The first-year boys moved straight into the next event without a break.
In the meantime, the first-year girls' ball toss continued to progress steadily.
Once the ball toss ended, it would be the gender-separated tug-of-war. One physical event after another.
During the short rest before it started, we watched the girls' ball toss.
"The phrase 'ball toss' kinda has a dirty ring to it, doesn't it?"
Ishizaki, sitting beside me, said this with a completely straight face.
"You and Ryuuen both love that kind of talk."
I placed my right hand on his head.
"N-No, wait, it was just a joke, a joke!"
That alone was enough to make Ishizaki apologize.
Having grabbed him once before, he reacted quickly.
"B-By the way, Class C is doing great, right? We're in first place overall by class, aren't we?"
"Yes. If we keep this momentum, first place overall is practically guaranteed."
In every event, the students of Class C were giving it everything they had.
Even accounting for Ryuuen's intimidation, the sheer desperation they were showing was honestly worthy of praise.
They were struggling with all their might so the results would pay off.
"The ball toss looks smooth too. What advice did you give them?"
The number of balls that had gone in clearly favored the white team over the red.
With the overall physical ability of Class C's girls having improved, this outcome was inevitable.
On top of that, Class B—centered around Ichinose—was also performing strongly.
They limited the number of shooters and had everyone else focus on gathering balls. It was a strategy that maximized efficiency.
Fewer throwers meant higher accuracy, making it a better approach than simply throwing as many as possible.
Still, Class C, having raised the baseline level of everyone, stood out more.
After all, nearly every member now had accuracy on par with Class B's designated shooters. The sheer volume that went in was on another level.
"Throw the ball quickly and accurately through the air. To do that, memorize the angle and form that make it go in, then drill it over and over."
Start with the correct form. Keep repeating until it becomes natural, then gradually increase speed.
Relying purely on athletic instinct is fine, but familiarity ultimately yields greater efficiency—and speed.
It's the same as showing your work in math problems.
Some find writing out every step tedious until they get used to it, but once they do, both the amount written and the errors decrease.
Repetition optimizes the process.
In other words, the foundation is built, applications become possible, and—unlike self-taught methods—even under pressure you can instantly recall the "correct" way, reducing mistakes further.
"Habituation can be terrifying depending on how you look at it, but in the end it comes down to how you use it."
"Yeah, habits really are scary. I'm terrible at waking up early, but if there were no school, my sleep schedule would flip day and night in no time."
"Optimize your daily habits to keep your body in top condition. Sleep is important."
Ending the pointless small talk, I stood up.
The announcement signaling the end of the ball toss had just played. The result is victory for the white team. The BC alliance exchanged high-fives and laughed, visibly savoring the joy.
"Tug-of-war follows the same format as pole toppling—first to two wins takes it. I wish all participants the best of luck."
The referee gave a rough explanation of the rules before wrapping up with some polite words.
We split into the BC alliance and the AD alliance and took hold of the rope.
"Line up exactly as we practiced."
I gave instructions to the Class C students.
I was the commander this time.
Ryuuen knew we could win without his usual intimidation, so he refused on the grounds that it was too much trouble.
The Class C students quickly arranged themselves by height.
I had them form a slight arc to concentrate force. It wasn't a perfect height order, though—the front group was deliberately mixed.
That was because I prioritized placing the smaller but athletic club members up front.
The initial pull is critical, so I positioned students with explosive strength and muscle mass there.
"Do exactly what we did in practice and we'll win. Pull with confidence."
"Yes, sir!"
The Class C students answered in unison.
They gripped the rope as instructed—hands close together to prevent force from escaping, bodies and feet aligned in the same direction, shoulders adjusted to the same height.
Preparations complete.
"Hey, should we copy that formation too?"
As we finished setting up at the rear, one of the Class B students at the front called over.
It was Shibata Sō—the mood-maker of Class B who had been delivering strong results throughout the sports festival.
"No need. Stick to what you practiced. Sudden changes in coordination could disrupt the overall force."
"Got it. But we should at least settle on a chant. Matching the timing makes the pull stronger. Ours is 'O-es!'—what about Class C?"
"The same."
"Perfect. Then let's both give it everything!"
Grinning, Shibata returned to his position and passed the information along.
Class B's lineup was the reverse of Class C's—tallest to shortest.
That naturally left the smallest students in the middle.
Yet with powerhouses like Albert anchoring the rear, there was no loss of force distribution.
In fact, it had accidentally become the most efficient arrangement possible.
Luck. As always, such a boring talent.
"Everyone, here we go!"
Shibata shouted, and at the starting signal both sides began pulling.
"O-es! O-es!"
With that chant, the BC alliance yanked the rope with full force.
Balance held for the first few seconds.
But gradually, the rope began sliding toward our side.
"Sync your breathing!"
A desperate shout rose from Class B, and they finally clicked into gear.
The slight timing mismatch with Class C disappeared, and our combined force surged.
Before long, the cannon sounded, announcing the BC alliance's victory.
"Yesss!"
Students from both Class B and Class C roared in triumph.
The AD alliance lowered the rope amid a tense atmosphere.
"What the hell, Class D? Why can't we beat those cooperating BC bastards? Pull harder!"
"Don't screw around! You guys need to pull harder!"
Both sides pointed fingers at each other. Their lack of composure was plain to see.
"Calm down. If we don't cooperate now, we'll lose the next one too. Don't throw away a win we can still take."
"That's right. Let's turn it around and take the next two. We haven't lost yet."
Katsuragi and Hirata.
The two leaders rallied their respective classes and tried to raise morale.
Yet the hostile mood only thinned slightly. The root problem remained unsolved.
The interval ended mercilessly, and the second round began.
"O-es! O-es!"
Again the chant rang out as both sides pulled.
It looked balanced at first, but within seconds the tide turned decisively in our favor.
The reason was obvious.
The AD alliance's timing was completely off. On top of the BC alliance's superior total strength, the opponent was riddled with openings.
Losing would have been harder.
"Pull through!"
At Shibata's shout, the BC alliance's force intensified.
The referee's signal sounded again, and we claimed the second victory as well.
Match over. The boys' division of the gender-separated tug-of-war ended in a clean 2–0 sweep for the BC alliance.
With joyful, they returned to the tent.
...
The girls' tug-of-war ended as well, and the festival shifted back to individual events.
For the record, the BC alliance had won the girls' division too. Everyone had given their absolute all, so the outcome felt inevitable.
The next event was the obstacle race... balance beam, crawl net, and sack hop. A contest decided by clearing these three hurdles.
The balance beam was simple—run across it.
The net was spread across the ground; you had to crawl underneath.
The sack hop meant stuffing both legs into a burlap bag and bounding forward in straight hops.
These elements all ate up precious seconds, which was exactly why it was called an obstacle race.
"You're looking sharp today, Kamukura-kun."
We were waiting at the starting line for the first heat.
Eight runners lined up side by side, and Hirata Yōsuke, standing next to me, struck up a conversation.
"You, on the other hand, seem a little off."
"Really? I feel like I've been putting up pretty solid results."
"I'm not talking about your performance. I'm talking about your state of mind."
Hirata narrowed his eyes slightly.
He must have started to realize by now that Class D was being deliberately targeted. And despite that, they were still losing more often than not.
"It looks like it's weighing on you—not being able to deliver results for the class."
"…Yeah. It's hard when all your effort doesn't translate into wins. We're fighting desperately, yet we keep losing. It'd be a lie to say that doesn't get to me."
"You're honest, at least."
"I can usually tell when someone sees right through bluffing."
The referee signaled for us to get ready.
We dropped into our crouching starts.
"I've been wondering about this for a while," Hirata continued. "Why do you follow Ryuuen?
If you wanted to, you could lead everyone yourself… You could even become the leader of Class C."
"What meaning would there be in becoming a leader?"
My reply was cold.
Of course I possess the talents associated with leadership.
Führer, yakuza boss, king, prince—I've never held those titles, but I could replicate the actions of anyone who bears those talents perfectly.
Yet doing so would serve no purpose. An outcome I can already foresee is nothing but boring.
"With your strength…" Hirata said quietly, "you could build a circle where no one gets hurt.
It sounds like an idealist's dream, but if you were the leader, you could stand at the center of a group like that. You could give it real meaning."
"You have keen observation skills. That is, in fact, my original role."
"Original role…? What do you—"
His words cut off. The referee had raised his hand, readying the starting pistol.
The signal cracked through the air without mercy.
I crossed the finish line first, as always.
Three individual events, two relay events—all top results. At this point, the year-group rewards were essentially secured.
Hirata came in shortly after. The athletic reflexes he'd honed in soccer were no joke.
"Haa… haa… Mind if we pick up where we left off? What exactly do you mean by 'original role'?"
Even winded, he pressed the question. There was no hostility or malice in it, so I indulged him.
"The literal meaning. I stand at the front of a group, guiding those who follow toward an ideal. I create that group, support it, and ultimately make everything better."
"Then why don't you do it? Why follow Ryuuen?
He's doing terrible things to our classmates. You could build something far better without any of that."
"There's only one reason. It's boring."
Hirata's eyes widened in an instant.
He fell silent, stunned. A reality he couldn't comprehend had frozen his thoughts.
"If I led, I could create the ideal circle you described. But even if I did, the result would already be known. It wouldn't relieve the boredom."
"…That's your reason?"
He looked openly disappointed.
Not because the conversation itself had been unpleasant, but because he'd hoped to gain something from it and walked away empty-handed.
"Why did you become the leader who holds your class together?"
I asked while glancing at Class C's obstacle race results.
He seemed to be searching for hints—any hints—on how to unify his own class through talking to me.
He was desperate enough to grasp at straws, which told me Class D's atmosphere was even worse than I'd estimated.
For the sake of the unknown, I'd humor his consultation.
"Because I don't want anyone to get hurt."
"And your ultimate goal?"
"To remove conflict from the class… to create one where no one oppresses anyone else."
Winning the special exams—the words that should have come first, given the current situation—were absent.
They were selfish, exclusionary sentiments.
I pressed further.
"What specific steps do you think would make that possible?"
"No distinctions. I stop fights myself. I want everyone to stand on equal ground."
"It's impossible for one person to stop every conceivable conflict with their body alone."
I stated the plain truth.
Hirata looked away, chin dipping slightly.
He understood in his head that it was an ideal, yet he couldn't see any other path.
So he was forcing equality through sheer effort, shrinking differences as much as he could.
That much I could infer.
"Besides, does 'stopping conflict' include the possibility of using violence?"
"…No. I persuade with words. Violence only breeds… fear."
For a fraction of a second—less than one—his expression darkened.
Violence. Fear.
His excessive reaction to those words revealed something about his nature.
Likely, in the past, he had either experienced it himself, witnessed it and been powerless to stop it, or…
"I understand you to a certain degree now."
"…May I ask what you've figured out?"
His face was serious, but the shadow hadn't fully lifted. His lack of margin was clear.
"You're naive. Far more than Ichinose. What you're saying is the delirious rambling of a child."
Wishing things could be this way—hoping everyone stays unhurt and gets along.
A utopia constructed from kindness and arrogance. Yet it lacks the ability, the vision, the follow-through to ever exist.
It's no different from a child's selfish daydream.
"A leader with overwhelming charisma and communication skills like Class B's. Or one who rules through fear and violence like Class C's.
Since you can be neither, your ideal will remain forever out of reach. I'm not telling you to become ruthless, but try looking further ahead and considering what you, specifically, are capable of doing."
You cannot save everyone.
To gain something, you must discard something else. It's a simple principle.
Selection and sacrifice. Hirata Yōsuke seems particularly poor at that.
"…Thank you."
"I only indulged you on a whim. No thanks are necessary."
"I'm the one who wants to say it. Your words alone won't change anything, but I could feel that you spoke seriously.
Whether I turn this into fuel is up to me. I'll keep doing my best from here on."
With an expression that seemed somehow cleansed—as if a weight had lifted—Hirata declared his resolve.
"Aren't you going to run away from it? Someone else will handle the role of unifying the group.
There's no need for you to do it yourself. Especially when your ideal is so close to impossible."
"You're right, in a way. But I won't run away."
He answered with firm resolve.
I could sense more than enough determination in him. I granted his strength of will a measure of approval.
"Then allow me one final, unkind question.
Imagine a situation where you must abandon one classmate—and by abandoning that one, the other thirty-nine would be saved.
Would you save that single person? Or would you save the class?"
Hirata's expression froze once more, twisting in pain.
That reaction alone told me what he was picturing.
Given his earlier words, he would undoubtedly choose to protect the class.
Yet the one to be abandoned is still a classmate.
Which means he would want to protect both—that would be the answer of a hypocrite like him.
"You don't need to reply. The very fact that you can't answer instantly proves how naive you are. If you truly want to save everyone, start figuring out what you can actually do—right now."
With those parting words, I left the area.
The next event was the three-legged race.
I headed to the waiting zone early and decided to watch the girls' obstacle race.
...
The boys' obstacle race concluded, and the girls' division began.
Competing in Class C's first heat were Yajima-san and Kinoshita-san.
Both were track club members with proven athletic prowess.
Unluckily grouped in the same race as them was Horikita-san from Class D.
"Man, that's gotta suck for Horikita-san too. I almost feel sorry for her."
My three-legged race partner, Sonoda-kun, said as much.
Since he was looking the same way I was, he clearly understood the situation.
In every individual event so far, these three had ended up in the same groupings.
Coincidence. For the sharper ones, that probability felt a little too low to dismiss as mere chance, and they were gradually starting to sense the real cause behind it.
"Start… Horikita-san really does have sharp reflexes."
The track club pair shot forward at the gun.
They reached the balance beam first and quickly pulled away from the rest.
Horikita mounted it in third, chasing them.
The gap wasn't insurmountable, though. She'd lose in pure speed, but the unpredictable elements of the obstacles let her stay close.
Holding her own against runners specialized in track—and as someone with no club activities, no less. Sonoda's assessment might even have been selling her short.
"Yajima-san's reflexes really are exceptional, as expected."
She'd started side by side with Kinoshita-san, but by the time she cleared the beam and crawled under the net, she was running alone at the front.
Naturally gifted to begin with, she'd also trained diligently without growing complacent.
There were no visible weaknesses that could lead to defeat.
She even began widening the gap over second-place Kinoshita, maintaining a distance that all but declared Horikita no threat at all.
Yet that gap wasn't because Kinoshita had slacked off in practice.
Same track club, different events—the muscles and reflexes they relied on varied.
Taken overall, their athletic ability was likely equal. There shouldn't have been such a disparity.
So why the difference now? Why was Kinoshita locked in a close contest with Horikita?
The answer was simple... she was holding back.
"Whoa, she just overtook Kinoshita."
After finishing the sack hop, only a 50-meter straight sprint remained.
Horikita flung off the sack and dashed at full speed.
Kinoshita gave chase behind her.
Then something odd happened.
Horikita glanced back far more than necessary—quick, repeated looks over her shoulder.
That hesitation slowed her down, and the two drew level.
As Horikita tried to surge ahead again and Kinoshita closed in, their legs tangled, and both went tumbling.
"Whoa!? You okay!?"
The crowd of students erupted in murmurs.
From a distance, most couldn't tell who had initiated the contact, so it probably looked like a simple mishap to them.
But this was intentional.
The bump came from Kinoshita. She threw herself down without concern for her own safety, dragging Horikita into the fall.
Caught off balance, Horikita landed hard on one foot.
That foot wouldn't escape with minor damage—I could analyze that much.
The trailing runners passed them as they lay there.
Horikita somehow rose and limped to the finish in seventh. Kinoshita, apparently hurting her foot, withdrew from the race.
"She sacrificed her own leg just to carry out Ryuuen-kun's orders."
Needless to say, Ryuuen had orchestrated the collision.
An attack disguised as an accident to inflict damage on Horikita.
The effect was immediate. Dirty tactic or not, it had still neutralized one of Class D's key members.
And yet.
"A track club member willing to throw away her legs. So she never had that much passion for it after all."
I knew nothing about Kinoshita personally, but this fact alone let me infer a fair amount.
It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. She must have wanted something badly enough to discard what she once prided herself on.
I could speculate. But confirming it would only invite boredom. There was no need to know.
Besides, as of now, she hadn't actually injured herself yet. Voluntarily causing a serious injury isn't something an ordinary mindset can achieve.
But for the later plan to crush Horikita, this injury was essential.
If no opportunity presented itself, I'd simply create one. Like with Ibuki-san during the uninhabited island exam—make it a "real" injury.
"So that's the Horikita-crushing strategy Ryuuen…-san mentioned, right?"
"Yes. Though it's none of our concern."
We moved on and began preparing for the three-legged race.
"I get that it's necessary for victory, and I understand the reasons behind it.
But honestly, watching it didn't feel good. Was Kinoshita threatened into it?"
"If you're curious, why not ask her yourself?"
"That's cold. Ryuuen would never tell me anyway…"
We exchanged such small talk while tying our legs together.
As I thought—he wasn't truly part of Ryuuen's faction. The seeds of rebellion were quietly spreading, even if they hadn't surfaced yet.
"Couldn't you change things, Kamukura-san?"
"I won't. I'm following him because I want to see where he ends up. I have no intention of doing what you're imagining."
"…I see."
I spoke without meeting his gaze.
By clearly declaring my subordination, I blunted any rebellious intent.
It was part of the work to keep the class unified.
"Run at full effort, just like we practiced."
Soon the boys' three-legged race began.
We watched the earlier heats, and Class C was posting strong results across the board in this event too.
Finally our turn came.
We tore through the course at a speed far beyond the others around us, claiming a clean first place.
***
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