Chapter Text
The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, turning the surface of the ocean into a blinding sheet of glittering diamonds.
It was a beautiful, idyllic day on the luxury cruise ship, completely at odds with the toxic, suffocating rot eating away inside.
Leaning against the observation deck's white barrier, the lively chatter of students drifted up from the lower levels.
They were soaking in the warmth, laughing, entirely oblivious to the psychological meat grinder waiting for them on the island tomorrow.
Then, a familiar profile cut through the crowd below.
Ayanokōji Kiyotaka walked out onto the sunlit deck, flanked by his usual circle of unremarkable companions.
He looked entirely ordinary, squinting slightly against the midday glare, offering nothing more than a dull nod as the loud girl beside him gestured animatedly.
The sight induced an immediate, visceral revolt. Teeth buried deep into the soft, tender flesh of the inner lip, biting down hard enough to draw a faint, metallic trace of copper.
Across the lapel of the school uniform, fingers coiled so tightly that fingernails sliced into the opposite palm, anchoring a spiraling mind through sharp, physical pain.
Look at him. He was basking in the daylight, playing the part of a peaceful, harmless teenager.
Every breath he took felt like a direct insult to the ghost that haunted every waking hour.
That quiet, carefree future belonged to Eiichirō.
He had been a gentle, brilliant boy who never harbored a single shred of malice toward anyone.
There was a sweet, painful ache in remembering the unspoken bond shared between us—the quiet realization that he loved me, a confession he had been too pure and hesitant to ever voice aloud, and the realization that those feelings had been entirely mutual.
And then there was Uncle Matsuo.
He had been a second father, a man whose boundless kindness and devotion ultimately became his death sentence.
His only sin was trying to shield a boy who didn't deserve a savior.
The psychological siege that followed, the shattering of a good family, and the frozen February afternoon when Eiichirō finally gave up on living—it was a sequence of horrors that left behind nothing but an empty, bitter shell.
When Acting Director Tsukishiro had materialized out of the shadows weeks later, there was nothing left inside but that hollow grief.
A strange, calculating man offering a direct path to revenge for Eiichirō’s death seemed entirely too good to be true.
Paranoia had naturally flared. How did a complete stranger know my name, my history, and the exact nature of my loss?
It required little deduction to realize Tsukishiro was merely the front-facing agent of a far more terrifying entity.
The mastermind pulling the strings was undoubtedly Ayanokōji’s father—a man of immense, untouchable political power.
The entire narrative had felt like a piece of absurd, unrealistic fiction.
A mysterious facility, a fugitive son, and a claim that this supposed mastermind was hiding inside the country’s most prestigious, government-sanctioned academy? It was laughable.
Until the enrollment went through.
The moment those irregular, unexplainable acceptance letters arrived, skepticism dissolved into cold reality.
Yet, even upon stepping onto the Advanced Nurturing High School campus, a pathetic, naive hope had lingered.
A foolish wish had whispered that perhaps Tsukishiro was lying.
Perhaps Ayanokōji Kiyotaka was just an innocent victim caught in his father’s crossfire, and this school could be a place to heal, to start a new life away from the tragedies of the past.
But the dark reality of this campus quickly executed that fantasy.
Investigating his movements in the shadows revealed a truth far worse than anything Tsukishiro had described.
The hushed rumors, the buried incidents, the chilling confirmation of his absolute, predatory acts towards the girls of this school shattered any illusion of his innocence.
He wasn't a victim running from a monster; he was a remorseless predator who used his extraordinary, terrifying capabilities to abuse and control whoever he pleased.
He was entirely responsible for the blood on Uncle Matsuo's hands, and his blank face showed he didn't care at all.
My arms locked tightly around my abdomen, my body instinctively curling inward as a heavy, nauseating wave of dread washed through me.
The terrifying weight of his true nature pressed down on my lungs, a reminder of the absolute ruthlessness hidden beneath that blank face.
But the memory of Eiichirō’s stolen life instantly swallowed the panic.
My own dignity, my own physical sanctity—none of it mattered anymore. If I had to let that monster touch me, if I had to endure his sickening embrace just to blindside him and tear his life apart from the inside, I would suffer through it with a smile.
My body was an acceptable casualty for Eiichirō's justice.
Forcing my posture to straighten, I unclasped my hands, letting the wind cool the feverish heat of my skin. The fear dissolved, leaving behind only the stark, barren reality of the horizon, seamlessly blending with the wave of pure, concentrated venom pooling in the back of my throat.
Tsukishiro believed he had bought a compliant pawn, but the man was deeply mistaken. Working with him was a disgusting necessity, a temporary alignment of mutual objectives.
Tsukishiro, the father, and every single creature crawling out of their secretive organization were no better than the murderers who pushed the Matsuo family into their graves.
But simple extraction—returning their prize asset to his proper place—was far too merciful an ending.
They wanted him captured. The goal here was to see him ruined.
Glance darting back down, a final look anchored on Ayanokōji before he vanished beneath the canopy of the lower deck.
The resolve in my chest solidified into a jagged, lethal edge. The isolation of the island would provide the perfect canvas.
I wouldn't just tear away his mask; I would strip away his composure, his pride, and every asset he held dear.
If he had taken everything from the people who loved me, he would learn what it felt like to lose absolutely everything before he ever set foot off that island.
The stifling air inside the Class D assembly room was thick with a heavy, collective anxiety.
Outside the reinforced windows, the pristine coastline of the uninhabited island loomed closer, a jagged expanse of green and stone waiting to swallow the student body for the next fortnight.
At the front of the room, Chabashira stood with her signature rigid, unyielding posture, her sharp features framed by her usual black blazer and matching skirt.
With a rhythmic tap of her stylus against the digital podium, she commanded the room's absolute, terrified silence.
"Listen closely," Chabashira began, her voice cutting through the ambient hum of the ship’s air conditioning.
"This is your final briefing before disembarkation. The rules of this special exam are absolute, and ignorance will result in your immediate expulsion."
A collective, nervous swallow rippled through the rows of desks.
"Each of you has been issued two primary pieces of equipment," she continued, gesturing to the heavy, tactical smartwatches securely fastened to their wrists and the ruggedized, military-grade tablets resting on their desks.
"The watches are your lifelines. They continuously monitor your core health metrics—heart rate, body temperature, and blood pressure. If your metrics drop below the safety threshold for more than five minutes, a medical alert will trigger automatically, and you will be retired from the exam due to medical emergency."
Sitting near the back of the room, a brief, internal assessment of the device was simple.
To the average student, the watch was a restrictive collar, a constant reminder of their looming physical limitations. But from a structural standpoint, it was a highly efficient data collection grid.
"Furthermore," Chabashira’s voice leveled, her eyes scanning the room, "the watches are equipped with a continuous GPS tracking function. The administration will know exactly where you are, down to the square meter, at every second of the day. Do not attempt to tamper with the wristband. Any disruption in the signal will be treated as an immediate infraction."
She tapped the podium again, bringing up a schematic of the multi-functional school tablets.
"Your tablets serve a dual purpose. They are your primary navigation tools, mapping out the island’s designated tracking areas and task locations in real-time. However..." She paused, her grip on the stylus tightening imperceptibly.
"You must remember that these tablets also house high-resolution, built-in cameras. Every interaction, every task submission, and every official communication can and will be recorded. The island is an isolated testing ground, but it is not unmonitored."
She leaned forward slightly, her expression hardening into a severe, warning mask.
"Because of the sheer scope and isolation of this exam, the school has implemented strict behavioral guidelines. Let me be entirely clear: any illicit activities, any attempts to sabotage other classes through physical violence, coercion, or inappropriate conduct behind the camera's blind spots will be met with severe disciplinary action. Do not mistake the wilderness for a lawless zone."
As the word inappropriate left her lips, Chabashira’s gaze drifted across the sea of students. For a fraction of a second, her sharp, dark eyes locked directly onto mine.
The cool, professional mask she wore so effortlessly suffered a microscopic hairline fracture.
Then, as quickly as it had happened, she ripped her gaze away, clearing her throat subtly before smoothly transitioning back into the logistical details of the point system.
Looking around the room, the contrast between my own internal state and the panic surrounding me was stark.
The rest of Class D looked at the island and saw a hellish test of physical endurance, a nightmare of bugs, sweat, and starvation.
But I didn't dread this exam. At least, not for the reasons they did.
To me, the wilderness wasn't a threat; it was a baseline condition.
Physical exhaustion and survival logistics were predictable variables, easily calculated and managed.
The true danger of this island lay entirely in its lawlessness.
Tsukishiro and my father had deliberately structured this exam to strip away the protective oversight of the school’s regular curriculum.
The vast, unmonitored stretches of dense forest and deep valleys were a canvas for violence.
The biggest concern wasn't survival. It was the sheer volume of factions currently moving to corner me. With a twenty-million private point bounty over my head, the wilderness was a minefield.
Though certain first-years had casually claimed they were abandoning the pursuit of the bounty, it was impossible to take their words at face value.
Twenty million points was an instant, guaranteed ticket to Class A; a sum that life-changing was not something ambitious students simply walked away from.
Beyond the deceptive underclassmen, there were the hidden White Room enforcers waiting to make their move, and Tsukishiro himself pulling the strings from the command center.
To make matters more complicated, Nagumo was directly tied to the generation of that bounty, meaning he could easily weaponize the absolute numerical advantage of the third-year student body to completely lock down my movements on the grid.
I was walking into a valley of wolves, and any one of them could utilize the island's blind spots to orchestrate a permanent exit.
Feeling a sudden prickle of intense, focused energy from my immediate left, my eyes drifted sideways.
Horikita was sitting right next to me, her arms crossed tightly as she threw a sharp, icy glare directly into my profile.
Her jaw was set, her eyes narrowed with a complex cocktail of deep-seated irritation and lingering resentment.
Given our history, trying to deduce the exact reason for her current anger was entirely pointless.
There were simply too many infractions, arguments, and silent battles between us to even begin guessing what had set her off today.
I simply let out a quiet, internal sigh.
What exactly is she mad about now? Either way, her glare was just another variable to manage.
Chabashira’s voice faded into the background as she began detailing the specific point allocations for the arrival zones, but the tactical reality was already perfectly clear.
The mechanical hum of the cruise ship’s lower hydraulic hatches finally signaled the end of our confinement.
Outside, the humid air of the uninhabited island swirled into the lower decks, thick with the scent of saltwater and dense foliage.
As we queued toward the exit gates inside the ship, the toll of the pre-exam anxiety was already visible.
Several students from various classes were lined up against the railings of the lower deck, pale-faced and violently vomiting overboard into the sea.
Watching them tremble in their tracksuits, one could easily mistake them for a terrified infantry unit preparing to storm the beaches in an amphibious invasion, rather than high schoolers stepping onto uncultivated yet managed island.
The combination of motion sickness from the choppy water and the suffocating pressure of the looming exam had completely broken their composure before they even touched land.
I stepped up to the inspection gate still inside the vessel, extending my left wrist. A medical technician used the specialized school tool to clamp the heavy tactical smartwatch into place.
With a solid metallic click, the band sealed. From this moment on, my core health metrics—heart rate, temperature, blood pressure, and oxygen levels—were entirely wired into the school's automated monitoring grid.
The watch was a strict safety net, but in the hands of Acting Director Tsukishiro, it was a weapon.
If a hostile force or a White Room enforcer pinned me down in a camera blind spot for a mere fifteen minutes, the progressive alarm system would trigger a permanent emergency alert, forcing a mandatory medical recall to the port.
Stepping off the ship's gangway, we boarded the small transport shuttles that ferried us across the water, dropping us directly onto the temporary floating pier at the island's beachhead.
The second the clock struck 09:00 AM, the final first-year touched the sand, and our tablets vibrated simultaneously to life as the GPS initialized.
First Designated Area: D7.
Because the school enforced a staggered release right there on the shore—clearing the classes to cross the official start line from Class A down to Class D—we were forced to wait on the sand.
The competitive first-years and the higher-tier second years already had a massive head start into the forest. Chasing the top three arrival bonuses for this initial zone was mathematically impossible.
Standing at the edge of this beach assembly zone, I felt a familiar, intense prickle of energy from my immediate left.
Horikita was staring directly into my profile, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Her teeth were audibly clenched as she bored a characteristically sharp, icy glare straight into me.
The unamused, severe tone she adopted was instantly recognizable, carrying the heavy weight of a year's worth of friction and unspoken boundaries.
"Listen to me carefully, Ayanokōji," she said, her voice dropping into an incredibly serious, low register as she stepped slightly closer, ensuring her words didn't carry to the rest of the class.
"I won't interfere with whatever convoluted methods you use out there, but you must secure a high-ranking position. I won't forgive you if you drag us down."
"I have no intention of getting expelled," I replied evenly.
Her eyes narrowed further, the glare turning distinctly sharper, carrying an intense, quiet warning that went entirely beyond the metrics of the test rules.
"And more importantly... do not do anything unnecessary out there. Keep your head down, do your job, and do not wander off."
The implication behind her words was perfectly transparent.
It wasn't the terrain or the rules she was warning me about; it was the presence of the other girls, particularly the first-year she knew had been hovering around me.
Without giving me a chance to respond to her possessiveness, she turned on her heel with a sharp snap of her tracksuit, marching toward the front of the Class D assembly line.
Letting out a quiet breath, I looked past the crowded beach toward the wall of dense, green vegetation bordering the sand.
My minimalist inventory—a single-person tent, a pot, a lighter, a torch, a spare battery, and exactly twelve servings of freeze-dried food and two liters of water—had cost me 4,960 of my 5,000 purchase points.
It was a setup built for endurance, not luxury.
Looking away from the back of Horikita’s retreating figure as she rejoined the front of our class queue near the trees, I kept my place near the rear of the beach assembly zone.
The sand beneath my boots was already heavily tracked and chewed up from the hundreds of students who had already cleared the start line before us.
Since there was zero mathematical chance of catching up to the first-years, rushing blindly into the forest bottleneck was entirely pointless.
I stood perfectly still on the shore, letting the surrounding rush of anxious classmates bypass me while I prepared to take a leisurely path up to D7.
"My, what an uncharacteristically stagnant display."
The smooth, resonant voice came from directly behind my shoulder, cutting through the ambient noise of shuffling gear on the beach.
I didn't need to turn around to recognize the aristocratic, leisurely cadence.
Kiryūin Fūka stepped into my peripheral vision, her posture completely unbothered by the heavy backpack slung over her shoulders.
Her signature long, silver hair caught the midday glare, cascading over her tracksuit, but it was her eyes that held the most striking weight—a deep, predatory crimson that gleamed with an explicit sense of amusement.
"Everyone else is practically tearing their clothes off to get a head start, yet you’re standing here on the sand as if you’re waiting for a bus," she murmured, tilting her head slightly as those crimson eyes swept over me with a calculated, lingering scrutiny. "Are you planning on throwing the first round, or are you simply waiting for the crowd to clear so no one can witness what you’re truly capable of?"
"Neither," I replied, my voice maintaining its usual flat, monotone delivery.
"Class D was released last. Rushing now won't magically change the arrival metrics. I'm just conserving energy."
Kiryūin let out a low, melodic chuckle, the sound dripping with a sophisticated arrogance.
"A pragmatic excuse. But we both know a simple grid race shouldn't pose a challenge to someone like you."
She stepped a fraction closer, invading my personal space just enough to let the subtle, clean scent of her hair drift past.
"I must admit, the prospect of this island didn't particularly interest me at first. But knowing you’re running loose out here... it makes the entire excursion infinitely more provocative."
She was clearly playing with her food, treating the school’s absolute crisis as a personal theater to satisfy her own curiosity right at the edge of the jungle.
"Are you participating in this exam solo?" I asked, shifting the subject back to the logistics of the test.
"Naturally," Kiryūin replied without a single shred of hesitation. A dismissive, confident smile touched her lips as she looked past me toward the thick brush.
"The school offered the option to form groups, but honestly, look at the selection. There isn't a single soul in the third-year class whose presence wouldn't completely waste my time. Dragging dead weight through the mud just to secure a baseline safety net is a compromise for the weak. I prefer my own company."
The absolute, unyielding arrogance in her tone—and the casual reality that she possessed the raw physical and academic metrics to entirely back it up—instantly brought a specific classmate to mind.
A female Kōenji.
She operated on the exact same frequency of supreme egoism.
She wasn't a team player, she harbored zero sense of class loyalty, and she viewed the entire student body as entirely beneath her radar.
The only difference was that while Kōenji was a chaotic force of nature who did whatever he pleased, Kiryūin possessed a sharp, focused curiosity.
And unfortunately, that curiosity was currently aimed directly at me.
"A bold strategy," I commented evenly. "Running solo means you only get a maximum of eleven points per arrival zone."
"Points are easily compensated for through the special tasks. Quality over quantity, Ayanokōji," she whispered, her voice dropping into a smoother, more intimate register.
She stepped back on the sand, her crimson eyes locking onto mine with a final, lingering promise.
"Don't disappoint me out there. I'm highly looking forward to crossing paths with you again. Further inland... where we can finally have a conversation completely alone, away from all these tedious distractions."
Without giving me a chance to offer another clinical deflection, Kiryūin turned on her heel.
Breaking into a sudden, blinding sprint, her silver hair caught the wind as she crossed the starting line threshold and vanished into the thick shadows of the jungle trails with effortless speed.
I watched the empty space where she had just been standing at the edge of the trees for a brief second before pulling up the topography grid on my tablet one last time to outline my approach.
My path was straightforward. I would move leisurely from our starting position at the southern edge of the island up to D7 to collect the basic one-point arrival bonus, scouting the terrain and the competition along the way.
Adjusting the straps of my backpack, I finally crossed the line, leaving the beach behind as I stepped into the dense shadow of the forest canopy. The game had officially begun.
The humidity of the forest canopy pressed down immediately as the beachhead vanished behind the thick wall of subtropical trees.
Moving at a steady, unhurried pace along the trail toward D7, I kept my eyes on the shifting contours of the terrain until a familiar set of voices drifted through a break in the brush near the edge of the grid boundary.
Airi, Haruka, and Akito were huddled together in a small clearing, adjusting the straps of their packs and consulting their tablet.
Their designated starting zone had been D8, and a quick glance at their collective composure confirmed they had successfully arrived in time to lock in their initial three points.
Seeing them functioning cohesively without any early casualties was a minor reassurance; as long as they maintained a balanced pace and avoided high-risk shortcuts, their group structure would provide them with a stable baseline for the opening leg of the exam.
I kept my distance, passing by without breaking my stride or drawing their attention. On an island where every movement was a variable, leaving my personal friends entirely out of my immediate orbit was the most clinical way to ensure their safety—and my own freedom of movement.
By the time I reached the border of D7, the local sector was already buzzing with the erratic movements of the student body.
My tablet chimed with a quiet notification, confirming the single arrival point had been registered.
A short distance away, Nanase was standing near a rocky outcrop, calmly observing the competing groups as they scrambled toward the nearby tasks.
Hōsen and Amasawa were nowhere to be seen, having expectedly left her behind to scout the perimeter and assert their presence further inland.
The surrounding area was saturated with students bottlenecking toward the English academic test, a predictable herd mentality driven by the desire to avoid unfamiliar or physically grueling challenges.
Seeking an optimization of my own day, I detoured toward the grip strength test stationed in the adjacent C6 sector. However, upon arrival at the clearing, the digital terminal was already locked down.
"Sorry, Ayanokōji-kun," a smooth, distinctly playful voice called out from the shade of a nearby canvas tent.
"You’re exactly five minutes late for the one-hundred-and-twenty-minute entry window. No points for you."
Hoshinomiya Chie stepped out into the sunlight, her posture deliberately loose, lacking any of the professional rigidity her peers maintained in the field.
She leaned against a wooden supply crate, twirling a stylus between her fingers as her sharp eyes locked onto mine.
"That's a shame," I replied, my voice completely flat. "I'll have to look for another task."
"Oh, don't be in such a rush," she murmured, straightening up and stepping directly into my path before I could turn back toward the trail.
The casual demeanor she usually projected vanished, replaced by a calculating, intense scrutiny that felt far more focused than her usual drunken facade.
"You know, ever since I watched you handle the command tower during the end-of-year exams—not to mention that flawless, terrifying full mark you got on that mathematics paper—I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about you."
"The test simply suited my baseline knowledge," I offered, utilizing the standard deflection. "There are likely several students in Class A or B who could have done the same."
"Don't play dumb with me," Hoshinomiya whispered, her step closing the distance between us until she was well within my personal space.
The scent of her perfume mingled heavily with the humid air of the forest.
"There was a question on that paper that even I couldn't solve within the time limit. And yet, here you are, buried deep inside a class of defective students. It’s completely unnatural."
She tilted her head, her gaze boring into me with a mixture of profound bitterness and burning curiosity.
"For the first time in my career, my class has dropped down to Class C. I always thought my group had the ultimate potential to graduate from Class A... but Sae-chan’s class is suddenly climbing. It’s irritating, really. Especially when I know exactly who the anchor is that's dragging her up from the bottom."
Her fixation on Chabashira wasn't a secret.
The underlying rivalry between them, rooted in their own high school history and a deep-seated desire to deny Chabashira any semblance of success, was the true fuel behind her actions.
Hoshinomiya didn't just want to reach Class A; she wanted to completely hollow out Chabashira’s ambitions, depriving her of the one asset that could make her dream a reality.
"If Class C is dropping, that sounds like a pedagogical issue for the homeroom teacher to solve," I remarked clinically.
"Which is exactly why I’m taking matters into my own hands," she countered, her voice dropping into a smooth, provocative purr as she revisited the very proposal she had hinted at before the exam.
She leaned in closer, her breath warm against my ear, her voice dripping with an explicit, intoxicating confidence.
"My offer from before still stands, Ayanokōji-kun. Transfer to my class. Be my student. If Katsuragi-kun can jump ship to Class B, you can easily find a way to manipulate twenty million points to join mine."
She shifted her weight, her posture deliberately emphasizing her frame with a smooth, adult grace that was completely calculated.
"Think about it. Sae-chan is so rigid, so repressed... she doesn't know how to properly appreciate a boy with your special talents. But me? I'm much more open-minded, Ayanokōji-kun. I know exactly how to handle someone of your caliber. Every boundary you want to cross, every curiosity you want to indulge, I can fulfill it for you out here. Just give me what I want, and I’ll make sure you’re entirely taken care of."
Her insinuations about Chabashira’s personal interest in me were clear.
She assumed Sae was harboring an illicit attachment to me, and the desire to violently poach me out of her rival’s hands was visibly inflaming her obsession.
She was offering her own body as a transactional token, believing her maturity was an unassailable leverage point.
"It’s an unoriginal concept," I replied, my tone remaining entirely monotone and completely unmoved by her physical proximity.
"Even if I were to accumulate twenty million private points, holding onto them as a safety net is far more logical than gambling on a transfer when the final class standings at graduation remain entirely unpredictable. Your proposal lacks tactical merit."
Hoshinomiya froze, her eyes widening slightly as my clinical, polite rejection hit her like a wall of ice.
The complete lack of arousal or hesitation in my expression didn't just deflate her seduction; it deeply insulted her pride as a woman and an educator.
Her chest heaved slightly as a dark, intense frustration flared beneath her crimson-tinged gaze, her obsession with breaking my frame only growing tighter.
"You really are a monster, aren't you?" she whispered, her voice trembling with an underlying heat as she backed away a single step.
"Fine. Play your little games out here in the woods. But don't think I’m going to let Sae-chan win this time. I'll be watching every single move you make on this island."
Without offering a final pleasantry, I turned away from Hoshinomiya’s intense gaze and walked toward the edge of the testing boundary.
Just as I reached the clearance path, a loud, echoing roar of triumph erupted from the center of the C6 grip strength station.
Sudō was standing over the digital measuring device, his chest heaving as he thrust his fist into the air, completely dominating the leaderboard for the physical event.
His raw power had easily secured him the first-place finish, locking in a crucial five points for his group’s opening day metrics.
It was a clean, predictable victory for Class D's vanguard, proving that while the academic and psychological fields were a mess of shifting traps, the raw physical variables were still operating entirely within expected parameters.