Monday, March 2.
The first day of the new week began under an oddly heavy atmosphere. The cold wind that swept across the windows of the classroom carried the faint promise of spring, but inside, there was only tension. Everyone could sense it — something was coming.
Sae Chabashira entered the classroom with her usual calm expression, but her gait seemed slightly heavier. She carried a folder tucked under her arm, and the faintest hint of unease crossed her features as she stood at the podium.
The chatter among the students died almost instantly.
"All right, everyone," she began, her tone composed but strained. "Before we begin today's homeroom, there's something important I need to announce."
Everyone straightened instinctively. After the end-of-year exams, we had all been expecting something like this — another special exam. But the moment she spoke the words special exam, the air seemed to freeze.
"This exam," she continued, "is a bit… unusual. In fact, compared to all previous years, this one has never been conducted before. Even the faculty considers it a major experiment."
Her words sent a wave of murmurs through the room.
Horikita frowned slightly. Hirata exchanged glances with Kushida. Sudō crossed his arms, muttering something under his breath.
Chabashira ignored the noise and placed the folder on the desk, flipping it open.
"It's called The Class Poll."
The room quieted again.
She began writing the title on the board, the chalk squeaking faintly as she underlined it.
"The format is simple — but the consequences are severe. This exam will determine who will remain in this class… and who will be expelled."
A sudden silence fell over the room. Even Sudō stopped fidgeting.
Chabashira's tone softened, though only slightly. "Normally, by this point in the academic year, at least one student would have been expelled. But this year, that hasn't happened. In the school's entire history, there has never been a year where no one was expelled at all."
She paused, looking over us one by one.
"The school doesn't like anomalies. This special exam was designed to… correct that."
Her words carried weight. The kind that pressed against everyone's chest like a stone.
Then she began to explain the rules in detail.
Every student would be required to vote.They could issue praise votes to students from other classes — and criticism votes within their own.
No abstentions. No blanks. No skipping.
"Praise and criticism votes will interfere with one another," Chabashira explained. "In the end, your total score will be Praise Votes – Criticism Votes. The highest and lowest scoring students will be decided based on this result."
The top student would receive a Protection Point — a prize worth more than gold. A Protection Point could nullify any future expulsion. It couldn't be transferred, couldn't be sold, and couldn't be shared. It was, in short, the ultimate shield.
The student at the bottom, however… would be expelled.
A single stroke of the pen deciding one's future.
Even if you were hated by your entire class, praise votes from other classes could save you — and even if you were loved by your class, you could still fall if the others turned against you.
To add to the tension, Chabashira added one final rule:
"If a student has 20 million private points, they may use it to prevent their expulsion. Otherwise…"
She trailed off.
The rest didn't need to be said.
The classroom fell into uneasy silence. The sound of pencils tapping, breaths catching, and hearts racing filled the air.
"End of class," Chabashira said finally, snapping the folder shut. "I'll leave you to think about your strategies."
She walked out, heels clicking against the floor.
For a few seconds, no one moved. Then, as if a switch had been flipped—
"Oi, there's no way I'm getting kicked out!" Sudō's voice broke the silence. "I've been working my ass off this whole term!"
Kōenji leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, smirking lazily. "Fufufu, this kind of trivial examination doesn't concern me. My brilliance will shine regardless."
"You arrogant idiot!" Sudō slammed his desk. "You don't even study!"
"Study? Oh, I see, you mean that dreary ritual the unrefined must perform to compensate for their lack of natural talent?"
"Say that again, you—!"
Before Sudō could lunge, Hirata quickly stood up, hands raised. "Hey, calm down, both of you! Fighting won't help us now."
I sat back in my chair, resting my chin on my hand. My eyes followed them, but my voice came out flat, almost lifeless.
"Hirata… you can't stop it."
He blinked, looking at me. "What do you mean?"
"This exam," I said quietly, "is designed to make us turn on each other. No matter how much you mediate, one person will be chosen. Someone has to go."
The class fell silent again, my words echoing in the still air.
Even Hirata, who always carried a faint optimism in his eyes, looked shaken.
Later that day, the cafeteria buzzed with subdued conversations. Students from every class gathered in their own corners, whispering about strategies, alliances, and potential scapegoats.
I sat at a table with Ayanokōji, Sakura, Miyake, and Yukimura — the so-called Ayanokōji Group.
Sakura fidgeted nervously, poking at her lunch. "I-I'm scared… what if one of us gets targeted?"
"We just have to make sure none of us ends up last," Yukimura said logically, pushing his glasses up. "If we coordinate, we can distribute votes evenly among ourselves."
"But won't other groups be doing the same?" Miyake asked, lowering his voice. "The big ones — like Ichinose's class or Sakayanagi's — they'll be forming blocs. We're just a small circle."
Yukimura sighed. "True, but drawing attention would only make things worse. For now, the best strategy is to keep a low profile. Don't argue, don't stand out, don't make enemies."
Sakura nodded hesitantly. "R-right… I'll try my best."
We fell silent for a moment, each of us lost in thought.
That's when I noticed him.
At another table, sitting opposite me, was Ryūen.
He had one arm casually resting on the chair, a book open in front of him. Across from him sat Ibuki, glaring half-heartedly as she poked at her food. Ryūen's eyes flicked up from the page, locking onto mine.
He smirked faintly. "Yo, Miyamoto. You look dead inside."
"Good observation," I replied dryly.
"Didn't think you'd lose that spark so soon," he said, turning a page. "What happened to that annoying habit of teasing Ibuki every chance you got?"
"Got tired of running," I muttered.
Ibuki snorted. "About time."
Ryūen chuckled. "You sound like a man who's already accepted his fate."
"Maybe I have."
"Dangerous mindset," he said lazily. "The moment you stop caring about surviving, that's when you die — or in this case, get expelled."
Suzune Horikita approached our table just then, arms crossed. "Ryūen," she said firmly, "you're awfully relaxed for someone who might be targeted."
He looked up at her, smirking. "Oh? Are you worried about me, Class C princess?"
"I'm just curious," she said coldly. "Do you really think you can survive this exam without any strategy?"
Ryūen closed his book and leaned back. "Strategy? I don't need one. People will do exactly what I expect them to — panic, betray each other, form little alliances. In the end, it's all predictable."
"Then you'll rely on luck?"
He laughed. "Luck's for amateurs. I'll survive because I decided to."
Her expression hardened. "So confident… what if the class turns against you?"
Ryūen's grin widened. "Then I'll just remind them why that's a bad idea."
Suzune didn't respond, but there was a flicker of understanding in her eyes — perhaps even respect.
As she walked away, Ryūen glanced at me one more time. "You used to have that same fire, Miyamoto. Don't tell me you burned out already."
I didn't answer. He just smirked and went back to his book.
That night, the dorms were quiet again.
Karuizawa Kei sat curled up on her bed, phone pressed to her ear.
"So this exam is basically… a popularity contest with knives, huh?" she said, her tone uneasy.
"Something like that," Ayanokōji replied calmly on the other end.
"What should we do then? If people start banding together, someone's bound to be left out."
"That's exactly why we shouldn't stand out," he said. "If you hear about anyone forming groups to target someone, let me know immediately."
Kei bit her lip. "You're not planning to intervene again, are you?"
"I'll avoid direct involvement unless necessary," he replied. "But I'll be watching. There's always something hidden beneath the surface in these exams."
There was a short pause.
"…You're scary sometimes, you know that?" Kei muttered.
"Maybe," he said softly. "But fear keeps us alive."
The line went silent for a moment before Kei whispered, "Be careful, okay?"
He didn't respond immediately. Then—
"I always am."
The call ended.
The soft glow from my monitor flickered across the dark walls of my room, the rhythmic clicking of my controller echoing in the silence. The virtual battlefield on-screen was the only world that made sense — no schemes, no exams, no facades. Just instinct, reaction, and the satisfaction of a perfect combo.
It was late. Too late. The clock's hands pointed past midnight, but I didn't care.
For a few fleeting moments, I could forget about The Class Poll. Forget about survival. Forget about everything.
Then — knock knock.
A quiet sound at first. I ignored it.
Knock knock.
I tightened my grip on the controller. Maybe it was my imagination.
Knock knock knock.
Persistent. Rhythmic. Real.
"...Tch."
I paused the game, the sudden silence of the room feeling heavier than before. Slowly, I set the controller down and stood up, dragging my slippers across the floor.
The knocks didn't stop. Whoever it was, they weren't giving up.
I opened the door.
Standing there — holding two plastic bags stuffed with food containers — was Honami Ichinose.
Her usual warm smile was there, but beneath it, I could see traces of worry, of something deeper.
"Yo," she said lightly, though her tone wavered. "You sure take forever to open the door."
I blinked, half annoyed, half confused. "…You again?"
"Who else?" she teased gently, stepping forward before I could even invite her in. The scent of warm food followed her like a breeze — curry, fried chicken, and something sweet.
My eyes flicked to the bags. "You… brought all that?"
"Yup. Dinner delivery," she said cheerfully. "You've probably been skipping proper meals again, haven't you?"
"Ichino—"
"Don't bother denying it," she cut me off. "I can tell."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "You don't have to come here all the time."
Her eyes softened slightly. "But I want to."
"You're wasting your time."
"Maybe."
Her simple response caught me off guard. She placed the bags on my small desk and began unpacking the food like it was her own room. I watched silently as she laid everything out — rice boxes, drinks, even a dessert.
"You really went all out…" I muttered under my breath.
"Well, I figured I should bring enough for both of us," she said with a small grin. "You barely eat, don't you?"
I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You really shouldn't. It's a waste of time."
She froze for a moment, chopsticks halfway out of the wrapper. "…Waste of time?"
"Yeah," I said flatly. "You should spend time with your boyfriend or… whatever else you like. I'll be fine."
For a moment, silence.
The air shifted.
Then Ichinose looked up, her smile fading just slightly — not angry, not sad, just… disappointed.
"You really think I'm that kind of person?"
I didn't respond.
"I don't come here because I have nothing better to do," she said quietly, her voice steadier than before. "I come here because… you look like you're disappearing a little more every day."
I turned my gaze away. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?"
She took a slow step toward me. "You don't talk to anyone anymore. You don't hang around Ibuki, you don't joke around, you don't even tease anyone. It's like you're just… fading away."
I clenched my fist slightly, my chest tightening at her words.
"Why do you care?" I asked finally, the words harsher than I intended.
"Because I don't want to see you vanish."
Her reply came instantly, without hesitation.
She took another step closer. The warmth of her presence filled the room.
"You helped me once," she said softly. "Even if you don't realize it. Back then, when I was lost… you made me see something different. Something real."
I frowned, trying to recall the exact moment she meant. Maybe when we spoke during the incident with her rumors. Or maybe when I told her she didn't have to pretend to be perfect.
"I didn't do anything."
"You did more than you think," she said with a small smile. "You told me that even angels can fall, remember?"
The words hit me like a soft punch to the gut.
I remembered. Every single word of that night.
"So maybe," she continued, eyes locking onto mine, "it's my turn now. To catch you before you fall."
I looked away, unable to hold her gaze. "You're wasting your effort. I'm already on the ground."
"Then I'll stay there with you," she said simply. "Until you stand up again."
Her voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. Every word she spoke felt genuine — warm, steady, unshakable.
I felt something stir inside me — guilt, confusion, maybe even something close to warmth. But I quickly smothered it with indifference.
"…You don't understand," I muttered. "I'm not like you. You shine in front of everyone. You have people who care about you. Me? I'm just a ghost in this place."
Ichinose tilted her head slightly, smiling sadly. "Then I guess I'll be the idiot who talks to ghosts."
I let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "You're insane."
"Probably," she said softly. "But at least I'm consistent."
She sat down on the floor, opening one of the food containers. "Now sit. You look like you haven't eaten anything real in days."
I hesitated, but eventually, I gave in. There was no point fighting her.
The two of us sat on the floor, the quiet hum of the air conditioner filling the silence.
The food was warm — surprisingly good, too.
Ichinose smiled faintly as I took a bite. "See? You're not as lifeless when you're eating."
"Don't get used to it," I said between bites. "This is just temporary."
"Mm, we'll see."
For a while, we ate in silence. The tension that had filled the room earlier slowly dissolved into something softer, calmer.
Finally, Ichinose broke the silence. "So… about the new exam."
I froze. "What about it?"
"It's scary, isn't it?" she said honestly. "One mistake, and someone disappears."
I gave a small shrug. "That's how this school works."
"I know," she said. "But it still feels wrong."
She poked at her food absentmindedly. "You know… when I first came here, I thought this school was a dream. A place where hard work and kindness could make anything possible. But now…"
"Now you see the cracks."
"Yeah," she said quietly. "And the more I see them, the more I realize how many people get swallowed up by this place."
I didn't reply. There was nothing to say.
Then she looked at me again, eyes filled with quiet determination. "That's why I don't want to lose anyone. Not my class… and not you."
I felt her words like a faint sting.
"You're not going to lose me," I said flatly. "There's not enough of me left to lose."
"That's not true."
"It is."
"Then prove it wrong," she said, leaning forward slightly. "If you really think you're just a ghost, then show me otherwise."
Her tone was firm — not pleading, but challenging.
I sighed, looking at her earnest expression. "You're really stubborn, you know that?"
"I learned from the best," she said softly.
For the first time in days, I smiled — just a small, fleeting curve of the lips.
"Fine," I muttered. "But only because you brought food."
"Of course," she said cheerfully. "Food always works."
After we finished eating, Ichinose gathered the containers and stacked them neatly. I leaned back against the wall, watching her.
"You don't have to clean up," I said lazily.
"I don't mind. You should rest."
"Rest?" I scoffed. "You think I can sleep?"
She smiled gently. "You could try."
Her tone was soft, motherly even. The kind of warmth I hadn't felt in a long time.
When she finished, she sat beside me — not too close, but enough that I could feel her presence.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The night stretched on, quiet and fragile.
Then Ichinose spoke, her voice almost a whisper.
"Even if you disappear tomorrow," she said, echoing her words from before, "I'll still remember you."
I turned to look at her.
She smiled faintly, eyes shimmering in the soft light. "That's a promise."
I wanted to reply — to say something, anything — but the words wouldn't come.
Instead, I whispered, "…You're too kind."
She laughed softly. "I've been told that before."
Minutes passed. My eyelids grew heavy. The warmth of the food, the comfort of her presence — it all blurred together into something almost peaceful.
Ichinose stood up quietly and walked to the door.
"I'll come again tomorrow," she said softly.
"You don't have to."
"I know," she said, turning back with a small smile. "But I will anyway."
And with that, she left — her footsteps fading down the corridor until all that remained was silence.
I stared at the door long after she was gone.
Then I looked back at the desk — at the two empty food containers sitting side by side.