Day 6 part 2
3:37
Lloyd POV
Just as I was about to take a step, I heard rustling from my right, the maize ruffling violently. Then emerges...
Kanzaki sat lost in thought, wracking his brain for a solution. Meanwhile, Ichinose had taken it upon herself to calm the rest of our classmates.
"Dammit! What's Class A got up their sleeves? A spy? A proxy? No—it's just some damn psychic!"
I glanced at him. I wanted to smile, to reassure him. But my apathetic face wouldn't allow it. So I settled for words instead.
Sienna had played her hand, and it caused chaos throughout the year group. It worked—every class now viewed Class A as the enemy in this test. But with only one day left, there's not much they can do. The test ends tomorrow.
But does Sienna know who our class leader is? I doubt it. Her tricks are simple. She's merely using Nero and Whis to her advantage. The identity of Class A's proxy leader, Ai Morishita, makes that obvious—she's from a class where one of them resides. That means Sienna likely pieced together her info through association. Getting the names of class leaders from Nero and Whis's classes would be child's play.
That tells me she's bluffing.
So for now, our class leader's identity is still safe. Still, I've already come up with a contingency plan just in case.
"Kanzaki," I said, "now might be the right time. We need to change our leader."
"For what?" he shot back. "And lose 30 points? We already lost Chihiro. Now you want someone else to drop out? That'll be a total of 60 points."
"I understand, but the damage isn't as bad as it seems. We still have 150 points. We've earned 12 bonus points. If we lose another 60 instead of just 50, we're still minimizing long-term damage. It's better to take the hit now than lose 50 and the bonus in the same sweep."
Kanzaki lowered his head. He got it. But frustration lingered on his face—he was tired of Class A's games.
"Fine. We substitute Tetsuya Hamaguchi."
"Then I'll escort him to the beach."
Kanzaki gave me a nod of appreciation before heading back to camp.
Seven minutes later, I walked alongside Tetsuya. He was clearly uncomfortable around me. I didn't speak much. I silently apologized to him—I wasn't about to force myself to start small talk.
"You know," he said, "you didn't have to escort me."
"It's fine. Can I tell you something?"
"Uh… yeah?"
"I don't want you to drop out."
Tetsuya stopped walking, looking at me like I'd said something absurd.
"Huh? You do realize that if I don't drop out, the other classes will figure out our leader's identity—which is you."
"I know. But let me ask you—do you really believe Ai Morishita is a psychic?"
"Well, no. She's clearly got some trick."
"Then do you think she planted a mole in every class? Despite her taking charge in that meeting, Katsuragi is still Class A's official leader. And he's not the type to allow dishonest tactics."
"You're sure?"
"I've got a hunch. Don't worry. I've got a counterplan in motion."
---
It was evening. Roll call had just ended. The time: 8:47.
The sky was draped in clouds. Rain fell lightly across the island, soaking the ground with an earthy scent.
Each class moved quickly back to camp. Yet I still couldn't understand why Sienna hadn't used Katsuragi's followers yet. She was waiting for something... anticipating me.
"Lloyd, what are you standing around for? You wanna get soaked?"
I turned to Kanzaki. His jersey was already damp, but he didn't seem to mind.
"I'll be right behind you. Just need to take a leak."
Kanzaki raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he nodded and walked ahead. As he disappeared into the trees, I spotted a student from Class A straying off the usual path.
Interesting.
I picked up my pace, shadowing him as he slipped into the underbrush. The rain fell harder now, but it didn't bother me—I was too curious to see what Sienna was up to.
"Dammit… where is she?"
The boy muttered to himself, then clicked his tongue and spun around. Instinctively, I ducked out of sight.
He shrugged and continued on. I memorized the direction—southeast, toward the cornfield. It wasn't random.
I followed.
The rain picked up, making it harder to track his footprints, which were already starting to wash away. Still, I pressed forward until I reached the heart of the cornfield—a large clearing surrounded by towering stalks.
But he was gone.
No trace of him. Just silence and wet leaves.
Shinji Matoba, that was his name. Either I hadn't tracked him properly, or he vanished deliberately.
"It is his followers."
That was what she wrote—in German.
It confirmed my suspicion. She was referring to Katsuragi. My tactic of using the leadership cards to force her hand—to make her switch proxies from Yahiko to Shinji—was working. She stuck to her message.
And yet... nothing happened.
No grand reveal. No trap. Just this strange silence.
Was she losing her drive?
Maybe. Maybe not.
Either way, there was nothing left for me here.
Time to return to camp, I guess. Ut just as I was about to take a step, I heard the ta maze behind me ruffling violently, untila figure came out.
Albert?
Albert emerged from the tall maze of the cornfield. His physique was bulky, built heavier than the average student—heavyweight? Possibly. I couldn't assume just yet.
Then I saw it—a small fruit knife glinting in his grip. Its intended use was harmless, but in his hand, it raised questions.
His pace wasn't rushed. Measured steps, deliberate. Not a direct assault. A psychological ploy, perhaps. His silence carried more weight than words. He wanted me to feel threatened.
A bluff, clearly.
Was this Sienna's doing? Ryuen was supposed to be in alliance with us. I'd followed him here, hoping to observe Sienna's scheme through him. But I lost his trail in the thick of the stalks—and now Albert shows up? Too convenient.
Definitely a setup. Reckless and illogical, yet it made sense if the goal was deception, not damage.
Albert's grip on the knife was reversed. He wasn't coming for me. He was planning to stab himself.
Frame me.
No witnesses, but Sienna surely accounted for that. Maybe she hid someone nearby—filming? Listening?
I scanned the cornfield. Visibility was poor. No time to confirm. I had to act.
Albert surged forward, raising his massive arm in a wide arc—feigning a downward strike. But I saw the truth. His real target was his own thigh.
I took one step forward.
Albert flinched.
Then he charged.
Sloppy.
His right arm rose for a haymaker—wide, theatrical. But his eyes didn't track me. They flicked down.
To his own thigh.
There.
I moved.
Left foot slid forward, right pivoted—centerline. My shoulder slipped inside his arc as his arm began to descend.
I caught his wrist mid-swing.
My other hand clamped down on his elbow joint.
Minimal force. Maximum control.
I rotated his arm outward, stepped behind his leg. Disarmed him with a twist—knife fell to the dirt with a soft thud.
Albert tried to grab me. A wild, desperate snatch at my collar.
I ducked under.
Palm-strike to his chest. He staggered.
I hooked his wrist, dragged his momentum sideways, and redirected it into a spin. My elbow slammed into his temple from behind—clean, efficient.
He crumpled.
He struggled to get up and picked up the knife I disarmed from him earlier.
Albert's pace quickened. Not a charge, but something clumsy and theatrical. He raised his right arm like a hammer… but the trajectory was wrong.
His eyes flicked to his thigh.
So it seems, he intended to stab himself again.
I stepped in.
Left foot forward, inside his frame. My hand caught his wrist just before the plunge. Other hand gripped his elbow.
He resisted.
Harder than expected.
A twist—he didn't budge.
That bulk wasn't just for show.
He powered through the joint lock, wrenching his arm upward. I released instantly, shifted under his strike. His elbow grazed my shoulder.
He followed with a shove.
Boom.
Chest-to-chest, I felt the shock ripple through me as I staggered back two steps.
He growled. Genuine now. Less actor, more cornered animal.
He lunged. Big arms. Wide grip. He wanted to wrap me up and end it.
I ducked, pivoted left.
His fingers clipped my collar.
Close.
Too close.
I spun inside, my arm slicing under his guard. My palm slammed into his sternum. He grunted.
I seized his wrist—redirected the momentum—dragged him forward.
His leg swept behind mine.
He stumbled, regained balance. Impressive.
But I was already moving.
Low stance. Guard tight.
He swung—left hook this time. Real speed, for his size.
I leaned in—absorbed it.
Slid under.
Palm-strike to his chin—crack.
He reeled.
I took his arm—pivoted.
Disarmed the knife. A second later, my elbow kissed his jaw with surgical precision.
He collapsed, this time for good.
I looked at him for a moment. Chest heaving. Still alive.
Then I looked at the knife in my hand. Bloodless.
Not for long.
A shallow cut to my arm. Sharp sting. I winced on purpose—someone would believe it.
I tied the torn piece of my sleeve around it, casually. Theatrics were only a problem when they used them.
Sienna would regret this move.
Albert fought harder than I expected.
But harder doesn't mean smarter.
And never means better.
I exhaled once.
The air smelled like iron and soil.