Chapter 3

(0/7) Yuki awoke inside her 120-square-foot studio apartment. (1/7) This was the moment Yuki despised most about the games: seeing the all-too-familiar view of the ceiling of her tiny, run-down apartment. The scene beat into her groggy head that the fun times spent in a death game, on the one and only stage in the world where she could thrive, had ended. Yuki always wound up in a sour mood moments after waking. She sat up and got off her mattress. Her mobility was back to normal. Her right eye had also been healed, and no issues with her depth perception lingered. She took off her clothes to check her body and found that all her stab wounds had vanished. She had been fully restored. Yuki praised the ability of the organizers to heal everything, even down to her eyeball. She grabbed the phone next to her pillow. It was five o’clock in the afternoon. Yuki then realized the scenery outside the window had a reddish glow. She hadn’t needed to check the time—it was clearly around sunset. It was still too early for Yuki to stir. She was a night owl at her core. She always fell asleep at seven in the morning and woke up at seven at night, for a shocking grand total of twelve hours of sleep. That was the natural outcome of her having continued to lead a directionless lifestyle since graduating middle school, and it was also why she thought of herself as a shameful person who couldn’t face society. She couldn’t leave her apartment during the day, out of fear of being seen in public. Guess I’ll doze off, she thought. Two more hours until it’s my time of day. Since her drowsiness had completely faded, she probably wouldn’t be able to fall to sleep again, but she could at least lie on her back and stare off into space. Or she could be like an unhealthy teen and kill time on her phone. Either way, just two more hours. Yuki threw the covers she had once removed over herself and went to lie down. The next moment, an uneasy feeling took form inside her heart. It resembled discontentment, or perhaps more so guilt. A voice in her mind questioned if she was okay with doing this. Yuki had returned to sleep after waking up on countless occasions, but this was the first time anything like this had happened. While fidgeting around under her covers, she searched for the reason. Immediately, she stumbled across the answer—it was because she had inherited the will of her mentor. The words Yuki had blurted out without thinking to survive Candle Woods were having a much more profound impact on her than she expected. It was quite surprising, but a mentality had slowly started to sprout within her that she needed to get her act together, that she needed to behave like a proper successor to Hakushi. As time went on, her unease rapidly expanded. “Ahhh…” Yuki sighed and removed the covers, which could no longer repress her feelings. “I just need to get up, right?” she mumbled to herself before stepping outside. (2/7) The only place for her to go was the convenience store a five-minute walk away. Yuki worried that a new voice would enter her head instructing her to fix her dietary habits, but those fears were unfounded. While carrying a ready-made convenience store meal packed full of sugar, sodium, fat, and preservatives, she returned to her apartment. Buying food was always a challenge for Yuki. That was because her appetite would take control of her, forcing her to inhale anything she bought. Unusually, Yuki set down the meal and let it rest on the floor this time. She went to open the door to her closet, took out clothes that had been folded—or rather, balled up—in the corner, and laid them out on the floor. They were the outfits she had worn in past games. The previous costume was that of a shrine maiden. Before that was a delinquent’s outfit. Prior to that was a school swimsuit, and so on. All in all, six outfits lay spread out on the floor. In addition to those, Yuki remembered she had thrown out two other costumes due to mold, making eight in total. Combined with the bunny-girl outfit from the most recent game, that made nine. That was Yuki’s current record. Nine games. Ninety more to go before she reached ninety-nine. Her goal was a long way off. Yuki had never reflected on any past games, but she clearly remembered one or two predicaments she had been in. She felt proud at having been able to fight through hell and back. After surviving especially perilous situations in her previous two games and, of course, Candle Woods, she had only managed to string together a streak of nine victories. She would have to replicate that winning streak ten more times to reach ninety-nine. Yuki once again realized just how insane her mentor had been—and just how ambitious her bluff was. Still, in a mighty tone, she said, “Fine, I’ll get it done, dammit!” (3/7) Going back in time… (4/7) The Candle Woods game had ended. After the threat of the psycho killer had been eliminated, the few survivors—Yuki and Airi—stayed in a room furnished with living necessities that had been set up in the maze. As the organizers determined the game had reached an equilibrium and had no reason to continue, it was terminated early on the third day. After retrieving the two players, employees of the organization running the game bustled about to clean up the venue. Among them was an employee who’d entered the large room that had served as the Bunny Team base camp. The place where three hundred Bunnies had first gathered, where Hakushi had been killed, and where Yuki and Kyara had held their fatal showdown. The employee stood before Hakushi’s body, which had been left in its gruesome state. “I have come to pick you up,” the employee said to the corpse. “The game is over. You no longer need to play dead.” After a short while… …a single creak echoed out. Moments later, the grating sound multiplied. Creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak. When it had finally ceased, the gruesome corpse, in all its grisliness, was on its feet. Even though its bones, its muscles, its entrails, and its every last part had been destroyed, even though it had been personally dismantled by the psycho killer, the body stood, covered entirely with white fluff. It resembled a Halloween costume. “You never change,” said the employee, Hakushi’s personal agent. “I think this every time, but how in the world do you do that?” Hakushi didn’t respond. The employee wondered if the woman couldn’t speak in her current state. The employee had no idea what made that possible. Hakushi had undergone a body modification procedure not officially sanctioned by the game organizers. Compared to the Preservation Treatment and the psycho killer, who had embedded armor inside her head, what Hakushi was capable of was out of this world. It was physically impossible for a human body to stand without muscles or bones. Her revival could only be explained by some mechanism that transcended the laws of physics—perhaps it was even a form of sorcery. Yet, it wasn’t impossible. She was a one-in-five-hundred-trillion superhuman, after all. It wouldn’t be strange for her to have been possessed by one or two gods. “Congratulations. This makes ninety-six games.” The employee clapped. “Three more to go. I look forward to your performance.” Those words were genuine. In these games where human lives were entirely dispensable, clearing ninety-nine games was nothing short of a miraculous accomplishment. Anyone would want to witness such a feat if they could. However, Hakushi shook her head. “……?” The employee looked puzzled. “I’m retiring,” Hakushi responded in her own voice. She seemed utterly monstrous. “I’ve toyed with so much of my body, it’s finally catching up to me. Since I couldn’t keep up with her, I don’t see how I can do another game.” “I beg to differ.” “No, I can tell. Call it a woman’s intuition,” Hakushi remarked with an old-fashioned phrase. “Um, would that be because you passed on your will to your protégé, Yuki?” “Yep. It’s exactly as she said to that killer.” “Her words seemed to please Kyara, oddly enough.” “Probably because that woman had protégés of her own. Must have resonated with her.” “Were you expecting Yuki to say what she did?” “I didn’t think she’d express it that clearly. Wonder what happened.” “Would you like to view the archived footage? If you are intent on retiring, I will invite you into our club.” “No, I’ll pass. I’m not a fan of peeping.” In a way, her words were a total rebuke of these death games. The employee grinned. “I suppose you are worried about whether she will be able to cross thirty games.” “The Wall of Thirty, huh?” The phenomenon where veterans who had cleared games with ease suddenly experienced a rapid decline in their chances of survival around their thirtieth game. It served as a kind of ritual to distinguish mere veterans from top players. “That brings me back,” Hakushi continued. “I still think about my thirtieth from time to time.” “I am overjoyed to hear that. There is nothing that encourages us more than players reminiscing over our creations.” “I might as well ask now, but what’s the truth behind the wall? Do the organizers intervene?” “Of course not. It brings us great delight to witness the birth of new star players. While we may adjust game design to allow for more survivors, we never make it harder to survive.” “Really…?” Even without a mouth, Hakushi seemed to let out a sigh. “Well, I don’t need to worry about Yuuki. She’s not the kind of player who would stumble at the thirtieth game.” “Oh? Why is that?” “What do you think?” “Could you have figured out a trick for overcoming the Wall of Thirty and conveyed that to your protégé?” “Guess again. The Wall of Thirty is a curse. And there’s no surefire way to beat a curse.” “Then does your protégé have extraordinary skills? Perhaps on your level or even greater?” “Nope. Sure, she’s above average in her instincts, but she’s no better than Sumiyaka in that respect.” “Despite her appearances, could she be an extremely hard worker?” “Please. She’s the laziest girl in the world. Just ask her agent.” “Then has she undergone the same body modification as you?” “I haven’t said a word to her about this, nor do I plan to.” “…Then I haven’t the foggiest. Why?” Part of Hakushi’s face contorted. She was smiling. In a joking tone, she said, “Because she’s a phantom. Curses don’t work on phantoms.” (5/7) Back to the present. (6/7) Yuki spent some time thinking—what did she need to do to survive ninety-nine games? She did everything she thought of. First, she cleaned her room. She even took out her garbage. She bought a notebook and pen and finished reflecting on all her past games. She also bought a large quantity of clothes hangers and hung her game outfits in her closet. She even improved her eating habits and decided to work on fixing her inactive lifestyle, one step at a time. At last, she had reached the final thing. “…This isn’t embarrassing at all in the games, so why do I feel like this…?” Yuki touched her warm cheek. Her uneasy face was captured by the front-facing camera of her cell phone and reflected on the screen. The reason for her discomfort could be found below her neck. What currently adorned her body was not her indoor tracksuit nor her outdoor tracksuit. It was a marvelous schoolgirl sailor-style outfit. She had bought the outfit online, and it was designed to resemble a school uniform. There wasn’t a particular reason she needed it to be a uniform, but since Yuki lacked the fashion sense to dress herself well, she went with this option. And now Yuki felt immense regret for her decision. Age-wise, she would pass for a high school student, so it shouldn’t have felt like wearing a costume, but for some reason, her brain found it extremely embarrassing. Nevertheless, as the time to depart was approaching, she had no leeway to prepare a different outfit. Nor could she afford not to go. In order to survive ninety-nine games, she had a desperate need for knowledge. After all, a girl who had no idea what the story of “Kachi-Kachi Mountain” was about, who couldn’t even calculate the odds of surviving ninety-nine games, had no shot at becoming a top player. Yuki slipped on a pair of loafers she had also bought online and left her apartment. The sky was tinged with red. It was the evening. The hour of day when an ordinary school would have long adjourned already, but that was no problem, as Yuki was going to attend evening classes. Her cell phone indicated she didn’t have much time, so she ran. As the phantom girl sprinted off, her skirt fluttering in the air, many passersby turned their gazes to her, but Yuki didn’t feel the least bit embarrassed. Her feet hit the pavement more strongly than they ever had before, and no matter how far she ran, exhaustion never crept up on her. She figured it must have been because she was following her own path. The goal that now existed in the very core of her being had imbued every inch of her body with strength. From now on, I’m going to live as a player—and play death games to put food on the table. (7/7)