As the designated time of 8:40 PM drew near, I made my way to the second-floor deck.
Normally, no students lingered on this floor. Nearly all of it consisted of guest cabins.
The third floor was where the students were housed, so there was little reason for anyone to come here.
Yet when I scanned the area, I noticed dozens of students scattered about.
Some toyed with their phones, others leaned against the walls. A wide variety.
I headed straight for the designated room. It was 8:35 PM; everyone except the chronically unpunctual should already be assembled.
Near the room, many familiar faces stood out.
More precisely, they fell into three groups, those locked in heated arguments, those trying to calm the disputes, and those merely observing.
Among them, my attention settled on the girl with striking black hair—the one with glossy, beautiful strands.
As I approached, the voices of several people became clear.
"We've only just enrolled. I can't imagine there's that much difference between you and me."
"To declare that so boldly after seeing the uninhabited island results is impressive in itself. You certainly seem confident."
"But take this as advice, confidence without foundation can lead to your own ruin."
"Mind your own business."
I continued forward until I was roughly ten meters away.
At that distance, people began to notice me.
Three students then approached.
All from Class C. Among them was Sonoda-kun, who had been on my beach volleyball team during the uninhabited island exam.
They said nothing and simply moving behind me—not to launch a surprise attack, but to form a procession with me at the front. To any onlooker, it would appear as though they were following my lead.
"Hirata, looks like you got dragged into a rough group."
"Yeah, if it's the same as Katsuragi-kun or Kanzaki-kun, we're in for a tough fight."
"No, it's more than that."
Their conversation ended there, and I joined it. The moment I did, every face in the vicinity tightened.
"…Kamukura. Were you summoned for this time slot too? Or are you just passing through by chance?"
"The former."
I answered Katsuragi-kun's rather sharp-toned question.
"…I see. From the looks of it, this group seems to have gathered students with high academic ability."
"Do you truly believe this school would select people based on such a trivial standard?"
"It's one possibility. And I won't let 'trivial' slide. Academic performance is the single most important factor in determining one's future.
You know as well as anyone that Japan is a credentialist society. Even knowing that, you still call it trivial?"
"Yes. It's scarcely different from a vision test."
"…A vision test. Don't push the joke too far."
Katsuragi-kun narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping lower as anger surfaced.
"I have no intention of forgiving you or Ryuuen for that utter lack of decency."
"That's quite a way to phrase it. Didn't you agree to the plan yourself in order to win?"
"That's true. But you two are completely devoid of ethics.
No ordinary person would do something like that to a single girl… There could have been other ways."
Katsuragi-kun clearly hadn't accepted what happened during the uninhabited island exam.
The emotion bordering on fury was, in its own way, a sign of kindness.
"I heard the one who devised that method wasn't Ryuuen, but you."
"My only recollection is telling you to 'create a spy.' Is that what you mean?"
During the uninhabited island exam, I'd brushed off Katsuragi Kouhei with a vague explanation to avoid unnecessary complaints.
Yet he knew the full plan. That meant someone aware of every detail had explained it to him in my absence.
The only person who knew the entire plan besides me was Ryuuen-kun. The answer was obvious.
"…Hold on, Katsuragi. That 'single girl' you mentioned… you don't mean Shiranami, do you?"
"That's right, Kanzaki. No mistake."
"I see… I see."
The man addressed as Kanzaki repeated himself, then turned a hostile glare toward me.
"I'm Kanzaki Ryuuji from Class B. Kamukura Izuru—I've committed your name to memory."
"I see."
I gave a nonchalant reply and turned toward my intended target.
She showed no sign of fear, meeting my gaze steadily.
"Good evening, Horikita-san. We meet again."
"…Yes, we do."
"Do you have nothing you wish to ask me today?"
"Would you answer if I did?"
"If your question exceeded my expectations."
Horikita-san furrowed her brow in displeasure.
Faced with my ambiguous willingness to respond, a small, unfocused irritation settled within her.
"Then may I ask one thing?"
I nodded, and a faint smile appeared on her lips.
The smile carried a hint of mockery—she had evidently thought of a way to get even.
"Is that hair of yours meant to be fashionable?"
"I'm simply leaving it as it is."
"I see. Then please remember this as one woman's opinion, that hairstyle is quite frankly uncool."
Silence descended. Everyone except Horikita-san—who wore a faintly triumphant expression—was momentarily speechless.
Kushida Kikyo, who had somehow joined the gathering, trembled slightly, clearly suppressing laughter.
A few seconds later, unable to bear the atmosphere, Hirata-kun stepped in to smooth things over.
"…W-well, Horikita-san. People have their own individuality, and hairstyles vary by personal taste. Directly mocking someone's appearance isn't very nice.
Besides, if you had something to ask, you could have inquired about the special exam from three days ago."
"It's my prerogative what I choose to ask. And he himself said he leaves his hair untouched. Neglecting one's grooming is plain to see, so I think the fault lies with him."
She dismissed the intervention outright.
"That was slightly unexpected. Shall I answer something in return?"
"You're oddly conscientious. Then tell me why you follow someone like Ryuuen-kun."
"I judged that his unpredictability offers the widest range."
"…You actually answer properly. Does that mean you'd switch allegiance if someone capable of even greater unpredictability appeared?"
"Yes. Though no such person exists at present."
That concluded my courtesy.
Strong-willed and fiercely competitive—rather than childish, "sore loser" was the more accurate description for Horikita-san.
The fact that she refused to undervalue herself was worthy of respect.
"It's about time. Shall we go?"
The appointed hour had arrived. I called out to the classmates behind me and began moving.
I approached the designated room's door, knocked, and—once permission was granted—slowly opened it.
Thus began the second special exam aboard the luxury cruise ship.
…
When we entering Room 205, we were greeted by a modestly spacious cabin.
Notable features included a small table with documents laid out, four chairs arranged around it, and—facing those chairs across the table—a single woman seated alone.
"You're right on time. Class C students. Take a seat for now."
The woman issuing calm instructions was Class D's homeroom teacher, Chabashira-sensei.
At enrollment she had carried dark rumors, but now she was a composed, alluring adult beauty.
We followed her direction and settled into the prepared chairs. Once seated, Chabashira-sensei compared each of our faces to the list she held.
After confirming everyone, she finally spoke.
"…I will now explain the special exam. First, I will accept questions as they arise, but please time them so as not to disrupt the explanation."
She stated it plainly, without unnecessary pauses.
I took it as a standard formality from the school; we had likely already formed some guesses from the email.
"In this special exam, all first-year students are divided into twelve groups modeled after the Chinese zodiac signs, and the test will be conducted within those groups. The exam's objective is to assess thinking ability."
The focus was "thinking."
In other words, intellectual capacity. An exam centered on thought processes.
Declaring it upfront also suggested that physical abilities were likely not the primary target.
"The foundational abilities required of working adults fall broadly into three categories, 'Action,' 'Thinking,' and 'Teamwork.'"
"Only by possessing all three can one qualify as a truly capable adult. The previous uninhabited island exam placed heavy emphasis on 'Teamwork.' This time, however, the focus is 'Thinking'—an exam that demands exhaustive reasoning."
Having outlined the exam, she asked, "Any questions so far?"
Everyone present shook their heads, and she continued.
"In this exam, groups will not consist of a single class. Each will be formed by gathering three to five members from every class."
"Chabashira-sensei, does that mean we'll share a group with students from other classes?"
"Correct. You may find it strange to cooperate with classes you've competed against, but your school life has only just begun. Understand that such exams exist."
Sonoda-kun acknowledged with a nod.
Chabashira-sensei had anticipated the question, addressed it swiftly, and resumed.
"Your assigned group is 'Dragon.' Here is the member list."
She picked up a postcard-sized sheet from the desk, handed it to me—the closest—and instructed me to pass it around.
I memorized the contents instantly.
[A Class
Kouhei Katsuragi
Ryouko Nishikawa
Shinji Matoba
Koharu Yano]
[B Class
Sayo Andou
Ryuuji Kanzaki
Hitomi Tsudou]
[C Class
Izuru Kamukura
Hidetoshi Suzuki
Masashi Sonoda
Yuuji Nomura]
[D Class
Kikyou Kushida
Yousuke Hirata
Suzune Horikita]
The group name was listed along with a total of fourteen names.
We had been told it was "Tatsu," but the group name was also written as "Dragon." Whichever was easier to read would do.
Once everyone had finished looking it over, we returned the sheet to Chabashira-sensei.
"In this exam, the barriers between classes will be removed. In other words, you will no longer act as students of Class C, but as members of the Dragon Group. The pass or fail outcome of the exam is determined per group."
To sum up what we'd heard so far, three to five students from each class—roughly twelve to fifteen in total—would be gathered together and made to take some kind of test.
The shape of the exam was gradually coming into focus, though its full picture remained hidden.
"There are only four possible outcomes for each group in this special exam. There are no exceptions; the design ensures that one of the four will always occur.
To help you understand them clearly, I've prepared a handout describing the outcomes."
We each received a single B5-sized sheet from Chabashira-sensei.
The corners of the four prepared copies were curled, a sign they had already been passed around to other students.
The basic rules printed on it read as follows.
---
This test centers on the "VIP" assigned to each group.
By submitting an answer to the school through the designated method, one of the four outcomes will inevitably be reached.
1. At 8:00 AM on the day the exam begins, emails will be sent to everyone at once. The person selected as the VIP will be informed of their status at the same time.
2. The exam period runs from tomorrow until 9:00 PM four days later (including one full free day in between).
3. Twice per day, the group must gather alone in the designated room and time slot for a one-hour discussion.
4. The content of those discussions is left entirely to the group's discretion.
5. Answers will be accepted only between 9:30 PM and 10:00 PM after the exam ends, identifying who the VIP was. Each person may submit only once.
6. Answers must be sent from one's own phone to the designated address.
7. The VIP has no right to submit an answer.
8. Any answer submitted for a zodiac group other than one's own is invalid.
9. Detailed results will be emailed to all students at 11:00 PM on the final day.
---
These stood out as the main rules.
Finer details—further rule explanations, prohibited actions, and so on—were also included.
Compared to the uninhabited island exam, the rules here were far more meticulously woven. Loopholes based on interpretation would not work this time.
As I read on, the four possible "outcomes" of the special exam were described.
---
[Outcome 1:
If every member except the VIP and those from the VIP's class submits a correct answer, every member of the group receives 500,000 private points (hereafter PP). (Classmates from the VIP's class also receive the same amount individually.)
Furthermore, when Outcome 1 is achieved, the VIP receives 1,000,000 PP instead of 500,000.]
[Outcome 2:
If, among the answers submitted by everyone except the VIP and their classmates, even one person fails to answer or answers incorrectly, the VIP receives 500,000 PP.
Only two outcomes were listed on the front. Chabashira-sensei had said there were four, so the remaining two had to be on the back.
Back Side
The following two outcomes may be attempted at any time, 24 hours a day, during the exam period.
Answers will also be accepted for thirty minutes after the exam ends, but an incorrect answer in either window triggers a penalty.
These submissions are anonymous and will not be revealed to others.]
[Outcome 3:
If someone other than the VIP informs the school of the correct answer before the exam ends: the answering student's class gains 50 class points (hereafter CP), and the correct answerer receives 500,000 PP.
The class to which the identified VIP belongs receives a –50 CP penalty. The group's exam ends at that point. However, if the correct answer comes from someone in the VIP's own class, it is invalidated and the exam continues.]
[Outcome 4:
If someone other than the VIP informs the school of an incorrect answer before the exam ends: the class of the student who answered incorrectly receives a –50 CP penalty, the VIP receives 500,000 PP, and the VIP's class gains 50 CP.
The group's exam ends the moment the incorrect answer is submitted. However, if the incorrect answer comes from someone in the VIP's own class, it is invalidated and not accepted.]
---
With this, the entire structure of the exam finally became clear.
Looking only at Outcomes 1 and 2, the game seemed overwhelmingly favorable to the VIP. Yet the possibility of "betrayers" restored balance.
It was a contest of devising strategies that exploited each person's position to secure victory for one's own class—a game that truly demanded exhaustive thinking.
Yet—
"Boring."
I set the sheet down with that single word.
"…Boring, you say. You're the first student I've ever seen look at this exam and call it dull."
Chabashira-sensei's tone shifted. She had slipped from formal explanatory speech back to her usual flat, casual manner—because she was now addressing me directly, not the whole room.
I noticed and glanced around. My classmates were still hunched over the front side, absorbed.
She clearly wasn't the type to interrupt someone who hadn't finished reading just to add her own commentary.
"Incidentally, what exactly struck you as boring?"
"The standout issue is that this game amounts to nothing more than finding the 'liar.' Far too simple."
"You're saying you could identify the VIP easily?"
"Yes."
I answered lightly, and Chabashira-sensei gave a faint smile before pressing again.
"Even if that's true, isn't it a little hasty to declare the whole thing boring?"
"Meaning?"
"Even if you alone succeed, the rest of Class C would struggle to spot the 'liar,' wouldn't they? There's a real chance the class as a whole could lose."
"That's true. Personal victory means little if the class doesn't win.
But I have no need to handle that kind of fight myself. Those battles are for him—otherwise there's no point."
"…I see. So you have your own plan. And it sounds like something I, as another class's homeroom teacher, would be wiser not to hear."
With that, Chabashira-sensei ended our exchange.
Once she confirmed everyone else had finished reading, she cleared her throat and began the supplementary explanation.
I listened with half an ear while analyzing the exam further.
Judging purely by the rules, this was an individual contest—the polar opposite of the uninhabited island exam that had demanded cooperation.
The points moving between classes were substantial. If the ideal sequence of moves could be executed, climbing the ranks was entirely achievable.
Yet because it was individual, success hinged on each person's ability. Even with someone as exceptional as me, the maximum gain was 500,000 PP and 50 CP, plus a –50 CP penalty to the VIP's class.
Across the twelve zodiac groups there were twelve VIPs—three per class.
The ideal scenario I'd considered earlier involved correctly identifying every other VIP. That would yield 4.5 million PP and 450 CP, with –150 CP inflicted on each of the other three classes.
But that remained pure theory.
Factoring in the risk of mistakes and the rewards from Outcome 1, reaching that result would be extraordinarily difficult.
Furthermore, the groups had almost certainly been formed according to some criterion. For example, this Dragon Group contained students of notably high ability or those who could be considered leaders.
Presumably the school wanted students of comparable strength to compete against one another. I couldn't confirm the composition of the other groups, so I couldn't say for certain, but since this was a test, it was measuring something.
Pairing vastly mismatched abilities would be irrational, so while there might be slight differences, overall competence should be roughly balanced.
Yet following that logic led to the conclusion that Class A—with its concentration of naturally gifted and fundamentally strong students—held the advantage.
The lower classes would face steeper obstacles, making ascent harder. That suggested there must be some hidden path or chance for a dramatic turnaround somewhere.
"That concludes the explanation of the exam. Any questions?"
I had been lost in analysis and missed the end of her supplementary remarks. I glanced at my classmates; none showed signs of unease.
Even among Class C, these were the standout students—grasping something like this was effortless for them.
"Chabashira-sensei, I have a question."
She turned toward me, waiting for the next words.
"During the exam, is it possible to transfer or sell the VIP rights to a classmate or a student from another class?"
By "sell," I naturally meant using private points to purchase the VIP status.
The school had stated that almost anything could be bought with private points.
I had asked because I believed the same should hold true even during an exam.
"No. The VIP is selected through strict, impartial adjustment by the school. Allowing transfer or purchase would risk collapsing the entire exam."
As expected. The VIP was the backbone of this test; if it could change hands easily, the exam would cease to be meaningful.
I thanked her for the obvious answer, then posed another question.
"Then, is it possible at this stage, before the exam begins, to purchase the VIP rights with private points?"
At that, Chabashira-sensei's eyebrow twitched. Yet contrary to the reaction, she answered quickly, a thin smile accompanying her words.
"Worthy of the most outstanding student this school has ever seen. Only one or two students a year reach that line of thinking. I'm genuinely impressed. However, the answer to that question is no."
"I see. It seems the school places considerable importance on the VIP selection."
"Indeed. Since this is a special exam, we on the school side must conduct our own 'evaluation.'
The VIP forms the framework of the test—the heart, if you will. If it were replaceable, we couldn't measure what needs to be measured."
She answered smoothly, without hesitation, exactly as anticipated—without letting any discomfort show.
Exactly as one would when concealing something.
My superhuman analytical ability misses nothing—not a flicker of gaze, not the slightest bodily movement. I can analyze everything and expose the truth.
Even if she adjusted volume to emphasize certain words, trying to divert attention and mask a faint hesitation, it made no difference.
"So there are limits to what private points can buy, then."
"That's right."
I gave a vague, appropriate reply.
She hadn't lied. But she hadn't told the full truth either.
What stood out was the phrase "strict, impartial adjustment."
In short, the school selected VIPs according to some clear criterion—one so firm that not even the near-omnipotent private points of this school could override it.
Was there something the school wanted to evaluate that badly, or was there a hidden reversal mechanism the lower classes could exploit?
I didn't know which, but it was one or the other.
"Thank you for the answers. We'll be leaving now."
"Yes. It's already past nine. Head straight back to your rooms."
With those parting words, I stood. The others followed.
We turned, retraced our steps, and left the room. We walked slowly down the corridor leading to our cabins.
"The rules seem to be the same across all groups."
Sonoda-kun fell into step beside me as he spoke.
From the way he phrased it, he had evidently heard advance information from students in an earlier time slot.
"Most likely."
The school wanted to "evaluate" something.
Different rules would produce inconsistent, meaningless data. That was why the rules were uniform.
"Do you have any strategy in mind? Any plan?"
"Ask Ryuuen-kun about that."
"Ryuuen… will probably announce something later, sure. But I want to hear your thoughts, Kamukura-san."
"I have none. This exam is nothing more than spotting the 'liar.' A single conversation will end it."
"You say that so casually… Kamukura-san, are you good at Werewolf by any chance?"
"Shall we try a round?"
"…That actually sounds kind of fun. What about you two, Nomura, Suzuki?"
At Sonoda-kun's question, the others nodded enthusiastically.
Even though the explanation of a crucial exam had just ended, we walked the hallway with remarkably lighthearted attitudes.
Proof that they had plenty of confidence to spare.
Trading casual banter all the while, we finally returned to our rooms.
***
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