Island Test: A day with ayanokoji

Next Morning

The first rays of dawn spilled golden light over the beach, painting the sky with strokes of warmth as the last shadows of night retreated. Makeshift grills hissed and popped, the scent of sizzling burgers and charred chicken wafting lazily into the salty air. For a brief heartbeat in time, Class D forgot their place in the hierarchy. Laughter rang out. Plates were passed. Peace—fleeting, fragile—settled like a whisper across the sand.

But peace was never built to last.

Beneath the shadow of a low-hanging tree, slightly apart from the revelry, two figures lay in the quiet. Haruto reclined on the grass, arms folded beneath his head, while Ayanokōji stared upward, unmoving, unreadable. Between them, a leaf drifted downward, its slow descent catching Haruto's gaze.

He caught it gently, fingers brushing the dry edges.

"You really think it's a good idea," he asked, barely above a murmur, "to make him the leader?"

The silence that followed stretched long and still, broken only by the hush of distant waves.

Ayanokōji's reply came, flat and measured: "Horikita's too obvious. Every class is watching her. That alone disqualifies her."

His eyes remained fixed on the canopy above, dull as ever—but beneath them, gears turned.

"And telling her outright," he added after a pause, "would be… inconvenient."

Haruto chuckled quietly, folding one leg over the other.

"Suit yourself," he said. "Just don't make it so easy for a spy to waltz in and get comfy."

A flicker—just a twitch at the corner of Ayanokōji's mouth—barely qualified as acknowledgment.

"I'm aware." His voice remained even, but something in his gaze sharpened. Calculating. Focused. "What's your take on Class A?"

Haruto's eyes narrowed slightly. He didn't answer right away.

"They're playing a decoy game," Ayanokōji continued. "They want us to think I'm not involved. Meanwhile, their supposed leader doesn't hold the card. Someone else does. Someone hiding in plain sight."

Haruto sat up, brushing grass from his shirt, eyes trailing the horizon.

"That's your puzzle to solve," he said simply. "Not mine."

He paused, wind tousling his hair.

"But if you wanted to," he added, voice laced with a rare trace of sincerity, "I think you could break me. Not that fake genius Sakayanagi… you."

For once, Ayanokōji didn't reply immediately. He turned his head toward Haruto, no emotion on his face—only an unnerving stillness. A quiet sort of examination.

Then, softly, almost to himself, he spoke.

"Breaking you isn't necessary."

Haruto tilted his head, faint curiosity gleaming in his eyes. "Why not?"

Ayanokōji's response was a breath against the wind.

"Because… you're not trying to win."

Haruto said nothing. He closed his eyes, letting the sea breeze roll over him—carrying with it whispers of games yet to unfold.

The leaf landed.

And the illusion of peace lingered, one moment longer.

---

Afternoon

The sun had crossed its zenith, casting long shadows across the island. The sounds of sizzling meat had faded, replaced by the low hum of cicadas and distant waves. Deeper within the forest's edge, Haruto walked beside Ayanokōji, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but alert.

He smirked sideways.

"Shouldn't you be checking in on your little pet?" he asked, voice teasing.

Ayanokōji didn't break stride.

"She's not a pet," he replied coolly. "She serves a function."

Haruto clutched his chest theatrically. "Oof. Brutal. Hope she never hears you say that."

Silence answered him.

They kept walking.

But as the wind shifted, laughter echoed faintly through the trees.

Haruto's expression darkened. His tone dropped.

"So… how exactly do you think we 'coincidentally' stumbled across Class B out here?"

He wasn't really asking.

Ayanokōji didn't reply. He simply changed direction, walking toward the voices.

And there she was.

Ichinose Honami. The sun caught in her hair. Surrounded by loyal classmates. Smiling too perfectly. Speaking of fairness. Unity. Condemning Class A's tactics. Radiating goodness.

It was enough to make anyone suspicious.

From the tree line, Haruto watched, leaning against the bark with arms crossed.

"There she is," he murmured. "Second most dangerous girl on this island."

A pause.

"…After Kushida, of course."

His eyes remained locked on her, expression unreadable.

Inside, a mental note was written:

Subject: Ichinose Honami. Charisma: High. Reputation: Immaculate. Strategy: Hidden. Threat Level: Severe.

He snapped a twig in his hand.

"Keep smiling, Sunshine Queen," he whispered. "I'm watching."

---

Evening

The sky bled into amber and violet as the sun dipped lower. Returning to camp, Haruto and Ayanokōji stepped through the trees—back to the faint scent of woodsmoke, back to the rhythm of ordinary chaos.

And then Haruto stopped dead.

Ibuki Mio.

Again.

Casually lounging near the fire pit like she belonged.

Haruto exhaled sharply.

"…These people," he muttered, "are a damn comedy troupe."

He looked to Ayanokōji for reaction.

Nothing. Just that inscrutable face. Possibly the world's best poker mask.

Haruto approached Kushida, who stood laughing with a group of girls.

"Tell me," he said dryly, "why is the snake from Class C napping in our backyard?"

Kushida blinked, then smiled so sweetly it almost hurt to look.

"Oh, Haruto~ We found her unconscious again. We couldn't just leave her there!"

Haruto raised an eyebrow.

"Of course. Like rescuing a drowning scorpion."

Some girls chuckled nervously. Kushida's smile held firm, but her tone stiffened by a single degree.

"It was a group decision."

Haruto's gaze flicked to Ayanokōji—arms crossed, unreadable.

And then… a flicker. A brief twitch at the edge of his lips. No approval. No denial. Just… acknowledgment.

Haruto sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"If our rising leader's already signed off…"

The tension visibly melted. The girls relaxed. Giggles returned.

Only Horikita stood apart, frozen, arms tight, eyes locked on Ibuki with undisguised contempt.

Haruto noticed.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"You're right to keep your guard up," he murmured. "Because I sure as hell am."

And so the serpent was welcomed into the nest. Tolerated. Watched.

The game flowed on—quiet and deadly, beneath the waves of camaraderie.