Chapter 73 Summary
The fluorescent lights of the classroom flickered in a rhythm that seemed to echo the pulse of every student’s heart. It was the day the Survival Exam would finally begin, and the air was thick with a mixture of anticipation, dread, and the faint scent of stale coffee from the hallway vending machines. Kiyotaka Ayanokouji sat at his desk, his posture relaxed, his eyes half‑closed as if he were merely observing a scene from a distance. The rest of Class D, however, could not afford such calm. Their minds raced through strategies, alliances, and the ever‑present fear of being left behind.
Suzune Horikita, perched at the front of the room, scanned the faces of her classmates with a precision that bordered on clinical. She had spent weeks preparing for this moment, dissecting every possible scenario, and now the moment had arrived. “Listen up,” she said, her voice cutting through the low murmur like a blade. “The Survival Exam is not just a test of physical endurance. It’s a test of our ability to read each other, to anticipate moves before they happen. We need to stay together, but we also need to be ready to act alone if the situation demands it.”
Kikyo Kushida, who had always been the emotional anchor of the group, smiled faintly. “We’ve come this far because we trusted each other,” she whispered, her eyes glistening with a mixture of hope and resolve. “Let’s not forget why we’re here. Not just for grades, but for the chance to prove that we belong.”
Ryuuji Kanzaki, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, let out a low chuckle. “You all sound like you’ve read a fan translation of the rules and are trying to sound clever,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes sharp. “The real test is how quickly we can adapt when the rules change on the fly. Remember, the only thing that’s guaranteed is that nothing will be guaranteed.”
The bell rang, and the doors to the gymnasium swung open, revealing a massive arena that resembled a hybrid between a traditional obstacle course and a high‑tech labyrinth. The walls were lined with screens displaying cryptic symbols, and in the center stood a towering platform that seemed to pulse with an unseen energy. A voice, amplified through hidden speakers, announced the start of the exam.
“Welcome, Class D,” the voice boomed. “Your objective is simple: reach the central platform and retrieve the token within the allotted time. However, you will encounter obstacles designed to test your intellect, cooperation, and willpower. Failure to comply will result in immediate elimination. Good luck.”
A hush fell over the room as the students filed out, their footsteps echoing on the polished floor. Kiyotaka moved with a fluid grace that seemed almost effortless, his mind already cataloguing the layout of the arena. He noted the placement of the screens, the angles of the walls, and the subtle hum of the machinery hidden beneath the floorboards. While others rushed forward, he lingered for a moment, allowing his senses to absorb every detail.
Suzune, ever the tactician, gathered a small group—Kikyo, Ryuuji, and a few other key members of Class D—and outlined a plan. “We’ll split into three units,” she said, pointing to the map projected on the wall. “Unit A will take the left corridor, where the first set of puzzles appears. Unit B, which includes me and Kikyo, will head straight for the central platform, using the shortcuts we identified in the previous simulations. Unit C, led by Ryuuji, will secure the rear exit and keep an eye on any unexpected variables.”
Kikyo nodded, her expression calm. “I’ll keep an eye on the emotional state of the group. If anyone starts to panic, I’ll intervene. We can’t afford to lose focus.”
Ryuuji smirked. “And I’ll make sure no one tries to cheat the system. You know how some of the other classes love to bend the rules.”
The three units dispersed, each moving with purpose. The left corridor was a maze of rotating panels and pressure plates that required precise timing. Unit A, led by a quiet but observant student named Haruka, moved methodically, stepping on each plate only after confirming its safety. The panels shifted, revealing hidden passages and dead ends. Haruka’s keen eye caught a pattern in the rotations, and with a swift motion, she guided her teammates through the labyrinthine path.
Meanwhile, Suzune and Kikyo sprinted toward the central platform. The straight path was lined with a series of screens that displayed riddles in a language that seemed to shift between Japanese and an unknown cipher. Suzune’s brow furrowed as she read the first riddle: “What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening?” The answer was obvious, but the screen demanded a specific input method—an arrangement of symbols that required a delicate touch.
Kikyo placed her hand on the console, her fingers moving with a gentle confidence. “It’s the classic riddle of the human life cycle,” she said softly. “We need to arrange the symbols to represent a baby, an adult, and an elderly person.” She traced the symbols, and the screen flickered, acknowledging the correct answer. The next riddle appeared, more complex, involving a paradox that seemed designed to trap even the most logical minds.
Kiyotaka, who had taken a different route, found himself at a junction where the floor beneath him began to tilt, turning the space into a precarious balance beam. He paused, his mind calculating the exact angle needed to maintain equilibrium. With a subtle shift of weight, he steadied himself and continued forward, his movements almost invisible to the casual observer.
In the rear of the arena, Ryuuji’s unit faced a different challenge. The exit was guarded by a series of automated drones that scanned for any unauthorized movement. Ryuuji, ever the opportunist, pulled a small device from his pocket—a prototype jammer he had tinkered with during his free periods. He activated it, and the drones sputtered, their sensors flickering before shutting down completely.
“Nice work,” Ryuuji muttered, a grin spreading across his face. “Now let’s make sure no one else can use that route to cheat.”
Back at the central platform, the tension was palpable. Suzune’s analytical mind raced through possibilities, while Kikyo’s calm presence kept the group grounded. Suddenly, the platform’s surface began to shift, revealing a hidden compartment that housed the coveted token—a small, glowing orb that pulsed with a soft blue light.
Just as Suzune reached out to claim it, a loud alarm blared, and the arena’s lights dimmed, replaced by a harsh red glow. The voice from the speakers returned, this time with a tone that hinted at something more sinister.
“Congratulations, Class D,” it announced. “You have successfully navigated the initial phase. However, the true test begins now. The token you hold is not merely a symbol of victory; it is a key. A key that will unlock the next stage of the Survival Exam—a stage that will force you to confront your deepest fears and the hidden motives of those around you.”
A collective gasp rose from the students. The token’s glow intensified, casting eerie shadows across the faces of those gathered. Kiyotaka, who had arrived at the platform moments later, observed the scene with a detached curiosity. He sensed a shift in the atmosphere, a subtle change in the dynamics of power within the room.
“Everyone, stay focused,” Suzune commanded, her voice steady despite the rising panic. “We need to keep the token safe and figure out what this next stage entails.”
Kikyo placed a hand on Suzune’s shoulder, offering silent reassurance. “We’ve faced challenges before. We can handle this too.”
Ryuuji, still near the rear exit, heard the alarm and sprinted back toward the platform, his mind already racing through possible strategies. He arrived just as the token began to emit a low hum, resonating with an almost hypnotic frequency.
“Looks like we’ve got a new puzzle,” Ryuuji said, his eyes scanning the arena for any hidden mechanisms. “Anyone have an idea what’s going on?”
Kiyotaka stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “The token is a key,” he said simply. “But a key to what? We need to find the lock.”
At that moment, a hidden panel on the floor beneath the token slid open, revealing a staircase that descended into darkness. The air that rose from the opening was cold, carrying with it a faint scent of ozone and something metallic—perhaps the smell of blood, or the metallic tang of fear.
Suzune’s eyes narrowed. “We go down,” she declared. “If this is part of the exam, we can’t afford to hesitate.”
Kikyo hesitated for a split second, then nodded. “We stick together. No one goes alone.”
The group descended, the stairs creaking under their weight. The walls were lined with screens that now displayed fragmented images—scenes from past exams, moments of betrayal, and flashes of personal memories. Each image seemed to be tailored to the individual who looked at it, as if the arena itself knew their deepest insecurities.
Kiyotaka’s screen showed a scene from his childhood, a memory he had long tried to suppress: a quiet room, a single window, and a figure he could not quite place. The image flickered, then resolved into a silhouette that resembled a teacher, his face obscured. The words “Remember the lesson” appeared beneath it.
Suzune’s screen displayed a moment from her early days at the school, when she had been dismissed by a senior student for being “too ambitious.” The image was accompanied by the phrase “Never trust the surface.”
Ryuuji’s screen showed a flash of a past confrontation with a rival, a moment where his pride had been bruised. The caption read, “Pride can be a weapon, but also a shield.”
Kikyo’s screen displayed a memory of her mother’s gentle smile, a reminder of the love that had always guided her. The words “Heart over mind” glowed softly.
The group stood in the dimly lit chamber, each processing the personal messages. The token’s hum grew louder, resonating with the rhythm of their hearts. It seemed to pulse in sync with the collective anxiety and determination that filled the space.
“Looks like the exam is testing us on a deeper level,” Ryuuji muttered, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “It’s not just about physical obstacles anymore. It’s about confronting who we are.”
Kiyotaka, who had been silent, finally spoke. “The token is a catalyst. It forces us to face the parts of ourselves we hide. The next stage will likely require us to use those revelations to solve a problem that cannot be solved by logic alone.”
Suzune’s eyes flickered with a mixture of resolve and curiosity. “Then we need to combine our strengths. My analytical mind, Kikyo’s empathy, Ryuuji’s adaptability, and Kiyotaka’s… whatever it is you bring to the table.”
Kikyo smiled gently. “We’ve already proven we can work together. Let’s trust that trust.”
The chamber’s floor began to shift, revealing a massive, circular platform at its center. In the middle of the platform stood a pedestal, upon which rested a second token—identical to the first, but pulsing with a deeper, more intense light. Surrounding the pedestal were four slots, each shaped to fit a specific item: a book, a heart-shaped locket, a metallic key, and a small, sealed vial.
“Four slots, four keys,” Kiyotaka observed, his voice low. “Each of us must contribute something that represents our core.”
Suzune stepped forward, pulling a thin, leather‑bound notebook from her bag. It was the one she used to record observations, strategies, and the countless calculations that had guided her through the school’s labyrinthine system. She placed it into the slot marked for the book.
Kikyo reached into her pocket and produced a tiny silver locket, the one her mother had given her before she left home. The locket contained a photograph of her mother’s smiling face, a reminder of the love that anchored her. She placed it into the heart-shaped slot.
Ryuuji, with a grin, produced a small, rusted key he had found in the storage room of the school’s maintenance area. It was a key that opened no known lock, but its presence symbolized his willingness to unlock hidden doors. He placed it into the metallic slot.
Kiyotaka, after a moment’s hesitation, reached into the inner lining of his jacket and withdrew a small, sealed vial. Inside, a faintly glowing liquid swirled—an experimental serum he had concocted during a chemistry class, designed to enhance focus for a brief period. He placed the vial into the final slot.
As each item settled into its place, the pedestal emitted a resonant tone, and the two tokens merged, forming a single, radiant sphere that hovered above the platform. The sphere’s light expanded, illuminating the chamber with a brilliance that seemed to pierce through the darkness of their doubts.
A voice, now softer and more intimate, filled the space. “You have demonstrated the ability to recognize your strengths, to trust one another, and to confront the shadows within. The final phase of the Survival Exam will test the synthesis of these qualities. You will be presented with a scenario that requires you to make a choice that will affect not only your own standing but the fate of the entire school.”
The sphere began to pulse, and a holographic projection materialized above it. The image showed a sprawling view of the school’s campus, overlaid with a network of connections—students, teachers, administrators—all linked by glowing threads. At the center of the network, a dark node pulsed ominously, representing a hidden power structure that had been manipulating events from behind the scenes.
“Your decision,” the voice continued, “will determine whether this node is dismantled or allowed to continue its influence. The choice is yours, but remember: every action has consequences.”
The group stared at the projection, each feeling the weight of the moment. Suzune’s analytical mind raced through possible outcomes, Kikyo’s heart ached for the well‑being of everyone, Ryuuji’s competitive spirit flared, and Kiyotaka’s detached observation turned inward, recognizing the rare opportunity to shape the future.
“Do we have any information on this node?” Ryuuji asked, his tone serious for once.
Kiyotaka stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the hologram. “From what I can infer, the node represents a coalition of influential students and faculty who have been steering the school’s policies to favor their own agendas. It’s likely that the Survival Exam itself is a tool they use to weed out those who might challenge them.”
Suzune nodded, her expression hardening. “If that’s true, dismantling it would level the playing field. But it would also cause chaos. The school’s structure relies on that hierarchy, however corrupt.”
Kikyo placed a hand on Suzune’s shoulder, her voice gentle. “We have to consider the people who will be affected—students who rely on the system for scholarships, those who have families depending on their success. A sudden collapse could hurt them.”
Ryuuji crossed his arms, a smirk returning. “Or maybe we can use the chaos to our advantage. If we bring down the node, we can rebuild something better. It’s a risk, but the payoff could be huge.”
Kiyotaka’s gaze shifted between his classmates, his mind processing the variables. He realized that the exam had become a microcosm of the larger battle for control within the school. The decision they made now would echo far beyond the walls of the arena.
“Let’s think about this logically,” he said, his voice calm. “If we dismantle the node, we remove the hidden influence, but we also destabilize the current order. If we preserve it, we maintain stability but allow the manipulation to continue. Is there a middle ground?”
Suzune’s eyes lit up. “A middle ground—perhaps we can expose the node’s existence without destroying it outright. By making the hidden power visible, we force the school’s administration to address it, creating accountability without immediate collapse.”
Kikyo smiled, seeing the potential in Suzune’s suggestion. “Transparency could be the key. If we reveal the network, the students can make informed choices, and the corrupt elements will lose their advantage.”
Ryuuji chuckled. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s expose the node and watch the fallout. It’ll be interesting to see who steps up and who crumbles.”
Kiyotaka considered the proposal, his mind weighing the subtle nuances. “If we choose to expose, we need a method that ensures the information reaches everyone simultaneously, preventing the node’s members from covering their tracks. The sphere could serve as a broadcast device.”
He reached out, touching the radiant sphere. Instantly, the light intensified, and the holographic projection expanded, filling the entire chamber and then spilling out through the hidden vents that led back to the school’s main corridors. The network of glowing threads pulsed brighter, each connection illuminated for all to see.
A sudden surge of energy rippled through the arena, and the doors at the far end burst open, revealing a flood of students and faculty who had been watching the exam from a control room. Their faces reflected shock, curiosity, and a dawning realization as the hidden network was laid bare before them.
The voice that had