Epilogue: A Special Existence

The Survival Game Special Exam had given way to the Token Collection Special Exam, and at last, the long ordeal of six nights and seven days had come to an end.

5

A little after eight that evening, after all of the third-year students were informed of the results, we were brought back aboard the ship and gathered almost immediately in the dining hall.

The only exceptions were the students who had been expelled.

2

They may have already been isolated somewhere, or perhaps sent away on a smaller vessel. Either way, among the students, there was likely no one who knew where they had been taken.

Dinner, delayed slightly by the day’s proceedings, was about to begin.

The dining hall was lined with dishes so lavish they seemed almost unreal after our time on the uninhabited island. Platters crowded the tables, leaving barely any empty space between them, each one offering the kind of food we had gone without for the past week. Many of the students waited impatiently for the meal to begin.

But for the class that had produced a victim, even such splendor must have looked faint and colorless. Around them, there was no bright atmosphere.

“Sorry about that, Yoshida,” I said. “I put a burden on you right at the very end, but you helped me out.”

During this special exam, I had asked Yoshida to take on several important roles. Before anything else, I wanted to express my gratitude for that.

“Nah, it’s fine…” Yoshida replied. “That one thing you said to me was too effective, so I couldn’t exactly argue back.”

He tipped his head back and looked up at the ceiling, letting out a long, heavy sigh.

“If someone says something like that to you, you can’t deny it, can you? Well, it was definitely a lot to deal with, though.”

Even as he smiled wryly, Yoshida slipped an arm around my shoulder and gave it a light pat.

“You two seem to have gotten pretty close,” Hashimoto said from the seat in front of me. His eyes narrowed sharply as he studied my face. “How about letting me in on the story too, Ayanokōji?”

4

“What do you want to ask?”

“You know what I mean, don’t you?” Hashimoto said. “The matter with Shiina— was that really the right way to handle it?”

At those words, Yoshida’s expression turned faintly complicated. It was not difficult to read what he was thinking.

‘This was neither the time nor the place to bring that up.’

1

“I don’t think I made the wrong decision.”

After answering that, I continued.

“Would you have preferred a different outcome, Hashimoto?”

“No…” Hashimoto answered, letting the word trail off for a moment. “I just wanted to ask, that’s all. If you’re satisfied with it, then I guess that’s enough.”

Concluding the topic prematurely like that, Hashimoto leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. His gaze drifted away from me and toward Class A.

“Still,” Yoshida said, following Hashimoto’s line of sight, “don’t you think it’s hard to tell whether Class A won or lost?”

His expression turned serious as he gave his honest impression.

“A win is a win,” I replied. “They secured class points, after all.”

Group 8, the group Horikita and Ichinose had belonged to, had finished first at the goal. By making full use of their 100% multiplier, they had also taken first place in the group rankings, earning both Class A and Class D 100 class points each.

On top of that, Horikita’s class had claimed the individual special reward as well, bringing their total gain to 200 class points. It was enough to solidify their position as Class A, one which had been in jeopardy.

4

In the announced individual token rankings, Ryūen had placed second. The gap between him and first place had been only two tokens. If the order had shifted by even a single rank, the special reward would have gone to Class B instead. For them, that had to be a frustrating result.

5

Their only consolation was that they had also placed second in the group rankings, which allowed them to acquire 50 class points.

“But we can’t ignore the part where Shinohara was expelled, right? Ike’s mental state looked pretty messed up.”

20

“Shinohara getting expelled, huh?” Hashimoto said with a sly grin. “Just what the heck did you do, Ayanokōji?”

5

At those words, I looked around the hall.

Ike was nowhere to be seen. By now, he was probably lying down in the infirmary, trying to rest.

Before long, the buffet-style meal began. At the same time, the third-years were finally permitted to move freely.

Most students naturally gathered with their own classes, forming familiar clusters around the tables. But here and there, students who were close despite belonging to different classes crossed those boundaries, took nearby seats, and began talking animatedly, releasing all the conversations that had gone unspoken over the past several days.

“...Ayanokōji-kun, could you spare a moment?”

The one who approached me empty-handed was Horikita.

2

During our time on the uninhabited island, we had not spoken directly. Judging from the fact that she had come without taking any food, she probably wanted to organize what had happened during the special exam before beginning her meal.

Since we were allowed to go out onto the deck, we changed locations.

And then—

“Including the matter with Shinohara,” I said to Horikita as she stood beside me, “let’s align our understanding of the whole sequence of events this time.”

With that, I began to explain.

1

Every mechanism behind the plan had been set into motion before the night of the third day, long before I contacted Ichinose.

More specifically, it began on the morning of the second day, during a conversation with Katsuragi that lasted less than five minutes.

“Sorry for bothering you so early in the morning.”

Unable to reach an agreement with me, Katsuragi had given up and started to leave.

I had judged him to be one of the most suitable people to hear this plan.

As I watched his back recede, I decided to throw one idea at him.

“I think Ibuki should be expelled,” I said. “Of course, I don’t expect you to agree.”

Katsuragi stopped only slightly.

“Then why say it?”

“I phrased that poorly.” I corrected myself, “I’m going to get Ibuki expelled in this special exam.”

1

“…I see.” His voice lowered slightly. “So this is a declaration of war then.”

He probably had not intended to turn around. But once I had stated my intention that plainly, he could no longer ignore it. Katsuragi turned his gaze back toward me.

“Considering the way this school is structured, it may be the natural order of things for students who lack ability to be expelled. Perhaps even deliberately culling such students is not, in itself, evil.” His expression did not change, but the weight in his voice deepened. “However, I cannot accept that way of thinking. When I was in conflict with Sakayanagi over the issue of class leadership, Yahiko sided with me. And because of arbitrary selection, he was eliminated. Of course, that happened because I lacked the power to stop it. But precisely because of that, I understand how it feels to be the one who is cut away. I have no intention of saying something naive like I will protect everyone. But I will never act from the beginning on the premise that I should sacrifice one of my comrades.”

2

He had watched a friend who admired him be expelled, and he himself had been driven out of his class.

At the very least, Katsuragi’s words carried a definite weight.

“Then can I take that to mean you’re capable of fighting without mercy, as long as it’s for the sake of protecting your comrades?”

“Of course,” Katsuragi replied. “That is my intention.”

“In that case, you and I may be able to cooperate.”

“…What?”

“A representative can be entrusted with a large number of tokens,” I said. “In other words, that representative holds considerable discretion over how those tokens are handled. I want you to use that authority to treat Ibuki as unfavorably as possible.”

Katsuragi’s eyes sharpened.

I continued. “Naturally, the number of tokens Ibuki can obtain will fall sharply.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying. I have no intention of getting Ibuki expelled—”

“Think about it objectively,” I interrupted. “What happens if you act exactly as I told you?”

Katsuragi fell silent.

I continued, “Ibuki will visibly fall behind in the token competition. Once that happens, the students in Group 3 will begin to think the same thing. ‘As long as I have more tokens than that student, I’m safe.’ After that, all you have to do is share Ibuki’s token count anonymously and adjust the distribution as needed. If you do that, everyone will be able to remove themselves from the list of expulsion candidates.”

“That is an absurd proposal,” Katsuragi said. “Do you honestly believe I would take an action so completely disadvantageous to Class B?”

“I’m proposing it because it isn’t disadvantageous.”

1

The moment I said that, Katsuragi seemed to notice the truth buried beneath the surface of my suggestion.

His expression shifted slightly.

“…Don’t tell me…” he murmured. “You mean she’s a decoy?”

“Correct. We use Ibuki only as a target,” I said, “someone the others can look at and believe that, as long as they stay ahead of her, they can avoid expulsion. The real targets are the students of Class A.”

3

Katsuragi stared at me.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

“The ultimate goal for the students of this school is to graduate from Class A. If that is what matters most, then the first priority should be weakening the Class A currently standing at the top and knocking them down. If Kushida or Wang can be expelled, it would result in a significant loss of strength. If Ike or Shinohara is expelled, the damage may not stop at a simple couple’s breakup. Depending on the situation, the choice of voluntary expulsion to follow their lover might arise, potentially allowing us to eliminate two people at once. For the three classes chasing Class A, they are ideal candidates for expulsion.”

“But would it really go that easily?” he asked at last. “Even if I treated Ibuki unfavorably, people normally won’t believe that I would cut off a classmate so readily. They’ll suspect that I’m only being harsh temporarily, or that I intended to transfer tokens to her later. Naturally, before crossing the goal, they would try to confirm the exact number.”

“I don’t mind if they notice,” I replied. “It's actually more convenient if they become suspicious.”

Anticipating how things would develop from there, I explained to Katsuragi the plan I had devised, including the fact that the sound made during a transfer could be silenced.

The ship had already pulled away from the uninhabited island and was now sailing across the dark sea.

Beyond the deck, the water stretched endlessly into the night, broken only by the low sound of the vessel cutting through the waves. The island that had held us for the past week was now somewhere behind us.

With the exam over, it was finally time to look back on the chain of events that had led to its conclusion.

By laying the groundwork, we had successfully conditioned the entire group to view Ibuki Mio as the obvious target.

Katsuragi's clinical neglect, executed under the pristine banner of absolute equality, steadily widened the token gap. Meanwhile, driven by a volatile mix of genuine panic and blind indignation, an oblivious Ibuki played her role to perfection.

2

Watching that raw desperation unfold right before their eyes, Shinohara and Ike had arrived at the exact same conclusion: As long as we outpace her, our survival is guaranteed.

What mattered was giving them a reliable benchmark. A number that seemed to guarantee they could avoid expulsion.

But the token count communicated to all the groups was not Ibuki’s actual number. Ibuki was only the decoy. The number being used as the benchmark belonged to the real targets: Shinohara and Ike.

“I had a feeling Ibuki-san was earning more tokens than I expected.” Horikita said. “There were also students whose actual holdings were lower than the token counts that had been communicated...”

Shinohara and Ike's individual earnings were near the bottom, but they had the pooled portion siphoned from Kushida’s share. Even if they were to split it equally in half, it would still end up increasing their overall tokens on top of what they already had.

“You must have had trouble making the adjustments.”

While acknowledging her hardships, I told Horikita about what had occurred in the final stages.

On the last day, as the end of the exam drew closer, Shinohara and the others began to imagine a certain possibility.

If it’s Ayanokōji, he may already have done something.

Until they reached the goal and token transfers became impossible, they kept watch to prevent Katsuragi and the others from making contact with Ibuki. But even then, their suspicions did not disappear.

Was the number of tokens Ibuki held truly lower than theirs?

They wanted to confirm the true number somehow. The token count displayed on the wristwatch could not be faked. It was the only method that allowed them to see a number that was completely accurate.

That was why we could not transfer tokens to Ibuki until the very last moment.

For Shinohara and the others, they had a two-stage backup structure. Ibuki would be expelled first. And even if something unexpected happened, Kushida would be expelled in her stead.

Under those assumptions, all eyes remained on the Goal as it gradually approached.

Katsuragi and I had both anticipated that the timing required to save Ibuki would be extremely tight.

We had prepared several simulations. Which one unfolded would depend to some extent on how Shinohara and the others chose to act.

The primary plan for that scenario was to have Yoshida, whom we had positioned just before the goal, make contact with Ibuki and secretly transfer the tokens to her. If that proved impossible, we would find some reason to pick a quarrel with Ibuki, prevent her from reaching the goal, and buy time.

Among the possible options, we had also considered using Kushida as a backup plan.

Then, by chance, an incident occurred.

Ibuki insisted that she wanted to punch me.

That unexpected event created an opening. I had Sanada, who had already been given the necessary information in advance, approach Kushida and quickly explain the situation to her. Including the portion meant for Ibuki that we had received from Katsuragi, we transferred enough tokens to ensure she would survive.

“It seems you gave advice to Shinohara and her teammates,” I said, “fully prepared for a counterattack from me."

"Yes...” she said quietly. “I warned them that Ibuki-san being cornered was going exactly according to your plan. And that depending on the situation, the spearhead of that plan might turn towards Shinohara-san and the others───”

“You weren’t wrong to contact Shinohara,” I said. “After all, you saw through the possibility that my attempt to get Ibuki expelled was a bluff.”

“I did feel something was off,” Horikita began. “Even if you told Katsuragi-kun that you were going to have Ibuki-san expelled, I couldn’t imagine him accepting that unconditionally. And he wouldn’t proceed on his own while ignoring Ryūen-kun either. In that case, I thought you might have told them that the real plan was to expel a student from another class. And when I thought about it that way, the target would be our class. That’s why I strongly warned Shinohara-san and the others to keep paying attention to Ibuki-san’s token count, and if possible, to confirm the number for themselves───"

“In practice, I think Shinohara handled it well,” I said. “Forceful as her method may have been, she did manage to confirm the number itself.”

“But…”

Horikita’s voice faltered slightly.

“In the end, I couldn’t protect her. I didn’t want anyone to be expelled. That was what I thought, and yet…” She let out a faint breath. “Things don’t always go the way you hope, do they?”

1

“It couldn’t be helped. The fact that Ichinose ended up in the same group as you was significant. Being able to build a smooth cooperative structure, then unite everyone around the goal of placing high as a group, was a real strength. On top of that, because the group containing the leader could earn a large reward, those elements created a synergistic effect. However, this Special Exam had a dual nature where crossing the goal early was advantageous for winning, but if you considered what would happen in the event of a loss, crossing the goal late was more advantageous instead. Securing both of those advantages at the same time was never going to be easy.”

Since the goal could be recognized by a majority crossing, Horikita could have stayed behind with the phone instead of finishing with the others. Technically, that option had existed.

But there were limits to what one person could handle alone.

More than anything, she had probably also felt that she did not want to reduce their token count by even one.

“If I had personally guided Shinohara-san and the others to the goal,” Horikita said, “the situation might have been different.”

2

“That may be true,” I replied. “But in the end, changing who was expelled would not have been simple. If you helped one person, someone else you couldn’t see would be pushed down into last place next. From that situation, shifting into a system that could protect both Class A and Class D with absolute certainty was practically impossible.”

“…You’re right,” Horikita said. “Saving Ike-kun and Shinohara-san would inevitably have created a distortion. And once that happened, we wouldn’t know which class, or which person, would become the sacrifice instead…”

If there was one fatal point to name, it was probably that Horikita had been made to fight on a stage I had prepared.

By making events revolve around Group 3, physical distance became a heavy shackle, limiting what she could do from outside the center of the conflict.

“Couldn’t you have targeted Kushida-san or Wang-san instead?” Horikita asked. “For our class, losing either of them would have meant losing a much greater asset. Why didn’t you do that?”

“I simply chose to bring down the easiest target.”

That was how I answered.

But the truth was different.

As far as Kushida was concerned, I had only made her look like an expulsion candidate. From the beginning, I had never intended to eliminate her. At the very least, she was incomparably more capable than Shinohara or Ike. Mii-chan, too, was a sufficient asset. On top of that, a new use for her had begun to emerge.

3

What mattered to me was to nurture Class A as well.

If a plant is allowed to send out too many side shoots, the stock may spread, but the fruit it bears will become smaller. That was precisely why Class A needed to choose, one by one, which stems should be allowed to grow.

2

“If you’re going to blame someone,” I said, “blame me, not yourself.”

Immediately after I said that, I sensed someone approaching from behind.

1

“I don’t think that’s quite right. You weren’t the one who decided who would be expelled, Ayanokōji-kun.”

Perhaps she had seen us step out onto the deck. Emerging from a dimly lit corner, Kushida came into view.

1

I had already noticed that she was eavesdropping, so her appearance did not surprise me.

3

“I could have taken the tokens Sanada-kun handed me, kept them for myself, and gone straight to the goal,” Kushida said. “If I had done that, Ibuki-san would have been the one to be expelled after all.”

Kushida spoke on her own accord about the backstage events, which I hadn't thought necessary to explain.

“You…” Horikita looked at her. “Did you decide to expel Shinohara-san?”

Kushida ignored the question.

Instead, she voiced what had apparently been on her mind.

“Whether or not I handed those tokens to Ibuki-san was a pretty dangerous gamble, wasn’t it? When I tried to head for the goal, Katsuragi-kun looked seriously panicked.”

“Maybe so.”

I answered as though I were going along with Kushida’s interpretation.

But the actual truth was a little different.

I had already judged that it would be safe to entrust her with the crucial core of the plan: the tokens that would decide everything.

A judgment of life and death, placed in the hands of Kushida Kikyō.

All I had to do was make her want to eliminate Shinohara or Ike more than Ibuki.

From the moment this special exam began, I had planted a single seed.

The friction caused by the way I treated Shinohara and Ike. I ignored their greetings. I questioned their abilities. Little by little, resentment accumulated inside them.

3

At the same time, I valued Kushida highly and treated her carefully, as though she were an exceptional person worth relying on.

My behavior was blatant enough that even my current Class D classmates began to feel distrust. It went beyond the idea that I still had lingering attachment to Horikita’s class. They could easily begin to suspect that I trusted the students of Horikita’s class more than the classmates beside me now.

It was an unpleasant environment.

And in that environment, the anger that arose would naturally turn toward Kushida, the person Shinohara already resented.

Shinohara’s hostility toward her became intense.

She wanted, somehow, to make Kushida suffer.

I had guided things so that such feelings would emerge.

Once that happened, it would also become easier to disturb the discipline of Class A and lead Kushida into isolation within the group.

Everything went according to plan.

An environment of my own making.

6

“Did you see Ike-kun’s face when the results were announced?” Kushida asked, smiling. “It was amazing, wasn’t it?”

3

During the result announcement that took place moments ago, the two of them received a shock as if they had been struck by lightning.

Which of them would be expelled was a part that even I didn't know.

“Personally, I would’ve preferred Shinohara-san to be the one who stayed,” Kushida said. “But I suppose that couldn’t be helped.”

Shinohara had apparently never intended to hand over the tokens she had promised Kushida. Early on, she had divided them cleanly and transferred them to Ike instead.

But that became a fatal mistake.

At the very end, left with no choice, Shinohara handed ten tokens to Kushida. Because of that, her own total fell below Ike’s.

Shinohara Satsuki, who fell to last place, was ordered to be expelled and fell into a panic.

Ike, in turn, lost himself. When he began to thrash about, Sudō and the others had struggled to restrain him.

Kushida smiled happily as she remembered the scene.

2

“I don’t think I did anything wrong,” she said. “If things had gone badly, Shinohara-san could have gotten me expelled. So all I did was pay her back.”

Perhaps that was all she had wanted to say.

Kushida looked satisfied as she lightly turned on her heel.

“And just so you don’t misunderstand, I’ll say this,” she added. “The only reason I let Ibuki-san stay was because I didn’t think she would become a threat. There's no other reason besides that.”

2

She walked away from the spot, as if to show that a reply was unnecessary.

Horikita may have felt her distrust of Kushida deepen.

My impression, however, was the complete opposite.

There was no doubt that Kushida had shed a layer through this incident. No, it would be more accurate to say she had undergone a major transformation. Once Horikita learned that Kushida had exposed her true nature in front of students from other classes, she would likely come to understand that as well.

“There are still many things I want to ask you,” Horikita said. “I’m also curious about your own exam results…”

1

“Let’s leave that for another time,” I said. “If necessary, I can set aside time.”

“…You’re right.” Horikita glanced back toward the dining hall. “I’ll return to the venue. There are several problems I can’t leave unattended.”

Even if the class had won, the fact that they had lost a classmate as the price of that victory would not disappear.

They would have to discuss not only how to care for Ike, but also matters going forward.

If I returned with Horikita, I might get dragged into something troublesome. It would be better to go back a little later.

2

And so, left behind, I stood alone on the deck as the ship continued across the dark sea.

The special exam had been filled with twists and turns.

And yet, what returned to me most vividly was neither Shinohara, nor any of the others involved.

Only one person came to mind.

Shiina Hiyori.

1

Right now, my thoughts were occupied by her and her alone.

6

After watching Ibuki, Shinohara, and the others reach the goal, I glanced once at my wristwatch.

I calculated backward from the time displayed there. There was no longer any margin to spare.

“Yoshida,” I said. “I’ll leave the rest to you.”

“What do you mean,” Yoshida asked, thrown off by the suddenness. “leave it to me?”

I briefly told him that I had received a message from Ryūen, and that Hiyori was waiting.

“W-wait, what!?” Yoshida’s voice cracked as understanding caught up with him. “If you do that, the tokens will—”

1

“I know,” I said. “At the very least, our chance at the special reward will disappear completely.”

If I crossed the goal here, there was a strong possibility I would take first place. Throwing that away was no different from dumping one hundred class points straight into the gutter.

“Even so, I'm going to get her.”

Yoshida stared at me, confusion mixing on his face. “Look, if we can help her, then yeah, of course I’d want to. But Shiina’s a Class B student, right? No matter how you look at it, leaving her there would be…”

“She’s special.”

3

“Huh…?”

“Shiina Hiyori is─── someone special to me.”

15

“Special? You mean…”

“If Shiraishi were waiting in the same situation,” I asked, “could you abandon her?”

“That’s…” Yoshida’s words caught in his throat. “No, that’s…”

At that single statement that required no further explanation, Yoshida clutched his head.

“Damn it… if you put it like that, I can’t stop you…”

“That’s why I said it.”

“Jeez...” He let out a rough sigh, then gave in. “Fine. But can you make it in time? It’s a pretty long distance.”

“It won’t be a problem.”

“It won’t be a problem, huh?” Yoshida muttered. Then his expression changed as another thought occurred to him. “Ah, wait. What about the tokens you need to give Shiina, and the 70% multiplier? Shiina was only given one token, right?”

“I don’t know whether she has one or more than that,” I said. “But either way, if she only has one, she won’t be able to avoid expulsion. It would also be difficult for us to scrape together twenty million private points on short notice. Right now, the only thing I can do is transfer tokens to her as necessary.”

“Worst case, you’ll end up in last place…”

“That might happen.”

Yoshida stared at me for a moment.

“Wait one minute— no, just thirty seconds.”

As soon as he said that, Yoshida turned away and called out to Sanada and Morishita, bringing them over without delay.

“We’ve got more tokens than the benchmark,” Yoshida said. “Take some from us.”

Morishita narrowed her eyes. “Who exactly do you think you are, Ayanokōji Kiyotaka, demanding tokens without even telling us the reason?”

“We just need them, Morishita,” Yoshida said. “I’ll explain later.”

“Understood,” Sanada said without hesitation. “Please take them.”

He agreed immediately. Morishita, for her part, looked at Yoshida’s behavior and gave a resigned little mutter.

“I suppose it can’t be helped.”

Then she looked back at me.

“This will be a very large debt,” she said. “I expect repayment at least ten millionfold infinitely, if possible, okay?”

4

It was a mysterious unit of measurement, one so strange that even a child would probably hesitate to invent it.

Still, despite the absurdity of her words, Morishita extended her wristwatch toward me as well.

It was nearly seven in the evening.

Soon, the special exam would come to an end, and somewhere beyond the shoreline, the ship would sound its booming whistle across the island.

The westering sun had begun its slow descent toward the horizon. Above it, the sky was shifting from a soft orange into a deeper crimson, each color bleeding quietly into the next. The sea reflected those colors like a vast mirror, only for the restless waves to break them apart into fragments of light that shifted endlessly with each rise and fall.

4

At uneven intervals, a salt-laden wind drifted in, sweeping over the stretch of sand that had yet to fully dry.

Amid that quiet scenery, one girl stood alone.

“Hiyori,” I called out softly, doing my best not to startle her.

4

Perhaps because the yielding sand had muffled my approach, she was a fraction of a second late in noticing my presence. Her shoulders gave the faintest reaction, but she did not turn around immediately.

“I never thought…” she said after a short pause, her voice quiet, “that you'd actually come.”

Her words overlapped gently with the breaking of a wave. The sea was calm, but from this close, each small wave could be heard clearly as it folded over itself and withdrew, repeating the same quiet sound over and over.

I stepped closer.

My feet sank slightly into the sand, the sound arriving a beat late beneath the hush of the shore, stopping just a pace behind her. Then, taking a few more steps forward, I moved to stand by her side. Roughly an arm's length remained between us, an ambiguous distance, not close enough to touch each other, but not far apart either.

“That's strange, then,” I pointed out. “Didn't you agree to go along with Ryūen's strategy because you predicted I'd show up?”

“I had no confidence at all,” Hiyori replied.

1

Her eyes remained on the horizon. She did not look down, nor did she look at me. She simply gazed toward the line where the sea and sky met, as if following it with her thoughts.

4

“In the first place,” she continued, “this cannot really be called a strategy. It was only the hopeless ending reached by Class B, after failing to find any certain way to win this special exam.”

As she spoke, her delicate fingertips moved, lightly gripping the hem of her jersey.

“As long as you're in Class B, naturally a fraction of the responsibility falls on you, Hiyori,” I said. “But that burden is meant to be shared by the class as a whole. Or rather, the greater responsibility lies with Ryūen, who serves as the leader. There was no reason for you to take it all upon yourself, was there?”

I turned to look at her profile for the first time.

The fading sunlight cast a soft glow along her features, tracing delicate shadows from her eyelashes across her cheeks. As the sea breeze tossed her hair, I caught fleeting glimpses of her expression.

1

She showed no sign of relief or joy that I had come to get her.

Instead, she merely stared out at the ocean, a profound sorrow etched into her gaze.

“...I just felt like I had to do something,” she whispered. “I thought I needed to do the one thing that only I could do…”

The toe of her shoe shifted against the sand, breaking its surface just slightly.

2

It was a small gesture. Almost nothing. But it repeated without rhythm, as if her body had been moving that way for a long time before I arrived. That alone told me how long she had been standing here with those thoughts.

“The one thing only you could do, huh.”

In that sense, I suppose you could still call this a viable strategy. If it had been anyone else waiting here, I never would have shown up.

4

A lone seabird cried somewhere in the distance, its voice thin against the evening air. It skimmed low over the water, gliding across the darkening surface before continuing along the crimson light.

“When Ryūen told me, my first instinct was to stay away,” I said. “Or more accurately, I instinctively knew that coming here was the wrong move. Showing up is an undeniable net negative for my class. If my only goal was securing a victory for us, coming here holds zero merit. If I abandoned you, I could make Class B lose a valuable asset, and I could practically secure the special reward.”

I did not know exactly how the group totals would settle, but my decision to be here would undoubtedly impact the overall rankings.

“Then…” Hiyori asked softly, “why did you come…?”

For the first time, her gaze shifted slightly.

She still did not look directly at me. Instead, her eyes lowered to some uncertain point between the sand at her feet and the sea beyond it.

5

“Maybe I wanted to surrender myself to something absurd and irrational,” I said. “I was interested in what kind of emotion I would feel after making a mistake─── a choice I would never normally make.”

7

It was not a lie.

It was the first answer that surfaced in my mind, and I gave it to her as it was.

2

But as soon as I put it into words, another answer rose up in contradiction.

I was forced to recognize that what I had just said was only a pretext

It was not the truth.

2

“No, that's not it,” I corrected softly. “The outcome didn’t matter to me. I simply didn't want you to be expelled. I didn’t want to see a future where Ryūen wouldn't save you— a future where you couldn't be saved. I want to share this school life with you for even a single second longer. That's the real reason I came.”

14

Hiyori remained still beside me.

“I'm not a particularly interesting person,” she replied. “Is there any value in saying such things to someone like me? You have plenty of other friends, Ayanokōji-kun.”

After answering like that, Hiyori continued without turning her eyes from the sea.

“I thought waiting here was cowardly. And then I felt that even thinking of it as cowardly was unfair.”

“Unfair?”

“Because…” Her voice was soft, almost swallowed by the waves. “Isn’t that how it is? To make myself a bait... to actually believe I held enough value to be one... What a terrible conceit. After all, there was no logical reason for you to throw away your chances of winning just to come for me.”

Slowly, quietly, Hiyori laid her swirling emotions bare.

As if mirroring her fragile words, her grip on the hem of her jersey loosened, her delicate fingertips slipping away. Then, as the fabric fluttered in the sea breeze, she reached out and gently grasped it once more.

“That’s not fair…” she continued. “Even knowing all that, I couldn't help but harbor a faint sliver of hope. Wondering if you would come see me. Wondering if you would actually... come to save me.”

2

Two entirely contradictory emotions were violently clashing inside her heart.

“And because you actually came... It made me so happy... but I couldn't bring myself to say it…”

Each time her words trailed off, the soft crashing of the waves filled the silence. Only that rhythmic sound quietly marked the passage of time.

“What…” she whispered, “...should I do?”

I did not know whether I could give her the correct answer.

But there was one thing I could say.

“Right now, I’m fully aware of it,” I told her. “That I am in love with a single person named Shiina Hiyori.”

27

These were the words that should be spoken.

The words that had to be spoken.

4

Yet, the moment they left my lips, I felt a sudden, faint dryness in my throat.

It wasn't simply a physical thirst from expending the stamina to rush all the way out here. It was the sheer weight of putting those feelings into words. It was the terrifying reality that the answer I'd receive wasn't a hundred percent guaranteed.

4

Right now, for the first time in my life, I was completely at the mercy of an emotion I had never experienced before.

Hiyori finally turned her face toward me. The sea breeze lifted her flowing hair for a brief instant, and as it settled, her wide eyes locked directly onto mine. A heartbeat later, we were standing there, completely facing one another.

“I'm sorry—” she apologized.

“I'm truly sorry—” she apologized once more.

“I─── I love you too... Ayanokōji-kun. ...I'm so sorry───”

6

It was an apology for taking advantage of my feelings for her. Having finally spoken the words, she didn't look away. Her tearful gaze remained locked on mine as her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, trying desperately to steady herself.

2

No further words were necessary.

I tapped the screen of my smartwatch, transferring the tokens I had brought with me over to Hiyori. Then, I reached out and took her left hand in my right. Together, we turned to gaze out at the sea.

The instant our skin touched, her fingers squeezed mine with a sudden, desperate strength. She relaxed her grip almost immediately, but the sensation of that fleeting, powerful squeeze lingered unmistakably in my palm.

The ship's booming whistle echoed across the water.

That wasn't a sound signifying the end, but a beginning.

Was I allowed to believe that?

Would I come to know love as an ordinary high school student, and continue to grow from there?

Will I be able to change?

From the pitch-black, murky depths of unseen waters, something reared its head.

When I had learned everything there was to learn about this new emotion, perhaps I would let go of the hand I now held without hesitation.

11

I simply desire it.

Knowledge.

Experience.

Memories.

I wanted to take all of it into myself, to turn it into my own flesh and blood.

Everything is for my own sake.

2

Every action I take is for me, and me alone.

9

That is how it has always been, and how it will always be───

1

That, surely, would never change until the day I die.

6

It was 7:30 PM, and the special exam had finally concluded. With the results scheduled to be announced outdoors, we had disembarked from the cruise ship and were waiting on the uninhabited island. We had been given free rein to wait wherever we pleased.

Soon, the small boat dispatched to pick up the students who hadn't reached the goal would return to the dock.

My chest tight with a restless, gnawing anxiety, as I waited for him to step off that boat.

Concealing myself within the nearby treeline, I kept a close watch on the pier.

I should have just walked up and greeted him openly. But I couldn't.

2

Not after overhearing the unbelievable words Yoshida-kun had said to Hashimoto-kun earlier.

“That guy went to save Shiina, prepared to throw away his own victory. I couldn't stop him.”

Those words clung to the back of my mind, refusing to disappear. They just kept echoing, over and over.

Why?

For what reason?

Just to save Shiina-san?

5

Why would he do something like that?

I couldn't understand it.

No... maybe I just didn't want to.

I knew, of course, that Ayanokōji-kun and Shiina-san were book buddies. I knew they often met up in the library.

But that fact had never weighed too heavily on my mind.

They were just friends.

I had always assumed they were nothing more and nothing less.

But now, everything felt different.

As the leader of a class that demanded results as early as possible, leaving behind significant results in this Special Exam too should have been one of Ayanokōji-kun's goals.

And yet... he threw all of that away just to save Shiina-san.

It was easy to write it off as simply helping a friend.

Even I would have rushed to help without hesitation if one of my own classmates had been in trouble.

But Ayanokōji-kun isn't like me.

The reason I could think of...

The only reason I could think of is...

...Because she's an exceptional student.

Ayanokōji-kun wants all four classes to compete on equal footing.

That's why Shiina-san is necessary───

2

I get it, that must be it.

No.

That wasn't it at all.

It meant Shiina-san wasn't just a simple friend to him.

I didn't want to believe it.

But the sight that suddenly leaped into my vision presented a cruel reality.

Ayanokōji-kun was the first to step down from the unsteady footing onto solid ground. Then he turned back and took Shiina-san’s hand, gently escorting her off the boat.

Her expression held a faint trace of guilt, but beneath it, she looked undeniably, radiantly happy.

I thought it was Karuizawa-san.

I believed that if I just pushed her out of the picture, I would be the one standing by Ayanokōji-kun's side.

But I was wrong.

The one I truly... had to push aside... was...

It was you, wasn't it...

“Shiina… Hiyori-san.”

8

The name slipped from my lips in a faint mutter.

Heavily.

Darkly.

Deeply.

Like a blade gouging a fresh scar into my heart, I etched her name.

1

I knew then... there was no way I would be able to control this emotion───

2