Chapter 036: Kushida: What Will Become of Our Class D!
The morning schedule progressed in an orderly fashion. One hundred meters, hurdles, three-legged race, two hundred meters, obstacle course—one event after another, the announcements over the PA system almost never stopped.
As each event was completed, the scores were updated on the bulletin board.
Hachiman stood before the board with a notebook, recording the points earned by each Class A student stroke by stroke.
"One hundred meters, Shibata first in the first heat, 15 points. Kanzaki first in the second heat, 15 points. I was second in the fourth heat, 12 points..." Ichinose stood beside him, helping him verify the numbers. her handwriting was neat, every digit written clearly.
As a class with strong cohesion, Hachiman recorded these details with the intent to reward these outstanding students once the Sports Festival concluded.
In any other class, this might be unnecessary, but for Class A, it was a feasible gesture.
"The two hundred meters is much the same," Hachiman said. "We've taken the points we were supposed to get in the mandatory events."
Ichinose nodded and closed the notebook. "The next events are the key."
For Hachiman, that meant...
The Pole-Toppling Competition (Boutaoshi).
A male-only event.
Two thick wooden poles were erected on the sandy field, one guarded by the Red Team and one by the White Team. The rules were simple—topple the flag of the opposing camp within the time limit to win. It was crude, direct, and lacked any fluff. The rules stated "explicit violent punching and kicking are prohibited," but physical contact such as pushing and pulling was permitted.
The victory condition was a best-of-three format.
Hachiman stood at the edge of the field, watching the staff set up the two poles. They were roughly three meters high, fixed into the sand at the base, with a flag hanging at the top. The red flag snapped in the wind; the white flag hung quietly.
Round One:
Red Team: Class A defending, Class C attacking. White Team: Class B defending, Class D attacking.
This was the arrangement he had coordinated with Ryuen. Class A would hold their own flag, while Class C would go to topple the White Team's.
It wasn't because he thought Class A couldn't hold their own; he simply didn't want Class A students to get injured during an assault. In an event like Pole-Toppling, the probability of injury was far too high. Naturally, the core reason was that Ryuen would undoubtedly be unable to resist breaking the rules in this setting, so Hachiman had to create the conditions for him to do so.
Well, at least that was the explanation he gave Ryuen.
"Everyone from Class A, come here." Hachiman clapped his hands, gathering the boys. Aside from Hachiman, there were nineteen boys, all circling him now. Shibata Souta stood at the front with Kanzaki Ryuji beside him, everyone's eyes fixed on Hachiman.
"We are responsible for defense," Hachiman said. "Hold the pole, don't let anyone from the White Team touch it. No need to attack, no need to take risks. Just hold it."
Shibata scratched his head. "So we're the shields?"
"Pretty much," Hachiman said. "But shields are important. Only if you hold the rear can Ryuen and his group attack with peace of mind."
Shibata thought for a moment and then nodded. No one else objected. Class A students had grown accustomed to following Hachiman's arrangements. It wasn't because they lacked their own opinions, but because they knew Hikigaya-kun's decisions were never wrong.
Across the field, the White Team boys had also gathered.
The thirty-nine boys from Class B and Class D were split into two groups. Class B was on defense, Class D on offense. Katsuragi Kohei stood at the front of the Class B line, his bald head glinting in the sun. His expression was steady, his brow slightly furrowed as he laid out the strategy.
"Class B will hold the flag, Class D will attack," Katsuragi stated. "Don't be impulsive. Our goal is to stay steady."
Totsuka Yahiko stood behind him and nodded. His gaze swept over the Red Team, stopping briefly on Hikigaya Hachiman, who was also on guard duty, before moving on.
On the White Team's Class D side, Sudo Ken stood at the front. His arms were crossed, his chin slightly tilted, his expression radiating immense confidence. While his academic abilities were lacking, his physical prowess was indeed monstrous, making this pride feel very natural. Hirata Yosuke stood beside him with a gentle smile, saying something. Sudo nodded occasionally or frowned, but most of the time he was staring at the opposition.
"That selfish bastard Koenji isn't here," Sudo's voice carried from the Class D ranks, filled with obvious dissatisfaction, but he quickly followed up, "We'll work hard for his share too—no, we'll definitely do better than when he's around!"
Several Class D boys echoed him. Ike Kanji balled his fists, and Yamauchi Haruki stepped forward.
However, Hachiman noticed that the expressions of most Class D boys were not relaxed. Their eyes darted across the Red Team's ranks, lingering on the faces of Class C before looking away. Class C had too many delinquents who fought too hard; they didn't want to face them.
This was the mindset of most Class D students.
Soon.
The referee walked to the center of the field and raised a whistle.
"First Round—Ready!"
A total of seventy-nine boys stepped onto the field. The ground was covered in a thick layer of fine sand, soft underfoot and making running difficult. The Red flag stood to the east, the White flag to the west. The two teams faced each other from across the field.
Hachiman stood with Class A, positioned right next to the pole. His task was clear—hold the pole and prevent anyone from touching the Red flag until Class C toppled the White one. He glanced across the field. On the White side, Class B surrounded the flag, while Class D stood in front, warming up.
Sudo stood at the very front of Class D, fists clenched, his gaze locked directly onto Ryuen of Class C. Ryuen stood at the front of his group, hands in his pockets, a smirk playing on his lips. He was looking at Sudo, but that smile wasn't one of mockery; it was the playful look of a cat watching a mouse.
"Get set—"
The referee held the whistle in his mouth.
Ryuen raised a hand and pointed in Sudo's direction. He said nothing, but the Class C boys understood. It meant "keep an eye on him."
Tweet!
The whistle blew.
The field instantly erupted.
Sudo was the first to charge. His explosive power was incredible, maintaining a speed on the soft sand that rivaled a sprint on flat ground. His footsteps thudded, kicking up sand like a beast released from a cage, heading straight for Ryuen.
"Sudo! Wait—" Hirata's voice came from behind, but Sudo couldn't hear him. His eyes held only Ryuen. The man who had embarrassed him countless times, the one currently standing there with a punchable smirk. He was going to charge over and pin that guy to the sand.
Ryuen's physical ability and athletic talent were certainly inferior to his own.
This was his time to settle the score!
Thus, Sudo charged forward with reckless abandon.
However.
Katsuragi stood by the Class B flag, watching Sudo's charge, his brow furrowing.
"Class D is too impulsive," Totsuka said in a low voice beside him. "He charged in alone before we could even follow up."
Katsuragi said nothing. He was also watching Sudo, but not his speed; he was watching the people behind him. The rest of Class D couldn't keep up.
So Sudo was charging into the Class C camp all alone. He looked menacing, but in reality, he was just throwing himself against a wall.
Class C's reaction was swift.
Ryuen didn't speak; he just tilted his chin toward Sudo. Three Class C boys flanked him from the sides, surrounding Sudo. Their movements were fast, clearly practiced. One person blocked Sudo from the front while two squeezed him from the sides, preventing him from advancing.
Surrounded by three people, Sudo's pace faltered. His body was pushed back half a step, but he quickly steadied himself. He leaned down, grabbed the shoulders of the person in front, and shoved with massive force, sending the boy back two steps. Then he turned and smashed a fist against the arm of the person on the side.
"RAAAHH!"
A roar erupted from Sudo's throat like an enraged beast. The veins in his arms bulged as he crashed into the circle of three, forcibly knocking them all aside. The four of them tumbled into the sand, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Sudo scrambled up from the sand, patted himself off, and glanced back. Class D had finally caught up.
Too slow.
But at least they arrived.
Sudo was just about to call for cover to continue his charge—
Tweet—!
The referee's whistle blew.
This signified the end of the match.
Everyone on the field stopped. Sudo froze, turning to look toward the White Team's side.
The White flag had already fallen.
Albert stood next to the White pole, his massive frame looking like a wall. His hand was still gripping the top of the pole, the muscles in his arm bulging and veins popping. The pole lay across the sand, the white flag half-buried and covered in grit.
Katsuragi stood nearby, his gaze darkening, a look of frustration on his face.
Clearly.
The White Team had lost the first round.
It wasn't a loss of strength, but a loss of judgment.
Katsuragi knew the Class D participation list had been leaked, so he knew Ryuen would cause trouble. He didn't interfere because he believed as long as he could get evidence of Ryuen's foul, he would have him cornered. So even if they lost now, they could win it back.
But.
He had still miscalculated.
He had allowed Sudo to go head-to-head with Ryuen, but he hadn't expected Albert from Class C to bypass Class B's defense and topple the pole. The entire process took less than a minute.
"First Round, Red Team wins!" the referee declared, raising a flag.
Ryuen patted Albert on the shoulder. Albert wordlessly let go of the pole and stood behind Ryuen. Ryuen's gaze fell on Sudo, and the smile on his face widened.
"A gorilla is just a gorilla," Ryuen's voice wasn't loud, but it was clear. "Only knows brute force, hasn't got a single brain cell."
Sudo's face turned bright red. He clenched his fists and took a step forward, only to be pulled back by Hirata.
"Sudo-kun, stay calm." Hirata's voice was gentle, but the strength in his grip was firm.
Sudo gritted his teeth and lowered his fists. He didn't look at Hirata; his eyes remained locked on Ryuen.
Katsuragi walked back from the field, standing at the edge of the White Team tent. Totsuka Yahiko followed behind him, whispering.
"Katsuragi-kun, the voice recorder—"
"I know," Katsuragi interrupted him.
Before the match started, he had placed a voice recorder in Sudo's tracksuit pocket. If Ryuen committed a foul during the match—punching, kicking, or any prohibited behavior—the recorder would catch it. Then, he could use the evidence to report them, causing Class C to
lose points and making Ryuen take the blame. But the first round had ended before Ryuen even made a move.
But he had to make Ryuen act.
Otherwise, the White Team would lose this Pole-Toppling competition. And the total score for the Red-White confrontation would drop by 200 points.
That would not be good.
Contemplating this...
"Second Round," Katsuragi's voice dropped, "we switch to offense."
Totsuka blanked. "Switch to offense? Then Class D defends?"
"Class D isn't good at attacking. We just saw that; aside from Sudo, the others have no combat power," Katsuragi said. "So, let them guard the pole, and we in Class B will attack. We play for the win, and Sudo... fulfills his role."
Totsuka thought about it and then nodded. It was indeed a logical arrangement. Class B had the strongest physical stats in the grade; letting them attack gave them a better chance of winning. And—the reason Katsuragi didn't say aloud—if Class D guarded the pole, Ryuen would definitely act personally to break their defense. Those illegal moves would surely happen. When they did, the recorder would capture Ryuen's own voice.
This was the correct plan.
And so.
Five minutes later, the lineup for the second round was finalized.
White Team: Class B offense, Class D defense. On the Red side—Hachiman stood at the edge of the field, watching the opposition's arrangement, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.
"Hikigaya-kun," Kanzaki's voice came from the side, "should we adjust?"
"No," Hachiman said. "Class A defense, Class C offense."
Kanzaki nodded.
When the second round began, the White Team's offensive formation was noticeably more organized than the first. Katsuragi stood at the very front of the Class B group, flanked by several of the most physically capable boys in Class B. Their steps were synchronized, their speed not fast but steady, advancing toward the Red flag like a moving wall.
Sudo was left in the rear. He stood by the Class D flag, arms crossed, his face written with frustration. However, he didn't disobey the order. Ayanokouji had told him many times, "You're guarding the flag this round, it's very important." He had listened; although he didn't quite understand why guarding the flag was "very important," he didn't refuse.
On the Red side, Class A's defensive formation remained unchanged. Twenty people surrounded the flag, front row crouching, back row standing, like a human wall. Hachiman stood in the middle of the wall, near the pole. He wasn't on the front line, but he could see the entire field.
Ryuen led the Class C boys, advancing from the side. Their formation was loose, looking almost scattered, but there were people in every position. Albert walked at the front, his massive silhouette like a moving rampart. Ryuen followed behind him, hands in his pockets, walking with a leisurely pace.
Katsuragi's brow furrowed. He had assumed the Red Team would adjust their lineup—perhaps having Class C defend and Class A attack. But Hachiman hadn't. It was still Class A on defense and Class C on offense.
However, if that was the case, Ryuen still had the opportunity to engage with Sudo. The plan was still sound.
"Ignore Class A," Katsuragi whispered to Totsuka. "Bypass them and go straight for the Red flag—"
Totsuka Yahiko understood. Katsuragi-kun was trying to create an opportunity for Ryuen to attack Sudo and commit a foul, while also ensuring the White Team won this round.
Tweet!
The starting gun fired, and on the other side of the field, Ryuen had already charged.
His speed was so fast that Katsuragi didn't even have time to react.
The Class C attack was already pressing in. Albert, like a rhinoceros, crashed directly into the Class B line. Two Class B boys were knocked back several steps by the impact, falling into the sand.
The field instantly descended into a chaotic brawl. Red and White team members were jumbled together, indistinguishable from one another. Sand was kicked up, forming a thin mist in the afternoon sun. Hachiman stood by the Class A flag, watching the chaos. His expression was calm, as if he had known it would turn out this way.
Hachiman's gaze pierced through the dust, landing on the White Team's side. The White flag was still standing. Sudo stood by the pole, staring intently at the melee. His fists were clenched tight, but he didn't rush out. Ayanokouji stood beside him, holding his sleeve to keep him from moving.
"Sudo-kun, hold the flag. This is the most important thing. Don't think about going head-to-head with Ryuen."
"Miyake and I will both be here to assist you."
Sudo gritted his teeth and suppressed the urge. His eyes searched through the dust for Ryuen. But Ryuen wasn't in the brawl. He was standing on the edge of the chaos, hands still in his pockets, a smirk on his face.
The dust grew thicker. Hachiman squinted, trying to see the White flag. But he couldn't see clearly. The dust obscured his vision, leaving only blurry figures moving about.
It was essentially confirmed: Ryuen was making his move.
And indeed he was.
A commotion broke out at the White Team's base.
"Who kicked me!"
It was Sudo. The voice came from the White side, carrying anger and pain. Hachiman's gaze cut through the dust; he could vaguely see a crowd surrounding the White flag.
"Who the hell is hitting me!"
Sudo's voice rang out again, angrier than before. But Hachiman noticed he hadn't struck back. He was still guarding the pole. He was taking hits but not returning them. Because the moment he struck back, he would leave the pole. The pole would fall.
"Albert, push!"
Ryuen's voice came from the dust, low and clear. Then came a dull thud—Albert's body slammed into the pole. The pole shook violently but didn't fall. Sudo gripped the pole with both hands, knees buried in the sand, holding on for dear life. His back was exposed to the Class C group.
The dust thickened further. Hachiman saw several blurry figures surrounding Sudo, arms swinging and feet lifting. The movements weren't large, but every strike landed on Sudo's back.
Hachiman closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.
Ryuen stepped out from the dust with a leisurely stride. He walked up to Sudo and looked down at him. Sudo's face was buried in the sand, both hands still clutching the pole, refusing to let go. Ryuen raised a foot and stepped on Sudo's back, pressing down hard. Sudo's body sank, but he didn't let go.
"Quite tough," Ryuen's voice was soft, as if talking to himself.
He withdrew his foot, then kicked down violently.
That kick landed on Sudo's spine with massive force. Sudo's body jerked forward, his hands sliding off the pole. He collapsed onto the sand, motionless.
At a gesture from Ryuen, two Class C students quickly reached for Sudo's pockets.
"Ryuen, that's enough! You're fouling!"
Yukimura Teruhiko's voice came from the other side of the pole, filled with rage. He had been hiding behind the pole and hadn't been noticed by Class C. His glasses were crooked, his face stained with sand, and his voice trembled as he shouted.
Ryuen turned and looked at him.
"Fouling?" His mouth curled. "The dust is everywhere right now; who can see anything? Even the cameras can't catch it. And where exactly did I foul? This is slander!"
Yukimura opened his mouth to say something but ultimately didn't.
Ryuen withdrew his gaze and looked at Albert. Albert nodded, grabbed the pole with both hands, and pushed with all his might. The pole gave a sharp "crack" and began to tilt slowly. The surrounding Class C members joined in, making the pole fall even faster.
Tweet—!
The referee's whistle blew. The pole slammed into the sand, the white flag buried beneath.
"Second Round, Red Team wins!"
Ryuen stood up from the sand and patted the dust off his tracksuit. He didn't look at Sudo, he didn't look at Katsuragi, he didn't even look at the referee. He turned and walked toward the Red Team's tent. After two steps, he stopped and looked back.
He pulled two voice recorders from his pocket—one green and one red.
Ryuen smiled at Katsuragi.
"Katsuragi Kohei. Did the recorders you arranged pick up anything useful?"
As he spoke, Ryuen applied pressure with his hand, and the two recorders were instantly crushed and bent.
Katsuragi's body stiffened. His face turned slightly pale.
Ryuen laughed and continued walking away.
On the field, the Red Team dispersed. The Class B students walked silently back to their tent, no one speaking. The Class D students gathered around Sudo. Hirata crouched beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Sudo-kun, does it hurt? Do you need to go to the infirmary?"
Sudo lay face down in the sand, unmoving. After several seconds, he spoke.
"...No need."
His voice was low, almost inaudible. Hirata opened his mouth to speak. Ayanokouji Kiyotaka also crouched down, looking at Sudo's back. There were many footprints on his tracksuit, obscured by layers of sand.
"Let's report it," Hirata said, standing up. "There were so many people here; everyone saw it."
Ayanokouji shook his head. "There's no evidence."
Hirata frowned. "We are the evidence."
"The referee only looks at cameras and recordings," Ayanokouji's voice was calm, devoid of emotion. "The cameras didn't catch it, and the recordings didn't get made. Witness testimony alone is useless."
Hirata fell silent.
Sudo pushed himself up from the sand, patting off the grit. His back hurt immensely, but he didn't show it. However, his face was full of rage.
"Sudo-kun," Hirata looked at him, "we're going to report this."
"No," Sudo's voice was hard.
"Why?"
"It's embarrassing," Sudo glanced at Hirata. "Letting people know I got beaten up and couldn't even hit back is embarrassing.
And damn it, not one of you helped me!" Sudo roared.
Hirata opened his mouth to say something but didn't. At the time, he had tried to intercept the Class C students but had been surrounded by the people Ryuen had arranged on the perimeter; he couldn't get through at all.
Ayanokouji stood by, saying nothing. He just stood there quietly, watching Sudo's back, his gaze as calm as a pool of dead water.
Miyake Akito stood outside the crowd, hands in his pockets. His fingers brushed against a voice recorder in his pocket. This was the one he had just detached from the pole.
Yes.
Ayanokouji had given it to him and had it taped to the pole.
Now that the match was over, he had recovered it.
He knew what was inside—Ryuen's voice, the sound of Albert pushing the pole, Sudo's cries of pain, and the sounds of punching and kicking.
But he didn't bring it out now.
He looked at Ayanokouji's profile, at that expressionless face that showed no emotion. Ayanokouji was looking at him. Their gazes met in the air.
Ayanokouji gave a slight shake of his head.
Miyake pulled his hand from his pocket and said nothing.
The Pole-Toppling competition was over.
The Year One White Team had suffered a crushing 0-2 defeat.
Ten minutes later, the boys would begin the Cavalry Battle.
The schedule was tight, so tight there was no time for reflection, no time to heal.
.
.
.
Break Time.
Ayanokouji stood at the edge of the tent, looking toward the distant Red Team tent. His gaze was searching for Hikigaya Hachiman's silhouette.
Unfortunately, he didn't see him.
But Ayanokouji was suddenly thinking of something.
There was nothing to say about the first round; Sudo's conceit and the incompetence of the Class D boys led to a quick loss.
However, in the second round, Hikigaya still arranged for Class C to attack and Class A to defend. Ayanokouji believed this was no accident. Rather, Hikigaya was creating an opportunity for Ryuen—an opportunity to break the rules legitimately.
An opportunity that could be recorded, reported, and held accountable.
So.
It wasn't just Katsuragi, it wasn't just him; perhaps, Hikigaya Hachiman, you were waiting for this too.
Letting Ryuen attack wasn't because you believed he could win. It was because you knew he would break the rules. You knew he would definitely move against Sudo.
But he hadn't made a move. He was waiting. Waiting for who to report it?
Ayanokouji withdrew his gaze and looked down at his hands.
He knew that Hikigaya had likely guessed he would make a move.
As for the two voice recorders Ryuen found on the field, one was likely Katsuragi's arrangement, and the other was his own—but those were just decoys. The real recorder had been placed on the pole.
And this voice recorder—he would definitely hand it in.
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