Chapter 63 Summary
The morning light slipped through the high windows of the school’s central atrium, casting long, thin bars across the polished floor. The hum of conversation rose and fell like a tide, each class murmuring about the upcoming evaluation that would determine the next round of point allocations. In the midst of the chatter, a lone figure stood near the far wall, his posture relaxed yet alert, his eyes scanning the room with a detached curiosity that seemed to belong to someone who had already seen the whole game. Kiyotaka Ayanokouji adjusted the strap of his bag, the faint sound of the metal clasp echoing softly, and then turned his gaze toward the doorway where Suzume Horikita entered, her expression as sharp as ever.
“Morning,” Horikita said, her voice low but firm, the way she always managed to command attention without raising her tone. She carried a stack of papers, the latest set of instructions for the class projects, and a faint trace of determination that hinted at the weight she placed on every assignment. “We need to discuss the new group dynamics before the test. The administration wants us to form mixed teams with Class 3‑E.”
Ayanokouji’s lips twitched into a barely perceptible smile. “Mixed teams,” he repeated, as if tasting the words. “That could be… interesting.”
Across the room, Kei Karuizawa was already moving, her steps light and purposeful as she approached the two. She had a habit of slipping into the background, yet her presence was always felt, like a soft wind that could turn the tide of a conversation. “I heard they’re pairing us with the lower‑ranked students,” she said, her voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and caution. “Do you think they’re trying to balance the scores, or is there another motive?”
Horikita’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s a test of cooperation, no doubt. The administration wants to see if we can work with those we consider… less capable.” She glanced at Ayanokouji, as if measuring his reaction. “You always seem to have a plan, Kiyotaka. What’s your take?”
Ayanokouji’s gaze drifted to the far side of the atrium, where a group of students from Class 3‑E were gathered. Among them, Ryuuji Kanzaki stood with his usual confident posture, his eyes flicking over the crowd as if assessing every possible advantage. Kanzaki’s reputation as a charismatic leader was well‑known, and his presence always added a layer of complexity to any situation. Ayanokouji’s mind, ever calculating, noted the subtle shift in Kanzaki’s stance—a slight tension that suggested he was already plotting his own moves.
“Their inclusion could be a way to expose weaknesses,” Ayanokouji said finally, his voice calm and even. “If we can guide the collaboration, we might secure a higher point gain for Class D. If not… we risk losing ground.”
Horikita’s lips pressed into a thin line. “We can’t afford to lose any points at this stage. The gap between us and the top classes is narrowing, but it’s still there. We need to be strategic.”
Karuizawa smiled faintly, her eyes brightening. “Then let’s make sure we’re the ones pulling the strings.”
The three of them turned toward the entrance, where the school’s principal, a stern figure with a reputation for ruthless efficiency, was about to make an announcement. The crowd fell silent as the principal stepped onto the podium, his voice resonating through the atrium.
“Students of Class D and Class 3‑E,” he began, his tone measured, “the upcoming evaluation will test not only your academic abilities but also your capacity for teamwork. Each class will be paired with a counterpart from the other group. You will be given a series of challenges that require both intellectual and physical cooperation. The results will directly affect your point allocations for the next semester.”
A murmur rippled through the audience. The principal continued, “The teams will be formed randomly, but each will contain an equal number of members from both classes. This is an opportunity to demonstrate that the hierarchy within this school can be transcended through collaboration.”
When the announcement ended, the students began to disperse, forming clusters to discuss potential strategies. Ayanokouji lingered for a moment, his mind already mapping out possibilities. He knew that the random pairing would not be truly random; the administration’s hidden hand always guided outcomes in subtle ways. He also understood that the key to success lay not just in the tasks themselves, but in the relationships forged—or broken—during the process.
Later that afternoon, the students gathered in the large conference room that would serve as the briefing area for the new teams. The room was stark, its walls lined with whiteboards and a single projector screen that flickered to life as the principal’s assistant loaded the first slide. The slide displayed a list of names, each paired with a counterpart from the opposite class. Ayanokouji’s heart beat a fraction faster as he saw his own name beside a familiar face: Ryuuji Kanzaki.
“Looks like we’ll be working together,” Kanzaki said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. He extended a hand, his grip firm. “Let’s make this interesting.”
Ayanokouji took the hand, his own grip steady and unremarkable. “Agreed,” he replied, his eyes never leaving Kanzaki’s. “We’ll see what we can achieve.”
Across the room, Horikita found herself paired with Kei Karuizawa. The two exchanged a brief nod, each aware of the unspoken expectations that rested on their shoulders. Horikita’s analytical mind immediately began cataloguing Karuizawa’s strengths—her adaptability, her social intuition—and how they could be leveraged in the upcoming challenges. Karuizawa, for her part, sensed Horikita’s relentless drive and knew that the partnership could be both a boon and a burden.
The first challenge was announced: a complex puzzle that required both logical deduction and physical coordination. The teams were given a series of interlocking metal pieces, each bearing cryptic symbols that needed to be aligned in a specific configuration. The puzzle was designed to test communication, trust, and the ability to synthesize disparate pieces of information under pressure.
Ayanokouji and Kanzaki approached the table, their eyes scanning the components. Kanzaki immediately began arranging the pieces, his movements swift and confident. “We’ll need to split the work,” he said, his tone casual but purposeful. “I’ll handle the physical assembly. You focus on deciphering the symbols.”
Ayanokouji nodded, his mind already processing the patterns. He traced the symbols with his fingertips, noting subtle variations that hinted at a hidden sequence. “The symbols correspond to a numerical code,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “If we align them according to prime numbers, the mechanism should engage.”
Kanzaki glanced at him, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he masked it with a grin. “You always have a trick up your sleeve, don’t you?”
Ayanokouji’s expression remained neutral. “It’s just observation.”
As the minutes ticked by, the rest of the room filled with the sounds of clinking metal, whispered calculations, and occasional sighs of frustration. Horikita and Karuizawa worked in tandem, their approach markedly different. Horikita methodically laid out each piece, creating a grid on the table to track possible configurations. Karuizawa, meanwhile, engaged the other members of their team, encouraging them to voice their thoughts and ensuring that no idea was dismissed outright.
“Don’t overthink it,” Karuizawa whispered to a teammate who seemed stuck. “Sometimes the simplest arrangement is the right one.”
Horikita’s eyes narrowed as she observed the patterns emerging. “If we consider the symbols as a sequence of Fibonacci numbers, the alignment should follow a spiral pattern,” she suggested, her voice calm but authoritative. The team adjusted their pieces accordingly, and a soft click resonated through the room as the puzzle’s central mechanism engaged.
The clock’s red hand moved inexorably toward the deadline. Ayanokouji’s team, guided by his quiet insight, managed to align the symbols just as Kanzaki’s steady hands secured the final piece. The puzzle’s mechanism whirred to life, a small panel opening to reveal a set of coordinates and a cryptic phrase: “The truth lies beneath the surface.”
The principal’s assistant announced the results, praising the teams for their ingenuity and cooperation. Yet beneath the applause, a subtle tension lingered. The points awarded were not equal; Ayanokouji’s team earned a modest boost, while Horikita’s team secured a slightly higher gain. The difference was small, but in a system where every point mattered, it could tip the balance in future evaluations.
After the challenge, the students gathered in the courtyard, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the grass. Ayanokouji stood apart, his gaze fixed on the distant hill where the school’s old observatory loomed, a relic of a bygone era. Kanzaki approached, his usual swagger softened by a hint of contemplation.
“You did well today,” Kanzien said, his voice low. “I’m not used to… relying on someone else’s analysis.”
Ayanokouji turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting Kanzaki’s. “Your strength lies in execution,” he replied. “Together, we can achieve more than either of us alone.”
Kanzaki chuckled, a sound that seemed to echo the wind. “Maybe there’s more to this game than I thought.”
Meanwhile, Horikita and Karuizawa found a quiet bench beneath a cherry blossom tree, the petals drifting down like soft pink snow. Horikita stared at the ground, her mind racing through the implications of the day’s events. She had always believed that strength came from solitary effort, from pushing herself beyond the limits of others. Yet today, she had witnessed the power of collaboration, the way Karuizawa’s empathy had unlocked ideas she might have dismissed.
“Your approach helped the team,” Horikita admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I underestimated the value of listening.”
Karuizawa smiled, a gentle curve that seemed to brighten the space around them. “Sometimes the best strategy is to let others shine,” she said. “It doesn’t make us weaker; it makes us smarter.”
The conversation lingered, the two girls sharing thoughts about the upcoming challenges and the hidden motives that might be at play. They both sensed that the administration’s test was more than a simple assessment; it was a probe into the very fabric of the school’s hierarchy, a way to see whether the rigid class divisions could be softened through forced cooperation.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the campus lights flickered on, bathing the grounds in a soft, artificial glow. The students dispersed, each returning to their dormitories with thoughts swirling like the wind that rustled the leaves. In the quiet of his room, Ayanokouji sat at his desk, the coordinates from the puzzle spread before him. He traced the numbers with his fingertip, the phrase “The truth lies beneath the surface” echoing in his mind.
He recalled a memory from his early days at the school—a rumor about a hidden archive beneath the old observatory, a place where the school’s founders had stored records of the original point system. If such a place existed, it could hold the key to understanding the true nature of the evaluations, perhaps even a way to manipulate the system from within.
A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. It was Kei Karuizawa, her expression earnest. “Kiyotaka, can we talk?” she asked, stepping inside.
He gestured to the empty chair opposite him. “Of course.”
Karuizawa sat down, her eyes scanning the coordinates. “I heard about the puzzle’s phrase,” she said. “Do you think it’s a clue?”
Ayanokouji’s gaze lingered on the numbers. “It could be,” he replied. “If the school’s architecture includes hidden spaces, the phrase might be pointing us toward one.”
Karuizawa leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What if the administration is using these challenges to guide us to something… something they want us to find?”
Ayanokouji considered this. “Or perhaps they want us to think we’re uncovering something, while they control the narrative all along.”
Karuizawa’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re always two steps ahead. How do we stay ahead of them?”
He smiled faintly, a rare expression that hinted at a deeper confidence. “We observe, we adapt, and we use the information they give us to our advantage. If there is a hidden archive, we’ll find it before they can use it against us.”
The night deepened, and the two of them began to map out a plan. They would investigate the old observatory, using the coordinates as a starting point. They would need allies—people who could move unnoticed, who could gather information without raising suspicion. Ayanokouji thought of Suzune Horikita, whose analytical mind could decode any security system, and Ryuuji Kanzaki, whose charisma could rally support from the lower‑ranked students.
The next morning, the campus buzzed with anticipation for the second challenge. The principal’s voice boomed over the intercom, announcing a field exercise that would take place in the school’s surrounding forest. Teams would be required to locate a series of hidden markers, each containing a fragment of a larger puzzle. The markers were said to be placed in locations that required both physical endurance and strategic planning.
Ayanokouji, Kanzaki, Horikita, and Karuizawa gathered at the starting line, their teams assembled. The air was crisp, the scent of pine mingling with the faint smell of damp earth. The principal’s assistant handed each team a sealed envelope containing a map and a cryptic clue. Ayanokouji opened his envelope, revealing a faded sketch of the old observatory and a single line of text: “Beneath the watchful eye, the secret waits.”
He glanced at Kanzaki, who raised an eyebrow. “Looks like we’re on the same trail,” Kanzaki said, his tone half‑joking, half‑serious.
Horikita examined her envelope, noting a different set of symbols. “Our clue points to the western ridge,” she said, her voice steady. “We’ll need to coordinate with the other teams to avoid overlap.”
Karuizawa smiled, her eyes bright. “Let’s make sure we all get what we need.”
The teams set off, the forest canopy swallowing them in a sea of green. Ayanokouji led his group with measured steps, his senses attuned to every rustle and shift in the terrain. He kept a close watch on Kanzaki, noting the way the latter’s confidence sometimes bordered on recklessness. Yet Kanzaki’s ability to motivate his teammates proved invaluable, especially when they encountered a steep incline that threatened to slow their progress.
As they trekked deeper, the forest grew denser, the path narrowing to a barely discernible trail. Ayanokouji’s eyes caught a glint of metal partially buried beneath a fallen log. He knelt, brushing away leaves and dirt to reveal a small, weathered plaque. The inscription matched the symbols from the puzzle earlier, confirming that they were indeed on the right track.
He called out to his team. “We’ve found a marker. It’s a piece of the larger puzzle. Let’s document it and move on.”
Kanzaki, ever the opportunist, took a quick photo with his phone, then turned his attention to the surrounding area. “There’s a clearing ahead,” he said, pointing. “We should head there; it might be where the next marker is hidden.”
Meanwhile, Horikita’s team navigated the western ridge, their progress methodical and precise. Horikita’s analytical mind mapped the terrain in her head, calculating the most efficient routes. She noticed a pattern in the placement of the markers—each seemed to align with a line of sight from the observatory’s old telescope, a relic that still stood on the hilltop, its lens aimed eternally at the sky.
She turned to her teammate, a quiet student named Haruki, and whispered, “If we can locate the telescope, we might predict where the next marker lies.”
Haruki nodded, his eyes reflecting the determination that had grown within him since the first evaluation. He led the group toward a narrow path that wound upward, the forest thinning as they approached the hill.
Back at the observatory, Ayanokouji and Kanzaki arrived at a clearing that opened onto a stone platform. In the center stood the old telescope, its brass body tarnished by time, its glass lens cracked but still functional. The platform was surrounded by a circle of stone markers, each etched with the same symbols they had encountered earlier.
Ayanokouji stepped forward, his fingers tracing the symbols. “These markers correspond to the coordinates we received,” he said. “If we align them correctly, they might reveal a hidden compartment.”
Kanzaki leaned in, his curiosity piqued. “You think there’s something underneath?”
Ayanokouji nodded. “The phrase ‘The truth lies beneath the surface’ suggests a concealed space. Perhaps a vault or an archive.”
Together, they began to adjust the stone markers, rotating them according to the prime number sequence Ayanokouji had deduced earlier. As the last stone clicked into place, a low rumble resonated through the platform. The ground beneath the telescope shuddered, and a section of the stone floor slid open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.
Ayanokouji’s heart quickened, though his expression remained composed. He glanced at Kanzaki, who gave a rare, genuine