O' Divine General

It's time to look for someone.

I wasn't looking for just anyone. I was looking for him. The man, the myth, the... regrettable choice of friend I somehow made. And as fate or my sheer misfortune would have it, I found him.

Standing within the shadow, in the corner of the hallway, arms crossed, wearing the expression of someone who believed he held the secrets of the universe, was none other than...

Zaimokuza Yoshiteru.

"Ah, my comrade!" he bellowed, arms flinging wide as though we'd been separated for years rather than me avoiding him for a few weeks. "You've come to seek the wisdom of the great—nay, the Divine General Zaimokuza, haven't you?"

I blinked at him, already questioning all my thoughts that had led to this decision. "What are you doing standing there for no reason?"

His eyes narrowed dramatically as if I'd just insulted his honor. "What am I doing here? Nay, the question, my dear Hachiman, is what aren't I doing here? For you see, I have been summoned by the powers that be, dragged into this den of trials and tribulations! A battlefield where only the strong shall survive and the weak shall—"

"You were forced to participate, weren't you?" I cut him off, my tone deadpan, "Zaimokuza..."

His grandiose gestures froze mid-air, and for a moment, he looked like a glitching NPC. Then, with a cough, he shifted awkwardly, avoiding my gaze. "W-well... perhaps the school may have... strongly encouraged my involvement. But that is of no consequence! For the great Zaimokuza shall—"

"Yeah, thought so," I interrupted again, trying desperately to look rational.

As if there was any other explanation. There was no way the school managed to gather this many students voluntarily for a Special Exam that put their grades on the line. The threat of failure had a way of motivating even the most reluctant. Zaimokuza's presence only confirmed my suspicions. It means the Student Council wasn't joking.

Zaimokuza straightened up, brushing imaginary dust off his blazer. "Enough about me! Tell me, my friend, how fare your endeavors in this trial of will and intellect? Have you unearthed the herald of darkness?"

The phrase hung in the air, and I stared at him for a long moment, wondering—not for the first time—if there was something fundamentally wrong with his brain. And yet, I knew exactly what he meant.

"You're talking about the other participants, aren't you?" I sighed, "Look, I need information. Specifically, about the other classes. Think you can help me with that?"

His eyes sparkled, and I immediately regretted asking. "Ah! A quest, is it? Fear not, for the mighty Zaimokuza is at your service! Tell me, comrade, what vile foe do you seek to vanquish? Is it Class C, the tyrannical overlords? Or perhaps Class A, those deceitful schemers lurking in the shadows?"

"Sure, let's go with that," I muttered, fully aware that trying to steer this conversation toward sanity was a lost cause.

Zaimokuza leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "And what of Class C, the rogues and knaves who operate outside the bounds of honor?"

"That's... not a thing," I said flatly.

He ignored me, of course, puffing out his chest with newfound determination. "Worry not, War God Hachiman! With my superior intellect and unmatched deductive skills, I shall uncover the secrets of these villainous foes! Together, we shall—"

"Okay, just let me know what you find out," I said, waving him off before he could drag me further into his fantasy world.

As he launched into another dramatic monologue about justice and destiny, I walked ahead, pretending not to hear him. For all his ridiculousness, Zaimokuza had his uses. His tendency to exaggerate and embellish every detail might actually work in my favor this time.

And if he ended up annoying everyone else in the process, well, that was just a bonus.

Zaimokuza, naturally, wasn't finished. He puffed out his chest once again, striking a pose that looked like it belonged on the cover of some low-budget manga. "Together, we shall pierce through the veils of deceit! My strategies are unparalleled, and my cunning is unmatched! By the time I am done, no secret will remain hidden from—"

"Zaimokuza," I interrupted, "You're partnered with someone from Class C, aren't you?"

The words seemed to knock the wind out of him. His eyes widened, his theatrical demeanor faltering for a moment. "Wh-what? Preposterous! How could you assume such a thing? Of course not, I am a rogue element, a free agent!"

"You started talking about Class C like it was a sure thing. You didn't even mention the others besides maybe Class A," I said bluntly, my gaze piercing through him. "So, yeah. It's obvious."

Zaimokuza froze, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish as he scrambled for a rebuttal. "Y-you dare accuse me of such a trivial connection? Truly, you underestimate the vast web of alliances and rivalries I navigate daily as a warrior of justice!"

I stared at him, unimpressed. "So... yes?"

His shoulders slumped, his facade crumbling under the weight of my observation. "Well... perhaps... there is a slight chance you are correct..." he mumbled, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

I exhaled heavily, stepping into the shadowy corner of the hallway in which Zaimokuza stood, where the dim lighting cast long, eerie shapes along the walls.

"Fine! If you must know, my partner is from Class C. But she is no mere mortal! Nay, she is a goddess among us, an angel sent from the heavens!" His voice grew wistful, and his eyes took on a distant gleam. "Her radiance rivals that of the morning sun, her voice a melody that soothes even the fiercest of warriors. Truly, she is the embodiment of beauty and intellect—a maiden of the great library!"

Ah. That explained a lot. I could already picture Zaimokuza's so-called "angel": likely some poor girl who tolerated his ramblings out of politeness or because she found him harmlessly amusing. That, or she'd mastered the art of selective hearing like me. Either way, she deserved an award for sheer endurance.

Honestly, despite this, I was happy for him.

"Alright," I said, my voice lowering, "If you're in Class C, then you've got the information I need. Tell me everything you know."

"W-well, I suppose I may have overheard a thing or two..."

Zaimokuza swallowed hard, glancing around as if the very act of sharing information was some forbidden ritual. "Still... everything, you say? Hah, you ask much, my friend! But very well, for I am honor-bound to assist my comrades in their hour of need!"

"Zaimokuza," I said, "Listen carefully. These aren't just random details I'm after. This information is something I really, really need—and I need it now."

"O-of course! I—I shall tell you all I know!" Zaimokuza's usual bluster vanished. He looked at me like he was seeing a ghost.

Good. At least he understood the importance of this. Now, it was just a matter of figuring out how useful his information would be.

As Zaimokuza finished his rambling explanation, I pieced together the fragments of his over-the-top storytelling. Beneath the layers of unnecessary theatrics, one thing was clear. What he'd shared only confirmed what I'd already suspected. The most dangerous player in this Special Exam was Class C.

I crossed my arms, grimacing while leaning against the wall as Zaimokuza fidgeted under my scrutiny. His usual larger-than-life confidence had been thoroughly deflated. For once, he seemed... normal.

"Thanks, Zaimokuza," I said, my tone softer than before. "Sorry for how I acted earlier. I guess I got a little carried away."

He blinked, his face shifting between surprise and uncertainty. "Ah... well, no matter! A Divine General must withstand even the sharpest of rebukes from his War God!"

I shook my head, allowing the faintest hint of a smile to escape. "You're not my general, Zaimokuza. You're my friend. So... thanks."

For a second, he was speechless. And then, predictably, he puffed out his chest and grinned. "Of course! Forsooth, War God Hachiman, we are bound by fate! We shall bring this villainous exam to its knees!"

I sighed, rubbing my temple as he launched into another melodramatic monologue. Some things never changed. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

At least with Zaimokuza around, the madness of this exam felt just a little less maddening.

Right?

ㅤ

ᛚᛟᚾᛖᛚᚤᚲᚤᚾᛁᚲᚨᛚᛋᛟᚢᛚ

ㅤ

With the situation involving Zaimokuza dealt with, I made my way toward the Service Club. The day had already been a handful, and I figured spending some time with Yukinoshita and Yuigahama might help me decompress or at least distract me from everything going on.

But before I could reach the clubroom, someone stopped me.

"Hikigaya-kun."

I turned to see Hirata standing there, his usually composed expression replaced by something far more troubling. His eyes darted nervously, and his posture was unusually stiff. Whatever this was, it wasn't the usual friendly greeting Hirata gave me.

"What's up?" I asked, keeping my tone casual, though my trouble-detecting instincts were already screaming at me that this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.

"Can we talk... in private?" His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, and his choice of words felt unnatural coming from him.

I raised an eyebrow but nodded, following him to a more secluded spot. Hirata didn't look me in the eye as we walked, which only added to my unease.

When we finally stopped, I decided it was time for questions, "So, what's this about? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Hirata hesitated, his hands fidgeting slightly. This wasn't the calm, reliable guy Hirata converted himself into. No, this was the Hirata I had seen once before—the gloomy, broken version of himself that couldn't even string a proper sentence together.

"I... we have a problem," he finally said, his voice low.

"That much is obvious," I replied, narrowing my eyes. "But what kind of problem are we talking about here? Did someone threaten you? Is Class D falling apart again?"

"It's about the Special Exam tomorrow."

"Fine, what's going on? Spit it out already." The more he dragged this out, the worse my imagination made it.

Whatever this was, it wasn't something trivial.

"It's about Horikita-san," Hirata said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What about her?" I asked, tilting my head.

Hirata took a deep breath, visibly trying to steady himself. "There's been... talk in Class D. Tomorrow, Class D plans to...

...expel Horikita-san from school."

For a moment, I stared at him, convinced I had misheard.

"E-expel her?" I repeated, the word tasting foreign and absurd in my mouth. "You're serious?" My gaze hardened as I studied Hirata's face, searching for any sign that this was some sort of cruel joke. But there was no humor in his expression, only raw fear and anger.

"They're planning to do it through a class vote," Hirata explained, his voice trembling. "Someone's been spreading the idea that instead of letting the pair with the lowest test scores face expulsion, we can use the rule to target her instead. They're trying to rally enough votes to make it happen. I don't know how is that possible..."

His hands shook as he nodded. My mind raced, unraveling the implications. Horikita? Expelled? By Class D? How was that even possible? For all their faults, Class D had never been this coordinated, let alone malicious enough to hatch a plan like this.

Then it hit me.

The rules.

"Wait," I muttered, straightening up as the pieces clicked into place. "The Special Exam. There's something in the rules about this." I pulled my phone from my pocket, my fingers moving quickly to find the message from the ANHS Student Council outlining the exam details. I scrolled until I found the part I was looking for. The words stared back at me, confirming my suspicions.

If a pair with an average score below 51 points does exist and holds the lowest average score within the class, the situation will be subject to further action.

In such a case, a majority vote from the class members will allow for the expulsion of a different student from the class, thus preventing the expulsion of the student with the lowest average score. This vote shall serve as a mechanism by which the class can collectively mitigate the consequences associated with failing to meet the minimum required performance standards.

I read the message again, just to be sure, then turned the screen toward Hirata. His eyes scanned the text, and I watched as his expression shifted from confusion to frustration and then to outright anger.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice trembling with rage. "Why would they create a rule like this? Who thought this was a good idea?"

So that's what it is. The mental image began to form. Let's say, for argument's sake, the best student in a given class—a star performer—was paired with someone from Sobu. Someone who didn't care at all about the exam and decided to leave everything in the hands of their partner. The Sobu student barely lifts a pen, and the ANHS student is left holding the bag, forced to prepare for five tests in just two days. Even someone highly capable would buckle under that pressure, inevitably leading to a subpar score or even the worst one.

That's where this rule comes into play.

This Special Exam, cruel as it was, provided a safety net—a loophole. The clause was designed to offer an escape route. If the best students found themselves shackled by an unfortunate pairing and dragged down, the class could band together and save them at the cost of another student.

It wasn't hard to see the logic behind it. Horikita Manabu didn't want good students expelled over something as arbitrary as an unlucky partnership. But it wasn't a perfect solution. It was like being handed a gun with one bullet—you could save yourself, sure, but only by shooting someone else.

It was about mitigating damage to the class while maintaining the illusion of a safety net.

I looked up from my phone and met Hirata's eyes. "I think I understand now," I said, keeping my voice even. "This rule wasn't created out of malice. It's meant to be a failsafe. If a strong student gets paired with someone who tanks their score, the class has a chance to save them. But it's a double-edged sword. That chance comes at a cost. You have to cut someone else loose to make it work."

Hirata's hands had stopped trembling as he listened, but his expression remained grim. "So you're saying this was supposed to be a backup plan? A way to protect the student from expulsion who didn't deserve it?"

I nodded. "In theory, yes. But the problem is, the rule wasn't designed with morality in mind. It's cold, calculated logic. It assumes the class will act as one cohesive unit, willing to make sacrifices for the greater good." I let out a dry chuckle. "Of course, we both know that's not how it works in reality."

It sounded exactly like something Horikita Manabu would create. And now, this mechanism will serve as the salvation of whoever plans to get rid of Horikita Suzune.

I pity you, Horikita. Yes, both of you.

Hirata clenched his fists, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "But in this case, it's being used for the wrong reasons. They're not trying to save someone who deserves it—they're targeting Horikita-san to... what, settle a grudge? To take advantage of the rule and get rid of her?"

I gave him a pointed look. "Yeah. The rule creates an opportunity, and someone in Class D—or potentially from another class—saw it as a way to push their own agenda. It's less about protecting the class and more about who they want to get rid of. That's the problem with this kind of system. It assumes people will act rationally. But teenagers? They're messy, emotional creatures. They'll exploit anything if it serves their purpose."

The worst part is that the rule didn't care about the scores. It didn't matter if the student chosen by the class had above-average test results or if they'd performed exceptionally well. The rules made it clear: the student selected for expulsion could have any number of points. In the end, it wouldn't make a difference. If Class D had decided to target Horikita Suzune, her fate was already sealed.

Hirata's voice cut into my thoughts. "But why now? Why Horikita-san? What could possibly motivate them to do this?"

I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "Are you really that surprised? Think about it. Horikita's started gaining a reputation in the class. People are beginning to notice her potential skills and her sharp mind. And that... scared someone who disliked that. They panicked."

Hirata's brows furrowed, his expression conflicted. He seemed to believe the best in people, but he couldn't deny the logic in what I was saying.

What I didn't tell him, though, was the other piece of the puzzle that had clicked into place in my mind. For someone to pull this off—to get the majority of the class to agree to such a move—they couldn't be just anyone. This wasn't the work of a random troublemaker or someone nursing a petty grudge. No, this person had to have a strong presence in Class D, enough influence to sway the votes and turn the rule into a weapon.

It made me aware of something terrifying.

Someone loathed Horikita Suzune to the point of expelling her.

Hirata suddenly seemed lost in thought, his expression darkening. When he finally spoke, his words sent a chill down my spine.

"What if... what if I threatened the class? Made them too scared to go through with it?"

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS SCHOOL!?

I take back my words about you being the protagonist! You're worse than a fucking ticking bomb!

I glared, my mind struggling to process what I'd just heard. "Are you insane?" I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. "That's the most idiotic idea I've heard so far. Do you even realize how many ways that could backfire?"

He opened his mouth to argue, but I didn't give him the chance. "Let's break it down, genius. First, even if you could intimidate the entire class, do you really think that'll solve anything? Sure, they might back off for now, but people don't just forget being threatened. You'll be painting a giant target on your back, and sooner or later, it'll come back to bite you. Hard."

I crossed my arms, my frustration mounting. "Second, what happens if you push them too far? Fear is a double-edged sword. Some might have, sure, but others? They'll dig their heels in even deeper just to spite you. You can't control how people react to fear, Hirata. It's unpredictable and messy."

He tried to protest, but I cut him off again. "And let's not forget what this would do to you. You think you can just flip a switch and become some tyrant? Maybe you can. But even if you pull it off, what then? You're the guy who's supposed to be the glue holding this class together. If they see you as a threat instead of a friend, you'll lose everything you've worked for. And for what? A gamble?"

"But..."

Hirata's face twisted with conflicting emotions, and I let out a sigh. "Look, I don't know what kind of past you've got that makes you think jumping from 'friendly guy next door' to 'dictator' is even an option, but I'll tell you this—it's not a good look. You'd destroy your own credibility in the process."

I gave him a cautious look. "That said," I added, my tone unwinding, "I don't think you're a bad guy, Hirata."

Hirata looked at me with hesitant hope, his voice low but determined. "Then… shouldn't we go to Yukinoshita-san? Ask her what we should do? She's smart, and she always seems to have a plan."

Before I could stop him, he turned as if to leave. But before he could take a step, I grabbed his shoulder and held him in place.

"No," I said firmly, my voice carrying a weight that made him freeze in his tracks.

He looked back at me, confused. "Why not? Yukinoshita-san could—"

I shook my head. "She could," I admitted. "But she won't. This isn't her problem to solve. It's ours."

Hirata frowned, clearly not understanding. "But why? If she can help—"

"Because this is Class D's mess," I cut in sharply, carefully choosing my words, "Dragging someone like Yukinoshita into it would only complicate things. She's not exactly the type to play mediator, and this situation doesn't need her brand of cold logic. Right now, we need something else—something I'll figure out."

He stared at me, doubt and uncertainty etched on his face. "But… how? You're saying you'll handle this on your own? Why would you even take that on?"

I looked him straight in the eye, my tone unwavering. "Because if someone's going to clean up this mess, it might as well be me. I've got no reputation to lose and no stakes in how people see me. You? You're the guy people look up to. The nice guy. The dependable guy. If you start meddling in this, it'll only make things worse."

"But—"

"Trust me," I interrupted, my voice softening. "You've done your part by telling me. Leave the rest to me. I've got a way of dealing with these kinds of things."

It left a bitter taste.

Hirata hesitated, searching my face for something—confidence, perhaps, or reassurance. Whatever he found must have been enough because he slowly nodded, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

"All right," he said, though his voice carried a reluctant edge. "I'll trust you on this."

"Thanks," I said, releasing his shoulder. "Now go back to class and try to get some rest before the next class. You're going to need it for tomorrow's Special Exam."

As he walked away, I let out a slow breath, already thinking of some plan in my head. This was going to get messy, no doubt about it, but if there was one thing I knew how to handle, it was chaos.

Still, after everything, did I truly want to help Horikita?