Epilogue: Show Me What You've Got

At exactly three in the afternoon, my wristwatch chimed as it registered the boundary shift from F11 to E11.

With that, Class A having lost all three of its VIPs was forcibly eliminated in its entirety. Every remaining member was ruled out, and their presence vanished from the battlefield.

I slowly lifted my finger from the trigger, and continued to watch the surroundings in silence.

From the quiet between the trees, five figures emerged— Yamamura, Shiraishi, Kanzaki, and the two Class D VIPs. No one spoke at first. Their breathing alone told the story of how close it had been.

“So the remaining guards were taken out?” I asked.

“Yes,” Shiraishi replied, still slightly out of breath, but composed enough to report. “While we were retreating, two Class B students ambushed us. According to Ichinose-san, both of them had their individual GPS disabled— we were completely caught off guard. We used the tactic you authorized in advance to escape, but… if you hadn’t bought us time, we wouldn’t have made it.”

“Give me the details.”

Yamamura looked as though she wanted to speak, but her breathing hadn’t yet settled. Instead, Kanzaki unfolded a map and pointed.

“Class B still has Ryūen and Ibuki. Also Yamashita and Yoshimoto. Their last confirmed location was D11—”

“Then they’re down to three,” I said calmly. “I took out Yoshimoto there just a moment ago.”

1

Kanzaki paused. He hadn’t yet received the updated report from his commander.

“…So the signals that disappeared on the way here— was that all you, Ayanokōji-kun?"

“I cleared what I could within reach. But two troublesome ones remain.”

On our side, Class C had been reduced to myself, Yamamura Miki and our VIP Shiraishi Asuka and Class D had Kanzaki as guard, with VIPs Beppu and Himeno.

Converted into points, Class B and Class C stood at 102, while Class D held 201.

If the exam ended as things were, first place was already decided. Second and third would be settled by sudden death.

“We’ve confirmed Class B’s VIP,” Shiraishi added. “It’s Yamashita-san. Shimazaki-kun just relayed the information.”

“Makes sense,” I replied. “There’s no advantage to making Ibuki the VIP.”

1

With Class A locked into last place, the risk of expulsion was gone— but second and third were still undecided.

At this stage, the decisive factor wasn’t the number of VIPs.

It was the number of guards.

With one hour remaining, if even a single guard from any class survived, they could unilaterally decide the outcome.

Should I leave Beppu here, since he still has stamina left— or Himeno instead?

“How do you think they’ll move?” Kanzaki asked.

“Even with the field shrinking, they’ll stick together,” I said. “They may still have one individual GPS shutdown left, but with only one, they can’t track us without a VIP. It’s not a major concern. More importantly, how much ammo do you two have?”

“I’m… full,” Yamamura said softly. “I haven’t fired at all. I have two spare magazines as well. I’m sorry…”

“I’m the opposite,” Kanzaki said flatly. “I’m nearly dry. Ten, maybe twenty rounds left at most.”

“Then take these.”

I reached into my pack and handed Kanzaki the two spare magazines I’d been holding onto.

“Appreciate it, but” Kanzaki said, hesitating as he looked at the magazines in my hand, “it doesn’t violate the rules, does it?”

“It’s not confiscation or theft,” I replied evenly. “Just a transfer.”

“Even so— what about you? Do you really have enough ammunition?”

“I’ve got twenty-two rounds left. More than enough.”

Kanzaki frowned. “Then I can’t take them. You’d make better use of them than I would.”

“There’s no need to worry,” I said, handing him the magazines anyway. “What matters now isn’t firepower, it’s having a guard who can protect the VIP and survive until the very end. Besides… there are situations where carrying less is actually an advantage.”

If someone walked into this final phase with a hundred or two hundred rounds, it wouldn’t be a fair fight. It’s only in a razor-thin situation like this that the match becomes worth enjoying— when the outcome can still tip either way.

With a guaranteed placement of third or higher already secured, there was no longer any need for excess calculation. I could finally strip away the noise and devote myself to the survival game itself.

Ryūen, no doubt, would prefer not to confront me directly. If he could, he’d target Shiraishi, Beppu, or Himeno instead— anyone but me.

But time was against him. The remaining area would continue to shrink, until confrontation became unavoidable.

“So…” Shiraishi asked, “what... are we going to do now?”

“Ryūen won’t be satisfied letting the exam end like this,” I answered. “If he does nothing, he’s locked into second or third place. But if he fights— and wins— first place is still within reach.”

Five minutes passed. The GPS updated.

Reports came in from both Shimazaki and Ichinose: all positional changes were minimal. Everyone was holding almost the exact same ground, and no one had activated any tactics.

A deliberate stalemate.

“Sorry, Beppu,” I said. “I’m going to need you for a bit.”

“…What are you planning?”

“I have no intention of letting this drag on into sudden death,” I replied. “If there’s no movement in the next ten minutes, I’m planning to make the first move.”

I instructed Yamamura and Shiraishi to remain where they were, along with Kanzaki and Himeno. If there was even the slightest anomaly on the GPS, they were to relocate immediately.

Then I began moving with Beppu at my side.

It was a certainty that Ryūen had already investigated and tagged the GPS signal of the lone unit that had stormed Class A on the evening of the third day— or possibly earlier that morning.

Which meant my movement wouldn't go unnoticed. And Ryūen wasn't foolish enough to miss what the movement implied.

3:20 p.m.

With only forty minutes remaining until the end of the exam, I advanced toward the center of E11, checking in with Beppu at regular intervals to confirm the enemy’s position.

“…They’re coming,” Beppu whispered, “All three of them are really close now. Right in front of us… If Ryūen and Ibuki split up, then what? What am I supposed to do?"

“That’s unlikely,” I replied calmly. “Yamashita isn't very athletic, and she's probably nearing her limit. She won't be able to match the pace you'd set as a guy if you ran, and accounting for the five-minute GPS lag, tracking you down wouldn't be easy.”

“…Hope you’re right,” Beppu said with a weak laugh. “Honestly, I’m at my absolute limit too.”

Four days, nearly that long of constant movement across the island. Running, walking, evading— his legs were finally protesting in earnest.

“If it comes to that,” I said, “all you can do is lie low and pray you don’t get spotted.”

“Yeah… I’d really rather not rely on prayer.”

Given the remaining time, being discovered would almost certainly mean being taken out.

“You’re there, aren’t you, Ayanokōji?! I came all this way to fight you, so you’d better be grateful!”

Ibuki’s voice rang out sharply from ahead, cutting through the trees.

“…What is that, some kind of tsundere declaration?” Beppu muttered. “Alright then, I’ll be taking my leave.”

1

He raised one hand lightly, half in farewell, and slipped away with practiced quiet, retreating into the foliage.

I watched him go for just a moment, then turned my attention forward and continued on alone.

With so many students already eliminated and withdrawn, the island felt emptier than it ever had. The silence was sharper now, every sound— leaves brushing, distant footsteps, the creak of branches— carried clearly through the air.

Up until this point, merely catching sight of an enemy had meant immediate gunfire, no questions asked. That had been the nature of this survival game. But this time was different.

As I moved ahead, the trees parted just enough.

Ahead, through gaps in the trees, Ryūen and Ibuki emerged into view, standing openly. And behind them— faint, but unmistakable— I could see Yamashita as well.

“Hah. We spent all this time seriously thinking things through, second-guessing every move, playing this exam like it actually mattered,” Ryūen said with a crooked grin. “And in the end? All that brainwork went straight out the window. Everyone burned themselves out in one big, flashy shoot-out. It’s dumb— but given that, it makes sense someone like Ibuki, stupid but still moving, would be left standing, don’t you think?”

From the way he spoke, there was no mistaking the edge of irritation— tempered by quiet acceptance.

“Sounds like you did pretty well,” I replied calmly. “How many did you take out?”

“Don’t know. Lost count,” Ibuki snapped before Ryūen could answer. “And that’s what pisses me off! Class A lost all three of their VIPs, and because of that I never got to finish off Horikita!”

1

The frustration was unmistakable— her voice carried a sharp, poorly concealed edge.

“Annoying as it is,” Ryūen went on, eyes fixed on me, “this all worked out because of the information you handed over. Guess you could call it a mutual interest.”

Judging from how evenly things had played out, it was hard to deny it. Without that information it might have been Class A, not Class B, still standing here.

“Class A couldn’t be allowed to win,” I said evenly. “If they had, the other three classes would’ve been in trouble. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Ryūen agreed. “But personally? I’d like to pin a loss on you too. Time’s almost up. So let’s settle this here and now, and decide the rankings.”

The words dropped low and heavy between us.

As Yamashita retreated without a word, both Ryūen and Ibuki melted into the trees, their figures swallowed by the forest’s uneven shadows.

1

A two-on-one situation. Naturally, neither of them considered it unfair.

If this had been a normal fight, they would’ve judged the odds, seen there was no guaranteed win, and walked away. But this wasn’t a normal fight.

Here, a single paint round was enough.

I didn’t bother hiding. Instead, I continued forward, deliberately, watching for their response.

At under ten meters, even a moment’s carelessness would be fatal— but we were still separated by more than twenty. If I could see the muzzle, I could still react in time.

More importantly, I couldn’t afford a drawn-out exchange.

Not with the ammunition I had left.

Bullets always favor the side with more of them— but advantage doesn’t guarantee victory. My remaining rounds hovered around twenty.

Every movement from here on needed to be intentional— measured, and precise.

Without taking a deep breath, I calmly organized the presented variables, one by one: distance, angles of cover, Ibuki’s aggressive habits, Ryūen’s line of fire.

“DIE, Ayanokōji!”

2

Ibuki shouted it deliberately, her voice cutting through the trees— raw, reckless, and familiar. For an instant, the image of Ishizaki charging across the rooftop flashed through my mind.

Almost immediately, the muzzle of a submachine gun peeked out from the trees, and a loose spray of rounds tore through the undergrowth.

It wasn’t meant to hit me.

It was bait.

The purpose wasn’t to take me down, but to force me into cover— to blind my vision and dull my hearing long enough for Ryūen’s position to vanish from my awareness. A submachine gun didn’t carry many rounds. She intended to burn through them quickly.

The instant her thirty rounds ran dry, I kicked off the ground and closed the distance.

Ibuki caught the movement and twisted away in a single fluid motion, sliding low between the trees like a shadow slipping across the forest floor.

Lowering my center of gravity, I answered with short, controlled bursts. One leaf, then another, shredded apart as the rounds clipped through the foliage. The trajectory wavered just enough that a shot grazed her shoulder— but the paint didn’t rupture. No alarm sounded from her watch.

She glared back at me, teeth clenched in something that almost resembled a grin.

Then she vanished behind the trunk of a tree and began a deliberate reload.

Without knowing where Ryūen was, I couldn’t afford to overextend. Flanking Ibuki meant exposing myself to an unseen angle, and that was a risk I couldn’t take yet.

A faint plastic scrape reached my ears.

That sound was enough.

I shifted a few steps sideways, altering my angle just enough to skew any prepared shot, and peered through the narrow gaps between trunks.

Deeper in the forest, Ibuki’s silhouette twitched.

The instant a muzzle edge entered my peripheral vision, my body reacted on instinct, dropping low.

The paint round hissed past my ear, slicing the air, and burst harmlessly against the bark behind me.

Before I could even confirm the miss, Ryūen was already moving— slipping to a new position. I wanted to track him, to lock down his route, but Ibuki had finished reloading and was back in motion. I tore my gaze away from Ryūen and refocused.

“She’s fast,” I muttered.

Small-framed, Ibuki darted between trunks like a feral animal, light on her feet, clearly accustomed to firing on the move. Paintballs rattled from her submachine gun, splattering against the thick trunk shielding me.

Anticipating a flank, I retreated several steps and shifted positions again.

Branches shook. Leaves burst into the air.

Predicting the line of movement, I fired two quick bursts.

The rounds slammed into the trunk ahead of her path, bark and splinters exploding outward.

No hit.

But it was enough to halt Ibuki’s advance for a single heartbeat.

“Where are you even aiming?” Ibuki’s voice skipped between the trees, sharp with mockery. “Do you really think shots that sloppy are going to hit me? You suck.”

It was a provocation, nothing more. I didn’t answer. I simply slowed my breathing and let the noise settle.

Ibuki showed herself again.

There was even a smile on her face now— confidence, perhaps, or carelessness. Either way, her movements remained clean and decisive. And because of that, they were also predictable.

The height of her gaze as she sprang out. The position of her hips at the instant she committed.

All of it was consistent.

Then Ryūen moved again.

Paint rounds scattered toward me from a different angle, forcing my attention away. One hit would end everything. I abandoned any thought of counterplay and focused solely on evasion, slipping behind cover as bark exploded nearby.

I returned three warning shots toward Ryūen, forcing him back. It bought me two… maybe three seconds. That was enough.

I turned my body and my eyes toward where Ibuki had last taken cover.

“Got you!”

The shout came not from there— but from two trees to the side.

She must have assumed I hadn’t noticed her repositioning. With confidence, Ibuki stepped fully into the open and leveled her gun at me.

“Tch— what!?”

She was right about one thing: my body was still angled toward the place she had been hiding moments earlier.

But there was one thing that wasn’t.

The muzzle of my weapon was already tracking her.

I felt the trigger beneath my finger, the resistance, the exact point at which it would break.

Then pulled it.

The round tore through the air in a straight, unhesitating line.

Ibuki twisted instinctively, trying to slip past it— but she was already too late.

The paint round struck her right thigh and burst, color blooming across her leg. A fraction of a second later, the unmistakable alarm rang out, echoing through the forest.

1

Ibuki’s eyes flew wide in disbelief as her balance collapsed. She hit the ground hard, rolling once as the alarm continued to echo.

“Aaargh! It ends up like this again!? This is so damn annoying!! That's why I said I didn't wanna do it!”

1

Ibuki’s bitter rant rang out behind me— but I had no time to indulge her resentment.

The air behind me shifted.

I turned instantly and pulled the trigger at Ryūen, who was already lining me up— but my weapon answered with silence. A dry click. Empty. At the same moment, Ryūen fired while flowing his body to the side, his shot grazing past my shoulder by a hair’s margin.

“So that’s it… out of ammo, huh.”

Clutching the weapon in one hand, I broke into a sprint, heading south.

From behind, the pursuit came without hesitation. What looked calm on the surface carried the pressure of a beast moments before it lunged on to its prey.

This was the price of burning through my rounds on too many small adjustments.

By the time I’d taken Ibuki down, my magazine had been drained clean, every last round spent.

There wasn’t a single paint round left in my assault rifle.

I raised it anyway, bluffing as I ran, but Ryūen didn’t slow for even a second. He chased with full intent, accepting the risk of loss as part of the hunt.

The watch on my wrist flickered— E12. The area had changed.

Though I didn’t have the luxury of confirming it.

I ran as straight as I could, choosing the shortest path instinctively, but the dense forest refused to make it easy. Roots grabbed at my feet, branches clawed at my arms. I veered right, then left, sometimes nearly tripping as the terrain itself conspired to slow me down.

Right. Left. Then from below.

Nature struck without mercy, denying me a clean sprint.

Paint rounds whistled past my back.

With no room left for appearances, I hurled the dead weight in my right hand to the ground and ran empty-handed.

The forest suddenly opened.

What waited beyond it was open sand— an expanse of beach stretching wide, utterly exposed. No trees. No rocks. No cover of any kind.

After sprinting some twenty meters across the shifting ground, I stopped.

“I surrender.”

I raised both hands and spoke to Ryūen, who stood behind me with his weapon trained squarely on my back.

“So even you can’t dodge it here, huh?” he asked, breathing hard but sounding calmer than I’d expected.

“No,” I answered honestly. “There’s no dodging this.”

If it had been solid concrete instead of sand dragging at my legs, could I have resisted a little longer? Maybe.

No— probably not.

If he’d been down to his last one or two rounds, the equation might have changed. But that hope vanished the instant I heard it—

Ka-shunk.

The unmistakable sound of a magazine being swapped in.

The last sliver of possibility disappeared with it.

“If it’s you, Ayanokōji,” Ryūen said, his voice carrying a low, deliberate edge, “I’d be stupid not to be extra careful. You’d agree with that, wouldn’t you?”

“—Perhaps.” I kept both hands raised, my posture unchanged. “But why did you decide to fight me directly? Ibuki didn’t seem thrilled with the idea.”

Ryūen snorted. “Even two-on-one, there’s no guarantee we’d win a straight shootout against you. From her perspective, it made more sense to gamble everything on taking out the VIP instead.”

Still holding my hands aloft, I turned only my neck, glancing back over my shoulder.

“And you thought differently?”

“Not really,” he said. “If winning were the only thing that mattered, I’d agree with her. That was the smarter move.”

There was a brief pause before he continued, his tone darkening just slightly.

“But after coming this far, deciding things by running away like that? That doesn’t sit right with me. It’s a far cry from victory— not the kind I want.”

Victory, for Ryūen, wasn’t just a result.

Perhaps it was the accumulation of past defeats— the weight of losses stacked one atop another— that pushed him into forcing this confrontation. A two-on-one born not of efficiency, but obsession.

“I understand your reason,” I said. “But then tell me this. You’ve finished reloading. Why haven’t you fired yet? If the victory you want is my defeat, you’re already within arm’s reach of it. Tighten your finger. Pull the trigger. It ends here.”

2

All it would take was pressure in his fingertip.

A single pull of the trigger.

There was no deception in that assessment.

If he made that choice, I would be out. Immediately and absolutely.

And yet— he didn’t shoot.

Because what he wanted wasn’t just victory. It was certainty— proof that the win was real.

Even standing in a position of overwhelming advantage, he still couldn’t quite believe that victory was already his.

“Ha— yeah, you’re right,” Ryūen said, exhaling a short laugh. “I used to watch scenes like this in movies and dramas and get pissed off every time. ‘If you’ve got time to talk, then shoot already,’ that kind of thing.”

1

“That is the correct answer,” I replied calmly. “While we’re standing here, Yamashita might already be in someone else’s sights.”

“Maybe,” Ryūen admitted. “But there are things you don’t really understand until you’re the one standing here, staring at the end of it.”

He smiled as he spoke— but not once did he let his guard down.

Even with victory all but assured, Ryūen refused to indulge in it.

“I just want to know,” he said. “Is this really surrender? Or are you still thinking there’s a way out? I want to see how someone I believed I couldn’t beat escapes from a corner like this— if you think you can escape at all. If there is even the slightest chance, I want to witness it. I’m willing to risk my own defeat for that.”

After a measured breath, Ryūen shifted without changing his stance, stepping back half a pace.

“Even you can’t dodge every shot I fire,” he went on. “That much is obvious, right?”

“I already told you— it’s impossible,” I replied. “The muzzle velocity on these paint guns is roughly ninety meters per second. Human reaction time averages between 0.2 and 0.3 seconds. At twenty meters, there’s some margin. At this distance, there’s none. Even if I managed to avoid a few shots by chance, avoiding all of them until your magazine runs dry is mathematically impossible.”

1

I glanced around as I spoke, laying out the situation with clinical detachment.

“If this were ruleless combat, there might’ve been a slim option— close the distance during that brief window, get inside your guard, strip the weapon, subdue you. But disarming an opponent is explicitly forbidden. And if I had a handgun, I could at least attempt a counter— except handguns must be worn visibly in a leg holster. There’s no concealing one. With suppression and counterattack both sealed off, the only option left to me is evasion.”

Ryūen’s gaze dropped briefly to my legs, confirming it for himself.

Of course, I wasn’t carrying a handgun.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s right. No matter how you look at it, you’re finished.”

“You’ve cornered me this perfectly,” I said, “and you still want me to show you a way out?”

“I’d like to,” Ryūen admitted. “But if there isn’t one, then it can't be helped. I’ll take you down and go hunt the remaining VIP and guards. You are betting everything on your last remaining guard huh?”

He re-shouldered his rifle, his voice lowering a notch as the air tightened.

Given the remaining time, he couldn’t afford to linger much longer. If he was going to finish me, it had to be now, before turning back into the forest.

“Putting everything on the last guard, huh,” I murmured. “That’s not a bad suggestion.”

“Leftovers are Kanzaki and Yamamura, right?” Ryūen scoffed. “Sorry, but I don’t plan on losing to small fry.”

“Are you sure?” I asked quietly. “That depends on the conditions.”

Something in my tone made him frown.

“Walk forward,” he ordered. “A few more meters. Yes— stop there.”

As I complied, he stepped to the spot I’d been standing in moments earlier and drove his heel into the sand, grinding it down.

“So you didn’t lure me here and bury a weapon,” he muttered. “Figures."

1

Still, he had to erase even that one-percent chance.

“The idea of luring you isn’t bad,” I said evenly. “But let me ask you something. When I ran out of ammo and threw my weapon away, was I truly fleeing— or was that really all there was to it?”

“...Huh?”

“Doesn’t it strike you as strange,” I continued calmly, “that I’d panic, lose all sense of direction, burst out of the forest, and flee straight onto the beach? The usable area is already limited. You really think I’d enter the final phase of this exam without memorizing the map? If escape were the goal, circling endlessly through the forest would be a hundred times more effective. Out there, at least I’d have cover. Here— no obstacles, unstable footing, nowhere to hide, nowhere to dodge. Running onto open sand offers no advantage whatsoever.”

“…In the forest, cover grows everywhere,” Ryūen muttered. “That much is true. But even so, I don’t get it. Why would you lead me somewhere that only benefits me?”

“It’s a matter of perspective,” I replied. “A place with no cover makes me vulnerable— but it also makes you vulnerable. In an environment like this, even a mediocre shooter can land a hit if they pull the trigger at close range.”

Ryūen’s brow furrowed more deeply.

That logic favored him, not me. Which was precisely why it unsettled him.

“And there’s another thing,” I went on. “The forest is too quiet. Every snapped twig, every misplaced step gives you away. But here? Wind. Waves. Constant ambient noise. Fewer brittle sounds underfoot. It’s an ideal environment for someone to approach from behind without being noticed.”

“From behind…?”

Ryūen didn’t dare turn his gaze away from me.

I could almost feel the chill creeping up his spine. I kept talking, pressing the blade in slowly.

“You were chasing me. Single-mindedly. But at the same time, I was issuing instructions to my remaining guard. I told them this: If a one-on-one is confirmed, I’ll lure Ryūen to this location. Approach from behind and finish him.”

“And you think I wouldn’t notice something like that?”

1

“Could you really?” I asked quietly. “Your entire focus was fixed on me. It was a pursuit bordering on obsession. But can you honestly say your awareness of what lay behind you was flawless? Even now— do you not realize that you may already have a gun trained on your back from just a few meters away?”

1

“Don’t make me laugh,” Ryūen snapped. “That’s a bluff.”

“You think you’d definitely notice if someone came close?” I countered. “But one of the guards still with us is Yamamura. She’s light, quiet, exceptionally good at erasing her presence. She may lack athletic ability, but for silent approach? She’s one of the best candidates possible.”

The sound of the waves rolled in again and again, steady and unbroken.

Ryūen sharpened his hearing, straining to catch anything amiss.

But discerning the breath of someone standing perfectly still, who had melted into the background, would be far from easy.

“If Yamamura really is behind me,” Ryūen said slowly, “then why not have her shoot?"

“For the same reason you haven’t pulled the trigger yet,” I replied. “You wanted all the answers first.”

“Kuku…” A low laugh escaped him. “That’s what makes this interesting. I thought I’d maneuvered us into a situation where there was absolutely no threat to me— and yet you still manage to suggest a what if. Let’s say— just for the sake of argument— that Yamamura really is behind me. What then? If I turn around and counterattack before she fires, she’s out. And in the time it takes you to pick up her weapon, I’ll have already put a round through you.”

“That might happen,” I said evenly. “Or it might not. If you’re curious, you’re free to try.”

I saw it then— the sharp intake of breath he couldn’t quite suppress.

Unlike moments ago, his attention fractured. A weight settled behind his eyes, no longer fixed solely on me but dragged irresistibly toward the unseen space at his back.

If Yamamura is really there—

If she stood behind him now. As the last guard, that would mean game over.

Ryūen thought hard. Had he really been followed without noticing? He wanted to dismiss the idea outright— but the more he examined his own pursuit, the less certain he became.

1

In the end, whether she was there or not didn’t matter.

What mattered was that he now had to act as though she were.

If he turned quickly enough, landed a hit before Yamamura fired, the situation could still be salvaged. But if even a fraction of a second went wrong— if Yamamura’s shot was released before her out signal registered— then Ryūen would have to evade that round perfectly.

And that would not be easy.

But targeting me first was nonsensical. The instant he did, Yamamura would shoot him from behind.

I could practically see the calculations unfolding behind his eyes.

Ignoring the threat at his back was no longer an option.

And because I was unarmed, the only viable choice left to him was evasion.

If that was the case, then sparing a split second to glance behind him carried no immediate risk.

If no one was there, he could return his sights to me in less than a second. On an open beach like this, with loose sand underfoot, I couldn’t escape even if I tried.

Ryūen released a faint breath.

And in that infinitesimal moment—

He twisted at the waist, swinging the muzzle with him as he turned.

What filled his vision was nothing more than distance— the dark line of the forest far away, and the empty stretch of sand between.

No one stood behind him.

A fleeting sense of relief washed through him.

All that remained was to turn back once more and put a round into the unarmed opponent before him. Victory would be settled in an instant.

But before his gaze could fully return—

I tightened my right hand.

It was true: I held no weapon.

It was also true: I had no means of escape.

And yet—

I still possessed a way to fight.

I twisted my body as well, pivoting sharply back toward Ryūen, his finger that had never left the trigger pulling in just a little deeper.

I could not evade every round.

But that was never the plan.

Between my right thumb and index finger, I held a single battered paintball.

4

With every ounce of strength I could summon, I hurled it at Ryūen, like a pitcher driving a ball straight into a catcher’s mitt.

The instant Ryūen’s shot struck me, paint blossomed across my abdomen.

At the same time, the exact same color splashed across his.

“What—!?”

The low whine of the firing motor lingered faintly in the air.

Almost simultaneously, our wristwatches shrilled— the mechanical verdict declaring us both out.

Mutual defeat.

The paint round I had thrown was fundamentally no different from the ones loaded into a magazine.

Except for one crucial detail.

Under normal circumstances, even a direct hit from a human throw wouldn’t rupture it.

That was why I had tested it.

1

Again and again.

How much force did it take for the shell to break?

What kind of surface caused it to rupture?

What combination of angle, speed, and hardness produced the most reliable result.

How damaged did the membrane protecting the paint have to be before it would finally give way?

Over the course of the last three days, I had repeated those experiments, carefully scarring the shell— just enough so it would not burst prematurely, yet would shatter the instant it struck with intent.

A single, fragile, meticulously prepared round.

“You...threw it…?” Ryūen muttered, disbelief roughening his voice.

“There’s nothing in the rules that forbids it,” I replied calmly. “Using a weapon is simply more reliable, and more convenient. No one is required to use it, that’s all.”

The shrill alarm of his wristwatch kept screaming, far louder than it needed to. Ryūen glared at it with open irritation before slamming his weapon into the sand.

“So that’s it?” he growled. “You dragged this out just to show off a trick like this? If I’d pulled the trigger without hesitation, you wouldn’t have had the luxury to pull off a counter like that.”

1

“Once I lured you onto the beach, your overwhelming advantage was already secured,” I said. “I expected, with fairly high probability, that you wouldn’t fire right away. And besides… I had my own reasons as well. Part of it was simply that I wanted to enjoy the match. But ultimately— losing here wouldn’t have mattered to me. My objective had already been achieved.”

“…Objective?” Ryūen echoed, eyes narrowing.

I let the word hang for a moment before answering.

“I’ll make it official now,” I said. “Class D, Ichinose, and I have formed an alliance. I won’t say how deep it goes, or how long it will last— but we’ve agreed to aim for the top together. Still, alliances are easy to declare and hard to accept. Especially for Class C. Convincing everyone with words alone would never work. So the highest priority was to force a situation where an alliance became the only rational choice.”

Ryūen let out a short, humorless breath. “So that’s what this was. Meaning my surprise attack worked because—”

2

“Yes,” I cut in. “In this special exam, the most dangerous moments come when classes are clustered close together. Except for the very end, the starting phase is the most volatile. Everyone rushes to put distance between themselves and other classes. They rely on constant GPS updates from their commander, checking again and again whether they’ve created enough separation. If Class C had immediately pulled away at full speed, you wouldn’t have even considered using your tactic right at the start.”

But in reality, Class C did the opposite.

The moment we confirmed that the other classes had moved away, we stopped.

“We shifted our focus,” I continued, “to weapons training, to strategy meetings. We deliberately created the impression that we were settling into preparation rather than movement. That made the environment ideal for an ambush.”

Ryūen’s gaze sharpened.

“So you left your class exposed,” he said slowly. “You let them stay vulnerable— so you could invite the attack?”

“That’s right,” I said. “Unfortunately, winning gunfights was never my primary objective. What I wanted was far simpler. I wanted to create a situation where Class C had no choice but to rely on Class D, whether they liked it or not.”

Even students like Hashimoto and Morishita— those who understood the situation better than most— had been openly skeptical of any alliance. That reaction was only natural. From their perspective, Class D had accomplished little of note. Partnering with them felt like taking on dead weight, a move with more visible drawbacks than benefits. Calling it an alliance didn’t magically make it palatable. No one was inclined to accept it willingly.

But desperation changes the equation.

Once survival itself is at stake, once a path forward cannot be found without outside help, the conversation shifts. When the road leads only toward last place, any detour— no matter how uncertain— that might end in second or third suddenly becomes worth considering.

That was how it unfolded.

Cornered, Class C students were the ones who approached Class D, voices lowered, pride swallowed, asking for cooperation of their own accord.

“Sure,” I continued, “we could have forced an alliance without taking a single hit. But think about what would have happened if Class C and Class D had joined hands while still completely unscathed. Even someone as bold as you wouldn’t rush into a fight against nearly eighty students. That kind of coalition is simply too strong.”

I paused, letting the implication settle.

“Yet a wounded alliance is another matter. A weakened C–D coalition still commands caution, but it no longer feels untouchable."

The same logic applied to Class A.

“They would’ve felt it too. If things stayed as they were, Class A and Class B would end up locked in a swampy struggle for last place. From there, another idea naturally emerges— why not cooperate just for this exam? A temporary truce between A and B to crush the lower-ranked classes first, then settle things afterward.”

Mirror the opponent’s move and restore balance.

Ryūen was silent, clearly tracing the battlefield in his mind, recalculating every branching possibility as if replaying the exam from the beginning.

It wouldn’t have been easy. Unlike C and D, A and B might never have achieved complete unity. But even a shallow cooperation, enough to avoid fighting each other while pinching the C–D alliance from both sides, was a realistic possibility.

“I never would have imagined someone would deliberately accept an ambush,” he admitted. “Guess that means I shouldn’t have made the first move.”

“That was inevitable,” I replied. “Sooner or later, something would’ve triggered it. The attack on Class B on the second day— that was intentional too. I wanted to shave off more of our own strength. There are countless ways to break a group’s morale.”

That second-day defeat had been the turning point.

Once Class C realized there was no way forward alone, they reached out to Class D themselves.

“In the end,” Ryūen said bitterly, “Ibuki was the closest to the truth. I was too obsessed with beating you, and this is where it got me.”

It was a clear admission of defeat— but unlike the hollow display he’d shown back in the classroom, this carried different weight.

“I’ve seen it now,” he went on, “Your process. The way you turn any environment into a weapon and grind out a win. From here on out, I won’t hold back. Not in the slightest.”

“Oh?” I said dryly. “So you've been holding back until now? How very kind of you.”

2

Ryūen slowly bent down and picked up his weapon. Without sparing me another glance, his gaze drifted toward the sea, resting there as if measuring the distance to something far beyond the shoreline. Without offering any reply to my words, he turned and began walking along the sand, boots sinking slightly into the sand with each step.

I watched his back until the distance softened his outline, then deliberately turned away in the opposite direction. I retraced my steps to retrieve the weapon I had intentionally discarded earlier, brushing sand from my palms as I slung it back into place. Once that was done, I made my way back to headquarters at an unhurried pace, arriving noticeably later than most.

Once aboard the ship, we were told to wait. The announcement came casually: until the official end of the special exam, we were free to do as we pleased. In reality, there was hardly any time left to do anything at all, and before long the scheduled hour arrived without ceremony.

No formal results had been announced yet, but the outcome was already obvious.

Class A had been completely wiped out. Class B had lost all of its remaining guards. From that alone, the rankings were clear: Class A in last place, Class B in third, Class C in second, and Class D claiming first. Thanks to the Protection Points held by Horikita and Kōenji, Class A would avoid expulsion despite their defeat.

1

As Hashimoto came over to offer a few words of appreciation, an announcement echoed through the ship, instructing us to disembark. It seemed the results would be announced outside.

As we began walking together toward the exit, I caught fragments of conversation from nearby students— complaints, sighs, muttered remarks about how brutal the exam had been. And certainly, by comparison, it had been harsh: prolonged confinement, massive swings in class points, and the looming threat of expulsion— even if mitigated by Protect Points— had made this trial heavier than most.

We descended toward the pier, where several types of labeled plastic bottles had been neatly arranged. A teacher instructed us to take one freely. Every bottle turned out to be water, indistinguishable in taste, so I picked one at random and stepped down onto the sand.

There was no need to line up by class. We were instructed to wait wherever we liked.

My eyes instinctively searched for Hiyori.

2

Throughout the entire uninhabited island exam, I hadn’t seen her even once.

After a moment, I spotted her in the distance, talking quietly with Kaneda from her class. She appeared healthy, with no signs of injury or illness.

Should I go over and speak to her?

The question flickered through my mind, but before I could act on it, Yoshida noticed Hashimoto and me. He jogged over, grinning broadly, elbowing my shoulder as if we were old friends, celebrating our second-place finish with unrestrained enthusiasm.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Unable to move as freely as I might have liked, the three of us remained where we were, letting the waiting time slip by in silence, the sound of waves and distant voices filling the space between thoughts.

The teachers moved with unusual urgency.

For what was supposed to be a simple announcement of results from a special exam, the air felt oppressively heavy. It wasn’t the students’ expressions that seemed strange— it was the teachers themselves. Something in their demeanor was off.

Even Hoshinomiya-sensei, who would normally be struggling to suppress a mischievous smile at a moment like this, showed no sign of relaxation. Her expression remained rigid.

Something was definitely wrong.

Hashimoto noticed it a moment later, followed soon after by Yoshida. The unease spread quietly between them, unspoken at first, then undeniable. More and more cardboard boxes were being carried in— every one of them sealed, untouched.

“Don’t you get the feeling,” Hashimoto muttered, “that something really bad is about to happen?”

"…Funny coincidence, Hashimoto,” Yoshida replied under his breath. “I was about to say the exact same thing.”

They weren’t just imagining it. Both of them understood instinctively that something new had already begun to move beneath the surface.

Not long after, Yamamura and the others— those who had survived to the very end were escorted back to headquarters by the teachers. Their faces were etched with exhaustion, bodies barely holding together. Yet the moment they arrived, they weren’t given even a brief chance to rest. Instead, they were immediately lined up on the beach alongside everyone else.

The difference was obvious. Students who had been eliminated early still had color in their faces, while those who had survived until the very end looked drained to the bone. Yet there was no sign of consideration.

Or perhaps even that disparity was intentional.

Perhaps it, too, was nothing more than groundwork for what would come next.

Mashima-sensei stepped forward as the students watched in tense silence. He lifted a loudspeaker, pressed it to his mouth, and spoke.

“The Uninhabited Island Survival Game Special Exam is hereby concluded—”

Normally, what followed should have been the results.

But instead, his next words confirmed the oppressive tension hanging over us all.

“Effective immediately, we will now commence the Uninhabited Island Special Exam.”

12

Those words proclaimed the start of a new battle— one that clearly stood apart from the ‘lenient’ survival game that had been little more than an extension of play as a penalty.

With this, the curtain rose on the battle of ‘trust’ and ‘betrayal’— the school’s true sieve, designed to determine who was truly worthy of reaching graduation.

3