In the main hall, the few remaining senior administrators of the school were locked in a heated debate on the stage. The central question consuming them was stark: should they wait here for rescue, or band together and attempt to save themselves?
"I believe we should stay put and wait for help," argued one, likely the Dean. "The Shamblers on campus have been cleared out. We can hold out safely behind the perimeter walls!"
"I disagree with the Dean," countered a voice identified as Teacher Tashima. "Everyone saw that military plane fly over earlier. If this disaster were confined only to Kururugi City, the government would never have mobilized the army outright... And we've all seen the proportion of ordinary people turning into Shamblers. Think about it – if the entire country is like this, what are the actual odds of a rescue team ever reaching us?"
"Alright," the Dean conceded grudgingly, "I admit Teacher Tashima has a point. But once we leave the protection of these walls, what do we have? A bunch of old men and a group of kids! How are we supposed to fight those flesh-eating monsters outside? Remember, Kururugi City has over a million people. Even if only half turned into Shamblers, that number is utterly overwhelming!"
"You know perfectly well," Tashima pressed, his voice sharp, "the school store gets daily deliveries to keep food fresh. The current stock might last us one meal. Then what? Do we just sit here waiting to starve?"
"Well... perhaps..." the Dean stammered, "we could form search parties. Able-bodied adults could scout the surrounding area for supplies..."
"Easy for you to say!" Tashima shot back, accusation dripping from his words. "You just want to send us out as cannon fodder while you sit back here safe, reaping the benefits!"
"Teacher Tashima!" the Dean sputtered, outrage coloring his face. "What kind of talk is that? Did your father never teach you to respect your elders?!"
"Hmph," Tashima snorted derisively. "A truly respected elder wouldn't send the youth – the future and hope – out to die while he cowers safely, clinging to life!"
"Silence! This is utterly... cough!" The Dean's retort dissolved into furious coughing.
THOOM!
The sound was like a small explosion. The middle-aged man with the spear, invited onto the stage, had slammed its butt down with immense force. Wood splinters flew from the cracked floorboards. The sheer, shocking volume of the impact instantly cut through the leaders' escalating argument.
"Enough, Dean Tanaka," the spearman, identified as Kurosho, stated flatly, his voice cutting through the sudden silence. "I don't care what choice you make. But my group is leaving Kururugi City."
"What? Mr. Kurosho, you're leaving?" The Dean's face paled visibly. His insistence on holding the school, despite knowing the food shortage, had hinged entirely on Kurosho and his companions. Their formidable combat skills, displayed while clearing the campus of Shamblers, were the only credible defense he saw. True, these dozens of "ordinary citizens" who'd appeared from nowhere seemed deeply suspicious. But in the face of this nightmare, anyone not a flesh-eating monster was an ally. Their origins hardly mattered now. The shock was that after securing the campus, they showed no interest in staying. They were leaving as abruptly and mysteriously as they'd arrived. Weren't they here seeking refuge?
"But, Mr. Kurosho," the Dean pleaded, mopping sweat from his bald head with a sleeve, "if you leave... what about... what about these students?" The unspoken terror was palpable – the fear of being abandoned.
Kurosho seemed to hesitate. His gaze swept over the rows of despondent students below. He took a deep breath, resolve hardening his features. "Very well. Protecting these children is the responsibility of adults... Dean Tanaka, compile a list. I need every student's name and home address. I also need to confer with my people."
"Home addresses?" The Dean blinked, baffled. What did escaping the city have to do with where the students lived?
"Because we need to organize the students into smaller groups."
A young man stepped forward beside Kurosho. He looked studious, wearing old-fashioned, thick-rimmed black glasses. His hair was meticulously parted down the middle in a severe, outdated style. Paired with his crisp grey suit, he projected an aura reminiscent of a high-brow intellectual from a bygone era.
The spearman, Kurosho, hadn't triggered any recognition earlier. But the sight of this center-parted man with glasses – Hakuso – instantly clicked. This oddly dressed figure was legendary among players in my past life, renowned as a strategist of the highest caliber. Our paths never crossed directly – the gap in our levels was too vast – but the rumors painted a picture of a man whose strategies bordered on the uncannily brilliant, consistently snatching victory from impossible situations.
This Hakuso was clearly younger, less seasoned. His schemes hadn't yet reached the terrifying heights of his future reputation. Yet, the cunning displayed in this maneuver – deliberately muddying the waters – revealed the nascent potential of a top-tier tactician.
Hakuso adjusted his glasses with a delicate pinky finger. "The Shamblers lack sight. They hunt solely by sound," he explained calmly to the Dean. "Smaller groups are inherently quieter, making movement significantly easier. Furthermore, resources along any single route are finite. A large convoy would waste enormous time scavenging for supplies, drastically increasing unnecessary risk."
"Ah! Of course! I hadn't considered that!" Comprehension dawned on the Dean's face. He bowed deeply to Hakuso before bustling off to organize the student address registry.
Safi instinctively turned to Ross, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Ross, what are these people really doing? I can't make heads or tails of their plan."
Ross shrugged, equally perplexed. "I'm not entirely sure either... What about you, Nightjar?"
"They're seizing control of the narrative."
Understanding their gambit now, I couldn't help but feel a surge of professional admiration for its elegant ruthlessness. Initially, Kurosho's player group had been at a disadvantage. Lacking members who could convincingly pose as students to infiltrate the academy early, they'd lost the opening move to other teams.
So, they discarded the concept of an "opening move" entirely. They disrupted the initial outbreak scenario itself, triggering a butterfly effect. Exploiting the chaos, they entered Fujimi Academy not as students, but as armed adult survivors, using sheer force to quell the Shambler threat within the walls. And in doing so, their adulthood – initially a barrier – became their greatest asset. Teenagers, especially in crisis, instinctively look to adults for direction. With the school's shell-shocked leadership readily deferring to Kurosho's group, their authority was amplified tenfold through the existing hierarchy – the Dean, the teachers.
The players who had infiltrated early, posing as students to get close to key objectives? All their meticulous groundwork, their patient integration... it was rendered utterly meaningless in an instant. They were reset to zero, their advantage vaporized. It was a masterstroke, executed with chilling precision.
What impeccable logic. What devastatingly unconventional thinking. Hakuso... the reputation is clearly well-earned.