Chapter 6: True Objective

Class B had pitched their tents along the edge of the E12 shoreline, spending the night with the sea only a few steps away. Even from inside the canvas, the sound of waves rolled in an unbroken rhythm beside them.

Inside a one-person tent pitched a little away from the cluster, Ryūen lay on his back, staring up at the low ceiling.

While he was lost in thought, footsteps crunched over the sand nearby, and a faint shadow slid across the fabric.

“It’s past nine.”

At Katsuragi’s quiet report, Ryūen rose without a word and stepped out into the open air.

Several students who had been waiting for Ryūen to come out began greeting him one after another. Ryūen ignored them all, walking straight toward Katsuragi, who had already spread a map across a makeshift surface.

Ibuki and Ishizaki were there as well, their expressions tight as they waited.

“From yesterday evening until this morning, neither Class C nor Class D has lost a single student,” Katsuragi began without preamble. “More significantly, both classes are densely packed together. Their forces are completely intermingled.”

“So they’ve joined forces, huh,” Ryūen sneered.

“I thought it was strange that there were no signs of a skirmish when they made contact,” Katsuragi continued. “Still… I didn’t expect it to end like this.”

“For Class C, it was their only path to survival after we decimated them.” Ryūen studied the map with cold calculation. “And there were reports of some unusual interaction between Ayanokōji and Ichinose. Guess they’d been laying the groundwork for a while.”

Now that it had actually materialized, it appeared to be the optimal move for the crippled Class C.

“And the fight with Kōenji yesterday didn’t help,” Katsuragi added. “Losing nine students is a serious blow. The only silver lining is that Morofuji made it back without being taken out.”

“Would've been better if the bastard had crashed straight into Classes C and D instead,” Ishizaki grumbled.

“No chance,” Katsuragi said, shaking his head. “Their routes overlapped, and Komiya’s group acted recklessly. That’s where the responsibility lies. If they’d kept their heads down without provoking him, there was a good chance they could’ve avoided combat altogether.”

He spoke after carefully reviewing the frantic report Morofuji had delivered upon rejoining the main force.

“Oh, but Ryūen-san!” Ishizaki perked up. “That Kōenji guy just retired a little while ago.”

“Guess he was satisfied after hunting some small fry,” Ryūen snorted. “Selfish to the very end.”

“We suffered heavy losses, but at least one major threat has been neutralized.” Katsuragi paused meaningfully. “Which only makes Komiya's failure more frustrating.”

“But wait,” Ibuki interjected, “didn't Morofuji's group try to contact Kaneda before the fight with Kōenji happened?”

Ishizaki jumped to their defense. “Yeah! The radio was tied up right at that moment because Class C was attacking to secure supplies. I don't think it's fair to put all the blame on Komiya's squad. They just had bad luck.”

Katsuragi received those words in silence, then turned his gaze toward Ryūen before speaking.

“Bad luck… do you really think that’s all it was?”

“No, the timing was too damn perfect,” Ryūen said. “If Class C had genuinely intended to seize the supplies head-on, they could’ve arrived earlier. The fact that they were just a little late makes me think they were aiming for something else— maybe deliberately setting things up so Komiya’s unit would run into Kōenji.”

4

Main force and detached unit— when forced to prioritize radio communications, the choice was obvious. If Ryūen had been speaking directly with Kaneda, he could have relayed a warning to Komiya's squad with minimal delay. But with the VIP serving as intermediary, inevitable discrepancies in timing and information transfer had emerged.

“You're saying Ayanokōji planned it?” Ibuki frowned. “That’s a bit much, isn’t it? I can’t buy that.”

Katsuragi crossed his arms, reconsidering yesterday's events. “I agree with Ryūen's assessment. There’s little doubt Ayanokōji engineered the overlap between Komiya’s unit and Kōenji. Still, I doubt he expected an actual fight to break out. It’s more reasonable to assume he was aiming for collateral— an added bonus while pressing forward for supplies.”

If Komiya's group had kept their composure and calmly altered their route, or simply laid low for a while, the clash might never have happened. Judging from what Kōenji later said to Morofuji, combat wasn’t inevitable.

Ryūen and Katsuragi shared the same conclusion. Even if that assessment were wrong, they agreed on one thing: Ayanokōji was the kind of opponent who was capable of orchestrating such multilayered strategies.

1

“Uh, Ryūen-san…” Ishizaki scratched his head. “About Classes C and D teaming up— how'd they decide who gets the higher ranking? Normally that'd be impossible to agree on, right?”

“That’s simple. Class C obviously compromised.”Ibuki scoffed. “No matter how you look at it, on their own, they were headed straight for last place. I can already picture Ayanokōji groveling to Class D, saying: ‘We'll let you have the glory, just please save us’.”

“Ohhh, right!” Ishizaki smacked his fist into his palm. “Makes sense!”

“That’s the crux of it,” Katsuragi said quietly. “The ranking dispute— which would tear apart an alliance of equals— becomes viable precisely because there's a power imbalance. He's made an exceptionally troublesome move. As a result, they’ve swelled to nearly fifty people, and with us losing Komiya’s group, they outnumber us by more than twenty. The tables have completely turned.”

It was a bleak assessment, one that left little room for optimism. Yet Ishizaki slapped his palm against his fist again, eyes lighting up as if struck by inspiration.

“Then why don’t we team up with Class A? That’d give us sixty people!”

“And concede first place to Class A in the process?” Katsuragi's response was withering. “We'd be the ones at a numerical disadvantage making concessions.”

“Huh? Well, I mean… wouldn’t that be unavoidable?” Ishizaki hesitated, then grimaced. “No— yeah, that’s bad. That won’t work.”

Alliances, by nature, didn’t come easily— certainly not between two classes vying for the summit. Even a single class point wasn't something either could readily sacrifice.

More fundamentally, such an alliance offered Class B virtually no advantages. There was zero trust between them, no guarantee the alliance would even hold, and even if it did, no assurance they could defeat the C-D coalition. Rather than shouldering multiple risks for such uncertain gains, Class B would be better served attacking Class A directly and securing third place or higher.

“If this had happened right at the start,” Katsuragi continued, “we would’ve had options. But an alliance forming on Day Three is far more troublesome than we anticipated.”

Even the straightforward path of taking down Class A had been compromised. Losing Komiya’s unit had created a numerical disparity that would only worsen once the usable area began to shrink. When that happened, the disadvantage would become impossible to ignore.

“So what do we do, Ryūen?” Katsuragi asked. “What we decide today might determine the outcome of this entire exam.”

The weight of leadership settled heavily in the air. Katsuragi, Ibuki, and Ishizaki all turned their eyes toward Ryūen.

Without anyone noticing when it happened, the initiative had begun to slip from his grasp— into the hands of opponents who had once been on the back foot. The possibility that the lower-ranked alliance would strike first at Class A or B could no longer be dismissed.

Ryūen let out a low chuckle.

“Now this is getting interesting.”

One thing, at least, was certain: there wasn’t much time left.

Even so, he couldn’t reach a conclusion just yet.

Telling his companions to wait, Ryūen turned his back on the three of them and started walking toward the beach.

Afterward, Ryūen stood alone at the edge of the surf, his gaze fixed on the rolling sea. The waves crept up to his feet and withdrew again as he turned the situation over in his mind. He reached into his pocket and unfolded a map.

Given the position Class B now found itself in, what course of action would truly lead them to victory?

The most rational and straightforward answer was obvious. Before the lower-ranked alliance could close in on their territory, they could launch an all-out assault on Class A and crush them decisively. If they were going to do it, perhaps it should be early— while it was still Day Three, before the board shifted any further.

There was, however, another option.

With whatever strength remained, they could gamble everything on a surgical strike— aiming solely for Ayanokōji’s VIPs.

“I don't like it.” Ryūen muttered.

Choosing that path meant allowing a hastily formed alliance of lower classes to dictate his decisions. It meant that the side which had seized the initiative through a successful ambush was now being forced into a reactive position.

A surge of irritation welled up in him.

There was no way he was going to let Ayanokōji have everything go exactly as he envisioned.

If that was the case, then perhaps there was another option— one far more aggressive. Turning their full force against the lower-ranked alliance itself.

They probably assumed Class B wouldn’t dare challenge a coalition that had swollen to fifty members.

“Hah. As if he’d be that naïve.”

Whether it was an assault on Class A or an attack on the alliance, both possibilities would already be accounted for.

No matter the choice, Ayanokōji had already simulated Ryūen’s every move in his head.

1

“So what do I want..?” Ryūen murmured. “No, what is it that I desire?”

Beyond the obvious goal of Class B’s victory, there was something else he craved just as fiercely.

Defeating Ayanokōji.

What choice would bring him the fulfillment he sought? What path would allow him to claim that victory?

He turned away from the sea— and in that moment, his gaze caught on a lone figure walking along the shoreline.

Alone, she smiled softly as the gentle waves lapped at her feet.

Lightly rolling up the map, Ryūen slipped it into the back pocket of his gym uniform and started walking toward her.

“Enjoying yourself out here alone, Shiina?”

1

“Oh my, good morning, Ryūen-kun.”

Shiina answered with a brief greeting, turning toward him with a light, cheerful smile.

“It's such a lovely sea, after all,” Shiina replied softly. “I thought I’d take a little stroll.”

After answering, Shiina caught sight of the severity in Ryūen’s expression and seemed to intuit what lay beneath it.

“I’ve heard there’s a strong chance that Class C and Class D have joined forces. What are you planning to do?”

Shiina walked slowly along the empty beach, and Ryūen matched her pace beside her.

“There’s nothing to plan,” Ryūen said flatly. “I’m going to win this special exam— with my own strength. Nothing else.”

The words were forceful, as if to ensure no trace of hesitation leaked through.

“Yes,” Shiina replied softly. “We believe in those words of yours Ryūen-kun. We’ve followed you this far, and we’ll continue to do so.”

Seeing her gentle smile, Ryūen returned it— just barely.

“Take another thirty minutes,” he said. “Do whatever you like.”

He turned his back, starting toward the tents. But before he could take more than a few steps, Shiina called out to him.

“Ryūen-kun— when you read a novel that begins with a bleak, hopeless opening, what kind of ending do you imagine?”

1

A question like that. Anyone else would've scoffed and ignored it.

But, Ryūen stopped.

He considered it seriously, and almost immediately, an answer took shape in his mind.

“I don’t like stories that start off gloomy,” he said. “But most narratives are conveniently written that way, aren’t they? If that’s the case, things usually turn out better in the end.”

“That’s true,” Shiina agreed. “Readers tend to feel the strongest emotions when a story shifts from darkness to light. A sorrowful beginning often becomes the foundation for themes like redemption, atonement, or healing. On the other hand, stories that begin brightly often end in tragedy.”

She paused, then continued quietly.

“Still, the world is vast. There are many masterpieces that remain tragic from beginning to end.”

1

“What are you getting at?” Ryūen asked.

“That no matter what happens, it’s better to be mentally prepared,” she said. “Not just for this special exam— but for what lies beyond it as well.”

1

A test you think you’ll lose can suddenly reveal a path to victory. A test you believe you’ll win can hide defeat within it. And sometimes, reality refuses to follow either pattern.

“So in the end,” Ryūen said, “you’re saying the future’s unknowable.”

She let out a small laugh. “Perhaps.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied. “I’ll force it open myself. If that’s what it takes to beat Ayanokōji.”

“I think that’s fine,” Shiina said.

Ryūen studied her face, then fixed her with a sharp, probing stare, as though testing the weight of her resolve.

“Even if that means I demand something cruel of you someday?” he asked. “No matter how heartless the choice?”

He knew it was a malicious question. One he shouldn’t have asked.

Yet Shiina met his gaze without flinching.

“If that truly serves the interests of everyone," she said calmly. “And of the Class B that matters so much to me.”

She smiled as she spoke.

“Then I won’t hesitate. No matter who stands in the way. No matter how it ends.”

1

“…Good.”

After holding her gaze for a moment longer, Ryūen turned away and headed back toward the tents, where Katsuragi and the others were waiting.

Day One. Day Two.

Each class had done everything it could to avoid direct confrontation, focusing instead on securing supplies.

They watched one another. Tested the waters. Ran from point to point, gathering what they could.

The only truly explosive moments— repeatedly mentioned as they were— had been Class B’s surprise attack, and the brief exchange of gunfire on the second day when we attempted to seize supplies. Just a few frantic minutes.

Yet even as the island remained outwardly calm, the prohibited zones continued to expand steadily.

For now, only the outermost two-square perimeter had been sealed off. This meant each class needed only to retreat from the coastline and shift slightly inward— a manageable adjustment that still allowed ample room to avoid large-scale engagement.

From the third day onward, however, that luxury would vanish.

At our base in sector K13, the representatives of the Class C and D alliance had gathered for a strategy meeting, surrounded by several students from both classes.

“Where the hell were you all morning?” Hashimoto called out as I approached. “I even went by your tent to look for you.”

“Sorry about that. Had a minor errand to take care of.” I raised my right hand in a casual gesture of apology.

Hashimoto's eyes narrowed as they fixed on my hand. “…Isn’t your hand dirty?”

2

“Nothing serious. Don't worry about it.” I brushed off his concern with a wave. “More importantly— fill me in.”

3

“Hm? Oh, right— Kanzaki, please continue.”

Kanzaki nodded, his expression grave. “We were discussing how dire our situation has become. We've burned through most of our supplies, and at this rate, we'll be running on empty by noon. On top of that, Sumida and Minamikata have both been feeling unwell since this morning. They insist they're fine, but I doubt they'll make it to the end of the exam.”

I considered his report about the Class D students carefully. “If they were VIPs, that would be problematic, but since they're guards, it may be wiser to have them retire now. Above all, I want you to tell them not to push themselves. Forcing it while lying to themselves will only lead to greater damage down the line.”

“…Yeah,” Kanzaki said quietly. “Hearing that will probably ease their minds.”

He turned to one of his classmates.

“Moriyama, sorry to ask, but could you pass Ayanokōji’s message along to them?”

“Got it.”

Moriyama nodded and immediately jogged off toward the tents that were in the process of being dismantled.

“But we’re clearly running short on supplies. We've got nothing but hungry people over here too.”

Hashimoto muttered dejectedly, lightly pressing on his stomach.

“Agreed.” Kanzaki's tone was equally somber. “And we're already on day three. We can't keep maintaining distance while scavenging for much longer. Which means... battles over resources are about to begin in earnest.” He turned to me expectantly. “What's your take on our strategy moving forward?”

I nodded slowly, gathering my thoughts. “There are two fundamental ways to set a course of action, one is to define what we want to achieve and then map out the path that leads there. The other is to identify what the enemy is trying to accomplish— and obstruct it.”

I spread the map out between us, adjusting its angle so both Hashimoto and Kanzaki could see clearly as I continued.

“On day one, Class B— or more specifically, Ryūen— launched that surprise attack on Class C. What do you think motivated that decision?”

Hashimoto shrugged. “Isn't it obvious? He figured a sneak attack would deal massive damage to the enemy. He took a calculated risk and it paid off.”

“But what if the draw had gone differently?” I asked. “If the class next to him had been Class A instead— would he have attacked them the same way?”

Kanzaki let out a low hum, pondering briefly before responding. “If anything, Class A would've been the ideal target, wouldn't it? By that logic, attacking them first makes even more sense.”

“I see it differently,” I said. “If Ryūen hadn’t been able to ambush Class C, I don’t think he would’ve burned his trump card right at the beginning. The question isn’t why he attacked, but why it had to be Class C. The answer is simple— because to Ryūen, I represent one of the most troublesome obstacles standing between him and victory.”

1

Hashimoto gave a short, dry laugh.

“To Ryūen, you’re basically his arch-nemesis now. Makes sense he’d want to take you out with a cheap shot while he had the chance.”

“I get what you’re saying,” Kanzaki replied, still unconvinced. “But even so, I don’t buy the idea that he wouldn’t have attacked if it had been Class A. Ideal or not, knocking them into last place would’ve pulled Class B much closer to the top.”

His logic was straightforward. If Class A fell, Class B’s path upward would open dramatically.

“At the start of the exam,” I said, “Class A still had an unpredictable variable. One you’re well aware of— Kōenji. There was no way to tell, at that point, whether he intended to seriously participate or not. And in reality…”

I glanced at Kanzaki.

“…you were uneasy about that too, weren’t you?”

“...Yeah, that's true,” Kanzaki admitted quietly.

“Even if Kōenji had no intention of seriously participating,” I continued, “he still moved with Class A during those initial hours. Launching a surprise attack under those circumstances risked awakening a sleeping lion— creating unnecessary complications.”

“Ah, I see…” Understanding dawned in Kanzaki's eyes. “If Kōenji took offense to the ambush and decided to cooperate with his class in retaliation, the entire situation could've spiraled into chaos.”

Kanzaki’s gaze drifted downward, likely recalling the reports that had come through from Ichinose as well.

“And in reality,” he added, “the Class B students who did run into Kōenji ended up getting taken out… I see. That explains a lot.”

Indeed. No one could deny that.

Even alone, Kōenji possessed enough latent potential to make everyone hesitate— to believe that a single individual could tip the balance of an entire battlefield.

“In the end,” I continued, “after weighing his options, Ryūen executed the surprise attack and secured a significant advantage over Class C. However, compared to Class A, he lost fourteen Guards, and on top of that, he burned his most valuable trump card— the Full GPS Jam.”

I traced a slow line across the map.

“Now that the prohibited areas are expanding, the value of that tactic only increases with time.”

“Right,” Hashimoto agreed. “If an enemy’s GPS freezes the moment fighting starts, even if it's only for thirty minutes, you lose all intel on their position and movements. You'd be completely paralyzed, unable to respond effectively.”

Ryūen had demonstrated firsthand through his own surprise attack just how devastating even brief moments of advantage could be.

“So what's your read?” Hashimoto pressed. “Is Ryūen planning to go on the offensive, or will he hunker down and defend?”

“He'll wait,” I said with certainty. “He won't rush into another attack. Instead, he'll bide his time until the absolute last moment— when the prohibited zones have expanded to the point where escape becomes impossible, and all four classes are forced into close proximity whether they want it or not.”

That was the closest approximation to the optimal strategy. The real question was whether Ryūen could bring himself to choose it. If he let impatience drive him to strike at Class A or the allied classes too early, Class B might vanish from the board far sooner than he expected.

“Then… should we take the opposite approach and go on the offensive?” Kanzaki asked.

“No,” I said. “Right now, avoidance is our best move. Just like Day One and Day Two— we prioritize defense.”

Time was on our side. The end of the exam was fixed; it would arrive whether anyone rushed toward it or not.

And when the playable area had shrunk to its limit, when there was no room left for caution or retreat, an indiscriminate exchange of gunfire would inevitably erupt within that confined space.

That moment—

That chaos—

Was exactly the scenario we were waiting for.

11:00 AM

The announcement came with mechanical precision. New supplies had materialized across the island, and simultaneously, the expansion of the restricted zones was made public as well. One hour later, the usable area would be reduced to a square stretching from D4 to L12— a 9×9 grid, eighty-one squares in total.

The supplies themselves were scattered across eleven locations: D4, D8, D10, E6, F6, G7, H10, I12, J5, K10, and L10.

Some were clearly unreachable. Others looked as though they could just barely be reached in time. And as if mocking the students, the most difficult boxes— the ones perched at the edges of feasibility— had a noticeably higher chance of containing food.

“They’re really playing dirty now…” Hashimoto muttered with a wry grin. “J5 and K10? That's just sadistic. Those are completely impossible.”

He waved both hands in dismissal, as if physically pushing the idea away.

From our current position, it was obvious. For this eleven-o’clock event, the sensible choice was to abandon greed and focus solely on moving inward— toward the centre.

“Losing out on those food supplies stings,” Kanzaki acknowledged before I could voice the same conclusion, “but we have no choice.”

“Agreed,” I replied. “Pushing ourselves too hard risks exhaustion or injury. The greatest strength of this allied force is our numbers. We can’t afford to whittle that down by forcing bad routes.”

We were short on almost everything— but this was precisely the moment to endure.

“Still,” I added after a brief pause, “I want to send a small group ahead to try for H10. If we don’t attempt something, the deficit will catch up to us.”

Walking pace wouldn't suffice— the window was too tight. But if they maintained a steady jog from the start, they might just make it.

Hashimoto cracked his neck as if he’d been waiting for this.

“Guess that's my cue. I'll make a run for it and see if I can snag them. Takemoto should be ready to move as well.”

“We'll assign a few Guards from our side to accompany you,” Kanzaki interjected. “Can't let them narrow down who the VIP is too easily. Besides, there's always the possibility Class B might deploy their individual GPS jam tactic for an ambush.”

Kanzaki gestured to several male students, quickly briefing them on the plan. Within moments, the team was assembled and departing, their classmates watching their backs disappear into the forest.

“The rest of us will follow at a sustainable pace,” I said.

We needed flexibility— the ability to adapt regardless of when or how the next wave of prohibited zones might expand. Both classes began their advance toward the H10-H12 corridor, moving as a coordinated unit.

For the next stretch, we fell back into the familiar rhythm established over the previous two days: VIP check-ins every five minutes, constant surveillance of enemy movements, vigilant monitoring of shifting battle lines. Class B targeting H10 remained a theoretical possibility, but the distance worked against them. As anticipated, Ryūen's group concentrated their efforts on the western sectors where supply acquisition was virtually guaranteed.

“Your prediction seems accurate so far,” Kanzaki observed. “Ryūen isn't showing any signs of committing to an attack on either front.”

“True. But that doesn't make aggression inherently the wrong play.”

“Wait, really?”

“It just depends on what he chooses to prioritize. The order of targets shifts based on that alone. If closing the gap with the top is his highest priority, then charging straight at Class A right now and taking out their three VIPs would be the optimal play. Or he could move early to seize G8, forcing Class A into detours through rough terrain or over the hills. That approach has merit too.”

“I mean, if they crush Horikita's class, losing to us once wouldn't really matter in the grand scheme, right?”

An interesting question. Ryūen’s lack of movement— was it because defeating the allied class mattered more to him than beating Class A? Or because, in his own calculus, that was the path most likely to lead to victory?

Perhaps it was a deliberate declaration of intent: avoid combat to the absolute limit, hoarding every ounce of stamina for the inevitable final confrontation.

The question hung in the air, unanswered.

Not long after, a message came in from the commander to our VIPs— confirmation that supplies had been successfully secured.

As planned, we secured Area H12 and settled there to wait.

The one o’clock event came and went without any expansion of the restricted zones. Even then, neither Class A nor Class B made any decisive move, and the situation remained suspended in a tense equilibrium as we approached the three o’clock update. That was when Shiraishi received a message from the commander— an announcement of newly designated restricted areas.

Hashimoto and Kanzaki exchanged a glance the moment they heard it, then almost simultaneously turned their eyes toward me.

“So this is the first time the pattern’s changed,” one of them muttered.

Until now, the restricted zones had advanced in a predictable manner— one full ring of outer squares at a time, steadily tightening inward.

That rule had finally been broken.

This time, the fourth and fifth rows, along with the entire K and L columns, were wiped out at once. In practical terms, it meant that the resulting safe zone had shifted dramatically— no longer centered, but skewed southwest.

Class A, which had been stationed at F5, would have no choice but to move quickly toward G8.

Class B, on the other hand, would likely hold their ground for now. Rushing toward the center carried the risk of being caught in a pincer— an outcome they could ill afford.

Whether Ryūen would rue his caution— wishing he'd acted sooner— or whether he was calmly executing an entirely different plan, would likely decide Class B’s fate from here on out.

“We're still inside the safe zone,” Hashimoto mused, studying the map with furrowed brows. “But pushing too close to the center feels risky. If things go the same way as yesterday, there probably won’t be any shrinkage at five o’clock either. Maybe sitting tight is the right call?”

“I get what you’re saying,” Kanzaki replied, “but waiting right on the edge of a restricted zone carries its own danger. If the next update puts enemies ahead of us, we could lose our escape routes completely.”

“Sure, but are we really going to move forward one full area?” Hashimoto countered. “A ten-minute difference at most— that’s barely a difference at all.”

“There’s a better position we can take now,” Kanzaki said, tapping the map. “If we move to H10, we’ll have far more flexibility— north, south, east, west. We won’t be boxed in.”

He pointed to a spot slightly south of the center of the remaining area.

Hashimoto frowned, unconvinced. “Sure, but doesn't that also make us an easier target? We'd be sitting in the most accessible location on the board.” He turned to me. “What do you think, Ayanokōji?”

“I can’t say it with absolute certainty,” I replied, “but given how the restricted zones expanded from the northeast this time, the odds of the mountainous areas remaining open are extremely low. Moving in a bit now is probably the safer choice. H10 isn’t a bad call.”

Leaning too far north or west would only increase the likelihood of drawing other classes toward us.

With that settled, we adjusted our objective slightly northward. Fortuitously, supplies had spawned at both H10— our intended destination— and J12, so we decided to limit our recovery efforts to just those two locations.

“Form a retrieval team,” I instructed. “Send a small squad to J12. The rest of us will relocate to H10. This will likely be our final position for the day.”

As the third day entered its latter half, we chose once again to wait— carefully watching to see how Class A and Class B would make their next move.

Even as the clock slipped past three-thirty, then four o’clock, Class B remained stationary.

They had remained anchored to Area E12 since morning, their presence stubbornly static. There were no sweeping maneuvers— only the occasional dispatch of small teams, much like ours, sent out to gather what supplies they could. Meanwhile, Class A, driven southward by the expanding restricted zones, was steadily retreating and was now on the verge of entering G7.

If things continued at this pace, that area would likely become their final stopping point for the day— or, at best, they might push one step farther to G8.

Either way, that stretch would mark the end of their advance.

The distance between us had narrowed to the point where, given just a few dozen minutes, either side could reach the other’s base.

But I had no intention of letting things drift quietly into tomorrow.

“We’ll need to make a small adjustment,” I said.

“An adjustment?” Hashimoto echoed, frowning. “What do you mean by that?”

The situation hadn’t unfolded exactly as we’d anticipated— but that didn’t mean it was unmanageable. If the balance had shifted, then all we had to do was correct it ourselves.

“Kanzaki! Over here, quick!”

We'd just arrived at H10 and were beginning to settle in when Watanabe's shout cut through the camp. He was waving frantically, his expression tense.

The urgency in his voice made it immediately clear that something was wrong. Kanzaki and I moved toward him without hesitation. Beneath the shade of the trees, Ninomiya lay on the ground, her breathing shallow and uneven.

Amikura knelt beside her, one hand pressed gently to Ninomiya’s forehead. She looked up at us, worry written plainly across her face.

“She's been off since this morning,” Amikura reported, her voice tight. “But now she's running a fever. I think... she's reached her limit.”

Ninomiya's eyes fluttered open briefly, but she lacked even the strength to reassure us. Every few moments, a coughing fit wracked her body, her face contorting with discomfort.

“She needs to retire immediately,” I said without hesitation. “Have the school send someone to pick her up.”

Kanzaki nodded in agreement, and Watanabe immediately dashed over to the VIP.

“I noticed a few others coughing this morning too,” Kanzaki added quietly. “It’s possible we’ll see more dropouts by tonight or tomorrow.”

This wasn’t just isolated fatigue. There was a real chance that some kind of cold was spreading.

Even outdoors, the students had been operating in close proximity for three straight days.

I reiterated that, as a general rule, we shouldn't force anyone to push themselves.

Their decision to share the limited food supplies with Class C, who'd struggled to secure their own resources, had likely contributed to the problem. A lack of proper nutrition could easily throw the autonomic nervous system out of balance, weakening immunity and making illness more likely.

“Sorry to interrupt all this,” Hashimoto said, glancing at the sky, “but it’s almost time for today’s last event.”

Leaving Kanzaki to handle the situation, I returned with Hashimoto to where Shiraishi and Sanada were waiting.

At five o’clock sharp, the analyst’s tablet updated.

The moment the new map appeared, Hashimoto let out a low whistle.

Once again, the restricted zones expanded. The survivable area was reduced to a 6x6 grid, stretching from D7 to I12.

“Guess that means fewer supplies too— eight locations this time,” Hashimoto muttered. “Looks like we’ll be going to bed even hungrier than yesterday. Closest ones we can realistically reach are G9 and H12—”

“I’ll take G9,” I cut in. “Takemoto— and I’ll need about six more people.”

Spotting Moriyama nearby, I called him over and asked him to gather additional members. With that, we set the plan in motion and prepared to head out for the supply run.

“You’re going too, Ayanokōji?” Hashimoto asked, eyeing me carefully. “You could conserve your strength for the final day, you know.”

“There's something I need to do. I'll explain the details to Takemoto en route. Have Shimazaki relay the information to you afterward.”

“O-oh, got it. Be careful out there.”

1

I gave the team three minutes to prepare while gathering my own gear: a weapon, water bottle, portable rations, and a one-person tent.

With Takemoto, Moriyama, and the others in tow, we hurried north toward G9.

We found the supply box right away, and inside were seven single-serving meals. Of course, for an alliance of nearly 50 people, it was like a drop in the ocean, but even that was very much appreciated.

I glanced at my watch. It was almost 5:25 p.m.

I had Takemoto check on the status of Class A and Class B. Class A had finished collecting their supplies and was about to enter the G8 area. Class B's situation hadn't changed since morning.

“It’s getting late,” Moriyama muttered. “And we’re way too close for comfort. Let’s head back quickly.”

Takemoto and I agreed, and the three of us began making our way back toward H10 at once.

After walking for about ten minutes, I called out to Takemoto.

“Class A is moving exactly as expected,” I said quietly. “Contact the Commander now. The moment the next GPS update occurs, have him disable my personal GPS signal.”

5

Takemoto's eyes widened. “That thing you mentioned earlier... You're really going through with it?”

“I'm not returning to base tonight. You remember the contingency plan?”

“...Yeah.” His expression was uneasy, but he nodded. “Shimazaki and I have gone over everything— what to do if you get eliminated, and what to do if you don't. Don't worry about us.”

Seeing that, Moriyama stepped in and gently draped an arm around Takemoto’s shoulders.

“Leave the return trip to me,” he said with an easy grin. “I’ll make sure everyone gets back safe.”

He raised his thumb confidently. I returned the gesture in kind.

Well then—

There wasn’t much time left before six o’clock.

From here on out, I'd need to move fast.

Evening shadows stretched across the forest as Horikita and her team completed their supply run, arriving at sector G8 at 5:25 PM.

They had deliberately delayed their arrival. Ever wary of an ambush, they had kept open the option of dropping south along the E6–E8 route until the very last moment. Five minutes earlier, they'd received confirmation that Class B and the C-D alliance were maintaining their distance from G8.

“What about those eight GPS signals at G9?” Horikita asked, her voice carrying the weight of endless repetition as she confirmed through their VIP, Wang, to Matsushita.

“All eight were observed moving back toward H10 at 5:25.”

“What the hell,” Sudō said. “So Ryūen's group didn't make a move even though they were up against a small number of people?”

They had expected that if one side moved, the other would respond to stop it. Yet no clash had occurred. As a result, the eight students from the C–D alliance had secured their supplies without resistance.

“It couldn't be helped.” Horikita's tone was measured. “No one could have predicted Kōenji-kun would take down nine people.”

“Yeah, well…” Sudō grimaced. “One thing's for sure— he wasn't fighting for us. Bastard stopped by the beach afterward and retired. This ain't a game, ya know.”

1

Horikita nodded once, agreeing with him. Kōenji had stumbled into an engagement with ten Class B students on their supply run and eliminated nine of them. The nine he took out were all guards; the VIP was not among them. Still, precise supply retrieval required seamless coordination between the analyst and the VIP, and between the VIP and the commander. The moment she learned of the skirmish, Horikita had authorized to deploy their identification tactic, confirming the sole survivor as Morofuji Rika— and more importantly, confirming her role as VIP.

“Right now, we focus on ourselves, not the other classes.” Horikita's gaze swept across the area. “I doubt they'll attack with just eight people nearby, but tell everyone to stay alert.”

With only ten to fifteen minutes separating them in straight-line distance, an attack using individual GPS deactivations wasn't entirely off the table. That's why she instructed Matsushita to keep watch without letting her guard down.

The tension didn’t fully leave Horikita until fifteen minutes later.

After three consecutive GPS updates, the C-Class group that had been lingering north of G9 completed their supply run and began moving southeast. They passed briefly through G10, then approached the border of H10, just moments away from rejoining the allied group waiting there.

Once she confirmed their near-complete regrouping, Horikita finally allowed herself to breathe.

There were twenty minutes left.

Neither Class B nor the C–D alliance could possibly reach them within that time.

“Good work, everyone.” relief colored Horikita's voice. “We’ll be able to rest here for the night.”

At her words, the tension that had been wound tight all afternoon finally loosened. One after another, her classmates lowered their weapons and reached into their packs, pulling out their tents. The forest here was dense— too dense to pitch everything neatly in one place— so each student scattered, choosing what little space they could find and beginning their work on their own.

It was at that very moment.

“Uwah!”

A sharp cry burst out from Hondō, one of the boys.

Horikita’s heart jumped despite herself, but the cause became clear almost immediately. A low-hanging branch had pierced the side of his tent, tearing a small hole through the fabric.

“Damn it… there’s seriously no space to set these up properly here,” Hondō cursed, clicking his tongue.

“It can’t be helped,” Horikita replied, keeping her voice steady. “If we’re thinking about tomorrow, this position is still the best option. Just be careful while you work.”

About five minutes later, she finished setting up her own sleeping space. Straightening her back, she stretched slowly, the stiffness catching up with her all at once.

“This is rough…”

Till now they had managed to avoid confrontation, yet food had remained scarce and water never quite sufficient. Now, on the third night, the accumulated strain was impossible to ignore. Her body was already sending quiet warnings— fatigue that went beyond mere tiredness. It was harsher than any of the uninhabited island exams she had experienced over the past two years.

Her gaze drifted a little farther off, where Karuizawa and two other girls had just finished setting up their tents. Remembering something she had meant to ask earlier in the day, Horikita walked over.

“Do you have a moment?” she asked.

“Hm? What is it, Horikita-san?”

Karuizawa looked visibly worn— more so than Horikita herself— but she still managed to lift the corners of her mouth into a smile.

“There’s something I’d like to ask you,” Horikita said. “It’s a little awkward to talk about here, so…”

She excused herself briefly to Shinohara and Onodera, who were nearby, and led Karuizawa a short distance away, where the trees thinned just enough to give them a sliver of privacy.

The forest around them settled into the quiet of evening, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the faint sounds of their classmates preparing for the night.

“You wanted to talk to me? Something you don’t want other people hearing, right?”

1

“…Yes. Something like that.”

A cool breeze drifted through the trees, wrapping gently around the two of them. As if exhaling along with it, Horikita reached up and removed her goggles.

It was almost six o’clock. Technically speaking, they were supposed to keep them on until the off hours began— but surely a few minutes wouldn't matter. Seeing her do so, Karuizawa followed suit and slipped her own goggles off.

“God, it does get pretty hot wearing these all the time,” Karuizawa said, letting out a small breath as she tilted her face into the wind, clearly enjoying the relief.

“Go ahead and ask,” she added lightly. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Horikita hesitated for a brief moment longer, then finally steeled herself.

“It's about Classes C and D. We've reached the third evening without seeing any significant drop in either group's GPS count. The alliance between them is undeniable at this point.”

“Yeah, there's no mistaking that. It's easier for losing classes to team up.”

That much had already been discussed all over the class since the previous night. It wasn’t something that required pulling Karuizawa aside.

Which meant Horikita intended to go further. Karuizawa understood immediately.

“What I can’t shake is when did they decide to form that alliance,” Horikita continued. “At the time we were briefed on the details of the special exam, inter-class contact wasn’t possible. And at the start, their positions were separated— with our class in between.”

Since even commanders couldn't communicate with each other, there was definitely no contact.

“Class D is… unique," she went on. “Seeing Class C in a damaged state, they might have felt sympathy. But even so, accepting a half-destroyed enemy so suddenly shouldn’t have been easy. Forming an alliance without prior coordination— there should have been serious resistance.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Karuizawa said thoughtfully. “Hirata-kun and the others were saying the same thing. Stuff like maybe Class C gave up their victory and handed over private points, or some other kind of deal. Everyone’s been guessing.”

As Karuizawa spoke, thinking back, Horikita nodded— then voiced a different possibility.

“Ever since he left the class, he’s grown closer to Ichinose-san as well… ‘closer’ might not be the right word, but I’ve had a sense that the distance between them was shrinking.”

The opening ceremony. The day of his transfer. That very afternoon, Ayanokōji had met not just with Class C students, but with Ichinose as well. Perhaps the groundwork for this alliance had been laid even then.

That was what Horikita needed to confirm.

Horikita had approached Karuizawa because she wanted confirmation on that point.

“I see…” Karuizawa's agreement came swift and certain. “Yeah, I think you're right. Actually, I'm sure of it.”

“So you’ve come to the same conclusion,” Horikita replied quietly.

“Mm-hm. The relationship between Class C and Class D has definitely gone deeper than before.”

Karuizawa nodded firmly. Hearing this, Horikita made a mental note to reconsider her strategic assumptions going forward.

“Hey… about before,” Karuizawa continued, her voice softening. “You kind of dodged the question last time, but… can I ask you something more directly now?”

“Dodged it? I’m not sure what you mean,” Horikita asked, puzzled.

“Even now— when you and Ayanokōji-kun are clearly on opposing sides— do you still like him?”

“What? T-That's what you meant by ‘direct’?” Horikita blurted out.

“It’s important to me,” Karuizawa said simply.

“I already told you— I’ve never liked anyone like that,” Horikita replied with an uncharacteristic tempo.

“But you’re flustered,” Karuizawa pointed out.

“That’s a ridiculous argument. Anyone would be shaken if you suddenly asked them whether they like someone or not.”

Horikita clutched her goggles behind her back, gaze sliding away, breaking eye contact.

“Then how about Sudō-kun?” Karuizawa asked lightly. “Do you like him?”

“Of course not. He's a reliable classmate, that's all.” Horikita answered without missing a beat.

“See? Instant answer,” Karuizawa said with a sly grin, pointing at her. “Same kind of question, totally different reaction.”

2

“Th–That’s—”

Horikita faltered. She couldn’t deny it. Whenever the topic turned to Ayanokōji, her thoughts stalled, as if her mind briefly lost its footing.

2

It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed it.

Nor had she never questioned herself before.

And yet— even now— she still hadn’t arrived at a clear answer for what she was feeling.

“If you’re holding back because of me, then don’t,” Karuizawa said gently. “I don’t think liking the same person is something wrong at all. And besides…”

Her smile wavered. And just for a moment, a shadow crossed her expression.

“And besides… what?” Horikita couldn’t help but press her.

“…It’s not just you and me,” Karuizawa continued quietly. “We’re not the only ones who like Ayanokōji-kun. Ichinose-san does too.”

“…She does?” Horikita murmured. “I can’t say I’m shocked, but… is that really true?”

“It's true. And I think their relationship is probably deeper than you imagine, Horikita-san.”

“Deeper…?” Horikita’s thoughts raced. “You mean— are the two of them dating?”

If that were the case, it would neatly explain one of the reasons behind the alliance, she thought.

But Karuizawa shook her head slowly. “I don't think they're officially together, but... it's something close to that, maybe.”

3

“I’m sorry,” Horikita said. “I don’t quite understand what you mean—”

2

She was about to ask for clarification when a sudden commotion rose from the direction of the campsite.

Karuizawa sensed it too. Their gazes crossed instinctively.

For a heartbeat, everything went quiet.

Then the noise returned— louder this time, swelling instead of fading.

Mixed in with the voices was a faint but unmistakable sound.

A sharp, dry crack.

Again.

And again.

“Is someone… shooting?” Karuizawa asked, her voice uncertain. “Or am I imagining it?”

That was the question. But the dry sounds continued to come from the direction of the tents.

“…No,” Horikita said under her breath. “...There's no mistaking it.”

It was the sound of paint rounds being fired.

They had heard it before during practice— nothing rare in itself. And yet, an uneasy chill crept up Horikita’s spine.

Her wristwatch read 5:57 p.m.

Strictly speaking, the exam hadn’t ended yet.

Even so— this made no sense.

They had received reports that all eight remaining GPS signals nearby were already on their way back to their main group. From that point, even if someone had turned toward Class A immediately, there was no way a normal person could have arrived in time.

That was impossible.

And yet—

The dry, echoing cracks continued to ring through the forest.

“Let’s go back.”

The two of them broke into a run toward the source of the sound.

Horikita clung desperately to the hope that it had been nothing more than reckless firing— someone fooling around, nothing more.

But that hope shattered the moment they reached the tents.

The first person she saw was Ijūin, standing frozen in place, his face drained of all color. He noticed Horikita and Karuizawa and turned toward them, eyes wide with shock.

“I— I got shot!”

He clutched his abdomen, thick paint smeared messily across his uniform as his wristwatch blared its shrill elimination alarm. Horikita’s gaze snapped away, only to catch another body between the tents— Mori, collapsed on the ground, paint blooming across her back.

3

“How many enemies?!” she demanded.

“I— I don’t know! It just came out of nowhere, from inside the forest— b-but Sudō and the others went after them, that way!”

Ijūin pointed frantically. Even now, several students could be seen ahead, weapons in hand, sprinting after the unseen attacker.

For a split second Horikita considered returning to the tent to retrieve heavier equipment— but no. Every second mattered.

Without hesitation, she chased after her classmates.

As she ran, she pulled her goggles back into place. And from the leg holster she had never removed, she drew her handgun, scanning the darkening forest for any sign of movement— friend or foe.

Two shots rang out ahead.

Then a third.

She had fired the handgun a handful of times during training. But this was real combat. This was her first time facing it.

And it wasn’t just her.

The classmates exchanging fire ahead of her were in the same position, caught completely off guard. The thought sent a spike of panic through her chest.

This is just like Class C… just like when they were ambushed.

“Where… where are they!?”

If there were multiple attackers, she should have caught sight of at least one by now. Yet there was nothing— no silhouettes, no movement, nothing but the churned earth beneath her feet and crushed leaves underfoot.

Then she saw a figure.

Horikita raised her gun instantly—

But stopped.

It wasn't an enemy.

It was Onodera.

Collapsed on the ground after being hit in the back. Hearing Horikita's footsteps, she looked up, teeth clenched in frustration, then immediately thrust her arm out, pointing toward northeast.

“Don't worry about me— That way!”

“Thanks!”

Horikita slipped past her, weapon raised, and sprinted toward the direction indicated. As she broke through the undergrowth, the forest ahead opened slightly, revealing a cluster of students firing relentlessly toward a single point.

“Corner him! He’s here!”

“He went that way!”

Blending into the shouts, Horikita scanned the scene and called out to Miyamoto, who stood braced with a shotgun.

“Where’s the enemy? How many?”

“It’s Ayanokōji— Ayanokōji! He came in alone!”

3

“…!”

At that moment, several classmates moved in from both sides, trying to wrap around the back of a massive tree.

“So he’s there…?”

Miyamoto nodded. Even at a glance, Horikita could tell— Ayanokōji was completely surrounded. There was no escape route left. He’d already been driven into a corner.

Paint rounds hammered into the bark around the tree. There was no way to stay hidden under that barrage.

Not just Horikita and Miyamoto at the front— there were guards to the left, to the right, even behind. Male and female students alike. It was a perfect encirclement.

A reckless charge. Storming Class A’s camp alone was insanity.

He’d already taken down several guards— but was that worth the price of Ayanokōji Kiyotaka?

The risk didn’t balance.

The question flashed through Horikita’s mind, but there was no time to answer it.

Three seconds. Maybe four.

That was all it would take for this to end.

Before the encirclement could fully tighten, Ayanokōji moved.

He stepped half a pace out from behind the big tree, fixing his gaze on a single target: Ike. He raised his weapon.

1

If he’s going down, is he planning to take at least one with him?

But the students of Class A were already faster. Fingers tightened on triggers, weapons leveled without hesitation.

“FIRE—!!”

Hondō shouted the command, as if sealing Ayanokōji’s fate. Everything was in place. This was a guaranteed out.

And yet—

In that instant, Horikita understood.

She saw it— the true aim behind Ayanokōji’s charge. Why he had come alone. What he was really trying to do.

“STOP! DON’T SHOOT!”

Her scream cut through the air, almost overlapping with the first crack of a gunshot.

It was too late. Four students had already fired.

Paint rounds struck in rapid succession— Ayanokōji’s right hand, his right leg, then his side. The shrill alarm from his wristwatch rang out unmistakably, declaring an out.

“Yes! Got him!” Ike jumped and cheered, oblivious to Horikita's order to cease fire. “I took down Ayanokōji! Serves you right, traitor!”

3

The casualties stood at three— Ijūin, Onodera, and Mori. A one-to-three trade. But when the opponent was Ayanokōji, that arithmetic changed completely. To the students, it felt like a decisive gain. They had taken down the enemy’s leader.

In a situation where celebration would have been natural, Horikita squeezed her eyes shut instead.

“No… he isn’t out.”

“Huh? What are you talking about? He got hit fair and square! His watch is ringing, isn’t it?!”

High-fives were exchanged. Excited voices overlapped, the students unable to contain themselves.

Yet the calmest person there— the only one who hadn’t wavered at all— was the man who was supposed to be out.

1

“Sorry, Ike,” Ayanokōji said evenly, without any trace of emotion in his voice. “Looks like the one who’s out isn’t me. It’s you.”

2

“The hell does that mean? I don't get───”

“…It’s six o’clock. It’s already past six.”

Horikita bent her left arm and checked her watch.

6:00:32 p.m.

“Huh...? Wh-what...?”

“The daily exam ends the instant the clock strikes six.” Ayanokōji's explanation was clinical, fully monotone. “All eliminations after that point are nullified. Instead, the student who fires the shot gets eliminated. That was the rule, wasn't it, Horikita?”

2

A lone attack, timed to exploit the brief lapse in vigilance.

Anger at seeing classmates taken down. The temptation to eliminate a perceived traitor in one decisive moment. Caught up in impulse, the students had completely lost track of the time.

Once even a single second passed beyond six p.m., all outs were void.

The signal that had sounded from Ayanokōji’s wristwatch recorded it clearly.

He was safe.

“You charged in alone knowing you'd take hits…” Horikita's voice was barely audible. “And used that against us.”

“That's right.” Their eyes met briefly before Ayanokōji looked away. “My apologies.”

A little after seven in the evening, school staff arrived. Ayanokōji was issued a fresh set of gym clothes, and, following voluntary reports, four students were declared retired for having fired and landed shots outside the permitted exam hours.

One person had infiltrated alone— and in doing so, provoked a chain of mistakes that resulted in seven opponents being taken out.

Even as the area remained thick with agitation and raised voices, Ayanokōji wordlessly began setting up a tent.

“H-Hey! Why are you pitching a tent here?!”

“I thought we could pitch tents anywhere. Am I in your way?”

2

“Of course you are!”

“Wait, Hondō-kun.” Hirata's intervention was measured. “We shouldn't send Ayanokōji-kun away.”

“Huh? What's that supposed to mean, Hirata? You want us sleeping next to the enemy?”

“Fighting is prohibited outside exam hours. If Ayanokōji-kun breaks the rules, he's automatically retired. What I'm saying is that if we keep him far away, it will be easier for him to escape. Besides, at 9 AM the next morning, he absolutely has to start from the same area as us.”

“Oh… right,” Understanding dawned on Hondō's face. “So that means… we can just unload on him first thing in the morning…!”

“You realized that too, didn’t you?” Hirata said, turning toward Ayanokōji. “That’s why you decided to pitch your tent here.”

1

“If I tried to camp somewhere else tonight, you'd just surround me in the morning anyway,” Ayanokōji said calmly. “Better for everyone to save energy.”

“Honestly… ” Shinohara glared daggers, her resentment at Ike's elimination palpable. “Don’t you realize you’re trapped inside the enemy’s cage?”

4

“Maybe so.”

No denial. No concern. Ayanokōji answered flatly and disappeared into his tent.

2

Horikita stood paralyzed, unable to speak, capable only of staring at the fabric barrier now separating them.

5