The hours between the morning meeting and the 9:00 PM rendezvous passed with agonizing slowness.
Ayanokoji spent the afternoon in his cabin, reviewing everything that had happened. The anonymous email. The accusations. Sakamoto's calm refusal to confirm or deny his role as the beneficiary.
Something didn't add up.
If Sakamoto were the beneficiary, why would he propose the sealed-envelope plan? It guaranteed that everyone would submit "I don't know"—which meant the beneficiary would win, but no class would lose points. That was the neutral outcome, the one that preserved the status quo.
But if Sakamoto weren't the beneficiary, then who was? And why had he allowed Ayanokoji's accusation to stand unchallenged?
Unless...
Unless he wants the beneficiary to win.
The thought was unsettling. What purpose would that serve? What could Sakamoto gain from allowing the beneficiary to collect five hundred thousand points?
Unless he's not playing for points at all.
Ayanokoji thought back to their conversation in the corridor—the one about changing the paradigm. Sakamoto wasn't interested in winning exams. He was interested in understanding the system, in testing its limits, in seeing how people responded to pressure.
This exam is just another experiment to him. Another data point.
The realization was chilling. Sakamoto was treating the entire exam as a laboratory—observing how the group's dynamics evolved, how individuals reacted under stress, how the rules shaped behavior.
And I'm one of his subjects.
The thought should have angered him. Instead, it clarified something. Sakamoto wasn't an enemy to be defeated. He was a force of nature to be understood—and perhaps, one day, to be matched.
At 8:30 PM, Ayanokoji left his cabin and made his way to the discussion room.
The ship's corridors were quieter than usual, most students having retreated to their cabins to wait for the exam's conclusion. The ambient hum of the engines was the only sound.
He arrived to find the room already occupied.
Sakamoto was there, standing by the window as always. He held no cup of tea this time—just his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on the dark sea beyond the glass.
"You're early," Ayanokoji said.
"Punctuality is a form of respect."
"For whom?"
"For the process. For the rules. For the people who will be affected by the outcome."
Ayanokoji moved to stand beside him. "You didn't answer my question this morning. Not directly."
"I answered many questions. You simply didn't like the answers."
"Did you send the anonymous email?"
Sakamoto turned to face him. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—a glimmer of something that might have been approval.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because it tells me whether you're playing the game or trying to break it."
Sakamoto considered this for a long moment.
"I didn't send the email," he said finally. "But I know who did."
"Who?"
"That's not my secret to tell. But I will say this: the email was sent by someone who genuinely wants what's best for the group. Someone who suspected the beneficiary's identity but lacked the courage to speak openly. Someone who hoped that an anonymous warning would be enough to change the outcome."
"Someone like Ichinose?"
Sakamoto's smile returned, faint and enigmatic. "Perhaps."
Before Ayanokoji could press further, the door opened and the other group members began to arrive.
Ichinose came first, followed by Manabe and her Class C companions. Ibuki arrived alone, her expression guarded. The Class D students—Karuizawa, Sotomura, Yukimura—entered together, their faces betraying various degrees of anxiety.
Machida and Takemoto arrived last, taking their places beside Sakamoto with military precision.
When all twelve were present, Ichinose spoke.
"We have our envelopes. We have our answers. Is everyone ready?"
A murmur of assent.
"Then let's begin."
One by one, each student placed their sealed envelope on the table. Chabashira-sensei, who had been waiting in the corridor, entered to collect them. Her expression was neutral, betraying no curiosity about the sealed answers.
"I'll hold these until the answer window closes," she said. "You may wait here or return to your cabins. The results will be announced via email at 11:00 PM."
She left, carrying the envelopes.
The group sat in silence.
At 9:30 PM, the answer window opened. Those who had chosen to submit answers via email would do so now. The room remained tense, every eye on every other person, waiting for someone to betray themselves.
No one moved.
At 10:00 PM, the window closed.
The exam was over.
At 11:00 PM, the results arrived.
Ayanokoji's phone buzzed. He opened the email.
[Rabbit Group Final Results]
Beneficiary: [Unknown to all except the school]
Outcome: Result Two
Summary: All group members submitted "I don't know" or failed to answer within the designated window. No correct answers were received from non-beneficiary members. Therefore, the beneficiary receives 500,000 personal points.
Note: As the beneficiary's identity remains concealed, no class points are awarded or deducted.
The room was silent as each person read the same message.
The beneficiary had won. Five hundred thousand points, awarded to someone in the room.
But no one had lost anything.
The strategy had worked.
Ichinose let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "We did it. We didn't lose."
"We didn't win either," Manabe pointed out. "The beneficiary still got the points."
"But no one else lost. That's something."
"It's everything," Hamaguchi said quietly. "We chose cooperation over competition. That's a victory of its own kind."
Ayanokoji looked around the room. The tension was fading, replaced by something that might have been relief—or exhaustion. The exam was over. Whatever happened next would be a new chapter.
His gaze settled on Sakamoto.
Sakamoto was watching him.
And for the first time, Ayanokoji saw something in those eyes that he recognized.
Respect.
Later that night, long after the others had departed, Ayanokoji found himself alone on the observation deck.
The ship was quiet. The stars were bright. The sea stretched endlessly in all directions.
He heard footsteps behind him.
"I thought you might be here."
It was Ichinose. She looked tired but composed, her pink hair catching the starlight.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.
"No. Too many thoughts." She moved to stand beside him. "I wanted to thank you. For what you said this morning. For pushing the group toward cooperation."
"I didn't do anything special."
"You did. You identified the problem and proposed a solution. That's more than anyone else managed."
"I have a good teacher."
Ichinose looked at him curiously. "Sakamoto-kun?"
"Among others."
They stood in silence for a while, watching the stars.
"I know you're the one who sent the email," Ayanokoji said.
Ichinose didn't react. She simply continued looking at the stars.
"How long have you known?"
"Since the morning you received it. Your reaction was too perfect. Surprise, confusion, distress—all the right emotions at the right moments. But not quite authentic."
"I see." She paused. "Does it bother you? That I lied?"
"Not particularly. I lie all the time."
She laughed softly. "I suppose you do." She turned to face him. "I sent the email because I wanted to protect the group. I didn't know who the beneficiary was, but I knew someone was working against us. I thought if I could create enough doubt, the beneficiary would hesitate—would choose cooperation over sabotage."
"And it worked."
"Did it? The beneficiary still won."
"The beneficiary would always win. That was built into the rules. The only question was whether anyone else would lose."
"And no one did."
"No one did."
Ichinose smiled—a real smile this time, warm and genuine. "Then I consider it a success."
She turned to leave, then paused.
"What about Sakamoto-kun? Do you think he's the beneficiary?"
"I don't know. He might be. Or he might be something else entirely."
"Something else?"
"Something we don't have a name for yet."
Ichinose nodded slowly. "I hope you find out."
"So do I."
She left, her footsteps fading into the ship's quiet hum.
Ayanokoji remained on the deck, alone with the stars and the sea.
The first special exam of the cruise had ended. But the real game—the one Sakamoto was playing—was only just beginning.
And Ayanokoji intended to win it.
End of Arc One: The Rabbit Group