The truth laid bare, the students were stunned by Yukio's maneuver. No one had imagined that, just by noticing the two printers unloaded from the last coach, he had foreseen the existence of answer sheets and laid his trap in advance.
Such out-of-the-box scheming was far beyond them; their thoughts simply could not keep up. That was why Sakayanagi had admitted she didn't keep pace with Yukio in this exam.
Yukio kept his phone in his right hand. From the moment the written test ended he had already sent several classmates out on an errand, but no confirmation text had come yet—meaning the job still wasn't done.
Looks like I have to stall a little longer, he thought, raising his voice. "What's so strange about any of this?"
" ? " Horikita Suzune, her mood already complicated, could not hold back her temper when she saw him act so smug.
"Yukio, are you mocking us? Trying to say this was something you cooked up on a whim, and we all fell for it?"
At once everyone sensed that boastful, humble-brag flavor; their eyes toward Yukio turned even less friendly—though to be fair, they had hardly been friendly beforehand.
Good job, Horikita, Yukio chuckled inwardly. All he wanted was to buy time; who knew someone would hand him a perfect cue?
Since Suzune had unwittingly fed him a straight line, he happily ran with it.
"Isn't it?" he fired back, then answered his own question. "Even if I hadn't seen those printers, would I really not have figured it out? Would you not have figured it out?"
"Think back. Every mid-term and final the school spends three full days on exams, right? But for this camp the homeroom teachers told us on the bus: Eight days and seven nights—seven days of class and training, the last day assessment."
"This afternoon is the outdoor relay and sutra transcription; the written test has only one morning. How else could they test everything but by merging all subjects onto one sheet, making it all multiple-choice and marking on cards?"
"Any of you could have deduced that—eight days ago—without the proctor's explanation."
His tone was calm as water, yet it left every other class dumbstruck—eyes wide, jaws dropped.
Indeed, once he laid it out, anyone could see the answer-sheet idea wasn't hard to deduce. So why had no one thought of it? Because of first impressions.
Humans, as intelligent creatures, are easily swayed by subjective focus: fresh off the bus, everyone was busy gaping at the vast grounds, grumbling that the facilities looked run-down, complaining about roommates' snoring or the cafeteria's small portions.
Who had spare brain-cycles to ponder "Will there be bubble sheets on Day Eight?" If they had, it would have taken zero extra neurons to reach the right conclusion—but no one had the mind-set.
The new surroundings devoured all their attention; later, once they learned classes would test separately and couldn't interfere, they simply dropped their guard and buckled down on self-improvement—giving Yukio his chance.
Even Horikita Manabu could not help a look of realization.
"I see… In a new place one must attend to the new questions as well as the new environment. Yukio, remarkable."
Sakayanagi tapped her cane on the floor—perhaps thinking, perhaps applauding.
Ichinose, in her usual simplicity (still unaware that her own homeroom teacher had sold the class out), admitted.
"When we first arrived I really did overlook a lot of small things. In hindsight that was careless."
Just then a success text flashed onto Yukio's screen. Satisfied, he rose.
"All right—don't say I never enlightened you."
"If not for Horikita-senpai standing here, I wouldn't have explained this much at all. You should thank him; otherwise you'd never have heard it."
"Let's go."
With that, Yukio and his proudly beaming classmates pushed through the crowd and strode out of the building…
Leaving everyone else at a loss. Horikita Manabu alone showed a glimmer of gratification. So it was for my sake? Yukio really does respect me. Inviting him into the council was the best decision I ever made.
Thinking this, his mood inexplicably brightened.
"Let's go," he told the others.
The learning event was over but two more remained; the exam was not yet finished.
…
At the exit of the classroom building they were met by a strange sight: the floor was soaked.
By the shoe lockers the ground shimmered as if some careless janitor had just hosed the place. Several little buckets lay about. An ill omen spread through every heart.
Quick-witted students ignored the indoor shoes must not touch water rule and sprinted to their lockers.
Opening the tiny doors, they found their outdoor shoes drenched—floating in puddles.
"What the hell! These were a limited drop I queued at 5 a.m. for!"
"Mine's okay—still dry."
"D-don't tell me this is Yukio's class again?"
Glancing around, everyone saw it was all too possible. That afternoon's event was the outdoor relay; you could still run in soaked shoes, yes, but it would feel awful.
The tricky terrain was hard enough—now with soggy footwear you'd be slower the whole way, handing Yukio's class a built-in advantage.
Horikita Manabu's face twitched; his cheeks almost spasmed. Damn it, Yukio—so this is your idea of doing me a favor?
All that "for senpai's sake" talk had merely been to stall them, buying his classmates time to douse every locker! He'd used everyone's curiosity to anchor them in place, seizing the perfect window to strike.
If Manabu had to describe his feeling, it was like a prairie in his heart trampled by ten thousand bleating alpacas of frustration.
"I never wanted this damned favor at all!"
...
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