Chapter 7: The Time of the Decisive Battle

The uninhabited island survival game— scheduled to last a maximum of three nights and four days— had finally reached its final morning.

1

At this point, excluding commanders, the number of students remaining in each class stood as follows:

Class A, having secured supplies extensively across the northern region, and Class B, blessed with a steady appearance of food in the western zones, had both managed— barely— to maintain their students’ health at a minimum acceptable level. Perhaps because of that, each had lost only a single student to retirement.

By contrast, Class C, pinned down by Class B immediately after the exam began, had been left in a half-destroyed state. Their reduced numbers told only part of the story; the scarcity of supplies had been just as severe. After forming an alliance with Class D, the meagre rations had only stretched thinner.

The time was now just past 8:40 in the morning.

Early on, Horikita had already made sure all the tents were packed up and gears secured, ensuring they were ready to move at a moment’s notice.

A palpable tension hung in the air, a stark departure from the previous three days. With more than half the island now off-limits, the four classes were converging, a stone’s throw from one another.

Class A had ended the previous day at G8.

Class B remained at E12.

The combined C–D alliance had settled at H10.

At nine o’clock sharp, the final battle of wits would begin.

Would they strike first— or cling to defense until the very last moment?

Horikita slowly swept her gaze across her classmates.

Some were restless, unable to stand still. Others were more irritable than usual. Those reactions were still manageable. More concerning were the students whose physical condition had visibly deteriorated— fatigue finally surfacing after four days of survival.

“But there’s a more pressing problem,” Horikita murmured, almost to herself.

A voice came from nearby, edged with unease.

“So what are we going to do, Suzune… about him?”

Sudō approached Horikita quietly as she stood lost in thought, lowering his voice as he spoke to her.

Following his gaze, Horikita looked ahead as well.

There was nothing about him that suggested he felt out of place— no tension, no unease. Calmly, methodically, he was dismantling his one-person tent, as though he were simply another member of the class going about a routine morning task.

1

Ayanokōji Kiyotaka.

To Horikita, until recently, he had been the person she trusted the most, relied on the most, and the most—

1

She cut the thought short before it could finish forming.

Around them, most of the class made no attempt to hide their hostility. Their eyes bore into Ayanokōji with open resentment, some tinged with outright disgust.

What he had done just before six o’clock yesterday evening was beyond anything they had anticipated.

Feigning a return to his main force, he had instead closed a distance no ordinary student could manage, exploiting his exceptional physical ability. He had taken down several classmates with paint rounds— and then, with merciless precision, used the exam’s end-time rules to force additional retirements through technical violations.

“Yesterday really had me breaking out in a cold sweat,” Sudō muttered, his voice subdued as he replayed the scene in his head. “If Ayanokōji hadn’t slipped behind that tree— right where my firing line was blocked— I might’ve been out just like Ike and the others…”

1

“It’s understandable,” Horikita said quietly. “A surprise attack from a single person— a skilled former classmate, no less. For a few minutes, everyone in the class lost their composure. He chose the perfect moment to strike.”

The two of them looked toward Ayanokōji, briefly reminiscing about yesterday.

“Everyone seems on edge,” Hirata observed as he approached, his tone gentle but serious.

“Can you blame them?” Sudō grumbled. “He charged in alone and did a real number on us.”

“And the fact that it was a former classmate makes it even harder to swallow,” Hirata added.

“Yeah.”

Hirata glanced at Horikita. “Are you okay?”

“...I'm okay, I think,” she answered after a brief pause.

Ayanokōji’s presence had shaken her far more deeply than she wanted to admit— not just strategically, but emotionally as well.

Hirata offered a small, reassuring smile. “Let’s try to look at it positively. By sheer chance, the ones who were taken out were only guards.”

“In this special exam, the worst possible damage is losing a VIP,” Hirata said calmly. “Given that everyone was caught off guard, the fact that we avoided that outcome alone is something to be grateful for.”

“That’s true,” Horikita agreed quietly. “He personally took out three people. It wouldn’t have been strange if a VIP had been among them.”

Because she'd been away from the main camp during the assault, she hadn't witnessed the chaos firsthand.

“Apparently, a few people reacted instantly and coordinated to protect the three VIPs,” Hirata continued. “Looks like all that practice paid off.”

1

Sudō nodded, and Horikita allowed herself a small nod of acknowledgment. At least something had gone right.

“There’s one last thing I’d like to double-check before nine,” Hirata said. “Would you mind?”

“Go ahead,” Horikita replied.

Hirata spread out the map. Every area that had been rendered unusable was carefully marked with an X, forming an increasingly claustrophobic pattern.

“As discussed yesterday, things aren’t unfolding in a way that’s particularly favorable for us,” he said.

Class A was currently camped in G8. Until yesterday, they’d been safely completing events to the north, but now that entire sector was forbidden territory.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the eleven o’clock event forces everyone even closer toward the center,” Hirata added.

The steady expansion of prohibited zones, combined with predictions about where supplies might appear next—

Facing the likelihood of imminent conflict, Horikita pressed her lips together.

“At this point, supplies are little more than a bonus,” she said. “We’ve gathered enough ammunition, and from here on out, I don’t think it’s worth taking unnecessary risks just to chase food.”

“Agreed,” Hirata said. “Once fighting breaks out, we'll lose students anyway— that'll naturally balance our food consumption. In the worst case… we’ll just have to endure until evening without eating. We can manage that.” He paused. “And our remaining tactics? You're still planning to use them as we discussed?”

“Yes. That hasn’t changed,” Horikita replied. “What matters more now is where we position ourselves next.”

With the allied classes occupying H10 and Class B holding E12, they needed flexibility. Whatever direction the next forbidden zone expanded, they had to be ready to adapt.

“If we drift too far west, we run into Class B,” Sudō muttered. “Too far east, and it’s the C–D alliance. Damn headache either way.”

“And we can’t simply hope the southern area shrinks,” Horikita added. “Not having to move might sound appealing, but it also means losing escape routes. Depending on how things unfold, we could end up caught in a pincer.”

“I think we should be bold and move straight from G8 to E9,” Hirata said. “What do you think?”

“That’s not a bad idea. In fact, that might be the best move. I was thinking the same thing.” Horikita replied.

If they had to choose a single opponent, Class B made the most sense. Both classes had their VIPs intact. Both had roughly equivalent guard numbers. They were direct competitors for the top ranking, and better yet, Class B had already expended their GPS Jamming tactic. That gave Class A a crucial edge.

"So we're finally going head-to-head with that bastard Ryūen," Sudō said, cracking his knuckles.

“If they fight us,” Horikita said, “they’ll be throwing everything into a single all-or-nothing gamble. There’s no way they’d have the stamina left to take on the allied classes afterward. That’s why I want to believe they won’t rush into it… but.”

A four-way standoff would have been manageable— a tense but relatively stable equilibrium. But now it was a three-way struggle.

With such a large alliance having formed so suddenly, it had forced Horikita's hand. She had to make difficult decisions.

After reviewing their tactical framework one final time, a brief silence fell between them. But the conversation wasn't over.

“Up to this point, everything has gone mostly as expected, except for the matter with Ayanokōji-kun. The deciding moment of this special exam is today, this final day. The fact that the unusable areas are converging on the center is also something I had envisioned. Leaving our ‘GPS Jam’ tactic unused will definitely be of use to us.”

What Horikita identified as the crux of this special exam wasn’t outwitting and defeating opponents the way Ryūen would, but ensuring that as many VIPs and guards as possible remained until the very end.

Accordingly, the GPS-jamming tactics were never intended for offense— it was to be used solely for defense. That was the first critical decision Horikita made, and the strategy she shared with the class.

As for the identity-confirmation tactic, it had only been used on Morofuji. She suspected it might never be needed again. Ayanokōji’s GPS, of course, had already been permanently tagged through Matsushita.

“Do you really think you’re getting out of this?” Hondō snapped, unable to keep silent any longer as he stepped toward Ayanokōji, assault rifle in hand.

“Hondō!” Sudō shouted, alarmed.

But it was already too late. As if everyone had been waiting for someone to make the first move, several boys and girls followed, raising their weapons as they spread out, closing in around Ayanokōji.

“This class traitor needs to be punished!” Hondō snarled. “There’s no way we let him do whatever he wants any longer. Right here and now, I’ll see to it that Ayanokōji is taken out for good.”

“Stop it, Hondō-kun!” Horikita commanded, cutting through the rising chaos. “Forcibly surrounding him won’t achieve anything. Blocking his path, even indirectly, will be ruled as illegal restraint. It’s absolutely forbidden.”

“B-but then what?!” Hondō shot back. “We just let him walk away?!”

The irritation in the air turned palpable, several armed students turning their frustration toward Horikita as well.

2

“…I’m not saying that,” she replied, steady despite the pressure. “Letting him escape is a threat to us. So it's self-evident that we must defeat him here. But we mustn't do it the wrong way. Maintain an appropriate distance and wait for 9 a.m.”

A single meter would be enough.

As long as Ayanokōji was given a narrow but unobstructed path to walk through, there would be no rule violation. That was Horikita’s judgment. After exchanging glances, her classmates slowly shifted aside, creating a thin corridor through their formation.

Ayanokōji looked at the path, then turned his gaze toward Horikita and the others.

“That’s the correct call,” he said calmly. “The administration is tracking every student’s GPS in real time, twenty-four hours a day. They know I’m inside enemy territory. They also know I’m being surrounded right now. If my GPS were to stop moving and I were taken out the instant it hit nine, the school would investigate immediately. I’d of course claim my movement was completely blocked— that I was restrained. There’s a strong chance they’d rule it a violation.”

3

Yesterday, after six o’clock, when Ayanokōji had been hit, the school staff had intervened. The students who fired outside test hours weren’t deemed malicious— but every one of them was still ruled out for violating the rules.

She couldn't let them repeat something like that.

No matter how capable Ayanokōji was, if nine o’clock arrived like this, escape would be impossible. At best, he might fire simultaneously and take one person down with him— but nothing more.

1

“Tch… damn it!” Hondō shouted, clenching his fists. “The enemy’s standing right in front of us, and we can’t do a damn thing! Damn it!”

Bound by rules, forced to watch their target prepare to flee— the psychological torment was almost physical.

Ayanokōji spoke again, his tone almost instructional.

“In a real battlefield, this kind of fighting wouldn’t work. But this is a special exam. This is a fight that only exists because of rules— because you can exploit them, and because they protect you. If you ever get the chance, you should try it.”

1

The words carried a faint edge of provocation.

Perhaps he was hoping someone would act rashly.

Just in case, Horikita repeated her order: no firing until nine.

From a distance, Karuizawa watched the scene unfold, her hands clenched tightly together.

And the time slipped past 8:50 a.m.

“Ten more minutes!” someone shouted. “We’re not letting you get away! No damn way!”

With the start of the final phase looming, Ayanokōji quietly stepped forward.

A ripple of tension ran through A Class. Fingers tightened on triggers, muzzles tracking his every movement.

2

“What are you planning to do, Ayanokōji-kun?” Horikita asked.

“There’s nothing to plan. You’ve given me a path, so I’ll walk.”

2

And he did.

As Ayanokōji began moving, Class A students moved with him— matching his pace, never closing the distance, never letting their aim waver.

2

Sixteen guards in total, boys and girls alike.

We must defeat him here.

That was what Horikita had said— what she had told them all. And yet, deep down, she didn’t want to send a single one of them after him.

“I’m going too—”

Sudō lunged forward from her side, but Horikita grabbed his shoulder and stopped him.

“Don’t,” she said quietly. “It won’t change anything.”

“What do you mean, Suzune?”

“If he intended to fight at nine o’clock, we could beat him. But he won’t fight. He’ll pour every ounce of his energy into escaping.”

In this dense forest, the number of students capable of keeping up with Ayanokōji’s physical ability was vanishingly small. Sudō was one of the few.

Which meant that even sixteen people would be shaken off within minutes once the chase truly began.

That confidence was why Ayanokōji had spent the night calmly pitching his tent in the middle of enemy territory.

“But I'm confident I can keep up with him,” Sudō insisted. “He's got a lot of luggage, too.”

“…That’s exactly why I can’t let you go,” Horikita said.

At 9 a.m., there was a chance that, in the worst-case scenario, a one-on-one duel between Ayanokōji and Sudō would occur.

If that happened, the outcome would be uncertain.

5

In the unlikely event that Sudō lost and Ayanokōji escaped, Class A would suffer an even greater blow.

“But, at this rate, we'll be playing right into Ayanokōji's hands from start to finish... right?” Sudō muttered.

“I know,” Horikita said quietly. “But just like he said himself— he's weaponizing the exam's rule structure against us. This isn't a situation brute force can solve.”

Besides, any guards who gave chase would only exhaust themselves for the battles to come. She hadn’t stopped them because she knew, deep down, that she couldn’t.

At precisely nine o'clock, the forest erupted into chaos— shouts, the sharp crack of paintball guns, the thunder of multiple people crashing through underbrush.

It didn't take long for those pursuers to return.

They came back in ones and twos, magazines emptied, bodies exhausted, faces etched with frustration. Every single one of them had lost their quarry in the depths of the woods.

7

A little past ten in the morning, the moment my wristwatch confirmed that I had shaken off Class A and crossed into H10, two familiar figures stepped into view to meet me— Takemoto and Hashimoto.

This was the rendezvous point I had designated in advance, the place I’d told them to wait if I managed to return safely.

1

“Yo!” Hashimoto greeted me first. “When we got the report that you’d been taken out right at the end yesterday, I seriously thought we were done for. Then we find out it was after six, so it didn’t count? Man, you pull some crazy stunts.”

Despite saying that, Hashimoto was smiling the whole time and looked incredibly happy.

“This idiot’s been fired up ever since he heard you took out several Class A students and baited them into attacking outside exam hours,” Takemoto added with an exasperated shake of his head. “He’s been bragging nonstop.”

Even so, Takemoto clapped a hand lightly on my shoulder. “Good work. Seriously.”

“How could I not be excited?” Hashimoto shot back. “You ran straight into the heart of enemy territory. Anyone would’ve bet you couldn’t escape— and yet here you are. You really are something else.”

“I gave up too many points early on,” I replied. “I just wanted to claw back whatever I could.”

“More than enough,” Hashimoto said immediately. “Honestly, the only regret is that you didn’t manage to take out a VIP.”

“About that,” I said. “I want to issue instructions right away.”

Still flanked by Takemoto and Hashimoto, I began heading back toward the main group where Kanzaki and the others were waiting.

“What kind of instructions?” Hashimoto asked.

When they heard the details, Hashimoto and Kanzaki exchanged a brief look— surprised, but only for a moment— before immediately beginning to sort out who would need to move, who would stay behind, and how to execute it.

They didn’t waste time questioning my intent. Instead, they set their minds to work.

That, more than anything, was reassuring.

There was something I hadn’t said aloud— something I’d realized while inside Class A’s camp.

They were missing a certain edge.

A subtle but unmistakable lack of tension.

Most likely, it was because Horikita had openly declared early on that she would use a Protection Point if things went wrong— reassuring her classmates that the class itself would be preserved even in defeat.

2

Ryūen’s class, on the other hand, was different.

Even with Kaneda holding a Protection Point, no one there was relying on it.

They were fighting as if there would be no safety net at all.

This, I believed, was one of the decisive factors that would ultimately separate victory from defeat— the difference in resolve, the quiet but unmistakable gap in motivation.

Before long, everyone regrouped. From there, we selected the students who would be sent toward Class B. This time, however, the risk was far too great. No VIPs would be involved. We dispatched only two people: one student prepared to be sacrificed if necessary, and one scout. No more than that.

The rest of us waited.

Eleven o’clock.

According to the analyst’s tablet, the remaining survivable area had shrunk to a five-by-five grid, stretching from D8 to H12.

The supply drops appeared at D12, E8, F10, G9, and H12.

But those details weren’t the most important part.

Until now, restricted zones had been announced incrementally at each event. On the final day, however, every remaining restriction was revealed all at once.

At 1:00 p.m., the usable area would be reduced to sixteen squares, from D9 to G12.

At 3:00 p.m., it would shrink even further— to just four squares, D11 through E12.

By 3:30 p.m., only E11 and E12 would remain.

And at 4:00 p.m., the exam would end.

Once the battlefield narrowed to only two zones, survival without being eliminated would be practically impossible. An all-out clash was inevitable.

And as if that weren’t enough, there was one final twist.

From 3 p.m. onward, the grace period for remaining in a prohibited area would no longer be one hour. Instead, stepping into a forbidden zone would trigger a cumulative sixty-second limit— once exceeded, the student would be forcibly eliminated.

A merciless rule, added purely to force confrontation.

“This is insane…” Hashimoto muttered. “If even one enemy guard survives at that point, it could mean total annihilation.”

He wasn’t wrong. There would be neither space nor time left to escape.

Still, dwelling on the endgame wouldn’t help us now.

He shook his head once, refocusing the discussion.

“There are only five supply points this time,” Hashimoto continued, scanning the tablet. “And aside from E8, the other four are all food. H12 is practically guaranteed.”

I took in the situation, weighed the variables, and made my decision. Through Hashimoto and Kanzaki, I relayed the orders to the entire group.

“—I’m going to explain the plan now.”

2

At those words, the atmosphere shifted instantly.

Not only Class C, but Class D as well, straightened and focused, expressions tightening with resolve.

1

Prepared for the possibility of a clash with the allied classes, Class A secured the supplies that appeared in the southern G9 sector, then moved without delay into F9.

The time was 12:00 noon.

They halted there only briefly, waiting for an update from Matsushita.

“Just now, one Class C student was eliminated between E12 and F11,” Wang reported, her voice edged with confusion. “The remaining student appears to be retreating. I’m not sure what this means.”

At that, Horikita and Hirata exchanged a glance.

“Did they try to recover the supplies at F10 without a VIP?” Hirata wondered aloud. “And got picked off by Class B when they strayed too far?”

“…I don’t know,” Horikita replied quietly. “But there’s no doubt this movement was directed by Ayanokōji. Tell Matsushita to identify the retreating student using a tactic.”

“Y-yes!”

Wang immediately relayed the instruction to the commander.

Less than a minute later, Matsushita’s response came through.

“The retreating student is Nishi-san from Class C, and her role is a scout!”

“A scout…” Horikita murmured. “Then we can probably rule out a supply-collection attempt.”

“Did they use two students as bait to lure Class B?” Hirata wondered aloud. “No… that wouldn’t be very effective.”

“They’d only lose a guard for nothing,” Horikita agreed. “And even a scout isn’t guaranteed to make it back safely. Their true intent is still unclear, but let’s stay here and observe both classes— while securing terrain we can fight from if necessary.”

1

It wasn’t until ten minutes later that Horikita and the others noticed something amiss.

The reason became clear when Matsushita promptly contacted Wang, the VIP.

“Horikita-san! Class C and Class D have started moving north! More precisely, all their GPS signals are shifting northwest from H10 toward G9!”

Standing close by, Kushida quickly unfolded the map. Horikita leaned in, tracing the movement with her eyes.

“At this stage, moving into G9…” Kushida said slowly. “Doesn’t that mean they’re targeting us?”

“…Yes,” Horikita agreed. “If they’re going to knock someone out, aiming for Class A instead of Class B would be the more natural choice—”

“A-And there’s one more report!” Wang cut in. “Class B, which had been holding position at E12, has also begun advancing north!”

The words landed heavily.

Both classes had started advancing five minutes ago almost simultaneously— as if they’d coordinated the timing.

“…Don’t tell me, Did Class D approach Class B for this reason…?”

“It’s possible, they might’ve proposed a pincer— crushing Class A from both sides.”

While Kushida calmly analyzed the situation beside her, Horikita immediately relayed the information to their classmates.

“W-wait, seriously!? What do we do!?” someone blurted out. “There’s no way we can win against three classes at once!”

“If they really are coming for us, staying here just means getting sandwiched. Maybe retreating is an option? If we pull back, they might end up colliding with each other instead.”

Whether it was advice or simply the only realistic option left, Kushida muttered the thought aloud like a soliloquy.

They were being forced to choose— before certainty had even a chance to arrive.

“…We move,” Horikita said decisively. “We’ll engage Class B at E10.”

No matter how strong a defensive position might be, it would mean nothing against a three-way engagement. If that advantage vanished the instant all sides converged, then choosing a single opponent was the only rational path. Among them, Class B offered the clearest odds.

Packs were hoisted in a rush. The class pivoted as one and immediately began advancing toward E10.

At the next GPS update, Class B was confirmed to have entered E11. At nearly the same time, the allied classes were moving into G9. Class A pressed forward toward E10— but after two more updates, roughly ten minutes later, the situation shifted again.

Their early movement had been noticed.

Sensing Class A’s intent to force a decisive engagement, Class B halted its advance and began retreating, doubling back toward E12. Meanwhile, Class C and D abandoned their northward push and veered west instead.

“They realized we were trying for a quick resolution and pulled back.” Horikita said, voicing the conclusion aloud. “But that was expected. We will continue to challenge Class B to a fight.”

Yet an unease clung to her thoughts, a discomfort she couldn’t shake. It felt as though they were being carried by a powerful current— one that allowed no resistance.

The Class C student sent toward Class B.

If that student had gone prepared to be eliminated— solely to propose cooperation, to urge Class B into joining an effort to bring down Class A— then this entire sequence of movements could only mean one thing.

This battlefield was being shaped by Ayanokōji.

3

The ideal had been to hold their ground, waiting patiently, and observing until the very end. And yet, starting from a single, solitary incursion by one student yesterday, they had allowed the flow of the match to be manipulated— step by step.

“This is Class A’s weakness, Horikita-san,” Kushida said softly. “We always knew it was a risk— that when the goal is to pull down the top, everyone’s interests can align against us.”

“…Yes,” Horikita replied, exhaling slowly. “And that’s exactly why— this is where it matters. From here on out, this is where we show our strength.”

Trusting that her decisions would still lead them toward victory, Horikita pressed forward.

1:00 p.m.

The event notification came through

No supplies appeared.

That alone made the situation unmistakably clear: the phase of gathering was over.

At present, Class A was positioned at D11, Class B at D12, and the allied C–D group at E10. After a repeated cycle of advances and withdrawals, the situation had progressed to the point where, although no direct contact had yet occurred, all classes were now pressing dangerously close to one another.

Reports from the analyst came in rapid succession.

In response, Class A students raised their voices, relaying the newly designated restricted zones to everyone. Just after 1:05 p.m., Yukimura— the VIP— received fresh instructions from the commander and immediately ordered everyone to halt.

Roughly fifty meters ahead of them—

Class B, advancing north like disciplined soldiers, also came to a stop.

Not a word was spoken as they froze in place.

Gently stepping half a pace forward, Katsuragi spoke in a low, steady voice meant only for his classmates.

“Class A is directly ahead of us. The distance is only a few dozen meters. Stay sharp. Every one of you.”

“Listen up.” Ryūen's voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Every single one of you takes down at least one enemy before you go down. I don't give a damn how many you eliminated on day one anymore. Anyone who proves useless here? You're on the chopping block for expulsion.”

1

The threat hung in the air like smoke. Then he motioned them forward with a sharp gesture.

Driven by that weight, Class B began to move again slowly.

One step. Then another.

Soil crunched underfoot. Leaves and twigs cracked beneath their boots.

“Still,” Ishizaki muttered, breaking the silence, “was it really okay to let one of Class A’s VIPs get away like that?”

He was referring to an incident moments earlier. An abnormal GPS signal had separated from the main Class A cluster— two coordinates drifting alone. Ryūen had immediately burned a tactical resource to identify them.

The result: Miyake Akito, a guard— and Wang Mei-yu, one of Class A’s VIPs.

Katsuragi answered calmly.

“If all three VIPs go down, it’s total annihilation. Letting them escape was the safest way to avoid that risk in a chaotic melee,” he said. “To send pursuers after them, we’d need at least two people as well— a VIP and a guard. But in a two-on-two situation, the outcome is unpredictable. Miyake's no slouch athletically either. And more importantly, Class A isn’t the only threat nearby. Class C and Class D are closing in too. Splitting off right now would be far too dangerous.”

2

Ishizaki clicked his tongue but said nothing more.

Of course, if it were possible, Ryūen would have crushed them without hesitation. No one doubted that. But sending out a small detachment in these conditions would mean gambling with the entire class.

That was why Ryūen hadn’t said a word about it.

Class B would move as one unit, and their VIPs would be protected at all costs.

“…Something’s wrong.” Katsuragi’s expression tightened as he said it, the faint crease between his brows deepening.

“Huh? What do you mean, wrong?” Ishizaki snapped back.

They still hadn’t engaged with Class A.

That, in itself, was the problem. Given the distance and the way both sides had been advancing, contact should have happened by now. Yet the forest remained eerily quiet, time stretching on with no collision.

“We should’ve run into them by now,” Katsuragi muttered. “This delay is… unsettling.”

From their current position, Class A had three directions available— every route except the southern approach where Class B was positioned. Avoiding contact would be trivial. If they'd already fled, pursuit would be the logical response.

But that was precisely the issue.

Information only updated every five minutes.

Until the next positional report came in, there was no way to know where the enemy had gone— no way to pursue, or intercept. All they could do was advance carefully, pushing forward at a measured pace through the trees.

Five minutes later, the commander relayed the latest positions— and that was when they learned the troublesome truth.

Class A hadn’t moved north, south, east, or west.

They hadn’t moved at all.

“R–Ryūen-kun… The GPS signals… Class A’s GPS and ours— they’re overlapping…!”

“So they used it here,” Ryūen said flatly.

For the next thirty minutes, Class A could no longer be tracked.

It was a scenario they had anticipated, but anticipation didn’t lessen its impact. For every other class, this window of blindness was an overwhelming disadvantage.

Katsuragi reacted at once.

Without raising his voice, he issued a series of rapid hand signals, directing the formation to tighten around the VIPs. Losing even one would be catastrophic. Losing all three would mean annihilation.

It paid off that Katsuragi had drilled them for this exact contingency— teaching silent commands, rehearsing responses for moments when shouting would only invite disaster.

Retreating the VIPs was an option.

But it was a flawed one.

Without VIPs, Class B would lose its ability to track the broader battlefield. And if the guards were whittled down instead, the VIPs would be cornered eventually anyway. In the end, keeping them close— protected at the core of the formation— was the most efficient choice.

At least, that was Ryūen’s judgment.

Would they retreat— or would they strike?

No one spoke. Every student held their breath, ears straining to catch even the faintest disturbance. A snapped twig, a displaced footstep— anything that might betray movement in the surrounding forest.

After receiving fresh information from the commander, one of the VIPs quietly took out a slip of memo paper prepared for moments exactly like this. With a careful, almost tender pressure— light enough not to tear the page— he hastily scribbled a short message. When he finished, he held it up for Ryūen to see.

‘C and D are advancing from the front.’

So even the allied classes were closing in.

If the vanished Class A had looped around to flank them while C and D advanced head-on, then Class B risked being caught in a pincer formation themselves. The hunter could very quickly become the prey.

There was no time to hesitate.

Ryūen decided to pull back south, lifting his arm to issue the command—

“BEHIND US!”

Isoyama's shout tore through the silence. Paintballs erupted from the rear, a hailstorm of color streaking through the trees.

“They circled around us! Fall back while returning fire! C and D are coming— move, NOW!”

At that point, hand signals were useless. Katsuragi raised his voice, issuing commands for both combat and retreat at once as chaos erupted behind them. A firefight broke out with the enemy who had slipped into their blind spot.

“No doubt about it— it’s Class A!” Ishizaki yelled. “I saw Sudō!”

“Ha, hahaha—!”

At that, Ibuki let out a sharp, unsettling laugh— too fierce, too eager for the situation.

“The hell’s with that creepy-ass laugh?” Ishizaki muttered, pressing his back against a tree beside her. “You’re freakin’ me out.”

“You know what?” She ejected her submachine gun's magazine, confirmed that it still had plenty of bullets, then slammed it back home with a metallic clack. “I never gave a damn about that opening-day raid on Class C. None of it mattered.” She continued. “It's because I've finally met the opponent I'm supposed to defeat.”

2

“Whoa... that's some motivation.” Ishizaki said with a crooked grin. “So Class A's the real prize, huh?”

“Huh? Don’t be stupid,” Ibuki snapped. “That doesn’t matter at all.”

Her eyes burned as she leaned forward, finger tightening on the trigger.

“I just want to see the look on Horikita's face when I crush her. I've been itching for this.”

Saying that, Ibuki unleashed a relentless burst of paint rounds from her submachine gun.

A sharp alarm rang out almost immediately— someone more than ten meters away had been hit.

The magazine ran dry.

Without hesitation, she ripped it free and slammed in a fresh one. Even now, she still had seven spare magazines strapped to her gear— far more than enough ammunition to keep firing until the battlefield emptied.

“All the grudges I’ve been carrying— I’m paying them back right here!” she snarled.

2

“O-oh… yeah, sure, enthusiasm’s great and all, but—” Ishizaki said, already edging backward. “This place is about to turn into a kill zone, so I’m gonna pull back for a sec— huh? What the hell…?”

He tried to retreat a step, knowing full well this position would soon become a kill zone— but Ibuki grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

“You’re my support.”

“Huh!? Give me a break! I’m supposed to be protecting Ryūen-san!”

“Forget him. You don’t need to protect a guy like that. You’re my shield.”

“HELL NO!”

“You’ve got such a fancy weapon, just charge in.”

“That’s basically asking to get shot!”

“As long as I can take down Horikita, that’s all that matters!”

“Like hell it does!”

Their raised voices carried through the trees, and Class A immediately noticed the presence lurking behind the large trunk. Paint rounds hammered into the wood without mercy, one whistling past the very tip of Ishizaki’s hair.

“HOLY— that was close!”

Sweat beaded on his forehead as Ibuki shot him a sharp glare.

“Standing here won’t save us— we’ll get taken out eventually anyway. Now go, Ishizaki! Go! Hurry up!”

“Aargh, FINE! But you better keep up!”

Ishizaki burst from cover, using his large frame as a moving shield. Ibuki stuck close behind him, timing her movements to his stride as they charged forward together.

On the opposite flank, Class A’s maneuver had already paid off.

Having used their tactics to circle around to the rear, they were cutting cleanly through Class B’s formation. Among them, Sudō had just secured his fifth knockout.

“Out of ammo— gimme a reload!”

Thanks to his blessed physical abilities and the skills he had polished during practice to a level unrivaled by his classmates, he was unsparingly demonstrating his ace-level performance.

Yukimura, who was hiding nearby, handed Sudō a fully loaded magazine. As a VIP, Yukimura couldn't attack, but providing support like this did not violate the rules.

Sudō slapped the magazine into place, eyes still locked on the battlefield.

“Class B is down to thirteen! Pretty sure Sudō just took out one of their VIPs!”

Information on eliminated students was constantly coming in over the radio.

“Oh, seriously? Hell yeah— two more to go!”

“Wait, no— we lost one too! Mii-chan's eliminated!”

The joy was short-lived, as the VIP count instantly became 2-on-2.

“Status on C and D?” Sudō asked, his tone snapping back to focus.

“Hirata's holding them off. Just as Horikita predicted, she outplayed their counterplay.”

3

“Heh… figures,” Sudō muttered, a proud smile tugging at his lips. “That’s Suzune for ya—”

But just then, he heard it— multiple sets of footsteps pounding toward their position from ahead.

“They’re pushing in. Yukimura— stay hidden!”

He nudged Yukimura back into cover, then leaned forward and raised his weapon toward the oncoming Class B students. But something was off. They noticed Sudō— yet none of them raised their guns toward him. Instead, every muzzle was angled elsewhere.

Sudō fired anyway.

A paint round struck Nomura square in the abdomen, his armwatch shrieking as he collapsed. But the rest didn’t slow. They barreled past Sudō, forcing their way through the gap at his side.

“Like hell I'm letting you through!” Sudō snarled.

He pivoted, took one down with a clean shot to the back— but the remaining two vanished into the dense trees, branches and shadows swallowing them before he could line up a clean shot.

“Tch— cover this area!” he barked, leaving a couple of students to guard Yukimura as he took off in pursuit.

“There’s Satō up ahead!” someone shouted. “Take Satō out— NOW!”

In that instant, intent aligned.

Class C. Class D. Class B.

1

All three sides turned their guns on Satō at once.

Triggers were pulled.

And in the very next instant, Satō vanished from sight.

“Kyaa!”

It wasn’t Satō’s own doing.

An arm hooked around her waist, yanking her hard out of the line of fire just as paint rounds ripped through the space she’d occupied.

“You alright!?”

Sudō hauled her in close, shielding her body with his own, having torn her free from certain elimination at the last possible moment.

“Y-yeah… thank y—!”

Before Satō could even finish her words, another volley of paint rounds ripped through the air around them, snapping past with vicious force.

“They’re coming at us full throttle,” Sudō spat, teeth clenched. “What? They planning to dump every last round they’ve got right here?!”

He fired back a handful of shots more out of threat than precision, the blasts meant to keep the enemy’s heads down. But the moment he realized how badly his aim was compromised while shielding Satō, he pulled his finger off the trigger without hesitation.

“…Doesn’t something feel off to you?” he muttered.

“O-off?” Satō echoed, breath still unsteady.

“Look around,” Sudō said quietly, eyes flicking from tree to tree, tracing the splatters of paint embedded in bark and soil. “Way too many barrels are pointed this way. And that’s weird as hell.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“There are plenty of our people still hidden out there. Yet the number of guns pointed at us is way too high.”

Sudō spoke as he glanced toward the thick trees standing a short distance to either side. Behind their broad trunks, he could make out the vague outlines of Inogashira and Okitani, both pressed tightly into cover.

The evidence was unmistakable. There were paint splashes scattered around the area— signs that rounds had initially been fired indiscriminately. But that was only at the beginning. Now, almost every shot was converging on a single point.

On them.

“Isn’t it because you’re here, Sudō-kun?” Satō asked hesitantly.

“…No. It was like this even before I jumped in,” Sudō replied, his voice low. “Which means they already knew before the fighting started. That you’re the VIP.”

“W-what…? How could they—? Is that really possible?”

“Probably,” he said grimly. “They’re way too fixated on taking you out. They’re practically ignoring the guards.”

If the attention had been on him instead, Sudō was confident he could have handled it. He trusted his own strength and his ability to draw fire and survive.

But this was different.

This was a strategy that deliberately sacrificed efficiency for certainty.

If the enemy was willing to lose two, even three people just to guarantee Satō’s elimination, there was a limit to what even he could manage.

“…They might’ve figured out who the VIP is,” he muttered. “Hell… they might know all by now.”

“Is that even possible…? D-do you think Ayanokōji-kun noticed when he showed up earlier?”

“That crossed my mind,” Sudō admitted. “Someone protecting the VIP without realizing it— yeah, that happens. But where were you when that went down?”

“Uh… I was inside the tent,” Satō said quietly. “I was scared, so I stayed hidden the whole time…”

The moment she said it, Sudō felt a bead of cold sweat slide down his back.

A possibility snapped into place in his mind.

2

But whether that answer was right or wrong didn’t matter anymore.

“I don’t think I can get away,” Satō said, her voice trembling but resolute. “At least… you should run, Sudō-kun. Go protect the other VIPs—”

“If that’s what it takes to win, maybe I should,” he said. Then his jaw tightened. “But I’m not letting them take you out that easily. Not here.”

He raised his gun, eyes burning.

“There’s no other choice— we have to do this.”

The accuracy of the incoming shots wasn’t particularly high. From the sound and spacing of the impacts, Sudō could tell— whoever was firing at them wasn’t especially skilled.

That was his opening.

If he moved now— bursting out before they could tighten their focus— there was a chance.

One chance. All or nothing.

He’d charge out, wipe them out before Satō could be hit.

1

With that decision made, Sudō burst from cover, throwing himself straight into the enemy’s line of fire.

1

The fierce exchange of fire that had erupted was impossible to miss. The noise alone carried far enough for both Class C and Class D to grasp the situation almost immediately. At the same time, word arrived from the Commander: Class A had most likely activated one of their tactics, and preliminary reports on who had been taken out were already coming in.

Eight from Class B. Five from Class A.

The numbers suggested that Class A’s maneuver— slipping around to strike from the rear— was bearing fruit. In a short span of time, a subtle but undeniable imbalance had begun to form.

“So Class A circled around and struck Class B from behind,” Hashimoto muttered.

“Yeah… If we keep advancing like this, we can sandwich Class B between us—”

“But you know that’s not what we were told to do,” Hashimoto cut in. “The instructions we received from Ayanokōji were…”

“I understand.” Kanzaki replied at once.

With a single nod, Kanzaki turned and broke into a run toward the rear. He quickly gathered the members he had already briefed, and the group began moving at once. Only after watching them disappear did he return his attention to the front.

“It’s been about five minutes since the shooting started, right?” Hashimoto murmured, half to himself, half to the person beside him. “For a firefight this intense, the numbers haven’t dropped as much as I expected.”

Walking alongside him, Takemoto nodded in agreement.

“That probably means both sides are prioritizing defense as they fight,” he said. “They’re not overcommitting.”

“In that case… guess it’s our turn,” Hashimoto said, straightening from his crouch.

Just as he started to rise from his lowered stance, a sharp sound cut through the air. Almost simultaneously, a paint round slammed into Matoba’s shoulder beside Hashimoto.

“—!?”

The alarm on Matoba’s wristwatch shrilled, unmistakably declaring him out. Hashimoto reacted instantly, recognizing the danger of lingering here, and sprinted away.

“Class A!” Matoba shouted, glaring in the direction the shot had come from. “Hashimoto— Hirata’s here!”

“Hirata?” Hashimoto yelled back as he ran. “Wasn’t he supposed to be behind Class B?!”

1

The realization hit him mid-stride.

Class A hadn’t committed everyone to the rear assault. They had split their forces— sending only part of their number to pressure Class B, while leaving a contingent behind specifically to deal with the allied group.

“So they’re trying to take us down with a small unit?” Hashimoto muttered, incredulous. “Are they out of their minds?”

At present, Class A still had somewhere between sixteen and nineteen guards remaining. Even if half of them had been deployed against Class B, that left only eight or nine to hold off an alliance of nearly forty.

It wasn’t realistic.

The occasional paint rounds that flew toward them were sparse, almost probing. And when they returned fire, it wasn’t met with an overwhelming counterattack.

“…What the hell is going on…?”

Hashimoto muttered the words under his breath.

He had assumed the battlefield had split cleanly into two fronts— but now it felt far more fragmented than that. Perhaps the forces weren’t merely divided in two, but scattered into even smaller units, overlapping and colliding in ways that defied a clear picture.

At the outset, the plan had been simple.

Class B and the allied classes would apply pressure together, drive Class A into a corner, and force them down into last place.

That had been the premise behind their movement. But once Class A activated their tactic and the overall GPS went dark, everything warped. Part of Class A slipped behind Class B, looping around unseen. The alliance, unfazed by whether their opponent was Class A or Class B, had continued advancing— ready to pivot targets if necessary.

And yet, the enemy directly in front of them now was unmistakably Class A.

As that realization settled in, faint voices reached Hashimoto’s ears from the opposite direction— the one Kanzaki had headed toward, not where Hirata was lying in wait.

“Damn it… I can’t tell what’s happening anymore…! Who’s fighting where right now…?”

The frustration in that voice echoed Hashimoto’s own thoughts.

The battlefield had become opaque.

The VIP was no longer nearby. Without them, there was no way to grasp the broader state of the battlefield. Information— once the most powerful weapon— was gone. With that realization, Hashimoto forced himself to let go of the bigger picture altogether.

Fine, then.

If he couldn’t see the whole board, then there was only one thing left he could do.

Win the fight directly in front of him.

Right now, the only thing he could do was face Hirata and the Class A students head-on.

But that was easier said than done.

Hashimoto fired without hesitation, spending paint rounds freely in an attempt to pin his opponent down. Each time, however, Hirata shifted position just enough to slip out of his sight. The target never stayed still long enough to lock on.

1

At the same time, the counterfire came back relentless and precise.

Every paint round skimmed past Hashimoto— close enough to feel the air move, close enough to make his pulse spike.

“You’re good, Hirata…” Hashimoto muttered, cold sweat trickling down his back. “Way better than I thought. No hesitation. No mercy in your aim.”

He had always known Hirata was athletic. That wasn’t the miscalculation.

What caught him off guard was something else entirely.

The naked hostility.

1

This wasn’t the controlled presence of a model student defending himself. This was raw intent— an unmistakable resolve that said even if it came down to mutual destruction, Hirata would make sure his opponent went down with him.

That determination rode each paint round as it flew toward Hashimoto.

“…Hah.”

He exhaled slowly, forcing his breathing to steady as his heart hammered in his chest. Even under fire, he searched desperately for a way through this stalemate.

From what he could tell, Hirata had slightly more momentum— but in terms of sheer ability, they were evenly matched.

The number of rounds left in his magazine had already dipped below half. And there was every chance Hirata still had spare magazines tucked away. That disparity alone tilted the balance.

Trying to exploit the terrain— to circle around and take the flank— was an obvious option, but against an opponent like this, it wouldn’t come easily. Hirata wasn’t careless enough to let something so straightforward work.

“…No matter how I look at it,” Hashimoto murmured, “this is a bad hand.”

If that was the case, then maybe settling for a mutual knockout wasn’t the worst outcome.

No— he pushed that thought aside. That conclusion could wait a little longer.

There was one thing, at least, that he knew he could claim superiority in. His silver tongue.

And it wasn’t too late to use it.

Their positions were already compromised; subtlety was long gone. Raising his voice carried no additional risk now.

“So that’s the face you make when you’re desperate!” Hashimoto shouted into the trees. “First time I’ve ever seen it! What— did being dumped away by Ayanokōji really piss you off that much?”

It was a deliberate provocation— an attempt to shake his opponent’s composure, to make Hirata’s hand waver just enough for an opening to appear.

His voice echoed briefly among the trees, then was swallowed whole by the forest, leaving behind an uneasy stillness.

“How about this?” Hashimoto continued, “I’ll talk to Ayanokōji for you. See if I can get you transferred into our class. You’re capable, popular with the girls— might actually get a seat at the table, you know?”

He leaned fully into the psychological warfare, convinced that the key to victory lay there. If he could just draw a response— any response— then the advantage would swing his way.

That was what he believed.

But no matter how long he waited, Hirata’s voice never came.

“…What? silent treatment?” Hashimoto scoffed. “C’mon, say something—”

He cut himself off.

From the direction where Hirata was likely hiding, came the unmistakable sound of grass being pushed aside.

“Tch…!”

Hirata had moved first.

But Hashimoto wasn’t slow to react. Conscious of the dwindling ammunition in his magazine, he read the lines of fire instinctively, matching Hirata’s movements with his own.

Shots snapped through the air.

Tree trunks absorbed paint with dull splats. Bodies twisted sideways, shoulders angled thin, sliding in and out of cover. Short advances, abrupt retreats— each move immediately countered by the other.

Their aims collided and canceled out, neither could land a decisive hit.

Paint rounds traced thin, high arcs through the forest, slicing the space between them as the duel tightened.

“Whoa, close!”

Hashimoto snapped his face back behind the tree just as the paint round slammed into the trunk, bursting apart in a vivid splash of color. The impact came with a sharp crack, close enough to feel in his bones.

One hit would mean instant elimination.

That knowledge drove his nerves into overdrive.

The exchange between them had narrowed into a brutal, near-range duel— an unbroken chain of short, violent shocks. Paint rounds shaved bark from trunks, pulverized fallen leaves underfoot. Hashimoto twisted his body at a steep angle, attempting to slip around to Hirata’s flank.

—but Hirata had already read it.

Dropping his center of gravity, he fired a single shot from the hip. The round grazed Hashimoto’s shoulder, leaving a vivid smear of paint behind.

“—Tch…!”

The sound that escaped him wasn’t pain. It was frustration— cold, sharp frustration at a misread, a single lapse in judgment that sent ice crawling up his spine.

“I don’t have time to get tied down with just one guy…” he muttered.

He tipped his weapon upright, replaying the fight in his head— counting the trigger pulls. Over forty rounds had already gone. Even if there were any left, it wouldn’t be more than a handful.

Reload now, or empty the magazine first?

Hirata hadn’t reloaded either, likely having a similar amount of ammo left. Both were hovering at the edge of depletion, each subtly threatening a reload that neither quite committed to. The presence of spare magazines complicated everything, dulling the line between offense and defense.

To retreat here meant defeat.

To push through meant victory.

But half of this fight wasn’t about marksmanship at all. It was a dialogue of the minds— in other words, psychological warfare. Breath rhythms. The tremor in a finger. Even the way weight shifted across the soles of their boots. It was all information.

Hashimoto slipped fully into the shade of the tree, lowered his voice, and set his next move in motion.

“Ayanokōji told me something,” he called out. “Said he felt bad about what he did to you.”

The words rolled through the forest like loose gravel. For just a fraction of a second— barely perceptible— Hirata’s gaze wavered.

That was enough.

Betting on that slight mental disturbance, Hashimoto lunged out, yanking the trigger with everything he had.

Two rounds flew— clean, fast— but missed. And then, cruelly, the third never came.

He was out of ammo.

Hirata reacted instantly, snapping into a counterattack. His return fire exploded near Hashimoto’s ear— bang!— paint bursting outward, splashing across the edge of Hashimoto’s goggles.

Color bled into his peripheral vision.

Partial blindness. A fatal disadvantage.

Hashimoto dove, rolling back behind cover, boots tearing at the dirt as he kicked off the ground. With only a fraction of his sight remaining— no more than a third— distance was the only answer. He darted between trees, retreating just long enough to reset.

Hirata had a clear shot at Hashimoto’s briefly exposed back.

But his own weapon clicked dry at that exact moment.

Rather than risk losing him, Hirata pursued, forcing the fight to shift again— different ground, same suffocating proximity. They closed back into a tense standoff, the air between them tight enough to snap.

One mistake now would end it.

Throwing caution to the wind, Hashimoto shoved his goggles up onto his forehead, yanked the magazine from his assault rifle, and slammed in a fresh one with practiced speed. He scrubbed at the paint smeared across the lenses with his fingers, desperate to clear his vision.

It barely helped.

With no better option, he dragged the goggles back down over his eyes again.

“So this is what being cornered feels like…!”

Hashimoto tightened his grip on the rifle. He still had fifty rounds left— enough to fight, but not enough to be careless. Once they were gone, it would be over.

How many shots did Hirata have left?

He didn’t know.

And of course, Hirata was in the same position. Neither of them knew how close the other was to empty.

There was a chance that Hirata had no spare magazine at all, that the last exchange had left him dry. If that were true, then closing the distance before Hirata could disengage might be the right call.

A prolonged fight would bleed them in ways stamina couldn’t measure. It wasn’t the body that would fail first, but the mind. The question was simple: force a short, decisive clash— or drag this out until one of them made a mistake.

Their breathing overlapped in the stillness, harsh and uneven. Pale afternoon light filtered down through the trees, cutting thin lines through the forest gloom, as if the world itself were holding its breath with them.

Which one of them would make the fatal misstep?

Hashimoto, chest heaving, let his rifle’s muzzle slip just past the cover of the tree.

Sweat slid down his jaw and dripped into the dirt. At the edge of his blurred vision, Hirata’s shadow shifted.

That’s it, now or never.

Hashimoto surged forward, committing fully, devouring the distance between them in a single burst.

Two gunshots cracked through the forest at the same instant.

Paint rounds tore past each other, splitting the air with a violent snap.

“…—!”

A sudden heat bloomed in Hashimoto’s chest.

He looked down.

Paint spread across his uniform, seeping outward in a slow, unmistakable stain.

Hirata’s shot— fired almost simultaneously— had landed first. By the narrowest margin imaginable.

The watch screamed.

It was nothing more than a mechanical sound, yet it sent a cold shiver straight through his body.

“Damn it—!”

The strength drained from his legs, and he dropped to one knee, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. His breathing came ragged and dry, his throat burning as if he’d swallowed fire.

The fight was over.

3

He understood that logically— but his heart lagged behind, still pounding as if the battle might continue.

Hashimoto lifted his gaze toward Hirata, a crooked grin forcing its way onto his face.

“…You were terrifying out there, Hirata. Seriously.”

He exhaled slowly, the tension finally loosening from his shoulders.

“This one’s my loss.”

Hashimoto praised Hirata in a hoarse, frayed voice.

It was a defeat earned fighting with everything he had.

Hirata did not respond. He simply lowered his weapon, slowly, as though the weight of it had only now reached his arms.

Then— that motion stopped.

His gaze remained fixed on Hashimoto, who was still kneeling on one knee, unable to look away.

The rifle rose again.

“Hey… Hirata…?”

Hashimoto caught his breath as he met Hirata’s eyes.

He could see it clearly now— the finger settling on the trigger.

The match was already over. Hashimoto was out. The outcome had been decided beyond dispute.

If Hirata fired now, the consequences for Class A would be severe.

“…That’s not funny, you know?.”

The muzzle pressed against his forehead.

It was point-blank. Close enough that, if the trigger were pulled with force, it might cause serious injury— even in a paintball match.

1

He might shoot.

The thought flashed through Hashimoto’s mind before he could stop it— an absurd, impossible fear—

And then, just as the trigger began to tighten—

Hirata’s finger stopped.

Silence fell.

The wind slipped through the forest, rustling leaves and carrying with it the sharp scent of paint and damp earth. Time seemed to stretch thin.

Without a word, Hirata lowered the gun, turned his back, and walked away.

2

Elsewhere, Class A and Class C were still locked in combat. Hirata had support to give— there was no time to linger.

Left behind, Hashimoto remained kneeling, the echo of a shot that never came ringing endlessly in his ears.

“…Maybe I pushed the honor student a little too far.”

1

The fear lingered— keen and piercing.

Almost as if he had been shot one more time.

Under the pressure of the dwindling clock, the fighting scattered across the island was finally converging toward its endgame.

“The effect of the tactic has worn off. Class A’s positions have all reappeared on the map,” Shiraishi reported calmly. “At present, there are forty-three students still in the game. As for the breakdown by class—”

Her voice carried no urgency, only a steady recitation of facts.

“Just as Ayanokōji-kun predicted,” she added after a beat, “it’s turned into a remarkably chaotic battle.”

“That was inevitable,” I replied. “Establish a commander, gather supplies, maintain distance, read the enemy’s movements, avoid unnecessary clashes— and refine your strategy for the final confrontation. Up to that point, everything can be executed without strain. But the moment the shooting starts, no one can remain truly composed. Especially without a VIP nearby— you can’t even tell where the enemy is, let alone pinpoint your own exact position. Do you go left or right? Forward or back? While you hesitate, you run into another class, and the chain of eliminations begins. The ones fighting out there aren’t trained soldiers, nor are they veterans of repeated survival games. They’re just high school students.”

The key was never brute force.

What mattered was plunging the field into disorder— shaking it violently, until order collapsed, until numbers bled away on their own.

Give it a little more time, and the numbers would fall even further. When that moment came, the course of action was already decided: let the VIPs escape. Avoid total annihilation at all costs, and shift into survival mode until the clock ran out.

Horikita and Ryūen had both reached the same conclusion.

“It seems Kanzaki-kun and two Class D VIPs have just arrived at G11,” Shiraishi continued. “The global GPS Jam will be lifted shortly. Do you think the pursuers will move immediately to target the three of them?”

“It's fifty–fifty,” I answered. “The battlefield has already spread thin. Even if someone notices, there’s no guarantee a VIP can relay accurate information to their guards. Either way, the moment anything suspicious happens, we use our tactic and let them slip away— just as planned.”

“Understood.”

With a nod, Shiraishi lifted her radio and instructed Shimazaki to prepare for individual GPS shutdowns. The targets were not Class C’s VIP, but the two Class D VIPs currently in flight.

There was no rule stating that a class’s tactics could only be used on its own members. As long as the usage itself didn’t violate regulations, applying it to anyone— regardless of class— posed no issue. The only caveat was that only the commander of the class activating the tactic could see the affected positions. That limitation required caution.

What mattered now was simple: preventing anyone from realizing where Class D’s fleeing VIPs actually were.

“And one more update,” Shiraishi continued. “Class A’s second VIP— Yukimura-kun— has just been eliminated. That leaves only Satō-san.”

“So it seems.”

“I imagine Class A is in complete disbelief by now,” she said quietly. “Wondering how all three of their VIPs were identified— and why they’re being hunted so relentlessly. Not by one class, but by all three.”

By the final day, Class A had already committed a single, decisive mistake.

It traced back to the evening of the third day— when I appeared at Horikita’s camp.

At the time, the Individual GPS Jam was still in effect. I arrived, and I didn’t attack right away.

Instead, I observed.

I studied the positions of my former classmates with care before making my move. My objective wasn’t to rack up eliminations. It was simpler— and far more important.

I wanted to know who the VIPs were.

When Class A was attacked unexpectedly, their thinking inevitably split into two paths: eliminate the intruder, or protect the VIPs.

Over several days, the idea that losing all VIPs meant immediate defeat had been drilled into them until it became instinct. So the guards reacted immediately— rushing to shield the same three people almost at once.

1

Wang Mei-Yu.

Satō Maya.

Yukimura Teruhiko.

“Didn't you suspect the possibility of a fake-out?” Shiraishi asked.

2

“If they’d anticipated a battle, they might have staged one,” I replied. “But the attack came when everyone believed the day was already over. Under those conditions, acting would have been far more difficult. The odds of a deliberate performance were low.”

And that information— I passed it on to Class B this morning.

Knowing who the VIPs were made the fight vastly easier. Even if Class B chose not to believe me, there was no real downside. Information like that costs nothing and can only help.

Of course, sending people close to Class B was risky. Anyone approaching them carelessly would be shot.

In fact, the student I sent was eliminated almost immediately.

But that didn’t matter.

Even after being eliminated, as long as you weren’t in the middle of combat, limited communication was still possible. The information reached Class B regardless.

It served two purposes at once. It tightened the noose around Class A— and it acted as the spark that drove Class B into open aggression.

“So in the end,” Shiraishi said quietly, “Class A was skilfully outplayed by Ayanokōji-kun alone.”

1

“Even knowing they were being targeted, I think Class A moved well enough,” I said. “If we can finish off what’s left of Class B, this special exam ends there.”

No matter how capable the remaining fighters were— students like Sudō or Hirata— once the VIP fell, organized resistance would collapse.

“…Excuse me. Shimazaki-kun is calling,” Shiraishi said, lifting the radio. Her expression tightened slightly.

Something was wrong.

“In several combat zones, Class B appears to be gaining the upper hand. As a result, the number of eliminations on our alliance side is increasing rapidly. There’s especially intense fighting around F11.”

I’d hoped to let things run their course a bit longer, but it seemed wiser to intervene— at least partially.

“Only if Class A is wiped out first,” I said, “and you can make contact, come find me after three o’clock.”

“Understood. And you, Ayanokōji-kun— what will you do now?”

“Adjustments.”

4

Entrusting Shiraishi in Yamamura’s care, I turned and began walking toward F11 at an unhurried pace.