The corridor fell silent after Ryuuen's departing footsteps faded into the ship's ambient hum. Ayanokoji Kiyotaka stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the spot where Ryuuen had vanished, then shifted back to Sakamoto.
The moment had passed. Whatever Sakamoto had been about to say—whether denial, confirmation, or something else entirely—had been swallowed by the interruption. The conversation's thread had snapped, and Ayanokoji knew better than to try forcing it back together. Some opportunities, once lost, could not be reclaimed.
Sakamoto adjusted his glasses with that familiar, unhurried motion. "It seems Ryuuen-kun's group has concluded their exam. Interesting timing."
"Interesting," Ayanokoji repeated. "That's one word for it."
"Would you prefer a different one?"
Ayanokoji considered. "Suspicious. Convenient. Calculated."
"All valid." Sakamoto turned slightly, gazing toward the porthole at the corridor's end. Beyond the glass, the night sea stretched endlessly, black water merging with black sky. "Ryuuen-kun is many things, but he is not impulsive. If his group's exam ended early, it was because he chose to end it."
"Or because someone in his group made a choice for him."
"Also possible." Sakamoto's tone betrayed nothing. "The rules allow for individual action, after all. One person's decision can determine the fate of many."
Ayanokoji studied him. "You seem unsurprised."
"Should I be surprised? The exam's design invites such outcomes. Four results, each with distinct consequences. The pressure to act—to guess early, to seize advantage before others do—is built into the structure." He paused. "Ryuuen-kun is not the type to wait passively when action promises reward."
"But the risk—"
"Is significant, yes. Yet for someone in his position, the calculation may have seemed favorable." Sakamoto finally turned back to face Ayanokoji. "Would you like to know my hypothesis?"
Ayanokoji nodded once.
"Ryuuen-kun's group likely contained individuals he considered expendable. Class D students, perhaps. Or Class C members with whom he had no alliance. If he could manipulate one of them into making an early, incorrect guess, the result would be…" He let the sentence trail off.
"Result Four," Ayanokoji finished. "The guessing person's class loses fifty points. The beneficiary gains five hundred thousand personal points. And the beneficiary's class gains fifty points."
"Precisely."
"But that would require Ryuuen to know who the beneficiary was in advance. Or to have arranged for a specific person to be the beneficiary."
Sakamoto said nothing. His silence was, in itself, an answer.
Ayanokoji felt the pieces clicking into place. Ryuuen had somehow identified—or engineered—the beneficiary of his group. Then he had manipulated someone else into guessing early, knowing the guess would be wrong. The result: fifty points gained for Class B, fifty points lost for the guessing student's class, and a massive personal payout for the beneficiary.
Who? The question burned. Who did he sacrifice, and who did he reward?
"Your expression suggests you've arrived at the same conclusion," Sakamoto observed.
"It's a theory. Not proof."
"Proof is rarely available in these exams. We operate on inference, probability, and the observation of patterns." Sakamoto began walking slowly down the corridor, and Ayanokoji found himself falling into step beside him. "Tell me, Ayanokoji-kun. In your observation of Ryuuen-kun, what patterns have you identified?"
The question was unexpected. Ayanokoji considered it carefully.
"He's aggressive. Direct. He prefers to force confrontations rather than avoid them. But he's not stupid—his aggression is calculated. He identifies weakness and exploits it without hesitation."
"Continue."
"He views people as tools. Pawns to be moved, sacrificed, discarded. Loyalty is irrelevant to him; only utility matters."
"And yet," Sakamoto said, "he inspires a certain… devotion. Ishizaki. Albert. Even Ibuki, despite her apparent resentment. Why?"
Ayanokoji had wondered about this himself. "Fear. Respect for his strength. The belief that aligning with him is better than opposing him."
"Partially correct." Sakamoto stopped at a junction, where the corridor split left and right. "But there is another factor. Ryuuen-kun, for all his ruthlessness, possesses a certain… authenticity. He does not pretend to be what he is not. His cruelty is honest. His ambition is transparent. In a school where everyone wears masks, there is something almost refreshing about someone who refuses to."
Ayanokoji absorbed this. It was a perspective he hadn't fully considered—that Ryuuen's blunt brutality might inspire loyalty precisely because it was straightforward. No hidden agendas. No false smiles. Just the pure, unapologetic pursuit of victory.
"You sound almost admiring."
"Admiration implies judgment. I merely observe." Sakamoto turned left, continuing down the corridor. "But I suspect you did not wait outside that storage room simply to discuss Ryuuen-kun's psychology."
"No." Ayanokoji paused. "I wanted to ask you something."
"Then ask."
The directness caught Ayanokoji slightly off guard. He had expected deflection, redirection, the usual dance of words. Instead, Sakamoto had simply… opened a door.
"The question I asked before Ryuuen interrupted. About subverting the school's rules. You didn't answer."
"No. I didn't."
"Will you answer now?"
Sakamoto stopped walking. He turned to face Ayanokoji fully, and for a moment—just a moment—Ayanokoji saw something behind those glasses. Not warmth. Not coldness. Something else entirely. Something that might have been… curiosity.
"Ayanokoji-kun. You are, by any measure, an exceptional individual. Your intelligence, your physical capabilities, your capacity for strategic thought—all are far beyond the norm. You have spent your time at this school concealing these qualities, presenting a facade of mediocrity while subtly manipulating events from the shadows."
Ayanokoji's expression didn't change, but internally, he tensed. He knows. Of course he knows. He's always known.
"You ask if my goal is to subvert the school's rules. I would ask you in return: what do you believe the school's rules are?"
Ayanokoji considered. "A system of meritocracy. Students compete, earn points, and are ranked accordingly. The rules exist to facilitate that competition and ensure its fairness."
"Is that what you believe? Or what you have been told?"
The question hung in the air.
"I have observed," Sakamoto continued, "that this school operates on multiple levels. The surface level—class points, rankings, special exams—is visible to all. But beneath that surface, there are deeper structures. Deeper purposes. The school does not merely rank students. It shapes them. It tests not just intelligence or physical ability, but character. Values. The willingness to sacrifice, to cooperate, to betray, to lead."
He paused.
"The rules, Ayanokoji-kun, are not the point. They are the medium. The question is not whether to subvert them, but to understand what they are designed to achieve."
Ayanokoji felt a chill that had nothing to do with the corridor's air conditioning. "And what have you concluded?"
Sakamoto smiled. It was a small smile, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
"That is a question for another time. For now, I suggest you focus on the Rabbit Group. The exam continues, and the dynamics within our group will prove… instructive."
He turned and resumed walking, leaving Ayanokoji standing at the junction.
"Goodnight, Ayanokoji-kun."
The words echoed softly in the empty corridor. Then Sakamoto was gone, swallowed by the ship's labyrinthine passages, leaving behind only questions and the faint, lingering sense that something vast was moving just beneath the surface of everything Ayanokoji thought he understood.