Day 5 — Monday Morning
The dawn air was sharper than a blade.The mountain road stretched endlessly ahead, dust rising from the students' shoes as their breaths mingled into the white mist.
Four hours of running and walking — a total of eighteen kilometers.A trial of stamina, not intelligence. The exam's fifth day had turned into a full-on endurance marathon.
Even those who had been joking earlier now had faces twisted with fatigue.Ishizaki wiped his forehead and groaned. "Man, this is torture… eighteen kilometers? Who's idea was this?"
"Yours, if you don't stop talking," Ibuki snapped from behind, keeping a steady pace as sweat clung to her temples.
Meanwhile, Ayanokōji ran quietly with his usual detached rhythm. Even in the middle of the group's suffering, he looked unnervingly composed — as if the exhaustion didn't reach him.It was that calmness that always irritated Ishizaki.
"Hey, Kiyotaka," Ishizaki suddenly called out, "if a wild boar jumps out right now, I bet it'd be about your size!"
The group burst into laughter, even though everyone was panting.Kiyotaka blinked, expression flat. "That doesn't sound like a compliment."
"Come on, lighten up, man," Yamashita wheezed, clutching his knees. "You'd probably just stare at the boar and it'd faint."
"Right," Airi giggled from the back, her voice faint. "He'd analyze the boar's weaknesses or something…"
Even Ibuki let out a small laugh, covering her mouth.
Kiyotaka sighed inwardly. He didn't dislike the teasing — but being treated like some mysterious superhuman always felt… uncomfortable.That subtle alienation.
Ahead, the second and third years were already far up the path — their discipline obvious in every stride.The difference in strength and experience was impossible to ignore.
Then, something caught Kiyotaka's attention.He turned slightly — just in time to see Kōenji Rokusuke veering off the trail, vanishing into the forest like a phantom.
"…Of course," he muttered under his breath.
Without hesitation, he broke into a sprint.
Branches brushed against his sleeves as he moved deeper into the woods.The rhythmic sound of his footsteps echoed against the soil until finally, after about a hundred meters, he caught sight of the blond figure standing still beneath a tree.
Kōenji was crouched near the undergrowth, smiling as if admiring a piece of art.
"Kōenji," Kiyotaka called, voice even, "why did you leave the course?"
"Oh?" Kōenji looked over his shoulder, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I saw a wild boar passing by. A majestic creature! I simply couldn't resist observing it for a moment."
"…We're in the middle of an exam."
"Indeed we are, my dear Ayanokōji boy. But life's beauty is not something to be postponed for practicality."
Kiyotaka exhaled quietly. "Just make sure you return in time."
"Of course, of course," Kōenji said, brushing imaginary dust off his tracksuit. "Now, was there something else you wished to discuss?"
"I need your help in this exam," Kiyotaka said bluntly.
"Ah—" Kōenji raised a hand, smiling lazily, "not that line again. I am so dreadfully tired of hearing it."
"I'm serious."
"So am I," Kōenji replied smoothly. "And my answer is a resolute no."
Kiyotaka reached out, lightly gripping his arm — half expecting resistance.But instead of pulling away, Kōenji simply tilted his head with a bemused smile.
"My, my… the man who tamed the dragon finally shows some fire."
Kiyotaka frowned. "…What?"
Kōenji's smirk widened. "Do not play innocent. The way that delinquent Ryūen behaves around you, his gaze forever drawn to you, the air of tension between you two — oh, it's almost romantic!"
"…You're imagining things."
"Am I? The reactions of those around you, the strange alliance patterns, your mutual respect — no, no, dear boy. You've subdued the dragon himself."
Kōenji's eyes gleamed with amusement as he turned away. "Still, worry not. Though you are a relatively talented being, you remain but a child before me — as do the rest of these students."
Kiyotaka stayed silent, letting him continue.
"To reassure you," Kōenji said with a dramatic hand gesture, "I shall keep your little secrets. I am not so low as to ruin another's pursuit of glory. In exchange, however, you will grant me freedom. I shall act as I wish, unrestrained by your strategies."
"Fine," Kiyotaka said after a pause. "Do whatever you want. Just don't interfere with the group's stability."
"Marvelous!" Kōenji laughed lightly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must resume my hunt. That splendid beast awaits!"
He strode deeper into the trees, humming to himself.
Kiyotaka sighed and turned back toward the trail.
When he returned, the group had gathered at the turn point where Chabashira-sensei stood with a stopwatch."Where's Kōenji?" she asked immediately.
"He'll return. Eventually," Kiyotaka said.
Chabashira's expression twitched but she didn't argue.
Just as they were preparing to move again, Yukimura stumbled forward with a pained cry."Damn it— my ankle!"
Haruka and Akito rushed over, helping him up. His face was pale, sweat dripping down his chin."It's sprained," Airi said softly, crouching beside him.
"Alright," Chabashira sighed, rubbing her temples. "You three — take him back to the dorms. The rest, continue."
So they did.
By the time lunch came around, the exhaustion had melted into lazy chatter.We sat under the tree near the training building — me, Haruka, Akito, Okitani, Ijuin, Airi, Mei-Yu, and An Maezono.
Haruka chewed her bread with a nostalgic grin. "You know… I kinda miss those days."
"Which days?" I asked.
"The ones where we'd all sit in your room, play games, eat your snacks for free," Akito said, smirking. "Even though you were a totally unreliable boss."
"Hey," I said, pretending to look offended. "That's our kind of leadership."
Everyone laughed.Even Mei-Yu smiled shyly, muttering, "I… I kind of miss it too."
It was a small, ordinary moment — a flicker of peace amid all the chaos.
As the sky turned orange, the dinner bell rang.In the cafeteria, the smell of soup and grilled meat filled the air.
Ayanokōji sat silently at one corner, waiting for a signal.He had already told Kei to locate Nazuna Asahina, one of Nagumo's close allies — a calm, sharp-eyed senior girl from the Student Council.
When Kei discreetly pointed her out, he stood and followed her into the quieter dining area.
She noticed him almost immediately."Oh? You're the famous first-year everyone keeps whispering about," she said with a knowing smile.
"I wouldn't call myself famous," Ayanokōji replied. "But I wanted to ask — how do I avoid Nagumo's attention?"
Asahina raised an eyebrow. "Avoid him? Why not just beat him?"
He stared at her for a moment, unsure if she was joking.Her smirk told him she wasn't.
"Not everyone has that luxury," he said.
"Then you'd better get stronger," she said simply, picking up her tray and walking away.
Dinner — Quiet Warmth
Elsewhere in the cafeteria, I sat across from Ibuki.Our trays clattered softly as we ate.
She kept her usual annoyed expression, but I could tell she was more tired than angry.I rested my chin on my hand and watched her for a moment.
"…What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Nothing," I said casually. "Just wondering if I should grab your hand to check if it's cold."
She glared. "Try it and lose your fingers."
"Okay, okay." I grinned, but still reached across the table, brushing her knuckles lightly before she pulled back, face turning slightly red.
"…Idiot."
I laughed quietly, leaning closer. "If I kissed your cheek again like on Christmas Eve… would that warm you up?"
Her chopsticks froze mid-air.The corner of her lips twitched — but she didn't answer.
Instead, she turned away, muttering under her breath. "Eat your food before I stab you with these."
I smiled, feeling oddly content despite the fatigue and cold.
The night air was still.The moon hung pale and distant, its light slicing through the forest canopy and spilling silver across the quiet path behind the dorms.
It was here again — the same lonely spot as before, where shadows converged and the chill bit through skin and silence.
I leaned against the wooden railing, waiting.Moments later, footsteps approached — calm, steady, and unmistakably disciplined.
Horikita Manabu appeared from the darkness, his uniform jacket draped neatly over one arm. His every step carried the poise of someone who had long since mastered restraint.
Without preamble, he reached into his pocket and drew out a neatly folded piece of paper.
"The contract," he said quietly. "I've made the necessary adjustments."
He extended it toward me.
I took it, glanced at the clauses, then signed it without hesitation.The scratch of pen on paper sounded unusually loud beneath the night sky.
When I handed it back, I spoke in my usual lazy tone, "Alright, let's talk business."
Horikita nodded. His expression didn't shift — calm, composed, but his eyes were sharp, already analyzing everything I might say next.
"Before we start," I said, slipping my hands into my pockets, "I want to confirm something. The composition of Nagumo's group this time — it's pretty bad, isn't it?"
He paused, thinking for a few seconds before replying."It depends on how you look at it. On paper, it's not terrible. But yes — there are many students from second-year Class D and Class C. To a first-year like you, they may appear weak. Yet, the fact they've survived until now means they've adapted to Nagumo's control. The ones who couldn't follow his methods… have already dropped out."
"Meaning the survivors are the loyal ones," I summarized.
"Exactly."
"Yeah," I nodded slowly, glancing up at the moon. "But even then, they're definitely not as good as your group, right, Horikita-senpai?"
Horikita didn't deny it."That's right. The group I've assembled is composed of those I trust completely. Nagumo's team, on the other hand… they may obey him, but that doesn't make them strong. Still, he's not someone who plays by the ordinary rules."
"Which means," I said lightly, "he already knows he's at a disadvantage from the start."
Horikita's gaze narrowed. "You think he's planning something else."
"I know he is," I replied. "There's no way Nagumo's aim is a fair fight. He never plays fair. From the moment this duel started, I doubt he ever intended to win through proper means."
The wind stirred, brushing through the trees, whispering faintly between our words.
Horikita folded his arms, thinking. "Even if that's true, his group isn't without strength. Remember — the outcome of this exam doesn't only depend on skill or stamina. It depends on leadership. And Nagumo excels at manipulation. He has absolute control over his year. Internal conflicts won't shake his team."
He paused. "Judging from that alone, he still has a crown's chance of victory."
I smirked faintly. "If anything, that just makes me believe even more that he's a despicable bastard."
Horikita glanced at me, expression unreadable. "So… do you think he'll lose?"
"Hmm…" I tilted my head lazily. "You really want to know?"
"I asked you for a reason," he said firmly.
"Then I'll be honest," I said, meeting his gaze. "If it weren't for me being here, I think you'd win. But now… it's uncertain."
Horikita's brows furrowed slightly, studying me. "You sound confident in your own influence."
"Confidence? No," I said. "Just realism. In a battle of leadership, chaos is as valuable as control. And I'm very good at chaos."
Horikita exhaled quietly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.He seemed to sense that my words weren't arrogance — just an observation of how I operated.
"Still," I continued, "whether you win or lose doesn't really matter. Nagumo's goal isn't to beat you. It's to ruin you — slowly. To show everyone that even Horikita Manabu can be dragged down by the people around him."
Horikita's expression hardened. "And you think that's what he's aiming for?"
"Yeah. Because that's how someone like him thinks. He's not obsessed with victory — he's obsessed with control. And the easiest way to destroy a man who values order…" I smiled faintly, "…is to infect him with chaos."
For a few moments, silence settled between us.Then Horikita asked quietly, "Then what will he do?"
"Well…" I shrugged. "If I were him, I'd aim at whatever you care about most."
Horikita's eyes sharpened instantly. "My group."
"Exactly."
He frowned deeply, tension flickering in his posture. "If he plans to attack someone in my group, he'll fail. I've accounted for that. I don't make careless mistakes."
I stared at him for a long moment, then said softly, "What if it's not your group he targets?"
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
"What if it's the girls' side?"
For the first time, I saw genuine alarm in his eyes. His pupils contracted, and his composed façade faltered for a heartbeat.
"…That's impossible," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Men and women are separated during the exam. The only time they meet is during lunch. Even with his authority over the second years, it would be almost impossible to attack the girls directly."
"Impossible?" I smiled faintly. "Or inconvenient?"
Horikita hesitated.He knew what I meant — Nagumo didn't need to attack directly to cause damage.
Finally, he sighed and said, "The only possible way would be to influence one of the third-year representatives. But that would require bribery — something that would destroy his reputation if discovered. Besides, the third years know better than to interfere. We've spent three years together. They wouldn't betray us for something so shallow."
"Wouldn't they?" I said, voice calm. "Trust me, senpai. In Nagumo's eyes, trust isn't a bond — it's a weapon. He'll use it however he needs to."
Horikita's gaze turned serious again. "You're suggesting he's already preparing for betrayal."
"Not quite." I leaned back against the railing, looking up at the moon. "I'm suggesting he's already explained the betrayal."
"What do you mean?"
"Simple," I said. "If Nagumo told the second years in advance what the outcome of this exam will be, then he's already set expectations. When the results happen exactly as he predicted, no one doubts him — they trust him even more. Even if he cheats, his system doesn't collapse. The only one who loses faith…"
"…is me," Horikita finished quietly.
"Exactly."
He fell silent, the weight of my words sinking in.The rustling of leaves filled the pause between us.
Finally, he said, voice low, "If your theory is correct, then he may plan to use his personal points — perhaps even 20 million — to bribe a representative. To drag down the girls in my class, or someone crucial to our score."
"Yeah," I said softly. "He wouldn't have to sabotage your team directly. If the girls' group fails, your group's overall ranking collapses too. A clean kill without lifting a blade."
Horikita's fists clenched at his sides. "…And there's no direct counter to that."
He still stood where I had left him moments ago, posture straight yet visibly tense, as though the weight of my last words had sunk into his thoughts.
I crossed my arms lazily, watching him from a short distance."Senpai," I said softly, "you look a little confused. Let me explain it in a simpler way."
He raised an eyebrow slightly but said nothing, waiting for me to continue.
"For example," I said, "if one of your teammates gets injured during the exam, what will you do?"
Without hesitation, Horikita replied, "Of course, I'd take them to the infirmary."
I gave him a dull look. "But if doing that means you can't continue the exam, doesn't that count as boycotting it?"
Horikita's composure wavered. His lips pressed into a thin line, brows drawing together.
For a moment, he didn't speak. The question lingered in the air like a blade — simple, but sharp enough to cut through the structure of his entire plan.
He was stunned — not because the question was clever, but because of what it implied.In any ordinary exam, he could have ignored such a trap. But this time… this exam wasn't ordinary.
He frowned deeply, lowering his gaze slightly. I could almost hear his thoughts turning — cold and fast, dissecting the logic, following it to its ugly end.
If the rule technically defined leaving the exam area as "boycotting," then even a noble act like saving someone could be punished.And if refusing to save someone didn't count as a violation, then every student's moral compass would become a liability.
It was, in essence, a psychological snare — one that preyed on the human conscience.
A bead of cold sweat rolled down the side of Horikita's face.I didn't say anything. I wanted him to realize it himself.
Finally, his voice came, low and deliberate."…If this is really how the rules are structured, then Nagumo probably suggested the change long before the exam began."
I smiled faintly. "Exactly."
"This is…" Horikita's words trailed off. His hands were clenched now, his calm demeanor cracking slightly beneath the realization. "An unsolvable problem."
He understood. If someone collapsed or was hurt, no matter what decision was made — to help or to ignore — someone would be condemned.If he didn't save them, the act itself became heartless.If he did, he'd risk disqualification.
Nagumo had cornered him without ever lifting a finger.
The true battlefield wasn't the forest or the test site — it was inside the students' hearts.
"I see it now…" Horikita murmured bitterly. "Even the best students in my class could fall for this. Maybe even I would."
I stayed silent. His admission spoke volumes.
He ran a hand through his hair, face tightening with unease."The concept of boycotting the exam… it's too vague. There's no clear boundary between compassion and sabotage. The school has deliberately blurred the line."
"That's why it's such a perfect trap," I said, my tone almost lazy. "Nagumo must have known this when he proposed the rule change. He's not aiming to win — he's aiming to destroy belief."
Horikita exhaled sharply.He knew I was right.
I continued, my voice calm. "If you don't save someone, the guilt will rot your conscience. But if you do save them, you'll be punished for breaking the rule. Either way, the result is the same — your group fractures from within."
Silence fell between us again, broken only by the faint sound of wind brushing through the trees.
I looked up at the moon, half-hidden behind drifting clouds. "It's cruel, isn't it? But that's how Nagumo operates. He doesn't fight battles he might lose — he rewrites the battlefield."
Horikita closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself. When he looked at me again, there was still fatigue in his expression, but his tone had regained some steadiness."So," he said, "what would you do, Miyamoto? If you were in my position."
I smirked slightly. "Simple. Give the teacher a report beforehand."
He blinked. "A report?"
"Yeah. Something like, 'Teacher, can I send her to the infirmary?' Make it formal. Get verbal confirmation. Once you do that, the responsibility shifts — completely — to the school."
Horikita's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
I shrugged. "You see, senpai, the teachers represent the school's official stance. No matter what happens, the school must maintain fairness on the surface. If they say yes, then the school itself becomes accountable for whatever happens next. If they say no, and something goes wrong, then the fault still lies with the school for refusing permission."
He looked at me in quiet realization."What you're suggesting…" he began slowly, "…is to create a trap of our own."
I grinned faintly. "Pretty much. If the system's going to use rules as weapons, then we just redirect them. To activate Nagumo's burial mechanism, he'd have to admit the school made a mistake — that saving someone was wrong."
"And once the school is forced to take a stance," Horikita murmured, "the illusion collapses."
"Exactly. Because then the school looks like what it really is — a machine that wants to strip away empathy. It would expose its true goal: to train students into emotionless, obedient tools for society."
Horikita's lips pressed together tightly.For a brief moment, his eyes wavered — not with doubt, but with a kind of disillusionment. He had always believed, at least to some degree, in the system's fairness.
But now, he saw it for what it was.
He let out a small, bitter chuckle. "This is indeed a solution. But… things may not necessarily develop that way."
"It doesn't matter," I replied lazily. "The point isn't to predict everything — it's to prepare for the worst. At that time, you can just remind everyone of one simple thing: whenever you hesitate, ask the teacher first."
Horikita's gaze lifted back to me. "Using teachers as scapegoats…"
"Exactly," I said. "They're perfect for it. Like the leaders of social animals — they take responsibility for the herd. When you don't want to risk blame, just ask them. If they agree, act. If they don't, stay put. Either way, the responsibility doesn't belong to you."
I smiled faintly. "Unless Nagumo dares to target the school itself, he can't counter that."
Horikita fell silent for a long moment. Then he exhaled slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth — the kind of smile that carried both weariness and respect.
"…You really are dangerous," he said finally. "You turn even morality into a strategy."
"I just don't like losing," I replied.
He chuckled softly — a rare sound. "Understood."
He straightened his posture, regaining his usual calm. "Miyamoto," he said firmly, "whether your inference is correct or not, your plan has value. And if it works… the reward won't be small."
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow.
"I can assure you," Horikita continued, "it will be no less than twenty million points."
The moonlight caught the edge of his expression — steady, resolute, the weight of his promise hanging in the air.
I tilted my head slightly, smirking. "I'll hold you to that, senpai."
"Then it's settled," he said.
For a few moments, neither of us spoke again.The wind brushed through the clearing, and the moon began to sink lower in the sky.
Horikita finally turned to leave, his figure slowly swallowed by the darkness between the trees.
I stayed where I was, watching his silhouette fade, my expression unreadable.
In the end, I murmured quietly to myself,"Twenty million points, huh… not bad. But if Nagumo's already moved his pieces, this won't end with just numbers."