Ryuuen Kakeru walked alone through the dense jungle. His pace was unhurried, but his direction was certain. Guided by Shiina Hiyori's description and his own memory of the location, he advanced steadily toward Class A's camp.
The closer he drew to his destination, the clearer the signs became—carefully trimmed shrub branches, faint paths worn into the ground, and even a subtle scent of smoke beginning to drift through the air. All of it silently attested to the presence of a highly organized group ahead.
Finally, after pushing through the last thicket, the scene before him opened up.
Ryuuen stopped, his sharp gaze sweeping across the landscape. Even with mental preparation, what lay before him caused his pupils to contract slightly.
Compared to Shiina's description from yesterday, Class A's camp seemed to have evolved further.
On the plateau backed by a rock face and facing the sea, the number of shelters had increased, their construction even more refined. What had once been simple frames lashed together with vines and branches now featured joints polished smoother, with crudely shaped stone tools wedged into key points to enhance stability. The leaves and thatch covering the roofs were layered thick and even, laid with obvious care. Several students sat together, skillfully processing plant roots and fibers using hand-ground stone flakes.
The entire camp was orderly—everyone busy, yet no trace of panic. This was clearly a civilization whose sophistication was rising at a visible rate.
Ryuuen's appearance immediately drew attention.
Closest to him was Hashimoto Masayoshi, carving wooden skewers with a stone flake. Hashimoto looked up, and upon seeing Ryuuen, a flicker of surprise crossed his face before quickly subsiding. He set down his work, stood, brushed wood shavings from his hands, and walked over. Several nearby Class A students paused in their activities, watching with vigilance—but no one panicked or raised an alarm.
"Ryuuen Kakeru?" Hashimoto stopped a few paces away, his tone calm but his eyes carrying clear detachment. "What brings you to our Class A camp?"
Ryuuen stood with his hands in his pockets. "What? Not welcome? I heard your Class A camp is quite impressive, so I came to see for myself. Is that not allowed?" His gaze swept past Hashimoto, unabashedly surveying every detail of the camp—lingering for a few extra seconds on the hand-made stone tools and newly added facilities.
Hashimoto's brow furrowed slightly. He and Ryuuen had cooperated during the midterm exam, but now, with Class A holding a clear advantage under Sakamoto's leadership, Hashimoto saw no need for any form of cooperation or transaction. A stable victory was the best strategy.
"A visit?" Hashimoto's tone was flat. "I'm afraid this isn't a good time. We're in the middle of a survival exam, and there are many internal matters to handle." His words were polite, but the refusal was unmistakable.
Just then, Kamuro Masumi emerged from behind a nearby shelter, carrying several large leaves—likely heading to the stream to wash them. The moment she saw Ryuuen, her brows knitted tightly, her eyes filled with undisguised vigilance. She hadn't forgotten the trouble he'd caused her before. Though Sakamoto had ultimately resolved it, the unpleasant memory lingered. She said nothing, only cast him a cold glance before positioning herself slightly behind and beside Hashimoto—a silent but clear expression of unwelcome.
Ryuuen naturally caught her gaze. He sneered, deliberately raising his voice. "Oh? It seems quite a few people here don't welcome me. Is this Class A's hospitality? Or are you hiding something you'd rather not discuss? Like... who your leader actually is?"
His words carried an unmistakable probe.
Hashimoto's expression darkened. Kamuro nearly retorted, but a look from Hashimoto stopped her.
"Ryuuen, watch your mouth." Hashimoto's voice turned several degrees colder. "Class A operates openly and honestly. We have nothing to hide. Our leader's identity will be revealed on the final day. As for now—please leave."
The camp atmosphere grew tense. Though the other Class A students remained in place, their attention was fixed on the exchange. Yet, facing provocation from another class—especially from someone like Ryuuen—they didn't act impulsively or show fear. Instead, they presented a unified front. This silent solidarity spoke louder than any words.
Just as the standoff reached its peak, a steady voice came from the direction of the camp entrance.
"What's going on here?"
Everyone turned. Katsuragi Kohei emerged from the woods, his bald head catching the sunlight, fine beads of sweat on his forehead as if he'd just returned from physical labor. The moment he saw Ryuuen, his brows drew tight—his vigilance even sharper than Hashimoto's or Kamuro's.
"Ryuuen Kakeru?" Katsuragi's voice was low, edged with warning. "What are you doing here?"
Ryuuen's smile widened, bold and unrepentant. "Yo, Katsuragi. Your Class A is getting livelier by the day. I just dropped by to see how your little 'paradise' is coming along. But it seems your classmates aren't exactly rolling out the welcome mat."
Katsuragi ignored the taunt, stepping directly in front of Ryuuen to stand alongside Hashimoto and Kamuro—a solid, unyielding barrier.
"You're not welcome here, Ryuuen." Katsuragi's words were direct and firm.
Ryuuen's eyes narrowed. Katsuragi's attitude was exactly as he'd expected. He was about to retort, to probe further or perhaps escalate the conflict, when a calm, almost offhand voice cut through the tense atmosphere at the camp's edge.
"Oh my, do we have guests?"
Everyone's gaze shifted involuntarily.
Sakamoto stood quietly by a lush banana tree at the camp's periphery, his posture straight as a pine. In his hands, he held a rather peculiar container—clearly handmade, fired from clay found near the camp. It resembled a crude, wide-mouthed earthenware pot, but its opening was tightly sealed with a thick, damp layer of mud.
What was most unsettling was the increasingly dense and loud pop-pop sound emanating from within the mud-sealed vessel. It sounded as though countless tiny creatures were frantically stirring inside, striking the pot walls—a precursor to some imminent eruption.
Ryuuen's pupils contracted sharply. He instinctively took half a step back, his muscles tensing.
Danger—his mind screamed the warning. Was it some primitive explosive? A corrosive chemical mixture concocted by Sakamoto? In this deserted island environment, anything unknown that produced such sounds was enough to trigger high alert. He stared intently at the earthenware pot, his arrogant sneer frozen, replaced by primal vigilance.
Yet, in stark contrast to Ryuuen's battle-ready stance, the surrounding Class A students strangely relaxed upon seeing Sakamoto and the pot. They seemed to know exactly what was inside, as if awaiting some familiar performance.
The contrast made Ryuuen's stomach tighten. He realized he might once again be falling into Sakamoto's pre-set rhythm.
Sakamoto ignored Ryuuen's reaction entirely. Carrying the increasingly agitated earthenware pot, he walked toward him. His steps were unhurried, each one precisely matching some invisible beat—eerily synchronized with the increasingly urgent pop-pop sounds from within the vessel.
Just as Sakamoto reached about five steps away, it happened.
Boom—!
A dull thud—not deafening, but extremely penetrating—erupted from the earthenware pot. It wasn't a physical explosion, but the instantaneous release of internal pressure reaching its critical point. The tight mud seal burst open, scattered into countless tiny fragments by the force within.
At the same moment, a huge, fluffy, golden cloud erupted from the pot's mouth, shooting upward into the gap in the forest canopy above!
It wasn't dangerous at all. It was popcorn—countless kernels, extremely puffed and golden, emitting a sweet, grainy aroma. Propelled by the powerful burst of steam, they arced through the air like golden streamers at a festival, or a sudden, sweet sun shower, cascading downward.
The dramatic spectacle utterly stunned the poised Ryuuen. For an instant, his mind went blank. He had anticipated conflicts, probes, schemes—but this? This was beyond anything he'd considered.
And in the instant the golden rain began to fall, Sakamoto moved.
His speed left only afterimages. Two shallow ceramic plates—also fired clay—had materialized in his hands. He pivoted slightly, his wrists rotating and arcing at speeds beyond normal human vision.
"Secret Technique—Catch the Sun!"
Accompanied by his low, clear incantation, the two plates seemed to come alive, transforming into intertwined, swirling dark shapes that wove precisely through the air. Every falling kernel appeared drawn by an invisible gravity, landing perfectly onto the rapidly moving plates with a fine, crisp tap-tap sound.
His movements combined the fluidity of Tai Chi with the sharpness of swordsmanship. His footwork was as light as a butterfly's dance, yet his arm swings carried the decisiveness of a strike. The popcorn rain continued to fall, and Sakamoto's figure moved gracefully within that golden curtain—his two plates flying, not a single kernel touching the ground.
The entire display lasted only seconds.
When the last kernel fell into the plate, Sakamoto stopped abruptly. He stood steadily in place, breathing even, as though the dazzling performance had never happened. In his hands, the two ceramic plates now brimmed with plump, golden, steaming popcorn—stacked like small pyramids.
Sakamoto calmly pushed up his glasses. He handed one plate to a curious student who had drawn near, gesturing for everyone to share. Then, carrying the other plate full of popcorn, he walked with his usual unhurried pace toward Ryuuen—who remained frozen in a dazed state.
He extended the plate steadily.
"By sealing and heating it, the internal moisture vaporizes instantly, building pressure until the kernels burst—along with my homemade cooking oil. A fresh batch. Quite palatable." His tone was matter-of-fact, as though explaining a simple science experiment. "Ryuuen-kun, would you care to try some?"