives us two hundred rounds of paint ammo, ten ‘go’ of rice, eight assorted canned foods, some nuts and chicken, a few basic items… and about fifteen liters of water. I guess you could call that the bare minimum.”

Measured against what the human body actually needs, it was clearly insufficient.

And considering that thirty-nine supply boxes had appeared by this point, we hadn’t taken nearly as many as we’d hoped.

“Being kept in check like this is just the worst,” Morishita groaned. “They're basically stalkers at this point. Stalkers, I tell you.”

Ever since their opening ambush, Class B had established their main camp squarely between G9 and G10— and they hadn't budged since. That alone was enough to keep us trapped near headquarters, unable to break out into the surrounding zones.

Supplies appearing to the west? Theirs. Supplies near the center? Theirs. Anything within arm's reach, they scooped up without resistance.

Meanwhile, our options were limited to scraps— either the shoreline areas slightly east of our base, or the southern zones even farther away.

Morishita’s choice of words wasn’t far off the mark. But in truth, this was simply the reward Class B had earned for executing a successful ambush. A position close to ideal— both strategically and geographically.

“Ayanokōji Kiyotaka.” Morishita's voice dropped to something almost theatrical. “You have my permission to charge in solo and annihilate the enemy forces, you know.”

4

“I’m not the protagonist of an American action movie,” I replied dryly. “At best, I’d take out two or three before getting overwhelmed.”

“Only that many? How pathetic,” she scoffed. “If it were me— the Amazoness of the jungle— I’d easily send a hundred to their graves.”

If that were true, I’d gladly have her end the exam right now and lead us to victory.

“Didn't you call yourself the Amazoness of the Dense Forest earlier?”

“My, what a nitpicky man you are. ‘Jungle’ and ‘dense forest’ mean pretty much the same thing. If anything, the scale’s gone up. Don’t you think that makes it better?”

I didn’t. But arguing further would only waste time, so I nodded and let it go.

“Putting Morishita’s… colorful suggestion aside,” Matoba said, unable to mask his irritation as his right foot tapped repeatedly against the ground, “isn’t there some way we can break through? What about forcing our way out?”

His irritation was palpable.

“That’d be rough,” Hashimoto answered immediately. “Launching an attack from our side would be suicide. And even if we did punch through, where exactly are we supposed to go? Head north and Class A welcomes us. Head east and Class D welcomes us. We’d end up sandwiched between them and Class B chasing from behind— no way out.”

“Maybe A and D wouldn’t want to get hurt and would let us pass…” Matoba muttered, grasping at the idea.

“Sure, they'd rather avoid a fight,” Hashimoto said. “But think about it— we'd be barging into events they're safely securing. You really think they'll smile and say, ‘Hey, let's split the supplies fifty-fifty like good friends’?”

If we were in their position, we’d eliminate any class that got too close— without hesitation.

Matoba seemed to reach the same conclusion, clicking his tongue sharply.

“Damn it… we’re seriously stuck reacting to everything. So what— do we just wait for them to make the next move?”

“If they were kind enough to charge in, we could use the terrain to our advantage,” I replied. “But they’re not stupid to walk into a trap. They’ll keep the numbers advantage on their side as long as they can.”

A heavy silence settled over the group as the harsh reality sank in.

Trying to break the gloom before it got too oppressive, Hashimoto glanced down at his backpack.

“Still, this setup is barely manageable even for us. A class with forty people would be hurting bad right now.”

Between what we were given at the start and what we’d scraped together since, we could survive the first day. But unless the next day’s events offered significantly more supplies, things would only get harsher.

“Well, being half-destroyed does make the food situation easier,” someone muttered.

“Even so,” Matoba said, “it doesn’t change the disadvantage we’re in. The other three classes are collecting supplies at their leisure.”

Class D currently led with ten supply boxes, followed closely by A and B with nine each. Even when narrowing it down to food alone, we were already more than one box behind.

At five in the evening, as we stood in G12, the final event of the day was announced.

Nine locations in total.

“Seriously? The fewest of the day, and it's right at the end?”

“And I wouldn't exactly call these locations welcoming for us, not by a long shot,” said Sanada, our analyst, adjusting his glasses with one hand while gesturing at the map with the other.

We scanned the options.

Any location we could reach without running into Class B's watchful eyes?

None.

The only possibilities were D12 and I10— and both came loaded with risk. The next closest was G8, which meant threading the needle past our stalkers.

In reality, we had exactly two targets. And neither was safe.

“Class B probably has no intention of letting us escape, so these are places where we will definitely compete. We'll only be even in numbers if they split their forces in two. If they concentrate their forces on one side, we don't stand a chance.”

“Then what about running east and taking our chances?” Matoba suggested, refusing to abandon the idea of escape from the southern area. “Class D is in N12 right now, right?”

“You realize that if we get caught in a pincer, the situation becomes even worse than it already is.”

“That's why we... well, we'd just have to pray that doesn't happen…”

“Praying isn't a strategy.”

Our situation was bad enough already, but the option of fleeing east wasn’t impossible.

The problem was what came next. The moment we made that move, Class B would be right on our heels. And when we’d need to run again, the only option left would be crossing the mountains— a dangerous, treacherous stretch of terrain.

How many students in Class C could actually cross and make it to the northeast? And even if they did, what would be waiting for them? What advantage would it buy us?

It was a plan that collapsed the moment it was examined closely.

Setting aside the question of long-term positioning, the immediate issue was supplies.

The materials that had appeared in D12 and I10 were food.

That alone made them impossible to ignore.

“We hold our ground in the southern area,” I said, breaking the silence, “and move to secure the supplies.”

“…So we’re prepared to fight,” Matoba said, exhaling slowly as his expression hardened into resolve.

“If we're only looking at today, avoiding conflict would be fine,” I replied. “However, the earliest event tomorrow is at 11 AM. And since there's no guarantee we'll definitely get food, I want to secure both if possible, or at the very least, one of them.”

“Roger that,” Matoba said. “So what’s the plan?”

If we were going to challenge for supplies that had competitors, then cooperation with the commander was vital. More than ever, precise coordination would determine whether this ended as a calculated risk or a reckless gamble.

Naturally, that brought us back to the question of how to move.

One option was to divide our remaining forces evenly, forming two balanced groups centered around the VIPs— Shiraishi and Takemoto— each maintaining a direct line to the commander. The other was far simpler, far more aggressive: concentrate everything into a single force and stake everything on one objective.

The students exchanged uneasy glances, each of them already guessing which direction this discussion would take.

“If we’re going after contested supplies,” someone said at last, voicing what many were thinking, “then we’re not backing down easily, right? In that case, shouldn’t we concentrate our strength? We’re already down to half our numbers. Even if they split up, we’d still be facing twice our manpower. If we collide head-on like that, we could get wiped out.”

It was only natural. With Class C already on the back foot, morale was fragile, and anxiety rose faster than resolve.

The room felt like it might fracture into opposing camps— but we didn’t have the luxury of time for a drawn-out debate.

The event window was only one hour.

Class B would move soon— no they might already be moving.

“Even so,” I said, cutting through the murmurs, “we’re going after both supply points.”

A beat of stunned silence followed.

“You’re serious?” Matoba shot back. “They’ll probably come for both too. If that’s your read, then we should concentrate on one. Fighting's pointless if we're not at least equal in numbers.”

He wasn't wrong about the math. Going up against double our forces was reckless by any standard.

“I agree with Matoba-kun,” another voice chimed in. “Why not play it safe and target just one? If we move as a full group, even the enemy can't just charge into twenty people. And if they do gather their whole class, we can always pull back.”

A reasonable argument on the surface. Focusing on a single location would dramatically improve our odds of survival.

To engage a tightly packed Class C, the opposing side would need to commit at least half their members— and to guarantee victory, likely all of them.

But that was precisely the problem.

A large-scale movement like that, barring the use of a tactic, would be impossible to hide from their commander. The moment we start closing in, their VIP would be notified. Our intentions would be transparent.

That was why Matoba’s proposal sounded reasonable— and also why it failed to account for the enemy’s perspective.

“If I were Ryūen,” I said slowly, “or honestly, if I were leading any class, seeing Class C clump together like that would be a gift. I wouldn’t need to fight you at all. I’d assume you’d chosen self-destruction.”

Eyes turned toward me.

“I’d ignore the supplies you’re targeting and move to collect as many other events as possible. By tomorrow morning, Class C would be starving. Your stamina would drop. Your thinking would slow. And then you’d be forced to challenge even harsher events in worse condition.”

The words hung in the air.

“......I see,” Matoba muttered quietly.

“The other classes need supplies more desperately right now,” Hashimoto said after a beat, rubbing the back of his neck. “If we move as one big group, all we’d really be doing is helping them, huh.”

I nodded once.

“Sorry, but we're out of time, so I'm not going to debate this any further. This is my decision as the one leading Class C, provisional as that may be. If anyone still wants to object, they're welcome to stake their position on it.”

1

Stake their position— in other words, accept the risk of expulsion.

There was no need to wait for an answer; Matoba and the others likely couldn't hold that resolve.

“…Fine,” Matoba said at last, exhaling through his nose. “So how are we splitting up?”

With the clock pressing down on us, distance became the decisive factor. The farther the destination, the more brutal the pace would have to be.

The supplies at I10 lay along mountainous terrain.

That alone made it a problem.

“I'll go to I10 alone.” I said. “Even if I don't know the exact location of the supplies, the wristwatch has a built-in compass and a function to check the current location. It's not that difficult to reach the target area itself. The rest of you, head to D12.”

4

The reaction was immediate.

“Alone?” Hashimoto snapped, eyes widening. “You’re serious? You know damn well the enemy’s moving with their VIP. If they spot someone on their own, they’ll zero in instantly.”

Since time was precious, I gestured for the others to start preparing while continuing the conversation.

“There’s no changing this decision,” I said flatly.

“...Yeah, I figured.” Hashimoto exhaled. “If that's what you've decided, I won't argue.”

“Alright. Takemoto, Hashimoto— listen carefully.”

I raised my voice just enough for it to cut through the tension hanging in the air.

“Alright. Takemoto, Hashimoto, take everyone—move out immediately, locate the events at the designated points, and secure supplies. After that, regroup in one to one and a half hours. The primary rendezvous point will be F12.”

I continued.

“Even if you get separated from the VIP, the area near headquarters is conspicuous enough that you can still find each other. That said— F12 is a double-edged sword. If another class surrounds us there, there’s no clean escape route. So, if the commander signals danger, switch to the secondary rendezvous point: H12.”

In the unlikely event that another class approaches our rendezvous point, we would have to avoid it as a meeting place. Since the commander always has a clear view of the other classes' movements, we could adapt on the fly.

“What if Ichinose’s class comes after us?” someone asked.

“They won’t,” I replied without hesitation. “Considering the distance, Class D has no incentive to force an engagement.”

Because the VIP is worth a full 100 points, it’s easy to focus too much on that— but even losing a single point due to a reduction in guards can become a major handicap when the final rankings are calculated.

“But there’s no guarantee they won’t attack,” someone pressed. “If they see a chance to win, why wouldn’t they take it?”

“As long as we don’t fire first, we won’t be fired upon,” I said. “Move on that assumption.”

There was a short silence.

“...Guess we don't have a choice but to trust that.” Hashimoto muttered. “Then what about you? How are you planning to regroup? You won’t have real-time updates. If you get separated, that’s basically hell.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” I said flatly. “What matters is this— if Class B attacks you while securing supplies, you’re allowed to engage only if their numbers are ten or fewer. The moment you’re certain they exceed that, retreat immediately.”

On an island this vast, chasing down a fleeing enemy was nearly impossible. That was our insurance.

As for this final event of the day, predicting how the other three classes would move wasn’t something that required deep thought.

The decision was already made.

Everyone would head toward D12.

And I alone would break away— aiming for I10, disappearing into the deepening forest as the sun dipped toward the horizon.

A little after six in the evening, as I made my way back, a figure emerged from the treeline ahead. Hashimoto —who had noticed my approach first via the GPS— came toward me, closing the distance.

“Impressive as always, Ayanokōji,” he said with a faint grin. “I was watching on the analyst's tablet the whole time. Confirmed you reached the event site and grabbed the supplies. You really went straight there without getting lost?”

1

“I did have to search a bit,” I replied. “But they’d set it up more clearly than I expected. That helped.”

I continued.

“Inside the supply box were five small mess kits, five packets of rice to go with them, five 500ml bottles of water, and five simple, small loaves of bread.”

For a class trying to sustain nearly forty people, this haul was a drop in the bucket. One event’s worth of supplies didn’t come close to sustaining them; it was a reminder of how relentlessly you had to keep moving.

“Yeah, figured it wouldn't be much.” Hashimoto shrugged. “As for us, sorry, but we retreated immediately. They came at us with a big group. Best we could do was draw them in and buy you time.”

Our small number was not only a disadvantage in terms of points, but also in combat.

Still, if there was a silver lining buried in all those disadvantages, this was it. Fewer mouths to feed.

As dusk settled in, the students of Class C began setting up their tents, working methodically to prepare their sleeping arrangements. The larger tents— those capable of accommodating three or more people— were assigned to the boys, while the smaller one- and two-person tents were used primarily by the girls. To maintain fairness, they decided who used which tent by rock-paper-scissors.

“Watching them work, it’s kind of impressive,” Hashimoto said, sounding genuinely impressed as he observed the girls erecting lightweight tents and assembling the temporary toilet. “They move like they’ve done this a dozen times already. Honestly, even among Japanese high schoolers, we’re probably near the top when it comes to outdoor survival experience. I used to think this stuff was pointless… but it’s turning out to be pretty useful.”

Hashimoto sounded genuinely impressed— and he wasn’t wrong.

“In a disaster-prone country like Japan,” I replied, “getting used to living in tents and managing basic sanitation outdoors isn’t a bad thing. If anything, it’s a skill that ought to be encouraged going forward.”

This was the third year— and the third time— the uninhabited island exam had been held.

Back when it was first introduced, holding it so frequently had been rare. But seen as preparation for an uncertain future, the rationale was easy enough to accept. If something were to happen— if electricity suddenly became unavailable, or daily infrastructure failed— then perhaps experiences like this would allow people to respond calmly instead of panicking.

Once the camp was fully set up, we gathered all the food we had brought back into a single pile and began calculating how it would divide among our remaining numbers. We would, of course, continue collecting supplies at future events whenever possible, but it was important to keep track— at all times— of how many calories and how much water we could realistically consume.

Knowing that allowed us to avoid unnecessary risks.

If there was no urgent need to gather more supplies, then heading out to an event only increased the chance of an avoidable clash. That was something we couldn’t afford.

To keep things fair, whatever food we obtained was split evenly among everyone.

And then, finally, the students allowed themselves a moment of rest. They sat in small clusters, bringing modest portions to their lips, unwinding from the exhaustion of the day.

“Hey, mind if I ask something?”

Matoba approached, glancing at the rations with a hint of hesitation.

“When we split things up like this— eating and drinking in small portions— how effective is it, really? It's not like we're traveling light. Food takes up space. Wouldn't it make more sense to just eat when we get the chance?”

“Let me give you an extreme example,” I said. “Compare eating one large meal a day— forcing yourself to stuff everything in at once— with taking that same amount of food and dividing it into three smaller meals. The latter is overwhelmingly more efficient in terms of usable energy. The human body has a limit to how much energy it can store at one time. Carbohydrates make that especially clear— some of it gets stored in the liver and muscles, but the excess is converted into fat. And even that conversion consumes energy in the process.” I paused. “Water is even more unforgiving. Drink too much at once, and your body just flushes it out through sweat and urine. It doesn't stockpile. On top of that, the body adapts to scarcity. A gradual shift to low-calorie intake slows your metabolism and reduces overall energy consumption.”

3

Survival manuals for people lost at sea or stranded in the wilderness all emphasized the same principle: consume as little as possible, for as long as possible.

“So the same food lasts way longer if you ration it out, huh.”

Matoba nodded slowly, the logic clicking into place.

Carrying the extra weight was a hassle— but it was worth it.

Once the meal was finished, the students dispersed to spend their free time as they pleased.

A few of them asked if they could practice shooting in preparation for tomorrow. I approved it, on the condition that the number of rounds used was strictly limited. Firing a weapon outside of combat hours wasn’t a violation as long as no one was targeted. If anything, improving their skill now was essential.

I spread the map out in front of me and let the day replay in my mind.

Class C, half-destroyed by a surprise attack; Class B, virtually unscathed.

Class A and Class D had both maintained their distance from other groups, prioritizing safety and methodically collecting supplies without incident.

Being pushed into provisional last place weighed heavily. There were few smiles among my classmates.

“Everyone looks pretty damn gloomy,” Hashimoto muttered, chewing on a block of nutritional food as he scanned the camp. “Can’t blame ’em, given how things turned out.”

He glanced at me sideways.

“As the leader, isn’t there something you could say? Something like, ‘Don’t worry, we’re definitely going to win’?”

“I can't say things without a basis. If I said that now, they'd just resent me, thinking, ‘Who's he to talk?’”

After all, I was the leader who failed to anticipate the ambush. The one who stood there giving a leisurely weapons tutorial while disaster closed in.

The stares. The whispered blame. It would only be a matter of time.

“For someone in that position,” Hashimoto said, eyeing me, “you sure seem like you're enjoying yourself.”

“Do I?”

“Sort of.” He shrugged. “Seriously though— how can you be having fun in a situation like this?”

“Maybe because I don't hate the uninhabited island exam itself.” I let my gaze drift across the camp. “It's an intense experience. The kind you'd never get in ordinary school life. And you get to see sides of your classmates you've never seen before. Expressions that you’d never see otherwise.”

“Huh.” Hashimoto raised an eyebrow. “So basically, you're satisfied with things that have nothing to do with winning or losing.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” I admitted. “That said, I don’t intend to lose.”

“I'll believe those words.” He cracked his knuckles lightly. “Anyway— gloomy times like these are exactly when I get to shine.”

With that, he clapped his hands sharply, the sound cracking through the heavy air, and strode toward the group of dispirited classmates.

“Hey— we haven’t lost the exam yet,” he called out. “If you let yourselves get this down, you’ll end up losing fights you could’ve won. How about trying to enjoy island life at least a little?”

Whether he was trying to rally them or deliberately provoke them was hard to say.

“Enjoy it?” someone shot back. “That’s easy to say if we were in the lead. You really expect us to enjoy ourselves while we’re losing?”

For Class C— unaccustomed to defeat— the loss in the year-end special exam, followed by the razor-thin defeat last time, and now this harsh situation, felt like an unbroken streak of bad fortune.

The human mind weighs loss far more heavily than victory, its impact lingering at nearly twice the strength.

And for a class that had spent so long on top, already reeling from their fall to Class C, this was becoming a weight too heavy to carry.

They were the polar opposite of Horikita's class— the ones who had clawed their way up from nothing.

And watching them now, seeing them like this...

The sight was, from an outside perspective, quite fascinating to observe.

1

By the time eight o’clock rolled around, the students of Class C began slipping into their tents one by one.

It was still only the first day of the special exam. Aside from the opening ambush, there hadn’t been a single clash between classes.

But as tomorrow turned into the day after, the scent of conflict would inevitably draw closer.

For now, the smartest move was clear— avoid unnecessary exertion and focus on recovering strength.

Inside the large tent assigned to me, five of us had gathered. Surprisingly, the mood wasn’t heavy. Instead of dwelling on anxiety, the space was filled with laughter and meaningless chatter.

There was no doubt that Hashimoto’s presence played a major role in that.

He never allowed the conversation to drift toward thoughts of losing. One topic flowed into the next, never giving pessimism time to take root.

The others weren’t fools either. They understood our situation perfectly, and if they faced it head-on, the air would naturally turn oppressive. That was precisely why they leaned into Hashimoto’s energy, jumping into the conversation one after another, almost as if to be carried along by it.

Before long, the talk drifted away from the exam and into stories from the past.

When Satonaka finished recounting his anecdote, everyone’s gaze shifted toward Hashimoto, who was sitting beside him.

“Alright, I just remembered one,” he said, not missing a beat. “Guess I'll share.”

He launched into it without hesitation, clearly in his element.

Watching him, I was reminded once again that being genuinely cheerful was a kind of talent in itself.

“So, this was back in my third year of middle school. I ran into a guy I knew from elementary, and we biked over to some ramen place— or maybe it was udon, I don’t even remember which. Regardless, big place, wide lot, a bunch of bikes already parked. All normal except one bike was sticking out of the rack and parked in a car space. We didn't think much of it— just parked on either side of it and headed for the entrance.”

Hashimoto chuckled as he spoke, clearly enjoying the memory.

“Right then, this dude walks out. College-aged, I guess. Total loner vibe. As he passes us, he's muttering under his breath, glaring at our bikes. So I go, ‘Something wrong?’ And he's like, ‘I can't get my bike out because yours are in the way.’ Except— there was plenty of room. I mean, could’ve easily took it out, you know.”

“Anyway, I figured whatever, I'll just move mine. But as I'm doing it, he goes, ‘Don't park in places like this— it's a nuisance.’ And that's when I got a little pissed.” Hashimoto leaned in, relishing the buildup. “So I said, ‘Dude, you're the one parked in a car space.’ And he just lost it— Started snapping back all fast, yelling, ‘Yeah, but you guys parked two bikes!’— like that's even a comeback—”

“Hold on,” Matoba cut in flatly. “If your bike was in the car space too, you were just as wrong.”

A painfully reasonable punch.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Hashimoto admitted, waving it off. “But come on— the way this guy was acting like he was the victim? Getting all high and mighty with a couple of middle schoolers? If it'd been some scary-looking dude parked there instead of us, no way he says a word.” He smirked. “Soon as we glared at him, he just mumbled something under his breath and bolted.”

Whether Hashimoto had been in the right or not was beside the point. Everyone probably carried one or two stories like that from before high school.

“Alright,” Hashimoto said, turning toward me. “Your turn, Ayanokōji. Doesn’t have to be anything special. Something dumb like mine is fine.”

I had expected the spotlight to swing my way eventually.

The problem was— I didn’t have a single amusing story worth sharing.

“Sorry,” I said as I pushed myself upright. “I’m going to step out for a bit. Something came up that I need to deal with before tomorrow.”

“Oh, is that so? Then it can't be helped.”

If it involved the special exam, no one— Hashimoto included— was going to argue. In fact, Hashimoto had already begun launching into what sounded like yet another amusing story from his personal stockpile, so I felt free to leave the tent without concern.

1

It might have looked like I was slipping away to escape the conversation, but the truth was, there really was something I needed to handle before the exam resumed in the morning. I hoped they’d forgive me for that.

By the time it passed nine o’clock, everyone seemed to be inside their tents. Still, few were actually asleep— the low murmur of voices lingered everywhere. In the darkness a short distance away, several tents lined up side by side glowed faintly with lantern light. Their entrances were left open, but the mesh fabric kept insects out, forming small, invisible boundaries.

Sheltered within those spaces, the students appeared to be trying— earnestly— to enjoy this strange environment, keeping their unease at arm’s length.

“Looks like they've still got some mental reserves left.” I murmured.

Or perhaps it was because the strain weighed so heavily on them that they instinctively gathered closer, protecting one another through proximity alone. Either way, at least until tomorrow morning, that wasn’t a problem.

The tent used by the person I was looking for was a two-person tent, and its entrance was closed.

“There's something I'd like to ask of you, Shiraishi. Do you have a moment?”

It wasn’t late enough for her to be asleep, but I asked carefully nonetheless.

A soft rustle of fabric came from inside, followed by the entrance opening. A lantern emerged first, its warm light spilling gently into the night.

“Good evening, Ayanokōji-kun,” she said. “Is something the matter?”

Shiraishi, who had been using the two-person tent, placed the lantern briefly into my hands before quietly crawling out, the night air closing around us once more.

“I’d like to talk for a bit,” I said. “Do you have a moment?”

“Talk...?” Shiraishi blinked, showing a rare flicker of surprise.

Behind her, another face appeared— Hoashi, her tent-mate, peeking out with a grin she wasn't even trying to hide.

“Oooh, Hey Hey, careful now. You might want to make sure no other boys catch you two sneaking off. Could cause quite the scandal.” Hoashi whispered with exaggerated caution.

“It’s not like that,” Shiraishi said immediately, turning to me as if seeking confirmation. “Right, Ayanokōji-kun?”

“Yeah,” I replied without pause. “It’s not like that.”

Not like what, exactly?

The thought lingered for a fraction of a second before faces like Yoshida’s and Shimazaki’s floated unbidden into my mind. In hindsight, it was hard to deny that calling Shiraishi out of her tent late at night— alone— could look suspicious if someone happened to witness it.

I glanced instinctively at the dim stretch of tents behind us. Lantern light flickered through mesh fabric here and there, shadows shifting faintly as voices murmured inside. No one seemed to be paying us any attention— for now.

Still, Hoashi’s warning wasn’t entirely unfounded.

“You can rest assured.” I added. “This is about the exam from tomorrow onwards.”

I explained it for Hoashi’s benefit, but her eyes were still smiling. So, whether she believed me was questionable.

With Hoashi's amused gaze at our backs, I walked with Shiraishi, moving away from the tent area as the lantern swayed gently in her hand, casting a soft, wavering circle of light across the land.

“A confidential discussion?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

The glow illuminated her face, and whatever fleeting hesitation she’d shown earlier was gone. In its place was the same expression she always wore— or what Yoshida liked to call the mysterious air. Calm, and unreadable.

“So,” she said, turning to face me, “what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“I want to know if anything about my leadership today concerned you. The way I commanded. The decisions I made.” I paused. “I'm starting to feel lost about how to move forward.”

3

“Concerns, and feeling lost?”

She seemed to grasp immediately why I’d called her out here, yet her free hand drifted to her lips in a small, thoughtful gesture.

“It’s surprising to hear that from you, Ayanokōji-kun,” she said after a moment. “I always assumed you were the type to think everything through alone. To reach your own conclusions. And to do so without hesitation.”

Surprising. A single word from Shiraishi, casually included in her sentence.

A faint sense of incongruity stirred inside me— one I’d already felt earlier, right after the ambush. Now it began to swell, slowly but unmistakably.

Even Hashimoto was worried about the outcome of the battle.

But Shiraishi?

Not once had she shown even a flicker of doubt. Not a single moment where she seemed to consider the possibility that we might lose.

I filed the thought away. For now, I'll keep the conversation going.

“If I came across as an unreliable leader,” I said, “then I apologize.”

“That isn’t the case at all,” she replied immediately. “At least, not to me. I trust you. I believe that in the end, you’ll meet every expectation placed upon you.”

She met my gaze directly, answering without the slightest hesitation.

“And so,” she continued. “There isn’t a single thing I am concerned about.”

“If you were hoping for criticism,” she added gently, “then I suppose I’ve failed to give you what you wanted.”

“If you’re not questioning my judgment for failing to foresee the ambush,” I said, “then that’s fine. I understand now that you trust me. That’s enough.”

“Yes,” she said with a nod, offering a wider smile.

“Then I'll make use of that trust without reservation.”

“If there's anything I can do, I'll help however I can.”

With that, our conversation came to an end. I walked her back to her tent, where Hoashi greeted her with a look of mild surprise— Already back?— an expression that lingered in my mind longer than it should have.

1

On my way back alone toward the tent where Hashimoto and the others were waiting, I glanced over my shoulder at the tent Shiraishi shared with Hoashi.

She trusts me, she'd said. Without hesitation. Without a flicker of doubt.

There was a divergence there— a gap between what I knew of the student named Shiraishi Asuka and what I had just witnessed.

And that was precisely what felt out of place.

She was someone who knew how to elevate others. If she believed a gentle lie would serve someone’s best interests, she would tell it without hesitation. By the same logic, if she believed honesty was necessary, she wouldn’t shy away from speaking the truth.

And yet, this time, she hadn’t reproached me at all. She hadn’t even hinted at dissatisfaction. She’d said— without reservation— that she believed in me.

The damage we’d taken from the ambush was substantial. It wasn’t something that could be dismissed as a trivial mistake. Any ordinary student would harbor doubts. That was only natural.

I remembered the first time we’d spoken alone— early morning, the classroom still empty, on my second day in Class C. That encounter had been born of coincidence, without question.

But what about everything after that?

It was only June. I’d spent barely two months with my classmates in Class C.

Sure, I hadn’t been a complete stranger during our first and second years, but the point at which I began stepping forward and directing things openly was, by any measure, very recent.

Even Yoshida and Shimazaki— both boys who interacted with me regularly— didn’t truly understand me yet. Hashimoto, who now acted as something like my right hand, probably wasn’t much different.

Hashimoto. Matoba. Hoashi. Morishita.

Every one of them had experienced at least a flicker of anxiety today.

And that was normal.

They didn’t know me well enough not to doubt.

1

That was precisely why this stood out.

Why had Shiraishi found it surprising that I could feel uncertainty or hesitation as a leader?

She wasn’t doltish. Far from it.

That kind of remark— that casual, unguarded surprise— wasn't something that came from two months of acquaintance.

It was something that only made sense if she had known— or believed she knew— about me before we ever became third-years.

“A connection to Sakayanagi... or a student... similar to that, huh.” I murmured to myself.

2

Either way, it wasn’t something that demanded immediate action.

Still, I made sure not to forget it— to keep it filed away in my memory.