The fourth day's afternoon discussion was scheduled for 2:00 PM, but Ayanokoji arrived early. He wanted time to think before the group convened—to process the morning's revelations and prepare for whatever would come next.
The observation deck was empty when he arrived. The sea stretched calm and blue beneath a cloudless sky, a stark contrast to the storm gathering within the ship's social dynamics.
He leaned against the railing, reviewing everything he knew.
The Rabbit Group contains one beneficiary. The rules create four possible outcomes. The group's current trajectory points toward failure—either through deliberate sabotage or simple inability to cooperate.
Sakamoto has positioned himself as an observer, intervening only to clarify rules and provoke thought. He hasn't committed to any strategy, which means he's still waiting for something.
Ibuki is Ryuuen's eyes and ears, reporting everything back to Class B. Her presence complicates any attempt at genuine cooperation.
Manabe is hostile but pragmatic. She'll act in Class C's interest, whatever that turns out to be.
Ichinose wants cooperation but lacks the leverage to enforce it. Her proposal to all answer "I don't know" was reasonable but unenforceable.
And Class D—my own class—remains divided. Karuizawa is emotionally fragile. Sotomura is analytical but indecisive. Yukimura wants to contribute but lacks confidence.
The pieces formed a picture of inevitable failure. Unless something changed.
What would change it?
The answer came to him as he watched a distant cargo ship cross the horizon.
Certainty.
If the group could be certain of the beneficiary's identity, everything would shift. The guessing game would end. Cooperation would become possible—or targeted action would become viable.
But certainty required information. And the only person who might possess that information was the beneficiary themselves.
Unless someone else has already figured it out.
The thought lingered as he headed to the discussion room.
The afternoon meeting began with a palpable tension.
Ichinose opened with a plea for continued cooperation, but her words lacked their usual warmth. Even she seemed to recognize that the group's divisions were too deep to bridge with optimism alone.
"We have one more full day," she said. "One more day to find a solution. I know we can do this if we work together."
"Work together on what?" Manabe asked. "We've been talking for three days and accomplished nothing. Tomorrow night, we submit our answers. Unless something changes, we're all going to fail."
"Not necessarily—"
"Then what do you propose? More discussions? More trust exercises?" Manabe's voice rose. "We need a plan, not platitudes."
"I agree."
The words came from an unexpected source.
Sakamoto had spoken, and the room fell silent.
"I agree that we need a plan. But before a plan can be made, we need to address the fundamental question: who among us is the beneficiary?"
No one answered.
"I have observed," Sakamoto continued, "that the beneficiary has certain behavioral markers. They are careful not to reveal too much. They are equally careful not to reveal too little. They participate enough to avoid suspicion but not enough to draw attention."
His gaze swept the room.
"Does anyone fit this description?"
The silence grew heavy.
"That's everyone," Karuizawa said finally. "Everyone's been careful. That's the whole point."
"Not everyone." Sakamoto's eyes settled on a single figure. "One person here has been careful in a different way. They've been consistently present but unremarkable. They've offered opinions that seem helpful but commit to nothing. They've asked questions that reveal their curiosity about the exam's mechanics without revealing their own intentions."
The room followed his gaze.
Ibuki Mio sat perfectly still.
"What are you saying?" she asked, her voice flat.
"I'm saying nothing. I'm observing. But if I were to guess—and I'm not guessing—I would say that the beneficiary of this group is someone who has been here from the beginning, someone who has access to information that others do not, someone who has every reason to want the group to fail."
Ibuki's eyes narrowed. "You're accusing me?"
"I'm not accusing anyone. I'm stating facts about behavioral patterns. Whether those patterns apply to you is something only you can answer."
The room erupted.
"This is—"
"How dare—"
"You can't just—"
Sakamoto raised a hand, and the noise subsided.
"I am not the arbiter of truth here. The rules will determine the outcome, not my words. But I will say this: the beneficiary, whoever they are, faces a choice. They can continue to hide and hope the group fails. Or they can step forward and prove their good intentions."
"And why would they do that?" Manabe demanded. "Why would anyone give up five hundred thousand points?"
"Because five hundred thousand points is not the only reward available. There is also trust. Cooperation. The possibility of future alliances. The knowledge that one has acted with integrity."
He paused.
"But that is a choice only the beneficiary can make."
The meeting dissolved into chaos after that. Accusations flew. Defenses were raised. Ichinose tried to restore order, but her voice was drowned out by the noise.
Through it all, Ayanokoji watched.
Ibuki hadn't denied the accusation.
Not once.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur.
Ayanokoji attended the remaining discussion time, but nothing was resolved. The group had fractured beyond repair. Classes retreated to their own corners, each plotting their own strategies.
When the meeting finally ended, Ayanokoji didn't return to his cabin. Instead, he walked the ship's corridors, letting his thoughts settle.
Was it Ibuki?
It made sense. She was Ryuuen's spy, planted in Class D specifically to gather information. If Ryuuen had somehow arranged for her to be the beneficiary, it would explain her constant presence, her careful silence, her lack of commitment to any group strategy.
But something didn't fit.
If Ibuki were the beneficiary, she would have no reason to sabotage the group. The rules allowed her to win simply by doing nothing—if the group failed to submit unanimous correct answers, she received the five hundred thousand points automatically.
So why was she here? Why participate at all?
Unless Ryuuen had ordered her to do something more.
What if the goal isn't just the points?
The thought was still forming when he heard footsteps behind him.
He turned.
Ibuki Mio stood a few paces away, her expression unreadable.
"We need to talk," she said.
"About what?"
"About what Sakamoto-kun said. About being the beneficiary." She paused. "I'm not."
"I didn't say you were."
"You didn't have to. Everyone else thinks it."
"They might be wrong."
"They might be." She stepped closer, her voice dropping. "But I need to know who else it could be. If it's not me, it's someone else in that room. And I want to know who."
"Why?"
"Because I don't like being used."
Ayanokoji studied her. Her words carried a weight he hadn't expected—frustration, maybe even anger. Not the anger of someone accused, but the anger of someone who had been kept in the dark.
She doesn't know, he realized. Ryuuen didn't tell her who the beneficiary is.
"The rules say the beneficiary is notified at 8:00 AM on the first day," he said. "That notification would have gone to their phone, not through any intermediary. If you're not the beneficiary, you would know for certain."
"I know I'm not. But no one believes me."
"I believe you."
She looked at him sharply. "Why?"
"Because if you were the beneficiary, you wouldn't be here asking these questions. You would be waiting, letting the group implode. You wouldn't risk exposing yourself by confronting me."
Ibuki was silent for a long moment.
"Then who?"
"I don't know. But I have some ideas."
"Tell me."
Ayanokoji considered. Sharing information with Ibuki carried risk—she was still Ryuuen's agent, whatever her current frustrations. But it also carried opportunity. If he could turn her from Ryuuen's tool into a genuine ally, the group's dynamics would shift dramatically.
"There's someone who fits the profile better than you," he said.
"Who?"
"Someone who has been consistently present, consistently helpful, consistently careful. Someone who has guided the group's discussions without ever committing to a strategy. Someone who has the trust of everyone in the room."
He paused.
"Ichinose Honami."
Ibuki's eyes widened. "Ichinose? But she's—she's the one trying to make cooperation work."
"Yes. And what better cover for the beneficiary than to appear to be the group's greatest advocate?"
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