The forest path. Sunset.
The dying light painted the jungle in shades of amber and gold, lengthening shadows into grasping fingers that reached across Ayanokoji's path. He walked alone, his steps unhurried, his mind still processing the contradictions accumulated throughout the day.
Kouenji materialized beside him without warning—as abrupt as always, as inexplicable as always.
Ayanokoji did not startle. He had long accepted that Kouenji operated on principles inaccessible to normal reasoning. There was an intrinsic difference between his unpredictability and Sakamoto's transcendence. One was chaos; the other was order so complete it appeared chaotic.
Today, however, Kouenji did something unusual.
Instead of continuing toward camp, he diverged from the path, leading Ayanokoji to a clearing that appeared, at first glance, entirely unremarkable. Trees surrounded a small open space. Undergrowth clustered at the edges. Nothing distinguished it from a hundred similar clearings they had passed.
Kouenji stopped. His gaze swept the ground beneath a particular bush—a brief, almost casual scan. Then he emitted that characteristic, ambiguous chuckle and turned away, striding toward the correct camp direction without a backward glance.
Ayanokoji remained.
He approached the bush Kouenji had indicated, crouching to examine the area. The soil was damp—recently disturbed? The fallen leaves were messy, but was that natural or the result of passage?
He couldn't determine immediately. But Kouenji's hint was unmistakable: something was here. Something worth noting.
Ayanokoji withdrew a clean handkerchief from his pocket and tied it to a nearby branch—a small mark, deliberately unobtrusive. The white fabric fluttered slightly in the evening breeze, just visible if one knew to look.
"Tomorrow," he murmured. "I'll examine it more thoroughly."
He straightened and continued toward camp, the mystery joining the growing collection of puzzles in his mind.
Class D's camp. Nightfall.
The streamside clearing had transformed in his absence.
Multiple bonfires now cast flickering light across the camp, their flames pushing back the jungle's darkness. Additional tents had risen during the day, arranged with slightly more coherence than the morning's haphazard scatter. Supplies were somewhat organized, stacked in rough categories rather than strewn randomly.
Hirata Yousuke's organizational efforts were visible in every improvement. The camp remained primitive by any standard—but it was no longer chaos.
Ayanokoji's gaze, however, bypassed these expected changes and fixed on something unexpected.
A stranger.
She sat alone on a fallen log at the camp's edge, deliberately distant from the main gathering. Her hair was short and blue, neatly cut, and even in the fire's uncertain light, he could see a small square of white medical tape on her cheek near the jawline.
She was not Class D.
Several girls from the class clustered near her, their voices soft with what appeared to be comfort or encouragement. Hirata stood slightly apart, his characteristic smile in place, saying something that elicited only occasional, minimal nods from the blue-haired girl.
She was not receptive. She was not hostile. She was simply... present, maintaining a wall of aloofness that the others seemed unable to penetrate.
Ayanokoji observed without approaching.
He walked instead to the camp's opposite side, where Horikita Suzune sat alone on a flat stone, nibbling at a shriveled wild fruit with the expression of someone eating for sustenance rather than pleasure.
"Horikita."
She looked up, her eyes registering his return with that subtle shift that was, for her, equivalent to welcome.
"You're back. Reconnaissance results?"
"Later." Ayanokoji's gaze drifted toward the blue-haired girl. "Who is she?"
Horikita followed his look, a flicker of something—exasperation? wariness?—crossing her features. She set down the fruit.
"Class B. Her name is Ibuki Mio."
Ayanokoji's attention sharpened instantly. He had just encountered Shiina Hiyori from Class B at Class A's camp. Two Class B students, in two different locations, on the same day. Coincidence was possible, but unlikely.
Horikita continued, her tone flat with the effort of maintaining neutrality. "She arrived near our camp around noon. Disheveled, with that injury on her face. She claims there was a serious conflict within Class B—that Ryuuen Kakeru's methods finally drove her to leave. She was injured in the altercation, she says, and decided to survive alone on the island rather than remain under his rule."
A pause.
"She claims she doesn't want to impose. She was simply passing near our camp and stopped to rest. She'll leave when she's recovered enough."
Horikita's expression made her assessment clear without words.
Ayanokoji said nothing, but his mind was already dissecting the story.
Ryuuen's methods are extreme, yes. But Class B's cohesion is second only to Class A. A single defector, wounded and alone, appearing conveniently at our camp?
And Shiina Hiyori was composed and unharmed at Class A's camp this morning. If Class B had truly erupted in internal conflict, she would not have been so calm.
The story was plausible on the surface. Beneath it, it was riddled with holes.
Ayanokoji's gaze lingered on Ibuki Mio's distant figure, on the way she held herself apart, on the careful presentation of vulnerability that might—or might not—be genuine.
Ryuuen's pawn? Or something else entirely?
The night deepened around them, and the questions multiplied.
Class D's camp. Night.
Ayanokoji's voice was flat, but his assessment was absolute. "It doesn't sound real."
Horikita's agreement came without hesitation. "I think so too."
She elaborated, her tone carrying the analytical detachment she had developed over months of navigating Class D's complexities. "She arrived with a perfect performance—'sensible,' 'considerate,' repeatedly insisting she wouldn't burden us, that she'd leave after resting. She even proactively suggested: 'What if I'm a spy sent by Class B? You'd be foolish to take me in.'"
"Advancing by retreating." Ayanokoji recognized the tactic immediately. The appearance of selfless concern was designed to accomplish the opposite—to lower defenses, to invite the very invitation it claimed to discourage.
Horikita gestured with her chin toward the scene unfolding across the camp. "You can see the result."
Hirata Yousuke stood near Ibuki's log, his gentle smile firmly in place, his voice a steady murmur of reassurance. Several girls clustered around the blue-haired intruder, their expressions soft with sympathy. Kushida Kikyo was among them, her perfect empathy on full display.
"They convinced everyone to let her stay," Horikita continued. "At least until daybreak. Our class has no shortage of 'kind' students."
Ayanokoji observed the contrast without comment, but it resonated deeply.
At Class A's camp, Katsuragi Kohei's vigilance had been immediate and undisguised—a leader protecting his territory. And Sakamoto's calm openness had been something else entirely: the confidence of absolute strength, the knowledge that no spy could learn anything that would matter.
Here, kindness masqueraded as strategy. Compassion replaced calculation.
"If this continues," Ayanokoji said, his voice carrying a rare edge of negative emotion, "Class A will remain forever beyond our reach."
Horikita glanced at him, momentarily surprised by his uncharacteristic candor. Then she nodded slowly.
"I had reasons for not opposing it more strongly." Her gaze sharpened on Ibuki's back. "If she is a spy, her objective is clear: identify Class D's leader."
A pause. The firelight flickered across her features.
"We can use that. Feed her information. Let her carry back to Ryuuen whatever we want him to believe."
Ayanokoji said nothing, but his slight nod indicated approval. Turning an enemy's weapon against them was sound strategy.
Ayanokoji shifted topics, his voice returning to its usual flat cadence. He recounted his day's observations with clinical precision: Class A's impossible camp, their self-sufficiency, the salt production, the organized labor, Sakamoto's quiet centrality. Then Class C's comfortable settlement, their purchased conveniences, and Ichinose's crucial revelation.
"All discovered strongholds," he concluded, "are occupied by Class A. Every single one."
Horikita's brow furrowed deeper with each detail. Even she, with her pride and determination, could not dismiss the implications.
"Class A has already won." Her voice was quiet, analytical. "The exam is barely into its second day, and they've secured an insurmountable lead. Class C's strategy is conservative but sensible—they'll preserve their position. And Class B..."
She trailed off, but the implication was clear. Class B, under Ryuuen's direction, was maneuvering actively, sending spies, gathering intelligence. They were not idle.
"And us?"
Ayanokoji met her gaze. "If we continue as we are, the final ranking will place us at the bottom again. The points we save will not compensate for what others gain."
Horikita's jaw tightened. "Unacceptable."
The word hung in the air between them, heavy with shared understanding.
Class A: a mountain none could scale.
Class B: a predator circling, testing defenses.
Class C: a steady march toward security.
And Class D: caught between kindness and necessity, struggling to find a path forward that did not lead to the same familiar position at the bottom.
The fire crackled. The night deepened. And in the shadows at the camp's edge, the blue-haired spy sat motionless, a question mark given human form.
The game was far from over. But for Class D, the moves were running out.