The forest path. Afternoon.
Ayanokoji Kiyotaka and Shiina Hiyori parted ways at the first fork beyond Class A's plateau, exchanging only the barest nods of acknowledgment. Their purposes diverged; their paths had no reason to remain intertwined.
Shiina disappeared into the foliage heading toward Class B's territory. Ayanokoji continued alone, his steps unhurried but his mind racing.
Kouenji, predictably, was nowhere to be found. The golden-haired narcissist had vanished as completely as if the island had swallowed him. Ayanokoji did not waste energy wondering where—Kouenji operated on principles inaccessible to normal reasoning.
Instead, he focused on processing what he had witnessed.
The salt. The cooking. The camp's impossible order. Katsuragi's vigilant posture that had melted instantly at Sakamoto's quiet word. Every detail reinforced the same conclusion: Sakamoto was the undisputed center of Class A's operation.
Which meant, by straightforward logic, that Sakamoto was the leader.
Holding the key card. Directing base occupations. Maximizing efficiency and security through personal presence. It was the most rational approach, the approach Ayanokoji himself had initially deduced from the timing of Class A's occupations.
But a thorn remained in that logic.
During lunch, his gaze had swept the stone table, cataloging faces out of habit. The count had seemed slightly off. Not by much—perhaps two or three students fewer than Class A's full roster.
He couldn't match names to missing faces. His memory, while exceptional, did not extend to every student in every class. But the discrepancy registered, a data point that refused to integrate smoothly with his conclusions.
Missing students. Unexplained absences. What are you doing, Class A?
The question accompanied him through the forest, unresolved.
Class C's camp. The waterfall.
The sound reached him first—a distant murmur that grew to a steady rush as he approached. Then the trees parted, and the scene opened before him.
A waterfall cascaded down a rocky cliff, its waters collecting in a clear pool before continuing their journey downstream. Around the pool's edge, the terrain opened into a natural clearing, shaded by the same trees that bore wild fruit within easy reach.
Class C's camp occupied this space with comfortable efficiency.
Uniform tents stood in orderly rows—purchased, clearly, with private points. Portable barbecue grills sat nearby, their metal surfaces gleaming. Students moved between these modern conveniences with the ease of people who had chosen comfort over struggle.
Ayanokoji observed with clinical detachment. Tents. Grills. Purchased supplies. This is what a sensible class does. This is the rational approach.
Compared to Class A's handmade civilization, it seemed almost mundane. Compared to Class D's struggling camp, it was paradise.
"Ah—is that Ayanokoji-kun?"
The voice was bright, unguarded, carrying across the clearing like sunlight.
Ichinose Honami approached with her characteristic warmth, pink hair catching the filtered light, smile as genuine as ever. She showed no wariness at finding a student from another class at her camp's edge—only the open curiosity of someone who saw visitors rather than threats.
"Ichinose-san." Ayanokoji's nod was minimal but polite.
"Welcome to our humble camp!" She gestured proudly at their surroundings. "What do you think? Water source, natural shade, fresh fruit within reach. Not bad, right?"
Ayanokoji's gaze swept the scene again. Tents. Grills. Orderly arrangement. Comfortable existence.
Normal. Sensible. Predictable.
The contrast with Class A's impossible achievement sharpened in his mind. That camp had felt like stepping into another world—a place where modern convenience had been rejected in favor of pure capability. Here, surrounded by purchased comforts, he felt almost relieved. This was reality. This was how normal people survived.
"The environment is excellent," he offered.
Ichinose beamed. "Right? Everyone's really happy here. It cost some points, but peace of mind is worth the expense, don't you think?"
She paused, then asked with natural curiosity, "How is Class D doing? Did you find a good campsite?"
Ayanokoji's response was measured. "We located a stream. I've been away for several hours, so current progress is uncertain."
He offered nothing more. Ichinose accepted this with an understanding nod.
Then she surprised him.
Lowering her voice slightly—though her tone remained frank—she shared: "Between us, it's probably fine to tell you. Class C has decided not to attempt guessing other classes' leaders this exam."
Ayanokoji's eyes flickered with interest. A conservative strategy. Avoid wrong guesses. Avoid point losses. Similar to what Class D was considering.
"And," Ichinose continued, a wry smile touching her lips, "we're probably not going to bother with base occupations either."
"Why?"
Ichinose sighed, spreading her hands in a gesture of resigned acceptance. "We tried to locate potential strongholds. Several of them."
She paused, letting the implication gather.
"They were all already occupied. Every single one. And the occupying class was—uniformly Class A."
Ayanokoji's chest tightened.
All of them. Already occupied. In a single day.
The efficiency he had witnessed at the cave and the streamside clearing was not isolated. It was systematic. Class A wasn't just participating in the base race—they were dominating it.
And at the center of that dominance, directing it, enabling it, making it possible...
Sakamoto.
Ichinose's wry smile deepened. "They're something else, aren't they? Class A, I mean. Or maybe just..." She trailed off, but her meaning was clear.
Ayanokoji offered no response. His mind was already moving ahead, integrating this new data, adjusting his understanding of the playing field.
Class A had not only built a civilization. They had conquered the island's strategic resources while doing it.
The gap between classes was not measured in points.
It was measured in him.
"All occupied by Class A?" Ayanokoji's voice carried no inflection, but his mind was already racing.
Ichinose shrugged with the easy acceptance of someone who had made peace with reality. "Since we can't compete anyway, we decided to conserve our energy. Build a comfortable camp, get through the week safely. No point in fighting a battle we can't win."
Ayanokoji pressed: "Not a single stronghold?"
Ichinose's nod was definitive. "Every one we've found so far. Class A's name on all of them." A thoughtful pause, then a wry smile. "Sakamoto-kun seems to be going all out this time."
Before Ayanokoji could respond, a voice called from across the camp—a Class C student waving, needing Ichinose's attention.
"Ah—duty calls." Ichinose's apologetic smile was genuine. "I should go. See you around, Ayanokoji-kun!"
"Goodbye."
He watched her retreating figure merge with the bustle of her class's camp. For a moment, he simply stood there, processing.
All occupied by Class A.
The pattern was undeniable. Sakamoto's signature—complete, overwhelming execution. Either don't engage, or dominate entirely.
But the timing troubled him.
Class A's camp had been under intense construction all morning. Sakamoto had been present throughout—overseeing, teaching, cooking. His attention had been consumed by the camp's development.
How could he simultaneously lead occupation teams deep into the jungle?
Unless...
Ayanokoji's mind circled back to the lunch table. That subtle discrepancy in numbers. The faces that hadn't been present.
He wasn't leading them.
The realization crystallized slowly, then all at once.
Sakamoto remained at the main camp. Directing. Strategizing. Enabling.
Others carried out the occupations. Others held the key cards. Others were the leaders.
The "obvious" conclusion—that Sakamoto must be Class A's designated leader—began to crack.
But the crack revealed a deeper problem.
If Sakamoto wasn't leading the occupation teams, then who was? And how had they maintained the astonishing efficiency Ayanokoji had witnessed—two strongholds in one hour, traversing difficult terrain, completing occupations with military precision?
The fog that had briefly cleared now rolled back in, thicker than before.
Ayanokoji glanced at the western sky. The sun was beginning its descent, shadows lengthening across the island.
"Back to camp."
He turned and walked into the forest, his steps carrying him toward Class D's struggling streamside settlement.
Behind him, the waterfall continued its endless descent, indifferent to the questions it had helped generate.