The sea shimmered with morning light, its surface calm and endless. The cruise ship carrying the first-year students cut gracefully across the horizon, a far cry from the mud, sweat, and constant hunger of the deserted island just days ago.
Students reveled in the luxury the school had granted them. Lounges overflowed with chatter, the pool decks were crowded with laughter, and the restaurants served meals that erased the memories of instant ration packs.
For three days, Class D tasted peace.
Kiyotaka Ayanokoji leaned against the railing on one of the upper decks, his eyes hidden by the reflection of the sun on his glass. The calm waves matched his still expression. Around him, students celebrated survival, but his thoughts drifted inward.
"Nothing's changed," he muttered quietly to himself.
He had enrolled in this school not for status or dreams, but because of one rule in particular: 'Contact with the outside world until graduation is forbidden.' For him, it was sanctuary. A cage perhaps, but one where the hands reaching for him could not easily intrude.
Or so he thought.
Three days ago, Sae Chabashira shattered that illusion. She had cornered him after the test ended, her lips curving into that mocking smile of hers.
"Your father hasn't forgotten you, Ayanokoji. He's moving. If you don't want to be dragged out of here, you'll play the game with me. Help me drag Class D to Class A, or you'll find yourself expelled."
Her words had bound him. He couldn't confirm the truth, couldn't measure how deep her connections ran. All he knew was that the shadow of the White Room and his father loomed, threatening to rip apart the fragile freedom he'd carved for himself.
For now, he would comply. But forever? No.
I won't be blackmailed for long, he resolved silently, the sea breeze tugging at his shirt. Even cages have locks that can be broken.
While Kiyotaka wrestled with his inner chains, my days had been surprisingly lighthearted.
"Headshot! Again!" Wataru Ijuin shouted, throwing his arms up as Kyosuke Okitani cursed loudly, slamming the controller down.
"Damn it, Wataru! You camped that corner on purpose!"
I chuckled, sinking back into the couch in the gaming lounge. Wataru had splurged a chunk of his points to buy a stack of games, dragging Kyosuke and me into a marathon. For three straight days, the sound of gunfire, cheering, and angry groans had filled our room.
"You two are hopeless," I teased, adjusting my controller. "Watch how a pro does it."
"Pro, my ass," Kyosuke muttered. "Don't think I forgot you blew our lead yesterday."
These moments, mundane as they were, reminded me of the bonds we had forged during the island test. It wasn't just survival anymore — it was friendship.
Meanwhile, the girls enjoyed their own brand of peace. Airi, Haruka, Mei, and An spent their afternoons shopping at the ship's boutiques or lounging at the pool. Occasionally, they stopped by to drag us out for meals, scolding us for wasting daylight glued to screens.
"You're supposed to be future elites," Haruka scolded once, hands on her hips. "And you're acting like middle schoolers with nothing better to do."
Wataru only smirked, replying, "Gaming is elite culture."
It was silly, but comforting. A sharp contrast to the schemes and betrayals that usually hung over our class.
Of course, peace was never permanent here.
Horikita still eyed me suspiciously, unable to forget that I had secretly taken the role of Class D's leader during the island test. Hirata smiled like always, but when our gazes met, his warmth faltered. The ideal of transparency and unity he clung to had cracked, and I was the one who had struck the blow.
And then there was Ryuen.
Rumors spread that he had trashed his cabin in rage. Class C had barely survived the island exam, humiliated by his decision to withdraw most of his classmates early. His plan to sniff out leaders had failed, his pride shattered.
I could almost feel his hatred sharpening across the decks whenever his eyes met mine.
Class B carried on with their usual cheer, led by Ichinose's unwavering energy. Class A remained disciplined under Katsuragi, though whispers said Arisu Sakayanagi's condition still kept her in the shadows.
The four classes had survived the same storm, but each carried different scars.
Kiyotaka sat in the faculty lounge, Chabashira's sharp gaze pinning him like a hawk.
"You'll help me, Ayanokoji. That isn't up for debate."
Her words lingered heavy in the air.
"I lack the power to resist you," Kiyotaka admitted flatly. "But don't mistake compliance for loyalty."
Chabashira smirked, her arms crossed. "You'll thank me someday. I'm offering you the chance to shape Class D into something greater. Or would you rather crawl back to your father and his little White Room project?"
Kiyotaka's silence was his only weapon. Inside, though, his mind sharpened. He had no choice but to play along for now, but already he was plotting, turning her demand into another piece on his board.
For Sae, it was victory. For Kiyotaka, it was simply the opening move.
That evening, as the sun dipped low, painting the ocean gold, the ship's speakers crackled to life.
"Attention all students," the mechanical voice echoed. "Please check your student mail immediately. You have received important instructions. Follow them closely. Failure to do so will result in penalties."
The lounge erupted in confusion. Controllers clattered onto tables as Wataru fumbled for his phone.
"What the hell? Another exam already?" he groaned.
Kyosuke muttered curses under his breath, pulling his mail up. "They can't give us a week of peace, can they?"
I checked mine, eyes narrowing as I read the contents. Each student had been assigned a designated room and time. The warning was clear: show up more than ten minutes late, and you'd be punished.
Kushida, standing nearby with her phone, looked up in shock. "Wait… Ayanokoji, your room isn't the same as mine."
Kiyotaka blinked, glancing at her screen, then his. "Different gathering rooms and times…"
The realization spread like wildfire. Students began comparing their assignments, only to find mismatches everywhere. Groups that had bonded tightly on the island were suddenly torn apart.
The vacation atmosphere evaporated instantly. Laughter faded, replaced by uneasy murmurs and clenched fists. The air thickened with tension, that familiar weight of another "special exam."
I gathered my team quickly.
"Listen," I told them, keeping my tone calm. "We don't know the rules yet. All we can do is show up where we're told and observe. Panic helps no one."
Wataru swallowed, nodding. "Yeah. Guess fun time's over."
Airi, hugging her phone close, whispered, "It feels… different this time. Like they want us scattered."
Haruka frowned. "And that means something bigger is coming."
Kiyotaka, silent as ever, closed his phone with a snap. For just a brief moment, I caught his eyes. Cold. Focused. Almost like he'd been expecting this.
"The real game never lets us rest for long," he murmured, echoing my own thoughts.
That night, the ship felt heavier, quieter. The laughter and celebrations of the past three days faded into uneasy silence as students stared at their phones, memorizing their assigned times and rooms.