Rainforest air was never truly silent.

  Itsuki Raien realized that the moment he woke up.

  Dripping water echoed endlessly. Insects buzzed somewhere unseen. Leaves rustled even when the wind didn’t blow. The air was thick—heavy enough to press against his lungs.

  He opened his eyes.

  Green.

  Everywhere.

  Tall trees rose like pillars into a canopy so dense the morning light filtered down in broken shards. Mist clung to the ground, curling around packs and boots.

  Then—

  “Where are they?!”

  Itsuki sat up instantly.

  Shouting erupted from every direction.

  “Sensei?!”

  “Hey—this isn’t funny!”

  “Why is my bag over there?!”

  Panic spread fast.

  Fourteen students of Class 3-A scrambled to their feet, voices overlapping, fear escalating by the second.

  “They’re gone!” someone shouted.

  “No, they can’t be—”

  “I don’t see the instructors!”

  Itsuki stood fully, scanning the campsite.

  No teachers.

  No fire.

  No signs of authority.

  Only rainforest.

  Someone grabbed his sleeve.

  “Itsuki—what do we do?” Airi Kurose whispered, eyes wide.

  Another student laughed hysterically. “This has to be a prank, right?”

  “It’s not,” Itsuki said quietly.

  That only made it worse.

  “Then we’re screwed!”

  “We weren’t told about this!”

  “I don’t even know which direction we came from!”

  The shouting grew louder. Someone kicked a pack. Another dropped to the ground, hands in their hair.

  Itsuki took a sharp breath.

  Then he shouted.

  “EVERYONE—STOP.”

  His voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

  It wasn’t anger.

  It wasn’t panic.

  It was command.

  The class froze.

  Itsuki stepped forward into the center of the camp.

  “Look at me,” he said firmly. “All of you.”

  Reluctantly, they did.

  “They didn’t abandon us,” Itsuki continued. “This is the survival camp.”

  A few students stiffened.

  “That means this was always the plan.”

  “Then why didn’t they say anything?!” Ren Falk, a tall boy with a trembling voice, snapped.

  “Because panic is part of the test,” Itsuki replied.

  He let the silence stretch.

  “Panicking fails it.”

  No one spoke.

  “We are not lost,” Itsuki said. “We’re exactly where they wanted us.”

  Slowly, breathing steadied.

  “Now listen carefully,” he continued. “We do three things. Right now.”

  He raised a finger.

  “First—no one moves alone.”

  Another finger.

  “Second—we take inventory.”

  Third finger.

  “And third—we calm down.”

  Someone scoffed weakly. “Easy for you to say.”

  Itsuki met their eyes. “I’m not calm because I’m fearless. I’m calm because fear wastes energy.”

  That landed.

  “…Alright,” Airi said softly. “What do we do?”

  Itsuki nodded. “Good. Inventory. Now.”

  Day One passed in fragments.

  They discovered they had food for three days—if rationed carefully.

  Water was abundant, but dangerous if untreated.

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  The rainforest was alive—too alive.

  Something always moved just beyond sight.

  They built a crude shelter beneath large leaves, tying branches together with spare cord.

  “Something’s watching us,” Mio Hanekawa whispered as night fell.

  “It’s a rainforest,” Itsuki replied. “Something’s always watching.”

  That night, no one slept well.

  Day Two tested nerves.

  Humidity soaked clothes. Insects bit relentlessly.

  Arguments sparked over nothing.

  “Why do you get the bigger ration?”

  “Because I’m taller!”

  “That’s not how rationing works!”

  Itsuki intervened every time.

  “Enough,” he said, again and again. “We don’t turn on each other.”

  They listened.

  For now.

  Day Three broke them.

  The last of the food was gone by midday.

  Silence followed the empty packs.

  No jokes.

  No arguments.

  Only hunger.

  “We need to find food,” Itsuki said. “Fruit, insects, anything.”

  “I’m not eating bugs,” Kenta Moru snapped.

  “You’ll eat hunger otherwise,” Itsuki replied flatly.

  They split into groups—carefully.

  An hour passed.

  Then two.

  When they regrouped, they had very little.

  A few edible plants. Some fruit—barely enough.

  “This won’t last,” Airi said quietly.

  Someone dropped their pack.

  “I’m done.”

  All eyes turned.

  It was Ren.

  “I’m not doing this anymore,” he said, voice shaking. “This is insane.”

  Itsuki approached him slowly. “Ren—”

  “I want to leave,” Ren snapped. “I’ll wait here. The teachers will come.”

  Silence.

  Itsuki looked at him for a long moment.

  Then he said the truth.

  “No one is coming.”

  Ren laughed sharply. “That’s not funny.”

  “I’m not joking,” Itsuki said. “They left on purpose. This is the test.”

  Ren’s face drained of color.

  “…You don’t know that.”

  “Yes,” Itsuki replied. “I do.”

  Ren sank to his knees.

  “I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t do this.”

  No one moved.

  No teacher emerged.

  Minutes passed.

  Nothing happened.

  Fear crept into everyone’s eyes.

  “They really aren’t coming…” someone whispered.

  That’s when the cracks widened.

  “I didn’t sign up for this!” Kenta shouted.

  “We should split up—cover more ground!”

  “No, that’s stupid!”

  “I’m not listening to him anymore!”

  Itsuki raised his voice. “Stop—”

  But they didn’t.

  Students began drifting off.

  One went to the river alone.

  Another climbed higher ground.

  Two argued loudly, then separated.

  The structure collapsed.

  Airi grabbed Itsuki’s arm. “They’re not listening.”

  Itsuki clenched his jaw.

  “Hunger does that,” he said quietly.

  Ren remained on the ground, staring at nothing.

  “Itsuki…” Airi whispered. “What if this keeps getting worse?”

  Itsuki looked around at the rainforest.

  At the canopy that swallowed sound.

  At the students who were no longer a class.

  Then he spoke—softly, but firmly.

  “Then we survive anyway.”

  The rainforest didn’t answer.

  But it closed in all the same.