The room was still dark.
The screen had stopped playing five minutes ago, but no one
moved. The final image—Reiji Kurosawa walking off with his team like a silent
procession—still hung in the air.
Tokai sat at the front of the room, elbows on knees, head
tilted slightly like he was rewinding the simulation frame by frame in his
mind.
Niso Tanaka stood beside him, arms folded, face unreadable.
Minato Onabara leaned against the wall near the light
switch, tablet in hand, not typing for once. His usually sharp eyes looked
distant—almost thoughtful.
Mia Katagawa stood near the door, her fingers tracing the
cold metal handle.
No one spoke.
Until Minato broke the silence.
> "They were flawless."
Mia responded, voice clipped. "They weren't perfect. Just
practiced."
Niso glanced toward the dark screen. "Practiced for a full
year. Together."
Tokai finally stood. His voice was low, calm.
> "Every individual match… was clean. No wasted movement.
No second guessing."
He turned to the others.
> "We're not ready."
There was no denial. Not this time.
Minato clicked his pen once, slowly. "That's what makes this
interesting."
Tokai looked at him.
> "You think this is a game?"
Minato smirked, the edge of competitiveness returning. "No.
I think it's war. And we just saw what happens when you don't prepare."
Mia stepped forward. "Then let's prepare. Subject trials are
in five days. Group simulation in ten. We don't have time for doubt."
Niso pulled up a file on her tablet. "I've already reviewed
Class 4-D's old academic data. We don't need to match them. We need to outthink
them."
Tokai narrowed his eyes. "Then we don't train to beat them
at their game. We train to change it."
Hayato Arima stood with his arms crossed, watching the same
footage from a different screen. Shiori flipped through rep profiles beside
him.
> "Class 4-D hasn't slowed down. If anything, they've
refined their methods."
Hayato didn't answer immediately.
> "Then let the fire spread," he said. "I want the second
years to feel it. Pressure is how we forge steel."
Shiori raised an eyebrow. "Or break bones."
He finally turned to her, smiling faintly. "The broken ones
don't belong."
The second-year group—Tokai, Niso, Minato, and Mia—sat at
the far end of the cafeteria, attracting more stares than usual. Not because of
status.
But because everyone knew what they'd just seen.
Whispers flew across tables.
> "That was last year's Class 3-D…"
> "They dismantled everyone."
> "Are those four seriously going up against them?"
> "They'll get crushed."
Kai plopped into the seat next to Tokai, dropping his tray
loudly. "Man. I just watched a digital massacre."
Miyo joined them moments later, setting her drink beside
Niso's. "So… what's the plan?"
Mia replied flatly, "Rebuild from zero. And no weak links."
Minato added, "We need to train like our lives depend on
it."
Tokai nodded. "Because in this school… they do."
The lights were dim. Sleek monitors lined the walls, each
glowing with layered datasets, academic scores, match footage, and predictive
analysis. This wasn't a classroom, It was a war room.
At the center sat Reiji Kurosawa, posture relaxed,
expression unreadable as always. To his right, Ruth Fujimoto was sipping a
protein smoothie like it was champagne. On his left, Kaito Harata leaned back
in his chair, spinning a flash drive between his fingers.
Rika Kishima stood near the screen, arms crossed, her gaze
locked on a table of updated performance metrics.
> "Another sweep," Kaito said lazily. "No challenge this
year."
Ruth sighed. "I'm bored. I was hoping one of the third-years
would put up a fight."
Rika didn't speak. She tapped a command into the keyboard.
The screen changed.
Class 2-A and 2-B Combined Metrics.
Reiji blinked once, then leaned forward.
Minato Onabara. Mia Katagawa. Niso Tanaka. Lad Tokai.
Their profiles appeared on screen—scores, awards,
competition history, psychological breakdowns, and estimated decision-making
speeds.
> "That's the second-year rep group," Ruth murmured.
Kaito squinted. "Wait… that's the one who beat our firewall
scenario last week, isn't it?"
Reiji didn't blink. "Tanaka. Adaptive pattern recognition,
top 2.4% in the country. Tokai… no award history, but his Keikyu GPA ranking
is… fifth?"
Rika's voice was quiet. "Out of how many?"
Reiji scrolled. "Five hundred and twelve."
That silenced the room.
Kaito leaned forward. "Fifth… in Keikyu? That school eats
people alive."
Ruth furrowed her brow. "Okay. So maybe the individuals
aren't pushovers."
"No," Reiji corrected. "They're better than expected."
He brought up a projection chart: Group Performance
Probability – Phase 2 Trial.
Projected success rate for Class 4-D: 94%. Until now.
Now: 79%.
Kaito whistled. "That's… a drop."
Rika narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
Reiji tapped a file.
The screen blinked. Footage from a mock negotiation scenario
appeared—Minato and Mia, running a hostile rebuttal against a third-year team.
Clean transitions. No hesitation. Tokai silently redirected strategy mid-round
while Niso spotted a clause that flipped the entire case.
Ruth exhaled slowly. "They work together. No ego."
Kaito said, "We've been cruising off our reputation. They're
training like they've already lost."
A rare pause followed.
Reiji stood.
"From now on," he said, "we monitor them. Quietly."
Rika tilted her head. "You think they could actually—?" "I
think," Reiji interrupted, "they're dangerous only if we assume they're not."
He looked around the room.
"No more relaxing. We prepare for war."
Niso looked up from her notebook. "They're watching us."
Tokai didn't glance up. "Good. Let them."
Mia crossed her arms. "That means we've cracked their
comfort."
Minato smiled faintly. "Then let's make them uncomfortable."
Tables were scattered with graphs, balance sheets, projected
simulations, and digital task screens. A countdown timer glowed red on the
wall:
> 00:36:42 – Group Trial Simulation in Progress
Minato tapped away at his terminal, plotting a resource
allocation move. Miyo cross-referenced incoming supply routes with Niso. Mia
tracked communication errors in their opponent's digital infrastructure.
Tokai stood in the middle, reading everything at once—too
quickly.
"Asset B is too exposed," he said flatly. "Pull it into a
joint reserve."
Minato frowned. "That'll drop our margin."
"Just do it."
Minato didn't argue, but his keystrokes slowed.
On-screen, the opponent team struck fast—pushing through a
corporate delay and forcing a restructuring decision.
Miyo muttered, "We're leaking credits."
Mia responded, "I've got it. Redirecting funds—"
Too late.
> Penalty Applied: Delayed Response. -7% Integrity
Buzzer. The simulation paused.
> "Scenario Failed."
Everyone exhaled at once.
Vending machines
hummed against the far wall, their glow barely reaching the worn couch where
Niso Tanaka now sat, a cold water bottle pressed to her forehead.
Across from her, Lad Tokai leaned against the wall, arms
crossed, gaze fixed on the floor. Neither spoke.
Their last simulation had failed again.
Niso finally exhaled and broke the silence. "You're
overthinking."
Tokai didn't respond.
She leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.
"You're not supposed to carry all of us. Just hold the frame."
He spoke without looking at her. "The frame breaks first."
Both phones vibrated at once—buzzing in tandem across the
quiet room.
They each glanced down.
Incoming Call: Reen 💗
Incoming Call: Hiroshi 📱
Tokai stared at his screen for a long second.
Then, quietly: "Not now." He clicked Ignore.
Niso hesitated… then mirrored him.
Her thumb hovered briefly… before she too pressed Ignore.
They sat in silence again, neither realizing how identical
their decisions had just been.
"I don't think most people would get this," Niso said
quietly, still staring up.
Tokai turned slightly. "Get what?"
She shrugged. "Why we try so hard. What it feels like to be
needed by everyone and trusted by no one."
Tokai didn't reply.
But something flickered in his eyes—recognition.
"They expect results," he muttered. "Not excuses."
Niso gave a faint smile—soft, tired, real.
"It's easier," she said, "when you're the one beside me."
Tokai didn't smile back.
But for once, he didn't look away.
The silence settled again, but this time it wasn't heavy. It
was… thoughtful.
Niso lowered the bottle from her forehead and turned
slightly, just enough to study him.
"Why did you come here?" she asked.
Tokai's eyes flicked up. He didn't answer right away.
She added, "Tokyo Academy. Why this school? You already had
status at Keikyu, right?"
He looked away again, but his jaw tightened—just enough to
be noticeable.
After a long pause, he said, quietly, "It wasn't my choice."
Niso blinked.
"My mother," Tokai continued. "She… she dreamed of me
standing in a place like this. Far away from where I grew up. She thought this
school would make it easier to let go of everything we lost."
His voice wavered—not a crack, but a change. Just enough.
"She said if I could make it here, I'd be free."
Niso's lips parted slightly. "That's why you act the way you
do."
Tokai glanced at her, surprised.
"You walk like someone who already made a promise," she said
softly. "And can't afford to break it."
He didn't answer—but this time, he didn't deflect either.
"I get it," she whispered, looking down at her hands. "I
came here for my mom too."
Tokai's eyes narrowed slightly.
"She always believed I was meant for more. She was the one
who pushed for Meiji West. Pushed for Tokyo Academy. She's the reason I still
wake up before my alarm."
A faint smile crossed her face. "Some nights I wish she
hadn't believed in me so much."
Tokai's expression softened, just a little.
For a second, neither of them looked at each other. Just
stared forward. Breathed in silence.
And without speaking, both thought the same thing.
> "We're not so different after all."
The second-years were back in formation.
The screens flickered to life. Graphs reloaded. Risk values
recalibrated.
> Scenario 3: Market Collapse with Internal Sabotage
Timer: 00:20:00
Mia adjusted her headset.
Niso stood at the control panel, her eyes sharp again.
Minato tapped his stylus impatiently. Tokai stood beside the
main resource map—still silent, still unreadable, but not as composed as usual.
> "Incoming spike in loss projection," Mia said. "I'm
marking the southwest node."
> "Cut funding to non-essential branches," Niso ordered.
"Double assets in green sector."
> "Minato," Tokai added, "reroute legal authority to
Segment 4B. It'll delay their leverage attempt."
Minato didn't move. "That's a delay we can't afford. We've
been over this."
Tokai didn't flinch. "It buys time for Mia to trigger the
recall."
Mia blinked. "I can do that, but it cuts us out of recovery
range."
Minato's fingers hovered over the keys. "You're
micromanaging again."
"Then lead," Tokai snapped.
Minato's eyes flicked up—frosty.
> "No. You want control, then own it."
Tokai hesitated… and made the call.
He keyed the override.
> Command Accepted: 4B route engaged.
A five-second silence.
Then a soft alarm.
> Penalty: Market instability triggered. Investor
confidence drops. -14% authority.
The countdown continued to burn down.
> "Scenario Failed."
The room didn't move.
Then Mia stood. Calmly. "That's three failures in a row."
Minato pulled off his headset and turned directly to Tokai.
> "You're a tactician, not a leader. You keep changing
direction mid-strategy. That's why we're losing."
Tokai didn't speak.
> "We're not pawns in your calculations," Minato added.
"We're teammates. Or did Keikyu not teach you that?"
Niso stepped forward. "Minato—enough."
But Tokai raised a hand slightly.
"I made the call," he said. "It was wrong. I'll fix it."
Mia shook her head. "Not alone, you won't."
Minato scoffed and turned away.
For the first time, Tokai's voice dropped—not cold, not
detached, but strained.
> "If we lose next week… I know who they'll blame."
No one argued.
Because everyone knew—he wasn't wrong.
On the rooftop, Minato Onabara stood alone near the edge,
arms crossed, eyes fixed on the fading sky. His tablet was off for once.
He didn't hear the footsteps until she was beside him.
Mia Katagawa didn't say anything at first. She stood beside
him, facing forward, her expression unreadable.
Then: > "That wasn't necessary."
Minato didn't respond.
> "Calling him out like that in front of the team," she
said. "You don't fix a crack by splitting it wider."
Minato exhaled through his nose. "He's not fit to lead. He's
brilliant, but rigid. Indecisive under fire."
Mia glanced at him. "He's also carrying the weight of your
hesitation. You stalled twice before that final command."
He turned his head slightly. "And you still followed his
call."
"I followed because I knew the team would collapse if we
didn't," Mia said. "But don't confuse that with trust. I'm still watching all
of you."
Minato's jaw tightened.
> "You don't like being challenged, do you?" she
continued.
He looked back at the horizon. "Not when it's reckless."
Mia's voice dropped lower, sharper. "He's not reckless. He's
haunted. There's a difference."
Minato blinked, surprised.
She stepped closer, her voice calm but direct.
> "You're used to being the smartest person in the room.
So is he. But this isn't about IQ anymore. This is about pressure. Who bends,
who holds, who adapts."
She paused.
> "You snapped today. He didn't."
That hit deeper than she expected.
Minato clenched his fists slightly, then let them go.
> "I'm not trying to sabotage him."
"I know," she said. "But you are challenging him.
Constantly. And we don't have the luxury of infighting."
Silence she added, "Either help him… or stop pretending you
want this team to win."
Mia turned and walked toward the stairwell.
Minato didn't stop her.
But his gaze stayed on the skyline a little longer.
And his own reflection in the glass didn't look as certain
as before.
At the center of the room, a screen displayed a fresh
recording: Simulation Footage – Second-Year Group Trial Training, Day 2.
Rika Kishima sat watching silently, her finger tracing a
loop around her teacup. Ruth Fujimoto leaned against the window, arms folded,
not even hiding her amusement. Kaito Harata chewed his gum slower than usual,
watching the display as Tokai and Minato's argument exploded across the screen.
Reiji Kurosawa stood at the front, hands behind his back,
unmoving.
The recording ended.
Silence.
Then Ruth spoke first.
> "Pathetic."
Rika nodded slightly. "We overestimated them."
Kaito cracked his neck. "That wasn't pressure—they cracked
over a simulation. Imagine the real thing."
Reiji turned away from the screen, eyes calm but sharp.
"That training failure gave us more than any victory would."
He tapped the console. New charts blinked into
view—color-coded.
Tokai – delay under conflict.
Minato – ego barrier to cohesion.
Team: Fragmented leadership → Predictable collapse pattern.
Rika tilted her head. "They have no central voice. No
synergy. No chain of command."
Ruth smirked. "They're still lucky we're not their direct
instructors."
Reiji finally spoke.
> "Let them see what we saw."
The message arrived on their shared training server. No
sender listed. No subject. Just a file.
They opened it.
A plain black screen.
One phrase typed across in bold white:
> "We like our opponents prepared. It makes the win
cleaner."
Another line faded in beneath:
> "You guys are pathetic. See you in two days." – 4-D
The silence from the 4-D message still hung in the air.
> "We like our opponents prepared. It makes the win
cleaner."
"You guys are pathetic. See you in two days." – 4-D
Mia's lips tightened. "They're watching. And they're
confident."
Niso folded her arms. "No… they're mocking us."
Across the room, Minato Onabara and Lad Tokai slowly looked
at each other.
And both… smirked.
Tokai's voice was quiet but sharp. "Trap is set."
Mia blinked. "Trap?"
Niso's brow furrowed. "Wait—are we missing something? You
saw the same message, right? They called us pathetic."
Minato slipped his hands into his pockets, the smirk still
tugging at the corner of his mouth.
> "That's exactly what we wanted."
Tokai nodded. "They think we're fractured. That we're still
arguing over leadership. That we don't trust each other."
Mia's eyes widened slightly. "Wait—are you saying the
argument…?"
Minato chuckled. "Acted."
Niso's jaw tightened. "The whole failed simulation... the
confrontation... that was all on purpose?"
Tokai crossed his arms. "We knew 4-D would be watching. They
always analyze before they strike."
Minato added, "So we gave them something to analyze."
Mia shook her head in disbelief. "And the penalty? The team
breakdown? You planned to lose?"
Tokai glanced at the blank screen where the message had
disappeared.
> "Better to lose a fake battle... than a real one."
A long silence.
Then Niso slowly sat down, eyes narrowed. "So what now?"
Minato's smirk faded into focus. "Now we train. For real."
Mia leaned forward, eyes blazing. "And when we meet 4-D on
that stage?"
Tokai didn't blink.
> "They'll be preparing for the wrong version of us."