Chapter 1: Token Collection Special Exam

Mashima-sensei’s voice rang across the shoreline with quiet finality.

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

The students, already exhausted from the survival game, were still struggling to process what they had just heard. Yet Mashima-sensei showed no intention of waiting for anyone to catch up. As though brushing aside the confusion spreading through the crowd, he continued his explanation without hesitation.

Just when everyone thought the island exam was finally over, another special exam was suddenly set into motion.

So the Survival Game conducted earlier was merely the prelude, and this was the second phase?

Of course, there was always the possibility that this next phase was only the midpoint of an even larger ordeal waiting beyond it. But considering the condition some students were already in, pushing them through three consecutive stages would be unrealistic.

Either way, it was a harsh situation.

Meanwhile, the sun was already beginning to sink toward the horizon. It was close to five in the evening.

The third-years had weathered countless special exams by now and developed a tolerance for the school’s unpredictability. Even so, they couldn’t hide their confusion. This was different from anything they’d faced before.

“Damn, they’re seriously going to start another special exam right now?” Hashimoto muttered beside me with a strained half-laugh. “Yamamura and Shiraishi are already hanging by a thread.”

His tone carried a trace of sympathy, but the school showed no sign of reconsidering.

“The special exam commencing now,” Mashima-sensei continued, “will consist of ten groups, each containing sixteen students. Every group will be assigned one adult supervisor who will provide instructions as necessary. You are expected to obey your supervisor at all times. As you are already aware, due to the number of students expelled thus far, some groups will inevitably begin with fewer members than others. However, adjustments have been made to ensure that disparities in group size will not create any advantages or disadvantages.”

Sixteen students per group.

If that was the base structure, then this was unlikely to be a straightforward class-versus-class exam.

As though confirming that very suspicion, Mashima-sensei’s next words peeled back another layer of the situation.

“The bottled drinks you were instructed to take upon disembarking may have struck some of you as unusual. Those bottles are the key to determining your groups.”

At once, students began glancing down at the plastic bottles in their hands.

“There are five different label colors,” he explained. “Red, blue, green, yellow, and purple. Enough had been prepared for each class, with adjustments and guidance carried out to ensure everyone received one.”

I lowered my gaze to the mineral water bottle I’d been carrying since leaving the ship, it bore a blue label.

Hashimoto, standing beside me, held purple.

At the very least, it confirmed one thing: the two of us wouldn’t end up in the same group.

However, there were only five colors. That alone wasn’t enough to divide everyone into ten separate groups.

Which meant there had to be another layer hidden somewhere in the selection process.

Removing the label would only create litter. On an island like this, a stray gust of wind could easily carry it straight into the ocean. The school wouldn’t use something so careless.

If they wanted a cleaner, simpler way to add another randomizer, there was an obvious answer.

The cap.

Without a word, I twisted the bottle open, removed the cap, and checked the underside.

A second later, Hashimoto noticed what I was doing and quietly checked his own as well.

“There’s nothing on my cap,” I said quietly. “What about yours?”

“Mine’s marked,” Hashimoto replied immediately. “One black line.”

Right on cue, Mashima-sensei resumed speaking over the microphone.

“I would like everyone to remove the caps from your bottles and examine the underside carefully.”

Around us, the sound of twisting plastic caps spread through the crowd in uneven bursts.

“There are two types of caps prepared for this exam,” he continued. “Plain caps with no markings, and caps marked with a single black line. Students carrying red labels with unmarked caps will belong to Group 1, and students carrying red labels with marked caps will belong to Group 2. That will determine your assigned groups.”

He proceeded through the remaining combinations without pause.

Blue labels corresponded to Groups 3 and 4. Green to 5 and 6. Yellow to 7 and 8. And purple to 9 and 10.

It was also explained that Group 10 alone would begin with fewer than sixteen members.

Hashimoto glanced at his purple label again.

“So I got stuck in the smaller Group 10, huh? And you’re Group 3…” He slowly scanned the students surrounding us. “Still, there’s no way in hell to tell who ended up where from here.”

Even if someone managed to identify the color of another student’s bottle label from a distance, spotting the tiny black line hidden beneath a bottle cap was another matter entirely. Until everyone physically gathered with their assigned groups, nobody could know for certain who their teammates would be.

Which was probably intentional.

If group assignments had been too easy to identify, students might’ve attempted to exchange bottles beforehand. The school had clearly accounted for that possibility from the start.

Still, the identities of our future teammates were something we would inevitably learn soon enough. Speculating now was pointless. More important was understanding the rules of the exam itself.

In fact, Mashima-sensei and the others were already proceeding to the next stage without wasting time.

“Now then, I will explain the details of this special exam. To assist your understanding, documents summarizing the rules and structure will now be distributed. Read through them carefully.”

After a brief pause, teachers moved through the students, handing out the materials one by one.

The multi-page document was bundled together with detailed maps of the island. Small card rings had been fastened through the corners, likely to prevent them from being blown away by the wind.

As the documents reached my hands, Mashima-sensei resumed speaking.

“You will divide into your assigned groups and undertake various challenges throughout the island. Based on your results, you will earn rewards known as ‘tokens.’ Collecting these tokens will form the core objective of the exam. In addition, one student from each class has already been selected by their homeroom teacher to serve as class leader. Although the results of the Survival Game Special Exam have caused provisional changes in class rankings, those standings will remain unofficial until the end of the month. Therefore, for the purposes of this exam, the current class designations will remain unchanged.

He paused briefly before reading out the names.

“For Class A: Horikita Suzune. For Class B: Ryūen Kakeru. For Class C: Ayanokōji Kiyotaka. And for Class D: Ichinose Honami. These students will serve as the leaders for their respective classes.”

As his voice echoed across the shore, I lowered my gaze to the documents in my hands.

‘Token Collection Special Exam’

• Overview

During the course of the four-day, three-night examination, students are required to travel across the island while undertaking various challenges, collect tokens, and ultimately reach the designated goal.

• Group Goal Rewards

Token multipliers and Private Point rewards will be distributed according to the order in which groups reach the goal.

• Note:

A group’s finishing rank is determined the moment a majority of its members successfully reach the goal.

• Group Rank

1st Place: 100% Token Multiplier & 100,000 Private Point Reward

2nd Place: 95% Token Multiplier & 80,000 Private Point Reward

3rd Place: 90% Token Multiplier & 50,000 Private Point Reward

4th Place: 85% Token Multiplier & 30,000 Private Point Reward

5th Place: 80% Token Multiplier & 20,000 Private Point Reward

6th Place or Lower: 75% Token Multiplier & 10,000 Private Point Reward

Disqualified Group: 70% Token Multiplier & No additional reward

• Rewards and Penalties Based on Token Holdings

The groups containing each class leader will determine their class’s outcome based on the total number of tokens accumulated.

• Token Holding Rank Result

1st Place: Class Points +100

2nd Place: Class Points +50

3rd Place: Class Points +20

4th–9th Place: No Change

Last Place: Class Points -50

What mattered most was not simply collecting tokens, but balancing two objectives simultaneously: gathering as many as possible while also reaching the goal quickly enough to preserve a high multiplier.

Neither alone would be enough.

Mashima-sensei broke the brief silence, resuming his explanation.

“As for the private point rewards granted upon reaching the goal, if a group finishes in first place, every student within that group will individually receive 100,000 private points. The second reward, the token multiplier, is tied both to your group’s ranking by token possession and to the individual rewards I will explain shortly. If a group finishes in third place, the total number of tokens used in calculations will be reduced to 90%. Groups ranked 6th or lower will receive only 75%.” He paused briefly before adding, “Any fractional values produced after the multiplier is applied will be rounded upward.”

In other words, even if a group accumulated 1,000 tokens through relentless effort over four exhausting days, a poor finishing rank would steadily erode the value of everything they had gathered.

The exact conditions for what constituted “reaching the goal” remained unclear for now, but one thing was already obvious. Finishing near the top was non-negotiable.

“Up to this point, the rules may have sounded favorable to the students, however, this special exam also contains several major penalties. And… some of them are unavoidable.”

I lowered my eyes to the next page of the booklet. The penalties he referred to had already been printed there in orderly text.

Penalty List

• Lowest Token Holder Expulsion

At the conclusion of the exam, the single student across the entire year with the fewest tokens will be expelled.

If multiple students are tied for the lowest number of tokens, the student with the lowest Overall Ability Assessment (OAA) score as of June 1st will be selected. If still tied, earlier monthly OAA records will be referenced in order.

• Reaching Zero Tokens

If a student’s token count ever reaches zero during the exam, that student will be expelled immediately.

However, if the student possesses a Protection Point, they will instead withdraw from the exam and wait aboard the ship.

This penalty applies only to the first student whose token count reaches zero.

• Failure to Reach the Goal

For every student who fails to reach the goal by the end of the exam, their class will lose 5 Class Points.

In addition, regardless of the group’s finishing rank, any student who fails to reach the goal will have their token multiplier reduced to 70%.

• Delayed Goal Completion Penalty

Once a majority of a group has reached the goal and the group’s ranking is finalized, every student who still has not reached the goal will continue costing their class 1 Class Point every 30 minutes until they arrive.

• Leaving the Supervisor’s Area

1

For every hour a student remains outside the area where their assigned supervisor is stationed, that student will lose 1 token.

Returning to the designated area resets the timer.

The penalties laid out before us were severe.

Unlike ordinary punishments for breaking rules, these weren’t pitfalls students could simply avoid through caution or obedience. Some could potentially be managed, but others were built into the structure of the exam itself, unavoidable by design.

Compared to the Survival Game Special Exam, this was a clear step deeper into dangerous territory.

“So this is finally the real deal, huh?” Hashimoto muttered beside me under his breath.

“It seems so,” I replied quietly.

Considering Horikita had most likely shouldered the penalty from the Survival Game Exam, the only student confirmed to still possess a Protection Point was Kōenji. Other classes might still have some in reserve, but intentionally reducing your own tokens to zero just to burn that single expulsion slot would only benefit rival classes more than your allies. No one would willingly make that sacrifice.

With the safety net already stripped away following their recent defeat, Class A’s position in particular had become especially unforgiving.

Mashima-sensei gave the students a moment to absorb the weight of the penalties before resuming his explanation.

“Next, I will explain the details regarding tokens themselves… as well as the individual rewards.”

• Token Classifications (Front-side and Back-side)

Tokens are divided into two distinct classifications: Front-side and Back-side.

Tokens earned through verified individual achievements are classified as Front-side. Tokens acquired through all other methods are classified as Back-side.

Victory rewards based on token possession will account for the aggregate total, regardless of whether they are Front-side or Back-side.

Individual rewards will strictly account for Front-side tokens only.

• Token Transfer Protocols

Tokens are fully transferable between students. To initiate a transfer, a specific interface operation must be performed, followed by physical contact between both parties' wristwatches.

There are no restrictions on the quantity of tokens transferred, the frequency of transfers, or the intended recipient.

Any token utilized in a transfer will permanently convert into a Back-side token and cannot be reverted back to Front-side.

A student's token count becomes finalized the exact moment they reach the goal. Beyond this point, any further transfers involving that student are prohibited.

• Token Expenditure

Expending 1 Token permits 5 minutes of communication with any student of your choice.

Expending 1 Token permits a location check to view the current coordinates of any student of your choice.

The ability to freely transfer tokens at any time seemed likely to play a major role in avoiding certain penalties.

A student close to reaching zero could be rescued by allies before expulsion triggered. Likewise, someone at risk of falling to the bottom of the rankings could potentially be saved by pooling resources.

At the same time, there was an obvious tradeoff.

The moment a token was transferred, it lost its front-side status and became a back-side token permanently, making them ineligible for pursuing individual rewards.

Individual Rewards

• Special Reward: The class of the student who accumulates the highest number of Front-side tokens will be awarded 100 Class Points. Additionally, that student will receive 500,000 Private Points. (In the event of a tie for the top position, the rewards will be divided equally among the qualifying students).

• General Reward (All Students): Every student will receive 1,000 Private Points multiplied by their total number of Front-side tokens in possession.

The section regarding the Special Reward was impossible to ignore.

100 Class Points.

That alone was significant enough to rival the rewards of an entire special exam victory. But there was an important catch. If multiple students tied for the highest number of front-side tokens, the reward would simply be divided among them.

In any case, gathering even a single additional token as an individual carried clear advantages for every student involved.

By now, the entire structure of the exam had finally come into view, and a measured tension began settling over the crowd.

If a group cooperated efficiently, gathered large numbers of tokens, and secured a top finish, then naturally every member of that group stood to gain a huge amount of Private Points. That was the straightforward benefit.

But the problem was what happened inside the group itself.

If a student from a rival class happened to accumulate an overwhelming number of front-side tokens while working alongside you, they could seize the Special Award for their class instead. And that would effectively create a massive class point gap in favor of a rival class.

After that, the explanation shifted toward the new functions added to the wristwatches.

“By entering the six-digit passcode assigned to your device,” Mashima-sensei explained, “you may confirm your current token count as well as transfer tokens to others. We will now have everyone operate the system as part of the explanation.”

He paused briefly.

“However, there is one important precaution. Every student has been provided with at least two tokens at the start of the exam, but the number distributed differs from student to student. Your starting token count is therefore valuable information. I strongly recommend you avoid revealing it to others.”

So the starting conditions weren’t equal after all.

The wristwatch displays themselves were designed with privacy in mind. Unless someone deliberately stood directly behind another person, or pressed in unnaturally close from the side, stealing a glance at the screen was nearly impossible.

Even so, the students took no chances, shielding the screens with their bodies, they cautiously entered passcodes to confirm the initial token counts.

I too entered my passcode and the screen lit up.

11 Tokens: Front-Side

At first glance, it seemed relatively high.

But there was no baseline yet beyond “two or more.” Without additional comparisons, there was no reliable way to judge where the number actually stood.

In addition, a send button and receive button for transfers were displayed simultaneously. It seemed token transfers required both parties to activate the appropriate commands before physically touching their wristwatches together.

Without speaking, I extended my arm slightly toward Hashimoto, showing him my screen.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise as he compared it to his own before turning his watch toward me in return.

9 Tokens

Close to mine, but slightly lower.

It was hard to believe the distribution was based directly on OAA scores or academic performance. More likely, they were related to the previous exam, not necessarily contribution itself, but survival duration.

Yamamura and Shiraishi had endured until the very end of the Survival Game, exhausting themselves more thoroughly than anyone else.

Meanwhile, students eliminated early had probably recovered completely by now, entering this exam in a far better condition.

Seen that way, the uneven token distribution made sense. A form of insurance. A balancing measure intended to offset the physical disparity between students.

Still, it wasn’t something to celebrate unconditionally.

Even if others could eventually make educated guesses regarding who had started with a larger number of tokens, concealing that information whenever possible was still the smarter choice.

“And finally,” Mashima-sensei continued, “although everyone is currently present, some students may unexpectedly fall ill during the course of the exam. In such cases, the procedures involved are extremely delicate. Be certain to carefully review the relevant section in your documents.”

At those words, I lowered my gaze toward the final page.

• Conditions That Make Continuing the Exam Impossible

If a student suffers a sudden illness or serious injury severe enough to prevent them from continuing, they may, in principle, report the situation verbally to a supervisor and request a judgment on whether they are allowed to proceed.

If no supervisor is nearby and direct contact is impossible, the student may instead use the emergency request function on their wristwatch.

However, the moment a student is officially declared retired from the exam, their token count becomes finalized.

As a relief measure, any student may transfer tokens to a retired participant regardless of distance.

In addition, a group containing a retired student may still receive an official ranking, but only if every remaining member of that group successfully reaches the goal.

Feigning illness, or intentionally concealing a serious injury or medical condition in order to continue participating, is strictly prohibited.

If a student is uncertain whether their condition qualifies, they are instructed to consult the school for judgment.

If a violation is discovered, an expulsion penalty will be imposed.

In an island exam like this, health issues and injuries were practically inevitable.

Because the exam was fundamentally built around maintaining group numbers, the school likely had zero tolerance for students concealing their true condition.

If being grouped together with students from other classes puts you at a disadvantage, then naturally people would want to hide any signs of poor health.

This rule existed specifically to prevent that from happening.

And since faking illness would not work either, it effectively prevented someone like Kōenji from casually abandoning the exam whenever he pleased.

“Man, these rules are brutal,” Hashimoto muttered. “So even if you get sick and retire, they still won’t show any mercy, huh?”

The relief measures certainly existed. But if a student lacking either ability or social value retired early, there was a very real possibility their class would simply abandon them.

On the other hand, someone like Ichinose would almost certainly be saved without hesitation. Her classmates would willingly gather tokens from across the island just to keep her safe.

In any case, token possession itself remained hidden behind layers of secrecy. Whether they were front-side or back-side, no third party had any reliable way to verify the total unless the owner chose to reveal it. The entire system was effectively a black box.

Let alone knowing the token counts outside the group, even grasping the token counts within the group won't be straightforward.

Additionally, it seems students could spend tokens to contact one another, but every use would naturally reduce the maximum number of tokens they could finish the exam with. Unless it was an emergency, unnecessary communication had to be avoided.

After that, the explanation shifted to supplies: food, tents, and other necessities.

Students would each be given a designated backpack and permitted to pack whatever items they wanted from the prepared stock.

However, no explanation was given regarding what would happen if supplies ran short during the three nights on the island. Because of that, it was probably wiser to carry extra provisions even if it meant adding more weight.

That naturally made girls with less muscle mass more likely to be at a disadvantage.

1

Still, it was hard to believe the school hadn’t already considered that issue. There was a good chance some kind of support measure existed behind the scenes.

“Now then, after a 10-minute break, you will assemble according to your assigned groups. That concludes the explanation.”

With that, the briefing finally came to an end.

I turned toward Hashimoto.

“I need you to pass a message along to the others in class,” I said.

Hashimoto looked over at me.

“Sure thing, just say the word.”

“The first thing I want you to tell them is this: whether they share their token counts with classmates is their own decision. But right now, they should think very carefully before doing it.”

“…Carefully about sharing?” Hashimoto tilted his head slightly. “I mean, personally I’m all for keeping secrets, but wouldn’t sharing help avoid risks?”

“It would, if you could be absolutely certain every single person was prepared to go down together for the sake of the class.”

I paused.

“But classmates are still, ultimately, other people. If it comes down to choosing between themselves and someone else, the answer becomes obvious.”

Especially in my class, more than half the students were highly capable and deeply confident in their own abilities.

And because they carried such a strong determination to graduate from Class A, careless information sharing carried risks of its own.

The students assigned to each mixed group were now being forced to make a difficult choice:

Would they constantly share information about their token counts with their classmates… or keep everything hidden?

If a class managed token information thoroughly, then students running low could be supported collectively, reducing the risk of expulsions across the board. There was a clear advantage to that approach.

Of course, doing so would make it nearly impossible for any individual to monopolize tokens and chase the massive personal rewards tied to them.

Still, if the alternative was sacrificing classmates, plenty of students would consider that a fair trade.

The problem was that even perfect cooperation didn’t guarantee safety.

Suppose three or four students worked together and distributed tokens evenly among themselves. If that balance still resulted in someone ending up at the bottom overall, then expulsion remained unavoidable.

In the end, the deciding factor would become OAA rankings.

And if the group tried compensating for that by funneling extra tokens toward the student with the lowest OAA, then naturally the student with the second-lowest OAA would become the next person in danger.

No matter how carefully people joined hands, trust and moral hazard would always exist side by side.

It started with whether people could genuinely accept the policy established from the beginning. Even within a single group, resentment and distrust could easily grow through complaints like, “He’s holding more than he claims,” or “She’s not helping nearly as much as expected.” On top of that, there was no telling where information might leak.

Students who accumulated large numbers of tokens would eventually attract attention beyond their own groups as well. The more successful someone became, the more they would inevitably be treated as a potential savior by people desperate for help.

On the other hand, refusing to share token counts entirely was also a perfectly reasonable option.

But complete secrecy created its own dangers.

If nobody shared anything, then classmates approaching the expulsion threshold could not be rescued in time during emergencies.

Worse, students willing to lie and manipulate others into offering assistance would gain a clear advantage. Paranoia inside the class would deepen further, slowly poisoning internal trust eventually causing losses.

In the end, the most rational students would probably settle somewhere in the middle. They would avoid revealing exact numbers, respond vaguely like “I don’t really have room to spare,” and only contribute the bare minimum whenever a classmate truly faced immediate danger.

“So basically,” Hashimoto said, “don’t trust your classmates too much.”

“That’s right.”

The fact that Hashimoto understood immediately probably meant he’d already been thinking along similar lines himself.

After that, I gave him a few more requests to pass along.

He accepted every one of them without complaint, nodding firmly each time.

“Leave it to me for now.”

Hashimoto answered with easy confidence, then immediately broke into a run across the sand.

Almost as if trading places with him, Shiraishi and Nishikawa began walking toward me at an unhurried pace.

“Just now, the loyal dog Hachikō, or rather, the loyal dog Hashimoto Masayoshi, seemed to run energetically across the sandy beach. He looked like a child unable to contain his joy at being asked to run an errand.”

And alongside them was the usual oddball Morishita.

“You look more energetic than expected, Ayanokōji Kiyotaka,” she said as she walked up. “Weren't you starting to feel a mixture of heart-pounding anticipation and anxiety from wanting to see me so badly?"

“Not even remotely,” I replied. “More importantly, considering you retired on the second day, you seem pretty energetic yourself.”

“Quite, quite,” Morishita declared proudly without the slightest shame. “Life aboard the ship was unexpectedly wonderful. I spent private points like running water, eating delicious food, drinking, and playing around. Honestly, I would’ve liked to continue that elegant lifestyle for a while longer.”

She spoke without the slightest attempt to hide a single thing.

“That certainly sounds like a meaningful use of your time,” I said dryly. “Did anything unusual happen aboard the ship?”

Expecting little of value from Morishita, I directed the question toward Nishikawa instead, since she had also been eliminated early.

“The third-years who retired were basically given free time until the Survival Game Special Exam ended,” Nishikawa explained. “But it sounded like the first-years and second-years were doing separate special exams of their own. Though I haven’t heard anything about the results, so I don’t really know the details. Sorry.”

So rather than getting an early summer vacation, it seemed they had been placed in a similar environment.

“The first-years must have it rough too,” Shiraishi murmured. “They’re probably struggling with the contrast compared to the luxury cruise ship.”

She sounded genuinely concerned, but Morishita immediately went “tsk, tsk” and wagged a finger.

“You’re still far too naïve, Shiraishi Asuka. A real softie. Our juniors, especially the first-years, should absolutely suffer on the island just like we did. We’ve been struggling ever since our own first year, and yet they get pampered? Very cheeky.”

Coming from someone who’d barely suffered at all this year, Morishita’s venom carried remarkably little self-awareness.

“I happened to run into Yamamura Miki earlier,” she continued. “And wow, she absolutely reeked of sweat and dirt.”

“Don’t say things like that, even as a joke,” I replied. “Yamamura staying until the end helped the class a lot. Same goes for Shiraishi here.”

I looked toward Shiraishi.

“How’s your condition?”

“To be honest,” she answered with a faint smile, “it’s a little difficult. But I can’t afford to complain. Our class managed to take second place, and we’ve finally closed the distance with the classes above us.”

In the Survival Game Special Exam, Ichinose’s class had finished first, Ryūen’s class third, while Horikita’s class had fallen to last place. As a result, the gap in Class Points between the upper and lower classes had narrowed significantly.

Although our class had temporarily dropped into provisional Class D after the reshuffling, the difference between us and Ryūen’s class was still minimal.

Depending on the outcome of the special exam about to begin, every class still had a realistic chance of ending up anywhere between A and D.

“We actually came over because we wanted to compare our initial token counts.”

Saying that, Shiraishi swiftly operated her wristwatch and turned the display toward me.

The tokens displayed there were 12. Nishikawa, who showed hers in tandem, had 2, a massive difference.

“What about Morishita?”

“Fufu, I am a believer in secrecy.”

“Earlier, I was allowed to confirm Morishita-san’s token count,” Shiraishi said calmly. “She had five.”

It seemed the believer in secrecy had thoroughly shared her information.

“Well, for someone operating at my level, five tokens is more than sufficient. Though in the unlikely event of an emergency, I fully intend to exploit Ayanokōji Kiyotaka, so please earn plenty on my behalf.”

At the moment, Shiraishi held the highest confirmed count with twelve. I had eleven. Nishikawa had two, and Morishita five, huh.

“Hashimoto had nine,” I said. “It’s probably safe to assume the longer someone remained active in the Survival Game Special Exam, the larger the advantage they received in starting tokens.”

Class rankings, movements during the exam, roles, and contribution levels may also have had an effect.

At the very least, those kinds of factors were clearly connected to the initial token distribution.

How meaningful that initial token handicap would prove to be might become one of the major keys to the entire test.

Shiraishi considered that silently before speaking again.

“Since everyone begins with at least two tokens, would it be reasonable to assume the penalty involving the first student reduced to zero tokens is unlikely to happen easily?”

“Not necessarily,” I replied. “As long as unrestricted token transfers exist, the system is constantly providing students with ways to adjust their situation.”

I looked back toward Shiraishi.

“If the very first task carried the possibility of losing multiple tokens, then students would need to receive additional tokens from others before even attempting it.”

It was an intentionally extreme scenario.

Realistically, the exam probably wouldn’t escalate that far that quickly. But with Morishita casually nodding along beside us, it wasn’t a bad lie to leave hanging in the air.

A little tension would do her good.

“Are you sure it's okay not to go and support everyone in the class?” Shiraishi asked quietly.

“I’ve already asked Hashimoto to relay several things,” I replied. “Besides, no matter how thoroughly we organize things, nobody is truly safe from the zero-token expulsion penalty until they’ve secured a stable number of tokens for themselves. Since the groups have been separated, this is something they’ll have to overcome on their own.”

There were limits to how much protection could be offered from the outside.

If someone allowed their tokens to fall to zero so easily, then receiving an expulsion notice would simply be the consequence of that failure.

There was another possible approach, of course.

The class could gather from the start, pool its surplus tokens, and redistribute them to students like Nishikawa, who possessed only the minimum amount.

On paper, that would strengthen the weakest members of the class. But even that strategy came with drawbacks.

Protecting weaker students too aggressively would lower the overall ceiling of the class’s earning potential. The more tokens were redistributed defensively, the harder it became for stronger students to maximize gains elsewhere.

And in an exam structured entirely around token acquisition, lowering the class’s offensive potential too much could become fatal in its own way.

If the class intended to win, then students ultimately needed to gather tokens through their own ability.

This was not an exam where every single person could be protected with absolute certainty. A certain amount of risk had to be accepted.

“By the way,” Nishikawa asked, “what group did you end up in, Ayanokōji-kun? I’m in Group One. Honestly, I was hoping I’d end up with Asuka if possible, though~"

It seemed Shiraishi had been assigned to Group Two instead, so that wish had not been granted.

“So you wish to know my group?” Morishita folded her arms with unnecessary pride, “truly, what a secretly perverted man you are! It’s Group Three. Three.”

“I don’t remember asking in the slightest…” I muttered. “Wait. Don’t tell me we’re actually in the same group…”

“Eh!? Seriously!? We’re together!?”

1

Morishita abruptly covered her mouth with both hands in exaggerated shock.

Though notably, her eyes remained completely unchanged.

“This is going to be an exhausting special exam…”

Just imagining how loud things were likely to become over the next few days was enough to leave me slightly depressed already.

1

With the explanations finally concluded, Morishita and I made our way to our group's designated gathering spot.

Since Group 3’s standby area happened to be right nearby, we ended up being the first ones to arrive.

“Allow me to make one thing clear in advance,” Morishita said, turning to me with the composed severity of someone delivering an official warning. “During the exam, please refrain from acting overly familiar with me. If there were even the slightest misunderstanding that you were my boyfriend, it would seriously ruin my future school life.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I wonder about that,” she replied without missing a beat. “They say that even when a man denies it, his lower half remains quite energetic. Though I admit, I don't fully understand the biological mechanisms behind it.”

2

“You really have a knack for speaking confidently about things you know nothing about.”

“Flattery won't raise my affection rating for you, you know.”

Isn't anyone else going to show up?

Just as I was silently hoping for a distraction, the sound of footsteps shifting through the sand reached my ears.

“Let’s do our best, Ayanokōji.” The voice belonged to Yoshida Kenta, who had come up from behind.

Sanada followed shortly after, and with their arrival, the Class C members assigned to our group had gathered. Looking over them, they were the academically inclined sort, students who might not stand out in any dramatic way, but who could be counted on to handle most situations steadily and without unnecessary trouble.

“Ugh, Morishita, seriously?” Yoshida groaned.

“It seems you simply cannot hide your joy, Kobayashi Kenta.”

“It's Yoshida,” he corrected at once. “Yoshida.”

“...Ugh. Ayanokōji. Don't tell me I'm stuck with you.” The voice that cut in from the side was thick with undisguised disgust. It belonged to another participant: Class B’s Ibuki Mio.

1

Almost at the same moment, another figure began moving toward us: Katsuragi Kōhei, his expression stiff and guarded.

“To think I'd be placed in the same group as you,” he said, stopping nearby. “It looks like this is going to be a tough battle.”

“I could say the same,” I replied.

Katsuragi wasn’t the type to be easily swayed by emotion. If he ended up on the opposing side in a special exam like this, he wouldn’t make things easy for anyone.

That said, because this exam also required mutual cooperation within the same group, he could just as easily be considered a highly dependable ally, making it difficult to definitively weigh his presence.

The rest of the Class B students had yet to make an appearance. Before they did, however, a student from Class A approached.

“Oh, I'm with you, Ibuki-san!” Kushida’s voice came brightly from behind her. “I look forward to working together.”

She stepped close to Ibuki and, with a gentle little pat, placed a hand on her shoulder. Her smile was flawless, almost angelic.

To anyone watching from the outside, it would have looked like nothing more than a girl warmly greeting a friend. Whether that was truly the case, however, was another matter.

“Ugh, Kushida... This is the absolute worst.”

Ibuki looked just as thoroughly disgusted with her as she had been with me, but Kushida, naturally, didn't allow a single facial muscle to twitch.

In the meantime, students from the other classes continued to arrive one after another.

When, at last, all sixteen participants had gathered, I looked over the group once more and took a moment to mentally review the lineup.

Group 3 Participants

Class D: Sumida Makoto, Moriyama Susumu, Minamikata Kozue, Amikura Mako.

Class C: Ayanokōji Kiyotaka, Yoshida Kenta, Sanada Kōsei, Morishita Ai.

Class B: Sonoda Masashi, Katsuragi Kōhei, Ibuki Mio, Morofuji Rika.

Class A: Ike Kanji, Kushida Kikyo, Shinohara Satsuki, Wang Mei-Yu.

2

There were a few loudmouths in the mix, but my initial impression was that this was a solid, well-balanced group.

I immediately began constructing the logic needed to secure a win, and more importantly, how to avoid a loss.

The important factors were the number of tokens, the multipliers, and avoiding penalties. There were still unknowns, such as the goals system that affected those multipliers, but one thing was already certain: these sixteen people were both allies and enemies. By analyzing their individual abilities and relationships, I began narrowing down the optimal way to maneuver from here.

As I ran through these calculations, I noticed the four Class A students watching me closely.

As their former classmate, I figured I should probably offer them a standard, polite greeting. Though, knowing Ike and the others, there was a fair chance they would just hurl abuse at me the second I opened my mouth.

While I was idly considering that possibility, Ike Kanji and Shinohara Satsuki exchanged a glance. Then after a brief, hushed conversation, they took the initiative and approached me, both wearing visibly nervous expressions.

They were walking extremely close to one another, close enough that their shoulders nearly lined up. From that alone, it was easy to see that their relationship was still going well.

Statistically, the probability of a couple ending up in the same group was just under eight percent. It wasn't a particularly surprising outcome in itself, but the two of them likely interpreted it as some stroke of baseless romantic destiny.

1

Behind them, Kushida and Mii-chan were watching me as well. Kushida, smile firmly in place, gave me a small, casual wave. Mii-chan, meanwhile, looked somewhat nervous, but still lowered her head in a polite bow.

1

“I never imagined I'd end up in the same group as you, Ayanokōji.”

Ike was the first to speak. His tone was surprisingly composed. Even as I considered how best to match his demeanor, he kept going.

“When I first saw your face, I thought about giving you a piece of my mind. But since we're stuck in the same group, we might as well try to get along. I'll lend a hand where I can.”

“I feel the same way as Kanji,” Shinohara added. “It doesn't seem like this exam is just a straightforward battle, and I think I properly understand just how capable you actually are, Ayanokōji-kun. I'll cooperate however I can, so I look forward to working with you.”

It was an unexpectedly amicable greeting from my former classmates. Given the circumstances, they should have harbored overwhelmingly negative feelings toward me. Yet, their smiles were genuine, lacking any trace of deception, and they seemed to be treating me as normally as possible.

In this exam, we were simultaneously allies and enemies. That was precisely why they wanted to keep the peace and approach the situation cordially. Maneuvering to avoid making unnecessary enemies was the tactically correct decision, but I was genuinely surprised to see such sound judgment coming from these two. It felt as though I was witnessing a genuine sign of growth.

Considering they were addressing the very person who had betrayed their class, their soft expressions and mild demeanor were practically impeccable. Ike and Shinohara had likely mustered a great deal of courage just to initiate this contact.

I let my gaze slip away from the two of them.

Then, without stopping, I passed by and moved toward Kushida and Mii-chan, who had been standing just behind them, quietly watching how things were unfolding.

”I'm sure there are plenty of difficulties that come with working alongside a traitor,” I said, directing my first words to Mii-chan. “But I look forward to working with you until the exam concludes.”

“Eh?” She blinked, visibly caught off guard. “Ah, y-yes. The pleasure is mine...”

Though she was flustered, her reply was polite, almost overly so. After receiving it, I shifted my eyes to Kushida, who stood beside her.

“It would be a great help if I could rely on you as an ally, too.”

“That’s what I should be saying,” Kushida answered with a gentle smile. “I only hope someone like me can be useful.”

Her voice was soft, her expression perfectly composed. Only her eyes gave the faintest glimpse of something closer to her true feelings.

“I rate your communication skills particularly highly, Kushida,” I said. “With students from all four classes mixed together, managing the group won’t be easy.”

“Of course, I'll do everything in my power to help. It would be wonderful if everyone in the group could achieve a good result, wouldn't it?” Ever mindful of the prying eyes around us, Kushida delivered a flawlessly safe response.

“That will be sufficient.”

With those brief greetings out of the way, I turned my back on them and began walking over to where the Class C students were gathered.

“Hey, wait, hold on a second?”

“Um, Ayanokōji-kun...?”

Ike and Shinohara called after me, their voices carrying the same bewilderment their faces showed. Neither of them seemed to understand what had just happened. They had approached me, offered a greeting, extended something close to goodwill, and I had walked past them as though it had never reached me.

I gave them only the briefest glance.

Then I continued on.

Perhaps realizing just how unnatural this behavior was, Ike raised his voice.

“Wait a minute, you're just gonna ignore us?!”

The irritation in him finally began to show. He had been the one to take the first step, forcing down whatever resentment still lingered inside him and choosing to speak to me before Kushida or Mii-chan did.

“That's honestly really messed up,” Shinohara said, her tone losing some of its earlier composure. “I mean, seriously… Did we do something to you?”

“No, nothing,” I answered. “I simply judged that you weren't worth greeting.”

7

“Excuse me?!”

Showered with such unexpectedly merciless words, their expressions predictably, and rather amusingly, twisted with fresh anger.

Even Kushida likely couldn't have imagined I would say something so harshly blunt.

But their reaction was a perfectly natural one. Anyone would be furious if they choked down their negative feelings to politely greet someone, only to receive an unreserved insult in return.

“Well then,” I said, already turning away. “I’ll see you later.”

Even as I took my leave, I aimed those parting words entirely at Kushida and Mii-chan, completely ignoring the other two.

“Ayanokōji!” Ike shouted after me, his restraint finally breaking. “What the hell is your problem?! That attitude is way out of line!”

1

Though he finally let his suppressed emotions explode, Ike didn't attempt to chase after me.

Ignoring his shouting, I resumed my walk toward the area where Yoshida and the others had gathered. Along the way, I noticed a girl standing between us, frozen as though the commotion had caught her attention and then left her unsure of what to do. She was looking directly at me as our eyes met.

“...A-Ah, s-sorry! I'm sorry...!” Morofuji stammered, shrinking back almost at once. “F-For being in the way...”

1

Her apology came out in broken fragments. Before I could say anything, she hurriedly moved aside and fled, her behavior suspiciously restless.

There had been no particular reason for her to apologize. Yet the look on her face had gone beyond ordinary wariness. She seemed frightened, unnaturally so.

Morofuji had once been among the students involved in the bullying of Karuizawa. Perhaps what happened back then still lingered in her memory and influenced the way she saw me now.

As I watched her flee back toward the Class B students, Yoshida approached from the other side and called out to me.

“Did something happen with Morofuji?”

“No,” I replied. “Nothing in particular.”

“I see. More importantly…” Yoshida glanced past me. “Are you sure that’s okay? Ike and Shinohara have been glaring at you this whole time.”

He must have overheard parts of our exchange, judging by his concerned tone.

“Don't worry about it. I never intended to play nice with my former classmates to begin with,” I replied. “More importantly, now that you’ve seen the members, what's your assessment of our group's lineup?”

“Hm? Oh, well,” Yoshida looked over the gathered group. “I’d say we got off pretty easy. Katsuragi is going to be a pain since he knows us well, but the rest of Class B's members are pretty minor players. Class A is a mixed bag: a weird, mismatched combination of top-tier and bottom-tier students. As for Class D, they're well-balanced, and they seem capable enough, but they aren't exactly intimidating, you know?”

Having visualized the upcoming battles, Yoshida offered this straightforward evaluation.

“This setup should make things pretty easy for you to maneuver too, right?” he asked.

“If we’re only talking about Group Three, then that assessment is correct.” I looked over the assembled students once more. “However, when it comes to the key leaders, figures like Ryūen, Horikita, and Ichinose, it would have been best to have them all placed in the same group as me. Especially Ryūen.”

“...Ryūen?” Yoshida’s face twisted at the thought, as if he had just bitten into something bitter. “I'd absolutely hate being stuck in the same group as him.”

From a short distance away, Sanada, who had been listening to us, slowly approached.

“The more troublesome the opponent, the more useful it is to keep them close. In this special exam, that makes them easier to control. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it, Ayanokōji-kun?”

“Exactly. Regardless of who I’m up against, my commitment to doing whatever it takes to protect the class and secure a win remains unchanged. But given the structure of this exam, it’s going to be impossible to manage everything happening out of my sight.”

Sanada nodded, picking up the exam materials and flipping to the page detailing the penalties.

“To a certain extent, I can maneuver things to ensure our classmates don't finish dead last in token counts, or prevent anyone from failing to reach the goal,” I said. “However, the penalty stating that the first student whose tokens drop to zero will face immediate expulsion, that is something I have absolutely no control over.”

Yoshida seemed to understand what I meant. His mouth bent into a hard, uneasy line, and after a moment he nodded.

“Yeah, you've got a point... If the guys grouped with Ryūen fall for one of his underhanded tricks and hit zero tokens, they'd be instantly expelled on the spot. When you put it like that, it's actually pretty terrifying.”

“Of all the penalties outlined in the rules, I feel that's the only one I can't actively counter,” I added.

In reality, under a specific set of conditions, there was a chance that an entirely different penalty could bare its fangs and prove even more devastating. However, there was no point in bringing that up right now, so I let the thought pass.

“Isn't it pointless to worry too much about it?” Sanada interjected. “I imagine the school has designed the tasks so that tokens won’t drop to zero that easily.”

“Sanada's right,” Yoshida agreed. “As long as someone doesn't do something incredibly stupid and walk right into a trap, they'll be fine. Besides, even if we do worry about it, there's no way to prevent it, right?”

“For now, let's prioritize figuring out how our own group is going to maneuver,” Sanada said.

I gave a single nod in agreement.

From here on out, my process would be the same as always. I needed to gather all the scattered building blocks of practical strategies before me and begin sorting through them based on what was efficient and what wasn’t.

I had already eliminated many unnecessary possibilities from consideration, but I still lacked the information necessary to map out the hidden motives of the class leaders: Horikita, Ichinose, and Ryūen.

More time was needed before I could fully analyze the finer details of the rules.

In the meantime, with our faculty supervisor still nowhere to be seen, I let my gaze drift around the area.

Naturally, the entirety of the third-year student body, along with numerous adult staff members, were hurriedly gathering nearby.

That said, I wasn't scanning the crowd to figure out the composition of all ten groups, nor was I trying to map out who belonged where. While I could roughly identify some of it just by observing the crowd here, without any way to guarantee complete accuracy, there was little value in trying to memorize it all.

My true objective was simpler than that.

I was looking for one particular person.

2

And sure enough, I eventually spotted Hiyori in the distance, chatting happily while surrounded by her classmates. If she had been closer, I might have been able to call out to her, but the physical distance made that completely impossible.

It seemed I really was fated to have no meaningful interaction with her during this Uninhabited Island Exam.

But there was no need to rush.

Once we returned to the cruise ship, there would inevitably be time to talk.

“...”

Suddenly, a strange sense of dissonance crept into my thoughts.

That’s right. There was no need to rush.

2

And thinking I was ‘fated to have no connection’ with her was logically incorrect, too.

It was true that we hadn't spoken for a few days, not since we first boarded the cruise ship. But a few days wasn't nearly long enough to warrant such a dramatic conclusion. In fact, looking back, there had been plenty of times where we had gone much longer without interacting at all.

So why was I suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation that it had been an eternity since we last spoke?

No...

Was the very fact that I was questioning the reason already proof that I had entered unfamiliar territory?

Was this the effect of realizing I might have feelings for Hiyori, the change it had brought about in my heart?

1

Given the current lack of concrete exam details, Hiyori, who belonged to a different class and a completely different group, was nothing but static noise. Her existence factored nowhere into the strategic framework I was currently constructing.

And still, my eyes followed her.

Unconsciously, they traced the distant outline of her profile.

Even after I realized what I was doing, nothing changed.

The action was pointless. The time spent on it served no practical purpose. Even so, somewhere within that uselessness, there was a faint stirring of exhilaration.

If this feeling really was romantic affection, then had Karuizawa once looked at me in the same way? Had she felt something similar when her eyes followed me?

Romance was a textbook I had failed to comprehend on my first read-through. But by reviewing the material, I was gradually beginning to notice all the subtle details I had missed the first time around.

1

What sort of emotion was born when speaking to the person one liked?

What arose when touching them?

My curiosity wasn't limited to purely positive feelings, either.

What sort of emotions would be born within me if I were to be hated by that same person, or if I were to lose them entirely?

3

I wanted to experience both ends of it: the warmth of affection, and the coldness of rejection. Love and hate alike.

Yet perhaps it was foolish to wish for both at the same time.

Perhaps it was important not to be greedy. Perhaps one should not try to learn everything from a single romance.

If attaining both was impossible, then experiencing either one would suffice...

“What's wrong, Ayanokōji? Something bothering you?”

Yoshida, who had been speaking with Sanada only moments before, turned his attention toward me.

“No, not particularly,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s not exactly why……” He glanced in the direction I had been looking, then back at me. “You were staring off into the distance. I thought maybe you’d noticed something we should be worried about.”

“We just finished the Survival Game Special Exam, after all,” I replied smoothly. “I suppose I'm just a little worn out. But considering Shiraishi and Yamamura are still giving it their all, I can't exactly be the first one to throw in the towel.”

2

Taking a brief pause, I decided to steer the conversation and add a bit more context.

“Right now, we don't have the full picture. We don't know the exact number of tasks, nor how many tokens we'll actually be able to acquire. Whatever happens, please do not leak any information regarding your token counts to anyone outside.”

“Not even to our allies, right? I heard that from Hashimoto,” Yoshida said.

“Right. And for now, I’d also like to avoid unnecessary conflict with the other classes. If we’re going to aim for first place in this group, like you’re hoping, then cooperation with students from the other classes will be unavoidable.”

1

“I suppose that's true,” Sanada chimed in. “But I wonder how the other side feels about that. I'm sure they want the Private Points, but they probably don't want our class to win, either. They might end up slacking off on purpose.”

“Even if they do, the leaders of the other three classes are facing the exact same dilemma. The underlying motive of not wanting to hand another class a victory will always be a factor.”

Sanada and Yoshida exchanged a brief glance, quickly understanding the logic behind my words.

“I get what you're saying,” Yoshida said. “Anyway, just give us the word whenever you need us.”

I gave a single nod, letting my demeanor convey my gratitude.

Satisfied with my convenient excuse, Yoshida gave me a light pat on the back.

“Don't hesitate to reach out if you need a hand.”

“Yeah, I will.”

With that response, I finally tore my lingering gaze away from Hiyori.

For the time being, all I needed to focus on was getting through this Special Exam. Everything beyond that could wait.

Right around the time Ayanokōji was making his first contact with Group 3, Horikita, assigned elsewhere to Group 8, was experiencing a face-to-face encounter of her own.

A gentle sea breeze playfully tossed the long, pink hair of the student standing before her. A warm smile graced the girl's lips as she spoke.

“I look forward to working with you, Horikita-san.”

“I knew there was a decent chance that class leaders might end up in the same group, but to think I'd be paired with you of all people, Ichinose-san.”

Inwardly, Horikita breathed a sigh of relief. Out of the three rival leaders, Ichinose was by far the easiest to manage. It wasn't a question of her being a weak opponent, but rather a certainty: having Ichinose Honami as an ally would bring an immense sense of stability to their group.

This special exam certainly contained the element of competition between classes. However, it also placed heavy importance on the results achieved by each group as a whole. In that regard, Ichinose’s presence was almost guaranteed to steer them in a positive direction.

“If this were a purely class-based competition, it might have been a bit troublesome,” Ichinose said. “But looking at the rules, cooperating as a group clearly leads to mutual benefit, so it's a rather good setup. If you and I pool our strengths, Horikita-san, we might just be able to guide our group to a safe and steady victory.”

It seemed Ichinose had been harboring the exact same thoughts.

Yet, looking at the girl standing before her, Horikita sensed a quiet, powerful intensity that hadn't been there before. As an enemy, this newfound strength would be a nightmare to deal with. But as an ally? It made her incredibly reliable.

“True enough,” Horikita replied. “As leaders, our group is expected to secure a win. Under normal circumstances, we'd be probing each other for ulterior motives, but instead, we will cooperate and aim for the highest rank possible... I take it we're in agreement on that?”

Whether they chose to cooperate or oppose would determine everything. It was possible to send tokens to other groups, deliberately weakening their own side in order to prevent another class from profiting. Depending on the policy they adopted, the total number of tokens their group could secure would change dramatically.

“Of course,” Ichinose replied brightly. “If our group takes first place, we'll each be rewarded with one hundred Class Points. It's the ideal outcome for both of us. And it won't just be me, if necessary, I'll firmly request the full cooperation of everyone in Class D. Does that work for you?”

“I'll gladly accept your offer,” Horikita said smoothly. “On our end, I also intend to unite my classmates under a policy of securely maximizing our group's total tokens. Though, naturally, that will heavily depend on the moves made by Class B and Class C, whose hands we've yet to see.”

Students from the other classes began to appear one by one, but there was no sign of Ayanokōji or Ryūen among them.

Hypothetically, if all four class leaders had ended up in the same group, cooperating to maximize their total token yield would have been a simple affair. However, such an arrangement offered little benefit to anyone aside from the front-running Class A.

A precious Special Exam like this was a rare opportunity to widen the gap between classes; but if every leader simply worked together in the same group, that precious chance would be dulled from the outset.

“It seems coming to a mutual understanding and aiming for first place will go smoother than expected,” Horikita noted. “However, there is one critical issue that both you and I must treat with the utmost importance.”

“How to handle the expulsions... right?”

Their eyes met, and Horikita gave a firm nod.

It had already been established that this Special Exam would result in expulsions. Worse still, one of those was a mandatory penalty that someone absolutely had to shoulder. The only ways to prevent a student from being sent home were if the target conveniently held a Protection Point, or if someone paid the exorbitant fee of 20 million Private Points.

“Horikita-san,” Ichinose said, her tone resolute. “I absolutely will not allow a single one of my classmates to be expelled. If securing first place in total tokens requires sacrificing a peer, then I will choose to save my ally without a second thought.”

The unspoken message from Ichinose was clearly hanging in the air: If you have a problem with that, speak up now.

Taking the declaration in stride, Horikita drew a quiet breath before responding. “I agree. I have no intention of sacrificing my classmates either.”

“Then I suppose that makes us allies who can join hands and face the same direction, right?”

“...Assuming you're willing to trust me, that is.”

Horikita was well aware that she hadn't garnered nearly as much goodwill and trust as Ichinose had. She knew her standing. Right now, she was the one who needed to prove she was worthy of being trusted.

“Then it looks like we won't have any problems!”

Breaking into a bright, unwavering smile, Ichinose extended her hand.

Seeing her unhesitating demeanor, Horikita couldn't help but let out an inward sigh of admiration.

Over the past two years, Ichinose had weathered countless storms through the sheer power of trust, a track record that spoke volumes. Horikita had felt it indirectly on several occasions, but standing beside her in the same group brought that strength into incredibly sharp, reassuring focus. Under normal circumstances, one should never easily trust a rival. Yet, Horikita found her mind effortlessly jumping to the conclusion that Ichinose was safe to believe in.

Of course, that trust was not absolute. The possibility of betrayal, however remote, could never truly be erased.

But the mere fact that Ichinose could subconsciously instill such an unwavering mindset in someone: making them feel that if I am betrayed by Ichinose, then so be it, was a profoundly impressive feat in itself.

“Before I take your hand, there is one more thing…”

Staring down at Ichinose's slender, elegant fingers, Horikita pressed further, delving into the crux of the matter.

“Sacrifices are practically unavoidable in this exam. However, we are agreeing that neither of our classes will produce any expulsions, and we will maneuver with everything we have to ensure that. Maintaining this policy means, by process of elimination, cornering someone from either Ryūen-kun's or Ayanokōji-kun's class for expulsion instead. Are you prepared for that?”

At the sharp question, Ichinose closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a soft, breathy laugh.

“It's true that the old me probably wouldn't have agreed so easily,” she admitted. “But I don't hesitate anymore. You can rest assured, Horikita-san, I have no intention of holding back against rival classes if it means protecting my friends.”

Horikita met that open, unwavering gaze head-on.

“I see. It seems you've grown far more than I realized while I wasn't looking, Ichinose-san.”

Horikita had always recognized her as a formidable opponent. Yet, somewhere deep down, she had still been underestimating the student known as Ichinose Honami.

Being a genuinely good person usually meant harboring inherent weaknesses beneath the surface. Protecting an entire class was no easy feat; Horikita and Hirata had both tried countless times, only to fall short of that ideal. Yet, despite her bitter struggles, Ichinose had continued to protect her classmates to this very day, refusing to lose a single one.

“I feel the exact same way about you, Horikita-san,” Ichinose replied softly. “You're much more formidable now than when we first enrolled.”

“I wonder about that. Personally, I feel it's only become harder to maneuver now that I have more things to protect…” Horikita trailed off before continuing. “But more importantly, there is something that's been bothering me since we heard the explanation for this Special Exam. Ensuring our allies' tokens don't drop to zero will require a certain element of luck. What are your thoughts on that?”

“Have you noticed the correlation between the number of starting tokens and the Survival Game Special Exam?”

“Yes,” Horikita answered. “Students who remained in the previous exam for a longer time seem to have received more tokens. Of course, I haven’t confirmed it with every classmate, so I can’t say for certain…”

She added, after a moment, that this was based only on what she had heard from several students whose elimination times had differed.

“That is my assessment as well,” Ichinose said. “In other words, you could say we have a slight advantage over Ayanokōji-kun's and Ryūen-kun's classes, since both suffered a high number of early eliminations.”

“Your class even had students who remained until the very end. If that conclusion can be drawn from the highest number of tokens among them, then you’re probably right. However, simply having a high total token pool as a class doesn't necessarily mean things will proceed to our advantage.”

Ultimately, because the students had been distributed randomly, a high class total would only create variance between the different groups, or at best, provide an edge in individual battles.

“But holding a large number of tokens as a class does mean a massive difference in how often we can transmit information over the radios,” Ichinose countered. “If you and I cooperate to meticulously manage our tokens, Horikita-san, we can constantly keep track of any students whose counts drop dangerously low. Excluding Group 10, which doesn’t have full sixteen members, we’d have eight people in each group who could transfer tokens and cover for one another.”

“I see... You're suggesting that everyone outside of our Group 8, which will strictly aim for first place, maneuvers solely to prevent casualties? Transferred tokens are flipped Back-side, meaning they lose their value for individual rewards. But from our group's perspective, it also means the rival groups we need to defeat will naturally fall behind.”

Under normal circumstances, coordinating two separate classes with such a unified strategy was no simple task. First and foremost, it required forcing the students assigned to the other nine groups to completely abandon any hope of acquiring the Special Reward. While the monolithically united Ichinose Class might accept such terms, convincing every single one of Horikita's classmates to swallow that pill would be practically impossible.

“It's an interesting idea,” Horikita said, “but it means forcing students in other groups who might be perfectly capable of pulling off a massive upset to sacrifice their chances. If anything, wouldn't the groups completely free of Ryūen-kun and Ayanokōji-kun's influence be the ones harboring the best chance for a surprise victory?”

This exchange perfectly highlighted their fundamental difference in approach. Ichinose wanted to fight with a heavily defensive focus, prioritizing collective survival, while Horikita wanted to maintain a certain degree of offensive awareness, seeking out opportunities to win.

Even with their agreement to cooperate, Horikita couldn't shake the strong premonition that this Special Exam was going to be fraught with difficulties.

“You're right,” Ichinose agreed softly. “I'm sure we won't always see eye to eye. But this Special Exam lasts for four days and three nights. Let's discuss things thoroughly and decide our course as we go, Horikita-san.”

“True. We still don't know what the specific tasks entail or how the tokens will flow in practice. There's no point in rushing things.”

“Alright then. I’ll go speak to everyone in the group.”

With a polite bow, Ichinose excused herself and stepped away.

Standing alone at a slight distance, Horikita watched as Ichinose cheerfully exchanged greetings with students from other classes.

“I know there's no need to rush, but…” she murmured to herself.

Her mind drifted back to a troubling exchange she’d had with Sudō immediately following the Survival Game Special Exam.

“There might be a traitor in our class.”

He had told her how, during Class A's battle, the opposing students had completely bypassed him, despite the massive physical threat he posed on the battlefield, to aggressively target Satō, their VIP.

If Horikita had been the enemy commander, she would have undoubtedly prioritized taking Sudō off the board first. If the opposition had instead focused all their fire on Satō... and if someone had been pulling the strings from the shadows to orchestrate that...

“Is someone in our class really leaking information...?”

Her gaze drifted, eventually landing on Ayanokōji's figure in the distance. Gathered with him were four students from Class A: Wang, Shinohara, Ike, and Kushida.

Before the first semester had even come to an end, the four classes had already settled in a tense state of equilibrium.

If all of their internal affairs were truly leaking out, then the strategies or information Horikita relayed to her classmates would inevitably find their way to Ayanokōji.

Should that come to pass, they would be forced into a grueling, uphill battle in this Special Exam as well.

And so, like a quiet, stubborn ember, that dark anxiety continued to smolder within her chest.

Before the exhaustion from the Survival Game Special Exam could even fade, a new Special Exam was already upon them. As Mashima outlined the rules, Ryūen was already turning over several strategies in his mind.

Ever since enrolling at this school, he had tackled every obstacle with absolute, unshakable confidence in his own judgment. Yet lately, no matter the time or situation, the phantom image of Ayanokōji seemed to constantly flicker at the back of his mind.

Orthodox tactics, unconventional schemes, or even outright lawlessness that shattered the rules themselves, Ayanokōji would see right through all of it and still come out on top.

Ryūen caught himself preemptively conceding defeat for a future that had yet to even unfold.

If this were a mere battle of wits, he would have countless ways to counterattack. But Ayanokōji also possessed monstrous physical prowess. The memory of their shootout with paint guns flashed behind his eyes, prompting Ryūen to let out a quiet, sharp click of his tongue.

“Is something the matter, Ryūen-shi? Did something displease you?”

Having been placed in the same group, Kaneda seemed to have noticed that small sound. He called out to Ryūen, his gaze shifting toward the other members who were starting to gather.

“I was just thinkin' about that bastard Ayanokōji. Don't sweat it.”

“...So it has to do with Ayanokōji-shi. I see.”

If Ayanokōji were left to his own devices, his group would easily secure first place in total tokens. Between that and the Special Reward for individual performance, Class C stood to gain a massive haul of up to 200 Class Points. On top of that, the influx of Private Points would grant them an even more dangerous degree of freedom.

The comfortable advantage Ryūen's class had maintained up until now had completely vapourised during the first half of the uninhabited island exam. Even if official class demotions wouldn't take effect until the following month, they had already bled enough Class Points to provisionally plummet from Class B down to Class C. Worse yet, the gap between them and Ayanokōji's last-place class was now razor-thin.

Simply put, it was a battle they absolutely could not afford to lose. Then again... the exact same thing could have been said about the last Special Exam.

Just how is he supposed to outmaneuver Ayanokōji?

Ayanokōji would undoubtedly rake in a massive haul of Front-side tokens. The real question was whether Ryūen could actually surpass that total. If outscoring him directly proved impossible, then beating him in the group rankings to secure the token multiplier was an absolute must. It was the bare minimum requirement for Ryūen to secure a victory.

Then there was the expulsion penalty, triggered the moment a student's token count hit zero.

No matter how monstrous Ayanokōji might be, he couldn't protect all his classmates twenty-four hours a day. If Ryūen could seize total control of their group, eliminating a single student from Class C would be entirely within his grasp.

Letting his gaze drift across the area, Ryūen spotted Ayanokōji a short distance away. Yoshida was standing right beside him, chattering about something, but the boy didn't even register in Ryūen's field of vision.

Ayanokōji was staring off in another direction, his eyes characteristically listless.

“What the hell is that bastard staring at—”

Just because Ayanokōji’s thoughts and emotions were hidden behind an impenetrable wall didn't mean Ryūen was going to give up trying to read him. To find a breakthrough, he had no choice but to strike like a serpent, sinking his fangs into even the most trivial of clues.

And so, Ryūen traced the line of Ayanokōji's gaze.

Normally, pinpointing exactly what someone was looking at from a distance was nearly impossible, especially with so many students clustered tightly together.

Yet, Ryūen realized it instantly.

Standing at the very end of Ayanokōji's unblinking gaze was the figure of Shiina Hiyori.

3

“Ryūen-kun, it looks like we're in the same group.”

A voice shattered his concentration just as he was trying to dissect Ayanokōji's thoughts.

“What the hell do you want?”

Whipping his sharp glare toward the intruder, Ryūen found Hirata Yōsuke standing right in front of him.

“I'd like to make a request right off the bat,” Hirata said. “I don't want anyone in this group to be expelled.”

“Hah, you've got a damn sharp nose,” Ryūen scoffed. “But that's one wish I ain't granting, Hirata. This is the perfect chance to kick someone out of your precious Class A, after all. Don't go thinkin' you're the only one sitting safe and sound.”

“If you want to target me, I don't intend to stop you,” Hirata replied evenly. “But if you plan on expelling any other student from Class A... or from Class C, for that matter, then I'll have to make you listen.”

Hirata had accurately read the atmosphere. He knew from Ryūen's gaze alone that Class A wasn't even on his radar; Ryūen was actively scouting for prey in Class C. That was exactly why Hirata's statement carried such a pointed implication.

“I ain't got any reason to take orders on who I target,” Ryūen sneered. “Or what? You got something to offer in exchange for me lettin' the small fry off the hook?”

“Well, I suppose I could become proactive about cooperating across class lines. You're a class leader, Ryūen-kun, which means a victory for our group is also a victory for Class B.”

“I can't think of a single damn reason why a Class A guy like you would lend me a hand.”

“It's simple, really. We can avoid producing any pointless expulsions. To me, that is the greatest merit.”

“Seems like you've got the same pain-in-the-ass personality as Ichinose.”

“I don't mind what you think of me. I just want to settle things peacefully.”

Rather than jumping to a hasty conclusion, Ryūen paused to weigh the credibility of Hirata's words and demeanor, carefully considering which path would best serve his goals.

Even if he did drain someone's tokens to zero and force an expulsion from Class C, it would amount to little more than petty harassment directed at Ayanokōji. It wouldn't directly impact his own class's standing or net them any points. Furthermore, one could argue that any student careless enough to let their tokens hit zero was just dead weight anyway. Going out of his way to eliminate them, especially at the cost of making an enemy out of Hirata, held very little strategic value.

On the other hand, if Hirata's offer to cooperate was genuine, it would be a distinct advantage.

Gazing at the other students gathering for their group, Hirata continued.

“Given the severe penalties in this Special Exam, I know it wouldn't be impossible for you to set a trap and expel someone from Class C, Ryūen-kun. However, the only reason you're keeping the option to target a lower-ranked class open is to inflict damage on Ayanokōji-kun. But even if you could freely pick off one of the four people in our group... or rather, one person from Class C, it wouldn't actually affect him. You wouldn't be scoring a real point against him, would you?”

It was a simple truth. If Ayanokōji were in the same group and Ryūen managed to crush his strategy in a direct confrontation before expelling a Class C student, it would undoubtedly be a massive victory. But under the current rules, there were inevitable blind spots where they couldn't observe one another. Scoring a cheap hit while the demon was away was nothing to brag about.

“If anything, it might just prove that you're a small fry,” Hirata added.

2

“Don't make me laugh.” Opting to put his final decision on hold, Ryūen threw the threat back at him. “You want to protect this makeshift group so badly you'd go out of your way to provoke me? Then you're gonna have to show it with your actions first.”

He calculated that if Hirata could actually operate as an ally rather than an enemy in this Special Exam, his utility value would be immense.

As if anticipating this demand from the very beginning, Hirata gave a single, firm nod.

“I know.”

From the corner of his eye, Ryūen caught sight of Hirata’s rigid expression— so unlike the image he had held of him until now that, for the first time, he sensed within him a faint trace of murderous intent.