In the coastal stretch of the uninhabited island's I2 zone, Amasawa finally stopped trying to keep Yukio out. By the time the two of them arrived, they could already see Ayanokoji trading blows with Tsukishiro at close range—locked in a real fight, the kind where neither side had room to breathe.
Out on the water, a speedboat sat waiting. It was obviously Tsukishiro's—his exit plan. Knock Ayanokoji out, bundle him up, toss him onboard, and leave.
This wasn't like Yukio's scuffle with Koenji, where a few exchanges decided everything. These two looked like they'd been taught the same fundamentals. Their techniques overlapped so much that every move was answered by a move—counter after counter, adjustment after adjustment, neither giving the other a clean opening.
The most ridiculous part was that Tsukishiro—at his age—was still holding even with Ayanokoji in his prime. Yukio, arriving late, couldn't help being surprised by Tsukishiro's hand-to-hand level.
A fistfight usually favors youth. If an older man could stalemate someone younger, then either his physical conditioning was absurd, or his accumulated experience was doing heavy lifting… or both. Either way, it screamed one thing: the White Room's combat training was no joke.
But the moment Yukio and Amasawa showed up together, both fighters visibly faltered in surprise—neither of them had expected this.
Ayanokoji used the opening to disengage and slide back, creating distance. "Acting Chairman… looks like you're out of chances."
Tsukishiro's gaze snapped to Yukio, uncertainty still flickering in his eyes. More than anything, he was fixated on one problem. Amasawa shouldn't have let him get here.
She was supposed to be the safety net—the stopper he'd placed nearby in case something went wrong. So why was she not only failing to block Yukio, but actually bringing him along?
Then Tsukishiro noticed how Amasawa was clinging to Yukio's arm—close and casual, like a girl in the middle of a honeymoon phase—and his expression sharpened.
That told him everything.
This White Room student had a problem. A big one.
Which raised the next question: where was Yagami? Yagami had been the one pushing hardest to make a move on the island. And yet he hadn't appeared once.
And since even Ayanokoji looked surprised, it was safe to assume Yukio wasn't Ayanokoji's backup.
No need to overthink it: if Yukio was here in I2, it had to be because of Amasawa—or Yagami. Only White Room students would've known in advance what Tsukishiro was planning.
Tsukishiro stopped fighting. Even though he had a stun gun in his pocket, he didn't bother pulling it out. He hadn't planned on actually "bringing Ayanokoji back" today anyway.
This whole setup in I2 was, at most, something he could later use as proof he'd "made an attempt," so he could report back and buy time. In Tsukishiro's mind, he still had to last until the school's cultural festival.
That was the last thing he needed to accomplish.
With a quiet sigh, Tsukishiro's eyes turned faintly wistful. "Yukio-kun… I didn't expect you to appear here. I never assigned you an I2 movement order."
Yukio, honestly, wanted to know who'd left that note. Without it, he wouldn't have gotten here—and he never would've had the conversation with Amasawa that cracked everything open.
That paper had done him a favor.
And Tsukishiro clearly didn't know Yukio was coming, which narrowed the possibilities fast: either Ayanokoji had sent it to deliberately drag Yukio into this… or it was the other White Room assassin.
"I got invited to the show by a note." Yukio said it lightly, then looked straight at Ayanokoji—making the implication obvious.
Ayanokoji understood instantly. He shook his head without hesitation.
He wanted zero additional association with Yukio. Tsukishiro and the White Room were already more than enough to split his attention. He wasn't about to pile another headache on top.
"It wasn't me."
As if to prove it, he glanced down at his safety watch. "If I'm guessing right, my backup's about to arrive."
And sure enough—moments later, the speedboat on the water suddenly reacted to something. It didn't even bother with Tsukishiro anymore. The engine roared, and it peeled away at full throttle.
Not long after, another rescue boat approached. Standing at the bow was a woman in professional attire—Chabashira, Class D's homeroom teacher.
Tsukishiro might be acting chairman, but he couldn't exactly knock a student out and drag him away right in front of a teacher. And Chabashira wasn't just any teacher—she was Ayanokoji's homeroom teacher.
Now everyone understood Ayanokoji's "backup." He'd simply given Chabashira a heads-up in advance and arranged a time for her to come to I2.
As for what he told her? That part was easy. "Danger," "possible emergency," "need assistance"—pick any excuse. If a teacher believed a student might be in trouble, she'd show up.
Yukio nodded. With Ayanokoji ruled out, that left only one answer: the note came from the last, unknown White Room assassin.
Which brought Yukio right back to the real mystery—Why warn him?
Was it to sabotage Tsukishiro? To protect Ayanokoji? To use Yukio as a blunt instrument to ruin someone else's plan?
None of it fully added up.
While Yukio was thinking, both Tsukishiro and Amasawa's expressions changed.
Tsukishiro's was the look of a man realizing he'd been undercut: So Yagami was the one who pulled Yukio in? For what?
Amasawa's was heavier—conflicted. She didn't know if she should betray a friend of over ten years and tell Yukio the truth. But the words wouldn't come.
After all… Yagami was still the only companion she'd had in the White Room for years, even if they weren't especially close. Not closer than Yukio—obviously. But still.
In the end, Amasawa lowered her voice and asked carefully, "Senpai… do you really have to identify the person who sent that note? Did they do something to you?"
"Hm? Not really." Yukio could tell she was trying to plead for the other White Room student, and—honestly—the note had helped him. Without it, he and Amasawa wouldn't be like this right now.
And with Amasawa asking…
He let it go.
"Forget I said anything."
"Phew…" Amasawa finally relaxed, then hugged his arm tighter again, grinning up at him. "Hehe. Senpai, you're the best~!"
Watching them, Tsukishiro's eye twitched.
These two White Room fifth-years—were they here to execute orders, or were they here to wreck his day?
How was it that neither one could be relied on?
These are the top two of the fifth generation? Seriously?
Tsukishiro had a curse in his throat and no idea whether to swallow it or spit it out.
Since becoming acting chairman—and being forced to deal with these White Room students up close—Tsukishiro had started to understand the White Room's limits better than ever.
And at this point, from the bottom of his heart, he honestly believed it:
The White Room wasn't better than Advanced Nurturing High School.
Still… he glanced at Amasawa clinging to Yukio, smiling like an idiot in love, and his mood smoothed out just a little.
Seems his earlier attempt to get along with Yukio hadn't been wasted after all.