Arashi and Ayane entered the classroom together.
Almost every seat was already filled. The air felt thick with tension — whispers, nervous glances, last-minute formula revisions scribbled on rough sheets. The sound of pages flipping rapidly echoed around the room.
Arashi exhaled deeply.
"Looks like we barely made it," he muttered.
It sounded casual.
But his chest still felt tight.
He walked toward his seat. Satoru sat directly in front of him, adjusting his pen and ruler with mechanical precision. Behind Arashi sat Mizuki, calm as always, though her eyes were observant.
Arashi dropped into his chair and leaned back slightly, trying to look relaxed.
Mizuki leaned forward.
"How's your preparation?" she asked quietly.
Arashi forced a small smile.
"It's good. Very good."
The smile was smooth.
Too smooth.
Mizuki stared at him for a second longer than necessary.
"You're lying," she said plainly.
He looked away, pretending to organize his pens.
"I know you didn't prepare properly. But that's your fault. You should've studied."
There was no anger in her tone — just honesty.
Arashi shrugged lightly.
"I memorized two important questions. And my concepts are clear."
Even he knew it sounded weak.
Mizuki's voice sharpened slightly.
"If that's true, then you won't ask anyone anything during the exam."
Arashi let out a quiet breath.
"Come on… a little cheating is normal. Everyone does it."
She didn't hesitate.
"But you won't."
Her words weren't loud.
But they carried weight.
Arashi smirked faintly.
"I'll try."
He didn't promise.
Before the conversation could continue, the classroom door opened.
The teacher walked in.
Instant silence.
She placed the stack of exam papers on the desk and looked around the room.
"Today is your first exam. Best of luck," she said firmly. "If anyone is caught cheating, your paper will be canceled immediately."
The word canceled seemed to echo in Arashi's mind.
"If I see anything suspicious, you will go directly to the principal's office."
A few students shifted nervously.
"Submit your phones and any materials that could be used for cheating."
One by one, students stood and placed their phones on the teacher's desk.
Arashi hesitated for half a second before placing his phone there too.
Not because he planned to cheat with it.
But because the finality of it felt real.
The teacher began distributing the exam sheets face down.
When she reached Arashi, she placed one on his desk without expression.
"Do not turn the paper until I say so."
The clock ticked loudly.
Arashi stared at the sheet in front of him.
His name was written at the top.
Below it — blank space waiting to be filled.
"Begin."
The sound of papers flipping filled the room.
Arashi slowly turned his sheet over.
His eyes scanned the first question.
Then the second.
Then the third.
For a brief moment, his mind went completely blank.
Not panic.
Not fear.
Just emptiness.
He recognized one question.
Partially.
The rest felt distant — like something he had once seen but never truly understood.
His fingers tightened around his pen.
This was the consequence of a wasted week.
No more excuses.
No more walking around corridors.
No more pretending.
Just him.
And the paper.
The ticking clock grew louder.
And for the first time that week —
Arashi felt trapped by his own choices.
Arashi stared down at the exam sheet.
The questions looked heavier than they actually were.
Or maybe his mind just made them feel heavier.
He slowly exhaled.
I should have studied a little more that time, he thought.
His fingers tightened around his pen.
Back then, he had told himself — Whatever happens, happens.
Now, he was facing what that sentence actually meant.
And he didn't like it.
I can't keep looking at this and doing nothing, he thought. I can't just sit here and watch myself fail.
He straightened slightly in his seat.
Fine. Start with MCQs.
At least MCQs gave him a chance.
Even if it was just probability.
He leaned closer to the paper and carefully read each question, trying to break them down logically instead of rushing.
He eliminated obviously wrong options first.
Then he compared the remaining choices with what he vaguely remembered from class.
It wasn't perfect knowledge.
It was survival thinking.
Slowly, one by one, he circled answers.
His pen moved steadily across the page.
Not confidently.
But consistently.
Time passed.
The clock above the board kept ticking.
Tick.
Tick.
He reached the last two MCQs.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
He didn't recognize the concepts properly. The options all looked similar — like they were designed to confuse students who only studied partially.
Arashi leaned back slightly and rubbed his forehead.
"Alright… let's just guess," he whispered to himself.
He chose the options based on instinct rather than knowledge.
Sometimes instinct was better than panic.
He circled his final answers.
Then he moved on to the written questions.
He stared at the first long-answer question.
Then he picked up his pen again.
Write everything you know, he told himself.
Even if it's partially correct.
He began writing.
Definitions first.
Then explanations.
Then examples — even if they were simple.
He wasn't trying to sound intelligent.
He was trying to show effort.
Because effort still carried marks in exams.
If the answer was correct — good.
If it was partially correct — still good.
If it was wrong — at least he had tried.
He moved to questions he didn't fully understand.
For those, he used another strategy.
He scanned the MCQs again.
Sometimes, the answer to a theory question could be hidden inside an MCQ concept.
Not direct knowledge.
But pattern recognition.
He tried to piece answers together from what he remembered.
If he found something remotely relevant, he wrote it down.
If not —
He still wrote something.
Anything that stayed close to the topic.
Not random nonsense.
But logical guessing.
The sound of pens scratching against paper filled the hall.
Students worked silently under strict supervision.
The teacher walked slowly between rows, occasionally pausing behind students' desks.
Arashi kept his movements steady.
No sudden checking.
No nervous glancing.
Just focused writing.
Time kept moving forward.
Eventually, he reached the final questions he absolutely didn't know.
He didn't panic.
He had already decided his strategy.
Write something related. Anything related to the topic.
He wrote key terms.
Small explanations.
Basic ideas he remembered from lectures.
Not perfect answers.
But not empty pages either.
Slowly, question by question, he worked through the entire paper.
When he finished, he put his pen down.
His hand felt slightly tired.
Not physically.
Mentally.
He stared at the paper in front of him.
Not satisfied.
But not completely defeated either.
He had done what he could with what he had.
That was all he could control.
He glanced briefly at the clock.
Still time left.
But he didn't overthink.
He simply sat quietly and waited for the exam to end.
Because sometimes survival wasn't about being the best.
It was about not giving up halfway.
And he gave every exam like this.