Chapter 5: Advice

Chapter 5: Advice

Chapter 5:

Advice

O N MY DAY OFF, I had found out the identity of who had sent Mii-chan food, and the rest of the weekend passed me by. Monday and Tuesday came and went, but Horikita didn’t come back around. But then after class on Wednesday, with the exam fast-approaching and only two days left to go, a certain young man said something unexpected.

“Dude…! I think I might’ve come up with a crazy strategy… A winning strategy…!” exclaimed Ike.

Ike quickly drew back his chair with a clatter and stood up, slamming his hands down on his desk. Since all the students were still in the classroom, he naturally attracted a great deal of attention. However, no one looked at Ike with excitement, only skepticism.

“H-huh?! You did, Kanji? No way,” said Shinohara.

Shinohara, his girlfriend, was the most surprised and the most in disbelief, judging from her reaction.

“No, seriously. Oh, but, uh, wait a sec, let me do some recalculating…” Ike began counting on his fingers. When that failed him, he eagerly whipped out his cell phone, which also seemed to give him some trouble. While he struggled, his classmates began heartlessly trickling out of the room. They probably decided that whatever he’d thought of was probably half-baked. However, Ike must have finished confirming the idea in his head again, because he nodded in affirmation, not noticing the people leaving.

“We can totally win with this! Can I talk about it?!” shouted Ike.

“Ike-kun. I am going to hear you out, but I do not want to discuss strategy here. Understand?” replied Horikita.

“O-oh yeah, I gotcha. If my too-perfect strategy were to get out, that’d be bad news!” he answered.

“Horikita-san, why don’t we go to our usual spot?” Yousuke called, apparently wanting in on it. I was lucky to have caught this moment, and glad they were taking the special exam seriously.

“Good idea. If anyone is interested, please come along. However, it’d be impractical for everyone to come, so let’s have a show of hands. Who wants to hear it?” said Horikita.

Shinohara raised her hand at this, followed by Hondou and Miyamoto. That was all. We didn’t have high hopes for Ike’s ideas. Personally, I was curious about what kind of strategy it was that Ike produced, so I decided to raise my hand too.

“You too? What chance stroke of luck is this? Do you have a reason for coming?” asked Horikita.

Horikita didn’t seem to care about the first three who raised their hands, as they were close friends of Ike’s, but she demanded a reason from me.

“Shouldn’t I be interested? Ike said it was a winning strategy, and he sounded fully confident. I want to hear it,” I replied.

“…I see. I don’t mind. We didn’t really have any plans to get together today anyway,” said Horikita.

While listening to the exchange between me and Horikita, the six of us began to move. After leaving the school, we headed over to Keyaki Mall on foot and arrived at a karaoke room. It was a good place to talk in private. There were snacks and a drink bar, but it was inexpensive. Pretty hard to pass up reliable, safe, and private.

“Satsuki, you good with your usual?” asked Ike.

“Yeah. Same for you, Kanji?” she replied.

Ike and Shinohara were huddled close to each other, looking over the menu and discussing it, their conversation suggesting they were each familiar with it.

“Hey, Horikita,” I remarked.

“What?” she asked.

“When you think about it, it seems a little confusing that, while you’re free to sing or not sing when coming to karaoke, you’re supposed to have at least one drink. This is a place meant for singing, technically,” I replied.

“Huh? Sure, you might be right about that, but what an odd thing to say,” said Horikita.

“Come on, Ayanokouji, my dude. I mean, it’s obvious why,” said Ike, in a knowing tone.

I had only asked in jest, but I wasn’t about to embarrass him in front of Shinohara. She gazed at Ike with rapt attention, spellbound, so I just let it be. I picked up the tablet and checked out the rankings to see what songs were popular right now.

“…I see,” I thought aloud.

I had absolutely no idea what these were—no, that wasn’t quite right. Looking through the titles, there were some songs I could recognize, but there were more songs that I didn’t know. It looked like songs from Asian countries other than Japan were quite popular right now. This karaoke place had their fingers on the pulse of the music world.

“All that’s left is your order, Ayanokouji-kun,” said Horikita.

While I was looking at the charts, the others had finished putting in their orders.

“Then, I’ll have plum kelp tea,” I replied.

Horikita finished putting in everyone’s orders, and we were stuck waiting a while. We wanted to avoid being interrupted. I think it would’ve been fine for the employees to overhear, but we wanted to minimize the chance of leaks. A few minutes later, all the drinks came.

“All right then, let’s hear what you have to—” began Horikita.

I brought the tea to my mouth and jumped. “Hot! …Oh, sorry. Continue.” I was pierced by everyone’s blank stares, so I apologized and turned my face away. The drink was hot enough to sting my tongue and make it go numb. As I did, it occurred to me how interesting it was Horikita was letting Ike take the lead.

“Ahem. Let’s hear your idea, Ike-kun,” said Horikita.

As the leader, Horikita was obliged to take Ike seriously.

There was no element of playfulness in Ike’s expression, and his face stiffened up slightly. “Okey doke, I’ll get down to business. What if we could absolutely, for sure get sixty-eight points for our class? Wouldn’t that give us a shot at winning?” said Ike.

Ike looked over at Shinohara and winked at her. He had my attention.

“Sixty-eight points? Sure, but that’s an extremely specific number,” said Horikita.

Thanks to how opaque this upcoming special exam was and what’d be in it, we couldn’t predict how many points each class would receive. And yet Ike said that we could get sixty-eight points. That was where Horikita felt like something was off. Ike, sensing some resistance, drank down half of the carbonated soft drink he had ordered in one gulp, wetting his throat.

“So, okay, my strategy is to make sure we get sixty-eight points. The way we do that is this! Like a magic trick! We fake illness at the start of the exam and use that. We have thirty-eight people in our class. So, we just have the leader and the five people the leader will protect alone, and we drop the rest of the class, all thirty-two of them,” said Ike.

Hondou immediately dropped both of his hands to the couch in exasperation, letting out a sigh. “What? If we do that, we’ll lose thirty-two points right when it starts. Dude, do you not even understand the rules?”

Horikita, however, was listening intently. That was only natural. Sixty-eight points guaranteed for thirty-two dropouts. There was no way it could be a coincidence that they would add up to a hundred points.

“Nah dude, it’s okay. Even if they take away thirty-two points from us for students missing the exam, I’m sure we can definitely get sixty-eight,” said Ike.

Hondou and Miyamoto were puzzled, shooting him looks that seemed to say, What are you talking about? Perhaps Shinohara had already heard about his strategy before coming here because she smiled brightly.

“No, seriously, dude, listen. Opponents can only nominate five students, right? When you’re defending, you can protect five students each time. What if we only have five students left that can be nominated?” said Ike.

Miyamoto wrapped his head around what Ike was saying before Hondou did. “Wait, so you’re saying that, since we can get five points every turn for all twenty turns that we go through, it’s like we play a perfect game?”

This idea was unexpected coming from Ike.

“It also means that no one even needs to study for the exam or anything! Not a bad idea, am I right?!” exclaimed Ike.

“B-but hold on, would the school allow thirty-two people to like, you know, fake being sick? No way man, it’d be completely unreasonable,” said Hondou. It was a good idea, but it was Ike’s, so Hondou was skeptical.

“I dunno man, this just sounds like some kind of underhanded trick, no matter how you slice it,” added Miyamoto.

Miyamoto also expressed skepticism. Thirty-two students in class all falling ill at the same time, on the day of the exam? It’d be a little absurd.

“Faking illness is somewhat of a gray area, but the school probably wouldn’t be able to put a stop to it. No one could prove we were faking,” said Horikita.

The school would have greater than 99 percent certainty the coincidence was too good to be true, but they couldn’t be absolutely sure. The school would have no choice but to accept it. It was clearly stated in the rules that if someone were out due to illness, that student would just be treated as an elimination. There was no rule that limited the number of students out at a time.

“It’s an excellent idea on your part. You can certainly say that it’s a strategy that will ensure a high average,” said Horikita.

“Right? Right? So, how ’bout this plan, everybody?!” exclaimed Ike.

Horikita’s unexpected acknowledgement to Ike’s plan made Hondou and Miyamoto, who had shown reluctance, begin to open up to it.

“A plan to get sixty-eight points for sure… Hold up, this is actually a pretty good plan, huh?” said Miyamoto.

“I was surprised too, when I heard about it from Kanji. It’s a good idea, don’t you think?” said Shinohara.

Ike was strongly focusing on the part that we could assuredly get sixty-eight points, but there were other plusses as well. This strategy required no skill, luck, or advance preparation. It could be implemented on the very same day the exam started, and no other class would be able to interfere and prevent us from securing sixty-eight points.

In the unlikely event that we came in last place in the rankings and lost the exam, since we could freely choose who would be expelled out of the thirty-two students who were out, it would make it easy for us to discard a student with a low level of ability. It would be distressing to carry out, but if we determined who would be expelled in advance by some method and consent was obtained, even the aftermath could be handled smoothly. If a holder of a Protect Point was included among the eliminated students, then the risk of expulsion could be reduced to zero. At first glance, Ike’s idea wasn’t bad, but it was unlikely we’d adopt it.

“If it weren’t for a ‘certain rule’ in this particular special exam, this proposal of yours might have been adopted,” said Horikita.

So Horikita had noticed the problem too.

“Wh-why though? Aw man, I wasn’t, like, saying you had to use it or anything, but still, dude…” sighed Ike.

Ike seemed disappointed. He obviously wanted to know why.

“Let’s say, hypothetically, that Ryuuen-kun’s class adopted your strategy as soon as the exam began,” said Horikita. “One student was expelled from his class, but thanks to the addition of Katsuragi-kun, he now has forty students in his class. If he were to only have the leader and five other students, that would mean there would be thirty-four students eliminated. Which would mean he could earn sixty-six points, with absolute certainty. Now, that isn’t a bad score, of course, but if you were to flip that around, it also means that he could not get any more points than that. If the remaining classes were to get sixty-seven or more points, then it would turn into an unwinnable strategy,” said Horikita.

After cutting out all the other students that you needed to for this strategy, it put a ceiling on your points. It would also mean that, as the attacker, you relied on your opponent to make mistakes.

“Y-yeah, sure, that’s true. But where’s the guarantee that the other three classes are gonna get sixty-seven points or more? Sure, there’s a risk of coming in last place, but the chances of coming in first are higher, aren’t they?” asked Ike.

“No. In all probability, in this scenario, Ryuuen-kun’s class would come in last place using this strategy,” said Horikita.

“…Why, though?” protested Ike. He didn’t understand. “We won’t know the actual difficulty level until we actually take the exam, right? In that case—”

Horikita stopped him. “Listen. If you’re going to execute a strategy that involves faking illness to have a massive number of students drop out of the test, then obviously that means you’re doing it on turn one. There is hardly any merit in delaying it to turn two or later.” The more you procrastinated, the more you risk reducing the maximum score that you could secure. “Furthermore, this strategy draws attention. It would quickly become known to the other three classes. Think about what our class’s reaction would be in this scenario. Do you think we would say, ‘Oh no! They got us good?’” asked Horikita.

“W-we would…wouldn’t we?” said Ike.

“No. It would be the opposite. If they executed this strategy, it would suddenly make things much, much easier for the other three classes,” replied Horikita.

With that, Horikita picked up the cell phone that she had placed beside her earlier and showed it to everyone.

“Your phone…? Oh, yeah, that’s right. I think I remember they said we can use our phones during the exam,” said Ike.

“That’s right. The moment the other classes can see they’ve adopted a strategy, then all we have to do is use that information and work together. If Ryuuen-kun’s class could only get up to sixty-six points in this scenario, the other three classes would work together and aim to get more than that. If a class has limited its ability to win, then I’m sure that Ichinose-san and Sakayanagi-san would proactively consider working together,” said Horikita.

“Wait a minute. I don’t really get it. So they’d lose if the other classes work together?” asked Ike.

“Yes, they would. ‘Who do we nominate?’ ‘Who do we protect?’ Just by cooperating, the two classes engaged in competition with Ryuuen-kun’s are sure to score fifty points. They’d only need to earn seventeen more points beyond that. The rules in this exam allow us to use points to increase the difficulty level, but on the other hand, if you have zero points or fewer, then you could only target opponents with tasks at an average difficulty level. It should not be difficult to score seventeen or more points,” said Horikita.

In terms of the percentage of questions answered correctly, you would just need to get a 34 percent or higher. No matter how uncertain we are of the exact contents of the tasks, as long as we didn’t get a considerable downturn, we’d be in the clear. Since we could factor in the protection element, the actual percentage of correct answers required may even be a little lower than that. This scenario, in which you could get sixty-six points for absolutely certain, came with advantages, but the disadvantages were too great.

In this scenario, Ryuuen’s class, which would start at a negative value due to thirty-four students dropping out immediately at the start of the exam, wouldn’t start getting a positive score until after the end of their defensive phase on turn seven. If they choose to increase the difficulty level when attacking their opponent, their ultimate score would be lowered down to sixty-five points, then sixty-four, and so on, each time they did so.

“If you’re betting on whether you can win with sixty-six points or winning by scoring at least seventeen points on your own within ten turns, I think you can already figure out which is the more advantageous position to be in,” said Horikita.

Ike slumped his shoulders. He’d been riding high in the clouds and now he’d come crashing back to earth.

“Ah, damn it! I really thought we coulda won with my plan! I’m so sorry for wastin’ your time!”

Seeing Ike so unexpectedly and intensely despondent left Horikita a little startled.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. Your strategy was well thought out, Ike-kun. Please allow me to apologize to you for assuming that it was certain to be something useless even before I heard you out,” said Horikita.

“Uh um, okay…I guess that’s a compliment, but I’ve got some mixed feelings…” said Ike.

“Your strategy does have a chance of succeeding. If the three other classes, now forced into a position where they need to take action, cannot cooperate with one another, the odds of us winning with it would increase accordingly. Even if the other classes do conspire with each other, there’s still a chance that we could win. If we were a class with a low level of overall ability, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to go with that strategy. However, I think that our current class is strong enough to be able to fight without having to rely on such methods,” said Horikita. “Also, there is one more good thing that you have taught me.”

“A good thing…?” asked Ike.

“This particular special exam could be really tricky if our opponents work together. You’ve reminded me of that,” said Horikita.

By alternating between two distinct phases, attacking and defending, both classes were attacking each other and defending against each other. They were trading blows, essentially. If those two classes were to cooperate, they could surely get fifty points. If three classes were involved and worked together, it wouldn’t be impossible to get a perfect score of a hundred points.

Of course, it was unclear whether the other classes would accept this approach. Working together would mean finishing with the same percentage. You could deliberately bring the competition into sudden death and try to pull ahead right at the end, but it would be difficult to coordinate. Considering the current gap in Class Points among the four classes, the bottom two classes, Ryuuen’s and Ichinose’s classes, would want as many Class Points as possible.

Of course, Horikita’s class would want to put themselves in a better position too, if possible. It wouldn’t be difficult for Horikita’s class to single out Class A as the only enemy in the exam, but you couldn’t say that simply making things tougher for the top class was the ideal scenario, even if you were being charitable. In this special exam, only one class would be selected as the ultimate winner.

“I’m impressed you had the courage to speak up,” said Horikita.

“O-oh, well, um, okay, uh, that makes me glad. Heh heh.” Ike bashfully scratched the back of his head.

“Shinohara-san, Hondou-kun, Miyamoto-kun. You all as well. I want you to speak up if you think of anything. Pass that on to our classmates who aren’t here too. I promise I won’t underestimate any of you again,” said Horikita.

Just like Horikita said, it was better for people to offer their ideas as much as possible. Whether they were perfect or not was a secondary concern; it was important to discuss things like this. In fact, Ike presenting his idea, even though it wasn’t perfect, reminded us of important information. Even though Ike was frustrated by the process, he also learned from it. That alone should have given a certain degree of meaning and significance to this discussion. After a while, Ike and all the others left the karaoke room, smiling and chatting.

“What are you going to do now, Horikita?” I asked.

“I’m going back to my dorm room. I have been meeting with Hirata-kun and the others every day up until yesterday, and I’d decided to take at least one day off to rest and relax, so I kept today open,” said Horikita.

Despite it being her day off, she still took the time to listen to Ike. Maybe Horikita was tired of the drinks at karaoke, seeing as she had hardly touched hers. Well, the drinks here weren’t exactly cafe quality, to be fair. The advantage of being able to drink cheaply, quickly, and a lot was nice, though.

“At any rate, I was shocked that you wanted to hear about Ike-kun’s idea. His strategy was an interesting one, but then again, you’re you , so I’m sure you must have thought of it at least once already, haven’t you?” said Horikita.

I let what Horikita said go in one ear and out the other, not confirming or denying anything, and decided to make a new proposition.

“How about we head someplace else and talk?” I asked.

“I don’t have plans, but…you want to talk? If it’s relationship trouble with Karuizawa-san or something, then I would prefer you leave me out of it,” said Horikita, jokingly, standing up while grabbing her ticket.

“If that were the case, then you certainly wouldn’t be the right person for the job,” I replied.

“True,” said Horikita.

“I’d like to talk to you about the upcoming special exam, one-on-one,” I told her.

Horikita’s eyes widened.

“You do? About the special exam?” asked Horikita.

“Does that surprise you?” I asked.

“I come to you a lot, but it’s unusual for you to come to me, after all,” said Horikita.

“I guess,” I answered. I couldn’t say for sure, but she was right; she certainly came to me more often.

“I can’t be relying on you all the time, which was why I wasn’t including you as much,” said Horikita.

“I’m not really talking about getting you to accept a strategy or anything. I just want to hear your thoughts,” I replied.

“You want to grade me on my readiness to lead this fight effectively?” asked Horikita.

She was irked. It seemed childish to me.

“Are you mad?” I asked.

“Heavens, no. If I were, it’d be difficult for me to refute your right to test me. Where are we going?” she asked.

“How about the cafe? I want to drink some good coffee,” I answered.

The plum kelp tea wasn’t bad, but right now, I was craving something bitter.

“Would I sound excessively self-conscious if I said that I was worried about other people seeing and hearing us…?” said Horikita.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything that you’re going to worry about,” I told her.

“I see. Well then, let’s hurry this up and get on with it,” said Horikita.

She seemed to believe me without hesitation, and the two of us left the karaoke room.

5.1

W E DIDN’T REALLY TALK on the way to the cafe and it wasn’t long before we arrived. Since it was a weekday, the place was relatively empty, giving us our choice of places to sit. After asking Horikita what she wanted to drink, I pointed over to a couple seats by the window and let her go sit down first. I queued up behind two people already waiting by the counter and waited patiently for my turn.

After Horikita took her seat, I noticed that she was looking somewhat uncomfortable as she looked over at me. I figured it was because she didn’t know what I was going to talk to her about. How she would fight, her policies and ideas, what she would prioritize, what she would subordinate—those were details I wasn’t particularly interested in knowing. I wanted to leave those things to Horikita, the leader. So then, why was I meeting with her like this?

It was to bestow upon Horikita a new power. As the special exam was gradually approaching, I had decided that I needed to entrust it to her. She was entering a period of adolescent maturity, so it was time. She knew herself; she knew her class; and she knew her friends. That was why it was possible to advance to the next step.

When my turn came, I ordered two blended coffees and waited for them near the order window. The barista brought the coffees out in about two minutes, and I grabbed them by the handles and headed over to where Horikita was waiting.

“Thank you. How much was—”

“Don’t worry about it. You paid for karaoke. Besides, you treated me to lunch the other day too,” I answered.

“In that case, I’ll take you up on your generous offer,” said Horikita.

We both savored the hot but robust, full-bodied coffee. Horikita sighed deeply. Fatigue was plain on her face as I looked at her side profile. It seemed like whenever she wasn’t sleeping, her mind was hard at work, even on days off.

“…Do I have something on my face?” She glared at me, perhaps annoyed that I was staring so openly.

“I just was thinking that your hair has gotten quite a bit longer,” I replied.

Even if what I said was just a misdirection, it proved quite effective, since she was already fixated on that topic. Touching the ends of her hair with her fingertips, she let her eyes wander.

“You’re right. It’s almost been a year since I cut it. It feels like it was almost yesterday, though,” said Horikita.

“You were crying your eyes out back then, I remember,” I told her.

“I wonder what you would do if an unfortunate accident were to happen right now, like if someone were to grab your coffee, grab you by the scruff, and throw it on you?” asked Horikita.

“Well, I would get burned. Also, I wouldn’t call such an intentional act an accident,” I replied.

“Well, if I tried it, you’d run away, yes? So naturally the accident could only occur if I had you grappled” said Horikita.

Horikita had seen what happened from up close when Ryuuen had unexpectedly tried to splash me with orange juice at karaoke. I supposed that if she really wanted to make sure she got me, then grabbing me was the correct answer, but…in the unlikely event that she did pour her coffee on me, the damage it would inflict would be a little more serious than a splash of orange juice.

“Why are you leaning away? I wouldn’t do something so publicly,” said Horikita.

“Worry more about the fact that you would be seriously burning one of your classmates.”

“Ugh, honestly…You really are a weirdo, you know that?”

“How am I strange here? You’re the one being weird.”

If anything, Horikita was subjecting me to abuse.

“No. I’m just a little… There are times when my seriousness goes in the wrong direction, is all,” said Horikita.

No, she was definitely strange, but I was not going to say that aloud, of course.

“This annoying conversation surely isn’t what you’re after, is it? You said that you wanted to talk about the special exam, so…” said Horikita.

It was time to get down to business.

“There’s no need for us to talk about our strategy, so this location is plenty secure enough. I’m curious about a different matter: I want to know what your expectations are for this special exam,” I answered.

“…Hrm. I’m sorry. I’m just a little confused about your intentions here. My expectations?” asked Horikita.

“Winning in this exam. To do so, you need to use your brain, agonize over what to do and make a decision—but we do that anyway. Just like you do every day with Yousuke and the others in that circle, and sometimes, with Ike and his group. What I want to talk to you about is something only you and I can discuss. This special exam carries with it the problem of expulsion. I’m sure you’ll understand what I’m getting at as soon as you think back to what happened then, but I would like to hear what changes have taken place in you between the time of the Unanimous Special Exam and now,” I replied.

By invoking memories from that time, I got Horikita to understand the meaning of “expectations.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re the only one I can discuss this with…” said Horikita.

Exposing one’s heart was never easy. While it was important to rely on one’s friends, it wasn’t easy for a leader to show weakness.

“I wonder if I can count on you to correct me if you think that my expectations are wrong,” said Horikita.

“I might not be the best person to give advice, but I’m planning to give it anyway.”

Horikita straightened her posture and looked me right in the eye. I waited for her to speak, but she only narrowed her eyes and brought her hand up to her mouth.

“This is fishy.” She must have not intended to actually say that aloud, because she seemed quite flustered. “Sorry. That was a little blunt.”

“Is this really that suspicious?” I asked.

“You’re being too nice. It’s only natural I’d feel a bit creeped out, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose, but ‘creeped out’ is going a bit far.”

“I guess. Well, anyway, I promised to take my classmates more seriously.” Horikita straightened her posture once more.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do if you come in last place in this special exam?” I asked.

She wouldn’t want to expel anyone, but she’d have to. Though the contents of this exam were completely different, she could be forced into a decision in the same way as in the Unanimous Special Exam.

“I understand what you’re asking, but I can’t answer that right now.”

“I see.”

“Since that day, I’ve been asking myself the same questions repeatedly. While I believe that I made the right decision, sometimes I feel overcome with regret and guilt. It’s pathetic.” Her gaze dropped as she spoke. “I cannot say that I’ve made up my mind exactly about what I’m going to do. It’s not just me. Everyone in class is growing a little bit, every day. Even if we were to arrange everyone in a hierarchy based only on ability, the order would fluctuate.”

I wasn’t going to deny that. Some days Ike came in last, other days Hondou did. Since they were engaged in a friendly rivalry to get out of last place, mutually encouraging each other to work hard, whoever was truly last was still up in the air.

“This special exam is different. I expect I’ll be faced with two possible choices if we do fall into last place. One choice would leave a shallow wound, while the other choice would be costly. There are a lot of obstacles and no guarantees that the choice that will result in a shallow wound will actually materialize…” said Horikita.

It seemed she’d put a lot of thought into it already.

“If we come in last place, I can’t avoid choosing someone to expel. There is no way we could get out of eliminations if we came in last, and we don’t have Private Points to spend on saving anyone. In that situation, I’ll have two choices,” thought Horikita aloud.

The latter choice, the painful one, was probably the unavoidable expulsion of someone in class. An act of responsibility as leader, who must choose from among the students who were eliminated, even if she didn’t want to.

“At any rate, I intend to establish a guideline myself so that I can make a choice without hesitation.”

There was no point in putting up a tough front here. Horikita’s gaze was straight and true, so much so that it felt like it would pierce right through me. I could tell that, whichever choice she made, she was prepared to make the call when the time came.

“I can tell. I’m glad we’ll have you to rely on,” I replied.

“Maybe I shouldn’t even be thinking about losing. Since there is a risk of expulsion, my issue was that I really wanted to be able to make a decision on it ahead of time. It might sound pathetic, and you might laugh at me, but…” said Horikita.

“What part would I laugh about?” I asked.

“I suppose you have a point, but…it’s just that you don’t seem to think about losing ahead of time.”

“Whether you think about it first or later, if you’re aiming to win, then I prefer to focus on that. You thought about what would happen if we lose because you were looking out for us, That’s all there is to it,” I replied.

“Thank you,” said Horikita.

I didn’t do anything to be thanked for, but I was in a position where she could ask me for advice in case she needed it. Perhaps she was being so honest because she knew that.

“I’m just glad it was groundless fear on my part then. It sounds like it’ll be okay to let you handle things if things go wrong,” I replied.

“You helped me in the Unanimous Special Exam, after all. So, was that everything that you wanted to know? About my expectations?” asked Horikita.

Horikita’s heart seemed lighter. It hadn’t been so bad. Unfortunately for her, the answer was no, that wasn’t everything.

“No. I was just getting started,” I replied.

“I see… What is it, then? If you’re not going to talk to me about strategies to win the exam, do you want to know about what will happen after we win? No, I can’t imagine that’s it, either.”

“Winning in this special exam means knocking the other classes down. And if you knock them down, then obviously that means another class is going to come in last place. It’s extremely likely that someone will be expelled,” I answered.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Horikita.

“It’s not your decision on who gets expelled in that class. That much should be obvious, but do you understand what I’m getting at?”

“Of course. It’s up to the leaders of each respective class to consider their options and decide.”

“You’ve learned from your previous mistakes how to deal with an expulsion from your own class, should the time come. But if I hadn’t helped you before, then it’s hard to say what would’ve become of the class by now,” I told her.

“I don’t like hearing it, but you’re right. Our class might have collapsed without your help.”

“It’s important to fail and grow, but you can’t fail every single time. You can’t make up for that. You have to succeed and build on successes while overcoming obstacles to prove you’re a capable person.”

Horikita, holding her cup of coffee, which was now getting a little cold, silently brought it to her mouth and drank. “I think you’re exactly right,” she said.

“Let’s talk specifics. There will always be opportunities to confront specific classes directly. When that happens, there will be three possible outcomes. In one, your class will win. In the second, your class will lose. And the third is neither of those outcomes, ending in a draw, with both sides suffering. Which outcome do you want?” I asked.

“That’s a stupid question. There is no choice but for my class to win,” said Horikita.

“Okay then, I’ll add one condition. Your class wins, but at the cost of an expulsion of a particular class that loses. What would you choose?” I asked.

“I’d feel sorry for them, but I would prioritize our own victory. That’s clearly the correct answer, isn’t it?” said Horikita.

“So your answer wouldn’t change. You would still choose your own class’s victory?”

Horikita pursed her lips a little tighter, then said, “That’s the exact same condition that’s on this upcoming special exam. Am I wrong in thinking that winning comes first?”

“No one said anything about it being wrong. Okay then, one last condition. The specific class in this situation is Ryuuen’s class, and the person being expelled is Ibuki Mio. Now, which of the three outcomes would you choose in that scenario?” I asked.

She froze.

“Ibuki-san…?” she asked.

“What’s wrong? Which of the three options would you choose? Win, lose, or tie?” I asked.

“Wait a minute. Even if this is a hypothetical question, Ibuki-san is close to Ryuuen-kun. I can’t imagine she would be the first person to be expelled. Is that even a valid hypothesis?” asked Horikita.

“Valid hypothesis? You’re saying some incredibly bizarre things here. I’m just talking hypotheticals, nothing more,” I replied.

“But—”

“Ibuki’s position and her safety have not necessarily been established. Even from looking at her scores in OAA, she is a perfectly reasonable candidate for removal. If we take Ryuuen’s personality into account as well, it’s a realistic course of action. There’s no guarantee that Ryuuen will necessarily be the one to nominate the student being expelled anyway. Her expulsion could be an unavoidable casualty.”

Horikita appeared miffed and opened her mouth to speak.

“…If it means my class will win, then it’s obvious I would choose to win. Even if the certain someone who would be expelled in this situation is Ibuki-san,” said Horikita.

“You didn’t answer the question immediately. You can’t deny that it’s an outcome you don’t want to choose.”

“What’s your point?” asked Horikita.

“It’s not like I know every single detail about your circle of friends, but at the very least, I can sense you and Ibuki are friends. Maybe a little more than that.”

“We’re not on friendly terms, exactly,” said Horikita.

Horikita averted her eyes, with an attitude that seemingly said, “So? What about it?” It wasn’t that she wasn’t going to deny it, it was that she couldn’t deny it. Horikita was unaware of it herself, but those were her defensive instincts kicking in. She didn’t want to admit it, and it would be inconvenient besides.

It’s easy to fool people if they can only see you or only hear you, but hard if they get both kinds of information. The more you try to focus on one aspect, the more you neglect awareness of the other.

“But this special exam, by its rules, is one where a student will be expelled by another class’s actions. For the first time, there could be an unexpected student being expelled,” I said.

“And even Ibuki-san is no exception.”

“Hypothetically, if it became known that Ryuuen had Ibuki down on his list as a candidate for expulsion, and there was a high probability that she would be chosen if she were eliminated in the exam, could you lead your class to eliminate Ibuki, in order to win?” I asked.

Up until this point, Horikita had answered that she would choose to win, even if she were feeling shaken, deep down. For the first time in this conversation, her composure, which had held up so well thus far, was completely broken. She would be choosing to expel Ibuki, albeit indirectly. If this had been a year ago, Horikita would have done it with almost zero hesitation. However, circumstances had changed. She had come to know Ibuki. She was an enemy, and yet, undeniably, a friend.

“Why are you asking me that?” asked Horikita.

She threw the ball back at me, forcefully, as though she were running away from it.

“This special exam is the perfect opportunity to eliminate students that you want to get rid of, but eliminating those who are easy to get rid of is also a fundamental part of battle. When the time comes when you can gain an advantage by attacking Ibuki as part of a strategy, I wonder if you, as the leader, can give the order without hesitation. Confirming that is a fundamental prerequisite. I wanted to make you aware of that,” I answered.

If I were to tell her this on the day of the exam, she would probably have a challenging time dealing with it calmly. This conversation needed to happen now, before the fact.

“You’re telling me to be prepared to eliminate Ibuki-san…or rather, any student I might be attached to,” said Horikita.

“No. It is important to be cognizant of it. You’re so focused on your own class that you don’t have a good grasp of the other classes. I’m sure you’ve only been in your head a little—‘I want to eliminate that person in this other class, I don’t want to eliminate this person.’ Did you have a clear view of what was going on?” I asked.

“No. ‘How can I minimize damage when I lose?’ ‘Who do I expel from my side when the time comes?’ ‘How do I need to conduct myself in order for my class to win?’ That’s all I was thinking about,” said Horikita.

Horikita surrendered and admitted her error. She hadn’t been giving clear thought to her opponents, whom she would be crushing. It wasn’t easy to find someone that you wanted to crush. There was a strong possibility that multiple people would be eliminated, so the leader would hold onto the capable students anyway. That was why she didn’t think about it. If you only thought about what was immediately in front of you, you couldn’t plan ahead.

“So what am I supposed to do about that problem?” she asked.

“Just be mindful. Each person has their own way of fighting. Ryuuen won’t show mercy to anyone. He will always be thinking of ways to defeat his enemy’s strongest students. Sakayanagi tends to target people that her opponents don’t want her to target, regardless of whether they’re strong or weak. Totsuka is a good example. In Ichinose’s case, she’s the opposite; she doesn’t think about eliminating her opponents. There are things that she’s cut out for, and things she’s not,” I explained.

“I still don’t know which fighting style suits me best,” said Horikita.

“That’s your battle. Whether we’re talking about defeating opponents or defending yourself, if you are aware of both of those things, you will find your way of fighting—but choose it. Be aware. That alone will bring about a huge change in the world that you see,” I replied.

Horikita, her eyes closed, quietly whispered something to herself, her lips moving ever so slightly. I continued to watch her silently until she was finished.

“To be honest, I’m not sure I have that kind of self-awareness,” she admitted.

“I see.”

“But I will keep telling myself to remember it up until the special exam. If that doesn’t work, I’ll keep telling myself afterward too. As for the question of how far I can go… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

She seemed ashamed of herself.

“There’s nothing wrong with you at all. You’re beginning to have enough awareness now. I’m here to help,” I replied.

The only difference was whether she’d get a complete understanding now, tomorrow, in the future. I was almost finished with my analysis of Horikita Suzune. Compared to the average person, she was capable, and she was someone talented enough to be accepted by and recognized by society. She could grasp a happy life for herself if she wished. However, it was unlikely that she would achieve significant success in the future, accomplish great feats that would lead to fame, or do anything that would make her go down in history. She was merely gifted. This wasn’t society yet—we were in school, where her competition was children. Here, in this miniature garden, she had the potential to grow.

That was thanks to the new perspective that Horikita Manabu had taught me. If I hadn’t been taught that perspective by that young man, I probably would not have noticed her shining qualities.

“That’s all that I wanted to say,” I added.

Horikita stared straight into my eyes, intently, and even though it felt like she would look away, she didn’t.

“What in the world are you?” asked Horikita.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I’?” I asked.

“I don’t understand you at all.”

“Do you need to?”

“It isn’t a bad thing for me to know about my classmates as a leader. Even for this next special exam, the more detailed information I have, the more advantageously I will be able to fight,” said Horikita.

If you understood individual people’s strengths and weaknesses regarding the tasks, then yes, you could certainly say that was true.

“In that case, can you and Kouenji come to understand each other?” I asked.

“We can’t understand each other, but I think I can understand him. Or is that wrong of me?” she asked.

“No. You’re right,” I replied.

I brought up Kouenji’s name to shift the conversation away from myself, but it brought the question to my mind: Was it really that simple to understand Kouenji?

“You’re not interested in moving up to Class A, and you’re a fundamentally quiet and unsociable person. But you’re not consistent in what you do, like how you started dating Karuizawa-san out of nowhere, or when you’re prepared to stand out and help for the sake of the class. Am I wrong?” asked Horikita.

“Can’t you see that as growth on my part? The former junior high school boy who used to be a wallflower has made his high school debut and has slowly been gaining courage. Eventually, he begins to put in serious effort, with the goal of moving up to Class A, and the result is what you see now…kind of.”

“Not a chance. Your reasons are too obscure for that.” She stopped there, swallowing the rest of her thought, then started a new one. “…I wonder how someone even develops a personality like yours. What kind of child were you?”

“I’m still a child. Don’t change the subject.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant when you were really little. Where did you go to elementary school?” asked Horikita.

“You probably wouldn’t understand even if I told you.”

“You don’t know that. It could be that your school is surprisingly local to me or something.”

“We’ve had a similar conversation before. I really don’t feel like repeating myself.”

“…We did? I’m sorry, but it must not have been memorable. Tell me again?” Horikita tenaciously pressed me for answers.

“There are some things I want to keep to myself.”

Once I forcefully conveyed to Horikita that I wouldn’t be happy about any further prodding, she seemed to understand, even if all she knew was she’d make no headway. Anyway, Horikita also seemed rather mentally fatigued. It was a lot to process.

“I think you should take a breather. Get some air,” I added.

“Yes, all right…,” said Horikita.

To bring this discussion to an end, I supposed that the first thing I needed to do was finish my drink. Horikita and I each picked up our respective cups of coffee, which we both had hardly touched, and downed them. When the coffee hit my tongue, it was unpleasantly lukewarm.

“It’s cold.”

“It’s cold.”

“Don’t copy me.”

“Don’t copy me.”

It wasn’t that big a deal or anything, but the feeling of being on the same wavelength was strangely hilarious.

“Huh…?”

It would be an exaggeration to say that she jumped out of her seat, but Horikita’s eyes widened in surprise.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Ayanokouji-kun, you cracked a little smile just now.”

“Hm? And what’s wrong with that?”

“It’s just that I’ve never seen you smile.”

“Rude. It’s not like I’m a baby smiling for the first time.”

I’ve smiled many times. Intentionally, consciously, I’ve made the effort. It wasn’t an especially rare occurrence.

“Sure, I guess it might be an unusual thing for me,” I added.

It was true that I’d not consciously tried to smile a moment ago. Huh, an unintended expression of emotion. How many experiences like that have I had thus far? It’d just come naturally. It was precisely because I knew how difficult that was for me that I found it deeply interesting. It felt like a drop of color on a blank sketchbook. I hadn’t done that in front of Kei, nor in front of friends like Yousuke. Not even I knew why that had happened in front of Horikita.

“I wonder why I smiled. If you smiled too, then maybe you know why?” I asked.

I expected Horikita would have a clear answer. Maybe what’d happened was just that funny. I looked Horikita in the eye as I asked her that question, but she just averted her eyes and sounded flustered when she gave her response.

“E-even if you ask me earnestly, I don’t know.”

“You’re saying that there was nothing notably humorous about what happened?” I asked.

“I already told you. I don’t know,” said Horikita, raising her voice a little and averting her eyes. “You’re making it weird,” huffed Horikita as she vigorously gulped down the rest of her coffee and stood up. “We’re done talking now, right? I have plans.”

“I thought it was your day off?”

“I just remembered.” Horikita picked up the cup that she had just emptied. “I’ll try thinking about things in my own way, about the next special exam and what comes after that.”

“Good,” I replied.

Even though she was the one who was going first, and moved to leave, she stopped in her tracks as though she just remembered something.

“That reminds me. Sorry, but there’s one thing I must confirm with you,” said Horikita.

“About excluding tasks in the special exam?” I asked.

“That’s right.”

“What about the other students?”

“I’ve already heard from everyone except you. It’s about time you give me your input. ”

Apparently, while I’d been taking it easy, the other students had already finished notifying Horikita.

“Well, knowing you, I’m sure you’d be fine even if you don’t give any exclusions, but what do you say?” asked Horikita.

“Performing Arts and Music, and then Subculture, I guess.”

“Categories that have nothing to do with studying. The same choices as mine,” replied Horikita.

“There are other categories that I’m not sure about, but I wanted to eliminate the ones that I’m not good at.”

News, Everyday Life, and Gastronomy. It seemed like there were probably things I would know in these categories, but there were all kinds of things I didn’t know. However, the three I gave were my weakest.

“Okay, I’ll go ahead with those,” said Horikita.

“Thanks,” I replied.

Now it was my turn to think about myself in unexpected ways.