The morning after the exam's conclusion, the cruise ship felt different. Lighter, somehow. The tension that had gripped the corridors for days had dissipated, replaced by a collective exhale. Students lingered in the dining hall, their conversations carrying a relaxed cadence that had been absent since the special exam was announced.
Ayanokoji sat alone at a corner table, a cup of coffee cooling in his hands. He had slept poorly—not from anxiety, but from the sheer volume of thoughts demanding his attention. The exam was over. The beneficiary had won. And yet, something about the outcome nagged at him.
Sakamoto didn't deny it.
That was the detail he kept returning to. When Ayanokoji had accused him of being the beneficiary, Sakamoto had neither confirmed nor denied. He had simply... allowed the accusation to stand. Why?
Because he wanted me to believe it.
The thought was unsettling. If Sakamoto were the beneficiary, his strategy had been masterful—cultivating an air of mystery that made the accusation plausible while providing no evidence either way. But if he weren't the beneficiary, then his silence served a different purpose: it kept everyone guessing, kept attention focused on him rather than on the real beneficiary.
Which means the real beneficiary is still hidden.
Ayanokoji set down his coffee cup. He needed more information.
The dining hall began to fill as the morning progressed. Ichinose arrived with her usual bright smile, greeting everyone she passed. Manabe and her Class C companions sat at a separate table, their earlier hostility softened to mere distance. The Class A students—Machida and Takemoto—sat together, their postures still rigid but their expressions less guarded.
Sakamoto was conspicuously absent.
"He does that," Machida said when Ayanokoji asked. "Disappears after exams. We never know where he goes."
"Does he always come back?"
"Always."
Ayanokoji filed the information away.
Karuizawa Kei appeared mid-morning, looking better rested than she had in days. The lines of tension around her eyes had faded, and she moved with something approaching her usual confidence. She spotted Ayanokoji and made her way over.
"Mind if I sit?"
"Go ahead."
She slid into the seat across from him, her tray laden with food. "I didn't get a chance to thank you properly. For what you did during the exam."
"I didn't do much."
"You did. You kept things from falling apart." She paused, fork hovering over her plate. "I know I wasn't... helpful. During the discussions. I was too focused on my own problems."
"Your problems were legitimate."
"That doesn't excuse checking out." She met his eyes. "I want to do better. Starting now."
Ayanokoji considered her. Karuizawa's transformation had been gradual—a process that had begun long before this exam, catalyzed by Hirata's kindness and the slow rebuilding of her trust. But this was the first time she had acknowledged it openly.
"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know yet. But I want to be useful. To the class. To you." She looked down. "That sounds pathetic, doesn't it?"
"It sounds honest."
She smiled—a small, hesitant smile that faded as quickly as it appeared.
"Can I ask you something? About Sakamoto-kun."
"Of course."
"Is he... dangerous?"
Ayanokoji considered the question carefully. "That depends on how you define dangerous."
"Someone who could hurt us. Someone we should be afraid of."
"I don't think Sakamoto-kun is interested in hurting anyone. He's interested in understanding—and in testing. Whether those tests cause harm depends on how people respond to them."
"So he's not our enemy?"
"I don't think he's anyone's enemy. But he's not anyone's ally either. He operates on a different level."
Karuizawa absorbed this. "That's terrifying."
"Yes. It is."
They sat in companionable silence for a while, the dining hall's noise washing over them. Eventually, Karuizawa finished her meal and stood.
"Thanks. For listening."
"Any time."
She left, and Ayanokoji was alone again.