The walk back to their own camp was a return to sanity. The quiet rustle of leaves and the distant sound of the waterfall washed away the lingering unpleasantness of their encounter with Ryuuen.
The moment they were back within the perimeter of their base, they let go of each other's hands with a silent, mutual agreement, the unspoken moment of support having served its purpose.
While Horikita went to check on the status of the various teams, Hachiman's mind was already churning. He grabbed his copy of the test manual and found a secluded spot, the bizarre image of Class C's beach party replaying in his head. He began to do what he did best: a cold, hard cost analysis.He visualized the scene, ticking off items one by one and cross-referencing them with the manual's price list.
'Large Barbecue Set (includes charcoal and grilling tools): 20 S-Points.''Portable Music Speaker (12-hour battery life): 10 S-Points.''Rental of two Jet Skis (requires fuel purchase): 20 S-Points per hour. Let's be generous and say they used them for two hours. That's 40 points.''Luxury Beach Lounger: 5 S-Points.''Large Parasol: 3 S-Points.'He added up the big-ticket items. 20 + 10 + 40 + 5 + 3 = 78 S-Points.
He factored in the food, the drinks, the other small comforts he had seen. Even with a liberal estimate, another 20 points at most.
His brow furrowed. The grand total was, at best, around 100 S-Points. It was a significant expenditure for the second day, but it was nowhere near the
"burn it all and go home" strategy Ryuuen had so arrogantly proclaimed. Class C had started with 210 points. If this was all they spent, they would still have over half their points left.It contradicts his statement, Hachiman thought, tapping the manual with his finger. He's projecting an image of reckless spending, but the numbers don't add up. It's a bluff. A farce. But what was the purpose of the farce?
What if they didn't spend any more points? What if they lived frugally for the rest of the week and then simply withdrew on the last day, as he'd claimed? They would still have a hundred or so points left. A low score, but not zero. It didn't make sense.That means they're spending the points somewhere else, he concluded. Somewhere I can't see.
But where? On what? He knew he could sit here for hours, running through every permutation, every wild possibility, and still not arrive at a definitive answer. His strength was in observation and analysis—gathering the data and identifying the inconsistencies.
But weaving those threads into a single, cohesive theory… that was her specialty.He found Horikita by the river, watching Ike's group attempt to fashion a fishing net out of vines. She looked tired, the earlier bravado having faded, leaving a pale, weary girl in its place. He knew her fever was likely taking its toll."We need to talk," he said, his voice low.They moved to a more private spot, away from the prying ears of their classmates. Hachiman laid out his entire analysis:
the itemized cost of Class C's "party," the discrepancy between their actual spending and their stated strategy, and the final, inescapable conclusion.
"He's spending a large number of points on something else," Hachiman finished. "Something hidden. But what?"
Horikita listened intently, her eyes closed for a moment as she processed the information. He could see her mind at work, taking his raw data and running it through her own logical filters.When she opened her eyes again, there was a familiar, sharp glint in them, but it was clouded by uncertainty."Yes…" she said slowly, her voice a thoughtful murmur.
"Your analysis is correct. The public display is a charade." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I believe I have an idea of what he might be doing… a potential theory. But it's… audacious. And I have no way to be sure. I'll need more time, and more proof, before I can say for certain."
Hachiman nodded. That was enough for him. He trusted her ability to connect the dots.
"Take the time you need," he said. He then looked at her, noticing the faint sheen of sweat on her brow despite the cool shade.
"But don't take too long. We're on a clock here. And more importantly," he added, his voice dropping slightly, "don't burn yourself out. We can't afford to lose our decoy queen."
She met his gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. It might have been gratitude, or it might have been annoyance at his perceptiveness. With Horikita, it was often hard to tell.
"I am fine,"
she said, a little too quickly. "I will figure it out."He knew she was lying, but he also knew pushing her on it would be pointless. For now, all they could do was play their own game, and wait for the tyrant to reveal his true hand.
The rest of the second day passed in a state of deceptive peace. Class D worked, ate, and slept, a functioning, if still slightly dysfunctional, unit. The third day dawned, bright and clear, bringing with it the 8 AM roll call and a piece of news that sent shockwaves through the entire first year.
"I have an announcement," Chabashira-sensei said during their morning headcount, her tone as placid as ever.
"As of 7 AM this morning, the entirety of Class C has officially withdrawn from the special test."
The students of Class D stared at her, dumbfounded."The entire class?" Hirata repeated, his voice laced with disbelief."That's right," Chabashira confirmed. "They have all returned to the Speranza, citing a variety of reasons—fever, exhaustion, inability to cope with the environment. As such, Class C has officially retired from the exam. Their remaining S-Points will be recorded as their final score which is 0 ."
The news was a bombshell. Ryuuen had actually done it. He had followed through on his insane, self-destructive promise. The camp on the beach was now deserted, the remnants of their party a ghostly testament to their brief, hedonistic stay.
While her classmates were buzzing with a mixture of shock, confusion, and a certain smug satisfaction at their rival's apparent self-destruction, Horikita's mind was racing. This doesn't make sense. It's too clean, too simple.
Her first priority was the spy in their midst. Now was the perfect time to check on Ibuki. She discreetly made her way to the girls' tent. As expected, Ibuki's belongings were still there. Under the guise of tidying up, Horikita quickly and expertly searched Ibuki's bag. She was looking for the walkie-talkie Hachiman had spotted.
But It wasn't there. But she did find something else: a compact, high-quality digital camera, tucked away in a side pocket.Of course, Horikita thought. Ryuuen doesn't need to communicate with her constantly. Her mission is simple: stay with us, identify our leader, and get a picture of them using the key card.
That's all he needs. The temptation to destroy the camera, to smash the lens and erase the threat, was immense. But she resisted. Destroying it would accomplish nothing. Ibuki would just become more cautious, more alert. And it would be a declaration of war, revealing that they were onto her. No, the camera was more useful as a known variable, a piece on the board she could manipulate.
She left the tent and found Ibuki sitting by the river, moodily skipping stones."Your class has withdrawn, Ibuki-san,"
Horikita said, her voice neutral. "There is nothing left for you to accomplish here. No points to save. Are you not planning on returning to the ship with them?"Ibuki didn't look at her. "I told you, I was kicked out," she grumbled. "The last thing I want is to see their stupid faces right now. I'd rather stay here."
It was a good excuse, plausible on the surface. But it wasn't enough to quell Horikita's suspicion.Her next stop was the Class B camp. She needed to confirm the status of the other spy. As she approached, she saw Ichinose, who greeted her with a warm but concerned smile."Did you hear about Class C?" Ichinose asked."I did," Horikita replied. "Is your guest, Kaneda-kun, still here?
"Ichinose's smile tightened. "Yes. He claims he has no desire to rejoin them. We're keeping a very close eye on him, as you advised.
"This confirmed it. Two spies, both remaining on the island after their entire class has quit. This wasn't a coincidence; it was a coordinated operation. Horikita's mind began to connect the dots, forming a clearer picture of Ryuuen's grand, audacious plan.
She returned to her own camp and found Hachiman, predictably, trying to nap in his hammock. She laid out the new information for him."It's a two-pronged attack," she began.
"But there are two possibilities for Ryuuen's current location. Possibility one: he has returned to the cruise ship along with his class and is giving orders to Ibuki and Kaneda from there. One of them might even be the real leader, left behind to submit the 'Guess the Leader' form on the final day."Hachiman slowly opened his eyes, considering this.
"It's possible," he conceded. "But it doesn't fit his character profile. Remember what we saw at his camp? He had the walkie-talkie right next to him. Not with one of his underlings, but with him. Ryuuen doesn't trust anyone. He's a micromanager, a tyrant who needs to be in direct control at all times. He would never entrust such a critical part of his plan to subordinates like Ibuki or Kaneda while he sits comfortably on a ship miles away."
Hachiman's analysis resonated with her own gut feeling. He was right. Ryuuen wouldn't delegate.
"Which means he is still on this island," she said, the conclusion clicking into place. "Hiding somewhere. And that also means… he is the leader of Class C." It was the only thing that made sense. He was the only one he trusted with such a vital role."Exactly," Hachiman agreed. "The mass withdrawal is a smokescreen. He's made everyone, including the teachers, believe his class is out of the game.
He's made himself invisible."Horikita paced in front of his hammock, the final pieces of the puzzle falling into her mind with a dizzying clarity."And I know where the rest of his points went," she said, her voice low and filled with a grudging admiration for her rival's sheer audacity.Hachiman sat up slightly, his interest piqued. "Where?".
Hachiman sat up fully in his hammock, the puzzle of Ryuuen's profligate spending and sudden withdrawal hanging unsolved in the air between them. "So where did the rest of his points go, Horikita? Don't leave me in suspense."
Horikita took a deep breath, the sheer audacity of her theory still astonishing her. "He didn't spend them on his own class," she stated, her voice low and even. "He spent them on Class A."
The statement was so completely out of left field that Hachiman just stared at her, blinking. "What? That makes zero sense. Why would Ryuuen, the guy who tried to sabotage us, suddenly start playing charity for the top class?"
"It's not charity," Horikita explained, her mind now working at full speed as she laid out the intricate web of deceit. "It's a contract. Think about it. Ryuuen sent spies to our camp and to Class B's camp. But Class A? Nothing. That's not an oversight; it's a deliberate omission. It means Class A and Class C have a temporary truce, an alliance."
She began to pace, ticking off the points as if she were presenting a legal case.
"The contract, as I envision it, is a two-part deal. Part one: Class C uses their remaining S-Points—let's say 110 points, based on your calculations—to purchase necessary supplies *for* Class A. Tents, food, tools, whatever Katsuragi needs. This is why Class C's party looked so cheap in comparison to their total budget. They weren't spending it on themselves."
Hachiman's mind was reeling, trying to process the sheer cunning of it. "Okay, but that still doesn't answer the question. *Why*? What does Ryuuen get out of this? He's not the type to do favors."
"Which brings me to part two of the contract," Horikita said, her eyes glinting. "In return for Class C's material support in this exam, Class A agrees to pay them. Not with S-Points, but with something far more valuable in the long run: *private points*. A monthly tribute, a percentage of their allowance, transferred directly to Ryuuen's account. Maybe until the end of this year, maybe even until we graduate. Ryuuen has sacrificed this one exam for a guaranteed, long-term stream of income."
The sheer, mercenary brilliance of it left Hachiman momentarily speechless. Ryuuen had essentially sold his class's chances in this test for a future fortune. But Hachiman, ever the cynic, saw the flaw. "But why would *Katsuragi* agree to that? Private points are the lifeblood of this school. Mortgaging his entire class's future for a short-term advantage in one special exam… it seems incredibly reckless, especially for a man you described as 'cautious'."
"Normally, yes," Horikita agreed. "But this brings us to the third, and most critical, point: the civil war in Class A." She leaned in, her voice dropping. "Katsuragi is locked in a power struggle with Sakayanagi. The class is divided. With Sakayanagi absent from this exam, this is Katsuragi's one and only chance to score a decisive victory. If he can lead his class to a first-place finish, securing a massive influx of Class Points, he'll win the support of the neutral students. He might even sway some from Sakayanagi's faction. He's not just fighting for this exam; he's fighting for control of his class."
"Even so," Hachiman countered, "bleeding private points for months, maybe years, just to buy 110 S-Points worth of supplies? The math is still bad. It feels like a losing deal for Katsuragi."
"I agree," Horikita said, a faint, predatory smile now playing on her lips. "It would be a losing deal… if that was the *only* thing Katsuragi was getting." She paused, letting the suspense build. "I told you I found a camera in Ibuki's bag."
"Yeah, to take a picture of our leader," Hachiman said. "We established that."
"But you yourself said Ryuuen doesn't trust anyone,"
Horikita reminded him. "So why would he need his pawn, Ibuki, to take a photo as proof for *him*? He already knows who our leader is, or he will soon enough. The mission is mutually beneficial for both of them; there's no need for proof between master and servant."
She leaned closer. "The camera isn't for Ryuuen. The photo is for someone else."
It clicked. The final, devastating piece of the puzzle slammed into place in Hachiman's mind. His eyes widened.
"Katsuragi."
"Bingo,"
Horikita confirmed, her smile widening. "That's the real core of the contract. It's not just about supplies. Ryuuen has promised to deliver Katsuragi the identity of all three rival class leaders. With Ibuki in our camp and Kaneda in Class B's, he's in the perfect position to do it. If Ryuuen's information is correct, Katsuragi can gain 50 points for each correct guess—a total of 150 Bonus Points. It's a massive, game-changing advantage that could all but guarantee him first place."
The full scope of the plan was now laid bare. It was a multi-layered masterpiece of manipulation. Ryuuen sacrifices one test to become rich. Katsuragi mortgages his class's future to win his civil war. And Class D and Class B were the unwitting pawns in their high-stakes game.
"He's betting everything on this exam," Hachiman breathed, a grudging respect for Katsuragi's gamble warring with his contempt for the underhanded tactics. "If he secures first place, he'll be a hero, the undisputed leader of Class A." He looked at Horikita, a dark grin spreading across his own face.
"…*if* he gets first place, that is."
The revelation of Ryuuen and Katsuragi's intricate contract hung in the air between them, a testament to the complex, merciless nature of the school. Hachiman, however, wasn't finished. His mind had already moved on to the next logical step.
"Okay," he said, his voice low and serious. "So we know Ryuuen is still on the island, hiding. We're almost certain he's the leader of Class C. The question is, are we going to share this information with Class B?"
Horikita didn't have to think for long. "No," she stated, her decision swift and absolute.
"No?" Hachiman repeated, raising an eyebrow. "But they're our allies. Sharing this would help them, and it would further cripple Ryuuen's chances if they also guess his identity correctly."
"Our alliance is a temporary truce, Hikigaya-kun, born of convenience," Horikita countered, her voice as cold as steel. "Sooner or later, that truce will end, and they will be our competitors once again. I have already repaid our debt to them for the Sudou case by revealing Class A's leader. That puts us on even footing. To give them more, to hand them another 50 points with nothing to gain for ourselves, is not a strategic move; it's an act of charity we cannot afford."
Hachiman nodded slowly, a faint smirk on his lips. "Cold. Ruthless. Efficient. I approve." It was the exact conclusion he would have come to. She was learning.
As they stood there in the quiet clearing, a sudden, inexplicable chill ran down Hachiman's spine. It had nothing to do with the evening air. It was the primal, instinctual feeling of being watched. His gaze darted around, scanning the dense foliage, the deep shadows between the trees. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
"What is it?" Horikita asked, noticing the sudden tension in his posture.
"I feel like we're being watched," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "Like someone just heard our entire conversation."
Horikita's eyes widened, and she too began to scan their surroundings, her heart giving a nervous thud. The golden light of the setting sun filtered through the leaves, creating a deceptive, dappled peace. They saw nothing. No movement, no sign of another person. Just the quiet sounds of the forest.
After a long, tense moment, she let out a breath. "There's no one here, Hikigaya-kun,"
she said, her tone laced with sarcasm to cover her own brief flicker of fear.
"Maybe you haven't had enough sunlight today. Perhaps you need to photosynthesize a bit more to prevent these hallucinations."
"Maybe," Hachiman replied, his usual deadpan response not entirely masking the lingering unease. The feeling was gone as quickly as it had come, but it left a residue of paranoia in its wake.
***
Horikita's diligence was finally rewarded on the night of the fourth day. Her fever had worsened, a constant, throbbing ache behind her eyes and a persistent chill that made the rough fabric of her hammock feel like ice. Sleep was a distant, mocking luxury. But her exhaustion served a purpose. It kept her awake, her senses on high alert.
Around what she guessed was 2 AM, when the camp was at its quietest and the fire had died down to a bed of glowing orange coals, she saw it. A shadow detaching itself from the girls' tent. It was Ibuki.
Horikita remained perfectly still, her breathing even, watching through slitted eyelids. Ibuki moved with a stealthy, practiced grace. She crept over to the area where the boys had left their bags, her eyes darting around to make sure no one was stirring. She located Ike Kanji's backpack, unzipped it silently, and slipped something inside. Then, just as quickly and quietly as she had come, she returned to the tent.
The entire operation took less than a minute.
Horikita waited, her heart pounding, giving Ibuki ample time to settle back into a fake sleep. Then, she carefully extracted herself from her hammock. The world tilted for a moment, a wave of dizziness washing over her, but she steadied herself against a tree and made her way to Ike's bag.
She reached inside, her fingers closing around the object Ibuki had planted. She pulled it out. It was a piece of women's underwear.
*A classic, childish, and disgusting but devastatingly effective tactic,* Horikita thought, a grim understanding dawning on her. In the morning, the owner of this underwear would "discover" it was missing. A search would be conducted.
It would be found in Ike's bag.
Chaos would erupt. The fragile trust between the boys and girls would be shattered. The class would descend into a maelstrom of accusations and infighting, completely paralyzing their ability to function for the remainder of the exam. It was a textbook divide-and-conquer strategy, and Ike, with his perverted reputation, was the perfect scapegoat.
She couldn't just return the underwear. She had no idea whose it was, and to be caught rummaging through the girls' belongings would make *her* a suspect. So, she did the only logical thing. She folded the piece of evidence and tucked it securely into her own pocket. She would save the innocent, idiotic Ike from the frame-up.
But she wouldn't expose Ibuki. Not yet.
*This can be used,* she thought, her mind working through the strategic possibilities despite the fog of her fever. *Let the conflict happen. Let the class divide. It will give Ibuki a false sense of security. She will believe her plan is working, that we are falling apart. And a confident enemy is a careless enemy.*
She made her way back to her hammock, a wave of shivers racking her body. She knew that tomorrow would be an eventful, exhausting day of manufactured drama and social manipulation. And she, in her worsening condition, would have to be the one to navigate it all. She closed her eyes, the stolen underwear a cold, secret weight in her pocket, and mentally prepared herself for the storm to come.
Horikita woke before the sun, a feat made easier by the fact that she hadn't truly slept. The night had been a long, restless battle against her worsening fever, her body aching and her mind a chaotic swirl of strategy and suspicion. The first gray light of dawn was filtering through the canopy as she sat up, the stolen underwear in her pocket a cold, tangible reminder of the day's coming storm. Her primary objective this morning: identify the owner.
She watched as, one by one, the other girls began to stir, emerging from the main tent with yawns and sleepy stretches. Her gaze was sharp, analytical, looking for any sign of distress, any girl who seemed unusually flustered or was discreetly searching through her belongings.
It didn't take long. A small commotion began to bubble up around one of the two large tents. Girls were gathering, their voices a mixture of confusion and concern. Horikita pushed herself to her feet, her body protesting with a wave of dizziness, and walked over.
At the center of the huddle was Karuizawa Kei. But this was not the Karuizawa that Horikita, or indeed the rest of the class, was used to seeing. The usual confident, almost arrogant smirk was gone. The sharp, intimidating glare she used to keep the other girls in line had vanished. In its place was a girl on the verge of tears, her face pale, her hands clutching a small, now-empty pouch from her bag.
"I can't find it," Karuizawa was saying, her voice trembling. "I've looked everywhere. It's… it's gone."
"Are you sure, Kei-chan?" one of her friends asked, looking concerned. "Maybe it just got mixed in with someone else's stuff?"
"No! I know where I put it!" Karuizawa insisted, her voice cracking. "Someone… someone stole my underwear."
The accusation hung in the air, ugly and immediate. Kushida and a quiet, gentle girl named Mii-chan immediately moved in to comfort the distraught Karuizawa, rubbing her back and offering soothing words.
Horikita watched the scene, her mind a whirlwind. This… was not the reaction she had expected. Karuizawa Kei was the undisputed leader of the "gyaru" faction, the queen bee of the Class D girls. Her influence was immense, solidified even further by her public relationship with the class's most popular boy, Hirata Yosuke. Horikita had expected her to be furious. She had expected a righteous, indignant rage. She had pictured Karuizawa storming over to the boys' camp, accusations flying, ready to tear them apart with her sharp tongue.
But this… this was different. This was the reaction of a victim. She was crying, showing a vulnerability that seemed completely at odds with the strong, almost tyrannical persona she projected.
*It doesn't match,* Horikita thought, a new, fascinating puzzle presenting itself to her. *This personality… it's a fake. It's a facade. A shield she's wearing to protect something.* But what? And what about her relationship with Hirata? It was a social powerhouse of a pairing, the handsome, popular boy and the beautiful, influential girl. It seemed natural, inevitable. But Horikita, an unwilling observer of social dynamics, had noticed the cracks. They were always together, but there was no real intimacy. They still called each other "Hirata-kun" and "Karuizawa-san." There were no casual touches, no shared private jokes. Theirs was a relationship that seemed to exist only for public consumption. Was that fake, too?
A sudden, jarring realization struck Horikita with the force of a physical blow. She was the acting leader, the supposed strategist of Class D. And yet… she didn't know the first thing about her classmates. She didn't know their fears, their motivations, their secrets. She didn't know why Ike was so desperate for attention, why Sudou was so fiercely protective of his passion for basketball, or what insecurities drove Yukimura's academic pride.
She looked over at Hachiman's hammock, where he was just beginning to stir, likely awakened by the growing noise. He was her first friend. The only person in her life she had willingly let into her isolated world. And she knew next to nothing about him, either. She didn't know about his family, his past, why his eyes held such a profound and weary cynicism.
She had been treating them all as pieces on a chessboard. Pawns, knights, rooks, each with a specific function and value in her grand strategy to reach Class A. She had never once stopped to consider that each piece had a history, a will, a soul of its own.
Her fever-induced headache flared, but this time it was mixed with a new, unfamiliar ache. An ache of profound, humbling ignorance. How could she possibly lead a class of people she didn't even understand?
The revelation settled into Horikita's mind, a cold, hard truth. She had been playing chess, but her pieces were people, and she didn't know the first thing about them.
*Class D… the class of defects.*
The label, which had once been a source of personal insult, now took on a new, more nuanced meaning. The school hadn't just thrown the academically weakest students together. It was more complicated than that. It was a carefully curated collection of imbalances.
There were students with academic ability but a clear lack of physical or social strength, like Yukimura or the gentle Mii-chan. There were others with immense physical talent but severe academic deficiencies, like Sudou or Onodera. Then there were the personality defects. Her own was a prime example: a fierce, self-imposed isolation, an inability to trust or rely on others. It was a flaw she was only now, thanks to the relentless, grating presence of Hikigaya Hachiman, beginning to fix. And then there was Koenji, whose defect was a narcissism so profound it bordered on a separate plane of existence. It was self-explanatory.
But what about the others? What was Karuizawa hiding behind her gyaru queen facade? What was Hirata's reason for his almost pathological need to please everyone? What about the quiet ones, the ones who faded into the background? What were their flaws, their secrets, their reasons for being cast into the school's dumping ground?
She came to a stark conclusion. If Class D was ever to truly function, to truly compete, they couldn't just be a collection of disparate parts, managed by her and Hachiman. They needed to open up, to trust each other, to understand each other's strengths so they could cover for each other's weaknesses. They needed to overcome their defects *together*.
But that was a grand, long-term project. A problem for another day. Right now, she had two immediate objectives. First, deal with the spy, Ibuki. And second, settle this underwear matter before it tore the class apart.
On cue, as if summoned by the rising tension, the boys began to stir from their hammocks, drawn by the sound of Karuizawa's sobbing and the concerned chatter of the girls.
"What's going on?" Ike asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Yeah, what's all the noise?" Sudou grumbled, looking over with a mixture of annoyance and concern.
Horikita looked at the two emerging factions: the tearful, accusing girls and the confused, defensive boys. She looked at Ibuki, who was standing at the edge of the group, a mask of feigned concern on her face, but with a flicker of triumphant satisfaction in her eyes that only Horikita could see. She felt the throbbing ache of her fever, the heavy weight of exhaustion, and the immense, complicated task of managing forty deeply flawed individuals.
A profound, bone-deep sense of weariness washed over her. It was a feeling she wasn't used to, a cynical apathy that felt distinctly foreign, yet strangely familiar. It was the kind of feeling she often saw in the dead, fish-like eyes of the boy who was now her only friend. *Is Hikigaya-kun rubbing off on me?* she wondered with a hint of alarm.
As she prepared to step forward, to insert herself into the heart of the coming storm, a single, crystal-clear thought rose to the surface of her tired mind, a perfect, succinct summary of the entire, ridiculous situation.
***'What a drag.'***
...End...