Chapter 24

(0/22) Yuki arrived home. (1/22) She had come back from school. Her most recent game, Cloudy Beach, had lasted an entire week. Since Yuki had skipped an extra day of school to meet with her mentor, it was the first day in a while since she had gone to class, and to little surprise, the lessons went right over her head. She already had the sense she was falling behind in several of her classes, and she figured she would need to set aside a considerable amount of time for studying. Unfortunately, academics were not her only problem. Lately, she had sensed someone watching her at school. One of her classmates was prying into her life. Yuki took great care to act like an ordinary student, but if those prying eyes followed her outside of school, problems would arise. Thinking she would soon need to take matters into her own hands, she stepped into her pitch-black room and pulled on the cord hanging from the ceiling. The fluorescent light illuminated her tiny studio apartment. It was a complete mess. The innumerable stains on the floor and walls made it feel thoroughly run-down. In direct proportion to the tiny dimensions of the room, there were few pieces of furniture. Yuki only owned one set of bedding, a refrigerator, and a small desk. Previously, many trash bags had been strewn across the floor, but now there were none, since Yuki had acquired the life skills to stay on top of garbage disposal day. Despite that, her living environment had grown no less cluttered, as evidenced by the tracksuit lying on the floor, the textbooks she was too lazy to put away splayed across her desk, the insect repellent and disinfecting wipes stationed within arm’s reach of her bedspread, and the various valuables stored underneath her desk to be readily accessible at any time. Yuki had forgotten exactly how many years she had lived in this apartment. She could easily move to a better place thanks to the prize money she had saved up, but the fondness she felt for her current home kept her from leaving. After plopping her schoolbag on her desk, Yuki took off the sailor-style uniform that, after a year of wearing, no longer embarrassed her, and changed into the tracksuit lying on the floor. Then she opened up the built-in wall closet of her apartment to hang up her uniform. The closet was stuffed to the brim with various outfits. Yuki kept a collection of costumes she had been required to wear in the games. Cloudy Beach had been her forty-fourth game, which meant she had worn forty-four different outfits. She had thrown away a few of them in her early days, so the outfits in the closet did not number forty-four exactly, but there were still over forty inside. Naturally, included among them was her swimsuit from Cloudy Beach. The sight of it caused memories of the game and its aftermath to flash into her head. She had reunited with her mentor after a year and a half, then received an urgent call from her agent while on her way home— “…I can’t just turn a blind eye,” Yuki said while putting away her uniform. She would have to put off studying and dealing with the mysterious stares until later. (2/22) Cloudy Beach—set on a secluded island in the middle of the ocean, this game had presented Yuki with quite a challenge. During the climax, she had gone head-to-head against Essay, a player far above her caliber, and somehow managed to survive. And so Yuki achieved her forty-fourth victory. She was nearing the halfway point of the goal she had inherited from her mentor: clearing ninety-nine games. However, a certain incident had put a damper on her accomplishment. It had happened while Yuki had been fighting for her life in Cloudy Beach, and it was only after she met up with her mentor at a magic bar that she caught wind of the details. “—Are you sure of that?” Yuki had asked, pressing her phone against her ear. She was speaking with her agent. Yuki had previously given her agent her number, but it was rare for the woman to actually call. After picking up with great curiosity, Yuki felt as if a giant hammer had come swinging down at her. “No,” her agent responded. “As I mentioned, the details have yet to be corroborated. I only heard the news from another agent…who learned of the incident from a different agent. This is merely hearsay, and there is no factual evidence at present. “However,” her agent continued, “if the results were really that catastrophic, we should be concerned.” According to Yuki’s agent, eighty players had participated in a game that had ended in disaster. Typically, games had a survival rate of around 70 percent, which meant fifty to sixty players should have survived. However, in actuality, only three players had come out alive. That could not be chalked up to mere happenstance—the result was a clear anomaly. “What caused it? Was it simply an accident or…something else?” Yuki was so flustered that she asked a pointless question. “I don’t know,” her agent said, responding with the obvious answer. “I have only been informed of what has occurred… The designers may have made an error with the difficulty balance, or maybe the players were exceedingly incompetent. Or perhaps…” “—One of the players was a homicidal maniac, like in Candle Woods,” Yuki said, finishing her agent’s sentence. That would be the most frightening case. Candle Woods had essentially become a legendary game in the industry, because a psychopath by the name of Kyara had gone berserk and killed over three hundred players. If this new rumor hinted at the second coming of that game— “I will contact you if I receive any further information,” her agent said before ending the call. Yuki removed the cell phone from her ear and stared at the now-silent hunk of metal in a daze. The catastrophic game was on her mind. She hadn’t received any more details. The rumors had yet to be confirmed. Still, Yuki’s heart overflowed with worry. The mere possibility of such an incident occurring was enough to inspire fear. There was no guarantee that disaster would not strike twice. A similar incident might take place in her next game. For Yuki and her goal of clearing ninety-nine games—no—for all players, it was an unwelcome situation. I have to do something, Yuki thought. I have to get to the bottom of the catastrophe. (3/22) “Still…” Yuki opened her eyes. The ceiling of her familiar run-down apartment filled her vision. Although she felt compelled to take action, that urge had led to nothing tangible. At the moment, all she was doing was twiddling her thumbs in her apartment. Yet that was not the result of laziness; she had no idea how to begin launching an investigation into that disastrous game. Upon reflection, Yuki realized she knew astonishingly little about her industry, beyond the fact that the games were held for entertainment. She had no knowledge of the audience demographics, the total clientele, the market size of the industry, the history of the organization running things, the number of games that took place annually, or the cumulative number of player deaths. Additionally, she lacked any means of obtaining information about games she had not participated in. The only useful channel Yuki had—her only link to the organizers—was her agent, but the woman hadn’t contacted her since. That was to be expected, as Yuki had only learned of the incident the previous day, but she also didn’t anticipate getting any news in the next several days. Despite working for the organizers, her agent had little authority. Her knowledge of the game in question likely differed little from Yuki’s. Although Yuki meant no offense to her agent, she would consider it a lucky break if she received a follow-up call. Next, Yuki considered the idea of taking advantage of her network of fellow players; she could go down the list of names she knew, searching for someone who had allegedly survived the catastrophic game, and ask them about it directly. If the principle of “six degrees of separation” held true, then such a search would not end up fruitless. Though it was a brilliant idea, there was one glaring issue—Yuki did not know the contact information of even a single player. While she had begun to make a name for herself in the industry as a forty-plus-game veteran, she had not maintained a friendship with any of her peers outside the games. Such was a consequence of her playstyle of not depending on others. Although it was theoretically possible for her to contact Koyomi and Hakushi, Yuki was reluctant to do so, as Koyomi had apparently retired from the industry, and she wasn’t too keen on the idea of calling on her mentor for help. There were dead ends everywhere she turned. Just before the stroke of midnight, however, a ray of hope shone down on her seemingly bleak situation. “…Right, I almost forgot about him,” Yuki said while staring at her left hand. The middle, ring, and pinkie fingers of her left hand were prosthetics. Yuki had needed to visit a prosthetic craftsman to replace her missing digits after sustaining irreversible damage in Golden Bath, her thirtieth game, which now brought back feelings of nostalgia. She had never thought about it before, but the craftsman had to be awfully well-informed about the industry. His profession placed him in constant contact with many players. It was possible he had met a survivor of the catastrophe. There was no time like the present to act. Yuki grabbed her cell phone and pulled up her call history to dial her agent—when she realized that it was currently the dead of night. Curbing her enthusiasm, she decided to send a message instead. “Sorry for contacting you so late. “I want to go visit the craftsman. Could you drive me there?” A reply came right away. Yuki’s phone vibrated in her hands before she could toss it onto her desk. “Understood. “When shall I pick you up?” (4/22) All players were assigned a dedicated agent. The workload of each agent varied by person; some only had detached relationships that went no further than inviting players to games and driving them to venues, while others maintained closer relationships. Yuki’s agent fell into the latter category, but Yuki still felt somewhat awkward about ordering her agent around like a chauffeur. Alas, she had no choice, for her destination was deep in a forest inaccessible by any means of public transportation. Yuki did not have a driver’s license, and she could not rely on anyone else to bring her to the craftsman, as he was associated with the underworld. Calling her agent was the only solution available to her. In any case, the agreed-upon day arrived, and Yuki’s agent drove her to a mansion built deep inside a forest—the residence of the prosthetic craftsman. Owing to the remote location of his home, the craftsman left the entrance unlocked, and visitors were allowed to freely wander in. Yuki opened the door, walked down the hallway, and knocked on the door to the craftsman’s workshop. There was no response. “…………” Yuki stepped into the workshop without saying a word. The room looked exactly the same as it had during her last visit. Despite the countless items inside, everything was extraordinarily organized; the room was the polar opposite of Yuki’s apartment. Nobody seemed to be present. Yet Yuki was convinced the craftsman had to be in the room. During her last visit, the diminutive craftsman had pretended to be absent and hidden himself in a small sack, before raising his voice out of nowhere to scare Yuki. Surely, he would try to pull off a similar surprise this time. You’re not going to fool me twice, Yuki thought. She opened her eyes wide and searched for signs of the craftsman. There were plenty of places where someone of his size could hide—not only in a sack, but also behind a shelf, inside a machine, beneath the floorboards, or in the ceiling. However, even if the man could conceal his body, there would still be clues as to his presence: his breathing, the rustling of his clothes, his body temperature, or his body odor, for instance. Yuki focused her senses so as to not overlook the slightest trace— —when something clattered behind her. Yuki turned around. In the same moment she realized the sound had come from a pencil falling off the desk, her left elbow hit something. Looking ahead, she noticed a tool that had previously been hanging on the wall was falling; it had gotten caught on her left elbow when she had turned around. The rest came down like dominoes. Tool after tool fell, until ultimately the entire shelf collapsed. In less than ten seconds, an entire corner of the room had transformed into an unsightly mess. “…What are you doing?” The voice came from the workshop entrance. It was the prosthetic craftsman. The steam rising from his body indicated he had just gotten out of the bath. (5/22) “Welcome.” The craftsman gestured for Yuki to sit on a guest chair. It was tall enough for Yuki to comfortably sit on. “Thank you.” Yuki took a seat. She looked at the craftsman sitting in front of her. His body was just as small as before, and his face just as bearded. Neither his hair nor beard had fully dried from the bath. “Um, I’m sorry for…that.” Yuki glanced over at the messy corner of the room. “Did you think I was hiding like last time?” “Yes…” “Don’t worry about it, then. It’s my fault to begin with,” the craftsman said, handling the situation graciously. “Sorry…,” Yuki repeated. She was embarrassed. Not at having been mistaken about the craftsman hiding, but at having bumped into the tool with her elbow. She had failed to fully grasp her surroundings. While this wasn’t a game venue, she had been far too careless. “Anyway… You here for your regular maintenance?” the craftsman asked. Yuki clenched her left hand into a fist on her knee. “Yes, but there’s also something I wanted to ask you. Sir, you hear rumors that go around this industry, right?” “Well, it comes with the job.” Yuki explained the situation. About how a catastrophic game had occurred. About how the craftsman was the only one in her circle of acquaintances who might know something. About how she wanted to ask if he had any insight. The craftsman’s reaction was unexpected. “What, you too?” Yuki’s eyes opened wide. The craftsman stroked his wet beard. “Thing is, everyone who’s come by recently has been asking me the same thing. Not surprised you’re all curious about it.” Of course, Yuki thought. Yuki was not the only one who was aware of the catastrophe. Other agents had told their players, who in turn had spread the rumor to other players, practically ensuring it had become common knowledge by now. And naturally, other players had gotten the same idea as Yuki. Although Yuki had figured the craftsman had a wealth of connections, she hadn’t imagined the others would seek out his wisdom, too. “I’ll give you the same answer as I gave the rest,” the craftsman continued. “I don’t know a thing. I’ve been doing this work for ages, but I’m just an ordinary old man. There ain’t much I know about the games themselves. Heard there were a few survivors of the game you’re asking about, but none are among my clients.” “…Really?” Yuki’s voice was tinged with gloom. She felt defeated. The craftsman had been her only ray of hope. “What, does everyone think I know the ins and outs of the industry?” The craftsman laughed. “I don’t know about everyone else, but I sure saw it that way…” “I doubt I know more than any of you. I ain’t a member of the games’ audience, and I’ve never worked for the organizers. And ’cause I’m a man, I’ve never been a player, either… Are things really that serious? With that catastrophic game.” “I think so. It could be the second coming of Candle Woods… Do you know anyone who might know more about the industry? I’d greatly appreciate it if you could introduce me…” “Sorry, can’t help you there. Livin’ in a place like this, making acquaintances doesn’t come easy. I’ve only got you players as—” The craftsman suddenly cut himself off. Even more wrinkles formed on his already-wrinkly face. He resumed speaking. “Actually, I may know someone. Not sure if she’s still alive, though…” “Who?” “A former player who switched over to working behind the scenes like me.” The craftsman made a gesture as if scraping away at his arm. “She’s a tattoo artist. Maybe she can help. I only see her every once in a while for her regular maintenances, so I don’t know if she still lives in the same place… But do you want her address?” There was no reason to refuse. Yuki nodded. (6/22) After obtaining a lead about where to go next, Yuki had the craftsman check her prosthetic fingers. Not much time had passed since her previous visit, so there were no issues of note, but… “Oh?” the craftsman remarked in the middle of the checkup. “What happened to that eye of yours?” “Huh?” The craftsman was staring straight at Yuki’s right eye—the one that was slightly fainter in color compared to her left. “Oh, this?” Yuki rubbed her right eyelid. “It’s been like this since forever. I injured it in Candle Woods… The color’s been a little dull ever since.” Yuki’s right eye had gotten cut in Candle Woods, her unforgettable ninth game. She had carelessly walked up to an opponent she had assumed to be dead, only to be met with a painful counterattack. Fortunately, the wound hadn’t led to loss of vision, but a scar remained in the form of a more faintly colored iris. “There’s no problem with my eyesight, so it’s not an issue,” Yuki added. “Wait, did you only just notice it now? After all these visits?” “Right… Guess so,” the craftsman said, bringing the topic to a close. The immensely dour look on the man’s face left an impression on Yuki. (7/22) Looking back on this moment from the future, the countdown had already begun. The countdown to an irreversible loss. The countdown to her time limit for clearing ninety-nine games. In fact, the timer had started even farther back, all the way back in Candle Woods. Just as how her mentor’s career had ended, Yuki had also been guaranteed a future of ruin by that psychopath. Still, it was pointless to brood over what may have been. Even if Yuki had realized the situation at this point in time, her fate was out of her hands. Besides going to visit the tattoo artist as recommended by the craftsman, there was nothing she could have done. (8/22) Player name: Kirihara. Real name: Kanami Kirihara. That was supposedly the name of the tattoo artist. She had been active as a player over ten years ago, which meant she belonged to a generation of players from even before Hakushi and Koyomi’s. According to the craftsman, she had cleared nearly thirty games before losing both legs, and although she procured new limbs from the prosthetic craftsman, she still decided to retire from death games. For her second career, she chose to dedicate herself to tattooing, which she had already been doing as a hobby. The following day, Yuki traveled to Kirihara’s residence. Since Kirihara was the craftsman’s fellow tradesperson and acquaintance, Yuki imagined the woman might live in the middle of a forest, but it turned out she lived in an ordinary residential neighborhood. The house at the address Yuki had been given was a magnificent mansion. It was similar in size to the craftsman’s residence, but a mansion in a forest and a mansion in the city differed significantly in value. Yuki had learned from the craftsman that Kirihara had cleared close to thirty games. The prize money from that many games would not be enough to build a house as splendid as this. Was Kirihara’s tattoo business booming? Or did she have additional sources of income? Either way, Yuki was jealous. Keeping the roof of the mansion that was visible from the edge of town in her sights, Yuki made a beeline for the entrance. And on the way there— “Yuki.” —someone called her name, prompting her to turn around. Standing there was a girl about her age. For some reason, the girl emanated an immensely sleazy aura, like that of a salesman who would talk investments while slinging around fancy words at a bar, or of a survey interviewer on the street demanding people’s addresses and phone numbers for some unknown reason. It was clear at a glance that getting in too deep with her would spell trouble. The girl was holding her right hand in the air—a typical gesture for calling out to someone. Without changing her pose, she continued and said, “Long time no see.” “…Hi there,” Yuki nonchalantly replied. She wondered who this person was. Based on the girl’s greeting, they had met somewhere before. The fact that she had called Yuki by her first name rather than her surname implied that the girl was neither associated with Yuki’s night classes nor her time at middle and elementary school. She had to be a player from a past game. However, Yuki had no recollection of the girl. With over forty games under her belt, she couldn’t be expected to remember the faces and names of every single player she had crossed paths with. “Your face tells me you’re looking at a stranger,” the girl said after a brief silence, shrugging. “The name’s Keito. It’s been over a year, so I’m not surprised you’ve forgotten me.” “Keito…?” “Remember? We were in Scrap Building together. Your tenth game.” Suddenly, the memories came flooding back. Keito. She had been present in the game where Yuki had first met Mishiro, the fated adversary she would face for her Wall of Thirty. While Yuki could vividly recall Mishiro, she had completely forgotten about the other players from that fateful game. “Ah… Yeah.” As Yuki’s tone changed to one of realization, she pointed a finger at Keito. “Right, you were there. So you kept on playing, huh?” “Yep, more or less. I don’t play as often as you, though… I’ve heard the stories. You’ve crossed the forty mark, have you?” Wondering where the girl had learned that information, Yuki replied, “Yeah, I guess.” “I assume you’re here for the same reason as me. Makes sense someone like you would be sniffing around in the right place.” “Huh? What are you talking about?” “C’mon, you’ve heard about the tattoos, haven’t you? That’s why you’re heading to Kirihara’s place, right?” Keito glanced at the roof of the mansion, which Yuki had been staring at up until moments ago. It was true it was Yuki’s destination, but… “That’s where I’m headed… But what’s this about tattoos?” “……?” “?” The two girls stared blankly at each other for several seconds. Keito was the first to break the silence. “Yuki… Do you know about that game that ended in disaster?” “Yeah. That’s why I’m here: to look into it… An acquaintance suggested I swing by.” “…Ha-ha. So you came all this way with no clue, huh? You’re a real lucky gal, Yuki.” “???” “Truth is, I’ve been investigating the catastrophic game on my own as a player…” Keito made a gesture akin to scraping her arm, the same action the craftsman had performed the day prior. “Apparently, tattoos are an important part of the story.” (9/22) Keito explained everything on the way to Kirihara’s mansion. Like Yuki, Keito had learned of the catastrophe from her agent. Like Yuki, she had also felt alarmed by the situation and began investigating—but that was where their paths diverged. Unlike the solitary Yuki, Keito had a large circle of player friends and was able to leverage her network to get in touch with a survivor of the game. That player was terrified, but with great effort, Keito managed to coax some information out of her. “The game was called Garbage Prison. As the name suggests, it took place in a corrections facility,” Keito explained. “The players had to escape while avoiding detection from wardens appointed by the organizers. It was your run-of-the-mill escape game. I learned about the rules down to the nitty-gritty, and let me tell you, the game didn’t sound difficult enough to end with that few survivors.” “But here’s the kicker: One of the players had tattoos on both arms. And just before the game was about to end, she went wild and slaughtered almost all the others.” Yuki imagined the scene. A group of prisoners lying on the floor of a damp jail as a thunderstorm raged on. Among them was a single girl, her feet firmly planted on the ground and magnificent patterns adorning her arms— “Why would that player do something like that?” Yuki asked. “Beats me. Didn’t sound like the game had any competitive element to it… The only explanation I can come up with is she’s just that kind of person.” That kind of person. In other words, someone who didn’t balk at the idea of killing people, just like that psychopath from once upon a time. “I hope not…” Yuki covered her mouth with her hand. A homicidal maniac. The most dangerous kind of person in this industry that brought together outlaws of all stripes. The last time Yuki had encountered such a player—Kyara in Candle Woods—over three hundred people had lost their lives. There was no guarantee history would not repeat itself. “I agree. The situation doesn’t seem too good,” Keito said. “But hey, look on the bright side. The player behind that catastrophic game had tattoos. That’s a huge clue. Think about it—every player has to undergo the Preservation Treatment. That means the killer couldn’t have gotten inked by an ordinary tattoo artist. Either she tattooed herself or she visited someone who was familiar with the industry.” Prior to competing, all death-game players were obligated to undergo the Preservation Treatment, a body modification procedure. The operation caused one’s blood to immediately transform into white fluff upon contact with air. Since getting a tattoo came with the risk of bleeding, only an artist who knew about the procedure was safe to turn to for the job. “So that’s why you came here,” Yuki said. “Yup. I went on the hunt for a tattoo artist who was connected to the industry and stumbled on Kirihara’s name. Still, it’s possible the killer got her ink before becoming a player or simply applied temporary tattoos… But assuming otherwise, there’s a good chance she paid a visit to Kirihara.” If that was true, then Kirihara would likely be able to offer them more information about the tattooed player. That was a hopeful prospect. As they conversed, Yuki and Keito reached Kirihara’s mansion. The compound was surrounded by an iron fence nearly twice as tall as Yuki. There was also an intercom installed nearby. A pair of girls stood in front of it. The two of them had similar features, which meant they were probably twins. They looked around high school age. Both of them had on subdued-colored dresses, similar to a maid’s uniform. They stood perfectly straight, as if steel rods had been implanted in their spines. Neither of them appeared to be the tattoo artist Kirihara. Were they her children? They looked young enough for it. Yet their attire implied they could be servants of the mansion. Perhaps both were true. “Excuse me, can I speak to you?” Keito called out. “Yes.” “Yes.” The twins responded nearly simultaneously. Both sounded rather serious. “I’m here for a visit, but…neither of you are Kirihara, right?” “No, we are not.” “Kirihara is inside.” After speaking in turn, the twins glanced over at the mansion. “My name is Haine.” “My name is Kokone.” “We are servants of this household.” “If you may, please inform us of the reason for your visit.” Yuki stared at the two girls. Haine was standing on the left while Kokone was on the right, but they looked exactly alike. If the two switched positions while Yuki was distracted, she would get them mixed up. Yuki secretly resolved to not let them out of her sight for even a second. Meanwhile, Keito explained the situation to the twins. “I apologize, but could you please wait for a little while?” Haine responded. “Kirihara appears to still be asleep at the moment…” “I’ve tried calling her multiple times, but she hasn’t picked up.” Kokone took out her cell phone and made another call. However, there was no response, and she put away her phone with a troubled expression. Yuki caught a glimpse of Keito’s phone and noticed it was twelve forty-five. Evidently, Kirihara was quite the night owl. “Do neither of you have keys?” Yuki asked. “We can open this gate, but only Kirihara can unlock the front door. She is averse to the idea of other people having a key to her residence…” Yuki chalked that up to a former player’s natural wariness. In an industry that placed little value on life, even a tiny grudge could lead someone to murder or be murdered in cold blood. There was no way to know what grudges one may have unwittingly caused and when someone might show up to kill over them. This principle was especially true now that Kirihara’s name had come up as a material witness linked to the catastrophic game— “…………” An awful scenario unfolded in Yuki’s imagination. She turned to Keito, who was coincidentally looking at Yuki at that very moment. “It’s not impossible,” Keito said. “The tattooed player took out nearly eighty people in that game. She wouldn’t hesitate to go that far if it meant destroying leads to her identity.” Yuki turned to the twins. Neither of them shared Yuki and Keito’s sense of crisis, so they simply had blank stares. “Um, would you mind opening the gate?” Yuki requested. “You have the key, right?” “Hmm? Sure, but we will not be able to enter the house.” “That’s fine. We’ll force our way in.” The twins stared back with eyes agape. “Kirihara might not be sleeping,” Yuki continued. “If I’m wrong, I’ll cover the damages. So please.” Yuki’s explanation was lacking in details, but the twins, who were apparently no ordinary girls, seemed to pick up on the urgency of the situation. “Very well,” one of them said before opening the gate. Yuki, Keito, Haine, and Kokone quickly crossed the yard and reached the front of the mansion. The front door was exquisite and well fortified; it didn’t seem like they would be prying it open anytime soon. “Yuki.” Keito pointed at a second-floor window. “See that? The window isn’t locked.” Yuki squinted. The crescent-shaped lever meant to hold the window in place was undone. The window was unlocked. There were very few circumstances under which it made sense for the window to be shut yet unlocked. For example—someone leaving the mansion through that window and closing it behind them to disguise that fact. “Let’s enter through there,” said one of the twins. The two of them had brought over a ladder from somewhere. They graciously set it up beneath the window in question, allowing Yuki to climb up to the second floor. Yuki pressed her hand against the windowpane and peered inside. She couldn’t see the interior, as the curtain was drawn, but she was able to confirm that the crescent-shaped lever was undone. The window was indeed unlocked. Yuki slid open the window sideways, pulled the curtains aside, and entered the room after making sure the coast was clear. She found herself inside a study. The four walls were lined with bookshelves. Yuki stuck her head out the window and instructed the other three to come up. Yuki waited, repressing the urge to explore farther, and Keito and the twins arrived a minute later. The four girls then stepped out into the hallway. “That way,” one of the twins said. Yuki could no longer tell one twin from the other. “Kirihara’s bedroom is over there. If she’s still asleep…” The girl suddenly trailed off. Her nose twitched slightly. “…You noticed it, too, huh?” Yuki said. She then turned to Keito, who had a grim expression. It seemed she, too, had realized the problem. The moment Yuki had entered the mansion, she had detected a certain smell, one synonymous with danger. A smell that rarely crossed Yuki’s nose, despite her industry being riddled with peril. The scent of blood. (10/22) The four girls entered the bedroom to find a body collapsed face down on the ground. Yuki was no stranger to the sight of corpses. She had even seen bodies cut up by buzzsaws or hacked into tiny pieces. Before entering the mansion, Yuki had been confident she would not feel the least bit shaken in the event she came across Kirihara’s corpse, assuming the woman had actually been murdered. Yet now that confidence crumbled like sand. It was not because the scene was heartbreaking. While the corpse had a great number of cuts and bruises, that was the extent of it. Yuki knew of many players who had died in far more gruesome ways. What shattered Yuki’s composure was the sight of the color red covering the bedroom floor. It was blood. Liquid blood. Normally colored blood, unaffected by the Preservation Treatment. The fluid from Kirihara’s body had pooled all the way to the edges of the carpet, covering the entire bedroom floor and even flowing out into the hallway. It was clear at a glance that the woman was beyond saving. This was a real-life corpse. Was this how it looked when a person died without the effects of the Preservation Treatment? “Just to be completely sure…” Yuki turned to the twins. It was obvious from their pale faces, but she still decided to ask. “This is definitely Kirihara, right?” The pair nodded silently. Yuki examined the lower body of the corpse, since she had heard Kirihara had prosthetic legs. Upon nervously feeling the woman’s legs through her skirt, Yuki felt a hard texture. There was no doubt about it—this was the craftsman’s handiwork. Yuki stepped away from the body. She also stepped away from the twins, who were undoubtedly rattled, and whispered into Keito’s ear. “Hey, um… Serious question. This isn’t meant to be a joke or anything.” “What?” Keito responded, lowering her voice. “Should we be calling the police in this situation?” (11/22) Obviously, the answer was no. Although the incident was unrelated to the games, the victim, Kirihara, was a former player. Word getting out of her death would potentially cause problems. Keito contacted an agency associated with the game organizers, and as if they had just sprouted from the yard, a group of people in black immediately shuffled in and shooed Yuki’s group out of the bedroom. The twins were brought to a separate room for questioning, leaving only Yuki and Keito in the hallway. “Give me a break, Yuki,” Keito said, bringing a hand against her forehead. “Can you cool it with the silly stuff when someone’s lying dead in front of us?” “Sorry…,” Yuki genuinely apologized. Yuki had been dead serious, but she had apparently tickled Keito’s funny bone. A few moments ago, Keito had been desperately trying to avoid bursting into laughter in front of the twins. The girl had masterfully repressed the urge to laugh until the two had been taken away, but as a result, she had been unable to talk about what really deserved their attention. “The twins confirmed her identity, and I’m positive those were prosthetic legs,” Yuki said. “That was Kirihara. But why was her blood red? I thought she was a former player…” “Didn’t she quit the industry a while ago? Human cells get replaced every couple of years, so wouldn’t the effects of the Preservation Treatment have long worn off by now?” “That makes sense…” Like tattoos, the effects of the Preservation Treatment were not everlasting. “Considering the timing, this can’t be a coincidence,” Keito said. “I’m positive this has to be the work of that tattooed player.” “But why? To silence her?” “Probably. At the very least, Kirihara knew the tattooed player’s name and face. It’s possible she even knew her phone number and address. Anyway, it’s clear there’s something that player didn’t want getting out.” Based on the state of the corpse and the twins’ testimony, the crime must have been carried out the night before. What bad timing, Yuki thought. “That player is a real threat…,” Keito muttered. “Yuki, what are you going to do now?” “Huh? …No clue.” Yuki hadn’t given it much thought. The emergence of an actual victim essentially confirmed the tattooed player’s existence. However, all clues linking to their identity had vanished. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask for your help,” Keito said. “It’s too dangerous to let that killer roam free. We don’t know when another game like Garbage Prison might happen again… There were three hundred victims in Candle Woods, right? It’s not out of the question that the tattooed player could cause an even worse disaster.” “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” “That’s why, before that can happen, I’m thinking of killing her.” Is it my turn to laugh? Yuki thought for a second. However, Keito had a completely solemn expression. She was serious. At least, far more serious than Yuki’s question from earlier. “I’m going to hunt her down and kill her outside of the games. That’ll stop the victims from piling up.” “Huh? Wait… What?” Yuki went tongue-tied for a few seconds. “Isn’t that a crime?” “…Again with the silly stuff.” Keito stared at Yuki with half-closed eyes. “We make our living outside the confines of the law. Are you really going to question that now? Besides, we’re up against someone who doesn’t have any qualms about killing.” Keito glanced over at the stream of blood flowing out of the bedroom. “Look, I’m not fearless enough to join a game knowing there’s a homicidal maniac on the loose. I’ve got to clean up this mess, or I can kiss my job stability good-bye.” I guess that’s a viable strategy, Yuki thought. The idea of killing a dangerous player outside the games proper had never crossed her mind. If the tattooed player was a psychopath like Kyara, she would likely continue murdering players as long as she lived. Eventually, even Yuki and Keito could become her victims. In that light, going on the offensive would be a rather practical approach. “How curious…” “Could you explain the details?” Two new voices joined the conversation from beside them. The twins had returned. It seemed their questioning had ended. “I wish to assist you.” “I must meet that tattooed player.” The twins remained serious in expression and tone, but even to a stranger like Yuki, it was obvious a fire burned in them. “I get how you feel,” Keito said. “Your help is greatly appreciated. Let’s chase after the killer together.” Keito and the twins nodded at one another and then all turned to Yuki. There was no need to ask what their gazes implied. Yuki thought about it for a second before answering. “I’ll pass.” (12/22) Yuki headed home. She had reached Kirihara’s mansion by train, so naturally, she took the train home as well. Yuki rocked from side to side as the train rattled. These days, the quintessential pose for train riders was to hold an overhead strap in one hand and a smartphone in the other. Yuki had wanted to adopt that pose, too, but instead, she simply held on to a strap with her right hand while keeping her left hand stuffed inside her pocket. She tried to hide the middle, ring, and pinkie fingers on her left hand—the parts of her body that were artificial—from others as much as possible. Although it would be impossible to tell they were prosthetics at a glance, and she wasn’t particularly ashamed of them, she figured that concealing them would spare her from any unwanted trouble. And so, with one of her hands unavailable for use, Yuki had nothing to do but turn things over in her head. She thought of the invitation Keito had extended to her at Kirihara’s residence. Yuki had declined because she thought the strategy didn’t match her style. She knew more than anyone how frightening a psychopath could be but didn’t think that planning an attack outside of the games was the right way to go about things. Maybe she would eventually need to rely on schemes of that sort to clear ninety-nine games, but at present, Yuki was unwilling to resort to underhanded tactics. She had learned the truth behind the catastrophic game, along with the fact that the perpetrator had tattoos as a defining physical characteristic, so for now her investigation had reached a stopping point. Yuki decided to pay close attention to other players’ arms for the foreseeable future. She thought of the servants of that mansion. They went by the names of Haine and Kokone. Due to the urgency of the incident, Yuki hadn’t gotten the chance to inquire about their backgrounds. However, she figured their circumstances had to be special if they were working as servants that young—and serving a former player turned tattoo artist at that. It must have been unbearable for them to learn their master had been killed for the sake of concealing a secret. Yuki felt sorry that people from peripheral industries had gotten caught up in the disaster. She thought of the tattooed player. What kind of person were they? At the very least, it was clear they were a merciless killer who did not hesitate to murder in order to keep their identity under wraps. Were they really a psychopath like Kyara? If Yuki ran into that player in a future game, would she be able to escape from their clutches? Last time, Yuki managed to overcome Kyara with the help of her mentor. But now Hakushi had left the world of death games. If a similar encounter took place, Yuki would have to rely entirely on her own skills to survive. Was she really up to the task? As those thoughts flowed through Yuki’s head, the train came to a stop. She got off the train and headed for the ticket gate. Just as she opened her wallet to take out her transit card, however… “Ah…” …a mass of coins spilled to the floor. She hadn’t noticed the zipper of her coin pouch was open. While telling herself to remain calm, Yuki picked up the coins and left the station. She followed a familiar road all the way back to her apartment. When she arrived, she noticed a car parked in front of her building—her agent’s. It gave off a black luster underneath the early-afternoon sun. Yuki wondered why her agent had come in the afternoon. It was too early in the day and too soon since her last game for her to receive another invitation. Did her agent have news about the catastrophe? But if so, a simple phone call would have sufficed, as there would be no reason for her agent to deliver the news in person. As Yuki approached the vehicle, unable to come up with a satisfying answer, the window of the driver’s seat opened. Her agent was in the car. She greeted Yuki with a “Hello.” “…Hello.” Her agent looked at Yuki’s face and narrowed her eyes. “I apologize, Yuki.” Yuki had no idea what the apology was for. “I’m supposed to be your right-hand woman… And yet I was completely unaware until I received a call from the craftsman.” “……?” What was she talking about? A call from the craftsman? Had the two of them exchanged contact information? Although that revelation came as a surprise, the next words out of her agent’s mouth were even more of a shock to Yuki. “This is about your right eye.” The agent touched a spot beneath her own right eye. “We have scheduled an eye exam for you. Would you mind coming with me?” (13/22) In a certain shopping district, a man clicked his tongue. “What?” Shion glared at the man. Since she was scowling quite ferociously and had snarled quite loudly, there was no way the man didn’t notice her. Yet he didn’t retaliate and simply walked past Shion with a frown. They were in the middle of an arcade. The various signs and products on display in front of the shops made the already-narrow pathway feel even more cramped. The decent amount of foot traffic meant that people needed to be considerate to avoid bumping into one another. However, some people in this world refused to step aside under any circumstances and instead chose to audibly click their tongue when they were about to collide with someone. Shion had just encountered one such person who intentionally went out of his way to aggravate others. She let out a rage-filled sigh. You got a death wish, Gramps? The hell is your problem? That tongue clicking means you’re askin’ for a fight, yeah? I’ll give you what you want, so why aren’t you coming at me? Too scared to go up against a little girl? Don’t act all hostile if you don’t have the balls to follow up, asshole. If we weren’t in the middle of town, I’d have slit your throat by now. Actually, that won’t stop— Shion scratched her head and repressed the urge. Her agent had advised her to keep a low profile for the time being. Tales of Garbage Prison, along with tales of Shion, the killer behind the disaster, had already become widespread. There had to be scores of players trying to track her down right now. Causing a commotion in the middle of town would essentially expose her location. And so Shion was forced to exercise restraint, something she had done far less frequently in her lifetime compared to the average person. Somehow, she managed to keep her cool. Shion stopped in front of a shop—a croquette shop. It was owned and operated by a single elderly woman and had maintained a price of fifty-eight yen per croquette for many years. The shop’s longstanding success was proof of how delicious their product was. Shion had frequented the establishment since she was little. She placed her order with the old woman, who looked exactly the same as when Shion had first visited, and while waiting for her croquette to finish frying, she stared at her reflection in the glass case of the neighboring restaurant. In her opinion, she had a rather unextraordinary face that was somewhat unsophisticated, even when you took into account her age of fourteen. The kind of face that, if attributed on the news to the perpetrator of a vicious crime, would cause people to go, “A meek-looking girl like her?” Since Shion didn’t very much enjoy looking at herself, she tried to immediately avert her gaze, but a second before she could, she caught something in the glass she couldn’t ignore. A girl was passing behind Shion. In a busy shopping district, it was by no means a rare occurrence for people to pass one by. The neighborhood had residents and visitors of all ages and genders, so the fact that it was a girl was not notable, either. The problem: The girl’s face was unquestionably familiar to Shion. Her face—and her outfit. There was no mistaking it: Shion had walked past the girl in the shopping district a short while earlier. Someone whom Shion had passed earlier was now once again crossing behind her. Of course, on its own, that was not indicative of anything. It was entirely possible the girl had visited a shop, completed her errands, and was coming back the way she came. It was far more likely that the girl was just an ordinary person. However, Shion couldn’t help but harbor suspicions. What if the girl wasn’t an ordinary person? What if she had doubled back in pursuit of Shion? (14/22) Shion had slipped up in her last game. Garbage Prison. An escape game set in a prison—was the intended setup, but during the game, another player had seen Shion indulging in her bad habit. Shion killed the witness in an attempt to cover it up but was caught in the act by another player. The more she attempted to cover her tracks, the more things escalated, until she was finally forced to kill every other player in the game. She had tried her best to cull them all, but a few managed to slip away, and as a result, stories of Garbage Prison spread like wildfire through the industry. People had even started referring to the game as the second coming of Candle Woods. They’re not entirely wrong, Shion thought. Although she was not that woman’s protégé, she still had a connection to her, after all. It wasn’t hard to imagine other players would react sensitively to the return of a psychopath. Some were likely even planning to assassinate Shion before the damage could spread. That was why Shion had taken the initiative. She had erased everyone who knew details of her identity, starting with Kirihara, and had been keeping a low profile ever since. At least, that was what she had intended. (15/22) With paper wrapper in hand, Shion nibbled at her croquette as she walked. She left the shopping district and entered an area with lower foot traffic. Now that her surroundings were somewhat quieter, Shion scanned for signs of life around her and immediately sensed multiple people closing in on her. She hadn’t imagined it—she was indeed being followed. There were at least three people tailing her. She couldn’t tell if they had ill will, but it would be wise to assume they did. They must have been hiding because it was still early evening. They certainly wouldn’t dare cause a commotion in the center of town, where there was no shortage of potential eyewitnesses. But soon, the sun would set, and the number of people on the streets would shrink. When that happened, it would be the time of day for rogues to stir. Shion balled up the now-empty croquette wrapper and stuffed it into her pocket. She began to think. How did they find her? She had erased all hints to her identity. In the almost two weeks since Garbage Prison, she had followed her agent’s instructions and kept a low profile. She had kept her tattoos hidden. Her face was inconspicuous. There was nothing that would give her away as a crazed killer— It was then she realized that fleeing should be her immediate priority. Shion dialed her agent. After an outrageous number of rings, moments before being redirected to voicemail, the call connected. “Yelloooo?” The sluggish voice on the line was that of Shion’s agent. “It’s me,” Shion said in a hurried tone. “Oh, Shion. What do you want from me now?” “There are at least three people chasing me.” “Really? Sounds like a pickle.” “Come pick me up. I need to get away.” “Too much of a hassle.” “…What was that?” “Shion, didn’t you say you were going to quit being a player?” Shion had indeed said as much. With her identity exposed, she could no longer reside in the world of death games. And so, immediately after Garbage Prison, Shion had expressed her intent to retire to her agent. Her agent continued, “That means we’re back to being strangers. Figure something out by yourself.” “This is a problem related to the games. Can’t you do me a solid?” “Don’t want to.” “Stop messin’ around.” “I can say the same to you. All this time, I’ve worked my butt off for you, and you repay me by spitting on me. I can’t deal with it anymore.” It was true her agent had given her plenty of support in her day-to-day life. That was why she had been able to survive on her own at fourteen without entering an orphanage or staying at school. “Did you know that agents get a special bonus when their player reaches thirty games? I was going to treat you to a gourmet barbecue dinner when that happened, but those plans have gone down the drain. Too bad.” “…Fuck off!” Shion raised her voice, despite knowing it wasn’t the right call. “Give me a ring when you’re ready to go back to being a player.” With that, her agent hung up, leaving only beeping sounds on the line. Shion resisted the urge to hurl her phone to the ground and instead thrust it into her pocket. (16/22) “She’s noticed us,” Keito said while reading the new message on her phone. She was inside a car—not one of the black cars driven by agents, but her own private vehicle. She had purchased it with her prize money from the games, a cost that was a drop in the bucket for someone who had joined the ranks of death-game veterans with a considerable number of clears to her name. Keito had her right hand around the steering wheel and her left hand around her phone. The message on the screen was a report from a friend indicating that their target, Shion, had noticed she was being followed. The girl had placed a call in a panic—likely a request to her agent for assistance. However, the negotiations had clearly broken down, as Shion had raised her voice, ended the call, and was now frequently darting her eyes at the road. Keito’s friend theorized the girl was hoping to hail a taxi. “Would’ve been perfect if we could have followed her home…,” Keito grumbled. Just as she had resolved ten days ago at Kirihara’s residence, Keito had been pursuing the tattooed player, Shion. She had assembled a team of twenty fellow players and an equivalent number of weapons before continuing her search. The group had managed to locate Shion, quite frankly, out of pure luck. They had acquired footage of Garbage Prison from a certain channel, which revealed the girl’s player name and appearance. The group had also found out that a girl with a similar name had previously committed a murder outside of the games, and when they visited the area where the killing had taken place, a miracle occurred: One of Keito’s friends spotted Shion. The girl must have had a fondness for the area, as she hadn’t moved away. Keito had that friend tail Shion, while she herself was currently rushing over to the scene in her car. Ideally, they would have followed Shion all the way home, waited outside her residence, and attacked her in the night. It was a plan to resolve things as discreetly as possible, just like how the girl had killed Kirihara. However, now that Shion had noticed them, she certainly would not return home. Since the girl was reportedly searching for a taxi, she had to be planning to skip town. “We have no choice but to go for it.” The voice came from the passenger seat. Sitting there was Haine, a servant from Kirihara’s mansion who was wearing a dull-colored dress. “I wholeheartedly agree.” This time, the voice came from the back seat. Sitting there was Kokone, the other servant of Kirihara’s. For the past ten days, Keito had been running around with the twins. “Even if it runs the risk of drawing attention, we should go through with the plan,” Haine said. “I’m with you,” Keito replied. If Shion slipped away now, they would likely never have another opportunity to catch her. While it would be unreasonable to carry out their plan in the middle of a crowd, they had to move forward if even the slightest opening presented itself. Keito sent those instructions via message to her friends. She then set down her phone, grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, and rushed over to the scene to follow those instructions herself. Shion—the tattooed player. The girl had killed eighty players in a recent game. But games were manufactured environments. The same thing was not going to happen in the outside world. Unlike in games, where all players began on equal footing, in the real world, there was nothing stopping you from stacking the deck in your favor before heading off to battle. A clack rang out from the passenger seat. Haine removed the magazine of a handgun. (17/22) For the first time in her life, Shion took a cab. She would have wanted to flag one down on the street, but since it was difficult to imagine a taxi stopping for a fourteen-year-old girl, she instead walked up to one that was parked. The driver scowled upon seeing the young girl, but after Shion demonstrated her ability to pay, he changed his tune and allowed her to board. She wanted to order the driver to hightail it out of there, but since that would clearly draw unwanted suspicion, she uttered the name of a cram school in the neighboring town, hoping to portray herself as a well-to-do girl who did not want to be late for class. Although she wasn’t sure if she had managed to deceive the driver, he started the car without saying a word. While sinking into the back seat, Shion thought about her next steps. Going home was no longer an option. She would have to disappear somewhere, but would that be possible for a fourteen-year-old girl? She had money but absolutely zero social standing. She wouldn’t even be able to book a single hotel room. Was her only option to find a sugar daddy who would shelter her without prying into her circumstances? Shion was anxious about her future, but as it turned out, she had no need to worry—for her attempt at fleeing did not last for long. As the taxi was stopped at a light, someone tapped on the window. Multiple people had surrounded the taxi. They were all wearing helmets and masks to conceal their identities, but based on their statures and the visible parts of their eyes, Shion could tell they were girls around her age. Despite looking puzzled, the cab driver opened the window nearest to him. “Shut that right now!” Shion’s shout came too late. One of the mysterious individuals stuck their entire arm through the window, along with the object in their hand—a handgun equipped with a silencer. “……!!” Shion kicked open the car door. The force of the impact knocked back one of the assailants. Shion saw a handgun with a silencer fall out of their hand. For a second, she considered picking it up, but since she noticed another gun pointing at her out of the corner of her eye, she devoted her efforts to running away. Shion sprinted across the road, got onto the sidewalk, and dashed into an alleyway without looking back. Really? In the middle of town? Shion thought. Did they think nobody else would notice if they shot her inside a car? Or did they expect the organizers to erase all evidence of the incident? More importantly, how had they even caught up to her in the first place? Had they followed her by car? Shion regretted not adequately watching her back. So fixated on these unnecessary details was Shion that it took a while before she realized her next mistake: She had fled into an alleyway with little foot traffic. The better course of action would have been to run into a crowd. She should have entered a busy area and placed herself in a situation where there would be many eyewitnesses, but she had done the exact opposite. She was essentially inviting the assailants to end her life. Shion had given them exactly what they were craving: a situation where they could finish her off without a single witness. Click! The sound came from behind Shion. She instantly identified it as a gunshot. Not only did she know a bullet would make that sound when fired through a silencer, but she also felt a burning pain run through her shoulder. The impact of the bullet propelled her shoulder forward, causing her to twirl as she tumbled onto the ground like a spinning top coming to a halt. Click! Click! More gunshots filled the air. Fortunately for Shion, she had been rolling on the ground, which allowed her to evade the two additional bullets. They whizzed through the air right next to her face, such that she could even sense the warm air generated by their velocity. Shion looked up to see two masked assailants. Both were wielding guns. Two or three more reinforcements ran up behind them. That was more than enough visual information to shatter Shion’s will to fight. “I’m quitting the industry!” Shion shouted. “I won’t play in any more games! So—” “Doesn’t matter. Shoot her.” The order had come from the person standing at the far back of the line of reinforcements. Although a helmet hid their face, Shion could tell that the voice belonged to a girl, and it sounded like that of a scam artist. “We can’t trust what she says. We’ve come all this way, so we should take her out once and for all.” Before the assailants could aim the muzzles of their guns at Shion, she took off running. Click! Click! Click! While dodging the onslaught of bullets, Shion managed to turn the corner. However, the next moment, she stumbled over her feet and fell to the ground. To make matters worse, she landed on her wounded shoulder and let out a scream. She instantly lost the energy to get back onto her feet. Through the ground, she heard the sound of her assailants’ footsteps. She had utterly failed to make a clean escape, or any kind of escape at all—she had simply concealed herself in the shadows, buying herself mere seconds at most. However, there were times when mere seconds tipped the scales between life and death. Shion’s phone vibrated in her chest pocket. She was getting a call. Without stopping to wonder who it was from, she pulled out the phone with enough vigor to extract her own tailbone along with it and brought it to her ear. “Yellooo.” The tone of the caller was a complete mismatch for the situation. It was her agent. “What do you want?” Shion asked curtly. “Don’t be rude. Weren’t you asking for my help a short while ago?” “What do you want?” Shion lacked the capacity to raise her voice or even change her wording. She simply repeated the same sentence. “I figured you might’ve changed your mind by now, so I called. How about it? Eager to crawl back to being a player?” At that moment, Shion realized she was hearing two overlapping sets of her agent’s voice. One was coming from her cell phone. And the other— “This is your last chance.” The other came from farther down the alleyway. “You have been invited to Halloween Night. Are your preparations complete?” (18/22) A gunshot echoed through the alleyway. The masked players, Keito and the twins included, all froze in place. That was because the gunshot had not come through a silencer—which meant it had not been fired from one of their weapons. Time stood at a standstill for a few seconds, until someone stepped out from around the corner. It was not Shion. It was a person in a black suit—an agent of the games. The agent was holding a firearm, likely the source of the gunshot, and pointed it toward the sky like an official of a foot race. “Long time no see,” the agent said in a calm voice. The players remained frozen at the appearance of the newcomer. The first to regain her freedom of movement was Keito, leader of the vigilante brigade. “…We’ve never met before…” Keito looked down at the pistol in her hands. She couldn’t decide whether it was all right to point it at the person in front of her. “You’ve got to be…Shion’s agent, right?” “Correctamundo.” “So? What business do you have with us?” “I came to stop you, obviously.” “Stop what?” Keito raised an eyebrow, which was mostly hidden on account of her helmet. “We’re just having a little spat here. That’s it. No need for the organizers to step in.” Keito had thought up that excuse in advance. Although the issue was between players and had been sparked by the events of a game, Keito’s argument was that it would be odd for the organizers to stick their nose in a personal squabble. However… “That’s not going to cut it,” the agent said, standing firm. “After all, my player has joined a game.” “…What was that?” “She expressed her intention to participate by word of mouth just a moment ago. We organizers have a duty to ensure her safe arrival to the venue. It’s well within the purview of my position to eliminate anyone who tries to harm her.” After explaining the situation in an overly polite tone of voice, the agent pointed the gun at Keito. “So there you have it… I’m happy to go at it, if that’s what you want.” The sound of shoes scraping against the ground filled the air. It was the sound of some players in her group retreating. Shit, Keito thought. Joining a game—in other words, becoming a player—would grant Shion the protection of the organizers even in the real world. Going after her would be equivalent to going after the organizers themselves. That was out of the question. After seeing Keito’s group lose their will to fight, the agent snickered. “Well then, take care!” The agent waved their free hand and left. As soon as the agent disappeared from view, silence returned, making it seem as if time had frozen once more. It finally thawed a short while later, and the players began murmuring. The arrival of an unexpected person. Their failed attempt at hunting down Shion. The reality of success slipping through their fingers left a sour taste in their mouths, as a dampened mood settled over the area. Shion had begged them to let her go, claiming she was quitting the industry. Keito had instructed her group to shoot to kill because they couldn’t fully trust the girl’s words, but she had also figured the girl’s declaration was probably true. Shion had to understand that a large contingency of players was after her life. Consequently, another disastrous game, like a second or third repeat of Garbage Prison or Candle Woods, would likely no longer happen. Although Shion had slipped away, their group had essentially achieved their objective. That was why Keito—and probably her friends as well—did not feel frustrated. “……” “…………” However, there were some in the group who gave off a different aura—Haine and Kokone. The two of them held a personal grudge against Shion and appeared deeply upset at the fact that the girl had escaped. Keito empathized with them, but she couldn’t let herself wallow in those emotions. Now that they had fired guns in the middle of town, they were criminals. They had to leave the area as soon as possible. Just as Keito was about to give the order to retreat, Haine took action. The girl opened her eyes wide as if realizing something, pulled out her cell phone, and placed a call. “…Yes.” “Yes.” “Are there any in which I can participate immediately?” “…Yes, please.” And with that, Haine ended the call. “Who did you call?” Keito’s curiosity beat out her urge to leave. “My agent,” Haine responded. “…Haine, you’re a player?” Keito had been working alongside Haine for the past ten days, but that was news to her. The girl was no ordinary servant. “Yes. And not just me; Kokone, too. Although, we are essentially half retired.” “I heard you say the word participate…” “I asked if there were any game invitations for me… There was just one, so I requested to join.” Keito was not so dense as to overlook the implication. “No way… You’re planning to play in the same game as Shion?” Haine nodded. Based on what the agent had said earlier, Shion must have been taken into protection because she had indicated her intention to play in a game. That meant the organizers were currently recruiting players for a game. Meanwhile, Haine had been invited to a game. There was a decent chance it was the same one Shion had joined. Haine was still dead set on pursuing Kirihara’s killer— In response to Haine’s statement, Kokone also pulled out her phone and placed a call. “Yes, it has been quite a while. Yes… I see. Very well.” The exchange ended there, and she removed the phone from her ear. “How was it?” Haine asked. Kokone shook her head. It seemed she had not received an invitation. “Leave this to me.” Haine patted Kokone on the shoulder. “I vow to catch her.” “…………” Kokone moved her eyes in a way that implied she had something she wanted to say. However, all that came out of her mouth in the end was a simple “Okay.” (19/22) “Geez, you are such a hassle…,” Shion’s agent muttered while pulling Shion up by the hand. The girl had been collapsed on the ground, unable to move. The agent staggered out of the alleyway with Shion draped over a shoulder and tossed the girl into a black car parked nearby. Shion could tell from the sound of the engine and the inertia acting on her body that the car had started moving. “I knew you’d come back for me,” Shion said while lying across the back seat. It was an entirely insincere remark. “Don’t try to butter me up,” her agent replied. “…What made you come back for me?” Shion asked, with far more sincerity. “I didn’t want this chance to go to waste. Didn’t I tell you? I get a bonus after you clear thirty games. It’s quite a pretty penny, too. Unlike you players, we barely get paid, so I’ve got to take anything I can get.” Shion couldn’t tell if her agent was being genuine, but regardless, she had been saved. She felt lucky she had exactly twenty-nine clears to her name. “How ’bout we go to that barbecue place after I survive this game?” Shion said, referencing the exchange they had over the phone earlier. “My wallet’s fatter than yours, so it’ll be my treat.” “Oh, that?” The agent’s voice turned cold. “Isn’t it obvious I was joking? You think I’d ever share a meal with a brat like you? Hell no.” Shion curled her lip. Figures, she thought. (20/22) Yuki went home. (21/22) She had come back from school. There was a spring in her step, as she had managed to catch up with her classes after falling behind due to Cloudy Beach. Her studying had paid off. Since recent events had given her another thing to worry about, she was ecstatic about having resolved a different one. And so, with joy in her heart, Yuki returned to her run-down apartment. A car was parked in front of her building—the black car driven by her agent. Since nearly two weeks had passed since Yuki’s last game, she figured it was about time for her next invitation. The window of the driver’s seat opened. “Good evening,” her agent greeted. “You have been invited to Halloween Night… Would you like to join?” Her agent had deviated from her usual phrase, probably out of consideration for Yuki. Several days earlier, Yuki had gone to an eye exam. Back during Candle Woods, the psychopath had injured Yuki’s right eye. Although Yuki’s vision had ostensibly returned to normal, she had gone to the hospital, complying with her agent’s instructions to undergo an examination. There, Yuki received news that was far from joyful. However… “I’ll join,” she said, indicating her intention to participate. “I plan to keep playing at the same pace as before.” “…Very well.” Her agent opened the car door. Yuki entered without a word. She was handed a paper cup filled with water and a capsule-shaped sleeping pill. It was the usual procedure. To ensure the secrecy of a game’s location, players would ingest a sleeping pill and be driven to the venue while they were unconscious. As she went through the motions, Yuki convinced herself things were fine. Playing in two or three games per month was the perfect frequency to avoid straining her body and to ensure her instincts did not dull too much. The state of her right eye did not change that fact. As her consciousness began to fade, she felt frustration for the umpteenth time in the past two weeks. Her right eye had gotten injured solely because she had been sloppy. If she hadn’t carelessly approached the psychopath in that synthetic forest, she would not be in this situation. She had never felt so frustrated before. But agonizing over it now was pointless. She couldn’t change the past. It would be worse to let her eye get to her and cause her to mess up even more. It wasn’t too late to give things her all. All she had to focus on was the here and now. She simply needed to keep chugging along and do what she could. That was what Yuki told herself. However, she couldn’t help but wish that it would have lasted just a little longer. (22/22)