End of 2nd Act
The sky roared.
Rain poured down in heavy sheets, smothering the last embers of the tent fire. Thunder echoed through the island, but two figures remained still under a tree—Haruto and Ayanokoji—watching the fight unfold ahead.
In the clearing, Horikita clashed fiercely with Ibuki. Her body wavered, breath ragged. The sickness Ayanokoji had seeded earlier was taking its toll, and now, Ibuki clearly held the advantage.
Haruto's eyes sparkled beneath the downpour.
He turned to Ayanokoji with a subtle smirk, speaking without words:
"So you made her the one who suffers. You're not playing chess, you're writing fate. You're really a god."
Ayanokoji met the gaze—cool, amused, and quiet pride in his eyes.
But Horikita was faltering, nearly collapsing.
Haruto clicked his tongue, pushing himself off the tree.
"Seems like I've finally got a reason to clean my hands."
With that, he vanished into the downpour.
Ibuki, breathing hard, stumbled through the woods, the taste of victory on her tongue. But a shadow leapt ahead of her path.
Before she could react—bam—her face slammed into the muddy ground. Rain splattered across her body as her ears rang and blood started trickling.
Her wide, wild eyes barely processed what was happening when Haruto's foot crashed into her ribs.
She coughed out blood, curling like a leaf in the wind.
Kneeling beside her, Haruto grabbed her by the jaw, lifting her face.
His eyes—void of emotion—bore into hers.
"Remember this feeling," he said softly, lips barely moving.
"You are nothing."
Then the emptiness vanished. Like a switch flipped, he smiled.
By the time he reappeared beside Ayanokoji, Haruto's hands were clean again—almost metaphorically. No sign of the storm behind those calculating eyes.
He calmly picked up branches, bark, and leaves, helping the Class D students rebuild their makeshift shelter.
No one questioned where he had gone. No one saw the blood on the sole of his shoe.
Just as if he had been there all along, silent and loyal.
Ayanokoji glanced sideways.
A quiet nod.
An unspoken agreement.
A game far bigger than anyone else could see.
****
The gentle waves rocked the ship calmly. The previous night's storm felt like a distant memory as Class D students filled the deck with laughter and celebration.
Plastic cups clinked, snacks were shared, and someone even played music through a speaker they'd "borrowed" from another class.
They were still technically mid-exam, but this morning tasted like victory.
Meanwhile, on the quiet side of the deck, Horikita and Ayanokoji stood side by side, their backs to the crowd, gazing at the distant island bathed in sunlight.
Horikita crossed her arms, her voice cold but brittle.
"So... we won. And I didn't even know how."
Ayanokoji didn't respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the sea.
Finally, he said,
"Winning and knowing why you won are two different things. But knowing why you lost—that's where power begins."
Horikita's lips trembled ever so slightly, but she didn't argue.
---
Scene – Hidden Room in the Ship
Far from the celebration, behind layers of secure doors and hushed corridors, a chessboard sat between two figures in a quiet lounge.
Arisu Sakayanagi blinked slowly, her eyes locked on the board.
She had lost.
The last move—a quiet but brutal knight sacrifice—had cracked her entire defense apart. Her fingers hovered over the pieces, almost not believing it.
From the shadows, a figure leaned forward into the light.
Haruto.
His expression was neutral, yet his presence radiated calm dominance.
"Your moves were precise, clean... brilliant even," he said softly.
"But that's the problem. You played with strategy."
Arisu narrowed her eyes.
"Isn't that how chess is supposed to be played?"
Haruto smiled faintly.
"Until your army becomes too few... Then strategy dies and patterns emerge. And once patterns appear, anyone with a brain sharper than steel can cut through you."
The room fell into silence, the only sound being the soft hum of the ship.
Arisu, for once, said nothing.
Haruto stood up, placing a piece—a single black pawn—on the table beside her.
"You were trying to control the board. I was just counting it."
With that, he walked out, fading into the shadows once again.
***
The orange-gold hue of the setting sun painted the sky like a fading dream. Waves shimmered like fire, and the wind danced gently across the deck.
Kushida stood beside Ayanokoji, her expression unusually serious, her voice soft.
"If you had to choose..."
She paused, looking away from him, then back again.
"Who would it be? Horikita...?"
Ayanokoji didn't answer.
He murmured something inaudible, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun kissed the sea. Kushida smiled faintly, as if she'd expected it, and turned away, disappearing with the breeze.
Silence lingered.
Footsteps echoed behind Ayanokoji.
Haruto joined him, hands in pockets, eyes slightly narrowed with thought.
"You know, that's the wrong question," Haruto said casually.
"It's not about who you should choose... It's about what you should choose. Optimized or... unoptimized?"
Ayanokoji didn't speak. He simply lifted his eyes to the sky.
The sun dipped lower, casting both of them in warm twilight.
A gust of wind passed through, tugging at their clothes, ruffling their hair—two silhouettes standing at the edge of a moment, suspended between past and future.
Time paused.
For just a second, the world forgot who they were.
A boy who doesn't want to be chosen.
And another who already chose everything.
End of 2nd Act
Frames by Frames
Drifting light, a butterfly flies,
Yet space bends—was it ever confined?
A gust of wind, not force but frame,
Swirling, yet motion is just a name.
Look to the stars—do they really fall?
Or is gravity just the mind's own wall?
Reaching hands grasp at illusion,
But what is touch if form's a delusion?
The sky you fear is only a lens,
The ground beneath—mere consequence.
If space and time can twist and bend,
Then who decides where limits end?
Step by step, bit by bit,
Light is not bound, it simply shifts.
There is no fate, no walls, no chains—
Just reference frames inside your brain.
Don't you ever let them confine your sight,
You were never inside their box of light.
And if you fall, what truly moves?
The world—or just your point of view?