Chapter 36 Summary
The low hum of the cafeteria’s ventilation system was the only sound that cut through the uneasy silence that had settled over Class D. The morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting long, pale rectangles across the polished floor, and the occasional clink of a tray against a metal chair punctuated the stillness. Kiyotaka Ayanokoji sat at the far end of the long table, his posture relaxed, his eyes half‑closed as if he were merely observing the room rather than being a part of it. The faint scent of coffee drifted from the nearby vending machines, mixing with the faint metallic tang of the school’s air conditioning.
He could feel the weight of the recent exam results pressing down on the shoulders of his classmates. The scores had been posted the night before, a thin sheet of paper slipped into each locker, and the numbers had sparked a ripple of whispers that had turned into a low‑key panic. The results were a reminder that the school’s hierarchy was not a static thing; it was a living, breathing organism that could shift with a single point. For some, it was a triumph; for others, a humiliation that threatened their place in the precarious social ladder.
Suzune Horikita entered the cafeteria with the purposeful stride that had become her signature. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and her eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, scanned the room before settling on Kiyotaka. She slid into the seat opposite him, the chair scraping softly against the floor.
“Did you see the numbers?” she asked, her voice low but edged with a quiet intensity. “The gap between the top and the bottom has widened again. It’s… unacceptable.”
Kiyotaka opened his eyes just enough to meet hers, his expression neutral. “The results are a reflection of the current system. If you want to change the outcome, you need to understand the variables that are influencing it.”
Horikita’s brows furrowed. “You’re always so… analytical. What do you propose?”
Before he could answer, a soft, hesitant voice cut through the conversation. Kei Karuizawa, clutching a half‑filled cup of tea, approached the table. Her cheeks were flushed, and she seemed to be fighting an internal battle between confidence and anxiety.
“Um, excuse me,” she said, her eyes darting between Kiyotaka and Horikita. “I… I wanted to ask about the exam. I studied a lot, but I still got a lower score than I expected. I don’t understand what I’m missing.”
Kiyotaka gave a faint smile, the kind that never quite reached his eyes. “Performance is not solely about study time, Kei. It’s also about how you apply your knowledge under pressure. Have you considered the strategic component of the test?”
Kei’s shoulders slumped a little. “I thought it was just… straightforward questions. I didn’t realize there was… a hidden layer.”
Horikita leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. “Exactly. The school’s design is to test not just academic ability but also social manipulation, teamwork, and the ability to read the hidden rules. That’s why the results are so volatile. The test is a microcosm of the entire system.”
At that moment, Ryuuji Kanzaki strode in, his presence commanding attention as always. He carried a stack of textbooks under one arm, his grin wide and confident. He dropped into the seat beside Kei, his eyes flicking between the three of them.
“Looks like you’re all deep in discussion,” he said, his voice booming enough to draw a few glances from nearby tables. “I heard about the exam results. Looks like the usual chaos. You know, I think we should take advantage of this. The school loves to throw curveballs, but if we can anticipate them, we’ll be ahead of the game.”
Kanzaki’s optimism was a stark contrast to Horikita’s calculated seriousness, but both shared a common goal: to elevate Class D’s standing. The conversation turned into a rapid exchange of ideas, each member contributing a piece of the puzzle.
“The school announced a new ‘Survival Exam’ for next week,” Horikita said, pulling out a thin flyer that had been posted on the bulletin board. “It’s supposed to be a group challenge, but the details are vague. No one knows what the criteria are, only that the winning class will receive a substantial bonus point allocation.”
Kiyotaka’s eyes narrowed slightly. “A bonus point allocation could shift the balance dramatically. If the points are distributed evenly among the class, the impact is predictable. If they’re allocated based on individual performance within the group, the dynamics change.”
Kanzaki chuckled. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it? The school wants us to figure it out on the fly. It’s a test of adaptability.”
Kei shifted in her seat, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “Do we have any idea what the exam will involve? I mean, we could start preparing now.”
Horikita pulled out a notebook, the pages already filled with scribbles and diagrams. “I’ve been compiling data from previous exams, looking for patterns. There’s a recurring theme: the school often incorporates elements of the curriculum that are underutilized, like physical education or art, and blends them with logical puzzles. It forces us to think outside the box.”
Kiyotaka leaned back, his gaze drifting to the window where a few students were gathering their belongings, preparing to leave. “If we consider the school’s objective, they want to see which class can integrate diverse skill sets efficiently. That means we need to leverage each member’s strengths.”
He turned his attention back to the group. “Kei, you have a knack for reading people. You can gauge the morale of the class and keep everyone motivated. Kanzaki, your physical prowess and confidence can lead any physically demanding tasks. Horikita, your analytical mind can dissect the puzzles. And I… I can observe the hidden mechanisms that the school might embed in the exam. Together, we can form a balanced unit.”
Horikita’s eyes softened for a moment, a flicker of appreciation crossing her usually stoic face. “You’re right. We need a coordinated approach. Let’s assign roles and start training.”
The conversation continued, each member offering suggestions, debating strategies, and gradually forming a tentative plan. As they spoke, the cafeteria’s ambient noise seemed to fade, replaced by the internal rhythm of their thoughts aligning.
Later that afternoon, the class gathered in the empty classroom that had been designated for their strategic meeting. The room was stark, with rows of desks arranged in a perfect grid, the whiteboard at the front bearing the remnants of a previous lesson. The air was thick with anticipation.
“First, we need to understand the parameters of the Survival Exam,” Kiyotaka began, his voice calm and measured. “The school has given us a single clue: ‘Adaptability is the key.’ That could mean many things, but it also suggests that the exam will test our ability to respond to unexpected changes.”
Horikita stood up, pointing to a diagram she had drawn on the whiteboard. “I’ve mapped out the possible scenarios based on past exams. There are three main categories: intellectual puzzles, physical challenges, and social dynamics. Each category could be weighted differently, but we have to be prepared for any combination.”
Kanzaki crossed his arms, a grin still playing on his lips. “So we split into three teams? One for each category? I can lead the physical team. We’ll do drills, endurance training, obstacle courses. We need to be in top shape.”
Kei raised her hand timidly. “What about the social dynamics? I’m not sure I’m good at… manipulating people.”
Kiyotaka’s eyes flickered with a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “You’re better at reading people than you think. You can observe body language, detect tension, and use that information to guide the group’s decisions. That’s a valuable skill in any social scenario.”
Horikita nodded. “I’ll oversee the intellectual team. We’ll practice logic puzzles, riddles, and problem‑solving under time pressure. We’ll also study the school’s past test patterns to anticipate the kind of questions they might ask.”
Kanzaki clapped his hands together. “Alright, then we have a plan. Let’s set a schedule. We’ll meet twice a day, morning and evening, rotating through the teams so everyone gets exposure to each aspect.”
The group dispersed, each member heading to their respective training areas. Over the next few days, the classroom became a hive of activity. The intellectual team gathered in the library, their tables littered with textbooks, notebooks, and scribbled diagrams. Horikita led intense sessions, pushing the students to think faster, to see connections where none seemed obvious. She would pause, stare at a problem, and then ask, “What if we approach this from a different angle? What hidden rule could the school be testing here?”
Kanzaki’s physical team met in the gymnasium, where they ran obstacle courses, practiced climbing walls, and performed endurance drills. His booming voice echoed through the space as he shouted encouragements, “Push through! The school wants to see if you can keep moving when you’re exhausted!”
Kei, under Kiyotaka’s quiet guidance, observed the social dynamics of the group. She noted how tension rose when the puzzles became too difficult, how morale dipped after a failed physical drill, and how small gestures—a smile, a nod—could lift spirits. She began to understand the subtle art of influence, learning to nudge conversations in a direction that kept the group cohesive.
Kiyotaka himself moved like a shadow among the students, listening, watching, and occasionally offering a single, precise comment that seemed to unlock a new perspective. He never dominated the discussions, but his words carried weight, as if each one was a key that fit perfectly into a lock.
One evening, as the group gathered for a final debrief before the exam, a soft chime rang from the hallway. The school’s intercom crackled to life, and a calm, authoritative voice announced, “Attention, all students. A new envelope has been placed in each classroom. Please retrieve it before the end of the day. The contents are essential for the upcoming Survival Exam.”
A ripple of murmurs spread through the room. The students exchanged glances, curiosity and apprehension mingling in their eyes. Horikita was the first to stand, moving toward the door with a measured stride.
She returned moments later, holding a plain white envelope, its surface smooth and unmarked. She placed it on the desk, and the rest of the class followed suit, each retrieving their own envelope from the hallway. The room fell silent as they opened them simultaneously, the paper inside fluttering like a secret waiting to be revealed.
Kiyotaka’s envelope contained a single sheet of paper with a single line written in neat, black ink: “Adaptability is the key. Choose your path wisely.”
Horikita’s envelope held a more detailed note: “Survival Exam – Phase One: The Labyrinth. You will be divided into three groups. Each group will face a distinct challenge. Success depends on cooperation within and between groups. Bonus points will be awarded for synergy.”
Kanzaki’s envelope bore a simple diagram of a maze, with arrows indicating multiple entry points and a central chamber marked “Core.” The diagram was accompanied by a brief instruction: “Navigate the maze, retrieve the artifact, and return to the starting point. Time is limited.”
Kei’s envelope contained a list of names—some familiar, some unknown—each accompanied by a short description: “Identify allies, detect hidden motives, and maintain group cohesion. Failure to recognize deception will result in point penalties.”
The envelopes were a clear indication that the school had designed a multi‑layered test, one that would force the class to split, yet also require them to communicate and synchronize their efforts. The realization settled over the room like a heavy fog, but it also ignited a spark of determination.
“Alright,” Kiyotaka said, his voice steady. “We have the information we need. Let’s finalize our strategy.”
Horikita took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the faces of her classmates. “We’ll assign the groups based on our strengths. The intellectual team will handle the maze’s logical puzzles, the physical team will tackle the navigation and retrieval, and the social team will manage the interpersonal dynamics and ensure we don’t fall prey to deception.”
Kanzaki grinned. “Sounds good. I’ll lead the physical crew. We’ll need to be fast, but also careful. The maze could have traps.”
Kei’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. “I’ll coordinate the social side. I’ll keep track of who’s trustworthy and who might be trying to sabotage us.”
Kiyotaka nodded. “I’ll oversee the overall operation, monitoring the flow of information between groups. If any group encounters an unexpected obstacle, we’ll adapt on the fly. Remember, the key is flexibility.”
The plan was set. The next morning, the class assembled at the designated starting point—a large, open courtyard where a massive, temporary structure resembling a labyrinth had been erected. The walls were made of high, opaque panels, their surfaces smooth and reflective, giving the impression of an endless maze. In the center of the courtyard, a platform held a single, glowing artifact—a crystal that pulsed with a faint, blue light.
The school’s announcement echoed through the speakers: “Survival Exam – Phase One begins now. Good luck, Class D.”
The three groups split, each moving toward a different entrance of the labyrinth. Horikita, leading the intellectual team, took the leftmost gate. She carried a notebook, her mind already racing through possible puzzle solutions. Kanzaki, at the helm of the physical team, chose the central gate, his muscles tensing in anticipation. Kei, with a calm yet focused expression, guided the social team through the rightmost gate, her eyes scanning the faces of her teammates for any sign of unease.
Inside the maze, the challenges began to reveal themselves. Horikita’s group encountered a series of panels that displayed cryptic symbols. Each panel required a specific sequence of switches to be activated, and the correct sequence could only be deduced by recognizing patterns hidden within the symbols. She whispered to her teammates, “Look for the recurring motif. It’s a spiral—maybe the sequence follows a spiral pattern.”
The group worked together, their minds clicking into gear, and after several tense minutes, the panels clicked open, revealing a narrow corridor that led deeper into the labyrinth.
Kanzaki’s team faced a different set of obstacles. The path was littered with physical barriers—low walls, rope nets, and a series of moving platforms that required precise timing to cross. Kanzaki shouted encouragements, “Keep your balance! One misstep and we lose precious seconds.” He led the way, his athleticism allowing him to navigate the obstacles with fluid grace. The team followed, their breaths ragged but their determination unwavering.
Meanwhile, Kei’s group found themselves in a section of the maze where the walls were lined with mirrors. The reflections created an illusion of endless corridors, making it difficult to discern the true path. Kei’s keen observation skills came to the fore. She noticed that the mirrors were slightly angled, causing a subtle distortion in the reflections. “If we follow the distortion, we’ll find the real exit,” she whispered, guiding her teammates through the maze of reflections.
As the groups progressed, the hidden layer of the exam began to surface. In the central chamber, a series of screens flickered to life, displaying live feeds of the other groups. The school’s voice echoed, “Synergy bonus: groups that successfully coordinate will receive additional points. Communication is essential.”
Horikita’s team, upon seeing the live feed of Kanzaki’s physical crew, realized that they needed to retrieve a key located in the physical section to unlock a door in their own path. She quickly relayed the information through a handheld communicator that the school had provided. “Kanzaki, we need the silver key from the central platform. It’s essential for our next puzzle.”
Kanzaki, hearing the request, adjusted his route, sprinting toward the central platform where a small, metallic key lay atop a pedestal. He grabbed it, his heart pounding, and raced back to his group’s exit, then signaled Horikita’s team through the communicator.
Simultaneously, Kei’s social team detected a subtle shift in the behavior of one of their members—a quiet boy who seemed unusually nervous. She approached him gently, “Is everything alright?” He hesitated, then whispered, “I think someone is trying to mislead us. The mirrors… they’re not just mirrors. Some panels are rigged to trigger alarms if touched incorrectly.” Kei’s intuition saved the group from a potential trap, allowing them to bypass the dangerous sections safely.
The labyrinth’s core chamber, where the glowing artifact rested, was now within reach for all three groups. The final challenge required them to synchronize their actions: the artifact could only be retrieved when all three groups simultaneously activated their respective switches—one located in the intellectual zone, one in the physical zone, and one in the social zone. The switches were linked, and any misalignment would reset the entire system, forcing them to start over.
Horikita’s team arrived at their switch, a complex lock that required a sequence of numbers derived from the earlier symbol puzzles. She quickly calculated the code, her mind racing through the