Chapter 4: Convergence

Dawn broke over the campsite. Just past six in the morning— a time when most students still lay sleeping in their tents.

1

The first to emerge from a one-person tent into the crisp morning air was Ryūen Kakeru, leader of Class B.

The morning air was cool against his skin as he unfolded a map, spreading it out beside the tent. He studied it in silence, retracing the GPS positions that had been recorded at the end of the previous day. With a mind refreshed by a few hours of rest, he took in the marked locations of each class.

What had occupied his thoughts through the night— and continued to do so now— was who to fight. And how.

To stand above the other three classes in the end, what path would lead there?

How to make his moves today— he had to determine these immediate objectives by 9:00 AM.

The first to be dismissed from consideration were Class A and Class D, entrenched respectively in the northern and eastern regions. Their positions were stable, distant, and— for now— unprofitable to engage.

What mattered was the southwest.

The area surrounding the headquarters, where two clusters had formed: his own class, and Class C.

After the successful ambush, Ryūen had poured every available resource into the events. He had driven his classmates hard, sending them out repeatedly to secure supplies, prioritizing momentum over rest.

Even so, food remained perpetually scarce.

To sustain the full number of students, active participation in events was unavoidable. And although Class C had suffered a significant reduction in manpower, the fact that they had failed to secure sufficient supplies meant their situation was no better.

This, Ryūen understood, was no accident.

It was deliberate calibration by the school.

A slow squeeze— designed to induce attrition, to make hunger and fatigue gnaw at judgment, to push students toward aggression. Toward conflict.

Still, the students weren’t fools.

They weighed the danger of combat against the uncertain contents of supply boxes, and many chose endurance over risk. Losing a VIP or multiple guards was too steep a price. At least for the first day, restraint had prevailed.

But what about the second?

Everything hinged on the new restricted zones— where they'd appear, how much territory they'd swallow.

Class C was currently holed up near headquarters, avoiding confrontation. But if the usable area were forcibly reduced, their retreat would eventually vanish. Cornered, they might finally resolve themselves to an all-out battle.

Ryūen’s lips curled faintly.

“We’ve got your head pinned down,” he muttered under his breath. “So what’ll you do… Ayanokōji?”

One thing, at least, was certain.

Ryūen had no intention of playing defense indefinitely.

Ideally, he wanted to launch a decisive assault on Class C— crush them completely, drive them straight into last place. With Ayanokōji still standing, it wouldn’t be effortless, but under the current conditions he judged his chances of victory at ninety-nine percent.

But that confidence came with a caveat— only if the special exam ended immediately afterward.

If Class C were eliminated now, the remaining forces would have to contend with Class A and Class D afterward. And facing those two with depleted numbers would be anything but simple.

“I could crush that eyesore Class A first... but that’d just make the bottom feeders happy.”

If two classes tore into each other, the remaining two would profit without lifting a finger. It was a simple truth.

“You're up early.”

Sensing movement, Katsuragi stepped out from the tent and approached, his voice low so as not to disturb the others. He stopped beside Ryūen, following his line of sight.

“Still weighing which class to go after?”

Ryūen let out a short laugh, the kind that carried heat rather than humor. Katsuragi could feel it— this wasn’t idle contemplation. There was blood in the air, and Ryūen was enjoying the scent.

“Something like that,” Ryūen replied. “Though my real target hasn’t changed. It’s always been Class C.”

“Being belligerent is fine and all, but consider this—” Katsuragi crossed his arms. “If we sit tight, time will do our work for us. Supply shortages combined with shrinking usable zones will inevitably force everyone into combat. We gained a significant advantage with yesterday's surprise attack on Class C. Why squander it with premature aggression?”

Ryūen didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced down at the supplies laid out in front of the tent— what little they had managed to secure despite their efforts.

“You’re not wrong,” he said at last. “Keeping our numerical advantage intact isn’t a bad thing. Hell, we’ve got the initiative from this position. But there’s a catch.”

He looked back up, eyes sharp.

“Yesterday, we used our main tactical card to seize the initiative. That means Class C still has theirs. As long as they do, they can pull the same kind of ambush we did. Striking before that happens is one option. And even if Ayanokōji decides he can’t fight and burns his tactic just to escape? That’s still a win for us.”

Ryūen gestured toward the supplies again, almost dismissively.

“And hunger doesn’t care about strategy. Once it sets in, stamina drops whether you like it or not. Watching a bunch of idiots lose the one thing they’re good at— that physical edge— it’s frustrating.”

Class B had no shortage of big eaters. Right now, their strength was overflowing. But Ryūen understood better than most how quickly that advantage could erode.

The longer this dragged on, the thinner that edge would become.

Katsuragi listened in silence, arms crossed, carefully unpacking Ryūen’s reasoning. He could see the logic in it— none of it was irrational, even if it leaned toward the aggressive.

“…True,” he said finally. “Once we allocate supplies for breakfast, what we’ve stockpiled will be nearly gone. At the same time, sending students out to collect more while they’re hungry carries its own risks. Still, that’s precisely why I believe Day Two should be prioritised for event recovery.”

Katsuragi had reached the same conclusion after talking it through with Ryūen late the previous night.

That judgment hadn’t changed by morning. Even now, he believed their course should remain fundamentally defensive, and he voiced that conviction without hesitation.

“The only class that should be feeling pressured right now is Class C,” Katsuragi said evenly. “There’s no need to overextend yourself. Keep an eye on the others— that was part of your original plan as well, wasn’t it?”

He understood better than most that Ryūen wasn’t blind to the risks of attacking. Recklessness wasn’t the issue. What held Katsuragi back from fully endorsing an offensive push was Ryūen’s abnormal fixation on Class C.

More precisely, it was his obsession with crushing Ayanokōji.

That single-minded resolve carried the danger of spiraling inward, of becoming an end in itself rather than a means to victory.

“It’s strange,” Ryūen muttered, eyes still fixed on the southern markers on the map. “They got hit hard— half their class wiped out by that ambush. And yet… looking at this, I can’t see Ayanokōji weakening at all.”

Katsuragi followed his gaze and nodded once, slowly.

“The fear of an unseen enemy. The stronger your opponent, the more your mind conjures threats that may not exist. You start imagining ways they could outmaneuver you— possibilities you'd never consider against anyone else.”

1

Ryūen could accept part of that assessment. He knew there was an element of overthinking at play. But years of battles— two full years of constant tests and confrontations— had drilled one lesson into him beyond any doubt.

A plan could succeed. Damage could be dealt.

And yet that didn’t mean the opponent was finished.

The ambush had worked. It proved that Ayanokōji had weaknesses. But those weaknesses were minuscule— cracks no wider than a hairline fracture.

Exploiting them again would be nothing like the first strike. The difficulty wasn’t even comparable.

“Regardless, don’t dwell on Class C too much,” Katsuragi pressed on. “If you truly can’t suppress the urge to fight, then redirect it— for now— toward Class A. We can’t become Class A ourselves without toppling those above us.”

“……Maybe you’re right,” Ryūen said.

He finally tore his eyes away from the map and looked up instead, toward the treetops just beginning to glow with the first rays of morning sunlight. The forest was quiet, almost serene— an unsettling contrast to the calculations brewing beneath its canopy.

1

It was exactly 9 AM on the morning of the second day.

With the official resumption of the exam, the first report came in from the commander, Shimazaki, routed through the VIP, Shiraishi. From six in the evening until nine that morning— officially outside test hours— all GPS data had remained suspended.

1

That said, there was little cause for alarm. Students were required to resume from the same area they had occupied at six the previous evening, so unless an enemy class had deliberately chosen to linger in the same zone, there was no immediate danger to worry about.

1

“It looks like all GPS positions have been updated,” Shiraishi reported calmly. “Without a single person missing, it appears everyone remained within their respective areas, with only minimal movement recorded. Kōenji-kun, who’s separated from Class A, is still present as well— he’s in D6.”

I’d half-expected someone to complain of exhaustion or illness after the first day, but it seemed everyone had managed to push through the night without incident.

“So he really crossed mountains and rivers in a single day, huh,” Hashimoto muttered. “And now he’s just… enjoying himself out there. There’s no way he’s got extra food. What’s he living on, I wonder? Don’t tell me he’s actually living off the land.”

I'm not exactly an expert on the plants native to this uninhabited island, but I haven't seen many that could provide substantial nutrition. You could catch fish in the ocean, but there are no fishing rods among the supplied items this time. That would mean it would have to be something he could find on the shore, but from what I saw of his movements yesterday, his GPS coordinates haven't reached the coast.

“Well, either way, without knowing any passwords, he can’t get his hands on additional supplies,” Hashimoto went on. “We’re better off just leaving him alone.”

It's unclear whether or not he will become a threat, but it's certain there is zero merit in us getting involved with him.

“Kōenji, huh…”

I’d secretly hoped he might have voluntarily retired during the off-hours. Apparently not.

1

“Is something bothering you?” Shiraishi asked, tilting her head slightly. “Like Hashimoto-kun said, wouldn’t it be best to simply ignore him?”

“That’s our shared conclusion, yes,” I replied. “But there’s still something about it that feels… off. I don’t understand why he hasn’t withdrawn yet.”

“You always thought he wasn’t serious about the exam, didn’t you?”

“It would be more accurate to say that's how I saw him.” I corrected. “Which is why I expected him to have retired by this morning. Or at the very least, to have approached headquarters overnight.”

1

Instead, his current position placed him deep within the island, far from the base.

“He probably thinks this is some kind of vacation,” Hashimoto shrugged. “He's that kind of character.”

“And yet, this location is the same as last year’s,” I said quietly. “There shouldn’t be any novelty here for him.”

Was he really going to cooperate with Horikita and take this special exam seriously…?

It wasn’t impossible. But even now, the odds felt low.

That's my own line of reasoning, based on my analysis of the student Kōenji Rokusuke.

“Isn’t this just a waste of time thinking about it?” Hashimoto said with a shrug. “Even if— and that’s a big if— he suddenly got serious, we’d have no way of knowing. He’s just one guy. As long as we don’t run into him, he’s not exactly a problem, right?”

It was a reasonable take.

Without contact with the commander, Kōenji had no way of knowing either allied positions or enemy ones. Even if he did harbor the will to fight, actively seeking out opponents would be close to impossible. From that standpoint, simply keeping track of his GPS location was enough. As long as we knew where he was, he could be managed as a non-factor.

In principle, that logic held.

But there were exceptions— ones that couldn’t be ignored.

Accidental encounters, for one. Those were unavoidable by nature.

And then there was another possibility: even if Kōenji lacked motivation now, Horikita might later attempt to move him, to pull him into the flow of the exam.

Dismissing him as ‘just one person’ would be a mistake.

He was someone to keep in mind at all times.

1

“How’s everyone holding up?” I asked, shifting the topic.

“Honestly? I wouldn’t call it great,” Hashimoto replied. “I mean, I’m hungry. Real hungry.”

We still had food left from what we’d secured yesterday. If we chose to, we could use it all and temporarily fill our stomachs. But that kind of short-term relief would come at the cost of tomorrow— and the day after that. Any unnecessary consumption now would only tighten the noose later.

“Unless another class starts making suspicious moves,” I said, “we’ll remain on standby until the next event.”

With that provisional policy set, I once again reiterated— clearly and deliberately— to both Shiraishi and Takemoto the importance of maintaining tight coordination between the commander and the VIPs.

By eleven o’clock in the morning, Class D had reached a quiet turning point.

The intention to avoid conflict as long as possible— an approach they had clung to since the start— began to fracture from this moment onward.

Kanzaki stood beside Andō, staring at the tablet the analyst was operating, and found himself holding his breath without realizing it.

The newly announced supply drop locations were displayed in clean, merciless text:

E4, E9, G8, G11, H5, J8, J13, K3, M12, N9, O14.

And then there was something else.

Something unmistakably different from yesterday.

Large portions of the map— far too many to ignore— had been overlaid in gray.

Even O14, one of the newly announced supply points, was partially covered.

“…Hey, Kanzaki,” someone murmured beside him, unable to keep the tremor out of their voice. “This means… what I think it means, right?”

“It’s too early to be definitive,” Kanzaki replied, though his tone lacked conviction. “But if the same mechanism repeats next time, then the probability jumps— dramatically.”

Day two. Eleven a.m. The fifth event overall.

The unspoken assumption— that today would simply repeat yesterday’s pattern, four more events played out the same way— now had a yellow warning light blinking insistently beside it.

The map was divided into a 15x15 grid. Naturally, most of the outermost tiles were ocean. And now, it had been announced that every single one of those outer tiles would become a restricted area in one hour.

When that hour passed, the gray would turn pitch black.

Entering those zones would trigger a rule that left no room for error: remain inside for five minutes, and you were out.

If that were all, it would be manageable. An inconvenience, nothing more.

But the real question lay two hours ahead— at the next event.

What if the same thing happened again?

If the outer ring was restricted once more.

That would mean that with each event, the map would quietly, inexorably shrink— one layer at a time, peeling inward from the edges.

Today. Tomorrow. The day after.

Excluding this one, there were still ten events remaining.

It was unlikely— perhaps even unreasonable— to assume that the perimeter would shrink every single time. But if the underlying rule didn’t change, then sooner or later, all four classes would be forced toward the center.

And once that happened, the enemy would no longer be distant shapes on a screen.

They would be close enough to reach out and touch.

“…There’s no avoiding combat anymore,” Kanzaki muttered.

A heavy shadow fell over Class D.

Their primary objective had been simple: remain in the eastern area, keep their distance from the other three classes, and survive until the end.

That plan was now beginning to rot from the edges.

1

“If the restricted zones expand one or two more times today,” Kanzaki continued, thinking aloud, “then we’ll need to seriously consider a major relocation.”

Returning from the north to the central zones would require a long detour. Worse still, Class A was positioned in the northern area— introducing the risk of ambush. But drifting too far south too early came with its own problems; the terrain there wasn’t ideal for collecting event supplies efficiently.

There was no clean solution.

Kanzaki couldn’t tear his eyes away from the tablet as his thoughts spiraled, looping endlessly without settling.

“Kanzaki-kun.”

His shoulder shook gently.

He blinked, realizing his name had been called more than once.

“…Sorry,” he said, lifting his head. “What is it?”

“I just heard from Honami-chan,” Andō replied. “She says she’ll think through the plan herself— so we shouldn’t worry.”

The timing was uncanny.

As though Ichinose had sensed Kanzaki’s mounting confusion from afar, her message arrived precisely when his thoughts threatened to collapse in on themselves.

“She wants us to focus— first and foremost— on the event right in front of us.”

“…Yeah,” Kanzaki answered after a short pause. “That makes sense.”

“And about O14,” Andō added carefully, tapping the edge of the tablet, “she says we shouldn’t push ourselves if there’s even a hint of danger.”

That warning carried weight.

From their current position, heading toward O14 and then struggling to locate the supplies would eat into precious time. If they misjudged even slightly, they could find themselves still inside the area when the restriction activated— and once that happened, an elimination would be inevitable.

“For now, we move to secure what we can,” Kanzaki said, steadying his voice. “O14 has very little landmass. That actually works in our favor— the supply point itself should be easier to find.”

Standing still would only bleed time away. Hesitation, here, meant forfeiting an opportunity before it even truly began.

“…We’ll split into three groups immediately and head out to collect the supplies.”

The decision wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t rely on bold gambits or clever tricks. But it was solid.

They would repeat what had worked, carefully and methodically, and cling to a single, unchanging objective: gather enough resources to ensure everyone survives the day.

Between 11:28 and 11:29 a.m., as the second hand crept forward almost imperceptibly, Class B was already in motion.

Following Ryūen’s orders, they had split cleanly into three forces: two ten–person teams dispatched to secure supplies, and the main unit tasked with keeping Class C pinned in place. One of those supply teams— led by Komiya, with the VIP Morofuji in tow— was advancing toward the supply point that had appeared in E9.

Under normal circumstances, E9 was as close to free as a location could get.

It lay too far from Class A, too awkwardly placed for Class C to contest without overextending. From Class B’s perspective, it should have been an easy acquisition— almost a formality.

But just before the clock struck eleven, a single concern had surfaced.

At nine o’clock that morning, there had been a lone GPS signal— detached from Class A— sitting isolated in D6.

1

And now, by sheer coincidence, that same signal appeared to be moving in their direction.

“R-report,” Morofuji said, relaying Kaneda’s information with a trace of uncertainty in his voice. “That solo GPS… it looks like it’s still heading this way.”

Komiya didn’t even slow his stride.

“Heading this way or not, it’s just one person, right?” he said lightly. “They don’t know where we are. And if we happen to run into them, we shoot. Simple.”

1

With nine guards— ten people total, excluding the VIP— there was no realistic scenario in which they would lose. Komiya spoke with the easy confidence of someone who believed the numbers alone settled the matter.

“But… that’s probably Kōenji-kun, right?” one of the students muttered. “He’s… dangerous. At least, as a person.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Komiya cut in. “This isn’t a fistfight. It’s survival tag. A bullet’s a bullet— doesn’t matter who fires it. No need to overthink it. What does matter is grabbing the supplies fast and getting back to the main unit.”

He glanced briefly in the direction of the southwest, where the main force was holding Class C in check.

“If Class C suddenly makes a move, things can get messy.”

The numbers between Class B’s main unit and Class C were close— too close to be ignored. If Ayanokōji judged the timing right, he might seize the opportunity and turn defense into offense in a single stroke.

That was precisely why Ryūen had ordered them to return the moment the supplies were secured.

“Wh–what should we do, Oda-kun…? Is it really okay to let him go like that?” Morofuji asked.

Called by name, Oda hesitated for a brief moment. He weighed the situation, then made his decision— telling her to contact Ryūen through Kaneda and ask for instructions— before choosing to follow after Komiya himself.

Morofuji, unable to hide her unease, fiddled with the radio again and again.

However—

“No good. He must be talking to someone else right now because I can't get through at all.”

The commander was only one person. When communications overlapped with a VIP, the line simply wouldn’t go through. Any time the commander was already engaged, an unavoidable gap opened— dead air where no instructions could be received.

“See? You’re worrying way too much,” Komiya said with a grin. “If we run into him, I’ll just put one round straight through his heart. This baby here already took out four people during the ambush!”

Laughing loudly, Komiya struck an exaggerated pose with the shotgun in his hands, as if showing off a prized partner.

Laughing, Komiya held his shotgun and struck a pose as if to show off.

“Where are you, Kōenji?!”

He shouted into the trees, deliberately projecting confidence, then broke into a run, swinging the shotgun’s muzzle left and right.

“Here?! Or maybe here?!”

Bang!

Bang!

Two deafening blasts echoed into the dark forest ahead.

“Hey, don't waste too many shots~”

“Heh heh, a little's fine, right? He might actually be hiding, you know.”

Still grinning, he popped out the magazine and began reloading, hands practiced and casual.

“He’s getting way too cocky,” Yamawaki said with a chuckle, leaning toward Kinoshita as they walked. “That’s basically raising a death flag, right?”

Kinoshita sighed softly.

“Men really are stupid,” she muttered, staring at the assault rifle in her hands with a cold look. “Thinking this kind of thing is fun.”

“And yet,” Yamawaki said with a crooked grin, “when we rushed Class C, you looked like you were having a blast pulling the trigger. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Th– that was different,” Kinoshita protested, flustered. “I mean, how do I put it… I just got carried away in the moment—”

Realizing she’d been caught revealing an unexpected side of herself, Kinoshita’s cheeks flushed red. She swung her hand and slapped Yamawaki’s shoulder with a sharp smack.

“Ow—?!”

A cry of pain rang out.

“H–huh?!”

Kinoshita blinked. She hadn’t hit him that hard— or so she thought. But the voice hadn’t come from Yamawaki at all.

It was Komiya.

The boy who had been walking at the front suddenly crumpled, dropping into a crouch as if his legs had given out beneath him. At the same time, the shotgun he’d been holding slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the ground.

For a heartbeat, the students behind him stood frozen, unable to process what they were seeing.

1

“H–hey, Komiya, what are you—”

Before Yamawaki could finish, a sharp pain tore through Kinoshita’s abdomen.

Smack.

The sound came first, then the sensation— an impact spreading across her stomach, followed by the wet, unpleasant feeling of liquid splattering against her clothes.

“Ah—!”

The force itself wasn’t overwhelming. What drew the cry from her lips was the sheer shock of it— something she had never anticipated.

That was when Yamawaki finally understood.

“Sh—shot…! We’ve been shot! There’s an enemy here!!”

His shout cut through the forest like a signal flare.

As if triggered by Yamawaki's shout, paintballs also struck the flank of Yabu, who was standing there dazed. Another paint round punched into Sonoda’s left thigh, and his wristwatch let out a shrill warning tone, declaring him out.

Only then did panic truly set in.

The remaining students hastily raised their paint guns, eyes darting left and right, scanning the trees and undergrowth ahead, trying desperately to locate the attacker.

But no matter how hard they looked, they couldn’t see anyone.

“T–that’s gotta be Kōenji!” someone yelled. “He’s close— he has to be! Where the hell is Kaneda?! Why isn’t he warning us?!”

Fear and frustration boiled over at once, their anger turning toward the commander who hadn’t told them danger was already upon them.

“We still can’t get through— nothing connects at all!!”

“What the hell is going on?!”

Panic crept into their voices, yet even as they shouted, the remaining guards moved on instinct, tightening their formation around Morofuji, the VIP, forming a crude human shield.

But no matter how hard they searched— no Kōenji, no silhouette, not even the faintest hint of a presence.

“Where’s it coming from?!”

“I don’t know!”

A sharp snap cut through the air, and by the time anyone registered the sound, another paint round had already struck flesh.

There were no wasted shots. No hesitation. Each round found its mark with chilling precision.

Another shot came— silent, sudden— and Yamawaki was hit again.

Using the point of impact as a clue, the four students still standing swung their guns toward the presumed direction and fired back in a desperate volley.

But once more, there was nothing.

No movement. No shadow. No enemy.

“Why are you attacking us, Kōenji?!” Komiya shouted, his voice cracking as he yelled into the empty forest. He was already out, but the disbelief boiled over. “We’re enemies, sure— but… you weren't supposed to be taking this exam seriously.”

The logic of it hardly mattered. What rattled them most was that this wasn’t supposed to be happening at all.

“It’s just one person, right?” Nishino muttered, exhaling sharply. “There’s no way we lose to one.”

Before anyone could stop her, she broke from the group, sprinting toward the direction they thought the shots were coming from.

“Wait, Nishino—!”

Oda’s warning came a second too late.

A paint round struck her mid-run. She stumbled, shock throwing her balance forward, and she hit the ground hard.

Less than thirty seconds.

That was all it took.

Six students were already out.

The realization hit Class B like a blunt instrument, sending visible tremors through those still standing.

They fired wildly now— no longer aiming, just pulling triggers. Paint splattered across tree trunks, dirt, leaves, bursting uselessly into the forest floor.

“Where are you?!”

“You’re here— right, Kōenji?!”

“I— I don’t know anymore!”

One by one, they fell.

The eight guards who had formed a ring around Morofuji were wiped out in rapid succession, their watches chiming their defeat almost mockingly as each was eliminated.

“What… what is even happening…?”

Suzuki stood frozen, staring at the aftermath— at classmates collapsing without ever seeing the face of their attacker.

Just as Kaneda’s voice came through the radio to Morofuji, Suzuki’s shoulder was struck cleanly, his wristwatch screaming its alert as he was eliminated.

The protection around the VIP shattered in an instant.

Morofuji turned and ran in blind panic, only for her feet to tangle beneath before falling hard on the ground.

“M-Morofuji! He’s here— he’s coming! Run!”

From the direction of that desperate shout, Kōenji emerged.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t hide. He simply walked forward, his posture relaxed, as though this were nothing more than a casual stroll.

Scrambling, Morofuji grabbed a weapon dropped by a fallen ally and pointed it toward him.

“D-Don’t come any closer!”

“You’re the VIP, aren’t you?” Kōenji said calmly. “If you fire back, you’ll only be eliminated needlessly.”

As he spoke with infuriating composure, Komiya forced himself upright and charged toward him.

“What the hell are you trying to pull?!”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Kōenji replied without irritation. “I’m Class A. You’re Class B. We’re enemies.”

“T-That’s—! But you’re alone! How did you even find us?!”

“Good grief,” Kōenji sighed. “I had no intention of crossing paths with you. However, when one hears such unbecoming voices and gunshots in the middle of this grand nature, it's impossible not to notice. Am I wrong?”

Komiya’s reckless shouting. The echoing shots fired in bravado.

Those sounds had drawn him here.

“I’d already spent a full day enjoying this island,” Kōenji continued. “I was just about to return to the boat.”

He raised his assault rifle and smiled.

“But I thought I’d try it out first. That’s all.”

“Damn it— this is your fault, Komiya!”

“S-Sorry…”

1

“Don’t blame him too harshly,” Kōenji said pleasantly. “Thanks to him, I had quite a bit of fun.”

He leveled the rifle toward Morofuji.

“Once you actually try it, this survival game is rather entertaining.”

The muzzle of the gun was pointed at her by Kōenji, who had expressed such gratitude.

Certain of her fate, Morofuji shut her eyes.

But the shot never came.

“You came because there are supplies around here, correct?”

“T-That’s…”

“I suggest answering honestly. It will serve you better.”

“…Y-Yes. There are bullets here… so we came to collect them…”

“I see. Then you should retrieve the supplies and bring them back to Class B.”

“What… do you mean?”

“Being defeated by me was nothing more than a misfortune,” Kōenji said lightly.

“It would be cruel to torment only Class B without reason.”

“Don’t fall for it, Morofuji!” one of the eliminated students shouted.“The moment you open that box, he’ll shoot you from behind! Kōenji just wants the ammo!”

“Y-Yeah…!” Morofuji nodded frantically, clinging to the warning like a lifeline.

Watching the scene unfold, Kōenji released a quiet sigh— light, almost weary.

“Good grief,” he said. “That’s about as far off the mark as one can be.”

He spoke without irritation in his voice.

“Whether I win or lose this special exam is of absolutely no importance to me. I have no interest in eliminating the VIP here, nor in acquiring supplies.”

His gaze drifted briefly toward Morofuji.

“However, for you, the VIP’s points are a significant matter, aren’t they? The same goes for the supplies.”

He shrugged lightly.

“Well, never mind.”

With that, Kōenji turned and began to walk away.

“W-Wait…!” Morofuji called out. “You’re really… letting me go?”

“You’re quite persistent,” Kōenji replied, stopping just long enough to glance back.

“If you wish that badly, shall I eliminate you here and send you home instead?”

The assault rifle rose smoothly, its muzzle trained squarely on Morofuji.

The answer came instantly— Morofuji shook her head violently, panic flooding her expression.

“Very well,” Kōenji said, lowering the weapon. “Then I shall be on my way.”

1

He started walking again.

“Just be sure you don’t interfere with me from here on. I was thinking it’s about time I returned to the ship.”

It was, in its own way, Kōenji’s form of mercy.

And at the same time, it was a warning— absolute, and never to be broken.

Roughly thirty minutes before the sudden wave of eliminations struck Class B—

At exactly eleven in the morning, Class C entered the first event period of the second day. The moment we learned that every square along the island’s outer perimeter had been designated a prohibited area, we immediately convened a new strategy meeting.

Even accounting for the fact that much of the outer perimeter was ocean, the number still landed hard: fifty-six squares, gone all at once.

The realization rippled through the group, surprise plain on every face.

“So the restricted zones might keep expanding inward…?” Hashimoto muttered, voicing the hypothesis as it formed.

Morishita immediately offered a supplement.

“It’s not an unlikely scenario. If it keeps shrinking until only a single area remains, then conflict becomes unavoidable. I suppose Ayanokōji Kiyotaka probably sees it the same way?”

It was a simple mechanism— brutal in its efficiency. A way to force classes that had carefully kept their distance to converge, whether they liked it or not.

“Yeah,” I replied evenly. “Even if it doesn’t collapse straight toward the exact center, expanding the restricted zones from the perimeter inward makes sense. From the perspective of this being a survival game, with paint rounds and eliminations as its final destination, it’s one of the most logical approaches.”

If, at every event, all remaining perimeter squares were rendered unusable, forty-eight more would disappear. After the third instance, forty squares would be gone. At that rate, the island could shrink to a single square by tomorrow.

Given the three-night, four-day structure of the exam, the contraction would likely be more gradual— but it would be wise to assume that, by the final day, the battlefield would have narrowed to something close to that.

Northeast. Northwest. Southeast. Southwest. Or perhaps the center itself.

The island would almost certainly begin collapsing around a particular axis— but for now, it was impossible to determine which.

More importantly, the school wouldn’t make it easy. Any pattern obvious enough to be deduced early would defeat the purpose.

And so each class was left in the same bind: continue collecting event supplies, while constantly weighing where they should move next.

If a definitive pattern emerged, it would likely be no earlier than the third day— or perhaps only at the fourth, when the shrinking reached its most severe stage.

“Right now, everyone’s focused on moving around the island, gathering supplies, and keeping themselves healthy,” I continued. “But that’s only the prologue. Once the map forces us into close quarters, positioning will matter more than stockpiles. The class that catches even a slight momentum shift could end up winning everything.”

“So it'll be settled by a pure survival game? If that's the case, my arms are itching for a fight.”

Morishita clenched her fist as if putting on a brave face, but it only made a small, dry sound.

In truth, the possibility was becoming increasingly real.

No matter how many rounds one gathered, no matter how carefully one rationed food, a single moment of carelessness could wipe out ten— twenty— students in an instant.

Which raised an uncomfortable question.

What, then, was the meaning of these three nights and four days?

Certainly, the system created small advantages— marginal gains that could tilt the odds. But the scale felt excessive for that alone.

Was the island meant to teach survival through deprivation?

The food from supply boxes was never plentiful, and managing one’s condition under constant scarcity demanded discipline. Experiencing that kind of pressure wasn’t meaningless. But...

Was this a survival game that happened to contain survival elements?

Or was it survival training, wrapped inside a game of elimination?

Or perhaps this special exam was merely a gateway— something that would connect, from this point onward, to an entirely different trial altogether.

“It'd be great for us if the other classes just clashed on their own in the narrowed area. If we don't close the numbers gap even a little, we'll definitely be at a disadvantage in a shootout.” someone muttered.

While my classmates continued the discussion, I tuned them out, narrowing the range of possible developments to a handful of patterns. One by one, I laid them over the virtual map I’d already constructed in my head.

The chaotic clash at the end was unavoidable.

If, through sheer bad luck, all three VIPs were eliminated by stray fire in that chaos, the game would effectively be over on the spot. But letting only the VIPs retreat wasn’t a solution either— doing so would sever coordination with the commander, strip us of information about enemy positions, and instead make the VIPs themselves prime targets. The existence of tactics designed to single out individuals was likely meant for exactly such scenarios.

In the end, no matter how much we refined our strategy, we could never push the odds to one hundred percent.

Still, even increasing our chances by a single percent was reason enough to build the best structure we could.

How would the four classes react to the expansion of restricted zones?

1

What conclusions would they draw— and how would those conclusions shape their movements?

I had to assemble the logic, then forecast several possible endings.

I needed to think faster than anyone else about how to intervene— how to guide events toward the most favorable outcome.

The role of the VIPs. Movement within the dense forest. The psychological state each class would reach by the time they converged.

The future trajectories of Class A and Class D.

How far Class B intended to keep Class C pinned down.

Taking all of that into account, the first question was simple: how should this class move next?

And then there was the unresolved variable.

Kōenji— moving alone, freely, without restraint. The route he was likely to take from here on out. A presence that Horikita, too, was almost certainly wrestling with.

Should I consider this an opportunity? A chance to provoke him, observe his reaction, and— if nothing else— attempt a bit of control, even if it failed?

As I layered the event locations shown on the analyst’s tablet with the commander’s incoming reports, I finally lifted my gaze and looked over at my classmates.

“We’re leaving immediately,” I said. “We’re going after the food supplies at G11”

Running away would only delay the inevitable. A battle would come regardless. This wasn’t a decision to wait— it was a decision to strike first.

The students exchanged glances, faint confusion flickering across their faces.

“It’s rough that the supplies didn’t spawn in a safely recoverable area. But going for G11 means we’ll clash with Ryūen’s class, doesn’t it? And they’re a bit closer than we are.”

Matoba voiced his objection first, saying he didn’t like the gamble— rushing in only to have the supplies taken before we arrived. He argued that this event might be one worth observing rather than contesting.

I rejected that idea outright and made it clear that we would be going on the offensive.

“Enough discussion,” I said. “Because they’re close, we have to reach the site first.”

Ryūen’s group would likely arrive in ten to fifteen minutes. We, on the other hand, would need fifteen to twenty.

That five-minute gap was decisive— and closing it required immediate action.

“Ayanokōji’s the leader,” Hashimoto said. “We trust him and follow. That’s how it is, right?”

“…Yeah. I guess so,” Matoba replied, though the unease in his voice hadn’t fully faded.

That unease wasn’t misplaced. Charging into a location where the enemy might already be waiting bordered on suicidal. But I didn’t try to ease his concerns. Instead, we moved out.

Five minutes later, at the next GPS update, our entire group crossed into the G12 area.

“Class B appears to be split into three groups,” came the report over the radio. “One group of ten is heading toward E9. Another ten are in G8. The remaining members are moving closer to G11.”

As the information came in, updates on the other classes followed in quick succession.

“So this is it,” someone muttered. “A real fight, huh… Even with twenty-something already out, it’s finally almost even. Or should I say— we should be grateful it’s even?”

1

“Not necessarily,” another voice countered. “They’ve probably realized by now that we’re heading for G11. Worst case, they pull everyone back and come at us with everything they’ve got. If that happens— what then?”

“That won’t happen,” I said. “Even if it looks like we’re targeting G11, they can’t tell how serious we are. If they recall the teams sent to collect supplies, we’ll withdraw immediately. They know that.”

Class B, being closer, would gain the advantage the moment they reached the objective area.

Being able to receive us on their terms— on terrain they controlled— was a significant edge. That alone gave them room to wait, to probe, to determine how committed we truly were to seizing the supplies.

There was no need for them to escalate into a full-scale confrontation until they were sure.

We reformed our formation with care. The front and middle ranks were reinforced with guards, mostly boys. The two VIPs were positioned at the rear; I took my place just ahead of them, while Hashimoto brought up the very end, anchoring the line as though shielding the VIPs’ backs with his own presence.

“Even I’m starting to feel a little nervous now,” Hashimoto muttered.

Whether it was the weight of the moment or the weapon itself, sweat had begun to gather in his palms. He shifted his grip, steadying the gun with his left hand while wiping his right against his tracksuit.A moment later, he repeated the motion with the other hand.

The time was 11:15 a.m. As the latest information came in, we learned that Ryūen’s GPS cluster— those lying in wait— was now practically within arm’s reach. As usual, reports on the positions of the other classes followed.

“They’re right ahead,” someone whispered. “Two… maybe three minutes if we keep walking.”

I raised a hand, signaling everyone to halt.

“We’ll wait here for five minutes.”

“Five minutes?” someone asked, disbelief creeping into their voice. “Is that really okay? If we hesitate, they might take the supplies first.”

“They won’t have that kind of leeway,” I replied.

They were clearly set up to receive us, braced in a tight formation. If they diverted even a fraction of their attention toward the supplies, their initial response to an attack would delay.

Before long, the surroundings fell silent.

A silence to ensure we wouldn't miss the sound if they were to attack us first.

All that remained was the sound of our own breathing, tense and restrained, echoing faintly through the trees.

The five minutes stretched unnaturally long, feeling less like minutes and more like an hour. Then Shiraishi spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

“There’s almost no movement. They’re completely focused on us, holding position. Shimazaki-kun says to let him know anytime if we want to use a tactic.”

“We won’t,” I said. “As long as we don’t use it, they can’t relax. That constant tension is worth more than the tactic itself. More importantly— give me the detailed GPS data for the other classes as well.”

A few people glanced at me, clearly wondering why information on the other classes mattered right now. Ignoring the looks, I had Shiraishi relay everything she could extract from the commander, committing it all to memory.

“Another five minutes,” I said.

“…Seriously?” someone murmured. Then, after a beat, “All right.”

How we would fight— if we fought— was already decided.

We could have moved five minutes ago. We could move now.

And the outcome, too, was already clear.

But if we were going to strike, then it was better to do so at the ideal moment.

Another stretch of silence followed. When it broke, the clock had passed 11:25.

Through Shiraishi, I confirmed that the group ahead still hadn’t moved, and that the latest reports on the other classes were in.

Only then did I raise my arm.

“Let’s move forward,” I said. “If you spot the enemy, don’t hesitate— attack. And during the engagement, you’ll take command, Matoba.”

“What? You’re not taking command yourself, Ayanokōji?”

“For the sake of coordination within the class,” I replied, “it makes more sense to leave it to you at the front.”

“…I see.” Matoba paused for a breath, then nodded. “All right. I’ll take it. Let’s move!”

It wasn’t an assignment he would’ve welcomed, not under these circumstances— but he accepted it without argument.

A moment later, Hashimoto leaned closer and murmured, “Ayanokōji, you stay back here and protect the VIPs, yeah? As long as they’re safe, I still think we can pull out a win.”

He was thinking ahead— about what would happen if Matoba faltered.

“Understood,” I said.

Matoba broke into a run toward the front line, shouting a short, sharp command to steel himself and the others as he pressed forward.

And then—

Crack.

Somewhere beyond the trees, a thick branch snapped loudly.

The forest answered immediately with gunfire.

A burst of shots tore through the air, ripping it apart with sharp reports. Paint rounds sliced past, shattering leaves and splashing color across the greenery. The front line flinched instinctively, shoulders jerking at the sudden violence.

The enemy had struck first.

Class B had picked up on our presence and launched the opening salvo.

“They’re firing! Return fire— don’t hold back!” someone yelled.

This wasn’t practice anymore. Fingers locked around triggers, and the students unleashed full-auto fire in a frantic storm. Shots ripped through thin branches at angles, splattering paint across trunks and foliage like bursts of blood.

Still, nothing landed cleanly.

The distance was too great— fifteen, maybe twenty meters at least.

The enemy had dug in between trees and rocks, exposing only slivers of themselves at a time. Just a glimpse of a shoulder, a flash of movement— then they vanished again, retreating the instant they were seen, only to answer back with precisely timed shots of their own.

“Three—front-right diagonal! One more further back!”

“Pin them down! Concentrate fire at the base of the tree!”

At Matoba’s command, the front line opened fire in unison. Paint rounds streaked forward in rapid succession, stripping bark from tree trunks and scattering splinters into the air.

But—

The alarm that should have sounded from a hit wristwatch never came.

Instead, counterfire returned almost immediately.

A round slid in from a low angle, slipping beneath the line of fire and striking one of Class C’s vanguard squarely in the chest. Vivid red paint bloomed across him, followed by a sharp electronic tone that cut through the forest.

“One out! Fall back a bit!”

“Damn it— where are they shooting from?!”

Panic spread in an instant.

Class B didn’t miss it. Fire erupted from the shadows on both flanks, shots cracking dryly— more than a dozen in quick succession. The formation unraveled, collapsing into a mess that was hard to look at.

“Ugh—!”

The second and third fell almost back-to-back.

Unable to expose themselves enough to defend properly, those with the largest exposed areas were picked off one after another.

Hashimoto raised his voice at once. Any trace of a smile had vanished from his face.

“Front line, fall back to cover! Use the trees properly! Middle line— suppress while firing!”

The students moved with the orders, but the forest worked against them. The trees stood too close together, sightlines tangled and narrow.

Class B’s fire was clearly more accurate. They read our positions, shifted their angles, and pressed the advantage.

Even so, one of our return shots found its mark— almost by miracle.

A small electronic tone sounded deep in the forest, and one of the enemy rose into view.

In that moment, the air on our side changed— just slightly.

“We hit one! Took one down!”

“Good! Keep them pinned!”

For a brief instant, the rhythm of our fire returned.

Then the enemy adapted.

Matching the sound of our shots, they fired back with precision, as if mapping our positions by ear alone. Paint rounds sliced overhead, splattering violently across the trees behind us.

“Three ahead on the left—diagonal! There’s another one firing from deeper in the shade of the trees!”

“Don’t try to flank them— that’s too dangerous! Open the distance!”

The order went out, but the student on the right reacted a fraction too late. A paint round tore into his shoulder, and the fourth electronic alert shrieked through the forest.

Almost immediately, another shot followed— low and precise— catching a student who had been crouched behind a tree square in the leg. The unmistakable alarm sounded again.

Five down.

Thick red paint dripped from uniforms, splashing onto the forest floor in heavy drops.

The exchange had lasted only a few minutes, yet it carried the density of something far longer. Lungs burned. Fingers trembled. The air itself felt saturated with tension.

“We’re getting hit! I can’t even tell if we’re landing shots on them!”

One of the students, already crouched low to stay out of the line of fire, slammed a fist into the dirt in frustration.

“No— I hit one! I know I did, mine definitely connected!”

“Right side— there are at least five of them over there!”

I drew in a single steady breath and focused past the chaos, forcing my gaze forward.

Class B remained entrenched, bodies swallowed by shadow and bark. Their firing rhythm never faltered. Whether it was the surplus of paint rounds they’d secured from earlier supplies or simply superior discipline, the difference was unmistakable.

Even standing back and observing, it was obvious.

Numbers might have been close, but in ammunition, momentum— and above all, composure— Class B overwhelmingly outclassed us.

Against our mounting losses, their casualties were minimal. One, perhaps two at most.

Continuing this exchange would only widen the wound.

The outcome of this engagement had already been decided.

Keeping my voice level, concise, I gave the order.

“Any further fighting will only deepen our losses. We’re pulling back— now.”

“R-retreat? You mean… we’re retreating for real?!”

I signaled to everyone still standing. The command spread instantly. The front line began to withdraw— not turning their backs, but stepping backward, weapons raised, careful not to invite pursuit.

Morishita broke from the middle line, sprinting toward the rear.

That was when it happened.

One of the students from Class B surged forward from the trees, breaking cover. His barrel swung up in a smooth, practiced motion, locking onto Morishita.

“Watch out, Yamamura Miki—!”

Morishita shouted as she seized Yamamura by both shoulders and yanked her backward. In that very instant, a paint round slammed into Morishita’s back.

“—gh…!”

Her face twisted in pain. Then, almost without pause, a second shot struck her, followed by a third— each one landing squarely against her exposed back.

Hashimoto fired in desperation, returning shots toward the trees, but none found their mark. The Class B student withdrew immediately, retreating into the forest as if slipping back into the shadows themselves.

“Ugh…”

A low groan escaped Morishita’s lips. There was no mistaking it now— the merciless alarm from her wristwatch rang out, loud and final.

“M-Morishita-san!”

“It seems… this is as far as I go,” she said weakly. “At least… you should run. Get away…”

“Why… why would you protect someone like me?!”

For a fleeting moment, a different possibility crossed my mind.

Had Morishita truly shielded Yamamura?

The gun had been aimed at Morishita from the start. From where I stood, it almost looked as though she had realized she was being targeted and instinctively tried to pull Yamamura into the line of fire— only to fail.

No. Surely even Morishita wouldn’t do something like that—

…or maybe she would.

1

“I suppose,” she murmured, managing a faint smile, “there was still a trace of kindness left in my heart. That’s all.”

Whatever the truth was, there was no time to dwell on it.

“Live, Yamamura Miki,” Morishita said softly. “And in my place… become an Amazoness—”

1

Her body suddenly slackened.

“Morishita-san…? Morishita-san!”

Her eyes had closed, her weight leaning limply against Yamamura— until, abruptly, they snapped apart.

“You should really hurry and leave,” she added. “They might come after you.”

“Eh— ah… y-yes… I will…”

She then turned her gaze toward me.

“Ayanokōji Kiyotaka,” Morishita added, turning her gaze toward me. “I’ll leave the rest to you. I think I’ll relax on the ship now.”

For someone who had just been eliminated, she didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

If anything, she looked pleased— almost relieved— to be able to bow out so early.

And so, the self-proclaimed Amazoness of the Dense Forest— who had even volunteered to serve as a guard— was taken out of the game, disappearing from the class without ever making a decisive contribution.

At the very end, a strange, relaxed atmosphere drifted over us for a moment, but we continued our hasty retreat regardless.

We disengaged from the G11 area and withdrew as far as H12, the designated fallback point in the event of defeat. After ordering the class to rest and regain what little composure they could, I stepped away with Shiraishi and Hashimoto to talk in a spot slightly removed from the others.

Yamamura happened to be there alone. When she noticed us approaching, she hesitated as if to leave, but when I told her it was fine to stay, she nodded quietly and remained where she was.

“It doesn’t seem like we’re being pursued,” Shiraishi said after checking the latest reports. “For now, I believe we can consider ourselves safe.”

“We were completely outplayed,” Hashimoto muttered, half in resignation. “Really drives home how strong the side that waits can be. Compared to us, they’ve got way more people who are just… better at straight-up survival games.”

There was certainly a difference between attacking and defending, but even accounting for that, his impression wasn’t wrong. I didn’t think the gap in raw ability was overwhelming. What stood out was their intensity— the pressure and momentum of their will. Ryūen’s domineering leadership and relentless commands were clearly pushing Class B in the right direction.

“I do have one piece of good news,” Shiraishi said, cutting in smoothly. She had continued exchanging information over the radio even after confirming that Class B wasn’t pressing their advantage.

“The GPS signals from the ten Class B students who headed toward E9… all but one have gone offline.”

“…Huh?” Hashimoto blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It appears their route completely overlapped with Kōenji-kun’s GPS,” Shiraishi replied.

“…Don’t tell me,” Hashimoto said slowly. “You’re saying he took out nine people by himself?”

“That would seem to be the case,” I answered. “Whether he acted on Horikita’s instructions or simply on a whim is unclear. Given how things unfolded, the latter seems more likely.”

“Heh,” Hashimoto said, grinning. “If that’s true, talk about turning disaster into fortune. Ryūen took a nasty hit there.”

He sounded genuinely pleased. And he wasn’t wrong— this was almost certainly a development Ryūen hadn’t accounted for. Against Class C, he’d achieved results close to ideal, trading six of us for one or two of them. But behind the scenes, he’d lost nine students.

That kind of damage couldn’t be ignored.

“But still,” Hashimoto added, “while we struggled to take out one or two people, Kōenji took out nine solo? That's one hell of a trade that just went down.”

“Kōenji-kun hasn’t been eliminated,” Shiraishi continued calmly. “According to the GPS, he’s still alone in E9.”

So not only had he taken out nine opponents— he’d done it without being taken down himself.

“An unexpected side effect,” I murmured. “Even so, the gap between Class C and Class B is still far from small.”

1

I had always known Kōenji to be the sort who swats down an annoying fly the moment it buzzed around him. If contact happened in a confined area and escalated into combat, that alone wasn’t surprising. What exceeded expectations was how thoroughly one-sided the outcome had been.

Still, whether that would ignite any real motivation in him remained doubtful. If anything, it seemed just as likely that he would feel satisfied and bow out entirely now that he’d had his fun.

That was precisely why I couldn’t share Hashimoto’s simple, unfiltered relief at the news that Kōenji had taken out nine opponents.

On the surface, it looked like a pure gain for the rest of us— but things like this never existed in isolation. Balance mattered. Whether his actions would ultimately benefit us or destabilize the field further was a coin toss, and one that warranted careful consideration.

As Shiraishi, Hashimoto, and I continued talking, Matoba approached us from the direction of the front line. His face was drawn tight with exhaustion, every step carrying the weight of accumulated damage.

“...Can I have a word with you?” he asked quietly.

“If you’re about to blame Ayanokōji for what happened, give it a rest,” Hashimoto shot back at once. “He’s doing everything he can with a class that’s already half-crippled.”

“I know,” Matoba replied, shaking his head. “That’s exactly why I want to talk. About yesterday… no, about the conversation we cut short.”

“The one we cut short?” I tilted my head slightly, unsure what he meant.

After a brief hesitation, Matoba spoke again, his words coming out stiff and uneven.

“The alliance. With Class D.”

3

“That’s something we can discuss properly after this special exam is over,” I said calmly. “Even if I were to be expelled, the deal won't fall through, so don't worry.”

1

“No,” he said, more firmly now. “It’s because things have turned out like this that I want to talk about it here and now. I know it sounds self-serving, but after that fight, it finally sank in. We’re not just failing to push back. We’re losing the ability to move at all. The restricted areas are almost certainly going to keep shrinking. And once that happens, Class A and Class D might decide to finish us off while we’re weak. At this rate… I can’t see how we survive, let alone win.”

Facing Class B head-on— and experiencing their aggressive, relentless style— had likely shaken him more than he cared to admit.

“It’s frustrating,” I admitted, “but I can’t deny it. I believe we’re doing everything we can to win— but there’s no guarantee we can overturn this disadvantage.”

“I know,” Matoba said. “That’s why I’m asking— can we make the alliance official? Right now.”

“An alliance?”

“If Class D is willing to accept us, then I want us to merge forces immediately. That feels like the best option. If the alliance goes through, we’d have close to fifty people combined. At that point, it wouldn’t even be a recovery anymore. It’d be a full revival, wouldn’t it?”

It was a plea stripped of pride, the lid he’d once sealed shut thrown open at last. He spoke as though there were no other path left.

1

Hashimoto responded immediately, reaching out and patting Matoba on the shoulder.

“No, I’d been thinking the same thing,” Hashimoto said. “We’ve already let the class know about the alliance idea. Either way, it’s only a matter of time before the C–D alliance comes to light, right? This might be moving a little faster than planned, but honestly, I think it’s the best way to protect ourselves.”

He had followed my instructions without complaint until now, but if there was a safer path available, it was only natural that he’d want to take it.

A brief silence fell over us. Every pair of eyes turned in my direction, breaths held as they waited for my answer.

“The reason things deteriorated this badly is because I let my guard down,” I said at last. “That much is on me. But precisely because we left the alliance option on the table, it may now be our last remaining hope. If Matoba— no, if everyone in the class can accept it, then I think it’s worth betting on it again.”

3

Matoba nodded the moment I finished. Almost at the same time, Hashimoto brought his hands together in a sharp clap.

“I’ll explain it to the others,” he said. “That alright with you?”

“Yeah. I’m counting on you.”

“Alright. Leave it to me.”

With a grin, he flashed a thumbs-up and jogged off toward our battered classmates, his energy standing out against their exhaustion.

Throughout the exchange, Yamamura had remained silent, watching us from the side. Now, as if she’d finally made up her mind, she looked at me hesitantly, something clearly weighing on her.

“What is it?” I asked. “If there’s something on your mind, say it.”

“Ah— no, it’s just…” She stumbled over her words, then forced herself to continue. “I was a little surprised, that’s all. You accepted Matoba-kun’s renewed proposal so readily, even though he rejected it once before. I couldn’t help thinking that… sorry.”

1

“Was it the wrong call?” I asked.

“N-no, not at all,” she hurried to correct herself. “Given how cornered we are, I also feel that joining up with Class D is one of the best ways to protect the class right now. It’s just that… if this was going to happen anyway, I wondered whether it might have been better to revisit the alliance sooner. If we had… maybe Morishita-san wouldn’t have been eliminated…”

In her eyes, it seemed obvious. That after the ambush, I could have reopened the alliance talks if I truly wanted to.

“The alliance was something I’d been told to drop,” I replied evenly. “So I didn’t feel it was my place to bring it up again.”

2

“…I see. You’re right,” she said softly. “I’m sorry for saying something strange.”

Yet even after hearing my answer, Yamamura didn’t look relieved— If anything, a deeper shadow settled across her face.