Day 4
The island was still asleep when Sienna moved.
A dim shroud of mist clung to the jungle paths, curling like fingers across the earth, as though nature itself hesitated to let her pass. The damp soil softened the sound of her boots, turning each step into silence. She didn't need Ai's report to guide her—she had already deduced what Ryuen was doing. But confirmation always added weight. The puzzle had clicked the moment Ai mentioned the exiled Class C students who sought shelter in Classes B and D.
Spies. Of course.
Their removal hadn't been punitive—it was strategic. Ryuen's flamboyant overspending wasn't recklessness, it was camouflage. The perfect cover to rid himself of so-called "dissenters" without suspicion. But they were no rebels. They were tools. Sent out under false pretenses to infiltrate enemy territory.
To others, it was manipulation.
To Sienna, it was warfare.
By 4 a.m., she had reached the outskirts of Class C's temporary camp. The dying embers of a fire flickered lazily, casting shadows that danced against the trunks of nearby trees. In the half-light, Ryuen sat atop a flat stone, crouched like a predator mid-hunt, his grin already in place before his words followed.
"You're early, princess."
"I'm not here to waste time," Sienna replied, arms folded, her voice sharp and clean. "You've already wasted enough points to set the stage—200 on Katsuragi, 100 to fabricate a bluff. All to appear weaker than you are."
For a brief moment, Ryuen's expression cracked—just a hairline fracture, but enough to reveal he was listening closely.
He tilted his head, as if feigning curiosity. "What makes you think I'd help Katsuragi?"
"You didn't help him," she countered. "You invested—in misdirection and in long-term leverage. You provided him with supplies, not out of generosity, but for silent collaboration. Likely, you'll benefit from a regular point payout in return, perhaps monthly. You win influence, he gets security of the position as Class A's leader. Simple."
Her gaze sharpened as she leaned in. "And it goes deeper. You want to guess the other classes' leaders. For that, Katsuragi will need proof. A picture would suffice—evidence that pins the right person at the wrong time. That's where your 'rebels' come in. Ibuki and Komiya? Perfect pieces. Their dramatic fallout with you? A clever script."
Again, Ryuen's expression flickered. His smile thinned—then rebounded, wider and more toothy.
"And what if you're wrong?"
She didn't flinch. Her tone didn't shift.
"I'll share everything with the other classes," she said calmly, pulling a stray leaf from her hair and dropping it into the fire. "I'll paint you as more than a brute—as a strategist. Your reputation of being impulsive would collapse. They'll know the truth: your waste of points wasn't stupidity. It was intent. And those rebels? They were your agents."
She let the words linger before adding, "If that happens, whatever agreement you have with Katsuragi will collapse. After all, without trust, there's no exchange. No favors. No intel."
A pause stretched between them.
Then Ryuen laughed—a low, rumbling sound like something coiled waking from rest.
"You're not dumb, huh?"
"I'm worse," Sienna said, stepping forward. "I'm in control."
"In control?" Ryuen echoed, scoffing. "Hardly. But tell me—why sabotage my deal with Katsuragi? I'm not the only one profiting here. He benefits too."
She nodded as if expecting the question. "Of course. But his success threatens someone I have plans for. Katsuragi's fall is necessary if Sakayanagi is to rise."
Ryuen cocked his head, interest briefly flickering in his eyes. "I see... The faction war in Class A really runs deep. You'd burn your own class for one girl's reign?"
Sienna gave no answer—only a stare.
Ryuen sighed, dragging his fingers through his hair. The sound was lazy, but his posture betrayed a sliver of tension.
"Fine. What do you want?"
"Albert Yamada."
His brow arched. "Okay... that's interesting, planning to rough someone up?"
"No," she lied. "But I'll need his presence. A shadow. Something looming."
"You know I could say no."
"You could," she admitted. "But then you'd lose control of your story. And I know you too well to believe you'd risk that."
The fire cracked between them. Ryuen stood. He didn't confirm—but he didn't object either.
That was enough.
---
The trek back was silent. The island had begun to stir under a gray sunrise, birds calling distantly, trees whispering in the breeze. Sienna's memory mapped the terrain with precision; she had memorized the island layout from the ship's deck during the first briefing.
By the time Class D's territory came into view, the camp was still quiet. Tents huddled close to one another, unaware of the schemes tightening around them.
Whis hadn't slept.
He kept a cautious eye open through the night, his nerves on edge from the thought of what Ayanokoji might pull. Every breeze made him tense. So when he heard the rustle in the undergrowth, he reacted fast, stepping forward in anticipation of an ambush.
Instead, he saw her.
Sienna stood calmly, mist curling around her ankles, her expression unreadable.
"It's too risky to talk here," she said, voice hushed. "Meet me behind the storage tent."
"Bet."
Minutes later, behind the sagging canvas of an old tarp, they spoke.
"Walkie-talkie," she said, placing it in his hand. "Channel four. If I call, you answer."
Whis eyed the second device. "And the camera?"
She handed it over, fingers brushing his palm. "Keep it hidden. You'll know when to use it."
She locked eyes with him, the question already hanging in the air.
"Leader of Class D?"
"Easy. It's Horikita."
Sienna nodded once—no more needed to be said.
---
She moved again, fluid and silent, until she reached the water station where Nero waited. The runner from Class C was punctual, disciplined, although his lazy posture reminded Sienna of his true nature. Although he is observant in ways others weren't. Sienna approached without words, handed him a walkie-talkie, and paused only to see his nod of acknowledgment.
Nero looked down at the device in his hand. His expression didn't change, but his mind was already turning. The message was clear—something was coming. Something rooted in Ryuen's ambition.
Sienna walked on.
---
Now came the final step.
She found a large flat stone beneath the boughs of a fig tree. Unfolding her map, she spread it across the rock. Her fingers traced the lines of the island's layout, circling Class D's base, then the known supply paths. She tapped three points—two along the perimeter and one near the center.
"This is where he'll show up," she murmured.
Her fingertip rested on a cornfield marked by light pencil lines. Isolated, overgrown, and perfect for her trap.
But something sat heavily in her thoughts.
Lloyd.
He hadn't moved. Not directly. Not yet.
She knew his type—deliberate, patient. Letting her act so he could better predict her steps. Letting her take initiative so her strategy became a pattern.
But that was his mistake.
Sienna wasn't setting a plan in motion.
She was setting bait.
Let's see how well he plays when he's no longer the only one moving the pieces.