Ibuki Mio remained in Class D's camp as dawn broke over the stream. Her complexion had improved overnight—whether from rest or simple performance, Ayanokoji could not determine. She helped with minor tasks, carrying water, organizing supplies, but always at the edges, always silent, always maintaining that careful distance.
She asked no questions about leadership. She showed no curiosity about Class D's plans. Her "docility" was so complete, so consistent, that it became its own form of evidence.
She's waiting. For the right moment. For natural opportunity.
Breakfast passed in its usual routine—wild fruits supplemented by point-purchased bread, the minimal fare of a class hoarding resources. Then Ayanokoji prepared to depart.
"I'm retrieving the handkerchief. I'll also scout Class B's camp while I'm out."
Horikita set down her water cup, her gaze meeting his with that familiar cool directness. "I'll accompany you."
Ayanokoji did not object. An extra set of eyes was valuable, especially when Ryuuen Kakeru might appear. And Horikita, for all her social limitations, was one of Class D's most capable assets.
They slipped away without fanfare, leaving the camp's morning bustle behind.
Following yesterday's route, Ayanokoji led them to the spot Kouenji had indicated. The handkerchief still fluttered from its branch, a small white flag marking unknown territory.
Ayanokoji retrieved it, then crouched to examine the ground. Soil, leaves, undergrowth—nothing obvious. Whatever Kouenji had noticed remained hidden to casual inspection.
"What exactly was he trying to show us?" Horikita scanned the area, her brow furrowed.
A voice answered from the trees behind them.
"It seems this location was discovered by you two first."
They turned simultaneously.
Sakamoto stood at the clearing's edge, his tall figure framed by shadow and light. He had arrived at some unknown moment—as silent as always, as composed as always. His hand rose, adjusting glasses that caught the morning sun.
His gaze moved from the handkerchief in Ayanokoji's hand to a point behind them. Following his look, with the changed angle of light, they finally saw it.
Behind the ordinary bush, the terrain sloped subtly downward—and there, in that hidden hollow, lay a cornfield.
Rows of stalks stood in neat formation, heavy with plump cobs gleaming gold in the sunlight. This was no natural growth. This was deliberate—a resource point planted by the school, waiting to be discovered.
Kouenji's chuckle, his pointed gaze, the handkerchief's placement—it all made sense now.
Horikita's wariness returned instantly. "Sakamoto. Why are you here?"
Sakamoto's response was calm, unhurried. "I was surveying terrain this morning and came upon this location. The handkerchief suggested another class had already marked it. I waited to avoid misunderstandings." A slight pause. "I was correct to wait."
Horikita's gaze swept the cornfield, calculations visible in her eyes. Enough food to feed a class for days. Points saved, resources secured, advantage gained.
"We marked it first." Her voice was firm. "By the principle of discovery, this belongs to Class D."
Sakamoto inclined his head. "Naturally. I have no objection."
He turned as if to leave, his business concluded.
Horikita immediately addressed Ayanokoji. "Stay here. Guard it. I'll return to camp for carriers."
But before she could move, another voice cut through the morning air—arrogant, amused, utterly without shame.
"Oh? What's this? A party, and I wasn't invited?"
Ryuuen Kakeru emerged from the opposite tree line, flanked by Ishizaki Daichi and the massive Yamada Albert. His grin was predatory, his eyes already fixed on the cornfield beyond Horikita's protective stance.
Ishizaki practically vibrated with eagerness. Albert stood silent, a wall of muscle awaiting orders.
Ryuuen's gaze swept over Ayanokoji, Horikita, and—briefly, with a flicker of something unreadable—Sakamoto. Then it returned to the corn, greed undisguised.
"Class B has taken a liking to this little garden." His tone made it a declaration, not a request.
Horikita stepped forward, placing herself squarely between Ryuuen and the field. "We discovered it first. We marked it yesterday." She pointed to the branch where the handkerchief had hung. "That marker was visible to anyone paying attention."
Ryuuen scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "A handkerchief? On a tree? That's your claim? I don't see any official marker. No school seal, no binding declaration." His grin widened. "On this island, possession is the only law. Whoever takes, keeps."
He gestured to his subordinates. "What are you waiting for? Harvest. Everything you can carry."
Ishizaki stepped forward eagerly. Albert moved with him, a mountain in motion.
Horikita's face flushed with anger. "This is theft! You can't just—"
But her words died as Ryuuen's subordinates advanced. She had no force to stop them. Calling for help would take too long. The corn was lost.
Then—a blur.
Before Ishizaki could take a second step, a figure was simply there. Standing at the cornfield's edge. Between Ryuuen's forces and the golden stalks.
Sakamoto.
He had not run. He had not announced his movement. He had simply... arrived.
His glasses caught the light, hiding his eyes. His posture was relaxed, unhurried. But his presence was absolute.
"Ishizaki-kun. Albert-kun." His voice was calm, conversational. "I would advise against proceeding further."
Ishizaki froze mid-step. Even Albert's advance faltered.
Ryuuen's grin tightened almost imperceptibly. "Sakamoto. This doesn't concern Class A. Walk away."
Sakamoto's hand rose. His middle finger found the bridge of his glasses and pushed upward with that familiar, elegant finality.
"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Ryuuen-kun."
His gaze, whatever lay behind those gleaming lenses, fixed on the Class B leader with an intensity that needed no translation.
"Class D marked this location in good faith. Your claim that the marker is invalid is creative, but it is also transparent. You seek to take by force what you could not obtain by right."
A pause. The forest seemed to hold its breath.
"I have no authority to enforce class rules. I have no position that compels your obedience." Another pause, softer but somehow more dangerous. "But I am here. And I am not moving."
The words hung in the air, simple and absolute.
Ryuuen's smile had frozen on his face. Behind him, Ishizaki looked to his leader for guidance, uncertainty plain in his posture. Albert remained still, awaiting orders that did not come.
The cornfield waited. The morning sun climbed higher.
And in the space between theft and principle, one figure stood immovable, asking nothing and demanding everything by the simple fact of his presence.
Ayanokoji Kiyotaka moved before anyone could register his intent.
While others stood frozen—Horikita in outrage, Ryuuen's subordinates poised to charge—Ayanokoji's figure flashed toward the cornfield. His hands worked with mechanical efficiency, snapping cobs from stalks, stuffing them into his empty backpack.
"Ayanokoji? What are you—" Horikita's confusion was plain.
He didn't pause, didn't look back. His flat voice carried over his shoulder: "Negotiation is useless. Ryuuen won't be persuaded. We can't get reinforcements in time. Take what we can. Minimize losses."
Understanding dawned in Horikita's eyes. Against someone like Ryuuen, principles were meaningless. When you couldn't win, you salvaged what you could.
She followed him into the field, her movements less practiced but equally determined.
Ryuuen watched, momentarily surprised, then burst into delighted laughter. "There it is! That's the spirit! Grab it all—let's see who's faster!"
Ishizaki and Albert plunged into the corn, their harvesting methodically destructive—tearing, breaking, gathering with aggressive enthusiasm. The orderly field dissolved into chaos, students from two classes scrambling for the golden cobs.
But the chaos had barely begun when a figure appeared at the field's edge.
The one who had been about to leave. The one who had stood apart.
Sakamoto.
He had returned. Or perhaps—he had never truly left.
"Ryuuen-kun."
The voice was calm. Unhurried. And it stopped the chaos as effectively as a physical barrier.
Everyone turned. Even Ishizaki's grasping hands stilled.
Sakamoto's hand rose, adjusting his glasses with that familiar, elegant motion. The lenses caught the light, hiding his eyes.
"While I waited for Ayanokoji-kun and Horikita-san to arrive, I detected your approach. In terms of timing, you are the latecomers here."
Ryuuen's eyes narrowed. "Sakamoto. This is wilderness survival. Your opinion doesn't—"
Sakamoto did not wait for him to finish.
He walked toward a corn stalk. His right hand extended, index and middle fingers pressed together into a blade. Then he moved.
The motion was too fast to track—a blur, a whisper of displaced air, a barely audible murmur: "Secret Technique—Vacuum Hand Blade."
The corn cob separated from its stalk at the base. The cut was impossibly clean, as if made by a razor rather than human fingers. It fell gently into a cloth bag Sakamoto had fashioned from his tied jacket.
Then he was moving.
A black streak through the cornfield. His fingers traced arcs through the air, and cobs fell in his wake like golden rain, each one precisely directed into his growing collection. He harvested with the efficiency of a machine and the grace of a dancer—every motion purposeful, every result inevitable.
Ryuuen's subordinates stood frozen, watching. Even with their combined effort, even with their aggressive grabbing, they could not match a fraction of his speed.
Within moments, Sakamoto stopped.
His bag bulged with corn. The rows he had passed through stood nearly bare—harvested cleanly, efficiently, completely.
He walked to Horikita and placed the bag at her feet.
"Horikita-san. Collected on your behalf. Returned to their rightful owners."
Ryuuen's eye twitched. But instead of the anger one might expect, something else flickered across his features—a satisfaction, almost, as if watching a plan unfold according to design.
He raised a hand, signaling his subordinates to stop.
"Enough. We're leaving."
Ishizaki and Albert abandoned their scattered harvest, following their leader without question. Ryuuen cast one last glance at Sakamoto—a look loaded with meaning that none present could fully interpret—then disappeared into the forest with his crew.
The cornfield stood silent, its order destroyed, its bounty divided.
Horikita stared at the full bag at her feet, then at the ravaged field, then at Sakamoto's retreating figure. Her emotions churned—gratitude, confusion, the sting of needing help, the warmth of receiving it.
"Sakamoto-kun." Her voice stopped him. "Thank you. This corn—you should take a share. It's only fair."
Sakamoto turned, his expression unchanged. "It was no trouble. My camp has ample supplies."
Horikita's jaw set stubbornly. "Principle. You helped us. This is yours."
She selected several of the largest, fullest cobs from the bag and held them out. Her expression dared him to refuse.
Sakamoto regarded her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he accepted.
"Then I will not be rude." He placed the corn in his own bag, adjusted his glasses one final time. "Farewell."
He turned and walked into the forest, his figure dissolving into shadow and leaf as silently as he had arrived.
Horikita watched until he vanished, then let out a long breath.
"Ryuuen... what was his goal? And Sakamoto-kun..." She shook her head slowly. "I don't understand."
Ayanokoji said nothing. He secured the last corn cob in his backpack and zipped it closed.
Today's reconnaissance was complete—though not in the way they had planned. Class B's camp remained uninvestigated. New questions had replaced old ones.
But in his backpack, Class D carried a portion of the island's bounty that should have been lost. And in his mind, he carried the image of Sakamoto's impossible harvest—a reminder, yet again, that the gap between classes was not measured in points alone.
They returned to camp, the morning's events weighing on them in different ways.