The sun was a brilliant, benevolent orb in a sky of impossible blue. The sea, a sprawling carpet of glittering turquoise, stretched to the horizon, its gentle rhythm a soothing counterpoint to the cheerful pop music drifting across the deck. A soft, salty breeze carried the sounds of laughter and excited chatter. For all intents and purposes, it was paradise.
The luxury cruise ship, the Speranza, was a floating monument to opulence, and the first-year students of Advanced Nurturing High School were enjoying every moment of it. After three grueling weeks following the midterm exams, and just one day after Sudou Ken's suspension had finally ended, the school had announced this surprise "vacation prize"—a week-long trip to a private, artificial island, with everything on the ship completely free.
The students of Class 1-D, in particular, were reveling in their good fortune. Having clawed their way out of total destitution, this taste of luxury felt like a true victory. The "Three Idiots," now functionally the "Two Idiots," were at the epicenter of the merriment.
"Whooo! Look at all this free food!" Ike Kanji yelled, his mouth already full of some expensive-looking canapé.
"And the girls in their swimsuits!" Yamauchi Haruki added with a leering grin, earning him a collective eye-roll from the nearby female students.
Normally, their boorish shouting would be a source of intense irritation, but today, no one seemed to mind. The mood was too buoyant, the sense of freedom too intoxicating. Even Sudou, standing a little apart from his former companions, managed a small, genuine smile. He had stopped talking to Yamauchi entirely, their friendship fractured by the betrayal during his trial.
He was, however, on tentative speaking terms with Ike, who had, in a rare moment of self-awareness, mumbled a clumsy apology for having doubted him.
Yes, everyone was having fun.
Well, almost everyone.
In a shaded corner of the deck, far from the boisterous crowds, sat two figures, an island of cynicism in an ocean of joy. Hikigaya Hachiman and Horikita Suzune watched the scene with the detached air of sociologists observing a particularly baffling alien ritual.
In Hachiman's hand was his holy grail, his lifeblood: a can of MAX Coffee.
"I'm still impressed," Horikita said, her gaze shifting from the frolicking students to the can in his hand. "You knew they wouldn't sell this specific brand on the ship, so you packed an entire stock in your luggage. Did you bring a separate suitcase just for that?"
"A true warrior ensures his supply lines are secure before entering a new theater of operations," Hachiman replied, taking a long, satisfying sip. "This is basic strategy."
"It's basic obsession," she countered, though without any real bite. She held her own can—a 'gift' from Hachiman's extensive supply. They sipped in a comfortable silence, their gazes sweeping over the idyllic scene.
"This is a joke," Hachiman stated flatly.
"I agree," Horikita said, her eyes narrowed in thought. "This school does not operate on charity. A free luxury cruise, a week-long vacation… There is no such thing as a free lunch here. There is always a catch."
"The destination is the key," Hachiman mused, staring out at the distant, hazy shape of the island growing on the horizon. "An isolated, artificial island, owned and operated by the school. No contact with the outside world. It's the perfect setup."
"For what?"
"A survival test," he suggested. "Sounds far-fetched, but it's the most logical application of such a resource. Strip away the comforts, force us to manage resources in a hostile environment, and see who cracks."
The idea, as absurd as it sounded, settled between them with a grim sort of logic. It fit the school's brutal, meritocratic ethos.
"But if it is a survival test," Hachiman continued, his mind already working through the permutations, "what's the motivation? What's the prize for succeeding or the penalty for failing? They can't just throw us on an island and say 'have at it.' Students, especially these idiots, need an incentive."
Horikita's eyes lit up with a cold, analytical fire. "Of course," she breathed, the pieces clicking into place in her mind. "It has to be points. Class Points. And by extension, private points. It's the only currency that truly matters in this school."
Her mind flashed back to her conversation with Chabashira-sensei, to the almost impossible point gap between Class D and Class A. Her teacher had told them they would have to compete, that it wasn't a hopeless cause. At the time, it had seemed like a cruel joke.
"This is it," she said, more to herself than to Hachiman. "This is how we close the gap. The regular exams offer small, incremental gains. But these 'special tests'… they must be where the class hierarchy can be completely upended. The school creates these massive events to allow for dramatic shifts in points."
It was all just speculation, a theory built on cynicism and suspicion. But it felt right. Terrifyingly so.
"If we're right," Horikita said, her expression hardening, "we have to warn them." She gestured towards her blissfully ignorant classmates. "When the school finally reveals the truth, the shock and betrayal will cause a complete meltdown. Our class will devolve into a tantrum, a public clown show for the other classes and teachers to mock. I will not allow that embarrassment."
"Agreed," Hachiman said. "But we have to be careful how we do it." He pulled out his phone. "Send a message to the Class D chat group. Frame it as 'pure speculation.' A 'what if' scenario. Warn them that this vacation might be a prelude to a difficult test, and that they should be mentally prepared for anything."
Horikita nodded, already typing. "That's a good approach. It plants the seed of doubt without causing an outright panic."
"One more thing," Hachiman added, stopping her before she could hit send. "Add a line at the end. Tell them that if this speculation turns out to be true, they are not to start praising or thanking you in the group chat. No 'Horikita-san, you were right!' or 'You're our savior!' nonsense."
She looked at him, puzzled. "Why?"
"Because it paints a target on your back," he explained patiently. "It exposes you as the primary strategist. The other classes will know who is pulling the strings in Class D. And by extension, it could eventually lead them to me. Our greatest advantage right now is that the other classes, and even most of our own, think we're a chaotic mob of incompetents. Let's keep it that way. Anonymity is a weapon."
Horikita stared at him for a moment, then a flicker of understanding—and perhaps, admiration—crossed her face. She nodded slowly, recognizing the cold, ruthless logic in his words. She amended the message, her fingers flying across the screen.
To: Class 1-D Chat Group
From: Horikita Suzune
Subject: A Thought
Everyone, while we enjoy this trip, I would advise some caution. This is pure speculation on my part, but knowing this school, it is possible this vacation is a prelude to a new special exam on the island. I suggest everyone be mentally prepared for a sudden change in circumstances. It is better to be prepared for a test that doesn't happen than to be caught off guard by one that does.
P.S. If, by some chance, this speculation turns out to be correct, I ask that you refrain from discussing it or reacting publicly in this chat. We must maintain a calm and unified front. Do not show our hand to the other classes.
She hit send. A few seconds later, phones started buzzing across the deck. A wave of confused murmurs rippled through the Class D students.
Hachiman and Horikita watched from their corner, two sentinels on the deck of a gilded cage, floating inexorably towards their next trial. The warning had been sent. Now, all they could do was wait.
Just as Hachiman and Horikita were settling back into their cynical observations, a new figure detached himself from the crowd and began walking towards them. He moved with a languid, predatory grace, a smirk plastered on his face that radiated arrogance. He had sharp, intelligent eyes that seemed to miss nothing, and he carried himself with the swagger of a king surveying his domain.
Horikita's posture stiffened. "Ryuuen Kakeru," she murmured, her voice low.
Hachiman's eyes narrowed. So, this is the tyrant of Class C. According to Ichinose's intelligence, Ryuuen was the one who ruled his class through fear and manipulation, the true mastermind behind the attempt to get Sudou expelled. The three stooges—Ishizaki, Komiya, and Kondo—were currently back at the school, serving their suspension. They must have reported back to their master, telling him exactly who had foiled his plan.
Ryuuen stopped in front of them, his gaze fixed solely on Horikita, completely ignoring Hachiman as if he were a piece of deck furniture.
"Suzune," he said, the name rolling off his tongue with an unearned, grating familiarity. "You're even prettier up close."
The audacity of it was breathtaking. He had used her first name, a privilege not even Hachiman—her first and only friend—had taken. Before Horikita could react, Ryuuen's hand shot out. He gently tipped her chin up with his finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. With his other hand, he snapped a quick photo with his phone.
"Kukuku," he chuckled, a dry, unpleasant sound. "Very sexy. A good souvenir."
The old Horikita, the one from a month ago, would have lashed out. A sharp word, a physical shove, a cold, furious outburst—her reaction would have been swift and predictable. But this Horikita was different. She had been tempered in the fires of Hachiman's relentless, deadpan sarcasm. Their daily bickering, the constant need to maintain her composure lest he roast her into oblivion with his cutting logic, had unknowingly served as a potent form of training.
She simply held his gaze, her expression unreadable, her body perfectly still. She didn't flinch. She didn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
"Do you require something, Ryuuen-kun?" she asked, her voice as cool and placid as the deep sea.
Ryuuen's smirk widened slightly, a flicker of genuine interest in his eyes. He seemed almost impressed by her lack of fear. "Just wanted to see the face of the girl who cost me some pawns. I'll be seeing you on the island, Suzune. Let's play again soon."
With a final, lingering look, he turned and sauntered away, melting back into the crowd.
Hachiman let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Well," he said, taking a sip of his MAX Coffee. "He's… a lot."
"He's a problem," Horikita corrected, though her composure remained intact. "But a predictable one. He operates on intimidation and provocation."
Just then, a calm, authoritative voice echoed from the ship's PA system. "Attention, all first-year students. We will be arriving at our island destination in approximately twenty minutes. We advise you to proceed to the main deck to observe the… significant scenery."
The word 'significant' hung in the air, a clear and deliberate signpost. Hachiman and Horikita exchanged a look. Their speculation was about to be confirmed. They made their way to the railing, joining the throng of other students pointing and chattering excitedly at the approaching island.
They found themselves near two students from Class A. One was a bald young man with a stern, imposing presence. The other, a boy with an arrogant sneer, noticed their Class D uniforms immediately.
"Tch. Look what we have here," the sneering boy, Katsuragi's follower Totsuka Yahiko, said loudly. "Enjoying the view, defects? Don't get used to it. This is probably the last taste of luxury you'll ever get."
How did this moron even get into Class A? Hachiman wondered, feeling a familiar wave of despair for the future of the nation's elite.
Before Horikita could offer a retort, the bald student, Katsuragi Kohei, intervened. "That's enough, Yahiko. Your disrespect is unbecoming of a Class A student." He then gave Horikita and Hachiman a short, formal bow. "My apologies for his rudeness."
Just as he finished speaking, the Speranza's engines roared to life. The ship picked up speed, not towards the dock, but beginning a wide, sweeping circle around the entire island. It did this three times.
While other students oohed and aahed at the scenery, Hachiman and Horikita were memorizing it. A dense forest. A long, sandy beach on one side. A rocky, treacherous-looking coastline on another. A river cutting through the center. A cave entrance visible near the rocky shore. Every detail was a potential clue, a piece of a puzzle they knew they would soon be forced to solve. This was not a scenic tour; it was a reconnaissance lap.
Finally, the ship docked. The announcement came: all students were to disembark. As they filed down the gangplank, they were directed to another station where, to the shock and horror of many, their luggage, including their phones, was confiscated. They were left with only the clothes on their backs.
They were then herded onto the beach, where the four first-year classes were lined up, a confused and anxious mass of teenagers. The homeroom teachers stood before them.
Mashima-sensei, the stern head of Class A, stepped forward. "Welcome, students, to your first special exam: The Uninhabited Island Test."
A wave of reactions rippled through the assembled students.
Class A remained placid, their expressions calm and analytical. They had expected this.
Class B began to murmur amongst themselves, their faces etched with concern, but they maintained their discipline. No shouting, no panic.
Class C, led by Ryuuen, erupted. "What the hell is this?!" "You can't just take our stuff!" The complaints were loud and aggressive.
And then there was Class D. A collective groan went through their ranks. There were sighs of disappointment, looks of dread, and a palpable sense of resignation. But there was no chaos. There was no tantrum. Thanks to Horikita's warning, the initial, devastating shock had been preempted. They were unhappy, but they were prepared. In their minds, a silent, collective thought echoed: She was right.
Horikita stood at the front of her class, her expression impassive, avoiding the grateful and awestruck glances being sent her way. Beside her, Hachiman watched the reactions of the other classes.
The vacation was over. The game had begun.
The murmuring of the students died down as Mashima-sensei held up a hand, his expression as unyielding as granite. He held a thick manual, the cover of which simply read: "Special Test Provisions."
"Listen carefully," he began, his voice carrying easily over the sound of the nearby waves.
"This special test will last for exactly one week. Your performance will be judged not individually, but as a class. The results will directly and significantly impact your Class Points. These are the rules."
He began to lay out the framework of their new reality, and with each rule, the scope of the challenge became clearer and more daunting.
"Rule 1: The 'S-System' Point Allocation. Each class will be granted 300 Special Points, or 'S-Points,' for the duration of this test. These points are your only currency. They can be used to purchase items from the provided manual—everything from tents and food to showers and toilets. Anything not purchased must be acquired from the island itself."
He paused, letting the implications sink in. The 'free' vacation was a lie; their comfort on this island had a price, and that price was their potential score. Every point spent was a point lost from their final total.
"Rule 2: Bonus Points and Final Calculation. Bonus Points can be acquired during the test by fulfilling certain conditions, which I will explain shortly. However, these Bonus Points cannot be used during the test. They will only be tallied and added to your S-Point total after the exam is concluded. Your final score will be the sum of your remaining S-Points and any Bonus Points earned."
"Rule 3: The Leader. Each class must choose one student to be their 'leader.' The identity of this leader must be registered with your homeroom teacher by 9 PM tonight. The leader's role is critical and carries with it certain privileges and immense risks."
He let that ominous statement hang in the air before continuing.
"Rule 4: 'Guess the Leader' Initiative. On the final day of the test, each class will have the opportunity to declare, by official submission, who they believe the leaders of the other three classes are. This is not mandatory. The consequences are as follows:
For each leader you guess correctly, your class receives 50 Bonus Points.
For each guess that is incorrect, your class will be penalized 50 S-Points.
Furthermore, if another class correctly guesses the identity of your leader, your class will be penalized 50 S-Points and, more devastatingly, will forfeit all Bonus Points acquired from occupying spots during the test. Protecting your leader's identity is paramount."
A wave of understanding and dread swept through the students. This wasn't just a survival test; it was a psychological game of espionage and deception. The leader was both their greatest tool and their most vulnerable weakness.
"Rule 5: Spot Occupation. Dotted across this island are 'spots' of strategic value—a cave, a waterfall, etc. These spots can be officially occupied under the following conditions:
A special key card, unique to each class, is required to claim a spot. This card can only be used by the designated leader.
Each initial occupation of a spot grants your class one Bonus Point.
Occupation rights expire every eight hours. The leader must return to the spot and use the key card to renew the occupation. Each successful renewal grants another Bonus Point.
The use of another class's occupied spot without their explicit permission—for example, using their designated toilet or drawing water from their claimed waterfall—will result in a 50 S-Point penalty upon discovery and confirmation by a supervising teacher."
"Rule 6: Penalties and Disqualification. Your conduct on this island will be strictly monitored. Penalties will be applied for the following infractions:
Any student unable to continue the test due to poor health or injury will be retired from the exam, resulting in a 30 S-Point penalty for their class.
Pollution of the environment, such as leaving trash or improperly disposing of waste, will result in a 20 S-Point penalty per incident.
Each absence from the mandatory 8 AM and 8 PM daily roll calls at your designated base camp will result in a 5-Point penalty.
Finally, and most severely, any act of violence, theft, or deliberate destruction of property against another class will result in the immediate failure of the offending student's entire class. You will forfeit all remaining S-Points, and that student will forfeit all of their private points."
The final rule landed with the force of a physical blow. The stakes were absolute. One student's mistake could cost their entire class everything.
"These are the rules," Mashima-sensei concluded. He then gestured to the four classes. "All classes will begin with 300 S-Points, with two exceptions."
His gaze fell upon the students of Class A. "Class A, one of your students, Sakayanagi Arisu, is absent due to health reasons. As such, you will start the exam with a 30-point deduction, at 270 S-Points."
He then turned to Class C. "Class C, due to the two-week suspension of Ishizaki, Komiya, and Kondo, you are missing three students. You will begin with a 90-point deduction, at 210 S-Points."
A wave of relief washed over Horikita. She sent a silent, mental 'thank you' to her brother. His verdict—a one-week suspension for Sudou—had been a stroke of incredible fortune. If he had given Sudou even one more day, Class D would also be starting at a 30-point deficit. It was a small but crucial advantage. For the first time, Class D was not starting at the very bottom.
Mashima-sensei's gaze swept over all of them. "Your homeroom teachers will now distribute your initial supplies—one tent, a box of matches, a flashlight, and your test manual per class. Your survival, and your success, is now in your hands. The test begins now."
The beach buzzed with a nervous energy as the students of Class D began to process the monumental task ahead of them. The initial despair had been replaced by a flicker of excitement, a gambler's gleam in their eyes. This was their chance. Their shot at redemption.
"Alright, everyone!" Hirata called out, clapping his hands to gather their attention. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. The first, and most important, thing we need to do is select our leader."
The choice was, for most of them, obvious.
"Horikita-san, of course!" one of the girls called out.
"Yeah, she's the smartest! She warned us this would happen!" another added.
A chorus of agreement rippled through the class. The girl who had once been the aloof, unapproachable "Ice Queen" had transformed in their eyes. She was now their savior, their strategist, their "Tsundere Queen."
Hachiman watched, expecting Horikita to refuse. To nominate someone like yukimura, to avoid the massive target that the leader position painted on one's back. It was the logical, self-preserving move, especially now that she was squarely in Ryuuen's crosshairs.
To his profound surprise, Horikita stepped forward, her expression resolute. "Very well," she said, her voice carrying a calm authority that silenced the remaining murmurs. "If that is the class's decision, I will accept the role of leader."
Hachiman blinked. What is she doing? This didn't make any sense. It was the most obvious, straightforward choice imaginable. Horikita wasn't the type for complex reverse psychology; she operated on direct, cold logic. This was… illogical.
Then, she turned her gaze on him. "Hikigaya-kun," she announced. "You will accompany me to the staff tent to register and retrieve the key card."
And just like that, it clicked. The pieces fell into place in Hachiman's mind with an almost audible snap. Oh, you clever, devious woman. She wasn't accepting the role. She was accepting the title. She was going to make herself the decoy, the public face of leadership, while he, hidden in the shadows, would be the one to actually hold the key. A classic misdirection. To fool your enemies, you must first fool your friends.
But there was a flaw in the plan. Hachiman immediately saw it. "The two of us, going alone? That will raise suspicion," he thought. Why does the 'leader' need an escort? What if someone from another class sees us? They might guess I'm the real leader, or at the very least, that something is amiss. They would have to find a way to manage that perception.
Before turning to leave with Hachiman, Horikita addressed the class one last time, her eyes locking with Hirata's. "Hirata-kun, you are in charge of managing our S-Points. Lead the class to the spot I indicated on the map earlier—the one by the river, near the cave. Do not, under any circumstances, purchase anything from the manual until hikigaya-kun and I return. Is that clear?"
"Understood, Horikita-san," Hirata replied with a confident nod.
As Horikita and Hachiman began to walk away towards the staff tent, a wave of whispers broke out amongst the remaining boys.
"Are they… dating?" Ike muttered to Yamauchi, a jealous scowl on his face.
"No way!" Yamauchi scoffed. "What could she possibly see in that gloomy, fish-eyed guy? She's our beautiful Tsundere Angel! Why not a cool guy like me?"
Their grumbling was cut short by a sharp voice from the girls' group. "At least he's not a pervert," Karuizawa Kei said, her arms crossed, her expression disdainful. A few other girls nodded in agreement.
Hachiman's seemingly minor act of decency—informing the girls about the peeping plot during the swimming class—was now paying unexpected dividends. He had earned himself some 'good guy points,' and they were being cashed in right now. The girls didn't need to explain their reasoning; their united front was enough to shut the boys down. Karuizawa's support, in particular, was a powerful shield.
"Alright, everyone, calm down," Hirata intervened, ever the mediator. "Let's get moving. We have a spot to claim." He led the class away, a fractured but hopeful unit, towards their designated base camp.
Meanwhile, Hachiman and Horikita walked towards the tent, the soft sand crunching under their feet.
"This is a risky plan," Hachiman said, breaking the silence. "If anyone sees us switch the card, the game is up."
"We won't switch it in public," she replied. "But first, the manual."
She handed him the thick booklet they had been given. Hachiman flipped through it, his eyes scanning the text with practiced speed. "Here," he said, pointing to a specific rule. "'If any student other than the designated leader attempts to use the key card to occupy a spot, the class will suffer a 30-point penalty.' Now, the question is, how would the observers—the teachers—know who is using the card at any given moment, especially in a remote location?"
There was only one logical answer.
"Fingerprints," Horikita concluded, her voice firm. "The card must have some kind of biometric scanner. It registers the fingerprint of the person who first removes it from its packaging, designating them as the leader."
They arrived at the staff tent, where Chabashira-sensei was waiting for them, looking bored.
"Class D, reporting to select our leader," Horikita announced.
Chabashira nodded, pushing a small, sealed plastic package across the table which was making their theory more strong because why would she need a plastic package on it ? It's most likely to prevent the key card from getting her own fingerprints. Inside was a credit card-like device with the 'Class D' insignia. "Our leader is Horikita Suzune," Hachiman stated for the official record, playing his part.
Chabashira made a note on her tablet. Horikita then picked up the packaged key card. With Hachiman watching intently, she carefully tore open the plastic and slid the card out, her thumb pressing firmly against its surface. She held it for a moment, then turned to Hachiman.
"On second thought," she said, her voice carrying just enough for Chabashira to hear, "I've changed my mind. My physical stamina is not suited for running around this island to renew occupations. It would be more efficient for someone else to hold the card."
And with that, she handed the key card directly to Hachiman.
Hachiman's eyes were not on the card. They were locked on Chabashira-sensei.
He saw it. A flicker. A tiny, almost imperceptible widening of her eyes. A fractional intake of breath. It was a cocktail of surprise, shock, and… was that hope?
She quickly schooled her features back into her usual mask of indifference, but the tell was unmistakable. She had seen their gambit, understood its implications, and for a fleeting moment, her professional apathy had cracked. She had hoped for a spark from this class of defects, and she had just witnessed a full-blown strategic fire.
Hachiman took the card, its smooth surface now holding Horikita's biometric signature. In the eyes of the school's system, she was the leader. But in practice, the authority—and the burden—now rested in his hand to see before handing it over to horikita again. The decoy queen and the hidden king had made their first move but the more important question is will it work ?.
With the key card now officially registered and back in Horikita's possession for appearance's sake, the duo made their way back towards their classmates. The walk was tense, the weight of their deception a tangible thing between them. The success of their entire week now hinged on a single, unproven theory about fingerprints.
They followed the river upstream, eventually breaking through a line of trees into a clearing that was, Hachiman had to admit, an almost perfect location.
This was the spot Horikita had identified during the ship's reconnaissance laps. A wide, defensible clearing, surrounded by a thick canopy of trees for shade and cover. In front of them, a small but steady waterfall cascaded into the river, providing an endless supply of fresh water. A quick survey of the immediate area revealed patches of what looked like wild corn and several trees laden with unfamiliar but potentially edible fruit.
Their classmates, led by Hirata, were already there, looking around with a mixture of awe and uncertainty.
"Horikita-san! Hikigaya-kun! You're back!" Hirata called out, a relieved smile on his face. "This spot is incredible!"
"It is," Horikita agreed, her gaze sweeping over the area. "The river provides for our water needs, which means we don't have to spend S-Points on it. The waterfall can serve as a place to bathe. These plants, if identified correctly, can supplement our food." She had, with one keen observation, saved them a fortune in points.
Now came the final, most crucial part of their initial plan. The claiming of the spot. This was the moment of truth. Hachiman and Horikita exchanged a final, fleeting glance. This was incredibly risky. If their theory was wrong—if the card was linked to the user's student ID in real-time, or used some other method of identification—they would not only lose 30 precious S-Points, but the fallout within the class would be catastrophic.
Their classmates were completely oblivious to this gamble. They were relaxed, confident, their faith placed squarely in Horikita, their "leader." If this failed, that faith would curdle into resentment. Hachiman knew how fickle people could be; you could move mountains for them, but one small, critical mistake was all it took to turn them against you. The authority and influence Horikita had painstakingly built would evaporate in an instant.
But they had to take the risk.
Horikita stepped forward, holding the key card. The spot's designated claim point was a small, unassuming post with a card reader embedded in it, tucked beside the waterfall. Everyone watched as she approached it.
Hachiman held his breath. A few of the more astute students, like Yukimura, who might have suspected she would make Hachiman the leader, watched with particular intensity, their relief at her taking the role still fresh. A failure here would confirm their distrust of him.
Horikita took a deep, steadying breath and swiped the card.
For a half-second, nothing happened. The silence was deafening.
Then, a small LED on the post blinked from red to a soft, steady green. A quiet, electronic beep echoed through the clearing.
A notification pinged on Horikita's phone, which she had been allowed to retrieve briefly for the registration. It read:
[Spot D-7 successfully occupied by Class D. +1 Bonus Point. Occupation expires in 8 hours.]
It worked.
Hachiman let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding. A wave of relief, so profound it almost made his knees weak, washed over him. Horikita's shoulders, which had been impossibly tense, relaxed by a fraction of a millimeter. Their theory was correct. The card was keyed to a fingerprint, but its use was not. As long as it was swiped at the location, the system didn't care who did the swiping, only that the class had a registered leader.
The rest of the class, having no idea of the immense risk that had just been taken, had no real reaction. A few cheers broke out at the confirmation of their first Bonus Point, but to them, this was just the expected outcome. The few who had suspected Hachiman might be made the leader now looked visibly relieved, their suspicion erased. They clearly didn't trust the gloomy, fish-eyed boy with such a critical role.
The gambit had paid off perfectly. Not only had they secured their base and their first point, but they had also cleared even the slightest hint of doubt their classmates might have had about the leadership structure. The decoy was in place, the true leader was hidden in plain sight, and their foundation on the island felt, for the first time, stable.Everything was looking good.
For now because knows .....this is the clam before the storm .
...End ...