![[Y3 V4] YOU ALL KNOW ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ABOUT HIS TRUE GOAL AT ANHS](https://preview.redd.it/x6364a5kd36h1.jpeg?auto=webp&s=a12ab6a5300114040fb3bbdc83f5d5f63cea5cd8)
[Y3 V4] YOU ALL KNOW ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ABOUT HIS TRUE GOAL AT ANHS
DISCLAIMER: This is purely my own hypothesis, formulated entirely on what I have observed, known, and understood about the text up to this point, polished using AI to preserve its grammar (my thoughts are scattered). Looking back, most of these structural shifts were heavily foreshadowed all the way back in Year 1—especially through the lens of his iconic opening monologue on the fundamentally flawed nature of equality. Whether the narrative ultimately bends to this calculation remains to be seen, but the structural breadcrumbs are all pointing toward the exact same zero.
(And yes, the ragebait title of this post was an intentional gaslight attempt to make y'all seethe on purpose)
Alright so, listen to me and let's get one thing straight:
If you're still reading this LN, especially Y3, throughout 8the lens of ship wars, class rankings, faction changes, or the old joke that Ayanokouji just wants a peaceful life, then you're looking exactly where the school wants you to look.
Which is wrong. So, please think about it again.
And consider your direction for this series.
Because... at first glance, Year 3 still looks familiar:
Class A stays under pressure.
Class C becomes unstable.
Leaders reposition.
People transfer.
Points move.
Exams become much harsher.
Everything appears to follow the same logic Classroom of the Elite has always used: survive long enough, accumulate enough advantages, and eventually prove who deserves to stand above everyone else based upon merits alone.
That reading isn't just wrong, nor does it suffice.
It's just somewhat incomplete and unfair.
Because something strange starts happening once you stop tracking victories and start tracking what Ayanokouji actually allows to remain stable. Just look at the structural mechanics of his interventions. His endgame isn't about boosting one class to a definitive, comfortable victory. He is meticulously bleeding the system to force a massive, unprecedented four-way deadlock.
He is deliberately manipulating exam outcomes, controlling attrition rates, and twisting class dynamics to bring Classes A, B, C, and D into a suffocatingly tight point equilibrium right before the final curtain drops.
He doesn't preserve leads.
Nor he does consolidate power.
Let alone remove uncertainty.
Every time the board starts producing a new type of hierarchy, he quietly introduces conditions that compress it.
So, what does he really want then?
His own perceivable conception of equality.
However, it’s unfair and unrealistic to consider that people are equal by its flattened perception. In fact, whether something is equal or not highly depends on the way equality itself works. So, does it really work?
I have my doubts on that regard. Especially when considering the unfairness of such a concept itself has taken to its toll, whereas people keep fighting for equality while blindly suggesting to put down each other in a fierce competition.
At first, we all are given a chance to be equal by its own form of Nash Equilibrium, as in starting from zero. But once a gap appears, it will get bigger and bigger as the one who feels to be on cloud nine happens to enjoy their status quo while the bottom-tier of society keeps falling. The more people want equality, the lesser they get closer to it. Therefore, equality indeed doesn't exist—but somehow we still crave for it even when it's not equal anymore. It's an ideal to achieve within the enormous, capitalistic society after all.
And that is exactly why his transfer out of Horikita's class into Arisu's newly demoted Class C was a structural necessity. People debated for years whether he did it out of some hidden savior complex for the other leaders, or just sheer boredom. Both are completely wrong. He understands the paradox of the gap.
By elevating Horikita's class to the absolute apex and then immediately abandoning them, he isolated his primary variable. He artificialized that initial equilibrium, removed his own protective buffer, and threw them directly to the wolves. They aren't his friends. They aren't his protégés. They are his ultimate test subjects. The brutal reality of Year 3 is that if Horikita and the rest cannot adapt, evolve, and crush him entirely on their own merit, they don't graduate as Class A. Period.
The school keeps producing environments that look like competitions while quietly destroying accumulated advantages.
The latest example is Volume 4. Look at the structure of the Token Collection Special Exam.
On paper, it's simple. Mixed groups. Token collection. Individual rankings. Expulsion.
But look at what the rules actually remove.
Students are grouped across all four classes. Tokens are transferable, but only under severe logistical limitations. Tasks reward direct academic and physical performance. The first person to reach zero is expelled. The student with the lowest total is expelled.
You can't simply hide behind class infrastructure. You can't endlessly redistribute resources. You can't safely inherit momentum. You are forced into direct contact with people outside your own hierarchy while carrying the consequences individually.
That isn't a normal ranking system. That is controlled equalization.
Not equal outcomes. Rather, equal exposure.
And that difference also really matters.
Because people misunderstand what equality means in Year 3. Equality here isn't justice. Equality here isn't kindness. Equality here isn't removing competition.
It's removing excuses.
When your class disappears, when your point lead disappears, when your alliances become diluted, when your protection becomes unreliable—what remains?
That's the question Volume 4 is actually asking.
And suddenly the entire Year 3 structure starts looking different. Horikita reaching Class A stops feeling like a reward; it starts looking like separation. Ayanokouji leaving stops feeling like betrayal; it starts looking like the withdrawal of external support. The increasingly compressed environment stops looking like balance; it starts looking like isolation.
Because if they only succeed through him, they never succeeded. And if they collapse without him, they never stood at the top.
This completely murders the community's favorite myth: the idea that he's just a passive, energy-saving observer who merely reacts to the chaos around him. Taking the reins of a fractured Class C and orchestrating a four-class point equilibrium requires a terrifyingly dominant, unyielding will. His early-year detachment was never a personality trait. It was a low-power mode—a standby state while he mapped out the school's architecture and found the levers. Now, he isn't reacting to special exams. He is the one setting the parameters.
But there is one more layer to this. Because this isn't only equality versus hierarchy. It's nature versus nurture.
The White Room already answered one question: Can superior ability be created?
The answer was yes.
Kiyotaka Ayanokouji exists as the solemn evidence.
But Year 3 seems interested in a different question. Even if... and if superiority can be manufactured, does superiority even deserve authority at all?
Now that's a much uglier question to answer
The White Room assumes human potential can be isolated, optimized, categorized, and reproduced. The school keeps creating environments that interfere with that assumption.
From mixed groups, unstable alliances, incomplete information, exhaustion, emotion, variables, noises.
These are eerything that White Room removes.
After all, at the end of the day, his antagonist isn't Tsukishiro, his father, or anyone in the student body. His true enemy is the concept of genetic determinism itself.
The White Room is built on the absolute, arrogant premise that human potential can be perfectly synthesized, categorized, and controlled in a sterile environment. And the irony is that Ayanokouji himself may be the one pushing that experiment forward. Not by defeating everyone, but by removing every excuse they could use after losing.
Because if ordinary students lose after all conditions are compressed, then hierarchy survives. Maybe superiority really was indeed earned after all.
But then, if ordinary students win—not through luck let alone charity, but through adaptation, relationships, becoming something that cannot be manufactured—then the White Room loses an argument much larger than any exam.
Not because genius doesn't exist nor that hierarchy disappears. Rather, excellence alone failed to justify itself.
And maybe that's what Year 3 has been building toward this entire time. Not proving that ordinary people can become extraordinary, but proving that human value was never something you could engineer in the first place.
Which brings us to the ultimate, terrifying trajectory of his experiment.
He isn't just trying to level the playing field for a dramatic finish. The final stage requires maximum, chaotic turbulence—an environment pushed to such a high emotional and structural output that the school's entire framework begins to fracture under the weight of its own unpredictable variables.
My prediction is that Ayanokouji is aiming for a complete, unprecedented four-class point deadlock at the exact moment the final exam concludes. Every single class ending up with the exact same points.
It is the ultimate validation of his cruel thesis.
If he can engineer a flawless, absolute equilibrium out of the school's inherent inequality, he proves that despite the gaps, despite the status quo, and despite the sterile design of the White Room, a closed system can be entirely rewritten by the chaos of human adaptation. He won't just defeat his father's philosophy. He will leave the school standing on a mathematical zero, proving that excellence was never something you could manufacture.
Alright, that's all there is.