Watching Chris make his way over to Sudou Ken on his own initiative, Ichinose Honami gave a quiet, approving nod to herself.
Not that the private training session had been entirely... comfortable. If she was being honest, parts of it had been outright mortifying — the kind of thing you'd rather not put into words.
But right now, his stepping up like this saved her the headache of doing it herself. And she was grateful for that.
She'd heard enough about Sudou Ken to know what she was dealing with. Class D's resident troublemaker. The type who believed in the absolute supremacy of force — hot-tempered, impulsive, exactly the kind of unstable element that became a liability the moment a real crisis hit.
It wasn't that she had anything against underachievers. It was simpler than that: when two people didn't know each other, extending goodwill too freely had a way of backfiring. Someone with an ego that fragile would read kindness as condescension — and condescension, as an invitation to make things difficult. That kind of unnecessary friction was the last thing any of them needed right now.
In a situation like this, having a classmate like Chris do the guiding really was the most sensible approach.
Actually... Chris-kun is a pretty decent person, when you think about it. And he's not bad-looking either.
The thought arrived without warning, unbidden.
He's just a little rough around the edges. Maybe he hasn't quite gotten used to the way people communicate here in Japan — all the roundabout politeness and reading between the lines... Was I being too harsh on him just now?
She was still drifting through that thought when warmth pressed into her palm.
"Ichinose. Don't worry about us."
Shiranami Chihiro's hand closed tight around hers, eyes fierce with something that looked like a decision being locked into place.
"Go all out. This time, Shiina-san and I will keep the random participants safe — no matter what." Her grip tightened. "I mean it. I don't... I don't want to be a burden to you anymore."
Ichinose came back to herself. She looked at her best friend — at that gaze, full of trust and quiet determination — and felt something settle inside her chest.
She turned toward the Black Sphere's display, toward the countdown ticking down its final seconds, and gave a single firm nod.
[00:00]
[Weapon Selection Phase — Concluded]
[Initiating Full-Party Transfer]
...
As the transfer beam crept up his face and reached his eyes, Ayanokoji Kiyotaka did not close them.
He kept them open. Calm. Watching with quiet, clinical attention as the dim, oppressive interior of the multimedia classroom dissolved — replaced, step by step, by swaying amber light.
This was the first time he'd experienced a Black Sphere transfer firsthand.
Interesting.
The sensation of being disassembled and rebuilt was deeply unpleasant. That was simply a fact. But it didn't stop him from thinking clearly.
Technology this far beyond the current limits of human science had no business existing in this era. It shouldn't have been possible. And yet here it was.
If something capable of this level of dimensional superiority is operating in this world... then the idea that it knows my origins — that it sees through that man's ambitions — doesn't seem so far-fetched anymore.
His vision cleared completely.
Ayanokoji tilted his head slightly and took in his surroundings.
Not far to his right: a massive floor-to-ceiling window. The last light of sunset bled through the glass at a low angle, painting long, pale streaks of reflection across the tiled floor.
On either side of the window stretched wide, shadowy corridors — store shutters rolled down and locked, overhead lights flickering fitfully, barely managing to stay on, as though the wiring itself had given up.
"Looks like a shopping mall," said Kaneda Satoru.
He'd already switched back to his regular glasses. He swept the space with a slow, careful look, his voice low and measured:
"No sound. No people. Either they evacuated in advance... or something is blocking outside contact." He paused. "If it's the latter — are we still technically within the school grounds?"
The question was half-directed at himself. Neither Ayanokoji nor Machida Koji saw a reason to interrupt it.
The two of them exchanged a brief glance and said nothing.
Seeing that Kaneda seemed to be working through it, Machida Koji spoke first:
"We don't know how many random participants got pulled in. We don't know how far we are from the main group." He kept his voice even. "For now, let's stay together. Find somewhere visible — or get our hands on a mall directory. Make it easier for Kanzaki and the others to locate us when they come looking."
Ayanokoji gave a small nod. Agreement.
At the same time, he was quietly sizing up the two temporary allies at his side.
Dropped into a situation with their lives on the line, neither of them had panicked. They'd assessed and strategized immediately. That wasn't average. These weren't random students — they'd been hand-picked by their respective class leaders for exactly this kind of pressure.
He was still turning that over when his feet stopped.
No visible cue. He simply raised one hand — a small, unhurried gesture — and both men behind him went silent instantly.
Kaneda adjusted his glasses and narrowed his eyes, following Ayanokoji's line of sight down the corridor to a dim, weakly-lit patch of shadow ahead.
Something was moving there. A silhouette, drifting slowly out of the dark.
"That build..."
Kaneda swallowed.
"Not a normal adult. The gait is steady but unhurried... It's not a Kabane. Doesn't move like one of the spirit-types either."
He hesitated. "A Parasyte?"
Then, almost immediately, he shook his head — teeth set, clearly frustrated with himself: "No, that doesn't track. According to Ryuuen, Parasytes are supposed to show up as the hidden high-value boss. We just landed. There's no way we're running straight into the jackpot."
Machida's mouth tightened. He dropped his voice to a hiss:
"Will you shut up? If that actually is a Parasyte and you just announced it out loud, you've handed it every reason it needs to kill you on the spot."
"Relax." Kaneda's jaw was set, but his tone stayed dry. "Small fry, we fight. Big boss, we run. Either way — want to put a bet on it? We've both got two lives."
Machida went quiet.
He was in the process of calculating whether he could ditch Kaneda, grab Ayanokoji — who at least seemed functional — and make a clean exit together, when —
Thud. Thud. Thud.
A rapid burst of footsteps slammed in from the corridor behind them.
Surrounded from both ends. Trapped.
But before that particular flavor of despair could take root, the footsteps resolved into a voice. A very human voice, reverberating through the empty corridor with obnoxious confidence:
"Would you two quit dithering already?! What kind of pointless tactics are you even talking about?!"
"Look at what's in front of you! That thing's practically breathing on your faces! You wanna know what I'd do? You charge the straggler. That's it. Done. Easy."
The corner of Ayanokoji Kiyotaka's eye gave the faintest, nearly imperceptible twitch.
Sudou. From our class.
Kaneda and Machida both released a long, slow breath.
And with Sudou Ken's arrival, the silhouette at the far end of the corridor stopped.
In the dying amber of the sunset bleeding through the windows, they finally got a clear look at it.
It was hunched. Wearing an ill-fitting suit that looked like it had been put on by someone who'd learned what a suit was from a description. Its build was vaguely human — but its arms nearly dragged the floor, and its face was a mass of wrinkled, leathery skin stretched over the features of an ape.
"This is..."
Machida stared, visibly thrown: "Did a chimpanzee have an affair, or did someone's siblings get way too close? What kind of creature design is this? It looks like a punchline."
Kaneda and Ayanokoji were equally taken aback. The visual was genuinely surreal — the kind of thing you'd expect in a gag manga, not a survival situation.
Before any of them could think past that, Sudou Ken was already talking.
"Ha! I knew that picture looked familiar — so it really is those anti-human chimp people!"
He swung his battle blade up in a wide arc, pointing it directly at the creature, grinning like he'd just found exactly what he was looking for:
"Perfect timing! Guess it's my job to explain — loudly, and in person — exactly why humans sit at the top of the food chain! Enjoy the lesson, you bottom-feeding animals!"
Ayanokoji's brow furrowed.
Going by Sudou's reaction, the creature in front of them was clearly one of this exam's designated targets. That much tracked.
The problem was that the Black Sphere never handed out actual weaknesses. Traits, yes. Catchphrases, yes. Anything genuinely useful? Never. Which meant the real threat level of any target was always an unknown quantity until the first exchange of blows.
Now that I think about it...
This is probably part of why Hirata didn't publicly announce that Chris and Kushida were veterans.
Preventing the overconfident idiots in the class from assuming the experienced players would carry them through. The logic was sound.
Hirata's concern had apparently been validated faster than anyone expected. Murphy's Law, right on schedule.
As the thought passed through his mind, Ayanokoji let his feet drift half a step back — almost imperceptibly — positioning himself behind the overlapping shadows of Kaneda and Machida.
What happened next caught everyone off guard.
Faced with Sudou Ken's direct provocation, the Chimpanzee-Man did not fly into a rage. Did not lunge. Did not bare its teeth in the way a beast would.
It simply raised its head and regarded Sudou with a flat, expressionless look.
"Actually... I only came over to ask for directions."
A beat of silence.
"But what you just said." It tugged at the knot of its necktie — the gesture of something deeply uncomfortable in clothing it hadn't chosen. "That I find... interesting."
"In biological terms, yes — your species does appear to occupy the apex position in this world's food chain. I won't dispute the classification."
It sounded almost polite. That made it worse.
"However." The Chimpanzee-Man's voice didn't change. "I regret to say that I have not observed, in any human being from this world, any meaningful difference from the humans of the world where I was born."
"The same arrogance." A pause. "The same... fragility."
"To be candid — I was dismantling fully armed human units with ease long before any of you were relevant. I have no particular reason to believe you would compare favorably."
It exhaled — a slow, almost weary sound — and delivered its verdict with the gravity of something that had genuinely stopped being impressed a long time ago:
"You are, all of you, nothing more than ordinary men — born into an age that had the good fortune of not having to face something like me."
____
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