Chapter 2: From a Subtle Rift

It was already past five in the evening.

Even with the late midsummer sunset, there was no denying that dusk was beginning to settle over the island.

Yet, far from recovering from the fatigue of the Survival Game, some students stepped directly into another special exam, still carrying all of their accumulated exhaustion.

As the time to begin the exam drew near, the supervisors finally made their appearance.

“My name is Urushihara,” one of the adults announced calmly as he stepped forward. “I will be serving as the supervisor for Group 3. I look forward to working with all of you.”

He was a man I had never seen before. After introducing himself, he immediately began checking attendance with efficient professionalism.

Out of the ten groups, four had apparently been assigned third-year homeroom teachers as supervisors.

Urushihara belonged to the remaining six.

Once he confirmed that everyone was present, he continued without delay.

“In this special exam, you will challenge a variety of tasks in order to acquire tokens. These tasks are divided into three separate categories, so please listen carefully while I explain. The three categories are: Individual, Group, and Team.

3

“Individual category is the simplest to understand. These are assignments issued to students on a one-on-one basis. You may compete individually against someone from your own group, or against a student from another group.

1

“Next is the Group category. These involve all sixteen members currently assembled here working together to complete tasks issued by the school, or competing directly against entire other groups.

“And finally, Team. This category further divides the group according to class affiliation. In other words, students from the same class within the group will form smaller units. Since these tasks contain more specialized rules, detailed explanations will be given at the time those assignments are actually conducted.”

After confirming everyone was following along without issue, the supervisor, Urushihara continued.

“Now then, next I’d like to explain how tokens will be awarded. However, before we proceed, each class within the group must first select one ‘representative.’”

1

Up until now, neither Mashima-sensei’s explanation nor the written materials had mentioned anything about a representative.

Hearing this unfamiliar role for the first time, the students exchanged puzzled glances.

“Does becoming the representative come with any benefits?” Sonoda asked cautiously. “Actually… if there are disadvantages too, I’d rather hear about those now.”

Though conscious of the students around him, Sonoda took the initiative and asked the question.

“No,” Urushihara replied calmly. “There are no particular advantages or disadvantages attached to the role itself. However, the system has been designed so that any tokens earned by a class are awarded in bulk to that class’s representative.”

2

A ripple of confusion spread through the group.

1

“This will become relevant during the Group and Team categories,” he continued. “For example, let’s say Class A earns ten tokens through a Group or Team assignment. If Ike-kun has been selected as Class A’s representative, then all ten of those tokens will first be awarded directly to him.”

1

Up until that moment, every student there, including me, had naturally assumed that any tokens earned would be distributed directly to the individuals who participated.

That fundamental assumption had just been overturned completely.

Whether tokens were granted individually or concentrated in the hands of a representative was an enormous difference.

“Hah? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Ibuki snapped immediately, realizing how abnormal this system was, she glared suspiciously at Urushihara. “So if they wanted to, the representative could just pocket all the tokens for themselves?”

“The school has no intention of encouraging such behavior,” Urushihara answered evenly. “However, under the rules, it is technically possible. Contribution levels during assignments may vary depending on the task, after all, so classes may need to discuss internally how tokens should be distributed afterward. In that sense, the representative role may require a certain level of integrity.”

1

The supervisor gave a seemingly reasonable explanation, but this setup had caused the risks to skyrocket.

Exactly as Ibuki feared, placing all token management in the hands of a representative meant there was no guarantee that tokens would ever actually reach the students who earned them.

Only the Individual category seemed exempt from this structure.

But assuming the rewards across all three categories were distributed relatively evenly, then that meant a student could directly control only about one-third of the tokens tied to their own survival.

1

“However, there is one important point you all need to understand regarding front-side and back-side tokens,” Urushihara continued.

“Any token earned through the Individual category will, without exception, count as a front-side token. But tokens earned through the Group and Team categories work differently. The total number of tokens earned in a given assignment will first be divided according to the number of participants involved. For instance, let’s say a Group-category assignment awards forty-eight tokens. Since there are four classes represented within the group, each class representative would temporarily receive twelve tokens. But since the group itself contains sixteen students, only three of those twelve tokens per student would qualify as legitimate front-side tokens. That number becomes the upper limit recognized as a properly earned individual contribution. If a student were to receive four tokens in that situation, then one of those tokens would automatically become a back-side token. The right to possess front-side tokens does not expire and continues accumulating over time. As such, there is no disadvantage regarding when representatives choose to distribute tokens.”

7

Putting it simply, the rules worked like this:

Token Distribution Rules

1

Categories of Assignments:

Individual, Group & Team

Individual Assignments:

All tokens earned personally are treated as front-side tokens.

Group / Team Assignments:

All earned tokens are first funneled through the class representative.

The maximum number of front-side tokens that may be distributed is determined by:

Total Tokens Earned ÷ Number of Participants

Any tokens distributed beyond that limit automatically become back-side tokens.

Front-Side Token Rights:

Front-side eligibility accumulates over time.

Representatives are free to choose the timing of distribution.

“This rule seriously sucks.” Ibuki muttered under her breath.

6

The distinction between front-side and back-side tokens likely existed to prevent representatives from simply monopolizing all earned tokens and charging toward the Special Reward themselves.

But even with that safeguard in place, the privileges granted to representatives were enormous, far greater than what Urushihara’s casual tone implied.

They controlled the distribution of tokens tied to Private Point rewards, and could potentially even avoid expulsion from finishing last.

Urushihara also clarified that indivisible remainders created during division would simply be ignored.

So even if 41 tokens were earned, dividing them among four people would still only create a front-side limit of 10 per class student. The extra one token wouldn’t increase the cap at all.

“Now then,” Urushihara said, “please discuss among yourselves and decide who will act as representative for each class. If a decision cannot be reached within the allotted time, a vote will be held among the relevant team members.”

1

“So they’re intentionally concentrating token control into one person’s hands,” Sanada said grimly. “From the students’ perspective, this rule feels almost entirely disadvantageous.”

“Feels like they’re trying to provoke infighting,” Yoshida added.

In truth, that was likely the case.

At its core, the exam was testing whether classmates could trust one another. And whether the person receiving that trust could actually live up to it.

“I don’t know who’s going to become the representative,” Ibuki said, narrowing her eyes, “but you’d better make sure you hand over my tokens properly.”

The rule had already planted distrust in her. Without bothering to hide it, she turned that suspicion directly toward her own Class B teammates.

Katsuragi answered her in his usual calm manner.

“Generally speaking, it shouldn’t become a situation where someone tries to bring down another person. And to make sure we don’t choose that kind of person as representative, we should decide through a fair method.”

In other words, a simple majority vote.

It was the most straightforward and acceptable selection method.

Meanwhile, other classes had begun moving in their own ways.

“I’m thinking I’ll become the representative,” said a sharp, intimidating voice from within the Class A team. “That’s fine, right, Mii-chan?”

The voice belonged to Shinohara.

3

“A-Y-Yes, I don't mind that, but…”

Mii-chan nodded, looking slightly bewildered, but not particularly inclined to reject Shinohara’s candidacy. She was not the type who liked standing out in front of others. If someone else was willing to take on the role, then perhaps she thought it was better to simply let them do it.

5

“Mii-chan says she’s fine with it too,” Shinohara said, a confident smile appearing on her face. “So it looks like there’s no problem.”

She acted as though one hesitant opinion had already secured the position for her.

“Um,” Mii-chan said, instinctively speaking up as she realized her single vote was about to be treated as final, “shouldn’t we check with Ike-kun and Kushida-san too—”

But Shinohara paid her no mind.

In this special exam, falling to the bottom in token count was directly tied to expulsion. When one thought several moves ahead, there was still reason to question whether Shinohara or Ike, for that matter, should be chosen so easily as representative.

Kushida likely understood that as well. Precisely because she did, she must have recognized that allowing herself to be swept along like Mii-chan would be nothing short of risky.

The brief silence that fell over Class A was heavy and delicately long, one that couldn't easily blend into the surrounding conversations from the other classes.

Before anyone could even voice opposition, the atmosphere had already shifted.

Mii-chan glanced once between Kushida and Shinohara before quickly lowering her eyes again.

Maybe she simply wasn’t used to being put in a position where her judgment mattered.

Or maybe she understood exactly how much weight a single opinion carried right now.

Either way, she showed no sign of answering decisively.

Shinohara, meanwhile, didn’t miss even that tiny hesitation.

Even before the discussion had properly concluded, she prioritized steering the momentum toward herself.

She held her gaze without wavering, applying quiet pressure that left little room to escape.

Riding that wave of momentum she shifted her attention to Kushida without hesitation.

“So what is it, Kushida-san?” Shinohara asked. “You don’t want me as the representative? Would it be inconvenient for you if I took the role?”

It was phrased like a question, but in reality the range of acceptable answers had already been narrowed down.

1

If Kushida answered yes, friction would immediately erupt.

If she answered no, then she would effectively be conceding the position.

By forcing that binary choice onto her, Shinohara was clearly trying to seize control of the conversation from the get go.

“Um… well… it’s not that there’d be any inconvenience or anything,” Kushida replied carefully, “but actually, I was thinking about volunteering too…”

She asserted her intentions in a modest, yet firm manner.

However, upon hearing those words, Shinohara's expression stiffened in apparent dissatisfaction.

“Why?” she asked. “Is it because you don’t trust me?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Kushida answered without missing a beat. “ I just intended to run from the very beginning."

“Hmm?” Shinohara let out a small laugh. “Because honestly, it kinda feels like I’m not being trusted here.”

2

Kushida faltered for only a moment beneath the pressure.

Even so, she still pushed back.

“But if you put it that way…” she answered carefully, “doesn’t that also mean you don’t trust me, Shinohara-san?”

Though Kushida seemed somewhat bewildered and overwhelmed by her intensity, she still didn't stop arguing back.

“Ehh? It’s not like that though—”

Shinohara smiled faintly, almost amused.

Then her voice rose slightly.

“But Kushida-san… do you seriously think people can trust you unconditionally?”

1

The surrounding groups had not started paying attention yet.

But if the conversation escalated any further, it would inevitably draw eyes and ears from nearby.

“I… I do try my best to earn people’s trust,” Kushida answered. “That’s exactly why I thought it’d be better not to place an unnecessary burden on you, Shinohara-san.”

With other classes in the mix, Kushida had no choice but to continue playing the role of the usual cheerful, considerate Kushida.

And Shinohara understood that perfectly.

Which was exactly why she could afford to press forward so aggressively.

“Burden? What do you mean by that?”

“Managing all the tokens sounds like a hassle,” Kushida explained gently. “Even if it’s called a representative, it’s basically just becoming the class errand runner. I thought it might be better if I handled it instead.”

“It’s not a hassle at all,” Shinohara shot back immediately. “So don’t worry about me, Kushida-san. Just leave it to me.”

Then Kushida turned slightly.

“Mii-chan… what do you think?”

The question sounded almost like a plea for help.

But before Mii-chan, caught painfully between the two of them, could even open her mouth, Shinohara’s expression darkened with irritation.

1

“You heard her agree to leave it to me, didn’t you?” Shinohara pressed immediately. “So why are you asking again? You really don’t trust me after all, do you?”

“No, that’s not it,” Kushida answered gently. “I just wanted to properly confirm everyone’s opinion…”

“Then why don’t you ask Kanji too?”

Shinohara gave a small snort as she turned toward Ike, utterly convinced he would side with her.

“Mm… Ike-kun, what do you think?”

Closing the distance slightly, Kushida looked up at him with an almost pleading gaze.

4

“Huh? Well, I mean…”

The moment Kushida turned those eyes on him, Ike’s composure vanished. Even though everyone in the class had seen her true nature, Kushida was still an angel on the surface. When she looked at him as though she were relying on him, his cheeks reddened almost instantly.

“Well, Kikyō-cha—uh, I mean Kushida wouldn’t be bad at all either, yeah.”

2

“Hey, Kanji…?”

Shinohara’s mood soured at once. Apparently displeased by his unexpected reaction, she grabbed his left ear and pulled hard.

"Ow, ow-ow-ow! That hurts, Satsuki!"

“Tell me honestly.” Shinohara’s voice was sweet only in shape. “Between me and Kushida-san, who is better suited to be representative?”

1

“Of course, of course!”

Still crying out in pain, Ike hurriedly corrected course.

"I-It's safe to just leave it to Satsuki!"

Subjected to Shinohara’s openly suspicious stare, Ike chose the answer that let him escape with the least damage.

“So there you have it,” Shinohara said, turning back to Kushida with a satisfied look. “That’s fine, right, Kushida-san?”

“Understood,” Kushida said after a small pause. “Yeah. If everyone is fine with that, then I’m fine with it too.”

She likely harboured immense dissatisfaction.

But Shinohara and Ike already controlled two votes. Even if Kushida persisted and somehow managed to pull Mii-chan to her side, the result would only be a split vote, and the representative still would not be decided. Worse, after rejecting Shinohara this strongly, provoking her any further would be a poor move.

Kushida had no choice but to step back.

Of course, at this point, neither Shinohara nor Ike were likely planning to cheat Kushida or Mii-chan through token management. Their intentions were probably still ordinary enough.

But that was only because they had not yet been pushed into a corner.

If, from here on, they failed to increase their tokens as planned, or if they began losing them, then the authority Shinohara held as representative could grow stronger, and more difficult to control.

Once again, it became clear just how important the role of representative truly was.

There were probably almost no current third-years who could not see at least that much.

And that was precisely why Kushida, more than anyone, would have to move with extreme caution from this point forward.

“Looks like they ended up choosing Shinohara over there,” Yoshida murmured after quietly listening in on the exchange. “Well, if you’re someone at risk of expulsion, wanting to become the representative is only natural. On the other hand, for someone like Wang or Kushida, this has to be a headache.”

His analysis was calm and matter-of-fact.

“So what should we do for now?” Yoshida continued, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “We’re making you the representative, right?”

“You’re willing to follow my lead?”

3

“Of course.” Yoshida answered without hesitation. “I was sweating a little during the Survival Game Special Exam when it looked like we might lose, but in the end we finished exactly where you planned, second place. Hard to complain about that.”

He shrugged lightly.

“And besides, you’re the leader for this exam. Ideally we want this group taking first place.”

Standing beside him, Sanada nodded immediately in agreement.

“Then I presume that makes me the Representative, yes?” Morishita concluded.

6

“You can ignore this one,” Yoshida said bluntly, jerking a thumb toward her. “She’s not the type to step forward anyway.”

Morishita stood with her arms folded, nodding repeatedly to herself as though she alone had reached some profound conclusion.

“I believe Morishita-san understands as well,” Sanada added, smoothing over the moment with calm politeness, “that among us, entrusting this to Ayanokōji-kun is the best option.”

It felt like they were deliberately putting me on a pedestal, but I didn't pay it much mind.

“One final confirmation,” I said. “You’re really fine with leaving this to me? Once I become the representative, I’ll be able to distribute the tokens we earn however I like. I might act to protect myself.”

Yoshida looked at me as if the answer was obvious.

“You're the weirdo who willingly dropped down from Class A, right, Ayanokōji? If you pull a stunt like betraying us just to save yourself, you wouldn't be able to stay as the class leader anymore, at the very least. That's why we trust you, or rather, your position which won't allow for such selfishness.”

That was Yoshida’s reasoning for accepting me as representative.

Sanada nodded again, showing that he agreed.

Their attitude did not come from blind faith. They had already resolved themselves to the fact that if they could not place complete trust in me, the class would never rise again.

“I, for one, certainly do not trust you,” Morishita declared. “But very well, let us treat this as a test to see if you are truly fit to reign over our class.”

“Understood,” I said. “If Yoshida and Sanada are willing to place that responsibility in my hands, then I’ll fulfill the role properly.”

1

I informed Urushihara that I would be serving as Class C’s representative, then waited for the remaining teams to finish making their decisions.

In the end, Class A selected Shinohara as representative.

2

Class B settled on Katsuragi. Ibuki looked far from pleased with the result, but since the remaining two supported him, the decision was effectively made.

As for Class D, Amikura assumed the representative role without the slightest dispute.

Compared to the distorted power balance festering inside Class A, the other selections were probably more or less reasonable.

“So you are going to divide the tokens fairly, right?” Ibuki demanded immediately, glaring at Katsuragi.

“Of course,” Katsuragi replied calmly. “Although I cannot guarantee that my definition of fairness matches yours.”

“Hah? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This is still a special exam,” he answered evenly. “I am merely the one entrusted with managing the class’s collective tokens. I intend to distribute them fairly according to contribution. Those who produce results will receive rewards appropriate to their efforts. Those who hold the group back will receive only the minimum necessary.”

He held Ibuki’s gaze without flinching.

“If you want enough tokens to avoid expulsion, then contribute to the class.”

“Tch… fine.”

A very Katsuragi-like policy.

His equality was not equal shares for all. It was fairness measured by evaluation, with token distribution tied directly to contribution. Whether one liked it or not, the logic was consistent.

Amikura, on the other hand, seemed to be taking the opposite approach.

For her team, performance was irrelevant. Any tokens earned by the four of them would be divided evenly among the four.

That, too, was a form of equality.

Because there was already trust between them, and because each student’s abilities were relatively well balanced, there was likely no room for conflict to arise.

Then there was Shinohara, the representative of Class A.

On the surface, her stance was the same as Amikura’s: equal distribution among all members. But the conditions beneath that statement were entirely different. In terms of ability, Kushida and Mii-chan clearly held a far greater advantage over Shinohara.

In other words, Shinohara was using the authority of the representative role to create a version of equality that favored her own side.

3

With the representatives from all four classes assembled, the supervisor stepped forward to address us.

“Now then, without further ado, we will have you begin the individual category tasks,” he announced. “You have a maximum of sixty minutes to deliberate and decide by majority vote where this group will travel first, choosing from a list of candidate locations. Once everyone agrees to proceed, you will cast your vote via your smartwatches and then head out to the winning destination,” he paused.

“As for the rewards: any student who votes for the destination with the most votes will receive one token. If the vote is unanimous, everyone will receive two. Those who vote for a location other than the majority will receive three tokens. Finally, in the event that a destination receives exactly one vote, that lone voter will be rewarded with five tokens.”

So, our first task was simply to decide Group 3’s destination.

“A word of warning before you begin your discussions,” the supervisor continued. “If there is a tie for the most votes, meaning multiple locations receive the highest number of votes, the students who voted for those tied locations will receive zero tokens. In such a scenario, we will randomly select your destination from among the tied options.”

In short, it was a system that guaranteed a payout of tokens for everyone, provided there wasn't a tie for first place.

“We will not disclose who voted for which location under any circumstances. Furthermore, showing your watch’s screen to others while voting is strictly prohibited. Please be aware that any such violations will incur a separate penalty resulting in the loss of tokens.”

If we knew who was voting for what in real time, coordinating our choices would be far too easy. This strict anonymity was likely a necessary measure to prevent exactly that.

Having briskly wrapped up his explanation, Urushihara, our assigned supervisor, read the list of candidate destinations aloud.

“There are five candidate locations for your first destination: B9, E12, F14, I10, and I13. Regardless of which area you choose, the contents of your upcoming tasks will remain exactly the same. However, any time spent traveling to your next destination is simply time wasted, so please keep that in mind.”

2

Sanada unfolded the map provided with our materials, immediately checking the coordinates.

The available options were scattered across the grid, ranging from relatively close spots to those a fair distance away. Some even looked like they would require considerable effort to reach.

“I will now start the timer,” Urushihara said, checking his smartwatch without a moment’s delay. “You are free to begin your discussion.”

Reacting naturally, our group of sixteen shifted into a circle so that we could all see each other’s faces.

“It's obvious a nearby place is best for this. The tasks won't change, either,” Sonoda from Class B muttered, sounding more like he was thinking out loud than asking a question.

Catching his words, Ike immediately agreed. “True. Even the teacher—er, the supervisor, just said that travel time is a waste.”

The assertion that closer meant easier was typical of Ike, who despised anything troublesome.

5

“So we all just vote for the closest area and call it a day? It'd be a quick discussion, and we'd all get two tokens,” Minamikata chimed in.

A unanimous vote for the closest location. It was the first and most obvious choice that came to mind.

While the guarantee that the upcoming task wouldn't change was certainly a solid deciding factor, if we chose a nearby destination based on that alone, there would be no need for this discussion at all.

The school had gone out of its way to give us a lengthy sixty-minute deliberation period. There had to be a meaning behind it, or rather, making us think there was a deeper meaning was likely exactly what the school was aiming for.

“Isn't blindly voting for the closest area a bit too simplistic?” Yoshida argued. “There's probably more to this than meets the eye.”

If travel distance was the only difference between the options, no one would ever vote for a faraway spot. Suspecting a trap lay hidden behind such an obvious answer, Yoshida spoke up to rein them in.

“I have to agree,” Katsuragi said, casting a brief glance at Ike and Sonoda. “We should thoroughly examine the other areas first.”

“But... Urushihara-san said the destination and the tasks aren't connected...” Morofuji muttered from her spot beside Katsuragi.

“In that case, we may need to consider factors outside of the tasks themselves,” Katsuragi replied. “We cannot blindly proceed without first verifying which destination will provide the greatest benefit to our group.”

“Isn't that just a waste of time?” Sumida retorted. “This task is centered around the exchange of tokens. I think ‘closer is better’ is a perfectly fine answer.”

It seemed the discussion was already beginning to fray.

It was supposed to be a simple vote to decide our next destination, yet reaching a consensus wasn't going to be easy.

“The supervisor called this an individual battle, didn’t he? Does that mean we’re supposed to outmaneuver each other through the voting process?”

Sanada turned to me as he asked the question.

“That’s undoubtedly one of the core mechanics, yeah,” I replied.

“A unanimous vote yields a solid reward of two tokens, but it’s certainly not the highest payout,” Sanada noted.

It was a natural progression for the majority of the students to favor a nearby location as their destination. Consequently, the votes were bound to concentrate there. While a unanimous choice would distribute tokens equally among all sixteen participants, a calculated betrayal guaranteed a far more lucrative payout for the defector. To make matters worse, such a betrayal would slash the payout of the majority voters down to a single token. And if multiple defectors emerged, it opened the door for opportunists to secure three or five tokens under the safety of complete anonymity.

“It’s a simple but troublesome task,” Sonoda muttered again, several students nodding in agreement. “Our overall motives align, but the reward system actively discourages us from cooperating.”

The optimal strategy was to avoid voting for the desired destination yourself, while persuading others into voting for it instead.

“Wait, isn’t this impossible?” someone argued. “Nobody is going to want to waste their vote on the closest place.”

Exactly. Everyone agreed that a shorter distance was better. But if prioritizing that convenience meant settling for just one token, people would inevitably be tempted to secure three or five tokens instead, not caring if they had to walk further as a result.

“But... if everyone thinks like that, all the votes will end up going to the distant places instead, right?” Mii-chan pointed out, having apparently foreseen the logical conclusion of that train of thought.

“If we all avoid the shortest route and vote for the distant ones, then a distant location will get the most votes? Man, that won't work either.”

In a space where friend and foe were jumbled together, the students exchanged probing glances, sizing each other up.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group. Ten or twenty seconds passed, and just as it seemed the heavy atmosphere would drag on, Katsuragi quietly broke the silence.

1

“Engaging in a clumsy battle of wits will only breed suspicion,” he said calmly. “If we end up casting our votes blindly, then just as Wang pointed out, we run the risk of earning no tokens while being forced to march a long distance. The simplest way to handle this is to keep our discussion to a minimum, prioritize cooperation above all else, and unanimously vote for the closest area. We might not maximize our token earnings, but it guarantees an outcome, and a travel distance, that everyone can be satisfied with.”

1

Naturally, the majority of the group wasn’t going to just nod along and agree to Katsuragi’s proposal immediately. Katsuragi himself was fully aware of that, of course. It was safe to say he had simply offered a baseline argument to kickstart the real discussion.

“That might be true, but in order to guarantee the most votes, we need at least nine people to vote for the same spot,” Ike argued. “Are you seriously suggesting we just hand over three or five tokens to the remaining seven people?”

1

“Tokens can be transferred,” Katsuragi countered calmly. “We could agree to pool our winnings and distribute them evenly afterward.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Ike shot back. “If tokens end up with someone from another class, there’s zero guarantee they’ll actually hand them over. The voting is strictly anonymous, which means someone is definitely going to pull a fast one on us. Take Ayanokōji, for example... Yeah, someone exactly like Ayanokōji!” he continued, turning his gaze toward me. “You’re absolutely gunning for the five-token payout, aren’t you?”

6

Just as Katsuragi had predicted, his proposal acted as the spark that ignited a flurry of opposition, with Ike fiercely leading the charge.

Since he was glaring in my direction and calling me out by name, I met his gaze, if only to acknowledge him.

“Seems like your attitude has gotten even worse since you betrayed our class,” Ike sneered. “I mean, anyone who transfers from Class A to a lower class just because they think they’re a little smart is crazy to begin with.”

5

Ever since our groups merged, Ike hadn’t stopped complaining about my attitude. I was perfectly fine letting it slide without offering a rebuttal, but Katsuragi stepped in to answer on my behalf.

“You are free to think whatever you want about transferring to a lower class,” Katsuragi said, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes sharply. “But if stepping down to a lower class makes someone crazy, then I suppose I am crazy as well.”

Realizing he had just caught Katsuragi in the crossfire, Ike awkwardly averted his gaze.

The fallout from this exchange didn't stop at just the two of them; it cast a faintly heavy atmosphere over the students from Class C. Yoshida and the others used to be Katsuragi's allies, and now that he was their enemy after a long series of twists and turns, they likely harbored some complicated feelings about the matter.

Unable to bear the suddenly tense mood, Moriyama from Class D stepped in to mediate. “Let's all calm down for a second. I think cooperating like Katsuragi suggested is a valid option. It's the most straightforward approach, right?”

“But isn't the whole problem that we can't do that?” Shinohara retorted. “Neither Kanji nor I want to throw our votes away on the most popular choice.”

2

“Yeah, exactly!” Ike chimed in, vehemently backing up her protest.

“Of course, anyone would feel that way,” Sumida reasoned. “But if we just dig our heels in, we'll get nowhere. We need to figure out where we can compromise and find a balanced voting strategy first. There might be a solution we can all accept.”

“Sumida's right,” another agreed. “The total number of tokens we get as a group undoubtedly changes depending on how we vote. The real question is, what kind of voting patterns are actually on the table?”

Assuming we could control everyone's votes, the group was starting to realize that the distribution method directly impacted our total payout. Seeing this, I lightly raised my hand before speaking up.

“A simple, unanimous vote yields two tokens each,” I explained. “That’s a total payout of 32 tokens. However, if we intentionally scatter our votes, there are six different patterns that yield the absolute maximum payout of 40 tokens. For example, Pattern 1 would be 7 votes, 6 votes, and three 1-vote destinations. Pattern 2 would be 6 votes, 5 votes, 3 votes, and two 1-vote destinations, and so on. Regardless of which of the six patterns we use, the maximum yield remains capped at 40.”

1

I paused for a moment before delivering the optimal strategy. “Out of all six patterns, the easiest one to coordinate is a 4-3-3-3-3 split. We send exactly one person from each of the four classes to vote for the top destination, giving it a winning total of 4 votes. The remaining twelve people divide into groups of three and vote for the other four destinations.”

That would yield eight more tokens than a unanimous vote, which wasn't a bad deal for any of the classes involved.

“The only drawback,” I continued, “is that dividing 40 tokens by 16 people equals 2.5, meaning an even distribution on an individual level is impossible. However, we can divide the class cuts equally, giving each of the four classes exactly 10 tokens to distribute amongst themselves.”

Purely in terms of efficiency, this was the absolute optimal solution. Of course, regardless of the pattern, the hurdle of actually pulling it off was anything but low.

1

“You're incredibly fast at calculating all that, Ayanokōji,” Katsuragi said, clearly impressed. A few other students agreed, clapping their hands in an exaggerated show of admiration.

“You didn't have to go out of your way to explain every little detail. I could've figured out the patterns right away,” Ike muttered defensively. “No need to act so smug just because you can do a little math in your head. I mean, are you even sure that's right? Are you really that confident?”

3

“Yeah. The math is correct,” I said flatly.

2

“...Listen to him, so completely sure of himself. It'll be damn embarrassing if you're wrong after all that.” Ike clearly wanted me to be wrong. He started counting on his fingers, but almost immediately abandoned the effort.

2

“Honestly, you do sound pretty arrogant, Ayanokōji-kun,” Shinohara chimed in, rushing to defend Ike. Her tone shifted from angry to exasperated. “You never used to give off this kind of impression. You always just seemed... harmless. Did becoming a leader change you, or did you just stop hiding your true colors?”

2

The rest of the group looked back and forth between me and Shinohara’s clique.

The old me would’ve preferred not to rock the boat; I would have likely just ignored her remarks and let it slide. But this time, I decided to take the bait.

2

“Maybe so,” I said flatly. “My previous class was quite uncomfortable, after all.”

6

“Wow, he actually just said that out loud. You really do have a terrible attitude,” Shinohara scoffed, her face twisting in disgust.

Faced with my unyielding, unapologetic stance, it wasn’t just Mii-chan and Kushida who looked rattled; even my new classmates, like Yoshida, showed obvious signs of agitation.

“Hey, shouldn't you dial it back a little?” Yoshida whispered, his face twitching slightly.

“There's no need to worry. I'm just speaking my mind.”

1

“No, man, that's exactly the problem...” he trailed off.

The hostile atmosphere lingered in the air, thick and unresolved. But Katsuragi, who had likely been quietly verifying my math in his head the entire time, gave a deep nod and stepped back into the conversation.

4

“It seems his calculations are indeed correct,” Katsuragi announced. “Splitting the five destinations into a 4-3-3-3-3 pattern is a solid strategy. We cannot avoid competing within the group eventually, but if there's a way for everyone to earn tokens at maximum efficiency right now, I see great merit in taking advantage of it. The most important thing is for each of us to increase our token count and avoid dropping to the bottom of the school year.”

Katsuragi had fully understood the core policy of ‘earn while you can’ and actively embraced it.

“I guess I agree too,” Sonoda said. “The only reason someone would break ranks and try to outsmart everyone else is to squeeze out an extra token or two, right? But honestly, I don’t think the risk is worth it. Splitting the votes would only increase the chances of a tie. Once you realize that, even someone planning to defect would understand that securing a reliable ten tokens for the class is the smarter choice, wouldn’t they?”

Clearly eager to maintain harmony, Sonoda once again expressed his support for cooperation. The true brilliance of this 4-3-3-3-3 strategy lay in the fact that votes would be cast for every single destination. Because every location would receive a minimum of three votes, even if one person decided to play the traitor, it would be mathematically impossible for them to snatch up the five-token reward reserved for a solo vote. And even if a group of traitors wanted to coordinate an ambush, pulling off a flawless conspiracy using nothing but eye contact in this mixed group would be a Herculean task.

“I still don't like it,” Ike grumbled. “Just going along with a plan pushed by Ayanokōji rubs me the wrong way.”

4

“There is no need for baseless suspicion,” Katsuragi replied firmly. “I ran the numbers several times myself, and Ayanokōji's pattern and projected results are entirely correct. Rather than complain, you should look at the bright side: by providing us with a conclusion faster, he has saved us valuable time that we can now allocate to discussing the actual execution.”

The realization that this distribution method offered the highest efficiency had finally sunk in for everyone. However, understanding the logic and agreeing to execute it were two different things.

“Yeah, I fundamentally agree. Don't you?”

“It's a hundred times better than voting blindly without a plan. I'm in.”

As expected, Class D was straightforward; they weren't the type to oppose a proposal that clearly benefited the majority.

Seizing the moment, I turned my gaze toward Yoshida and Sanada. “Now that you've heard the discussion so far, have you made up your minds?”

“If I had to choose, I'm in favor of the four classes getting ten tokens each,” Yoshida replied. “If our opinions split, we risk getting zero tokens in the worst-case scenario. Plus, this setup seems like a solid deterrent against betrayal, right?”

Following Yoshida's lead, the two of them offered no resistance, clearly leaning toward the most efficient strategy. Curiously, Morishita, who was usually loud enough to be a nuisance, remained completely silent.

1

Having secured Class C's agreement with a light nod, Katsuragi next turned to his own Class B to solicit their opinions.

“I-I feel like it's better than aiming for an uncertain unanimous vote...”

“As long as it guarantees me tokens, I'm fine with it,” Ibuki added bluntly.

1

While perhaps not as enthusiastic as Class D or C, Ibuki and the others expressed a relatively agreeable stance.

Now, the only ones left were Class A, which included Ike and Shinohara, who had been the most vocal in their opposition.

“I’d like to hear Kushida and Mii-chan’s opinions on the matter, too,” I said.

“H-hey, hold on a second,” Ike stammered, stepping forward. “Between you ignoring our greetings earlier and now this, you’re purposely leaving Satsuki and me out of the loop, aren’t you?”

“It’s for the exact same reason I didn't greet you,” I replied flatly. “My bad, but I have no desire to seek opinions from either of you.”

7

“Are you seriously saying that right now, Ayanokōji?” Ike snapped. “You know this is a group task, right? Stop doing things that are just gonna cause a split among us! Weren't we just talking about everyone cooperating?”

2

It was a perfectly sound argument that left little room for rebuttal, and the rest of the group began to show obvious sympathy for Ike's position.

Seeing Ike clench his fists in agitation, Shinohara gently grasped his hand, mindful of the stares from the rest of the group.

“Kanji, let's be the adults here,” she urged softly. “I was definitely hurt when he ignored us earlier, but you said it yourself: this is a group battle, right? Fighting over pointless things will only drag us down.”

2

“But still...!”

“I got a little worked up too, but wasn't it partly your fault, Kanji? You were the one provoking Ayanokōji-kun, saying he couldn't be trusted. Am I wrong?”

“...Well... I guess...”

Though his anger hadn't completely subsided, Ike's resentment softened slightly at Shinohara's gentle reprimand.

“...Yeah, you're right. ...I get it.”

Forcing himself to swallow his pride by saying it aloud, Ike slowly unclenched his fists. He gave a stiff, slight bow of his head and desperately pasted a bright expression onto his face.

“Earlier, how should I put it... look, my bad for saying things that made it sound like I doubted you. Of course you'd get mad over that... For now, I agree that making sure all the classes get an equal share of tokens is the way to go. So, as a way to test our trust in each other, let's just try to get along this once.”

2

Having regained his composure, Ike extended an olive branch. Shinohara nodded, clearly ready to second his attempt at making peace.

Looking back to when we first enrolled, it was clear that Ike and Shinohara had grown mentally, albeit unsteadily. I had noticed it even during the greeting stage. To think they would brush off my blatant rudeness and actively try to compromise with me again. Moreover, it wasn't just surface-level posturing; even if they had to force it, they genuinely seemed to be convincing themselves to let bygones be bygones for the sake of the group.

I could sense a palpable wave of welcome relief from Yoshida and my other classmates standing beside me.

I turned my gaze toward Ike and Shinohara to give them my answer.

“I agree with aligning our voting intentions,” I said coldly. “But unfortunately, I simply cannot trust either of you.”

3

Without a shred of hesitation, I shattered the fragile peace their goodwill had just created, freezing the atmosphere instantly.

“Wha—”

Before Ike even had a chance to react, the tentative smile on Shinohara's face hardened into a mask of shock. The rest of the group stared at me, their initial astonishment quickly morphing into blatant dissatisfaction at my unapologetic hostility.

“Ayanokōji, I feel that is going a bit too far,” Katsuragi interjected. “I don't know what happened between you as former classmates, but there is absolutely no merit in making an enemy of Class A here.”

“He's right, Ayanokōji,” another student agreed. “No matter how you look at it, you're the one in the wrong here. It's just plain immature.”

“I have no intention of making enemies of them,” I replied calmly. “However, if we want this discussion to proceed smoothly, it's meaningless unless the right people step forward. As long as Shinohara and Ike uselessly intrude as the representatives of Class A, any discussion we hold is just a waste of time. For a task focused on dialogue, the natural choice is to have Kushida lead the talks, with Mii-chan advising her as an assistant. If we take that approach, we can trust each other and progress smoothly.”

6

My implication was clear: those two needed to know their place and step back like the supporting characters they were.

20

“You... are seriously pissing me off, Ayanokōji!”

Ike once again clenched his fists, ready to lunge forward, but Shinohara tightly grabbed his shoulder to hold him back.

Unlike earlier, however, Shinohara looked as though she had reached the absolute limit of her patience.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “Are you saying we shouldn't even be allowed to speak? Isn't that completely unfair? Did we say something so horrible that you have to treat us like this?”

“I... well, I also think Ayanokōji-kun's remarks were entirely out of line,” said Sanada, stepping in front of me, with a grim expression on his face.

2

“All sixteen of us have an equal right to speak, and just as Shinohara-san said, I don't think there was any particular problem with the two of them. Isn't this completely uncharacteristic behavior for you, Ayanokōji-kun?”

“I have to agree. I can't defend you on this one,” Yoshida added, shaking his head.

It seemed all of my new Class C peers were harboring the exact same negative feelings toward me.

2

“Honestly, this whole thing makes me anxious,” Shinohara said, staring at me. “Even when we tried to compromise, you threw that attitude in our faces. If you keep creating this toxic environment, there’s no guarantee your plan will actually work out. The upcoming vote is strictly anonymous, meaning if someone actually does betray us, we won’t be able to pinpoint who it was. Doesn't this whole strategy fall apart if there are people from other classes we can't trust?”

1

Her eyes were faintly moist, and despite her defiant glare, it was as if she was trying to hide how deeply my words had hurt her.

“I don't think I'm making a difficult demand,” I replied. “If you just let Kushida and Mii-chan take the lead, things will proceed smoothly.”

5

No matter how much it worsened their impression of me, I reiterated my stance.

1

“You just pick on us out of nowhere and make whatever demands you want... Isn't that a waste of time too!?” Ike shouted.

“Ah… I see. So that's how it is. Fine, I get it,” Shinohara scoffed. “Let's just do what he wants, Kanji. Kushida-san is definitely a good girl, after all. She's a great talker, and she's cute.”

Throwing in the towel, Shinohara gave up, deciding I was no longer worth arguing with.

“Anyway, we'll leave this task to you. Can we count on you, Kushida-san?”

“M-Me...?” Kushida blinked.

“Well, it's what Ayanokōji-kun wants. Apparently, we aren't capable of moving the discussion forward ourselves.”

“Y-Yeah, I'm fine with taking the lead, but... Ayanokōji-kun, I think you should apologize to those two first. I want us all to cooperate on good terms, you know—”

Kushida was making it clear that cooperation would be difficult if I maintained the hostile attitude I'd used to force Ike and Shinohara to back down. For the sake of proceeding smoothly, this was probably the right time to pull back.

“Understood. It's true that I went a little too far. Kushida is right.”

“What the hell? When Kushida-san tells you to, you just apologize, just like that?” Shinohara snapped.

5

“That's not it. Looking back on it, she simply made me realize my mistake.”

4

“...I highly doubt that. It didn't look that way to me...” Shinohara muttered. “Well, fine. Whatever.”

Rather than forgiving me, she replied coldly out of pure exasperation, clearly done talking to me.

“My bad,” I added.

5

At my brief apology, Shinohara merely snorted. She grabbed Ike by the arm and pulled him a step back, distancing themselves slightly from the circle.

“So, we've accepted Ayanokōji-kun's heartfelt apology. Kanji and I will step back now. Though, of course, if we have something to say later, we'll still say it.”

“Sorry, Kikyō-chan. We're leaving this to you,” Ike added.

“No, don't worry about it at all. I'm not sure how reliable I'll be, but I'll do my best,” Kushida replied with a cute smile.

Seeing her gentle demeanor, Ike's angry expression finally softened a little.

1

“Oh, right! Why don't you suggest a good idea, Kushida-san?” Shinohara prompted. “It'd be best if we had some sort of risk management method to prevent betrayers from popping up, right?”

It was a pointed remark from Shinohara. Was that jab aimed at me, the person who had been grating on her nerves this whole time? Or was it aimed at Kushida, my former class's other traitor? Either way, the group's gaze naturally gathered on Kushida. Looking slightly troubled, she began to think.

“Let's see...” Kushida started. “We can't prevent betrayal completely, but we can lower the risk by making sure we can narrow down exactly who betrayed us. If we publicly announce and assign exactly who will vote for which destination in advance, we'll be able to narrow down the suspects if a discrepancy occurs in the final results.”

Kushida explained that, for example, if we agreed on a 4-3-3-3-3 split but the actual result came out as 4-2-3-3-4, it would definitively prove that one of the three students assigned to the second destination had betrayed the group.

1

“Umm, something like that anyway. I hope my logic is right, but... I don't really have a lot of confidence in it,” she added, looking perplexed as she lightly scratched her cheek with her index finger.

“For a spur-of-the-moment idea, I'd say it's not bad,” I noted. “What do you think of Kushida's proposal, Katsuragi?”

By passing the conversational baton to Katsuragi, I forcefully shifted the dynamic away from the 'Ayanokōji vs. Class A' narrative that had been dominating the air.

“I agree as well,” Katsuragi replied. “It is certainly a measure we should implement. Though, of course, it cannot be said to be foolproof.”

Although Kushida had likely just come up with the idea on the spot, she didn't say anything to undermine it, obediently nodding along instead. After all, there was no point in obsessing over catching a betrayer with absolute certainty. As long as the voting remained anonymous, finding a workable compromise within those constraints was far more important.

“Just the fact that it increases our chances of narrowing down a betrayer serves as a massive deterrent,” Katsuragi concluded.

“Hey,” Ibuki interjected, her brows furrowing slightly. “With the plan you just laid out, there are definitely going to be four people forced to vote for the most popular destination, right?”

“That's what it comes down to, yes,” Katsuragi replied immediately. “They'll be allocated evenly, one per class. By sending exactly one person from each class to the four-vote destination, the burden remains equal. That way, the loss isn't being pushed onto any single group.”

“You say ‘equal,’ but the guys voting for the top destination are only going to receive one token. That means they're temporarily taking a loss, right?” Ibuki challenged. “Assuming this plan even works, is there actually a guarantee that the tokens will be split with them later?”

“Of course,” Katsuragi nodded. “However, as we've already established, each class will earn a total of ten tokens. Even if you distribute them evenly, giving two to each of the four members in your class, that leaves two tokens left over. How to handle those leftovers will be up to each individual class to decide.”

Hearing Katsuragi's explanation, Ibuki paused for a beat.

“Whatever. But just so we're clear, I'm voting for one of the places that pays out three tokens.”

She made her stance clear, lightly sweeping her gaze to the side.

It was true. If all the classes kept in step with the plan, one out of the four people from each class would have to cast their vote for the most popular destination, meaning that at the moment of the vote, they would only receive one token. Her blunt remark meant that if there was no hard guarantee the tokens would actually be shared later, she wanted to be on the side obtaining three tokens from the very start.

Hating the idea of taking on a risky role, Ibuki had clearly stated her refusal.

“Ah, then I call dibs on one of the three-token spots, too,” Ike quickly jumped in, still standing toward the back. “I trust my friends and all, but I don't want to get wrapped up in any trouble. No point taking on unnecessary risks, right?”

Piggybacking off Ibuki's declaration, Ike made it clear that he had no intention of falling on his sword for the top destination either.

The atmosphere of the place shifted, just slightly.

“Since we won't know who voted for what, someone could easily play dumb and keep their extra tokens later,” Shinohara continued, crossing her arms. “Even if you argue it's fine because the class as a whole still gets ten tokens, there's obviously going to be a difference on an individual level. Whether or not someone actually compensates you for taking that loss is a separate issue, isn't it?”

Though she framed it as a general observation, her gaze was faintly sharp.

Katsuragi shot a brief glance in Shinohara's direction.

“Ibuki and Shinohara are exactly right,” Katsuragi declared, jumping in without missing a beat. “This task is premised on the results at the class level. Since there is no mechanism to guarantee perfect fairness between individuals, a guarantee of trust is absolutely necessary. Any student who feels anxious about getting properly compensated should take the initiative, self-declare their intent, and secure one of the spots paying out three tokens. I will take on the burden of voting for the most popular destination for Class B.”

We only needed one person from each class to shoulder the risk, allowing the other three to safely secure at least two tokens. Acting decisively, Katsuragi stepped forward to be the first volunteer.

“I'll do it for Class C,” I said, turning to Yoshida and the others as the second volunteer. Amikura from Class D immediately followed suit.

Now, only Class A remained. With Ike having already explicitly refused the role, all eyes naturally fell on the other three members.

“If possible, I recommend having Ike or Shinohara take on the role,” I added casually.

5

Hearing my unnecessary remark, Shinohara furrowed her brows. Our dispute had supposedly been put to rest after my earlier apology, but my words threatened to reignite the issue.

Seeing this, Yoshida stepped in. “Hey, what Class A does is for Class A to decide.”

1

“You're right,” I replied. “Just ignore what I said.”

“No, I can't just 'ignore it,'” Shinohara snapped. “You've been spouting baseless claims that we can't be trusted, talking down to us as if we don't even belong in a discussion! What on earth is your deal? Did we do something to you, Ayanokōji-kun?”

“I'm not targeting you two specifically,” I replied smoothly. “I simply believe that people who lack the trust of the group should take the initiative to act in a way that earns that trust.”

1

“Then let me ask you this: what about Ibuki-san?” Shinohara shot back, pointing an accusatory finger. “Ibuki-san explicitly refused to take on the role, yet you completely ignored that! Shouldn't you be forcing her to vote for the top spot instead of Katsuragi-kun?”

Unexpectedly dragged into the crossfire, Ibuki glared at Shinohara, making no effort to hide her irritation.

“Class B's internal dynamics are slightly complicated,” I explained calmly. “While I believe Katsuragi is a highly trustworthy individual, from Class B's perspective, he is still a transfer student who joined their ranks midway. Stepping up of his own volition to build up trust with his new classmates isn't a bad move on his part.”

“I still don't buy it...” Shinohara muttered.

“To begin with, the situation is entirely different from Class A's. If I were still a student in that class, voting for the primary destination and walking away with a single token wouldn't cause me a moment's hesitation. The reason is simple: as long as Kushida is an ally, I would have an absolute guarantee that she would distribute tokens to cover the deficit afterward. Even if I were intent on securing three tokens, should Kushida fail to provide two, I could simply request them from Mii-chan. In short, there would be absolutely no reason to fear being shortchanged.”

2

The only people who couldn't be trusted were Ike and Shinohara, the very two who were explicitly scheming to snatch up three tokens for themselves if given the chance.

“Conversely,” I concluded, “not assigning Ike or Shinohara to the top destination is a clear detriment to the group.”

“...Hah. So the reason you're doubting Kanji and me so much is because you care so deeply about Kushida-san and Mii-chan?” Shinohara asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

“They are precious group members,” I replied flatly. “Naturally, I want to cooperate with them in any way I can.”

“I thought this earlier, too, but you are awfully trusting of Kushida-san, aren't you?”

3

“I am simply stating the facts. If you refuse to accept my assessment, you are free to ask Katsuragi, Sonoda, or anyone else from the other classes. Ask them who they think is more trustworthy: the duo of Shinohara and Ike, or Kushida and Mii-chan.”

“Twenty minutes have passed. Forty minutes remaining.”

The supervisor, who hadn't uttered a single word until now, muttered the time check, a stark reminder that the clock was steadily ticking down.

1

“We stand to gain very little by succumbing to paranoia right now,” Katsuragi stated firmly, cutting through the tension. “Since the transfer of tokens is allowed, any final adjustments and compensations can be handled after the exam. The problem at hand is making sure our strategy doesn't collapse before we even reach that stage.”

Katsuragi was making it clear: prioritize solving the group's problem first, and handle internal class disputes on your own time.

“I agree. It's better to leave some time on the clock for the actual tasks,” Sumida said with a shrug, showing no hesitation.

Moriyama took a short breath and immediately backed him up. “Likewise. I don't see any point in dragging out useless bargaining right now.”

The members of Class D were practically unanimous. Because the four of them fully trusted one another, this entire debate was likely nothing but a waste of time from their perspective.

“I think it’s about time we moved on,” Sanada said, glancing around the circle before focusing on the final group. “As for the remaining Class A...”

“I am absolutely not doing it,” Shinohara stated flatly.

“I’ll take it on,” Kushida volunteered.

The resolute rejection from Shinohara and the self-sacrificing offer from Kushida overlapped perfectly. At the sheer contrast between their 180-degree different answers, Shinohara shot Kushida a mild glare.

“I just don't want to see everyone arguing anymore...” Kushida added with a reserved smile, officially putting herself forward. “If I can be of use to the group right now, this is the least I can do.”

“Is this acceptable to you, Ayanokōji-kun?” she asked.

“If that's what you want, I won't stop you. Once the tokens are distributed, it becomes an internal class issue,” I replied, reiterating the risk one last time. “Just remember that I won't lift a finger to help when you inevitably argue over the payouts.”

1

“Tch,” Ike clicked his tongue softly, clearly annoyed by my relentless warnings. “Don't worry, Kikyō-chan. Unlike a certain someone who betrayed his class, I'll absolutely share my tokens with you.”

“Yeah, I completely trust you, Ike-kun. And Shinohara-san and Mii-chan, too, of course.”

5

The students outside of Class A silently praised Kushida for taking the initiative and shouldering the risk. She seemed entirely genuine when she said she didn't doubt a single person in her class.

Logic and emotion. The gap between the two could never be perfectly bridged. Still, the group managed to move on to the next stage, leaving behind only the faintest lingering friction.

Our next order of business was deciding which of the candidate locations we would actually crown with the most votes and travel to.

“Just to be absolutely clear: the contents of our upcoming tasks are not linked to our destination, correct?” Sanada asked, turning his head toward the supervisor.

Naturally, the supervisor gave no reply. The silence itself was the only confirmation we needed.

“In that case, I believe it's best to consolidate our votes on the closest destination to minimize our stamina consumption,” Sanada proposed to the group. “But if anyone has objections, I'd like to hear them.”

Prompted by Sanada's logic, several students looked back down at the map. There were five candidate destinations, each presenting a distinct set of pros and cons.

Should we choose the closest location? Or should we swallow the travel cost and hike to a further point? At this stage, there simply wasn't enough information to determine a definitively ‘correct’ answer. As a result, each student's personality and thought process bled directly into their opinions.

“I'm good with Sanada's plan,” Sonoda was the first to speak up. Staring down at the map, he offered a frank, pragmatic take, wanting no part in unnecessary fatigue. “This exam is four days and three nights, right? It's obvious we're going to be exhausted by tomorrow. Besides, if we don't even know what the next task is, we should save every bit of stamina we can.”

2

His words were unvarnished, but they perfectly captured the unspoken feelings of many students present. Setting aside those who had retired early, the sheer fatigue and exhaustion everyone had accumulated from the recent Survival Game Special Exam was no small matter. A distance that looked like a trivial gap on paper could hardly be ignored when actually hiking it on foot.

“I agree, too...” Mii-chan nodded gently. Tracing a spot on the map with her fingertip, she quietly explained her reasoning. “Based purely on the information we currently have, there's very little reason to throw away the obvious advantage of a shorter distance. That holds especially true if the explanation about the destinations not affecting future tasks is accurate.”

1

Her tone was soft as always, but her stance firmly supported taking the nearest route. She eliminated unnecessary speculation, drawing a logical conclusion based solely on the conditions presented to us. In that regard, her thought process was very similar to Sanada's and Moriyama's.

On the other hand, there were naturally those who refused to simply follow the flow.

“But that's assuming we take the supervisor's words at face value, right?” Sumida said, lifting his gaze from the map. Rather than outright opposition, his voice oozed with caution. “He said the contents of the tasks wouldn't change, but he never said the ease of travel or future developments wouldn't be indirectly affected. Isn't it just as dangerous to pick a spot simply because it's close?”

It was a highly plausible point. In fact, during these special exams, looking for loopholes in the rules and doubting the exact wording used by the school was practically second nature. The moment someone voiced that suspicion out loud, the seed of doubt, the what if, took root in the group's mind.

“He's right. That sounds exactly like something this school would pull, just like they always do.”

Ike immediately bit onto the idea. Still dragging along some of his lingering hostility from earlier, he quickly hopped onto an argument that suited his sensibilities.

“Going with the closest spot just 'cause it's the normal thing to do is too normal, you know? In exams like this, there's always a pattern where the guys who pick the ‘normal’ option end up getting screwed over.”

1

He didn't have any concrete basis for the claim. However, it was incredibly easy to intuitively agree with him. After all, trying to read between the lines to uncover a hidden trap felt much more fitting for a special exam than simply choosing the most obvious, optimal route.

Katsuragi crossed his arms, dropping his gaze as he pondered the point. “It’s true that we cannot completely rule out a trap. Given the nature of our past special exams, it is perfectly natural to try and read into the rules that aren't explicitly stated.”

It wasn't quite an agreement; it was more like he was leaving the possibility open. Yet, just having one vague affirmation of Ike's paranoia was enough to thin out the prevailing ‘nearest spot only’ atmosphere.

Sumida slid his gaze back to the map. “Be that as it may, if we overthink this, the discussion is going to spiral out of control. As long as distance is the only metric we actually have to compare, any other theory is purely speculation, right?”

Several students nodded silently in agreement with his sharp, dividing logic. It was easy to doubt the rules, but once you started doubting, there was no end to the rabbit hole. What the group needed right now wasn't necessarily the ‘correct’ answer, but a unified standard they could base their votes on.

In that sense, Sumida's words had pulled the group slightly back to reality.

“I...” Kushida spoke up, her voice soft.

She interjected so naturally that it didn't disrupt the flow of the conversation, yet her words carried an undeniable weight.

“I feel like we won't find an answer even if we keep agonizing over things we simply don't know right now. Of course, being cautious is important, but the fact that a closer destination reduces our physical burden is indisputable. If saving stamina gives us more leeway for whatever comes next, I personally think we should prioritize that.”

It was a gentle, tactful way of speaking that rubbed no one the wrong way. She hadn't shut down anyone else's opinion, yet she smoothly steered the conclusion back toward supporting the nearest destination. Her ability to navigate these kinds of social situations was as masterful as ever.

2

“Well, if Kikyō-chan says so, maybe that's the way to go,” Ike said, his expression immediately softening as he effortlessly abandoned his previous stance.

Shinohara shot him a side-eye but remained silent. No, it was more accurate to say she actively swallowed her words. The look on her face made it clear she didn't want to ruin the mood over something trivial.

Ibuki had been watching the entire exchange with profound boredom, but eventually, she sighed in annoyance and spoke up. “At the end of the day, no one here can actually name a single real benefit to hiking all the way to a distant spot right now, can they? If that's the case, then going to a closer place is fine. If it turns out to be a trap, I'll be pissed, but for now, I'd rather just walk a shorter distance.”

Her argument was rough around the edges, but it was rare for Ibuki to reach a conclusion so quickly. She was clearly exhausted and had zero patience for pointless deliberation.

Sonoda nodded in agreement. “Right. At the very least, using distance as our core metric is the easiest way to move the discussion forward. Even if we can't get everyone to completely agree on the ‘why,’ using the closest spot as our baseline makes it much easier to reach a consensus.”

1

With that, support for prioritizing a nearby location had grown significantly. Even if it wasn't a flawless, unanimous agreement, the momentum was strong enough to adopt it as our guiding principle.

Of course, the matter wasn't quite simple enough to end there.

Which of the ‘nearby’ places should we choose? And exactly how far were we willing to hike before a location was no longer considered ‘close’? In reality, executing the 4-3-3-3-3 voting distribution across those locations was going to be the real problem.

Taking stock of the room's atmosphere, Yoshida once again pointed to the candidates on the map. “I'm going to sound like a broken record, but are we really sure it's that simple? Unlike the Uninhabited Island exam where we were free to roam, there's absolutely no guarantee we'll be allowed to move around freely this time. What if positioning ourselves as close to the center of the island as possible gives us a massive advantage later on?”

“Isn't there also a chance that the further we travel, the better our rewards will be?” Shinohara chimed in.

Everyone wanted to earn tokens efficiently, and they all understood the voting distribution required to make that happen. But as long as the lingering possibility remained that our destination might impact the rest of the special exam, it was only natural for the group's opinions to remain divided.

“I understand the concerns raised by Yoshida and Shinohara,” Katsuragi countered calmly. “However, those concerns are entirely based on unsupported speculation. Whether we head toward the center of the island or hike to its outer edges, we haven't been given a single clue about what lies ahead in this task. The only concrete, undeniable difference is the travel distance. Thinking rationally, selecting a nearby location is the absolute optimal choice.”

“You know, you’re pretty damn stubborn, Katsuragi,” Yoshida scoffed. “Have you already forgotten that that exact rigid way of thinking is the reason you got booted from our class in the first place?”

“Let’s drop it, Yoshida-kun. That was uncalled for,” Sanada reprimanded.

Ever since transferring, I felt I had come to understand my new classmates to a certain degree. Unlike me, Katsuragi hadn't willingly betrayed his class; he had been the one forced out. Yet, the hostility directed at him was surprisingly intense. I could easily imagine him repeatedly clashing with his old classmates whenever opinions were divided over class policies.

1

“I'm casting my vote with Katsuragi,” Ike declared, watching the two glare at each other as if the conflict had nothing to do with him. “Like the man said, it doesn't matter where we go, since we have no idea what's coming next anyway.”

Despite the various opinions presented so far, it was painfully obvious that our group was not in step. If we proceeded to the vote right now, there was a high chance things wouldn't go according to our initially solid strategy. It would only take one person changing their destination on a whim to cause the entire 4-3-3-3-3 structure to collapse.

Letting their imaginations run wild, these students were desperately trying to convince themselves that reading into the exam's nonexistent subtext was the ‘correct’ choice.

It was the epitome of confirmation bias.

Opting for the closest destination was a perfectly sound, logical choice. Yet, people couldn't help but prioritize narrative over simple probability and efficiency. They wondered if heading further away might yield a hidden reward, or if choosing a spot nobody else would pick might somehow be to their advantage. They were being drawn in by the allure of an uncertain gamble.

Of course, we simply didn't know if our choice of destination would influence the rest of the task or not. The only thing I knew for certain was that we were actively losing a precious resource with every passing second.

“Personally, I'd like to value our time,” I interjected. “We were thrust into this Special Exam immediately after the Survival Game Special Exam, without even being given a proper chance to rest. I would highly appreciate it if we could move on to the voting sooner rather than later.”

Precisely because it truly didn't matter which of the five options we chose, I considered this entire discussion a monumental waste of time.

“Heh, if that's the case, maybe it's actually in our best interest to drag this out as long as possible,” Ike laughed, clearly still annoyed by my earlier cold shoulder.

1

“This is a group battle, Ike,” Katsuragi warned him. “There is absolutely nothing to be gained from pointless bickering.”

“Ayanokōji's the one who's been picking a fight with me this whole time!” Ike shot back. He looked like he was about to keep arguing, but instead, he just scratched the back of his head and sighed. “Ah, whatever. This is probably useless anyway. Let's quit talking and just get to the voting.”

1

Following Katsuragi's lead, we finalized our class-based adjustments and cast our votes.

“Since everyone has finished voting, I will announce the results,” the supervisor stated. “The final tally is: 3 votes for B9, 4 votes for E12, 3 votes for F14, 3 votes for I10, and 3 votes for I13. From here, Group 3 will proceed to E12. We will now distribute tokens to each student in accordance with these results.”

“It seems safe to assume that everyone played their part perfectly,” Katsuragi noted.

Our group had managed a safe start, perfectly executing the split. Every class walked away with ten tokens, and no difference was created whatsoever.

Satisfied with the result, Katsuragi gave a deep nod of approval. Despite their various dissatisfactions, the other students had ultimately prioritized securing the guaranteed tokens dangling right in front of them.

“None of the betrayers you were so worried about showed up. Good for you, Ike,” Katsuragi said.

“Well... yeah, but that's because the idea to prevent betrayals came from my class, right?” Ike argued. “Before you start complaining to me, you should thank Kikyō-chan. Thanks, by the way.”

While pushing back against Katsuragi, Ike forcefully asserted that their success was entirely thanks to Kushida.

“No, not at all,” Kushida replied, maintaining her flawless, gentle smile amidst the mixed group of classmates and outsiders. “I really wasn't confident in the idea, but I'm just happy I was able to be of use to everyone.” She played the part of the slightly embarrassed, humble girl to perfection.

“Yeah, yeah. Kushida-san really did think of a great way to prevent betrayals, didn't she? I guess the way she sees things is just... completely different from the rest of us,” Shinohara remarked.

It was a stinging, pointed jab delivered in a way that only the members of Horikita's class would understand. Was it simply because she harbored lingering resentment toward Kushida, or was she annoyed that Ike was so openly praising her?

Either way, Kushida didn't let her mask slip in the slightest, effortlessly letting the comment slide.

By the time we finished our trek, it was already past 6:00 p.m.

Following the supervisor's instructions, we decided to pitch our tents here for the night. The students set about erecting tents and installing temporary toilets with practiced efficiency, naturally segregating the living areas by class.

Within the main campsite, the territory was loosely partitioned into four distinct sections, one for each class.

However, the moment Ike spotted me, he shot me a glare and immediately started in on me.

“I'm only gonna say this once, Ayanokōji: don't come anywhere near our tent without permission. And about what happened earlier too—”

“I have no intention of making enemies out of you outside of the exam tasks.”

“Like anyone would believe that. If you think you're gonna get me expelled, you've got another thing coming.”

2

“I suppose telling you I have absolutely no intention of doing that wouldn't convince you.”

“No shit! Even the way you were acting today—”

Unable to just sit there and listen to Ike's rising hostility, Katsuragi stopped what he was doing and rose to his feet.

“Need I remind you that, for the time being, we are allies in the same group?”

Katsuragi delivered his warning firmly. Still, having felt repeatedly made a fool of, Ike’s anger wasn't going to cool down that easily.

“Look, I am calm. But there's no way I can see him as an ally. Ayanokōji is a traitor to the class, and he treats us like idiots. You can't let your guard down around him. Who knows when he might try to slit our throats in our sleep?” Ike turned to me before continuing. “Anyway, sorry, but just keep away from us unless it's absolutely necessary.”

“If one of the sixteen people in this group was guaranteed to be expelled, I might understand your hostility, but…”

“It's fine, Katsuragi. What Ike is saying is fundamentally correct.”

After that, I grabbed my bags and ducked into our newly assembled three-person tent. A moment later, Yoshida followed me inside.

“Still, Ayanokōji... Do you have some kind of grudge against Class A? Or rather, against Ike and Shinohara?”

“I don't hold any grudges. Though, considering the circumstances, they have plenty of reasons to hold one against me.”

“Well, yeah, I guess that's true. But if that's the case, what was up with your attitude during the task earlier? You went a bit far, and some of the things you said didn't even make logical sense. Are you dealing with some kind of issue or special circumstance you can't easily talk about?”

Even though I had answered him honestly, Yoshida didn't seem entirely convinced.

“I mean, going out of your way to leave Class A is pretty bizarre in itself.”

I paused my unpacking and looked over at Yoshida. He met my gaze with a serious expression and continued.

“How do I put this... watching you just made me wonder if you really made the right call. With your abilities, you could've comfortably graduated as a member of Class A.”

“Being in Class A doesn't mean much to me. Even without using class privileges, there are plenty of alumni who have successfully made it into university.”

“Sure, someone like you could probably pass the entrance exams for a top-tier college on your own. Still... after enrolling in a tough school like this, don't you think you might as well take advantage of the Class A privileges while you're at it?”

“Fair point. I won't deny that.”

“You're not even gonna deny it?!” Yoshida laughed, landing a playful smack on my shoulder.

“I'm sure the other guys have already grilled you about this, but have you decided where you're going after graduation?”

“I'll be going to university. I just haven't decided exactly where yet.”

4

Even though I knew university life was completely irrelevant to my future, I had done a fair bit of research on the subject just so I wouldn't slip up and expose my ignorance.

1

For a third-year high school student, summer was the crucial period to narrow down their top-choice schools. From what I’d read, it was standard practice to have those choices locked in by November at the latest.

"Have you finalized your choice yet, Yoshida? You mentioned before that any decent university would be fine."

“Nah, nothing's changed. If I had to pick, I'd say I kinda want to stay in Tokyo. That being said, if I can't graduate from Class A, worst-case scenario is I end up at some local college back home.”

Unlike regular high schools, this school offers a unique perk: the Class A graduation privilege.

Yoshida’s case, for example. His plan was to take the entrance exams for a local college and try to get in on his own merit first. I didn't know if this had always been the rule, but under the school's current system, the final Class A standings are locked in on March 1st, right before graduation. If a student chooses to exercise their privilege at that point, they bypass the standard admission process entirely and are accepted into their university of choice under a special quota.

Naturally, entering a university that far exceeds your actual academic level comes with serious drawbacks. You'd be playing catch-up against fast-paced lectures, the higher comprehension levels of your peers, and your own lack of prerequisite knowledge. There would be no shortage of hurdles requiring immense effort to overcome. But ultimately, surviving that environment simply comes down to how hard you're willing to work once you're in.

Under normal circumstances, high schools and universities have strict enrollment caps, meaning the number of accepted applicants is ruthlessly narrowed down. Add in the pressure of make-or-break entrance exams and the fact that the higher a university's prestige, the fiercer the competition, and the barriers to entry become incredibly steep. But if you can skip all those hurdles and guarantee your enrollment, all you have to do is push forward with everything you have.

Granted, this strategy wouldn't work for every academic path. Forcing your way into medical school or certain highly specialized majors without the necessary foundation might not lead to a very bright future. For students lacking confidence in their academics, rather than half-heartedly using the Class A privilege to struggle through college, it would be far more valuable to use it to secure a job at a major corporation straight out of high school.

1

“Well, before we start talking about our dreams, we actually have to win this special exam first,” Yoshida sighed, flopping down onto his side in our relatively spacious tent.

I immediately told him to get up, prompting him to lift his upper torso back off the floor.

“What is it?”

“You're right. Winning this exam is crucial,” I said, holding out my smartwatch for him to see. “Fortunately, the other classes are tucked away in their own tents right now. There are a few things I want to test out while we have the chance, so keep me company for a bit.”

1

“I don't really get it, but I'm guessing you've thought of something? Alright, let's do this.”

Pushing past his exhaustion, Yoshida sat up across from me as we spent the next little while running through my tests.

By 7:00 p.m., it was time for dinner. Rations in hand, I headed over to the girls' side of the camp and called out to Kushida, who was mid-conversation with Amikura.

“Would you like to eat together?”

1

Amikura's smile seemed to stiffen for a fraction of a second, perhaps the invitation had brought someone else to mind? but she quickly smoothed over her expression and urged Kushida to go ahead.

Looking suitably bewildered, Kushida grabbed her meal and followed me. We walked until we were safely out of earshot, at which point she stopped, keeping a deliberate distance of about a meter between us.

“What are you trying to pull, Ayanokōji-kun?”

“Didn't you say you wanted to discuss our plans for tomorrow?”

“I never said that. Besides, it's not like you actually need my help, right? Honestly, you're just being a massive pain.”

“Is that so? I figured that giving you a chance to prove your worth to the group would satisfy your need for approval. I thought you'd be happy.”

“Don't make me laugh. If it were just you, Ayanokōji-kun, that’d be one thing, but do you have any idea how agonizing it is to be put on a pedestal in front of Shinohara and the others when they already know my true nature? They're just messing with me for their own amusement.”

She punctuated her rant by narrowing her eyes into a vicious glare.

“Though, I suppose I understand that you can't exactly rely on Shinohara or Ike…” she muttered with an exasperated sigh, grudgingly accepting that she had been chosen by process of elimination. “Putting that aside, it looks like you're adjusting quite nicely to your new class.”

“With Sakayanagi gone, they lost their safety net. They probably would’ve rallied around anyone in that position, wouldn’t they?”

“You don't say,” she scoffed.

Her response was brief, followed by a fleeting moment of hesitation.

Yet, just as quickly as her guard had wavered, her usual composure returned.

“If there's something you want to ask, go ahead.”

“It's nothing in particular,” she fired back instantly. But sensing that I'd already caught her hesitation, she let out a quiet sigh. “It's just... the rumors about you right now are endless. I don't believe all of them, obviously, but I've been hearing plenty of things from Class D as well.”

She shifted her gaze toward Amikura and the rest of Ichinose's class as she spoke.

“Still—” Her expression shifted as she deliberately changed the subject. “Having my true nature exposed has been almost entirely a nightmare... but having moments like this where I can just drop the act and speak my mind might be the only salvation."

Forcibly ending the conversation there, she took a step back. She still hadn't touched a single bite of her dinner.

“Sorry, but I'm heading back. I really don't want to draw any more unnecessary heat from Shinohara and the others.”

“Your double life sounds exhausting.”

“It's a little late for that.”

With that, Kushida turned on her heel and headed back to Amikura's group.

It was true that Shinohara was partly using Kushida as an outlet for the frustration she felt toward me. Kushida obviously wouldn't enjoy being collateral damage in that conflict.

Still, that didn't mean I was going to leave her out of things from tomorrow onward. This special exam carried a guaranteed penalty: someone was going to be expelled.

1

Normally, the strategy would be to hunker down, protect everyone in your own group, and just pray that the last-place student comes from a different group or class. But I had no intention of playing it that way.

2

It was far more rational to take control and select the expulsion target myself from among the fifteen other students in my group. I wouldn't neglect laying the groundwork so that anyone could be chosen, depending on how the situation unfolded.

While her priority was low, Kushida was naturally one of those candidates. That was just the reality of the situation.

1

As we finished our dinner, the supervisor approached our group, tablet in hand.

“Seeing as you've all finished your meals, we will now have you take on a new individual category task,” the supervisor announced. “Since you will continue to work together as a group to tackle tasks from tomorrow onward, I would like you to officially elect a ‘Popular Person’ and an ‘Unpopular Person.’ Each of you will cast one vote for the Popular Person and one vote for the Unpopular Person. The student crowned the Popular Person will be happily rewarded with five tokens upon the task's completion. Conversely, the student chosen as the Unpopular Person will, unfortunately, lose half of their current tokens. As a relief measure, anyone holding only a single token will not lose anything. However, if the unfortunate student possesses an odd number of three or more, any fractions of their remaining tokens will be rounded down, meaning they could potentially lose more than half their stash. Finally, any student who votes for the overall Popular Person will be awarded two tokens.”

1

A task to decide the most and least popular among us. Naturally, the eyes of the students from the other classes gravitated toward Kushida. Meanwhile, Ike, Shinohara, and Ibuki all shot me meaningful glances.

“If there is a tie for the Popular Person, no tokens will be awarded,” the supervisor continued. “Conversely, should there be a tie for the Unpopular Person, all tied individuals will have their tokens halved. You will have thirty minutes for discussion, and the voting method will remain the same as before. Furthermore, whoever secures the title of Popular Person will be exempt from being designated as the Unpopular Person. In such a scenario, the Unpopular penalty will automatically cascade to the individual with the next highest vote count. You may now begin.”

Between the previous task and this one, a sense of déjà vu drifted over the group.

“We've done a special exam like this before, haven't we?” Yoshida, who was seated next to me, muttered under his breath to Sanada.

“Yes, it's extremely similar,” Sanada replied softly. “It's possible that this entire special exam is designed to mirror the special exams we've faced in the past. If you think about it, the format of this mixed four-class group is quite close to the Mixed Training Camp, so it makes sense.”

It was still too early to draw any definitive conclusions, but the plausibility of that was steadily increasing.

If that really was the case, then from tomorrow onward, we might be hit with tasks mirroring the rules of the Paper Shuffle, the Event Selection Exam, or the Cooperative Comprehensive Written Test, albeit on a much smaller scale.

Regardless, speculating about the future wouldn't help us right now. We needed to focus on the task directly in front of us, the one where the Popular Person raked in tokens.

Unlike the previous task, which had been structured so that everyone could easily reap the benefits, only a single person would walk away with these five tokens. The reward couldn't be split among the fifteen of us. Given that reality, everyone naturally wanted to be voted the Popular Person.

However, the reality was that very few students possessed the confidence to brazenly assert their own popularity.

More often than not, those who loudly declared themselves popular were the very ones who ended up ostracized.

Even Ike, despite his obvious urge to speak up, chose to keep his hand down. He was well aware that the Popular Person title was entirely out of his reach. More than that, he was terrified that drawing attention to himself would backfire, turning him into a prime candidate for the Unpopular Person votes.

“This task is going to be a headache,” someone muttered. “If we all coordinate and vote for the same Popular Person, we each get two tokens, but the winner walks away with five. Reaching an agreement on who gets the lion's share won't be easy.”

“If we're going to struggle to reach a consensus, wouldn't voting for Kushida be the safest bet, assuming we're basing this strictly on popularity?” I interjected, hoping to cut down on a drawn-out discussion.

“M-Me?” Kushida blinked, feigning surprise.

2

Actually, she might have been genuinely surprised. After all, every single student in Horikita's class had already witnessed the real Kushida. While she likely interpreted my suggestion as a surface-level endorsement of her ‘sweet’ persona, the raw surprise in her eyes suggested she was frantically trying to deduce my underlying motive.

At the same time, Yoshida and my classmates were visibly taken aback. Recommending a student from a rival class essentially meant willingly handing over the biggest payout.

While Kushida directed a suspicious gaze at me, I also felt the inward pressure of her asking What are you plotting? It might just be my imagination, so I ignored it and continued speaking.

“Of course, this is just a suggestion. If anyone has a more suitable candidate in mind, I have no objections.” By framing it this way, I made it seem as though I wasn't forcing the issue. Even so, the first idea tossed into the ring inherently sets the baseline for the rest of the debate.

“No, you're definitely right!” Ike immediately latched onto the idea. “Kikyō-chan is super popular. She gets along with everyone and never gets involved in unnecessary drama.”

7

Glossing over the fact that it was my suggestion, he cheerfully voiced his support.

Kushida possessed two faces. Even though everyone in her class knew about her true nature, as long as the other classes remained in the dark, her public persona was an asset that could be exploited. Ike understood that much perfectly well. Furthermore, his inherently high affection for Kushida was likely fueling his eagerness.

“You... think so? I'm not really sure,” she murmured.

“Nah, out of everyone here, it absolutely has to be you, Kikyō-chan. No question about it!” Ike nodded along enthusiastically, his face lit up with a wide grin.

When Kushida responded with a bashful, sheepish smile of her own, Ike’s expression melted even further, his eyes crinkling with sheer delight as a goofy smile spread across his face.

While Ike's endorsement was unmistakably providing tactical covering fire for the class, from the perspective of his girlfriend, Shinohara, there was absolutely nothing amusing about it.

2

It was painfully obvious that her frustration was spiking at the sight of her boyfriend fawning over another girl. Under normal circumstances, she probably would have dragged him off by the ear and hurled a few insults his way. However, securing the Popular Person spot for Kushida directly benefited their own class.

“Well... yeah,” Shinohara sighed, unable to keep a hint of sourness out of her voice. “It'd be a different story if someone like Ichinose-san were here, but out of this group, isn't Kushida-san the safest choice?” Swallowing her personal irritation, she opted to back up Ike's proposal.

Naturally, this momentum didn't sit well with anyone outside of Class A. Pushback began almost instantly.

“Hold on a second. I get why you'd say Kushida is popular, and I'm not denying that, but just handing her our votes like this is a bit…” Yoshida trailed off, his hesitation clear as he struggled to voice a solid counterargument.

“Then who else are you gonna vote for?” Ike challenged. “Name one person here who's more popular than Kikyō-chan. Go on, I'll wait.”

2

“That's…” Yoshida scanned the circle. He was looking for someone who could rival, or perhaps even surpass, Kushida's widespread appeal. But even if he tried to bluff, no such student existed in our current lineup.

“See? No matter how you slice it, there aren't any other candidates. So it's decided, decided!”

“I'm really not all that great, though…” Kushida offered another modest smile, but her denial was flimsy. Her demeanor clearly left the door wide open for her to accept the nomination.

1

And that very vulnerability gave Ike and the rest of Class A all the more reason to keep pushing for her.

“I get where you're coming from, Yoshida, but realistically, there's no better candidate than Kushida.” I offered this dry defense for the benefit of Class A, though I was ultimately just stating the facts.

“If only Shiraishi were here…” Yoshida muttered under his breath, his quiet frustration slipping past the others' notice.

1

I wouldn't go so far as to say Shiraishi was unpopular, but Yoshida's imaginary vote was fueled entirely by his own personal bias.

“...I see.” Katsuragi, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally spoke up. He stood with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed directly on me. “Your logic certainly holds up. However, there is one glaring flaw in this discussion.”

As expected, it seemed Katsuragi was the first to notice.

“We are letting ourselves be misled by the words ‘Popular’ and ‘Unpopular,’ completely blinding ourselves to the conflicting interests of our respective classes.” His voice was quiet, yet the sheer weight of his words anchored the room. “This group is a mixture of all four classes. Naturally, depending on the outcome, some classes will profit while others will suffer losses.”

“Well, that can't be helped, right? Kikyō-chan is actually popular—”

2

“That's exactly my point. Her actual popularity is entirely irrelevant.” Katsuragi cut Ike off without hesitation. “True, the exam tasks us with electing a ‘Popular Person,’ but there is absolutely no rule stating the nominee must actually fit that description.”

“Huh...? But the supervisor literally said we had to properly decide so we could tackle the task.”

1

“So what? That was merely an instruction to complete the objective. I didn't interpret that statement as anything more or less than what it was, did you?”

He had hit the nail on the head. This wasn't a genuine popularity contest. At its core, it was simply a contest over who could hoard tokens and who would be stripped of them. As long as we remained distracted by the superficial wording, we would never have a meaningful discussion.

“Voting for Kushida simply benefits Class A.” Katsuragi's gaze sharpened slightly. It was more of a check than a mere point out.

“Oh, so that's how it is…” someone murmured as the realization set in. “Right. Whether they're actually popular or not doesn't matter at all.”

“Then the idea is rejected. Rejected,” Ibuki spat, not wasting a single second. But simply shooting it down wasn't enough for her. “Seriously, why the hell should we go out of our way to hand tokens over to Kushida, to a rival class? Are you guys actually idiots for almost getting swept along by that?”

It was a blatant, visceral rejection now that the illusion was shattered. She wasn't arguing with logic anymore; it was pure, unadulterated emotion.

But that was fine. If anything, that raw emotion was exactly what I needed to shift the dynamic.

1

While things were playing out exactly as I intended, Katsuragi's intense focus shifted back to me.

“There is no way Ayanokōji wouldn't realize something of this level. Am I the only one who thinks so?” He fired the accusation point-blank, questioning exactly why I had nominated Kushida in the first place.

"You aren't secretly colluding with Kushida-san behind our backs, are you, Ayanokōji-kun?" Shinohara, who had been nominally on Kushida's side as a fellow classmate until now, suddenly pivoted, aiming her suspicion straight at me.

1

“Eh, w-what do you mean, Shinohara-san?” Seeing the crosshairs drift her way, Kushida immediately cranked up her performance of flustered bewilderment.

But Shinohara ignored the act entirely. “I meant exactly what I said. Well, I suppose there's no way Kushida-san would actually stoop to something like that.”

“Of course not, We had no way of knowing what kind of tasks were coming up in the first place.”

“Yeah, Satsuki, you're taking it a bit too far.”

“And why exactly are you taking Kushida-san's side?!” Shinohara snapped.

“Whoa, hey, wait a sec! There's no need to get so combative, right? I mean, I was thinking the same thing as Ayanokōji, so maybe he really was just trying to pick the safest option?”

“I highly doubt that. Don't think I haven't noticed you doing nothing but staring at Kushida-san this whole time, Kanji!”

1

“T-That's not true at all! I swear, seriously, I swear!”

As the atmosphere rapidly deteriorated into a petty lovers' quarrel that threatened to derail the discussion, Ibuki snapped and kicked the ground in aggravation.

“Whatever, the point is, I absolutely refuse to hand tokens over to Class A.”

“Agreed. We're against it too,”

One after another, the members of Class B voiced their dissent, and the remaining classes quickly followed suit. They showed no signs of backing down.

“Man, come on... this is still better than getting into some weird, messy conflict, right?” Turning his back to actively dodge Shinohara's terrifying glare, Ike desperately tried to placate the group. “What's the point of jumping straight at each other's throats right from the start? For one thing, we'll never reach an agreement like this.”

“Then we should just stop talking in circles,” Ibuki declared bluntly, having zero patience for drawn-out discussions. “Let's just pick whoever we actually want to vote for and be done with it.”

If talking it out couldn't yield a favorable outcome, she preferred to level the playing field. To her, a straightforward clash was the simplest path forward and offered the cleanest chance of winning.

Katsuragi quietly processed her suggestion. “Simply nominating whoever we please might actually be the safest option.”

“I mean, if the whole point is that the Popular Person gets tokens, then voting normally makes the most sense. Not that I care how the results shake out,” Ibuki agreed with a casual nod, treating it as the most natural conclusion.

“However, taking that route practically guarantees that each class will just consolidate their votes,” Sanada pointed out. “Even if we don't say a single word, it's easy enough to coordinate our votes through eye contact alone.”

He was right. If we divided along class lines, it would only result in up to four ‘Popular People’ receiving three votes each. A multi-way tie meant zero tokens awarded across the board.

“Yeah, exactly!” Ike seized the opening. “If we do that, the votes will just split, and nobody gets anything. In that case, it's absolutely better to pool our tokens on Kikyō-chan and boost the group's overall total! This special exam isn't just about individuals hoarding tokens, right? It's about helping each other out!”

2

“You have a point, Ike,” Sonoda from Class B interjected. “I get what you're trying to say. But if pooling points is the goal, then someone from Class B... hell, even I would be fine. The total number goes up either way, so it's the exact same thing.”

“Uh, that's actually a little different, Sonoda-kun,” Shinohara shot back. “Helping each other out means trusting that the person will actually lend a hand when someone is in trouble. No offense, Sonoda-kun, but you aren't exactly trustworthy. Kushida-san, on the other hand, is. Isn't that right, Ayanokōji-kun?”

1

She was smoothly weaponizing the exact logic I had laid out earlier regarding Kushida's reliability, turning it directly back on Sonoda.

“Yeah, that logic holds up,” I agreed.

If Kushida was crowned the Popular Person, she would gain five tokens. While those tokens would ostensibly belong to Class A, if Sonoda or anyone else were to fall into a desperate situation later on, Kushida possessed the reputation of someone who would return the favor and bail them out. It served as a form of insurance for the future.

“Sure, maybe it means our class gets a few more tokens right now,” Shinohara continued, pressing her advantage. “But you can think of it as a value of trust. Right, Kushida-san?”

“I... I really don't know if I'm suited to be the Popular Person,” Kushida replied, her voice soft and earnest. “But if anyone ever found themselves in trouble, I would absolutely want to help them.”

A heavy silence fell over the area, the sheer weight of their competing arguments lingering in the air.

Those were the words of arguably the most trustworthy person in the entire group. Yet, despite that, the other classes couldn't bring themselves to simply nod in agreement.

The core issue was the inevitable disparity in tokens. Handing Kushida the win meant willingly allowing a gap to form between the classes within our group, a scenario they desperately wanted to avoid. Even if it meant forfeiting the reward entirely by forcing a tie, stalling the creation of a clear hierarchy felt safer. The debate had shifted entirely from ‘who is popular’ to ‘are we fine letting Class A take the lead?’

1

“What do we do, Ayanokōji?” Yoshida whispered under his breath, leaning in so the others wouldn't hear. “Do you have some kind of plan?”

I didn’t answer. I merely let my gaze drift sideways, observing the distance between Ike, Shinohara, and Kushida, who remained just beyond them.

A very slight, yet undeniable gap had formed among the three, a subtle rift that hadn't been there moments before. For the purposes of this task, that alone was sufficient.

1

It was nothing more than a tiny seed of discomfort right now, but given enough time and the right circumstances, it would inevitably blossom into something far more tangible.

1

With no clear compromise in sight, the clock continued to tick down. One minute passed, then two.

“Seriously, what are we doing here? We can't move forward if we don't actually decide on something,” Ike finally snapped, his patience wearing thin.

However, the edge in his voice wasn't fueled by genuine anger. Rather, it was a desperate impatience to just get it over with, proof that he couldn't stomach the suffocating tension in the room for another second.

“Regarding the Popular Person, it really feels like that's our only viable option,” Shinohara added, her gaze flicking up slightly.

Naturally, a few sets of eyes immediately gravitated toward her. A clear sense of caution still lingered in those looks, but for the time being, that was fine.

“Basing the vote solely on Kushida's personal trustworthiness, you say…” Katsuragi mused, his arms still crossed. “True, if you frame it strictly from that angle, the logic is sound, but…” His eyes remained narrowed, silently probing my intentions. It was obvious he still wasn't entirely sold on the idea.

“I don't care if the class votes end up splitting or whatever. It just means we're stuck picking randomly in the end anyway, right?” Ibuki scoffed. “So why are we still rambling in circles? This is so stupid.”

“Right? We basically just have to decide what's better: letting the votes split so nobody in the group gets any tokens, or giving the win to Class A so the group's overall total goes up,” Ike said, offering a quick shrug. “Trying to pull off some weird mind game and completely whiffing it is way worse.”

“Besides, if the group is bringing in tokens, we should normally be grateful for it,” Shinohara chimed in with a small nod of agreement. Her comment sounded casual, but it carried exactly enough weight to decisively tip the scales.

By shifting the focus to a simple, easily digestible matter of total profit, the resistance from the other classes weakened considerably.

“...I can't say my objections have completely vanished,” Katsuragi finally conceded. “But seeing as there is no clear counter-proposal on the table at this moment... I am willing to tentatively accept this.”

“Alright, then— are we officially good with Kikyō-chan as the Popular Person?”

When no one voiced a direct objection to Ike's confirmation, a few seconds of heavy silence ticked by before it was quietly processed as unanimous approval.

With that, the first major hurdle was cleared.

“I guess that's fine,” Ibuki said suddenly, leaning forward. “But by the way, what exactly are we doing about the Unpopular Person?”

2

The atmosphere changed instantly, the air around us growing noticeably heavier.

If anything, one could argue that this was the true crux of the matter for Ibuki.

Unlike with the Popular Person, no one dared to casually open their mouths this time.

And naturally so. This wasn't about uplifting someone; this was a discussion about tearing someone down. There was no way this could end peacefully, which was precisely why everyone knew they had to tread carefully.

“A debate where we just try to forcefully shove the penalty onto someone else will only end in a fruitless, ugly conflict. The simplest resolution is for someone willing to take the loss to step forward,” Katsuragi stated, deliberately cutting to the chase in an effort to prevent the atmosphere from turning hostile.

“...Well, I suppose that's true,” a Class C student muttered, and the rest of his classmates mirrored his complicated, uneasy expression.

1

“Locking in the Popular Person during this discussion is enough,” Katsuragi added after a brief pause. “As for the Unpopular Person vote, we simply need to let everyone judge the situation for themselves and cast their votes however they see fit.”

3

“So it's a ‘no hard feelings’ kind of deal, right?” Shinohara confirmed, though a slight edge of irritation bled into her voice. She wasn't dumb; she knew perfectly well that if she voiced a strongly negative opinion right now, she would instantly paint a target on her own back.

Ibuki, who had been the one to bring the issue up in the first place, also kept her mouth shut after that. Unlike Kushida, who had cleanly secured the Popular Person spot, Ibuki was exactly the type of student who was at high risk of gathering the Unpopular votes.

“That's what it comes down to,” Katsuragi confirmed.

“I see…” Sanada murmured, summarizing the strategy aloud. “By choosing not to unify our votes, we are conversely leaving room for mind games.” He gave a small nod, looking thoroughly convinced.

He was right. If we forcefully nominated a single sacrifice right now, the thought process for everyone would remain simple and straightforward.

But by dispersing the target, we were forcing everyone to read between the lines.

And those readings… would inevitably become distorted.

Ike relaxed his shoulders, and Shinohara mirrored him with a small sigh of relief. They exchanged a brief look. It was a perfect display of silent communication, a phenomenon the other classes were now unconsciously beginning to mimic.

Claiming we would leave the unfortunate role up to luck without singling anyone out was nothing but a convenient facade.

In reality, coordinated voting blocs form just as easily for negative penalties as they do for positive rewards. In fact, the psychological mechanics behind a negative vote drive an even stronger need for collusion. ‘Voting as you please’ sounded perfectly fair on paper, but in practice, it immediately sparked a web of mind games. Predictions are made, and people naturally piggyback on those predictions to protect themselves. If that bandwagon effect is left unchecked, it inevitably converges on a single point: the absolute safest, most convenient target.

There was no need to wonder who that unlucky target would be.

Ike and Shinohara were going to vote for me with one hundred percent certainty. Ibuki would read that and cast a third vote my way.

Furthermore, astute students like Katsuragi would anticipate this exact flow and steer their own votes to push me securely into the Unpopular spot.

This silent consensus was already spreading rapidly among the students outside of Class C. It was no wonder Sanada looked a bit anxious as he sensed the current solidifying against us, but he couldn't raise an objection. Since we had ostensibly agreed to leave the vote up to individual discretion, he had no grounds to stop it.

“Well then, since that's settled, let's just get to voting,” Ike prompted.

Short murmurs of agreement echoed around the circle, and the momentum of the room shifted entirely toward executing the vote. Kushida for the Popular Person, and individual discretion for the Unpopular Person.

As a discussion, it was over. At least on the surface. Not everyone was entirely satisfied, but digging any deeper would inevitably expose the ugly reality that someone was about to be deliberately sacrificed. Given that fact, it was only natural that the group wanted to slap a lid on the debate while things were still relatively peaceful.

In truth, cutting the conversation short here was the correct move for the majority. Probing too deeply could cause the wind to shift in an unpredictable direction. Precisely because they had just openly colluded to concentrate their Popular votes onto a single person, no one wanted to touch the Unpopular vote with a ten-foot pole. The superficial declaration of ‘not deciding’ was functioning perfectly as a collective safety measure.

However, naturally, for me who was being targeted, I had no intention of letting the discussion end here.

1

“I'd like to confirm one last thing before we proceed,” I spoke up, cutting through the final moments before the vote. “If we actually leave this up to individual discretion, the Unpopular votes will split. That means multiple students could end up having their tokens halved. Isn't that the absolute worst-case scenario?”

“What gives? You're still dragging this out?” Ike groaned. “Enough already. It's not like we've decided the Unpopular Person is gonna be someone from Class C or anything.”

His words were laden with thinly veiled subtext. What he was really saying was: You're going to be the Unpopular Person, so a split vote isn't going to happen anyway.

“I really don't wish to dig this back up either,” Sanada interjected, likely sensing this was his only window of opportunity. “But... in that case, what do you believe is the correct course of action, Ayanokōji-kun?”

You could practically feel the irritation rolling off the other classes. This was a topic they desperately wanted to sweep under the rug.

“It's a difficult problem,” I answered without missing a beat. “The reality is, being chosen as the Unpopular Person carries nothing but severe demerits.”

“Which is precisely why we are conducting an equal, open vote,” Katsuragi stated. “If that results in a tie and multiple people take the penalty, then it simply cannot be helped.”

Katsuragi's sharp gaze locked onto mine. His words carried an unmistakable, silent challenge: Show me how you plan to maneuver out of this situation. Let's see how you turn the tide.

1

“We concentrate our votes on Kushida, who naturally draws the fewest objections as the ‘Popular Person’ in both name and reality. That guarantees two tokens for all fifteen of us. Up to that point, there’s no problem,” I began, first laying out the premise.

“The issue lies with the remaining Unpopular vote. If the votes split apart, there’s a real chance that two or three students could each lose half their tokens instead. To avoid that, we need to predetermine a single Unpopular Person from the very beginning, just as we did for the Popular vote.”

“Huh? We're only having this conversation because we can't do that,” Ike scoffed. “What are you—”

“I'm not finished,” I cut him off, turning back toward the group. “Therefore, our class will willingly take on the role of the Unpopular Person.”

2

Rather than trusting our fate to some superficial illusion of equality, I was deliberately reaching out to claim the penalty. By doing so, I could steer the situation toward a conclusion that appeared similar, but was fundamentally different.

“By accepting the Unpopular penalty in advance, we can establish a framework where the other classes are absolutely guaranteed to suffer zero casualties,” I explained.

“Well, yeah. I agree, I totally agree! Right, Satsuki?”

“Yeah, I think it's fine. If Class C is willingly volunteering for it, I don't have any complaints.”

Since Ike and Shinohara had already internally cast their Unpopular votes for me anyway, neither of them raised a single objection.

“However, in exchange for taking the hit, I want Kushida to transfer two tokens to our side after the task ends,” I added. “She will gain five as the Popular Person. Even if she hands over two, she still walks away with three, meaning her individual cut will still be the largest among everyone here.”

“Well, if Class C is taking the penalty, I don't mind that condition at all, but…” Kushida began, showing her intent to consent, only for Ike to immediately interrupt.

“Hold on, why does Kikyō-chan have to bear the burden for that? That's totally messed up!”

2

“It's not messed up in the slightest,” I countered smoothly. “We are sacrificing ourselves to ensure that multiple Unpopular penalties aren't triggered. I am merely asking her for a slight compensation to mitigate our damage.”

Since my role as the Unpopular Person was already locked inside Ike's head, it was no wonder he perceived the tax on Kushida as an utterly meaningless burden.

“The logic appears sound,” Katsuragi mused. “In reality, even if Class C receives two compensatory tokens, they won't end up with a net positive. The number of tokens each student possesses at the start differs, but even assuming all four of them started with the bare minimum of two, combined with the earlier reward, their current stash would be three or more. The moment that count is halved, they will lose a minimum of two tokens. The net balance is zero. And if their starting count was any higher, the tokens they lose will only increase.”

Because none of the sharper students had started this special exam with the bare minimum of two tokens, it likely hadn't even crossed their minds that someone could mathematically manipulate the penalty to result in a net balance of zero.

“But something about this is weird! It might be a trap!” Ike protested.

2

“I don't mind if you doubt my intentions,” I replied. “But if you don't like the proposal, Ike, then you are more than welcome to step up and take on the role of the Unpopular Person. Naturally, you would also be entitled to those two extra tokens as compensation.”

1

“Th-That's... impossible! There's no way I can do that!” Ike immediately backed down, rejecting the offer vehemently.

And rightly so. Ike almost certainly held more tokens than the proposed compensation would cover. If he was going to suffer a net loss of even a single token after having his stash halved and gaining the two extras, there was zero chance he would accept the deal.

During the Survival Game Special Exam, students like Katsuragi and Ike had managed to survive for a decent chunk of time without getting eliminated. Consequently, they had started this current exam with a comfortable cushion of tokens. It was perfectly understandable if the idea of someone having three or fewer tokens at this stage had completely slipped their minds.

Because there wasn't a single student in the other classes who could stomach having their tokens halved, it was practically impossible for them to reject the condition I had proposed.

“I wondered how you were going to resolve this deadlock,” Katsuragi said, a hint of begrudging respect in his voice. “I see. So there was that perspective as well.”

Even if the other classes wanted to complain out of sheer dissatisfaction, they couldn't offer themselves up as substitutes. Nor could they openly assert that I was going to be the Unpopular Person anyway without exposing their blatant collusion. I had completely cut off any avenue for a counterattack.

“Well then, I guess I'll take on the role of the Unpopular Person,” Yoshida announced, raising his hand as if this was exactly the moment he had been waiting for. “Kushida, I'll be counting on those two tokens later.”

2

At his overly casual volunteer, the atmosphere froze for a split second.

Logically, everyone understood the concept of someone deliberately taking a loss for the group, but it was rare to see someone actually offer it out loud. Much less in a high-stakes situation where the results directly dictated the immediate loss of one's own tokens.

“Hey, if someone has to do it anyway, it's better to just decide quickly and move on,” Yoshida said, looking directly at Ike and Shinohara, who had shown the strongest resistance thus far. “Besides, as far as our class is concerned, it wouldn't be amusing in the slightest if Ayanokōji somehow ended up gathering all the Unpopular votes by some crazy coincidence.”

While volunteering subtly hinted that Yoshida possessed a comfortable amount of tokens to burn, it served as an incredibly strong deterrent.

“...Well, in terms of actually being the ‘Unpopular Person,’ maybe they aren't wrong, right?” Shinohara muttered. “I still think it's way more natural to just leave it up to everyone and let the votes fall where they may.”

1

Her desire to strike me while the iron was hot was entirely transparent; she wasn't even trying to hide it.

“I thought a group was supposed to cooperate wherever possible, right?” Yoshida challenged lightly, flashing a small shrug. “If we just leave it to ‘chance’ here, and by some crazy coincidence a certain someone ends up gathering twelve whole votes... well, that's gonna look more like an organized voting than a coincidence. And honestly, I'd really hate for our cooperative relationship to completely fall apart moving forward.”

There was no trace of seriousness in Yoshida's attitude. He hadn't been forced into the role; he had perfectly established the outward appearance of a man undertaking the burden entirely of his own volition for the sake of his class.

Since the interests of the four classes would never perfectly align, situations where someone simply had to yield were inevitable. But since someone had stepped up and willingly volunteered to fall on their sword, any remaining justification to drag the discussion out completely evaporated.

“You make a fair point. If that is the arrangement, I have no objections,” Katsuragi said with a quiet nod.

Sonoda, Minamikata, and the rest of the Class B students exchanged looks, but none of them voiced any strong opposition. Even if they weren't entirely satisfied with the outcome, they likely judged that with no better alternatives on the table, they had no choice but to accept the compromise.

Ibuki, too, simply offered a tiny shrug, making no move to interject. She knew perfectly well that pushing the issue any further ran the risk of turning the spearhead back toward herself.

As for Class A, even if Ike and Shinohara stubbornly cast their Unpopular votes for me now, there was no guarantee I would rack up more votes than Yoshida. If a clumsy two or three stray votes landed on me, it would only breed suspicion and ultimately shatter our tenuous cooperative relationship.

“Fine, I get it,” Ike grumbled. “We just have to vote for Yoshida, right?”

And with that, the targets were officially locked in: Kushida, whom the group trusted, and Yoshida, who had stepped up as the sacrificial lamb.

Not everyone was thrilled with the result, but it landed squarely on the minimum acceptable line for all four classes. It was a fragile equilibrium, maintained by the mutual understanding that pushing even an inch further would cause the entire discussion to collapse.

Following the supervisor's instructions, we all dropped our gazes to our smartwatches. The input process was incredibly simple: one vote for the Popular Person, one vote for the Unpopular Person.

In the brief window before the results were finalized, a heavy silence wrapped the space; no one dared to speak.

And so, the task reached its conclusion.

Once the results were confirmed and the suffocating tension finally broke, Yoshida casually flicked his gaze in my direction. Locking eyes with me for just a split second, he offered a quick thumbs-up.

1

To anyone else watching, it was easily brushed off as the small, self-satisfied gesture of a guy who had just taken a hit to protect his class leader. To the rest of the group, Yoshida's volunteer act looked like a genuine, albeit minor, self-sacrifice. Even if they assumed his token stash was relatively low, they knew he mathematically couldn't profit from the exchange.

But the reality was the exact opposite. Yoshida was actually walking away with a pure profit.

1

That was because, through a few prior adjustments behind the scenes, I had already lowered Yoshida's token count down to the absolute minimum of one.

9

According to the rules, anyone holding only a single token was exempt from the halving penalty. Therefore, even after being officially crowned the Unpopular Person, Yoshida lost absolutely nothing. In fact, since he was now guaranteed to receive those two compensatory tokens from Kushida, the entire maneuver carried zero hidden risks.

Shortly before this task began, while we were still inside the tent, Yoshida and I had repeatedly tested the token transfer mechanics. We discovered a few key details. First, the basic condition for a transfer required both parties to operate their smartwatches and physically tap them together, which triggered a default notification sound. However, we realized this chime could be easily muted by simply turning the watch's volume down to zero beforehand.

If transfers could be executed just by brushing two watches together, silencing the notification would be a massive security flaw. But since both parties were required to input their personal PINs to authorize a transaction, there was no risk of tokens being stolen in secret. Thus, the school had made the sound notification entirely optional.

Next, we tested the actual speed and frequency of the transfers. While the system required you to input your PIN again after each completed transaction, there was practically zero lag. Once we got the hang of it, we found we could continuously fire off transfers in about ten seconds flat. You could send tokens one at a time on loop, or dump them all in a single lump sum.

During our testing, we also discovered that the system threw up a severe warning error if you attempted to initiate a transfer when your balance was already down to one token.

The fact that this special exam carries a risk of reducing tokens to zero implies that the rules allow for them to be stripped away during the challenges, not just through peer-to-peer transfers.

However, if a challenge capable of draining three or four tokens were introduced right at the outset, students who started with a baseline of only two would face an immediate checkmate.

My modeling of the school's habits suggested as much. If they intended to inject a negative element this early, they would opt for a mechanism like ‘halving’ to ensure a zero-balance was impossible.

Still, to think I would be able to exploit that exact mechanic this early in the exam... things had worked out almost a little too perfectly.

The previous task had barely concluded before the supervisor began tapping away at his tablet, offering no hint of a dismissal.

“I have officially recorded the results and distributed your tokens,” he announced. “Now, we will take a brief five-minute intermission, after which we will commence the final individual task of the day. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“You've gotta be kidding me. There's another one?”

2

Groans of dismay rose from the girls first, who had clearly assumed we would be moving straight into free time before bed. Echoing their sentiment, murmurs of discontent began rippling through the boys as well.

It was a four-day, three-night special exam. Tomorrow would likely be the main event, but even for a day focused mostly on talking, this schedule was relentless.

True to her word, Kushida transferred two tokens to Yoshida. While some students killed the brief intermission by checking their smartwatch balances, it wasn't long before the exam was set in motion once more.

“I will now explain the final task,” the supervisor began. “This one leans closer to a gamble, relying heavily on elements of luck. You can think of it as a simple game. However, because of its nature, I must first confirm whether or not each of you actually wishes to participate. Should you choose to play, you will be required to wager, and potentially lose, two tokens upon defeat.”

“So participation is entirely voluntary... right?” Sanada asked cautiously.

The supervisor gave a curt nod. “Yes. For instance, if you currently hold two or fewer tokens, you may choose to sit this one out. Alternatively, if you simply do not wish to shoulder the risk of losing, you are well within your rights to decline. However, choosing to abstain carries a penalty: you must pay one token as compensation.”

We were faced with a choice: risk losing two tokens for a chance at victory, or pay a flat fee of one token to guarantee your safety.

“I mean, you'd normally just play, right? Isn't it completely stupid to spend a token just to not participate?” Ike scoffed.

“I wouldn't be so sure,” Katsuragi countered. “True, if your sole focus is hoarding personal tokens, maximizing your participation is the mathematically correct choice. However, if your absolute priority is avoiding expulsion at all costs, paying one token to sidestep a two-token loss is equally valid.”

It was a running theme today, dilemmas where a single, objective ‘correct answer’ simply didn't exist. Regardless, the harsh reality was that very few students in our group could actually afford to casually bleed a token just to sit on the sidelines. In the end, everyone opted to participate.

The supervisor announced the winner's reward, a handsome five tokens, and the task officially began.

“I hold in my hands sixteen folded slips of paper,” the supervisor said, fanning them out. “There are exactly two slips for each number between one and eight. You will be facing off against the student who draws the same number as you. I will explain the rules shortly, so for now, please come forward and draw your lot. Do not unfold your paper until I give the signal.”

Without any designated order, the students closest to the front stepped up first. I went sixth, drawing a folded slip and returning to my spot.

“You may now check your numbers,” the supervisor instructed. “I will collect the slips afterward, so please refrain from tearing or crumpling them.”

Bathed in the pale moonlight, the sixteen members of Group 3 simultaneously unfolded their slips. I glanced down at my palm. The number written there was ‘4’.

5

“Please sit facing your designated opponent, arranged in numerical order starting from pair number one. I will now collect your slips.”

As the supervisor gathered the scrap paper, he distributed a hand of five playing cards to each student. The backs featured a uniform, standard pattern, but the faces were unique: each card bore a single odd number— 1, 3, 5, 7, and 9— arranged sequentially in our hands. Catching a glimpse of the students to my left and right, I confirmed their hands consisted of the exact same 1-through-9 odd-number lineup.

The matchups were as follows: Pair 1 was Katsuragi and Morishita. Pair 2 was Ibuki and Morofuji. Pair 3, Minamikata and Sonoda. Pair 4 was me and Wang. Pair 5, Ike and Kushida. Pair 6, Amikura and Shinohara. Pair 7, Yoshida and Sumida. And rounding it out, Pair 8 was Sanada and Moriyama.

“Umm, Ike-kun and I are both in Class A,” Kushida raised her hand tentatively. “Do we still have to play against each other?”

“Yes. Your class affiliations are completely irrelevant for this task,” the supervisor replied flatly.

1

Given the bare-minimum explanation, Kushida blinked in mild bewilderment but obediently nodded her understanding.

“The rules are simple,” the supervisor continued. “In each round, both players will select one card from their hand and place it face down. You will then reveal them simultaneously. The player who plays the higher number wins the round. If the numbers match, the round is a draw. Once a card has been played, it is consumed and cannot be used again. The first student to secure two wins will be declared the overall victor. The winner will acquire five tokens, while the loser will forfeit the two tokens they initially wagered. In the rare event of a complete draw after all five cards are consumed, you will retrieve your hands and play an overtime match until a single win is secured. Excluding the overtime match, please aim to finish within approximately 5 minutes."

1

By giving a soft five-minute guideline rather than a hard limit, the school was implicitly warning us against deliberately stalling or overthinking. If a match dragged on for seven or eight minutes, it probably wouldn't result in an instant disqualification, but it wouldn't be surprising if a penalty was slapped onto whichever player was burning the clock.

“I-I look forward to our match.” Wearing an incredibly nervous expression, Mii-chan offered a slight bow from across.

She was clutching her five cards tightly to her chest; naturally, from my seated position, the numbers facing her were completely hidden from view.

“Likewise,” I replied evenly.

Then, at the supervisor's signal, the eight matches began simultaneously.

I didn't hesitate. I instantly pulled the ‘7’ from my hand and slapped it face down on the ground.

“Th-That was fast,” Mii-chan stammered, clearly taken aback.

“It's purely a game of luck, anyway. I'm just thinking we should get this over with quickly,” I replied smoothly.

I could hear some of the other students already starting to chatter, trying to engage their opponents in conversational mind games to fish for tells within the allotted time. I had no intention of doing that.

“R-Right... umm, umm, then I'll…”

Based on Mii-chan's personality alone, it was impossible to deduce whether she would open with a weak card or come out swinging with a strong one. There simply wasn't enough data. However, knowing her timid nature, it was incredibly easy to predict exactly how my words and actions would influence her.

By declaring right out of the gate that this was a game of pure luck and actively shutting down any attempt at conversational strategy, I forced her to subconsciously accept that she had to play the same way. Granted, she wasn't the type to excel at that kind of verbal sparring anyway, but my dismissal completely sealed her lips. Furthermore, because her opponent had played a card instantly, she was suddenly hit with a wave of mounting pressure to hurry up and match my pace.

Her fingertips hovered hesitantly over her hand. But she couldn't afford to take her time.

Her hand darted out, grabbing the card perfectly in the center of her fan and placing it face down.

“I'll go with this one…”

“Let's flip them, then.”

“Y-Yes.”

Without even pausing to ask if she wanted to swap her card, we executed our first round. We were the fastest out of all eight pairs by a massive margin. The sheer speed of our match was so jarring that it actually drew the attention of Shinohara and the others sitting nearby.

The cards were revealed. Naturally, mine was the ‘7’. Mii-chan's was a ‘5’.

“Ah―”

“Let's move right to the next one,” I said, cutting off any emotional reaction to the win or loss.

Now, I immediately set my ‘9’ card face down.

1

Faced with my relentless pace, Mii-chan's thought process clearly short-circuited for a second.

The moment I clinched the opening round by crushing her ‘5’ with my ‘7’, the tide of the entire match swung heavily in my favor. As long as my ‘9’ wasn't canceled out by a tie, my overall victory was mathematically guaranteed.

Looking flustered, Mii-chan gave a small, nervous gulp before decisively slapping her next card face down on the ground.

The moment her hand left the card, I snatched my ‘9’ back up, swapping it for a different card from my hand and setting it face down instead.

1

“You're... changing it?” she blinked.

“There's no rule saying I can't swap my card before we reveal,” I pointed out. “If you want to change yours, Mii-chan, you're more than welcome to.”

“Eh? Umm... no, I'm fine with this…”

“Let's flip them, then.”

Having obtained mutual consent, we turned the cards over. My number was ‘1’. Mii-chan's was ‘9’.

1

With that, we were tied at one win apiece. However, because she had just burned her strongest card, my victory was now entirely locked in the moment I played my ‘9’.

“Auu... I lost,” Mii-chan realized, her shoulders slumping.

1

“Let's just play the final round properly as a formality,” I said.

“...Okay.”

Before a completely frozen Mii-chan, I quickly placed my third card face down.

Naturally, that number was ‘9’. The card Mii-chan despairingly revealed was her ‘7’.

“We're finished,” I reported to the supervisor, my tone flat.

At this point, most of the other pairs were still just finishing up their opening rounds.

Right now, Mii-chan was probably lamenting her terrible luck, convinced that the game had just been an unfortunate turn of events.

But that wasn't true at all.

Precisely because the game was so mind-numbingly simple, it was incredibly easy to overlook a fatal flaw in the initial setup: the default structure of the hand.

When the supervisor dealt the five cards, they were perfectly arranged in numerical order. From the exact second the cards were handed to Mii-chan, I had been watching exactly how she held them. If she had shuffled her hand, or hidden the cards behind her back to reorder them, keeping track of their locations would have become impossible. However, she had gripped the cards in her hand exactly as they were dealt.

Under normal circumstances, once the match officially started, she probably would have unconsciously shuffled her hand out of habit. But by playing my card instantly and aggressively rushing her, I completely deleted the concept of ‘shuffling’ from her mind. By making her feel like rearranging her hand was pointless since her opponent was already waiting, I crushed her under the pressure to simply play a card now.

From there, the rest was practically automatic. Because I knew exactly where every number was in her hand, all I had to do was observe which card she pulled and swap my own card to guarantee the highest possible win rate. If she had managed to shake off the pressure in the second round and scrambled her hand, I would have simply pivoted my strategy to using conversation to fish for tells.

It just so happened that this time, even that wasn't necessary.

Shortly after our match concluded, the other pairs began to settle their games sequentially. While a few cases dragged into overtime, the final victors were Katsuragi, Morofuji, Minamikata, Ike, Amikura, Yoshida, and Sanada.

2