Chapter 47 Summary
The fluorescent lights of the high‑rise building flickered once, as if the whole school were holding its breath. Down in the corridors of the elite academy, the hum of air‑conditioners blended with the distant murmur of students exchanging whispers about the upcoming Test of Survival. It was the kind of day that made even the most composed among them feel a subtle tremor under their skin—a reminder that the hierarchy of Class D was about to be reshaped, and no one could afford to be complacent.
Kiyotaka Ayanokouji stood at the far end of the hallway, his posture relaxed, his expression an unreadable mask. He watched the flow of students with the detached curiosity of a chess player observing the board before making a move. The murmurs grew louder, a chorus of speculation about the new exam challenge that the student council had announced just days before. Rumors swirled: some said it would be a physical endurance test, others whispered about a mental puzzle that would force every class to confront its own weaknesses. The truth, as always, lay hidden behind layers of strategic planning and political maneuvering.
A soft voice cut through the chatter, and Kiyotaka turned his head just enough to see Suzune Horikita approaching. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, scanned the hallway before settling on him. She moved with the purposeful stride of someone who had already decided the outcome of the next battle. “Ayanokji,” she said, the syllable of his name slipping out like a command, “we need to talk about the Test of Survival. The council is expecting a proposal from each class. I’ve heard they want something that will truly separate the elite from the rest.”
Kiyotaka inclined his head slightly, a gesture that could be mistaken for agreement. “I’m listening,” he replied, his voice low, almost indifferent.
Horikita’s gaze hardened. “Class D has been underperforming for too long. If we don’t present something that showcases our strategic depth, we’ll be relegated to the lower tiers permanently. The council’s new policy on long‑term survival tactics means they’ll be looking for more than just raw talent. They want a plan that can adapt, that can survive the inevitable twists the school throws at us.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Kiyotaka’s mouth, though it never fully formed. “Then we should consider a scenario that forces every student to rely on each other’s strengths. A test that can’t be passed by brute force alone.”
Horikita’s eyes narrowed, as if she were already calculating the variables. “You’re suggesting a collaborative approach? That could work, but it also opens us up to sabotage. The other classes will be watching, waiting for any sign of weakness to exploit.”
Before Kiyotaka could answer, a sudden burst of laughter echoed from the doorway. Kei Karuizawa stepped into view, her bright smile lighting up the dim hallway. She carried a stack of textbooks, her arms full, but she managed to keep her balance with a graceful ease that seemed at odds with the tension in the air.
“Hey, you two,” Kei called, her voice cheerful but edged with curiosity. “What’s the big secret? I heard the council is planning something huge, and I thought maybe we could… you know, help each other out?”
Horikita glanced at Kei, then back at Kiyotaka. “Karuizawa, you’re always eager to get involved. This is a serious matter. The Test of Survival isn’t just another exam; it’s a chance to redefine the school’s hierarchy.”
Kei’s smile faltered for a split second before she recovered. “I get that. But I also think we can make it fun. Maybe we could design a series of challenges that test both intellect and teamwork. Something that forces us to think beyond the usual classroom politics.”
Kiyotaka’s eyes flickered, a brief glint of interest. “A multi‑stage scenario could work. Each stage would require a different skill set, forcing the class to rotate leadership and adapt on the fly. The final stage could be a surprise element, something that no one anticipates.”
Horikita considered this, tapping a finger against her lip. “We’d need to ensure the surprise element doesn’t become a loophole for cheating. The council will be watching for any irregularities.”
Kei’s eyes lit up. “What if the surprise is a moral dilemma? Something that forces us to choose between personal gain and the collective good. That would test our values as much as our abilities.”
Ayanokji’s mind raced, cataloguing possibilities. He could see the outline of a plan forming: a series of puzzles, physical tasks, and a final ethical conundrum that would push the students to their limits. It would be a test not just of survival, but of the very essence of what it meant to be elite.
“Let’s draft it,” he said, his voice steady. “We’ll need to assign roles. Horikita, you can oversee the strategic component. Karuizawa, you handle the morale and ensure the team stays cohesive. I’ll coordinate the logistics and keep an eye on any external interference.”
Horikita gave a curt nod. “Agreed. We’ll meet after school in the library. Bring any resources you think might be useful.”
Kei clapped her hands together, excitement evident. “I’ll bring the textbooks and maybe some snacks. We’ll need energy for this marathon.”
As the three of them turned to leave, a figure slipped out of the shadows near the far end of the hallway. The silhouette was familiar, a lanky boy with a perpetual smirk—Manabu Horikita’s younger brother, who had been quietly observing the exchange. He lingered for a moment, then vanished as quickly as he had appeared, his presence a silent reminder that the student council’s eyes were always watching.
*
The library was a sanctuary of quiet, its towering shelves filled with the accumulated knowledge of generations of elite students. The soft rustle of pages turned into a gentle background hum as Kiyotaka, Horikita, and Kei gathered around a large oak table. Sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting a warm glow over the scattered notes and diagrams they began to spread out.
“First stage,” Horikita began, tapping a sheet of paper with a pen. “We need a problem that forces the class to think collectively. I propose a complex logic puzzle that can only be solved if each member contributes a piece of information they possess.”
Kei nodded, her eyes bright. “We could make it a series of riddles that each point to a different location in the school. The students would have to retrieve clues from those spots, which would then feed into the final solution.”
Ayanokji leaned back, his gaze drifting to the window. “The puzzle should be designed so that no single student can dominate. It must require communication, delegation, and trust. If we embed a time constraint, it will add pressure, simulating the urgency of the Test of Survival.”
Horikita scribbled furiously, her mind already mapping out the logistics. “We’ll set a thirty‑minute limit for the first stage. The clues will be hidden in the science lab, the art room, and the gymnasium. Each location will have a different type of challenge—one physical, one creative, one analytical.”
Kei’s smile widened. “I can handle the creative part. Maybe a drawing that needs to be completed under a specific condition, like using only one hand or while blindfolded. That would test adaptability.”
Ayanokji’s eyes narrowed as he considered the implications. “If we make the challenges too easy, the council will see through it. If they’re too hard, the class might fail and we’ll lose credibility. Balance is key.”
Horikita’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “We also need to think about the second stage. The council wants to see long‑term survival tactics. Perhaps a resource management scenario—students must allocate limited supplies to sustain a mock ‘camp’ for a set period.”
Kei’s eyebrows rose. “That could be interesting. We could give them a limited amount of food, water, and medical kits, and they have to decide how to distribute them among the group. It would force them to prioritize and make tough decisions.”
Ayanokji tapped his fingers together. “And the final stage—this is where we introduce the twist. A moral dilemma that forces the class to choose between personal advancement and the collective good. For example, a hidden cache of points that could boost an individual’s score dramatically, but taking it would jeopardize the group’s overall performance.”
Horikita’s eyes flashed. “That’s perfect. It mirrors the real world—individual ambition versus societal responsibility. It will test the students’ values and reveal who truly belongs in the elite.”
The three of them fell into a rhythm, each contributing ideas, refining details, and anticipating potential counter‑moves from rival classes. As the afternoon sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the library floor, their plan took shape—a multi‑stage test that would challenge intellect, physical ability, resourcefulness, and morality.
“Now,” Horikita said, leaning back, “we need to consider the council’s perspective. They’ll be monitoring for any signs of cheating or external interference. We have to embed safeguards.”
Kei’s expression turned serious. “We could have hidden observers in each location, making sure no one brings in unauthorized tools. And we can set up a system where the clues are only revealed when a specific condition is met—like solving a sub‑puzzle on the spot.”
Ayanokji smiled faintly. “I’ll arrange for the logistics. I have contacts in the maintenance department who can help with the hidden mechanisms. We’ll also need a way to track progress without making it obvious. Perhaps a digital timer that only the council can see.”
Horikita nodded, satisfied. “Good. Let’s finalize the details and present this to the council tomorrow. If they approve, we’ll have a chance to turn the tide for Class D.”
The three of them gathered their notes, the weight of their plan heavy but hopeful. As they left the library, the corridors seemed quieter, as if the school itself were holding its breath for what was to come.
*
The next morning, the student council chamber was a sleek, glass‑walled room overlooking the sprawling campus. The council members—stern faces, immaculate uniforms—sat at a long table, their eyes fixed on the trio as they entered. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that made even the most confident students feel the pressure of the hierarchy pressing down on them.
Chairman Kiyomi, a tall figure with an air of authority, gestured for them to begin. “Present your proposal for the Test of Survival,” he said, his voice resonating through the room.
Horikita stepped forward, her posture immaculate. “Our proposal consists of three stages, each designed to test a different facet of student capability. The first stage is a collaborative logic puzzle that requires communication and problem‑solving across multiple locations. The second stage is a resource management simulation, forcing students to allocate limited supplies strategically. The final stage introduces a moral dilemma, challenging students to weigh personal gain against collective welfare.”
She paused, letting the words sink in. “We have incorporated safeguards to prevent cheating, and we have designed each stage to be adaptable, ensuring that no single class can dominate through brute force alone.”
Kiyomi’s eyebrows rose. “And what about the element of surprise? The council expects a twist that will truly test long‑term survival tactics.”
Kei stepped forward, her smile bright. “The twist is embedded in the final stage. While the students are presented with a hidden cache of points that could dramatically boost an individual’s score, taking it would compromise the group’s overall performance. It forces a decision that reveals each student’s true priorities.”
Ayanokji’s voice was calm, almost detached. “We have also arranged for discreet monitoring at each location, ensuring fairness. The digital timer will be visible only to the council, preventing any external influence.”
The council members exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. Chairman Kiyomi leaned forward, his fingers steepled. “Your proposal is thorough. However, the Test of Survival is also a statement about the school’s values. It must reflect the elite nature of this institution. How does your plan reinforce that?”
Horikita’s eyes hardened. “By demanding that students not only excel individually but also cooperate under pressure, we are cultivating leaders who understand the balance between personal ambition and collective responsibility. This is the essence of an elite education.”
A murmur rippled through the room. The council members seemed to weigh the words carefully, as if measuring the weight of each syllable against the scale of the school’s reputation.
After a tense silence, Chairman Kiyomi finally spoke. “Very well. Your proposal will be approved. The Test of Survival will commence next week. Class D will be the first to undertake it. May your plan prove worthy of the elite standards we uphold.”
The trio exchanged a brief, satisfied glance before exiting the chamber. As they walked down the hallway, the murmurs of other students swelled, the news of the upcoming test spreading like wildfire.
*
The days leading up to the test were a blur of preparation. In the classroom, whispers turned into heated debates. Some students scoffed at the idea of a moral dilemma, dismissing it as a gimmick. Others, like the quiet but observant Haruki, took notes, analyzing every detail of the proposed stages.
Kiyoshi, a charismatic but arrogant member of Class D, gathered a small group of his followers. “This is a joke,” he declared, his voice echoing off the lockers. “We’re the elite. We don’t need to waste time on silly puzzles. We’ll crush this test and prove once again that we’re on top.”
Horikita watched from a distance, her expression unreadable. She knew that Kiyoshi’s confidence was both a strength and a vulnerability. If he could be swayed, his influence could turn the tide for the entire class.
Kei, meanwhile, moved through the corridors, handing out small packets of snacks and motivational notes. “We’ve got this,” she whispered to anyone who would listen. “Just remember, we’re in this together.”
Ayanokji kept to the shadows, his eyes scanning the faces of his classmates, cataloguing their strengths and weaknesses. He observed the subtle shifts in alliances, the way a single word could spark a rivalry or forge a bond. He noted the undercurrents of tension that would surface when the test began.
On the night before the test, the school’s auditorium was filled with a low hum of anticipation. The student council had arranged a brief ceremony to announce the start of the Test of Survival. The lights dimmed, and a holographic display flickered to life, projecting the three stages in vivid detail.
“Stage One: The Puzzle of Unity,” the announcer intoned. “Students must locate hidden clues across three designated locations—Science Lab, Art Room, and Gymnasium. Each clue will unlock a piece of the final solution. Time limit: thirty minutes.”
The hologram shifted, revealing a schematic of a makeshift camp with limited supplies. “Stage Two: Resource Allocation,” the voice continued. “Students will be provided with a finite amount of food, water, and medical kits. They must distribute these resources to sustain the group for a simulated 48‑hour period. Decisions will affect overall performance.”
A final image appeared—a glowing cache of points, surrounded by a question mark. “Stage Three: The Moral Dilemma,” the announcer said. “A hidden cache of points capable of boosting an individual’s score dramatically will be available. Choosing to claim it will jeopardize the group’s collective outcome. Students must decide.”
The auditorium erupted in a mixture of applause and nervous chatter. The council members exchanged satisfied glances, confident that the test would reveal the true nature of the elite.
As the lights came back up, Kiyotaka Ayanokji stood near the back, his gaze fixed on the stage. He felt the familiar pull of the unknown, the thrill of a challenge that required more than raw intellect. He glanced at Suzune Horikita, who stood beside him, her eyes sharp and calculating. Beside them, Kei Karuizawa offered a reassuring smile, her optimism a quiet counterpoint to the tension.
The test began at precisely 0900 hours. A bell rang, and the first group of students surged toward the designated locations, their footsteps echoing through the corridors.
*
The Science Lab was a maze of equipment, the air thick with the scent of chemicals. The first clue was hidden behind a row of beakers, a small metallic disc etched with a cryptic symbol. Kiyoshi, leading his group, reached for it without hesitation, his confidence unshaken.
“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, tossing the disc into his pocket. “We’ll solve the puzzle later.”
Across the hall, Haruki and a few quieter students approached the same clue with caution. Haruki examined the symbol, his brow furrowing. “It looks like a sequence,” he whispered. “Maybe we need to align the beakers in a certain order.”
Kiyoshi scoffed. “We don’t have time for that. Just grab it and move on.”
In the Art Room, the walls were adorned with vibrant paintings, the floor scattered with brushes and canvases. The second clue was concealed beneath a large canvas, a small envelope sealed with wax. Kei, leading a small team, approached the canvas with a gentle smile.
“Okay, everyone,” she said, her voice calm. “Let’s take a moment to appreciate the art. It might give us a hint.”
She lifted the canvas, revealing the envelope. Inside was a piece of paper with a series of numbers. “These look like coordinates,” she mused. “Maybe they correspond to the gym’s equipment layout.”
Meanwhile, in the Gymnasium, the third clue was hidden behind a set of dumbbells. The area was bustling with students stretching and warming up. Kiyotaka slipped into the corner, his movements almost invisible. He observed the dynamics, noting how some students formed quick alliances while others kept to themselves.
A group led by a quiet girl named Aiko approached the dumbbells. She lifted one, revealing a small key taped to the metal. “Looks like we need to unlock something,” she said, her voice steady