Chapter 3: The Paper Shuffle

Chapter 3: The Paper Shuffle

Chapter 3:

The Paper Shuffle

A FEW DAYS LATER , our class’s atmosphere was heavy. The feeling wasn’t disappointment so much as nervousness. Class D’s homeroom teacher, Chabashira-sensei, appeared to sense it.

“Take your seats. It seems you prepared quite a bit in advance for this,” she remarked.

The moment Chabashira-sensei walked in, everyone went quiet and a bit stiff. We should’ve behaved like that originally. It was the natural way for a class to be, but Chabashira-sensei didn’t hide her surprise at our mature conduct.

“My, my. You all look so serious. It’s hard to imagine you’re Class D.”

“It’s because today’s the day you announce the midterm results, right?” Ike looked slightly nervous.

Chabashira-sensei grinned in response.

“That’s exactly right. The school will expel you immediately if you fail the midterm or final exam. I told you as much before, so I imagine it’s fresh in your memory. I’m happy to see that you’ve matured,” she replied.

Chabashira-sensei was impressed with this new, previously unseen side of her students, but that didn’t necessarily mean that our test scores would improve. At most, we’d just had a change in attitude. Naturally, our teacher said as much.

“However, results are results. If you received a failing grade, you’ll need to prepare for the consequences. So, without further ado, I’ll now post the results. Read them carefully.”

Her warning was genuine. The classroom’s surveillance cameras always had their lenses trained on the students, observing everything. If someone acted out after seeing their test scores, the school would undoubtedly respond with draconian measures.

“So, we can see everyone’s test scores?”

“Of course. It’s allowed by the school’s rules.”

Regardless of whether the Class D students wanted to keep their personal information private, their grades were posted on the blackboard for all to see. There was absolutely no privacy, nothing concealed. Just like a company might post up every salesman’s profits, our chart exposed the capable and the incapable alike.

At times like this, the ones who stood out were those with good grades and those with bad grades. The lowest scorers would suffer the most, though, becoming the object of everyone’s contempt. The threshold for failing hadn’t changed from the previous test, but the situation was a little different.

“A score of forty or higher is considered a passing grade for all subjects. Anyone with a score under forty will face expulsion. These scores also reflect your results from the sports festival. If anyone achieved a score of over one hundred points on this test because of their sports festival results, the school would treat them as having received a perfect score.”

Meanwhile, the school would deduct ten points from the midterm scores of the ten students with the lowest sports festival results. Sotomura was one of the worst-scoring students in the sports festival from any grade, so he needed to score ten points higher in every subject to compensate.

Ike and Sudou wore stiff expressions. A system where students could be expelled immediately if they received a failing grade was a heavy burden. Many students waited with bated breath as Chabashira-sensei slowly posted the scores on the blackboard. However, Horikita didn’t seem nervous at all.

“Wh-what?! No way!”

The results started with those students who scored lowest and went up. Many students naturally expected to see Sudou’s name at the bottom of the list, because he’d scored lowest on the midterm and the final exam. However, the first name to come up was “Haruki Yamauchi.” Next was “Ike Kanji.”

Following that came Inogashira, Satou, and Sotomura. Sotomura always had middling scores, but I imagined that the penalties he’d incurred from the sports festival resulted in him ranking this low.

“Oh no! Dude, did I seriously get the lowest score?!” wailed Yamauchi.

Fortunately, he’d scored over forty points in every subject, his lowest grade being a forty-three in English. He barely passed overall, with an average just slightly below fifty points. Yamauchi probably felt as if his life flashed before his eyes for a moment. He broke out in a cold sweat.

Sudou’s results were more surprising. Until today, he’d always ranked at the very bottom of the class, but now he’d moved up significantly, going to twelfth from the bottom. Even if you took away his sports festival points, his results were still incredible. Everyone looked shocked; he had an average score of fifty-seven points.

“I just obliterated a personal best! Dude, I almost got an average score of sixty!” Sudou shouted. He shot up and began literally dancing with joy.

“That’s not good enough to merit such a fuss,” said Horikita. “Especially since your sports festival points helped.”

“Guh! Y-yeah…” Sudou sat back down, looking despondent at Horikita’s rebuke. He was just like a faithful dog responding to his master’s orders.

“Sudou got an average of fifty-seven points. Study group gets results,” I remarked.

Even in his worst subject, English, Sudou had remarkably managed to score fifty-two points. Apparently, Horikita had tutored Sudou and the other failing students. I wasn’t invited to help tutor the group, but that was only natural. From the others’ perspective, I wasn’t in the “smart people” category. Besides, Horikita herself should have been skeptical of my academic ability.

“The study group had an impact, yes. After all, taking on the exams without preparing for them would cause you to fail, wouldn’t it? However, other significant factors helped. Sudou was lucky that this midterm test was made up of relatively simple problems,” Horikita said.

“That might be true.”

This midterm had been, without a doubt, a bit easier than usual. Some questions were so easy I thought the school might’ve included them by mistake. That said, Sudou’s hard work definitely paid off. Horikita was confident that the failures had successfully managed to cross the threshold and get a passing grade; hence her composure.

By contrast, Yamauchi, who had gotten the lowest score, looked like he was unable to hide his frustration over having lost to Sudou by such a wide margin. Horikita had tutored all her students equally, but Sudou had taken things a step further, giving up his free days to study one-on-one with her. The power of love really was a terrifying thing. Little by little, it looked as though his academic ability was beginning to improve.

“You have an average of sixty-four points. That’s so mediocre. Why don’t you stop fooling around and get serious?” Horikita asked me.

“That was the absolute best I could do.” I usually scored around fifty points, so it’d attract attention if I suddenly got a perfect score. I thought it would be best if I made slow but steady progress. That said, Sudou’s breakthrough meant I could probably afford to increase my score a little more.

“It’s so insipid that you’re still playing the clown. Honestly, I can’t listen to you anymore.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever listened to me,” I replied.

“I suppose that’s true.”

She openly admitted it…

At any rate, because the test problems had been simple, there were a few perfect scores among those students at the top of the class. Chabashira-sensei even gave us a genuine compliment. “As you can see, no one has to drop out of school due to their midterm scores this time. All of you managed to pass.” She seemed content, so I assumed she would refrain from any constructive criticism.

“Obviously. I’m looking forward to next month’s private points, sensei!” said Sudou, his elbows propped up on his desk.

Chabashira-sensei responded with an unchanging smile. “That’s right. Incidentally, there were few real problems during the sports festival. It would be reasonable to expect a private point increase in November. I must say, in the three years I’ve taught at this school, no other Class D has held on this long without any students dropping out. Well done.”

Chabashira-sensei had never shown us this side of her personality until today. Quite a few students seemed hesitant to believe that it was genuine. In particular, people who didn’t usually receive praise felt a little awkward about it.

“You praising us feels weird.” Horikita was hard to fool. Although it was wonderful that no one had failed, she understood that Chabashira-sensei wasn’t the type to end on a positive note. The gentler Chabashira-sensei acted, the creepier we all felt. However, Horikita kept her cool.

Our teacher’s hair, tied up into a ponytail, swayed bewitchingly. Chabashira-sensei slowly passed between the rows of desks, as if intending to make a trip around the classroom. When she arrived at Ike’s desk, she stopped.

“You managed to pass, but I want to ask you something. What do you think of this school? I’d like to hear your honest evaluation.”

“Well, I guess…it’s a good school. If you do well, you can get tons of spending money. The food’s tasty, and the rooms are nice and clean,” said Ike. He counted on his fingers as he listed more things. “You can buy games and stuff. Plus, there’re movies to see and karaoke. And the girls are cute.”

That last part wasn’t really the school’s doing, of course.

“Um…d-did I say something wrong?” blurted Ike, looking fearfully at Chabashira-sensei.

“No. From a student’s perspective, this is quite a paradise. Even as a teacher, I feel that this school is almost excessively lavish. It treats the students here so well that it almost defies common sense,” she replied.

Chabashira-sensei began to walk once more, heading for my side of the classroom. I had the feeling she was going to ask me a question in front of the rest of the class. Don’t talk to me.

Fortunately, it seemed my request was heard, and Chabashira-sensei stopped next to Hirata’s desk this time. “Hirata, do you like this school?” she asked.

“Yes. I’ve made lots of friends, and I’m enjoying a fulfilling life.” Hirata’s response was exemplary.

“Don’t you feel anxious, knowing that you could be expelled if you happen to make a single mistake?”

“Whenever I’m nervous, I work harder with everyone else,” he replied. His words of camaraderie rang clear, without a hint of hesitation.

Chabashira-sensei returned to the podium. It seemed as though she was trying to confirm something, but I didn’t understand what. Maybe she wanted a better sense of our class’s morale. Was she gauging our stamina, to see whether we could handle what was to come?

“Next week, in preparation for the second semester’s final exam, there will be a short test with problems from eight subjects. You’re all likely aware, and I’m sure that some of you have already started studying, but I just wanted to remind you,” said Chabashira-sensei.

“Geh! And I was just recovering from the midterm! Another test?!” Ike wailed.

We had just entered the chillier months, and students who weren’t adept at studying would only continue to suffer. Obviously, tests were an important part of student life, but in the second semester the intervals between them were rather quick.

“That means there’s only a week left until the next short quiz! I haven’t heard about this at all!”

Actually, the teachers constantly reminded us about the upcoming quiz. Ike’s obliviousness made me want to sigh deeply.

“Saying that you haven’t heard about it won’t do, as much as I’d love to tell you otherwise. Don’t worry, though, Ike.” Chabashira-sensei smiled as if she were throwing Ike a lifeline, but she did nothing purely out of the kindness of her heart. We knew her better than that.

Well, we should have, anyway.

“Really, sensei? So, I can relax and take it easy? Woo!” shouted Ike.

Chabashira-sensei looked away from him. “There will be one hundred questions on the test, making for a total of one hundred possible points. However, the questions will be on a third-year junior high school level. This test is meant to confirm that you remember your fundamentals. Furthermore, much like the mock test you took in the first semester, it won’t affect your grades. It doesn’t matter whether you score zero points or a hundred. At most, it will be used to measure of your abilities.”

“R-really? Good!”

“However, it’s far from meaningless—this test’s results will have an enormous impact on your next final exam,” she added.

Of course. Nothing could be simple at this school. The sports festival had just ended, and it seemed our next challenge was about to begin.

“Wait, what kind of impact? Can you tell us?” Sudou asked. I understood his frustration. Chabashira-sensei had purposefully drawn things out to exacerbate the class’s anxieties.

“I would love to help you understand, Sudou. The school has decided that this next quiz’s results will help determine which students to partner in class,” said Chabashira-sensei.

“Partner?” Hirata sounded suspicious.

“That’s right. Pairs decided based on this test will go on to take the final exam together. There will be eight subjects on that exam, each worth a total of one hundred points. Four hundred test questions, fifty for each subject. There are also two possible ways for you to fail that exam. If your pair scores under sixty in even one subject, then the school will expel both students. The sixty-point total, by the way, refers to the partners’ combined score. For example, let’s say Ike and Hirata were partners. Even if Ike scored zero points, they’d both be safe as long as Hirata scored sixty points.”

Everyone gasped. With an excellent partner, this would be an easy test. However, this still left the second method of failing. Chabashira-sensei ignored everyone’s shocked expressions and continued her explanation.

“There’s one additional hurdle to overcome. The school has decided that you must secure a certain overall score to avoid failing. Even if you get sixty points or more in each of the eight individual subjects, failing to meet this overall score requirement will mean expulsion.”

“So, the overall requirement represents both partners’ combined score?”

“Yes, exactly. The school hasn’t yet determined the exact score required, but in years past, it’s been around seven hundred points,” said Chabashira-sensei.

Seven hundred points. With two people working together across eight subjects—sixteen scores in total, two for each subject—you’d need a minimum average of 43.75 points in every subject. Even excellent students like Horikita or Yukimura could be at risk, depending on their partner. As a pair, your fates were entwined—and that included being expelled.

“You mentioned that the overall required score is still unclear. Why?” asked Hirata.

“Don’t be so hasty. I’ll explain the overall requirements in more detail later. The final exam will be held over two days, with four subjects per day, and I’ll let you know the subjects’ order. In the event that someone is absent due to poor health, the school will investigate the absence’s legitimacy. If it’s confirmed to be unavoidable, the student will receive points based on a rough estimate of what they would’ve earned given past test results. However, should the school find that an absent student didn’t have sufficient reason to miss class, they will receive a score of zero points for all tests missed,” Chabashira-sensei replied.

We couldn’t avoid taking this exam. The school was telling us that caring for our health was another test of ability.

“At any rate, you’re starting to behave like proper students. If this announcement were earlier in the year, you’d probably all be wailing by now.”

“Well, we’ve gotten used to it,” Ike responded. There was a touch of confidence in his countenance. “We’ve had to go through all kinds of stuff.”

“Well said, Ike. Many of you probably think the same thing, which is why I’m going to give you just one piece of advice. Don’t assume that you understand how this school works just because you’ve finished the first semester of your first year. In the future, you’ll face countless exams far more difficult than those you face now,” Chabashira-sensei replied.

“P-please don’t say such terrifying things, sensei,” said one of the girls, her voice aquiver.

“Well, it’s the truth. In years past… We call it the ‘Paper Shuffle,’ but one or two pairs are usually expelled due to this test. Most of them are from Class D. This is by no means a threat; I’m just telling you the facts.”

The class’s optimism rapidly faded. But what did Chabashira-sensei mean by “Paper Shuffle,” exactly?

“The school will expel any failed partners without exception. If you think this is a mere threat, then it might be good for you to talk to an upperclassman. You should’ve started building connections with them, after all,” said Chabashira-sensei.

So, despite how cruel the penalties sounded, only or two pairs were expelled in a typical year? That part seemed a bit off. Depending on who you partnered with, your fate would be sealed. “It is what it is,” in other words.

“Lastly, I’ll be talking about the penalties for the exam. Although this is obvious, cheating is forbidden. Anyone who cheats will immediately be disqualified and expelled along with their partner. This isn’t just limited to the exam, of course; the same applies to all midterm and final examinations.”

Cheating would result in expulsion, which seemed like a harsh punishment at first glance. If this were an ordinary high school, the punishment for cheating would probably be an automatic zero in all subjects, a stern warning, or suspension at the very most. You could be expelled for a single failing grade here in this school, though, so of course the same would be true for cheating. Seems almost inevitable, huh?

Chabashira-sensei was giving us ample warning to prevent students from panicking and making mistakes. However, the pair system was still a real problem.

“After I get the short test’s results, I’ll tell you how the all-too-important partners will be decided,” Chabashira-sensei added.

I quietly picked up my pen. Horikita grabbed hers at almost the exact same time and started writing something, her eyes fixed on the paper posted on the blackboard. Since she was taking notes, I put my own pen down. If Horikita was on it, I was useless.

“Wait, after the short test? What’s up with that? If you get partnered with the student at the bottom, won’t you be in deep trouble?” Sudou asked.

“Ugh! Ken’s humiliating me! I’m going to study hard and turn things around!” Yamauchi cried.

“Don’t push yourself. You’re all talk. You haven’t seen anything yet; I’ve been studying a lot,” said Sudou.

Yamauchi slumped, looking as though he were writhing in agony. Sudou’s words weren’t empty; as long as Horikita kept helping him, he really would work hard. In that way, he was somewhat convincing.

Well, that wasn’t terribly important. The important thing here was that the school was purposely keeping us in the dark about how the pairs would be determined. In other words, it was extremely likely that we would hear of a way to change who we were paired up with. Some of the students who had taken part in the special and written exams had probably noticed this. That included Horikita, who was sitting next to me right now, scribbling away.

“One more aspect of this final exam will challenge you,” said Chabashira-sensei.

While the rest of the class was slightly agitated by this, Horikita just seemed to want it all summed up. “So, there’s another thing we have to do?”

“Yes. First, the school will ask you to create your own questions to appear on the final exam. They’ll use the questions you come up with for one of the other three classes. That means classes will be able to attack one another, so to speak. The school will compare your class’s overall score to the overall score for the class that received your test questions. The class that scores higher will take points from the losing class. Fifty class points, specifically,” said Chabashira-sensei.

To sum up, pairs needed to score above seven hundred points in aggregate or be expelled. Meanwhile, we also needed to score sixty points or higher for each individual subject or be expelled. Furthermore, our entire class’s overall score had to exceed the overall score of the class whose test questions we set.

“Is there a way to create a gap in points? Let’s say Class A attacks Class B, and Class D attacks Class A,” said Horikita. “If Class A successfully carries out their attack on Class B while simultaneously defending against Class D, they’ll gain a total of one hundred points. However, if Class A attacks Class D and Class D attacks Class A, won’t things just cancel each other out?”

“In the event of a one-on-one confrontation of that kind, class scores may go up or down by a hundred points at a time. Don’t worry. Although this is unlikely, if the overall scores are tied, then the matchup will end in a draw, and no class will lose or gain points,” said Chabashira-sensei.

“So, we have to come up with problems for the other classes to solve. I’ve never heard of anything like this. How will this be executed? If someone devises absurdly hard questions…”

“Yeah, yeah! That’s right! They could pick stuff we haven’t learned yet! This is impossible!” Ike and some other students threw up their hands in frustration.

“Things might turn out that way if we left everything to the students. Thus, teachers will evaluate the questions you create. If they exceed what you have been taught, or cannot be answered with the information provided, they will be revised. We’ll ensure through repeated checks that each class submits fair questions and answers. Do you understand, Ike?” asked Chabashira-sensei.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” he replied. It sounded deceptively easy, but probably wasn’t that simple.

“Creating four hundred questions, huh? That’ll make for a pretty tight schedule,” said Hirata.

We had about a month left until the test. A single person would have to come up with ten to fifteen questions per day to get them done in time. Although we could put several people to work devising questions, that would cause some variation in quality. If we had to make any revisions after submitting the problems to the school, we’d need to work quickly. A grace period might be something to ask about. If you also took Class D’s flaws into account, finishing the questions would come down to the wire. Hirata must have understood that, because he looked flustered.

“If you don’t complete the questions in time, certain measures are in place to help you. After the submission deadline passes, the school will utilize its own premade questions. However, please keep in mind that those questions will be easier,” said Chabashira-sensei.

It was nice to hear that there were relief measures, but in truth, they were a mixed blessing. We had to create our own questions, no matter what, which meant someone would have to do the lion’s share of that work in addition to managing their own studies. This test would be brutal.

“You may consult teachers and students from other classes, and you can use the internet. There are few restrictions. As long as the school accepts the questions, we don’t care about much else,” said Chabashira-sensei.

“So, our final test will obviously include questions from another class, right?”

“Exactly. I’m sure you’re all wondering what class you’ll; be up against, but it’s pretty straightforward. Each class will choose another class to compete against, and I will report that request to my superiors. If another class makes the same choice, representatives will draw lots. However, if there are no duplicate nominations, your choice of class will be honored. I’ll accept your nomination for the class you’d like to go up against next week, the day before the short test. You should think very carefully,” she added.

The final exam was us against the school—but this time, it was a street fight against another class then, huh?

In addition to the problem of how many points we need to earn as a pair, there was now another complicated system thrown into the mix.

“That’s all for the preliminary explanation. The rest is up to you,” said Chabashira-sensei.

With that, our classes ended for the day.

3.1

“W E’RE HOLDING A MEETING , Ayanokouji-kun. Can you get Hirata-kun for me?” Horikita asked.

“Roger.”

I went to talk to Hirata, and Horikita walked over to Sudou. Horikita and Hirata were gradually becoming the class’s prime movers and shakers. I couldn’t stay in the shadows much longer. So far, I’d kept up the pretense of not being the sharpest tool in the shed. However, after running that relay race, I became well-known practically overnight. Ryuuen and Ichinose wanted the identity of the person pulling Horikita’s strings, without a doubt.

What should I do about that? Distance myself from Horikita? That would look suspicious, though. Should I stick close to her and wait for things to pass? I’d be under suspicion so long as I remained around her, too.

Our list of enemies was growing, and trying to return to the way things were before was out of the question. No matter what, my opponents would ignore my real intentions and contemplate my every move. I’d been able to hang out with Horikita as much as I did because she’d had very few friends, but things were changing. Her interactions with people like Sudou—as well as Hirata, Karuizawa, and so on—would become more frequent. Maybe I’d put some distance between her and myself, then.

I needed to keep Chabashira-sensei happy, and if Horikita and the others could handle the class without me, it would take a load off my shoulders. Chabashira-sensei probably didn’t need me, specifically, to help Class D. Anyone would do. As for why she wanted to threaten me into helping Class D rise to Class A, well, I didn’t really care.

At any rate, it wasn’t time for me to release Horikita just yet. If I let go right here and now, I’d lose control of Class D, and everything might collapse. First, I’d make Horikita even more influential. Then, I’d quietly fade away.

The important thing was the procedure, followed by preparation, and then results.

I returned to Horikita.

“Hirata’s on his way. Same with Sudou.” I’d seen him duck out, probably to go to the bathroom.

“So, what do you think?” Horikita cut to the chase.

“It’s just like Chabashira-sensei said. This exam will be difficult. The bar is high, and the partner system makes it worse. To top it off, if another class comes up with the problems we have to solve, the test could get extremely tough. Depending on how the question’s worded, even something straightforward could appear unsolvable.”

“That’s true. This time, it’s not just about studying. We have to be creative,” said Horikita.

Simply tutoring the weaker students among us wouldn’t be enough. Understanding the other classes’ strengths and weaknesses would be ideal, but they wouldn’t show us their hands easily. Still, we’d overcome trials based on intelligence and teamwork before.

In a sense, this test might be less difficult than the ones on the island or the cruise ship. If the sports festival had tested our class’s accumulated physical strength, this was a test of accumulated academic knowledge.

“I feel as if Chabashira-sensei was hinting at something,” I told Horikita.

“Yes. I noticed,” she replied quietly. “You always pay close attention to people, so I’m sure you aware that the school packs hints into everything. The three key points Chabashira-sensei made were that the short test won’t affect our grades, that the criteria for the combined scores hadn’t been decided yet, and that they’d determine our partners after the short test.”

I instinctively smiled in response to Horikita’s perfect, concise breakdown. Not long afterward, Hirata joined us.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting. You wanted to discuss plans, right?” Hirata called to Karuizawa to join us. Though she glared at us as if it was a huge bother, she came.

“Sorry. I thought that we should talk things over right away,” Horikita said. A few months ago, it would’ve been shocking for her to initiate a meeting like this. Now, though, she was the class’s commander. “I’d like to start right away, if that’s acceptable.”

“Huh? Wait, right here? No way. If we’re talking things over, we might as well go to Pallet. Right, Yousuke-kun?” asked Karuizawa.

Karuizawa tightly hugged Hirata’s arm, snuggling close to him. It was her usual method of getting what she wanted. She’d been doing it ever since I first met her. Incidentally, Pallet was a café on school grounds, one that mostly catered to girls. During lunch breaks and after class, it often overflowed with people.

My eyes met Karuizawa’s for an instant. Though I didn’t know why, she quickly let go of Hirata’s arm.

“We don’t know where the enemy might be watching us from, but… Well, it’s fine, I suppose,” replied Horikita. She probably understood that it would be unwise to antagonize Karuizawa right now. She might not have been consciously aware of it, but Horikita was definitely maturing.

“Excuse me, but would it be all right if I joined you, too?” Kushida Kikyou asked. “Is that okay…?”

“I’m fine with you joining us. You understand our class very well, Kushida-san. Besides, I’d like to hear several people’s opinions,” I said.

Karuizawa’s stance was that she didn’t mind whatever we did, so she didn’t say anything in response. Now, how would Horikita answer?

“Of course, Kushida-san. I planned on inviting you, anyway,” said Horikita.

Horikita had immediately agreed to the idea, almost as if she was saving herself the trouble of calling out to Kushida in the first place. That was a surprising move.

“Could you three head over to Pallet first? I have a few things to take care of.”

Kushida, Karuizawa, and Hirata agreed and left without any particular objections. I turned to Horikita.

“Is that really okay? Bringing Kushida in?”

Kushida Kikyou was a valuable asset, but she also hated Horikita. While their feud wasn’t public, I couldn’t say for certain that she wouldn’t try to sabotage us. Furthermore, during the sports festival, Kushida’s betrayal put Class D in a tight spot.

“Wouldn’t it seem weird to refuse her?” Horikita replied.

That was certainly true. But when I looked at it, had Horikita honestly accepted Kushida’s request, then?

“Sorry to make you wait, Suzune,” said Sudou, coming up to us.

“It’s all right. Hirata-kun and the others are meeting us at Pallet, anyway.”

“Okay, sure. Hey, uh, sorry about this…but, um, would it be okay if I peeked in on my club? The upperclassmen asked for me to be there. It should be over in, like, twenty or thirty minutes,” said Sudou.

“I don’t mind. Come join us as soon as you finish,” replied Horikita.

Sudou flashed a smile, grabbed his bag, and hurried out of the classroom. Horikita picked up her own bag and headed to the door.

“I think I’m gonna head back to my dorm. Give it your best,” I told her.

“Wait a minute. You were invited, too. You’re absolutely indispensable as the intermediary between Hirata-kun and Karuizawa-san. I still can’t control either of them,” said Horikita.

“I saw this coming. You say that, but I think you’re a capable leader. Besides, the final exam will test everything we’ve learned. You and your study group handled the midterm without my help.”

In reality, she had handled everything, from bringing the meeting together to establishing the location all on her own. There was just one more step.

“That might be true. But if Kushida-san is in the group, it’s a different story. I have business to discuss with you, too. Can you at least participate in today’s discussion? Or don’t you want the truth about Kushida?” asked Horikita.

What a cunning thing to say. I figured I should be honest with her.

“If I said I wasn’t interested, I’d be lying.” Kushida showed no favoritism toward anyone, and treated everybody in class equally, so I wanted to know why she held such animosity for Horikita alone. That fact in particular was incomprehensible to me.

“I’ll tell you everything I know about her,” said Horikita. There must have been some reason she’d decided on this timing. “Honestly, I don’t want to go around spreading rumors, but I think informing you is necessary. In fact, I think this will play out in my favor.”

“I wonder why you’re so interested in talking to me about Kushida.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you kept quiet about her until now. I can’t even imagine how you got entangled with her to begin with. When did you two start fighting?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Horikita went quite stiff. “I can’t talk to you about it here. Understand?”

Even the walls had ears, after all. “I understand. I suppose I’ll come along with you.”

I imagined that the story was worth going to a meeting.

Out in the hallway, Horikita spoke to me in a hushed whisper. “Where would you like me to start?” she asked.

“From the beginning. All I know is that you two aren’t on good terms.” I wanted more information on Kushida’s dark side, but I didn’t dare bring it up. I wasn’t sure how much Horikita was aware of.

“I really don’t know much at all about Kushida Kikyou. When did you first meet her?” Horikita asked.

This question was probably just for confirmation, so I answered honestly. “On the bus.”

“I see. I also saw Kushida-san on the bus on the first day of school,” she replied.

I remembered that an elderly woman on the bus had been forced to stand because there weren’t any open seats. Kushida had asked if someone would give the old lady a seat, a good deed in and of itself, a faultless act of kindness. However, no one gave theirs up right away. As one of those who hadn’t offered, the scene had left a deep impression on me.

“You think Kushida started hating you back then? Kouenji also refused to give up his seat. I didn’t give mine up, either,” I told her. “But you’re the only one she hates.”

I didn’t mean to say that she liked me or anything. But it was unusual that Kushida’s hostility was directed solely at Horikita.

“I didn’t know Kushida-san back then. Well, to be more accurate, I didn’t remember her,” said Horikita.

“So, you knew each other before you met at this school?”

“Yes. We attended the same junior high, but it was in a completely different prefecture. Even in her wildest dreams, she probably never imagined that someone from her junior high would end up here too,” Horikita said.

“I see.”

Horikita had solved one great mystery for me. Their relationship had begun to develop before I’d met either of them. Yup, this was the backstory I needed in order to understand the situation.

“I remembered her after the first-semester study group. My junior high was an enormous school with over a thousand students. I was never in the same class as Kushida-san,” said Horikita. “I didn’t know her.”

That wasn’t really a surprise, if I assumed that Horikita had been as solitary back in junior high as she was now. She’d probably immersed herself in studying day after day, without making any friends.

Horikita and I didn’t head straight for Pallet. Instead, we spent time wandering around school, taking a detour. We knew this chat would take a while. Also, the farther away from the café we went, the fewer people were around.

“What was Kushida like in junior high?”

“No idea. Like I said, I didn’t interact with her. However, she was incredibly popular. Looking back, I remember classmates rallying around her during all kinds of events. She was nice to everyone, sociable, and well liked. She had the same level of influence as the student council,” said Horikita.

The Kushida I knew was never that popular, but it seemed she was still just as magnetic as before. I thought Horikita might have remembered her, all things considered, but it appeared as though the two of them hadn’t interacted directly. So, the mystery of why Kushida loathed Horikita so much still hadn’t been solved. Perhaps that secret was still hidden in the story yet to come.

“I don’t think she hates you just because she couldn’t befriend you,” I said.

It wasn’t a question or whether Kushida was capable of making 100 friends or anything like that. Not even Kushida could become friends with every single person in school.

“You’re right. The crucial part comes next. However, please keep in mind that this is nothing more than a rumor. Only Kushida-san herself knows the full truth.” With that preface out of the way, Horikita continued, her voice solemn. “In February of our third year, just as graduation approached, one entire class was absent from the assembly.”

“What, like they all got sick with the flu?”

“No. Apparently, a certain female student triggered an incident that destroyed her class. They didn’t recover until graduation,” said Horikita.

“I don’t even need to ask who that girl was, do I?”

“It was Kushida-san. But I don’t know the details. The school completely buried the incident. If it became public knowledge, their credibility would take a hit. It would even affect graduates who wanted to advance to higher education or find a job. Still, the school couldn’t suppress everything . Rumors started to spread,” said Horikita.

“Do you know anything, even if it’s just a fragment of a rumor?” I asked. I wanted to know the gist of what happened, to find out just what kind of event it had been.

“Some students said that the classroom was in complete disarray right after the incident. The blackboard and desks were covered with all kinds of slanderous scribblings.” She spoke as if immersed in the memory.

“Covered with slander, huh? Is it possible Kushida was bullied, then?”

“I don’t know. So many rumors floated around. Someone was being bullied, or they were doing the bullying. I even heard rumors about violence, though the details were vague.”

So, the rumor mill was extremely active.

“But then the rumors stopped in the blink of an eye. No one wanted to talk about it. Even though a whole class nearly fell apart, people suddenly acted as if nothing had happened.”

There must have been pressure coming from someone, most likely to keep everyone’s lips sealed.

“Still, it’s not like it’s your fault that Kushida made that class fall apart. I’m sure you weren’t paying attention to what happened, anyway.”

“You’re exactly right. I knew I wanted to come to this school, so I was utterly focused on preparing. I didn’t care that much about anything else,” Horikita replied.

I supposed that was true. Even if the school’s reputation had fallen, she was probably confident in her ability to pass anyway.

An even thought to have been triggered by Kushida had caused an entire class to collapse… I could imagine that it had an enormous impact on whether students could advance to higher education or find employment. couldn’t imagine the Kushida I knew doing any of that, honestly. However, if this were true, then I understood why she couldn’t allow anyone who knew the truth about her to stick around. If people found out, Kushida would lose all the social capital she’d gained.

“So, Kushida did something bad, but you don’t know the specific details. However, she doesn’t seem to know that you don’t know. She believes that, because you attended the same junior high, you know everything that happened.”

“She isn’t exactly wrong. I do know that she caused the incident.” Horikita sighed.

I was starting to get an idea of her predicament. The tension between them was all thanks to Kushida’s one-sided misunderstanding and hostility. Kushida would do anything to keep her past hidden. Even if Horikita said that she knew nothing about the incident, Kushida wouldn’t believe her. If Kushida knew what we were currently discussing, she would’ve taken it as proof that Horikita knew about her past. This was extremely troublesome.

“I still don’t understand,” Horikita said.

“About the incident?”

“Yeah. It’s just all so weirdly mysterious. How does a class with no problems collapse all of a sudden?” She shook her head.

“It’s possible that Kushida triggered it, but how could one single student have that much power?” I replied. This didn’t come down to simple bullying. If that were the case, only a few people would’ve been involved.

“Honestly, I can’t imagine,” said Horikita.

Even if I’d wanted Class D to fall apart, I couldn’t cause it just like that. “You’d need a powerful weapon,” I said.

“Right…”

The weapon I referred to wasn’t necessarily a physical one—rather, it referred to a variety of methods.

“If you wanted to destroy our class, what would you do?”

“To answer your question with another question, what’s the deadliest weapon in the world? What can Kushida manipulate? Think about it,” I said.

“As I’ve said before, violence is the deadliest weapon a human being can wield. It has rather unique power. No matter how clever the scholar or how influential the politician, no one is physically invulnerable,” said Horikita. “As long as the conditions are met, it’s not impossible to use force to crush the class, right? You could send everyone to the hospital, for instance.”

Though her example was a dangerous one, what Horikita said was true. In that case, the class would certainly fall apart.

“You’re not wrong. Violence is one of the deadliest weapons. However, Kushida didn’t use violence to corner everyone. If that were true, you’d have heard.” If Kushida had gone on a rampage with a chainsaw, the media would’ve had a field day. “What about something that can compete with violence’s unique power?”

“Do you have something in mind?” asked Horikita.

“Let’s say that I was the one setting out to destroy our class. In that case, I can think of something I’d use. Can you?”

“Wait.” Horikita gave it some thought. “I want to say ‘authority,’ but how many students have authority like that?” She didn’t seem terribly confident about her answer.

“Authority is a powerful weapon, but even the student council president couldn’t create that much mayhem. There’s no way someone like Kushida could reduce a class to nothing through authority.”

“Then what is it? What can bring an entire class to its knees?”

“Forget Kushida for a moment. What powerful weapon is available to anyone? Lies. People are natural liars by birth. Anyone can lie. Depending on the time and the place, a lie can do more damage than simple violence.”

Statistics show that people lie two or three times a day, on average. You might think that seems impossible, but the definition of a “lie” is rather broad. “I didn’t get enough sleep,” “I caught a cold,” “I didn’t notice that email,” “I’m fine.” Everything we say is full of lies.

“Lies. I see. You might be right.”

Lies were incredibly powerful. A single lie could even drive someone to their death. “I’ll cut right to the chase. If you used violence and lies, could you cause Class D to fall apart? Think about it.”

“I can’t say for sure. Hypothetically speaking, I couldn’t overcome some people in our class with violence. I can’t imagine defeating Sudou-kun or Kouenji-kun with my bare hands. Besides, there are also people like you whose strengths I don’t fully know,” said Horikita. “Supposing I had some kind of blunt weapon, or even the cover of night, I couldn’t possibly take on everyone. I just can’t imagine it working.” She seemed to be racking her brains more than I expected.

“Right. Anyone can use violence, but not everyone can use it effectively,” I told her.

“I don’t think I’d be able to lie my way through it either. Besides, there are many students in class who are better are lying than they are at lashing out with their fists, so it’s probably impossible. That fighting style doesn’t work for me,” she answered.

No matter how many simulations she ran in her mind, Horikita couldn’t come up with an answer.

“I can’t see Kushida-san using much violence. So, if the options are violence or lies, it’s only natural to conclude that she lied to destroy her class,” said Horikita.

“Yes.”

“But…could she really do that?”

“Dunno. For her, it might not be impossible,” I said. Trying to corner one person wouldn’t be too difficult. Still, bringing down an entire class was an extensive undertaking. “Can Kushida really command such power? Or maybe…”

Maybe Kushida had a secret third weapon? Regardless, she’d certainly been the culprit. If she weren’t the one who destroyed her class, she wouldn’t be this hostile toward Horikita.

“Kushida-san told me that she’d use any means necessary to get rid of anyone who knew about her past. That she’d even work with Katsuragi-kun, Sakayanagi-san, or Ichinose-san to drive me out. She’s already formed an alliance with Ryuuen-kun to entrap me. She won’t stop as long as I’m here, even if Class D suffers,” said Horikita.

“That’s worrisome. So, she’s prepared to destroy our class to hide her past.”

“I have no doubt.”

That couldn’t be an idle threat. Yet, even though Kushida had declared war, she’d wanted to work with Horikita and Hirata today. Maybe that choice was designed to maintain her position in class, but it was likely a hostile act. She was probably trying to gather information.

Still, even if she was a spy, we needed Kushida. She’d built up significant goodwill in Class D. If we started treating her like an outsider, the other students wouldn’t trust us.

“How do you plan to deal with Kushida, Horikita?” I asked.

“My options are limited. I can tell her that I don’t know any details about the incident, or that I won’t say anything to anyone, and hope I’ll convince her.”

“It probably won’t be that simple. Kushida will remain suspicious, and she likely won’t forgive you for even knowing about her past.” Horikita had turned to me for help, which Kushida probably anticipated. It wasn’t surprising that Kushida included me on the list of people she wanted to have expelled.

“I still think my best option is to talk to her. Am I wrong?” asked Horikita.

“No, I agree with you. This matter is a question of making the necessary arrangements and requesting someone’s cooperation. Trying to convince her is probably the only solution.” For now. Eventually, Kushida would push back in a big way.

“In that case, there’s no need to deliberate further.”

“Look, I might be jumping too far ahead, but if we’re going to reach Class A, we might need to give up on Kushida.”

Horikita glared at me. “You mean we should get Kushida-san expelled?”

I nodded quietly. Strike your enemy down first; that was basic strategy. However, Horikita looked disgusted.

“I didn’t think you’d propose something like that. When I decided to let Sudou-kun fail months ago, you were the one who convinced me to help him instead. And I understood. We couldn’t turn our backs on a person with something to offer. To tell you the truth, if I’d abandoned Sudou-kun back then, the sports festival probably would’ve ended even more disastrously. And you saw how much he improved on the midterm. Am I wrong?”

The once-solitary Horikita had changed greatly. I was surprised to see such a radical transformation in her. Still, her plan wasn’t realistic. She’d done a good job of getting Sudou on our side, but I doubted that Horikita, who wasn’t silver-tongued to begin with, could successfully win Kushida over.

“This is different from just tutoring someone. To be honest, I don’t think Kushida’s feelings are solely what drive her. This is more than just a simple lack of understanding on her part. As long as you’re at this school, Kushida will attempt to sabotage you, and Class D may pay the price. Are you sure you won’t regret letting her stay?” I asked.

Horikita didn’t look swayed. On the contrary, she appeared more determined than before. Her brows twitched as she replied, “She’s an excellent student. Not only can she win people’s hearts and minds, she’s also a keen observer. If we make her our ally, she’ll be a great asset.”

True enough, but could it even be done?

“This is my responsibility. I can’t just abandon her. I’m sure she’ll understand,” said Horikita.

“If that’s what you want, then all right. I’ll keep watch.”

So she’s chosen the path of suffering, huh? It seemed as though Horikita seriously intended to face Kushida for the sake of the class. No matter what else I tried to say, she wouldn’t budge.

I wanted to believe it might work out. I wanted to see whether Horikita could really befriend Kushida, just as she’d turned Sudou into someone she could trust.

“I didn’t say I wanted your help,” said Horikita.

“Yeah, you’re right. This has nothing to do with me,” I responded. We’d almost completed a lap around the campus. We would arrive at Pallet shortly.

“I told you about Kushida-san because I thought that you’d keep it secret, and that you’d understand,” said Horikita.

“Sorry I didn’t give you the answer you wanted.”

I had given her my honest opinion, but we just weren’t seeing eye to eye.

“Since I provided all this information, would you answer a question?” she asked.

“What is it?”

Horikita stopped dead in her tracks and stared up at me, her eyes sharp. It looked like she had one more thing to talk about. “What did you do to Ryuuen-kun at the sports festival?”

“What did I do?”

Horikita was referring to when she had been caught in Ryuuen’s schemes. I didn’t know the exact details of what Ryuuen had done during the sports festival, so I could only answer based on how I saw it.

“I compromised, that’s it. All I did was ensure that Ryuuen’s plans were crushed,” I told her.

“You mean, you recorded the conversation Ryuuen-kun had with the Class C students? When he discussed his strategy?”

I nodded.

“It can’t have been easy to get that recording. How did you do it? Ryuuen-kun said there was a spy, but you’re not friends with anyone from Class C, are you?”

“I have my ways. I used what I had at my disposal.” Of course, Horikita didn’t know about the trouble Manabe and her friends had caused Karuizawa back on the cruise ship.

“Another thing. I was angry that you came to my rescue like that, because it meant that you thought I would fail. But I suppose I was about to fail, so…I can’t argue with you. Since you forbade me from prying into your affairs, I can’t demand that you tell me more. Though it was troubling, it… Well, if you hadn’t done anything, I would’ve… Well, thank you,” said Horikita.

“That was an amazingly roundabout way of thanking me.” I’d expected her to give me a lecture, so her gratitude caught me off guard. “I did promise to cooperate to a certain extent, so I could at least do that much,” I added.

“I’d consider it meddling, personally. Are you sure you’re okay with being this conspicuous? Ryuuen-kun is now convinced that someone in Class D is working behind the scenes, and you’re probably on his list, Ayanokouji-kun. I think the peaceful life you wanted is in jeopardy,” said Horikita.

True, my high school life was becoming more stressful than I ever wished it to be. But peace might never have been an option. Chabashira-sensei had already mentioned a certain man who wanted to see me. Then there was Sakayanagi, who knew my past. Ultimately, none of us were clairvoyant; we didn’t know how things would play out. Horikita could become my trump card later on. Now I was scrambling to find a way to get some R&R.

All the while, Horikita waited with an expectant expression.

“Good point. We’ll have to be especially cautious.”

“You reach into the deep recesses of your mind only to come back with that? I’m starting to understand you less and less,” said Horikita.

“You never understood me at all.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

If I didn’t remember seeing her, then she must not have pried into my affairs. At any rate, Horikita didn’t have time to focus on Ryuuen or me. If she didn’t deal with Kushida, her days at this school might be numbered.

3.2

A S SOON AS we entered Pallet, Karuizawa glared at Horikita. “Jeez, what were you even doing?! You’re so late! At least apologize.”

“Let’s get started. After all, Hirata-kun has club activities, right?” said Horikita, ignoring her completely.

“Wow, you just ignored me. Typical,” said Karuizawa. “Not even a ‘sorry.’”

Besides Horikita and myself, the group now consisted of Hirata, Karuizawa, Kushida, and Sudou. Horikita was right that there wasn’t much of a grace period before club activities. It was already 3:50 in the afternoon, and clubs convened at 4:30. Hirata, who was in the soccer club, should have been the most anxious, but he remained calm and collected. Maybe he was sincerely looking forward to this meeting, since his eyes shone.

After Horikita took her seat, she immediately launched into the conversation without touching the drink she’d purchased. “Let’s discuss the upcoming short test, shall we?”

“Is it really that important? I mean, the school pretty much guaranteed that our grades won’t reflect our test results,” said Karuizawa. “Having these study sessions one after another now that midterms are over is a huge burden on everyone.”

First midterms, then the short test, and lastly, the final exam. The flurry of study sessions, which left us practically no room to breathe, would probably place an unbearably high level of stress on the students who weren’t doing that well.

“I wasn’t going to force people to study. However, the school isn’t making us take this test simply to measure our academic ability. We just passed the midterm, after all.”

“We all passed because the midterm had easy questions, right?”

“Wait, you think the short test will have more difficult questions on it? That doesn’t seem efficient,” Hirata said.

If they tried to make the short test more important than the midterms, the school’s priorities would seem completely backward.

“The short test might be significant in another way, then. Does the school want to measure something other than our academics?” asked Hirata-kun.

“Huh? What? What are you talking about?” asked Karuizawa, perking up considerably as Hirata spoke.

“It has nothing to do with our academic abilities at all. The short test’s results will influence partner selection for the final exam. That’s why it matters,” explained Horikita. Sudou looked somber. “Do you understand, Sudou?”

“Just barely.” Sudou’s grasp on the current situation appeared dubious at best.

“There must be some kind of process to select the pairs,” Horikita continued. “If we discover that process, we can gain a clear advantage in the final exam.”

“What’s that mean, Ayanokouji?” Sudou whispered. He most likely didn’t want to interrupt Horikita’s explanation.

“It means that controlling the short test’s outcome is necessary to clear the final exam,” I answered.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Sudou’s lie was so incredibly obvious.

Horikita’s read on the situation was true, without a doubt. The results of the short test were definitely going to be used to determine how the pairs were formed, meaning we’d be able to uncover the process in some way. The school had promised to explain things to the students at a later date, so we wouldn’t end up making a strange, complicated decision. I figured I’d see what Horikita had up her sleeve.

“So what? Will they match up the people who scored closest together or something?” said Karuizawa. Apparently, she’d been listening intently.

“Or maybe they’ll pair someone who got an answer right with someone who got the same answer wrong?” asked Sudou, who was also focused.

“Either is possible,” said Horikita.

Hirata seemed to have some doubts, since his expression turned serious. “I understand it to some extent, but I’m a little skeptical about this.”

“About what? Please, I’d like to hear it,” said Horikita, her gaze encouraging him to speak.

“If there is some kind of partner selection method, then I think we should confirm it with an upperclassman,” Hirata said. “If it’s the same test from previous years, then the rules probably haven’t changed. Maybe the teachers would deliberately try to hide that?”

Kushida had listened quietly up to this point. After Hirata’s comment, she spoke. “I was a little curious, too. I think an upperclassman I’m close with might be willing to tell me.”

If it were a simple rule, then we should be able to hear it. Otherwise, the rules could be complex or entirely nonexistent.

“Wow, just as expected, Yousuke-kun! You’re right!” Karuizawa showered Hirata with admiration, then crossed her arms in apparent contemplation.

Horikita side-eyed her. “As Hirata-kun said, it’s certainly true that we don’t know the facts. However, the school hasn’t tried to stop us from finding out what the rules are. In fact, discovering them might be one of the test’s prerequisites.”

“What do you mean, Suzune? Can you explain it like we’re dumb?” asked Sudou. He looked as if he’d racked his brain so intensely that smoke was about to shoot out of his ears.

“So, the test begins once we find out the rules? In that case, not learning what they are could be disastrous,” said Hirata. He was probably imagining a scenario in which the school expelled half the class.

“This is all just hypothetical, but if we don’t discover the process behind the pairing, the results could be devastating. Or would it? Chabashira-sensei said this is the first time that Class D has made it this far without anyone being expelled. She also said that, in previous years, only one or two pairs were typically expelled, right? Isn’t that strange?” asked Horikita.

“Nope,” said Sudou. He banged his forehead against the table in resignation.

“I see what you mean,” Hirata said. “Horikita-san is trying to say that, if we understand how this all works, we might not suffer any serious harm. Right?”

“Correct.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Karuizawa.

“Because we’re taking the final exam in pairs. Consider the highest average score, and the high difficulty level of problems created by the students. If we take on this test without discovering what the rules are, then it seems like we’ll only see terrible results, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” added Hirata. “If two failing students were paired up, it’d be pretty bad.”

“So, if we’re afraid of what could happen, then we just need to find out how they determine the pairs, right?”

“Yes, we absolutely must know the rules first. Again, Chabashira-sensei said that only one or two pairs were expelled in past years. That’s far too few, isn’t it? If the school partnered our class’s weaker students together, it’d probably force close to ten people to drop out,” said Horikita.

“I see. So that’s how it is.”

“Yousuke-kun, what does this mean?” asked Karuizawa. “I’m getting a little confused.”

“Yeah, okay. Hmm, how to explain it? Let’s start fresh. Forget trying to figure out the rules for a moment. Imagine if we took the exam without knowing that these rules even existed. What do you think would happen?” asked Hirata.

“Umm, it’d be bad? If the dumber students got paired, we’d probably see the school expel a lot of people,” said Karuizawa.

“Yeah, I think so, too. But, in past years, only one or two pairs from Class D were expelled.”

“Isn’t that kinda weird?” Sudou seemed to realize what we were saying.

“The pairs seem balanced,” Hirata said. “This is the hidden rule we’ve been looking for.”

Indeed. That seemed to be the trick.

“We can extract this conclusion from all the prior processes and results. The pairs are made up of a high-scoring student and a low-scoring student,” said Horikita. “It can’t be any other way. So, if I scored a hundred points, and Sudou-kun scored zero points, we’d be the pair with the most significant difference between our scores. That means we’d produce balanced results on the test, because our scores would even out.”

Karuizawa seemed basically convinced. “I see. But doesn’t that mean the average students are the most at risk?”

“Yes. The more average someone’s grades are, the greater the danger,” said Horikita.

Poor performers would be paired with the top students, but middling students would likely be partnered with one another. It made sense that the questions on the short tests were going to be of a somewhat higher difficulty level. While it might make it hard to accurately measure students’ academic abilities, they probably held some sort of meetings to devise countermeasures.

“We need to confirm this with upperclassmen. Then we can plan our next steps. Hirata-kun, Kushida-san, would you please talk to some senior students?”

“Of course,” said Kushida.

“I’ll check with the upperclassmen in my soccer club,” said Hirata.

The two of them readily accepted Horikita’s request. Our strategy for dealing with the short test was beginning to take shape.

“I’d also like to ask one more thing,” said Karuizawa.

“Go ahead.” Even in the face of Karuizawa’s doubt, Horikita was as composed as ever.

“They said we’re being paired up, but what if there’s an odd number of students?”

“I doubt we need to worry about that right now. At the time of enrollment, all classes from A to D had an even number of students. No one’s been expelled yet, so our class sizes haven’t changed. However…if someone were expelled, it might place their class as a whole in an excruciating situation.”

“Really? Wouldn’t it suck to suffer just because one person was absent?” Apparently, Kushida thought that the school should be gentler.

“We started the year with an even number of students. If someone is expelled or withdraws due to unforeseen circumstances, their class will have to bear the consequences,” said Horikita.

During the test on the island and the sports festival, the school imposed merciless penalties on nonparticipants. Horikita might’ve been right that, if even one student were kicked out, we’d likely suffer serious disadvantages in future exams. She was probably realizing just how important it had been to save Sudou.

“Do you understand?” Horikita asked.

“Yeah, I guess so. I just feel like thinking about it is a waste of time,” said Karuizawa.

Karuizawa’s doubts had been cleared away, so we moved on to the next item on the agenda.

“Now that we’ve discussed the short test’s importance, we can move on. But there’s one more thing. Which class do we nominate as our opponent? In my mind, we should be going after Class C,” said Horikita. Before hearing out anyone’s opinion, she offered her own. “It goes without saying, but their collective academic ability is their big weakness. Class C is inferior to Classes A and B in academics. Looking at the class points so far, that’s plain to see.”

She wasn’t wrong. Deliberately challenging an academically superior class would be nearly suicidal.

However, Hirata offered his own two cents. “I agree, Horikita-san. But Classes A and B will naturally think the same way. If Class C is so inferior when it comes to academics, then multiple classes will likely go after them. That might be bad news for us.”

Hirata wrote down the imaginary situation in his notebook.

Class A nominates Class D → No conflicts with other classes → Class D is the target

Class B nominates Class C → Wins the lottery → Class C is the target

Class C nominates Class B → No conflicts with other classes → Class B is the target

Class D nominates Class C → Loses the lottery → Class A becomes the target by default

“Although this is a worst-case scenario, it could happen,” said Hirata.

“Whoa, that’d be awful. We’d have to solve problems the smart kids made, and we’d have to make problems for them to solve, right? There’s no way we could win,” said Karuizawa.

“Yes, you’re right, the other classes will probably target Class C. But there’s no reason we shouldn’t pick Class C too, don’t you think? We have to do anything we can to try to win.” Horikita didn’t care that we might lose the lottery.

“There’s a clear academic gap between Classes A and B, isn’t there? I’m curious how different we are from Class C,” I said, expressing a bit of naiveite.

“There’s no doubt Class A is better academically. But I don’t think the difference is that extreme. There does seem to be quite a stark difference between B and C, I think. Hmm, I’ll have to investigate this,” said Horikita.

We understood how well Class D students performed academically, sure. But truthfully, we didn’t know too much about the other classes. The school hadn’t made us privy to that information, come to think of it. We only knew the difference in points, and based solely on that, we couldn’t gauge how smart each class was. For example, if Class B turned out to be better at academics than Class A, then it was possible we’d see an intense outcome as a result. In the end, maybe that was the reason for these tests.

Still, I shifted my attention to Sudou.

Horikita did the same. “You’re awfully quiet, Sudou-kun. Usually, you’d be complaining by now.”

“I just don’t get this conversation. Besides, if I started complainin’, it’d disturb you,” he replied.

We all fell silent.

“What? Did I say somethin’ weird?” asked Sudou.

“No, it’s just…what you said was so observant and restrained, I was surprised.”

Horikita had probably thought he would derail the conversation. Sudou’s unexpected maturity seemed to have given her an unprecedented shock.

“Well, we just gotta defeat our opponents one-on-one, right? We can’t immediately jump up to Class A in one shot. So, attacking the class we’re closest to—C—makes the most sense,” said Sudou.

“I see what you mean,” said Horikita. “If our combined score wins against theirs, then the point gap between their class and ours will go down dramatically.”

“Okay, but wouldn’t it be a good thing if Class A attacked C? I mean, Class A would have no problem beating them. Then Class C would definitely lose points. Wouldn’t that be good for us?”

“That depends on what we’re aiming for with this exam. But Class C should still be our target—that hasn’t changed. Let’s assume one class will go after them, whether it’s us or not.”

If the goal was to reduce Class C’s points, then it might be better for us to let Class A or B attack them. However, Class D also wanted to gain points. To increase the chances of that happening, it would be better to compete against a weaker opponent. Avoiding Class C would mean having to defeat a stronger enemy.

“It seems like everyone agrees with Horikita-san’s plan. So, I’ll go along with it, too,” said Hirata.

Hirata didn’t like the idea of things going south, so that was probably why he’d presented an array of possibilities.

“Thank you. I think we can move on to the next stage.”

Even though there were a few things that tripped us up during our conversation, everyone came together on one course of action. We disbanded a little after 4 p.m. Hirata and Sudou both left for their respective clubs. Karuizawa followed Hirata.

“Well, I’ll go ask the senior students about the exam and report back,” Kushida said as she left. Nothing else of note from her, as I expected.

“We’re counting on you.” Horikita turned to me. “What are you planning to do, Ayanokouji-kun?”

“Nothing. It should be fine if I leave the plans to you and Hirata, right? Honestly, you’ve handled everything so far almost perfectly. You’re confident in your predictions, aren’t you?”

“So far. But to ace the final exam, we need to be able to tackle it head on,” said Horikita.

“Yeah. If Class D doesn’t study and improve, we’ll get nowhere. But if we can turn things around, then passing the test will be a breeze. If necessary, I can adjust my score in order to team up with a specific person,” I said.

“So, I can count on you?”

“If it’s within my power, sure. I can join your study meetings if needed. But I won’t be a leader.”

“Because you plan to act the mediocre student as long as possible, right?”

“I prefer doing whatever is the least hassle.” I thought it was a fair compromise.

However, Horikita was the furthest thing from undemanding. “Let me think about it. You’re a member of Class D, after all, and I’d like to give you an appropriate role. I want us to win,” she said.

“I’ll consider it.”

I did my absolute best to avoid answering.