The morning of the second day began with an eerie silence.
No one was late. No one argued. Everyone knew—today could be the turning point.
I arrived at the meeting room before anyone else and silently watched as they entered, one by one.
Some threw quick glances. Others avoided eye contact.
But something had changed.
There was less trust now.
"We still don't know who among us has a 'role,'" Aoi said quietly.
"Or if it even exists at all," someone muttered behind her.
"That doesn't matter," I cut in. "If we don't find out—we lose. If we find out too late—we still lose."
That was when I realized I couldn't just be an observer anymore.
The time for silence was over.
After lunch, we were called to another group meeting.
Three from 2-A, two from 2-B, one from 2-C.
And me—from 2-D.
I noticed fewer participants this time. And their faces—more serious.
Yuki Kaseda was there again. This time—with a folder.
He was jotting things down, shielding the page with his hand.
"We could share information," suggested someone from 2-B.
"Or start with a little trust," someone from 2-A said with a fake smile.
But trust here was an empty word.
I said only one thing:
"If you want to survive—start with silence."
When I returned, a new note was waiting for me.
> "She'll be next. Stay out of it."
No name. No explanation.
But I understood. They meant Aoi.
That evening, I watched her.
She tried to stay calm, but I could already see it: they were isolating her on purpose.
Small remarks. Being ignored. Subtle jabs.
Someone wanted her gone—through provocation or accusation.
I couldn't let that happen.
Not because I trusted her.
But because she was part of the scheme. And too important to lose.
That night, I laid everything out clearly.
Two days left.
One chance to understand who's playing—and who's being played.
I marked three figures.
Two from other classes. One from ours.
If my plan worked, everything would flip on the third day.
But the price of failure—was expulsion.
Or worse.