After the conversation with Aoi, I couldn't think of anything else but the parameter.
A hidden system. A ranking no one talks about.
But everything around us seemed to follow its rules.
I started watching every move students made.
Who bought what.
Who went where.
Who spoke to whom.
But before I could build a proper plan,
the system made the first move.
It happened in the morning.
A message appeared on the classroom display:
> "Trial for Class 2-D will begin at 12:00. Participation is mandatory for all students. Details will be provided on-site."
Whispers rippled through the room.
Even the loudest students fell silent.
— "What kind of trial?"
— "It's not on the schedule…"
— "Maybe it's a joke?"
No.
It wasn't a joke.
I saw Tokidzawa sit up sharply.
He knew something.
Aoi just covered her mouth with her hand, hiding a smile.
I silently closed my notebook.
A trial isn't about knowledge.
It's a test of who you are.
And how much you're worth.
12:00.
We were led to a separate building — it looked like an old gym from the outside, but the inside was far more high-tech.
In the center — a huge screen.
In front of us — long tables marked: Team 1, Team 2, Team 3, Team 4.
Each student received a card.
— "You've been assigned to teams automatically," — the instructor announced.
— "Your task: earn as many points as possible. Any method is allowed."
He paused, then added:
— "There might be a traitor in your team. That's normal."
A hush spread through the hall.
Some people tensed.
Others looked lost.
I looked down at my card: Team 3.
Listed: Me, Aoi, one of the quiet ones — Kise, and a guy named Reiji — hot-tempered, loves attention.
An interesting combination.
Aoi winked at me, like she already knew everything.
The screen flashed:
> Task #1: In 60 minutes, collect as many "solutions" as possible. Use logic, observation, and analysis.
Questions will appear individually. Information sharing is allowed.
But be careful who you trust.
I received the first question.
It was easy — a warm-up.
But I realized: the game wasn't in the answers.
It was in reactions.
Who's consulting with whom.
Who pulls away.
Who stays silent.
I observed.
Took notes.
Compared behaviors.
After 20 minutes, Reiji started losing it.
— "Why are you so quiet, Akamine?" he snapped.
— "You think you'll carry the whole team yourself?"
I answered calmly:
— "And you think we're competing against each other instead of the system?"
He froze.
Aoi laughed.
— "I like how you shut him down, Takumi."
I looked at her.
She spoke lightly, casually.
But her fingers were gripping the pen too tightly.
At the end of the trial, the scores were shown:
Team 3 — 2nd place.
Not bad.
But not perfect.
Then — a separate screen.
P-values for certain participants have been updated.
But only for a few.
Mine — unchanged.
Aoi — increased by 1.
Reiji — dropped.
Kise — stayed the same.
I understood instantly:
It wasn't the result, but behavior within the team that affected the parameter.
Nothing in this school is random.
This isn't an academic test.
It's a simulation.
A model.
A study of how we act under pressure.
And it seems like someone is watching very closely.