The revelation—if it could be called that—landed between them like a stone in still water.
Ibuki stared at Ayanokoji, her expression cycling through disbelief, calculation, and something that looked almost like admiration.
"You think Ichinose is the beneficiary."
"I think it's possible. I don't know it."
"But if she is..." Ibuki's voice trailed off as she worked through the implications. "She's been pushing for cooperation from the beginning. She's been building trust. She's been positioning herself as the group's moral center."
"Which would make her the perfect beneficiary. No one suspects the person who's trying to help."
"But the rules say the beneficiary wins if the group fails. If Ichinose wanted the group to fail, why work so hard to make it succeed?"
Ayanokoji had considered this. "Two possibilities. First, she's not the beneficiary, and I'm wrong. Second, she's the beneficiary, but she's not trying to make the group fail—she's trying to make it succeed. She wants everyone to benefit, including herself."
Ibuki frowned. "That doesn't make sense. If the group succeeds, she gets personal points. If the group fails, she gets five hundred thousand personal points and fifty class points. The failure outcome is objectively better for her."
"Unless she values something more than points."
"Like what?"
"Like being the kind of person who helps others. Like maintaining a reputation for trustworthiness. Like the long-term benefits of cooperation over short-term gain."
Ibuki shook her head. "That's naive. No one throws away five hundred thousand points for reputation."
"Maybe not. But Ichinose isn't like most people."
"That's what makes her dangerous, then."
Ayanokoji didn't respond. He was thinking about Ichinose's words in the library the night before. Not everyone is playing to win. Some people are just trying not to lose themselves.
Had she been talking about herself?
"I need to think about this," Ibuki said finally. "If you're right—if Ichinose is the beneficiary—then everything changes. But I'm not going to act on speculation."
"Neither am I."
"Then what do we do?"
"For now? We watch. And we wait."
Ibuki nodded slowly. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled. It was a thin smile, more bitter than sweet, but genuine.
"You're not what I expected, Ayanokoji."
"What did you expect?"
"A pawn. Another weak Class D student, easily manipulated. That's what Ryuuen said you were."
"Ryuuen has been wrong before."
"He has." She turned to leave. "I'll be watching."
She disappeared around the corridor's corner, leaving Ayanokoji alone.
He stood there for a long moment, considering what had just happened.
He had shared a suspicion with Ibuki—a suspicion that might be wrong. If it was wrong, he had given her information she could use against him. If it was right, he had planted a seed that might grow into something useful.
Either way, the game had shifted.
The final day of the exam dawned with heavy clouds and a sense of impending finality.
Ayanokoji woke early, his mind already racing through the possibilities. The answer window would open at 9:30 PM. Before then, one final discussion was scheduled for the morning.
He arrived to find the group already gathered—and the atmosphere had changed.
Something had happened overnight.
Ichinose sat at the head of the table, her expression troubled. Manabe and her Class C companions were whispering among themselves, casting suspicious glances toward the other classes.
And Ibuki...
Ibuki was staring directly at Ichinose, her eyes sharp and assessing.
"What's going on?" Ayanokoji asked, taking his seat.
No one answered. The silence stretched.
Finally, Ichinose spoke.
"I received an email this morning. From an anonymous sender."
The room tensed.
"What did it say?" Yukimura asked.
"It said..." She paused, gathering herself. "It said that the beneficiary of the Rabbit Group is not who everyone suspects. It said the beneficiary is someone who has been orchestrating everything from the shadows—someone who has been manipulating the group to ensure failure while appearing to work for success."
"And who does it say that is?"
Ichinose looked around the table. Her gaze settled on a single figure.
"It doesn't name anyone. But it says the beneficiary is in this room."
The implications were clear.
Someone had sent an anonymous message—someone who wanted to disrupt the group's dynamics or deflect suspicion from themselves. Or someone who genuinely wanted to help.
"Does anyone know who sent it?" Manabe demanded.
"No. The email was sent through a disposable account. No identifying information."
"Then how do we know it's not a trick?"
"We don't." Ichinose's voice was steady, but her hands trembled slightly. "We don't know anything. That's the problem."
Ayanokoji watched the reactions. Sakamoto, as always, showed nothing. Manabe's suspicion was focused on Class D. Ibuki's focus remained on Ichinose.
And Karuizawa...
Karuizawa looked almost relieved. As if the anonymous email had confirmed something she already suspected.
"Does anyone else want to share their thoughts?" Ichinose asked.
"I have a question."
Sakamoto spoke, and all eyes turned to him.
"If the anonymous sender knows who the beneficiary is, why not simply name them? Why send a vague warning instead of concrete information?"
It was a good question. Ayanokoji had already considered it.
"Because they don't know," he said. "Not for certain. They have a suspicion, but no proof. So they're trying to create doubt—to force the beneficiary to act."
"Or," Sakamoto countered, "they're the beneficiary themselves, trying to create confusion."
"Also possible."
"Then we're no closer to the truth than we were before."
Ichinose shook her head. "Maybe not. But we have a new piece of information: the beneficiary might not be who we think. That changes the calculation."
"How?"
"If the beneficiary is someone we trust—someone who has been guiding the group toward cooperation—then we need to reconsider our strategy. We can't simply wait for the group to succeed. We need to identify the beneficiary first."
She paused.
"And there's only one way to do that."
The group leaned in.
"We need to share everything. No secrets. No hidden agendas. Each of us tells the group what we've been doing, what we've been thinking, what we know. Complete transparency."
Karuizawa stiffened. Sotomura adjusted his glasses nervously. Yukimura looked unsure.
But no one refused.
"Who goes first?" Manabe asked.
"I will," Ichinose said. "I've already said I believe cooperation is the right path. I've tried to guide the group toward that goal. I've made mistakes—I've been too trusting, too optimistic. But I've never hidden who I am or what I want."
"Because you know what the beneficiary is?" Manabe's voice was sharp.
"I don't know. But I suspect. And I'll share my suspicion."
She looked around the table.
"I think the beneficiary is someone who hasn't spoken much. Someone who has been quietly watching, gathering information, waiting for the right moment to act. Someone who benefits from the group's failure without ever having to lift a finger."
Her gaze settled on Ayanokoji.
"Someone like you."
The accusation landed like a physical blow. The room went silent.
Ayanokoji met Ichinose's eyes. Her expression was apologetic—she truly didn't want to accuse him—but also resolute. She was doing what she believed was necessary.
"Why would I be the beneficiary?" he asked, his voice calm.
"Because you've done exactly what the beneficiary would do. You've been present without being active. You've offered observations without committing to strategies. You've gathered information from every source while sharing almost nothing in return."
"Those are actions anyone in this group might have taken. Including you."
"True. But I asked you a direct question in the library, and you deflected. You said every answer you give is true but incomplete. That's the answer of someone who's hiding something."
Ayanokoji considered his response. He could deny the accusation. He could deflect it. He could accuse someone else.
But something in Ichinose's expression told him that wouldn't work.
"You're right," he said.
The room collectively held its breath.
"I have been hiding something. But not what you think."
"Then what?"
He looked around the table, meeting each person's gaze in turn. Then his eyes settled on Sakamoto—and held there.
"The beneficiary of this group," Ayanokoji said slowly, "is not me. It's not Ichinose. It's not Ibuki. It's someone who has been playing a deeper game than any of us realized."
"Who?"
Ayanokoji didn't answer. He continued to stare at Sakamoto.
And Sakamoto stared back.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Then Sakamoto smiled. It was a small smile, almost imperceptible.
"Interesting," he said.
And Ayanokoji knew, with absolute certainty, that the game had just entered its final phase.
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