Chapter 30

(0/48) —Shortly after Yuki took on Tamamo as a protégée, the two of them had the following conversation. “What do you think is the one thing that’s absolutely essential for becoming a top player?” Yuki asked. She had posed that question to Tamamo as the launchpad for lesson two: learning the skills to survive as a player. “In other words, the attribute shared by all long-lasting players. The essential element that separates amateurs from experts. Any idea?” Tamamo paused for a moment to think. “Would it be physical strength? I imagine big, brawny players have an advantage in games.” Yuki shook her head. “Not necessarily. Having a large body works against you in certain situations, like if you need to walk across a balance beam or crawl through cramped tunnels. Sure, there are plenty of cases where combat ability makes a huge difference, but strength isn’t everything. You can’t say it’s essential for becoming a top player.” “…I see.” After some more thought, Tamamo said, “Then how about the ability to detect danger? For instance, being able to deduce the presence of traps or instantly recognize malice from other players. Since our lives are on the line, players who prioritize circumventing risk must have an edge.” That was true. In fact, Yuki herself had said in a past game that cowardice was the key to survival. It was a practical mantra for beginners to adhere to, but— “Those kinds of players tend to die out in the long run. You won’t build up experience if you simply coast through games by avoiding danger. The moment you find yourself trapped in a situation with no escape, you’re out of luck. Players in that category tend to participate in fewer games, and they certainly don’t level up into top players.” While there were exceptions like Koyomi, that woman was truly one in a million. “…Hmm…” Tamamo pursed her lips into a slight pout—another adorable expression for Yuki to admire. “In that case…what about finding a mentor? Players who build strong relationships with capable players surely have an edge, right? I remember you mentioning how it’s important to absorb the wisdom of more experienced players.” In a world where a single failure could lead to one’s doom, players had plenty of motivation to learn from seasoned pros. That was precisely why countless mentor-protégée relationships had blossomed among players and why Yuki and Tamamo were currently having this conversation. However, that answer made Yuki smile. “Actually, that’s the worst thing you could do. Being eager to learn under someone else means you’re not trying to think for yourself. I can’t believe some players would choose to abandon all responsibility, even though it’s their life on the line. People who fixate on learning from others go down quickly.” Tamamo—who was currently learning from Yuki—puffed out her cheeks. It was the first time Yuki had ever seen someone do that in real life. “That’s not funny, Yuki.” “Sorry…,” Yuki said, offering an empty apology. “Okay, I admit, a willingness to acquire knowledge and skills is important. But what I wanted to get across is that the perfect player doesn’t exist. Excelling in one area means struggling in another. And there are all sorts of different games, too. A disposition that puts you at an advantage in one game could very well work against you in the next. While there are general patterns in the kinds of players who have an easier time surviving, they aren’t cut-and-dried. There are no absolutes.” Yuki continued, “That’s the kind of world we’re trying to thrive in. With no certainties to rely on, we risk our lives on choices made on shaky premises. While that’s the case in any industry, it’s especially true in ours. Don’t forget that.” (1/48) Crisis Shuttle was nearing its end. (2/48) A robot was attacking a player. The machine was made primarily from tin and was so stereotypical that you wouldn’t even find it in modern manga. Although its form was modeled on a human being, its head and body were squarish, various gauges were fluctuating wildly on its chest, and antennae were rotating on its head. Its two arms—each with only two appendages, of course—stuck out of the left and right sides of its body, holding a hammer and saw respectively. The robot was going up against a player who had the appearance of a phantom—Yuki. She was grappling with the machine, her hands on the handles of both weapons. Her outfit rivaled the robot’s design in gaudiness, consisting of a ridiculously oversize headset, a top that clung to her skin, a skirt with a streamlined fit, and cyberpunk boots. Every piece of her outfit was glowing in various spots, giving it a cybernetic look. It was an android girl costume—and quite the provocative one at that. Yuki thrust out her leg and kicked the robot away. Then she retreated, sprinting down a futuristic hallway. She was on board a spacecraft. The objective of this game, Crisis Shuttle, was to locate emergency escape pods and exit the ship while fleeing from out-of-control killer robots. Of course, Yuki was not actually in outer space; the venue had simply been decorated to appear that way. The killer robots, on the other hand, were real, wandering about the enclosed space. Yuki had fought a number of them already, and her android costume had gotten damaged in several places. Yuki had already made significant progress in the game. She knew the location of the escape pods, along with the code to unlock the door to the room where they were housed. All that was left was to head there herself. “Gah!” Yuki hit her head on a corner of the hallway. Foolish mistakes were easy to make when one was rushing. She quickly shook it off and went back to running down the passageway, repeating the same blunder several times along the way. Eventually, after turning three corners and traversing a flight of stairs, she came upon a door with a keypad. Covering her right eye with one hand, Yuki pressed buttons with her free hand to input the passcode. As she was doing so, a robot appeared from the corner of her eye. It had caught up to her and was now at the end of the hallway. Since Yuki had been practically falling over herself during her escape, she had failed to open up much distance between her and the machine. Although the robot was not yet within reach, time was of the essence. Yuki frantically punched in the numbers from memory. Fortunately, she finished inputting the passcode before her metal foe could attack. The door automatically began to slide open, and Yuki slipped through the gap without waiting for it to open all the way. Upon looking behind herself, however, Yuki realized her job was not over—for the robot had appeared on the other side of the door, now fully open. Although the door was beginning to shut, the robot was advancing at a far greater speed and would be able to enter the room. As she had done earlier, Yuki attempted to kick the robot away— —but it struck her outstretched leg with the hammer. “……!!” Yuki gritted her teeth. Despite her injury, she managed to kick the robot and push it back with her broken leg. The hammer struck her a second time, followed by a third, but she continued to fight off the machine until the door could completely shut. Finally, with a clunk, the room Yuki was in became sealed off from the hallway. She looked down at the leg she yanked back inside. It was terribly swollen, appearing as if there was a rugby ball embedded under her skin. With that, Yuki’s fifty-sixth game came to an end. (3/48) Yuki awoke inside her apartment. (4/48) After completing her post-game routine—offering a prayer and reflecting on the events of her most recent competition—Yuki looked down at her pillow. Her android costume had been folded up next to it, so she opened the door to her closet to put it away. Her closet was packed to the brim. Costumes lined the interior from one end to the other. It was already at maximum capacity—beyond maximum capacity, in fact. This had been a recurring problem as of late. Inside were over fifty game outfits; combined with her everyday wear, this added up to over sixty articles of clothing in total. There was not enough space to hang them all up on the rack, so she had folded up a number of garments and placed them on the floor. Seeing her game costumes stored in two different ways felt somewhat bizarre to her. “…I need more storage space…,” Yuki muttered, adding her android outfit to the pile on the floor. She then went out for a walk. It was the middle of the night. Idly browsing her phone, she racked her brain over what to do for storage. Should she buy another closet? No, that wouldn’t be smart; she wanted to avoid saddling her tiny studio apartment with more furniture. What about renting a self-storage unit? That wouldn’t be a great idea, either. It would prevent her from taking out her outfits whenever she wanted, and leaving game-related items outside her residence was a big no-no. Then what about moving to a slightly bigger place? As Yuki was pondering the matter, she abruptly felt the sensation of an insect crawling on her neck. “?????!!” Yuki leaped into the air. Taking a few hops forward, she turned around and got a good look at the culprit. It was Tamamo. “Hee-hee!” After a short laugh, Tamamo said, “Good to see you again, Yuki.” She put her fingers together—presumably the true identity of the insect—and bowed. “…Long time no see,” Yuki replied, rubbing her neck. “Congratulations on clearing your fifty-sixth game.” “Huh? You know about that?” “Yes, your agent called me. After hearing that you returned home safe and sound, I decided to stop by for a visit.” “…Right.” She’s been making all sorts of connections behind my back, huh? Yuki thought. (5/48) Indeed, Yuki had just cleared her fifty-sixth game, which meant a considerable amount of time had elapsed. Nearly four months had passed since Yuki had taken Tamamo on as a protégée. Thankfully, they both had been able to keep playing without losing their lives or suffering serious injuries. As for Tamamo’s growth, the scene from earlier was ample demonstration. She had sneaked up behind Yuki without being noticed and touched her neck, which meant she could have strangled Yuki if she had so wished. Of course, since she would have oozed malice upon attempting to do so, Yuki would have put up resistance, but the girl was undisputedly skilled in her ability to erase her presence. In her early days as Yuki’s protégée, Tamamo would feel embarrassed just from being hugged, but she had evidently developed thicker skin, as this level of physical contact seemed to no longer bother her. That could very well be considered growth, too. Whether that was the result of Yuki’s mentorship was uncertain. Since surviving the mock game on that remote island, Yuki had taught Tamamo in a common-sense way, much unlike Rinrin’s dreadful methods, covering topics such as dealing with traps, combat skills, ways to concentrate, and so forth. Although her lessons were by no means world-class, at the very least, Yuki had done her job training Tamamo into a full-fledged player without her dying or getting injured. That was why the two of them were able to walk alongside one another at this moment. Yuki carefully observed Tamamo. When they had first met, Tamamo was a round, pudgy girl. When next they met, however, she had transformed into a young woman of unmatched beauty. And now Yuki’s impression of Tamamo had changed yet again. That was only to be expected, as almost half a year had passed since first they ran into one another. “Have you cleared your eighth game?” Yuki asked. “Yes, without any issues of note,” Tamamo replied. Less than four months had gone by since the beginning of their mentor-protégée relationship, and the two of them were no longer living under the same roof. That was for several reasons: Yuki’s studio apartment was too small to accommodate two people, Yuki didn’t enjoy sharing a living space, and Tamamo had also stopped clinging to her mentor, having finally overcome her trauma from lesson one. Their relationship had evolved, and now they would only be in each other’s company once in a while to catch up and train. It was customary for them to first update each other on their game count when they met up. Last time, Yuki had cleared her fifty-fifth game, and Tamamo her seventh, which meant each of them had cleared one game since then. With eight games under her belt, Tamamo could already be considered an outstanding player. At her current level of skill, she would likely survive for much longer, barring unforeseen circumstances. She was on track to continue her streak of victories and eventually face the Wall of Thirty— “…………” Yuki tried her best to stop herself from imagining anything beyond that. (6/48) The two kept walking, when all of a sudden, Yuki’s phone rang. After checking the caller ID, Yuki said, “I have to take this. Be right back.” “Got it,” Tamamo replied. Yuki left Tamamo behind and headed for the nearby park. While walking over, she tapped her phone to accept the call. As she was raising the phone up to her ear, she suddenly stopped herself. It was a video call. “…Um, why are we doing this on video?” Yuki asked the caller, who appeared on the screen. “Rinrin, you can’t see, right?” It was Rinrin—the gentle-looking woman who wore bells on her ears. “Is there a problem?” she replied. “This is what I was in the mood for.” “You haven’t changed a bit…” Evidently, the woman was as determined as ever to keep up her bluffs. “More importantly, is what you sent me true?” Rinrin asked. “Yeah.” Yuki had messaged Rinrin right after leaving her apartment, as she felt this issue was one she needed the woman’s help with. She cut straight to the chase. “I’ve lost most of the vision in my right eye.” Yuki focused her attention on her injured eye—and its blurry vision. Her vision loss had progressed further since Halloween Night. Although Yuki had hoped that wouldn’t happen, few problems in life went away with a simple prayer—especially those related to the human body. Her right eye’s functionality had worsened to the point where she could clearly feel the effects. The right half of her vision was cloudy and out of focus, similar to how it would feel to wear a single contact lens of the wrong prescription that had been scribbled over with a black pen. Since her vision loss was nothing new, Yuki faced few problems in her day-to-day life. However, she couldn’t read well unless she covered her right eye, and she would frequently make clumsy mistakes when jumping or running around, even in games. Although she had managed to play it off up to now, the situation had finally become dire. “I’d appreciate it if you could teach me the basics of echolocation.” Echolocation—the ability to perceive one’s surroundings through echoes. Rinrin no longer possessed that skill, but she had previously used it to thrive as a player. Rinrin was perhaps the only person in the world who could help Yuki through her current predicament. “Very well,” Rinrin replied. “However…there is not much I can teach you. Echolocation merely involves making noise and picking up the reflected sound waves. It is simply a matter of growing accustomed to it.” “Well…that’s what I thought, too, and I’ve actually been practicing for a while, but it hasn’t been working out… I think I might be going at it the wrong way. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to meet up in person and have you review my technique.” “I see. Very well, I will assist you however I can.” “…Just so we’re on the same page, I don’t want anything like last time,” Yuki clarified. “No frills, please. Like, don’t throw me into a dark room and force me to battle you to the death or anything.” “Oh, how did you know what I was thinking?” “…Of course that’s what you had in mind…” Yuki narrowed her eyes. “Was throwing people into the deep end a common teaching style when you were a player?” “Who knows? You’re the first person I have ever taught, and I’ve never learned under anyone, either.” “Wait, really?” That was unexpected. Yuki had assumed Rinrin possessed a wealth of experience teaching others. After all, it seemed she had been quite the capable player, and—her instruction methods aside—she had run the mock game on that remote island rather seamlessly. “There were players who took on protégées in my day, too, but I wasn’t one of them, because I didn’t think I had the makings of a teacher. Especially after losing my eyesight, I was so focused on working around my disability that I was in no place to be thinking about others…” Makes sense, Yuki thought. “That reminds me, Yuki. You had a protégée of your own. How’s it going with her? Are you raising her right? Or is she no longer with us?” Rinrin had phrased it as if Yuki was taking care of a stag beetle. The woman was truly a player to the core. “She’s alive and kicking, thankfully,” Yuki replied. “She just cleared her eighth game.” “Really? How wonderful…” Yuki sensed a certain implication in Rinrin’s voice as it trailed off. Assuming it was no hallucination, Yuki was easily able to imagine what the woman had wanted to say. It was obvious, considering both Rinrin’s remark and Yuki’s current condition. “Well…that’s how it is,” Yuki blurted out. She didn’t want to face the possibility of Rinrin spelling it out if the silence continued to drag on. “Anyway, can you let me know what dates work for you?” “Right, the earliest I can do is…” After hearing Rinrin’s schedule—the woman’s life of retirement apparently afforded her plenty of free time—Yuki picked a date and ended the call. The park fell quiet again. Enveloped by the silence, Yuki thought about many different things. Her right eye. Tamamo. What Hakushi had said to her some time ago—and what Rinrin had implied just now. And above everything else, her current condition. In those two or three minutes—not a long stretch of time by any means—Yuki felt something deep inside her readily drift away. (7/48) After leaving the park, Yuki reunited with Tamamo, and the two resumed their nighttime stroll. The time they spent together was entirely unproductive, complete with idle chatter and convenience store ice cream. Since that would defeat the purpose of Tamamo’s visit, Yuki tried to think of something she could teach but came up empty. In her nearly four months as a mentor, Yuki had already shared everything she could with her protégée. Although Tamamo probably hadn’t internalized everything she had been taught, that would happen with time. Yuki didn’t have to intervene for Tamamo to continue growing on her own. The situation presented the perfect opportunity to broach the subject. “Tamamo,” Yuki said, after finding a suitable moment in their conversation. “It’s been…four months? Since I took you on as a protégée.” “That’s right.” “Honestly, when we first met, I didn’t expect things to last this long.” “Me neither,” Tamamo replied shyly. “I was devastated when you left me behind way back when…” “…Sorry about that…” Yuki genuinely felt terrible about what she’d done in Halloween Night. “Well anyway, it’s been four months, and I’ve taught you pretty much everything I can. I don’t have anything left to pass down to you as a mentor.” Tamamo likely sensed something ominous in those words, as her expression turned gloomy. However, Yuki continued. “I told you about how my goal is to clear ninety-nine games, right?” “Yes, you did.” “That’s something I inherited from my mentor. She called it quits after her ninety-sixth game because her body got too banged up for her to keep playing. She was only three games away from the finish line, but she concluded that she couldn’t make it in her condition.” Over the long haul of participating in nearly a hundred games, a player’s body would fall into disrepair. While the organizers didn’t design games to be more or less difficult, players themselves grew weaker over time and thus faced greater troubles. This phenomenon would occur in the final stages of a ninety-nine-game streak. Yuki felt she had already taken the first step in that downward spiral. The vision loss in her right eye was only the starting point; her condition would surely continue to worsen. That was why she needed to focus on taking countermeasures. She was in no place to be concerned about anything else. Gradually, a logical argument took form in her mind. “She was just three games away. I have to go that much further than my mentor. It’s not enough for me to only practice what I learned from her; logically speaking, that would only get me as far as ninety-six… In fact, I’d probably fall short of that. My mentor and I are two different people, and we have different strengths and weaknesses. Even if I did everything the same as her, I wouldn’t reach ninety-nine. I need to go beyond what she taught me and find my own unique style—that’s my assessment.” Way to hide behind faulty logic. Yuki ignored the voice coming from the depths of her heart. “Tamamo, I want you to do the same.” Yuki finally reached the crux of the matter. “It won’t do you any good if I keep teaching you forever. This will be the last time we meet like this. I’m terminating our relationship as mentor and protégée. From this point on, use your abilities to find your own way forward and survive on as long as you can.” Yuki looked at Tamamo. The girl was utterly flabbergasted. Although the word flabbergasted was often used in hyperbole, in this situation, it was a perfect description—perhaps too perfect, in fact. Tamamo stood there frozen, like a statue or mannequin. Of course, no sound came from her lips. She was completely quiet. Yuki also fell silent, as she felt no need to say anything more. A suffocating mood enveloped the area, as if the curtain of night had taken tangible form and wrapped itself around them. Yuki was the one to break through the shroud. “Farewell.” Leaving behind only a quiet word of parting, Yuki walked away. Tamamo offered no response. Nor did she chase after Yuki. Yuki couldn’t decipher what Tamamo was thinking, but she chose to conveniently believe the girl had accepted her goodbye. Yuki reflected on what had just happened. It may not have been the most adept or amicable way of ending things, but nevertheless, she had gotten it done. It had been a painful decision, but her hands were tied. This was best for both Tamamo and herself— Is that what I really believe? (8/48) After that farewell, Yuki no longer met up with Tamamo. It seemed she had successfully dissolved their mentor-protégée relationship. Although part of Yuki’s heart remained clouded, she focused her efforts on addressing the problem with her right eye. She met with Rinrin, practiced echolocation, and spent time solely on herself. Around two months later, in her sixty-second game, Yuki would come to gravely regret her decision. (9/48) —Two weeks after Yuki had taken on Tamamo as a protégée, the two of them had the following conversation. “Okay, this lesson will prepare you for escape games,” Yuki said to Tamamo. The two were standing in front of a house. It was a perfectly ordinary-looking residence—at least, it appeared that way. In reality, it was a monster house that would devour anyone who dared enter. The inside was littered with traps—all for training purposes and none that were lethal, but traps were traps. Yuki had taken a look around the house earlier. The house had been set up for them by the supplier, the man whom Yuki had met on that remote island. There was no more better training ground for an escape game. “Have you played in any escape games?” Yuki asked. “No,” Tamamo replied. “Halloween Night has been my only game so far…” “In that case, I’ll explain the basic principles.” Yuki opened the door and stepped into the entryway, which led to a hallway. “Tamamo, can you see that over there?” Yuki pointed to a spot farther down the hall. Tamamo turned in that direction and squinted but made a face that implied she didn’t know what Yuki was referring to. “There’s a slit in the floor,” Yuki said, revealing the answer. Several feet away, there was an unnatural slit that clearly did not match the flooring. Since the hallway lights were off, only the most eagle-eyed would notice it. “I’m willing to bet it’s a trap.” “Now that you mention it…I do see it,” Tamamo said. “When you’re in an escape game, ideally you spot traps ahead of time like this. If you know where they’re hidden, you won’t get caught in them. The best thing you can do is not trigger any traps in the first place.” Yuki moved her finger and pointed to another spot, this time near the far corner of the hallway. “There’s probably a trap there, too.” “……? I don’t see anything strange.” “Me neither, but speaking from experience, those kinds of spots are likely to be hiding traps. It’s easy to get distracted when you’re turning a corner. If you put yourself in the shoes of the person who set the trap, you’d realize it’s a prime location for one.” “You imagine things from the trap setter’s perspective?” “Yep. That’s why it’s not easy to catch seasoned players in traps, no matter how well hidden they are. Intuition and a keen eye—those are the two tools players use to evade traps. While it’s definitely important to pay close attention to your surroundings, as you’re moving around, you should also consider where traps are likely to be and where someone would set them.” “Understood.” “Next… If you stumble into a trap…” With her shoes on, Yuki entered the hallway. After taking several steps, she deliberately walked over the unnatural slit in the floor. The next instant, an arrow came flying from her left. Before its tip could reach Yuki’s head, she protected herself by snatching the projectile out of the air. “Impressive,” Tamamo said. “Thanks,” Yuki replied. “If you trigger a trap, it’s important to realize it as soon as possible. There should be signs you’ve set one off. In this case, I felt something strange when stepping on the floor and heard the sound of an arrow cutting through the air. Be on the lookout for those signs—and don’t miss them.” Yuki glanced at the arrow in her hand. It was a toy arrow with a plunger head for a tip. Getting hit with it would be perfectly safe. “As soon as you pick up those signs, you have to act to protect yourself. This time, I reacted by grabbing the arrow, but I would never do anything like that in an actual game. Instead, I’d either dodge out of the way or let it hit me somewhere that wouldn’t be fatal. The goal is to be able do those things instinctively.” “I understand.” Once Yuki finished her lecture on the basics, the training began. Yuki tasked Tamamo with finding and bringing back a cell phone she had placed in the house. Tamamo proceeded down the hallway, and when she reached the midway point— “—?!” Tamamo made an incoherent sound. A powdery substance had shot out of the floor and blasted her without warning. It was likely meant to simulate a land mine. “…Sorry, I died.” Tamamo, now covered in powder, turned around to look at Yuki. Yuki gazed back with a forced smile. These traps sure are elaborate. (10/48) Yuki awoke on top of a sofa. (11/48) Her first impression was that it was an expensive-looking sofa. It was wide enough for a person to lie across, even comfortably fitting someone like Yuki, who was taller than average. The vivid red seat with a gold frame was symbolic of celebration and brought to mind a king’s cape or a cheongsam. Upon looking around, Yuki realized that the entire room shared the same color combination, from the ceiling to the walls, chandelier, paintings on the walls, chairs, table, and carpet. Every object in the room was luxurious, so much so that it seemed almost tasteless. To Yuki, it looked like a chamber in a palace. “Finally awake?” a voice called out to her. Sitting on a different sofa directly across the table was a girl of a similar age. She was wearing an outfit atypical of everyday life. It featured a large hat with a brim the width of three human heads and a single feather sticking out the side; a cape draped over her shoulders, resting on a shirt that boasted an outrageous number of frills; and a sword that hung from the thick belt to keep her skirt fixed in place. It was costume fit for a swordfighter, the kind you would only see in movies or plays—certainly not modern society. The girl was not the only one in those clothes; Yuki had on a similar outfit. “…Hello,” Yuki greeted while touching her hat’s wide brim. “Sorry. I’m kind of a heavy sleeper, so I’m always late to wake.” As she rattled off her usual phrase, Yuki glanced around at the other players. There were six other girls in the room. Each of them was doing her own thing, be it sitting on a sofa, leaning against the wall, or pacing around. They all wore the outfit of a European swordfighter, albeit with differing decorative details, and they were all staring observantly at Yuki. She surveyed the six of them in turn. None was a player she knew—at least, as far as she could tell. “What kind of game is this?” Yuki asked. “No idea,” replied the girl who had spoken up earlier. “But I think we’ll hear an explanation soon. That thing must be set up over there for a reason…” Yuki followed the girl’s gaze to a screen embedded in the wall. The object clashed with the otherwise meticulously crafted atmosphere of the palace-like room. That the organizers had allowed such an immersion-breaking item to remain suggested they needed it for the game to proceed. There was a good chance it would be used to explain the rules. As soon as Yuki reached that conclusion, the device flickered on. A marionette that wouldn’t seem out of place on a children’s TV show appeared on the screen. It had a voluminous beard extending from the bottom half of its face, a cape that matched the color palette of the room draped over its body, and a glimmering crown on its head that seemed to feature every kind of gemstone in the world. All those characteristics gave it the appearance of a king. “—Welcome, one and all,” greeted the king—the game’s explainer—in a pompous tone. And so Yuki’s sixty-second game, Royal Palace, kicked off to a quiet start. (12/48) The rules, as explained by the king, were quite simple. The game was themed around sword duels. Players would be called into an arena at regular intervals and face another player in a one-on-one duel. When the duel was settled, surviving players would return to their respective waiting rooms and wait to be called again, restarting the cycle. The total player count was seventy. Apparently, there were nine other teams of seven like Yuki’s standing by in different rooms. Each round of duels would feature matchups not between individuals but between teams. Each team would choose one representative to fight in each round. When the time came, the lock to the waiting room door would disengage, opening a path to the arena. The rules for the duels themselves were not overly complex. Once both fighters reached the arena, the king would signal the start of the duel. Players could only bring a single sword into the arena, but there weren’t any restrictions on how they fought. The duel would end when one player either surrendered or lost all vital signs—in other words, died. “There will be eighteen rounds,” the king explained. “The tournament will be conducted in a double round-robin format, which will make for a grand total of ninety duels.” Yuki attempted the arithmetic in her head. Since there were nine other teams, facing each team twice would mean a total of eighteen rounds. The number of combinations for choosing two teams out of ten could be calculated as ten times nine divided by two, or forty-five. Multiplying that by two for a double round-robin resulted in ninety total duels. “At the end of all eighteen rounds, teams will be ranked by their respective number of match victories. The top seven teams will clear the game. Of course, this means the three teams with the fewest wins will lose. We will personally see to the deaths of the remaining players on those teams.” That must be why we have the option to surrender, Yuki thought. Although surrendering would allow a player to temporarily escape with their life, that match would be recorded as a loss for their team, putting true salvation further out of reach. Game over for three out of ten teams meant a death rate of 30 percent—the same as the death rate in most games. In reality, however, the percentage would likely be higher. While the rules made it possible to wave the white flag, some players would almost certainly lose their lives while dueling. With that, the basic explanation of the rules came to an end, and the floor was opened to the players. Yuki and her teammates lobbed multiple questions at the king. “How much time will there be between rounds?” someone asked. “There are no provisions regarding breaks. A new match will begin after the previous one ends. However, we will not move on to a new round until all the matches in the previous round have concluded. If your duel ends quickly, you can expect some time to rest.” Another girl asked, “How will ties be broken if multiple teams end with the same record?” “Ties will be broken by a team’s total number of surrenders. Teams that surrender fewer times over the course of the tournament will be ranked higher. Should this comparison fail to resolve the draw, the teams in question will face off in a tiebreaker duel, with the winning team being awarded a higher rank.” “Is there a limit to the number of times a group can surrender?” a different girl asked. “No. However, as surrenders will directly factor into tiebreaks, it would be wise not to make the decision lightly.” “What if a team secures a top spot during the game?” yet another girl asked. “Like, for example…there can’t be eight teams that end with twelve or more victories. Twelve times eight is ninety-six, which exceeds the total number of duels. So any team that reaches twelve victories is guaranteed to survive. Will they automatically clear the game when they do so?” “Precisely. Teams that guarantee themselves a top spot will be allowed to leave, and their remaining duels will be treated as surrenders. As such, any teams fortunate enough to be paired against them in later rounds will be rewarded with walkover victories.” “Teams have to pick someone to fight each duel, right?” This time, it was Yuki who asked the question. “How do we choose who goes?” “There is no prescribed method. You are free to decide however you wish, be it through volunteering, on a rotational basis, or by drawing lots. The same player may also fight in consecutive duels.” “What if nobody wants to go?” “In that case, we will designate one player at random. Should that player refuse, that duel will be treated as a surrender.” “…Got it.” Once everyone ran out of questions, the screen flickered off. The seven players briefly introduced themselves, sharing their player names and game counts. “Now…how should we do this?” Yuki asked, once they were all acquainted with one another. “There’s one thing we need to discuss right now: Who’s going to go first?” That was the core mechanic of this game: figuring out how to decide who would represent the team in a duel and, consequently, face the risk of death. Yuki drew the sword by her side. The shaft of the weapon had no edge but instead tapered to a point. It was a rapier—a blade designed not for cutting but for thrusting. “Anyone confident in their swordplay?” Yuki asked the group. Many people in the world knew their way around a blade, owing to the popularity of martial arts like kendo and sports like fencing. Yuki figured at least one among them would have that kind of experience, but after a few moments passed, none of the other girls volunteered their name. Did they actually lack the relevant experience, or were some intentionally keeping quiet to evade the responsibility of fighting the duel? “…Based on the game counts we shared earlier,” someone commented, “you’re the most experienced of us all, Yuki.” She nodded. According to their introductions, she had by far the highest game count of the group. None of her teammates had reached thirty games, which, by extension, meant none had crossed the Wall of Thirty. Yuki had assumed as much even before the other players had introduced themselves. Not one of the girls gave off the aura of a veteran, and there were no familiar faces. “In that case, I’ll go first,” Yuki said. “The rest of you should talk and decide what to do for the following rounds, whether that’s leaving everything to me or sharing the responsibility.” Players who participated in a duel risked losing their lives. Although surrendering was an option, there was always the possibility of being killed before even having the chance to do so. Continuing to shoulder that risk would place a player in an unfavorable position, but asking inexperienced players to share the burden had its own disadvantages. Under the rules of the game, players on the same team shared the number of victories, which meant the optimal strategy would be for strong players—in this case, Yuki—to fight more duels and rack up as many wins as possible. Although Yuki left the decision up to the other players, she expected to end up fighting the majority of their duels—perhaps even all eighteen. Yuki gently swung her rapier around. She pictured an imaginary opponent standing before her and, after crossing swords with them, thrust her rapier into their heart. “Can you fight with a rapier?” someone asked. “Yeah,” Yuki answered. “I’ve handled pretty much every kind of weapon before. This is my first time using one of these in a game, but I’ll be up to the task.” (13/48) —A month after Yuki had taken on Tamamo as a protégée, the two of them had the following conversation. “You should get a feel for every kind of weapon at least once,” Yuki said. They were in an abandoned building. The supplier had set it up for them, just like he had the monster house from some time ago. The building was located far away from civilization, which meant there was no worry of a bystander hearing real gunfire or witnessing any death. Yuki and Tamamo sat facing each other in one of the rooms. Lined up between them were numerous armaments the supplier had procured. Among them were weapons commonly featured in games, like handguns and knives, weapons that only appeared in specific types of games, like katanas and rapiers, and rarer varieties, such as nunchakus and kunai. “Many weapons aren’t easy to figure out at first glance, so I’ll train you until you can at least handle wielding them all.” Yuki looked at two of the weapons before her—a katana and a butterfly knife. Presumably, they were the same ones she and Rinrin had used on that island. At present, Tamamo wouldn’t even be able to unsheathe them. While a butterfly knife was certainly difficult to open, drawing a katana was also surprisingly challenging. Someone lacking the relevant knowledge wouldn’t even be able to think about attacking with them, much less stand a chance against an experienced opponent. The fight would be over before it even began. “Once you’re able to handle them, the next step will be to train you to actually fight with them. You can use the weight of a weapon to quickly determine its effective range…” Yuki picked up the rapier. The moment she drew the sword from its sheath, she hit the ground running. Taking one, two, three steps forward, she set her sights on a chair lying on the floor nearby and thrust her blade at it. Before it occurred to Yuki that she had performed this series of actions almost entirely on instinct, the rapier had already penetrated the chair at a perfect distance away from her. Technique like that took years of experience to hone. Yuki turned to Tamamo. “You’ll practice until you can fully unlock the power of any weapon under any circumstances. That’s all I have to say about weapons.” “…That’s it?” Tamamo sounded surprised. “I thought you were going to go more in-depth about things like swordplay or fighting with a staff.” “Some people focus on those areas, but that’s not my style. Rather than seek mastery in a single weapon, I’ve trained myself to be able to adequately work with a wide variety in any situation.” That was also something Yuki had learned from Hakushi long ago: Since there were many varieties of games, and the weapons players encountered differed every time, it was better to be adaptable than to specialize. Although Yuki was simply echoing her own mentor’s lesson, she wholeheartedly agreed with the underlying logic. To begin the training session, Yuki first decided to have Tamamo try out the butterfly knife. It was the perfect weapon for a beginner to practice with, since it looked cool and would inspire a great sense of accomplishment when wielded deftly. After giving a brief explanation, Yuki had Tamamo attempt to use a practice knife that lacked a blade. A short while later— “……!!” The handle of the weapon rotated around with great force and hit Tamamo’s fingers, making the girl writhe in agony. The same thing had happened to Yuki; that had to hurt. (14/48) Shiro awoke on top of a sofa. (15/48) “Ngah…” While making a sound halfway between a groan and a yawn, Shiro sat up. She found herself in a luxurious room. Everything inside gave off a classy vibe, including the sofa she was lying on, the various other furnishings, the wallpaper, the carpet, and even the air itself. After taking a few breaths, Shiro felt vitality well up inside her. This was exactly the kind of place that suited her. This sort of game value fired her up far more than gloomy locales such as a pumpkin patch or an abandoned hospital. “Oh, you’re awake.” Shiro heard a voice, but she paid it no mind and got off the sofa. She headed toward a nearby full-length mirror. The first thing she noticed was her swordfighter outfit. Next, she inched closer and closer to the glass and took in her reflection. “Hey, um…” Shiro heard a voice, but she paid it no mind and continued staring into the mirror. A perfect face, even as a reflection, she thought, flattering herself. Although her face did not strike her as beautiful, it emanated an aura of might; it was the look of a woman worthy of ruling this world. She gently stroked her black-and-white-streaked hair—she had colored it to match her player name, which contained the character for wolf—and lightly tidied herself up. Then she touched her ponytail, which she had styled to resemble a wolf’s tail, to make sure it was properly tied. Wonderful. I’m looking as sharp as ever today. “…Hey! Do you hear me?!” The voice grew to a shout. Shiro turned around. Standing there were six girls, all wearing swordfighter outfits like her. One was standing slightly in front of the others; she must have called out to Shiro. “Hey there,” Shiro casually greeted. “Is that all you have to say?” said the girl at the front. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages…” Yes, this was definitely the girl who had been calling out to her. “Ages? Didn’t you only call out to me twice?” Shiro replied. “Try five times. So you didn’t hear even hear half of them…” Was it that many? Shiro thought. It had completely escaped her notice. She did have a bad habit filtering out the voices of others when she was absorbed in a task. “How rude of me.” Shiro took off her hat and bowed. “I beg your pardon. That was an improper way to treat someone I will soon be fighting alongside.” “…Why do you think we’ll be fighting together?” “Oh, am I mistaken? I simply assumed that would be the case. What are the rules, then?” “Well, we don’t actually know yet…” The next moment, the screen in the room flickered to life. (16/48) The king graciously explained the stipulations of the game. The competition was themed around duels between swordswomen. Players would be called to the arena and cross swords with an opponent. The duel would end when one of the fighters perished or surrendered. The seven players in the room would fight eighteen matches between them, and at the end of the tournament, the seven teams with the best records would clear the game. Due to the nature of duels, players would be clashing one-on-one, but the seven players on a team had to split the responsibility of fighting, so ultimately, their fates were linked. After the screen went black, the players naturally began to discuss which of them would have the honor of taking the first duel. “There are eighteen rounds in total,” said a country bumpkin–looking girl with freckles and a French braid. “If we rotate in and out, each of us will fight two or three times, right?” “Yeah, but…is that really the best way to go about it?” replied a girl with bad posture. “It doesn’t matter who goes out as long as they can win. I think it’d be wise to send out the strongest person and leave it up to them as to whether to surrender or fight. Is anyone here confident with a sword?” “If ya ask that, no one’s gonna raise their hand,” replied a player with a thick accent. “What if we all try fighting once?” a grade-school-age girl proposed. “We can take out the losers from the next rotation…” “Do that, and everyone’s going to intentionally try to lose,” a college-age girl retorted. “It’s a terrible idea to adopt a system that encourages surrendering.” “…………” A girl whose long hair covered most of her face watched silently as the others continued the discussion. After observing each of her six teammates, Shiro wrote off the others as hopeless. Their auras were all unremarkable. None of them were sharp. They were the type of players to drop dead before long. “What do you think?” someone asked Shiro. “Yes, well,” Shiro replied, crossing her legs on a sofa, “if nobody wishes to go, how about you let me have the honor?” “…Are you confident in your skills?” “Not particularly, but from what I’m hearing, nobody here is, correct?” Using the elastic force of the springs, Shiro jumped up onto the couch and drew her sword. “In which case, I would prefer to dictate the outcome of the game by my own hand, rather than be at the mercy of others. There’s also a chance that winning duels will add to our individual prize money.” It was unclear how the amount of prize money was determined after players cleared a game. However, based on her own experience and gossip from other players, Shiro suspected the amount directly correlated with how much attention a player got for livening up the game. “We can’t trust you with the responsibility,” someone said. Shiro turned in the direction of the voice. It was the long-haired girl. “I’ve seen you before.” “Oh, is that so?” Shiro replied. “I’m afraid I don’t remember you. Have we met somewhere?” “I watched you get crushed by another player. We can’t count on you.” “I have no idea when that may have been, but I’ve since grown as a player.” Shiro pointed the tip of her rapier at the girl. “You are aware that people are capable of growth, yes? Or perhaps…if you don’t believe me, how about we have a little duel right here?” “…………” The long-haired girl reached across her body and motioned to draw her sword, but then— “Have it your way,” she said, shaking her head. Shiro shrugged. She certainly isn’t sharp, she thought. (17/48) Yuki headed for the arena. (18/48) After some time, the screen turned on again to display the matchups. The ten teams were split into two columns, separated with the letters VS. The teams ranged from Team 1 to Team 10, but one group name was listed in a slightly different color, indicating Yuki’s was Team 5. For this round, their opponent would be Team 6. Next to each group name were seven symbols shaped like people, along with a string of characters reading 0W/0L. It appeared the screen would be regularly updated with the number of living players and each team’s record. At the same moment the screen lit up, the clack of the entrance unlocking sounded. The sole locked door in the room had opened. Yuki peeked through and saw a single straight path extending beyond it. As soon as she left the room, the door automatically shut behind her and would no longer budge. There was no turning back until her duel reached some form of a conclusion. After continuing down the path, Yuki came to a crossroads. Only one of the several doors before her was open, so that was the one she walked through. The next moment, she found herself in a circular arena. The space was fairly large—large enough that a person standing on one edge would just barely be able to aim a gun at someone standing on the opposite side, at least based on Yuki’s impression. Numerous spotlights shined down from the ceiling. The ring was surrounded by tall wire netting, beyond which was tiered seating for spectators. Although no audience members were present, in their place were surveillance cameras on each seat. The devices focused their lenses on Yuki, and she felt the unsettling sensation of being watched. Above the highest row of seats was a large screen split into five equal sections, each displaying a different arena. The same footage was likely also being displayed on the screens in the waiting rooms. It seemed the duels would be broadcast live. By the time Yuki reached the arena, her opponent was already inside. Like Yuki, she was a young-looking girl in a swordfighter’s outfit. It was their first time meeting—at least, as far as Yuki could tell. Judging by the girl’s aura, her opponent probably had around ten games under her belt; she was accustomed to the games yet had not reached the upper echelons of players. The girl drew her rapier, and Yuki did the same. According to the rules, the duel would commence on the king’s cue, so the two faced each other while standing at the ready without crossing their swords. Every cell in Yuki’s body—from her hand around her rapier to her arms, shoulders, head, upper body, and lower body—steeled itself for battle to kick off. Though Yuki was physically fired up, mentally her nerves were getting to her. She wasn’t confident in her swordplay. Although she had been willing to lead her team out of a belief that she was stronger than the average player, unlike in games past, she could no longer think of herself as unbeatable. Yuki deliberately blinked. She looked out in front of her. She could see her arm. Her sword. Her opponent. However, she was unable to accurately gauge the distance between the other player and herself—for she had completely lost vision in one eye. (19/48) Yuki’s condition had finally reached the end of the road. The medical exam she took after clearing her sixty-first game revealed complete vision loss in her damaged eye. Yuki’s right eyeball could no longer detect light. While she had barely been able to see out of it before, there was a considerable difference between being “mostly blind” and “completely blind.” Losing half of her field of vision doomed her depth perception. At this point, Yuki even longed for the days when her right eye still had hazy vision. Lately, Yuki had tried her best to avoid direct combat, but that was not going to be possible in this game. The rules offered no path to survival besides winning duels, and even when factoring in her disability, her team’s chances of victory would be maximized with Yuki in battle. She had to get it done. Yuki touched the roof of her mouth with her tongue— She stopped herself. Her opponent probably hadn’t realized Yuki couldn’t see properly. If Yuki used that technique, she would essentially be giving herself away. This time, she had to fight normally. Suddenly, the king popped up on the screen. “Fighters, at your ready,” he said. Yuki and her opponent adjusted their postures. Yuki looked away from the screen and focused on her foe. Her awareness became sharper than the tip of her rapier… “—Begin!” The second she heard the king’s signal, Yuki charged straight at her opponent at full speed. She had decided on her plan of attack in advance. Make the first move. Immediately go on the offensive. Adopt an aggressive stance. That was Yuki’s best strategy. She couldn’t show that her vision was impaired. Even if it was only an act, she had to conduct herself with bravado to make it convincing, as if she could see perfectly, as if she had no weaknesses. Yuki got close enough to her opponent that their swords could touch. At this point, Yuki stopped charging forward. In order to hide her vision loss, it was crucial she end the duel as soon as possible, especially since the fight was being broadcast live. For this first duel, however, she decided to drag things out. Despite her aggressive stance, she wouldn’t go overboard. She wanted to confirm how much she was capable of while the game was still in its early stages. Yuki crossed blades with her opponent. The sound of metal striking metal reverberated through the spectatorless arena. As anyone would do in a swordfight, Yuki paid close attention to everything about her opponent—the girl’s sword, the movements of her arm, her footwork, her breathing, and her aura. Yet Yuki also added her own little twist to that formula. It was difficult to put into words, as it was something she did intuitively, but rather than simply taking the visual information transmitted through her eye at face value, she extracted and processed the meaning of that information. For instance, if her opponent stepped forward, Yuki’s brain would process that as her opponent “getting closer.” If Yuki herself took a step forward, she would interpret that as “approaching her opponent.” If she had “approached her opponent” multiple times yet did not feel “close,” that would signal a problem. Had she not done this, there would likely be discrepancies between the actual distance and the distance Yuki sensed between her and her opponent; in this way, Yuki continuously compensated for the shortfalls in her vision. After about thirty or forty seconds of Yuki doing this, the other duelist began to grow more aggressive. Yuki’s intuition told her that her foe was going to lunge forward. Indeed, the other player took a step toward her. Yuki stepped back in response, and as she did, she laid a small trap: She kept her sword-wielding left hand exactly where it was, gripping the rapier as if it was fixed at a certain point in the air. Its tip was in the exact spot where her opponent’s arm would momentarily pass through. Her opponent lunged forward with her entire arm, aiming her rapier at Yuki’s chest. Her strike failed to connect, and Yuki took advantage of the girl’s momentum to slice her arm. “Guh…,” the girl groaned. The hand of the girl’s injured arm quivered, and she let go of her rapier. Yuki kicked the weapon away before it could hit the ground. Listening to the weapon fly far away, she raised her own rapier slightly and pointed its tip—which was covered with white fluff that had formed from blood as a result of the Preservation Treatment—at her opponent’s neck. Yuki took another step forward to flaunt her superiority. “…I…,” her opponent said, raising both hands into the air, “I admit defeat.” The footage on the screen changed to a different scene. “Enough,” said the king. (20/48) —A month and a half after Yuki had taken on Tamamo as a protégée, the two of them had the following conversation. “Whoa!” Tamamo exclaimed as she fell onto her bottom. Yuki watched the scene play out from behind a fake sword. The two of them were having a practice duel, going at each other with mock blades. In the end, Yuki emerged victorious after performing a single lunge that took advantage of an opening in Tamamo’s consecutive attacks, causing the girl to fall backward. Yuki reached out to her protégée. “Thank you…” Tamamo got back on her feet. “…I can’t believe I still can’t beat you, even with one of your eyes covered…” Disappointment and frustration showed on her face. Yuki was wearing a patch over her right eye. Although that eye hadn’t gone totally blind yet, she was training herself in anticipation of full vision loss. Despite giving Tamamo this handicap, however, the girl had failed to notch a single victory against Yuki—not just in this battle, but across their numerous fights. “Well, we’ve been living under the same roof for a while now,” Yuki said. “I can more or less tell what your next move will be. Don’t kick yourself for not being able to beat me.” “Shouldn’t that be true the other way around, too? And yet here we are again…” Yuki had already gone over the full range of combat techniques with Tamamo, but the girl was still quite weak. Sure, Yuki may not have been the best teacher, but it was also likely there was a flaw in Tamamo’s approach to fighting. “I don’t think you’re cut out for attacking,” Yuki said. “Try fighting more defensively. As I just demonstrated, you lose a lot of our battles to being countered.” In Yuki’s view, Tamamo’s greatest strength was her tenacity. In a past game, Halloween Night, the girl had scampered around the venue to escape from violent players, all the while huffing and puffing and gasping for air. Beyond that, she had managed to locate Yuki without a single hint, and she even had greater stamina than Yuki. She was built for defense, but on the flip side, she was not so skilled at going on the offensive. Not only was she not intimidating in the slightest, but her aura simply screamed adorableness. Taking the initiative was never going to work for her. “Rather than attack, you should focus on maintaining a solid defense. Like, keep provoking your opponent and strike when you see an opening. I think you’re better off relying on those kinds of tactics.” “But, Yuki, your style is based on active attacking, right?” “Yeah, I suppose.” Just because that was how Yuki fought did not mean it was the strongest possible strategy for Tamamo to adopt. Yuki had simply taken up that style because it suited her; different strategies were optimal for different players. As a matter of fact, players built for defense had a stronger claim to being at the top. Since the job of a player was to survive, it was more valuable to be better at fleeing and guarding oneself. Wait, why did she suddenly bring me up? Yuki wondered. After some thought, she recalled something Tamamo had said long ago. “I want to be like you…” “Would you rather have the same style as me?” Yuki asked directly. “Wha—? No, I, um,” Tamamo stammered. Bingo. Hmm…, Yuki thought. (21/48) “Enough,” said the king. Shiro stopped lunging with her rapier. She looked at her opponent. An expression of panic. Multiple cuts to her face and clothes. Her hands absent her sword, which she had dropped after Shiro had stabbed her in the shoulder. Shiro’s first duel—Team 8’s first match—was, quite frankly, a one-sided affair. Her opponent had clearly been terrified and hadn’t even wielded her weapon properly. In all likelihood, the girl had entered the arena not of her own volition, but rather due to losing a game of rock-paper-scissors or some other method. Upon recognizing the state of her opponent, Shiro had viciously attacked right from the outset of the duel. She stabbed her opponent all over without allowing the girl even a moment to catch her breath, and after plunging her rapier deep in the girl’s shoulder, thus keeping her from holding her sword, her opponent surrendered. It had taken less than a minute for the duel to conclude. “A wise decision,” Shiro said, putting away her rapier. Next, Shiro turned to the cameras surrounding the arena and gave a respectful bow. She then turned to the opposite side of the arena and repeated this gesture. Once her greetings to the game’s audience were complete, Shiro returned down the path from which she had come and soon came back to the waiting room. “I have returned,” Shiro announced to her six teammates. “What did you think? Were you watching my display of swordplay?” As Shiro plopped down on a sofa, one girl replied, “Yes. You sure are strong, Shiro.” “Indeed I am.” This was Shiro’s twenty-first game. While she still had yet to reach the Wall of Thirty, she was a seasoned player in her own right. Shiro sensed her abilities had grown as she had accumulated experience. In the early days, other players had knocked her around—just as that long-haired girl had mentioned—but lately, that had been happening less and less. She had undoubtedly gotten stronger. Shiro turned to the long-haired girl, who was staring at the screen and made no attempt to return Shiro’s stare. “Hey there,” Shiro called out to the girl. “Have I convinced you of my abilities?” “…………” After a brief pause, the girl curtly replied, “I suppose.” Evidently, the girl was loath to acknowledge her own mistakes. That’s not sharp of you, Shiro thought, before turning to the screen. Footage of unfinished duels was still being broadcast, and the match table had been banished to the edge of the screen. Displayed below one of the team names—Shiro’s Team 8—was the string of characters 1W/0L. (22/48) All the first-round duels had concluded. The number of players shown in the match table remained the same, indicating every duel had ended with a surrender. Yuki’s Team 5 received a win, while her opponent’s Team 6 now had one loss. The results of the other duels were also reflected underneath each team name. Then the second round began. With only Team 1’s position fixed in the match table, the other nine teams were rotated clockwise, thereby creating new pairings. Apparently, that was the standard method for generating a round-robin tournament schedule. Following that pattern, Yuki mapped out her team’s future matches. They would face Team 4 in the second round, Team 5 in the third, Team 9 in the fourth, and Team 7 in the fifth. Next would come Teams 1, 3, and 10 in that order, before the cycle finished with a match against Team 8. It seemed completely random. While thinking it strange that simply rotating the teams would result in such a bizarre sequence, Yuki entered the arena for the second round and claimed victory by making her opponent surrender. After that, the game continued without a hitch. Yuki won her duels in the third and fourth rounds. Only having vision in one eye presented no issues, and she did not come across any players capable of rivalling her. Since the duels were being broadcast on the screens, Yuki, who continued to represent her team, was shown far more than other players, but having that extra information about her techniques revealed impacted absolutely nothing. While cutting down her opponents with ease and making them admit defeat, Yuki racked up one victory after another. When it came time for the fifth round, Yuki’s exhaustion had piled up, so she had a different teammate go out in her stead. Although the girl put in a valiant effort, she was met with defeat, but because she had surrendered, she escaped with her life. Yuki returned to action for the sixth round onward and secured two more victories for her team. The eighth match ended, of course, with Yuki’s victory—but a slight issue had arisen. Like in all her previous duels, Yuki attempted to overpower her opponent and coax out words of surrender, but the other girl just wouldn’t give in. Her eighth-round opponent belonged to Team 10, whose record as displayed on the screen was 1W/6L. Their team was nearing the end of the road, which meant the girl must have felt that surrendering was no longer an option. It was Yuki’s playstyle to avoid needless killing, but the situation left her with no choice. She might’ve been able to find a different solution had both her eyes still been functioning, but in her current state, she didn’t have the capacity. And so she repeatedly stabbed her opponent in vital spots and mercilessly brought the girl’s life to an end. Yuki offered no verbal apology. The death of that player brought Team 5’s record to 7W/1L. Naturally, they stood alone at the top of the standings. And because their team would again face each team they had beaten in the second half of the tournament, they could expect to win those matches, essentially guaranteeing them fourteen wins by the end of the game. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long until they cleared the game by reaching the magic number of twelve. Then it came time for the ninth round—their final match of the first round-robin. Yuki’s team was up against Team 8. (23/48) Yuki headed to the arena for the ninth round. By the time she got there, her opponent had already arrived. She was a player with a wolflike, half-black half-white hairstyle that featured a bundle of hair hanging down like a tail at the back of her head. She was fairly tall, and like everyone else in the game, she had on a swordfighter’s outfit that complemented her appearance. More so than cool or pretty, she looked rather sharp. “Why, hello there,” her opponent said. “Hello,” Yuki greeted back. “Yuki, is it? It sure has been a while.” “……?” Yuki took a good look at her opponent. “Have we met before?” Her opponent chuckled. “You don’t remember me? That hurts. In that case, allow me to introduce myself again… My name is Shiro. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” The player took off her hat and gave an exaggerated bow. Even after hearing the name, Yuki couldn’t remember her. Although the player did look vaguely familiar, where could they have met? “I must say, you’re quite the fighter.” Shiro turned toward the screen—or more precisely, the corner of the screen that displayed Team 5’s record: 7W/1L. “Seven wins and one loss. Since that single loss came from another player, you personally have an undefeated record. Very impressive.” Yuki didn’t respond, just carefully watched her opponent. “Knowing that, I might as well throw in the towel,” Shiro said while pacing around. “That was the consensus of my teammates, and I am inclined to agree. After all, there is little hope of someone who has yet to reach thirty games like me besting you. However…” Shiro theatrically drew her rapier. “I am simply loath to admit defeat, so allow me to resist just a little… This time, I will make sure you remember my name.” She sure has a flair for the dramatic, Yuki thought. She drew her own sword and adopted a fighting pose. As if it had been waiting for Yuki to get into her stance, the screen switched over to the king. “Fighters, at your ready,” the king said. “Begin!” At the king’s signal, Yuki charged forward, exactly as she had done in her previous duels. Even if her current opponent was an eccentric player who knew who she was, that did not change what she had to do. With the exception of the first round, Yuki had swiftly settled each of her duels. Although the exact details differed slightly each time, all her fights had followed the same general pattern: Yuki would attack at a dizzying speed, forcing her opponents to retreat both physically and mentally, compelling them to surrender. Of course, Yuki had no intention of deviating from that formula this time around. However— Shiro did something unlike Yuki’s previous opponents. Rather than retreat backward, she moved to the right with deft footwork. “—!” Yuki flinched for a brief moment, before she crossed blades with her opponent, causing a metallic clang to ring out. The two of them fought at a distance such that their rapiers could touch yet their bodies were out of harm’s way. They parried each other’s swords and adjusted the distance between them, waiting for an opening. Every time, Shiro would move to Yuki’s right, and every time, Yuki would alter the orientation of her body, being forced to fight while constantly spinning clockwise. As Yuki was unable to see out of her right eye, her right side was her Achilles’ heel. It was not a matter of distance or depth; she couldn’t see toward the right, full stop. An opponent shifting to her right presented far more of an issue than someone who simply shuffled forward and backward. To make matters worse, Yuki couldn’t make sense of the situation. Her opponent was indeed exploiting her weakness, but why was she moving in this manner? Why was she not moving backward or to the left but was instead set on circling to Yuki’s right? Yuki glared at Shiro with her functioning left eye and her sightless right eye. Are you aware of my condition? Yuki had no way of knowing if the message contained in her gaze was accurately conveyed, but at the very least, it elicited a reaction. While continuing to swing her sword and maneuver to Yuki’s right, as if targeting the tiny gap between Yuki’s attacks—Shiro smirked. “—!” That smirk, as well as the unease it sparked, pushed Yuki to attempt to end the duel as soon as possible. Yuki stepped forward. Making use of her reliable reflexes, she audaciously grabbed Shiro’s rapier, which had been thrust at her neck. Yuki pulled Shiro and the sword toward her, took another step forward herself, and lunged with her other arm—the one with her rapier. The sword plunged into the right side of Shiro’s chest. I did it, Yuki thought in that brief moment. However, she quickly realized she had made three mistakes. The first was misjudging the distance between her and her opponent. Yuki had stepped too far forward, gotten too close, and stabbed her rapier too deeply into Shiro’s body. At this moment, the two of them were close enough to reach out and touch each other without the need for a sword. The second was leaving herself vulnerable. Yuki had used one hand to grab Shiro’s rapier and the other to thrust with her own, making it so she was unable to defend herself against anything Shiro might attempt. The third was committing the unspeakable act of using her free hand in a sword duel, which granted Shiro the right to retaliate in exactly the same way. The will to fight did not dim in Shiro’s eyes. With her depth-deprived vision, Yuki watched as Shiro extended her hand—until the distance between Yuki’s left eye and it plummeted to zero. (24/48) “—I surrender!” The voice of Shiro’s opponent, Yuki, came through the speakers. Shiro’s six teammates of Team 8 had their eyes glued to the screen, watching the scene unfold. Upon hearing Yuki’s surrender, the king declared the end of the duel. The two fighters plodded out of the arena. A short while later, the sound of footsteps resounded, and the door in the waiting room opened. Shiro returned in the same state as she had appeared on the screen—with a sword sticking out of her chest. “How…how could you be so stupid?!” someone exclaimed. You said it, thought Mido, a member of Team 8. They had decided as a team that they would concede the duel against that player—Yuki, apparently—who boasted seven consecutive wins. That was the logical conclusion after witnessing how she’d overpowered her previous opponents in mere seconds with otherworldly ease. None of them had lodged any objection, and Shiro herself had headed to the arena in agreement. And yet the actual match had played out far differently. While it was fine and dandy their team had won the match and that Shiro had returned alive, things could have easily gone south. Why had Shiro taken such a big risk? “Ha-ha-ha…” Shiro gave a brief laugh amid pained breaths. “I got caught up in the heat of the moment. I was planning to bow out much earlier.” Shiro pointed at her chest—at Yuki’s sword, stuck deep in her body. “By the way, would it be a good idea to pull this out? It won’t be easy to lie down with this inside me…” “…You should be fine, because of the Preservation Treatment,” replied the long-haired girl. “Removing it won’t lead to much blood loss, though I imagine it would hurt quite a bit…” “I see. Then, if you will.” “You want me to do it?” “Yes, please,” Shiro said, beckoning the long-haired girl forward with her left hand. Her nail was covered with white fluff. (25/48) While following the hallway wall with her hand, Yuki made her way back to the waiting room. “Good effort,” a teammate said with gratitude. Yuki couldn’t see who it was. They were only a voice. “Thanks,” Yuki replied. While relying on her memory of the room’s layout, she proceeded through the darkness, located the sofa, and sat down. “Um, don’t tell me… Can you not see anything?” asked one of her teammates, likely concerned about Yuki’s behavior. “Yeah,” Yuki answered honestly. At the moment, both her eyes were shut. Her right eye couldn’t see anything to begin with, and Shiro had just stabbed her left during their duel. Shiro’s last act of resistance—gouging Yuki’s left eye—had driven Yuki to immediately surrender. Although she could have decided to continue, her rapier had been lodged deep in Shiro’s body, Shiro had still been able to move, and more than anything, the sudden loss of all her vision had come as a great shock. At any rate, Yuki had judged that continuing the duel would not be wise. Yuki touched her left eye through her eyelid. A jolt of pain ran through it. However, that was the extent of it. Her eye was not bleeding, and it did not feel strange. It seemed her cornea alone had been damaged—at least, as far as she could tell. Shiro had only scratched Yuki’s eye with her nail, so the injury should be shallow. With time, it ought to heal itself. However, that didn’t change the fact that her eye was currently useless. Even when she fought through the pain to lift her left eyelid, she couldn’t see anything. There was little chance of it recovering before the end of the game. “…………” Yuki placed a hand on her forehead and began to think. Of course, she had anticipated something like this happening, which was why she had visited Rinrin and trained in echolocation. However, her technique was far from perfect. She didn’t think she was capable of fighting any more duels. “…Can I count on the rest of you for the remaining matches?” Her lack of self-confidence had spurred her to make this request. Although she had posed that as a question to her teammates, she received not one answer in response. (26/48) —Two months after Yuki had taken on Tamamo as a protégée, the two of them had the following conversation. “…So you really lost those fingers, huh?” Tamamo asked. “Yeah,” Yuki replied. She was looking at her left hand, which currently only consisted of her thumb and pointer finger. The two of them were inside the prosthetic craftsman’s workshop. Yuki had come for her regular inspection, but she had brought Tamamo along, figuring she could turn it into a learning opportunity. Tamamo had recoiled at the sight of Yuki’s left hand missing the appendages from her middle finger to pinkie finger. “I messed up in my thirtieth game,” Yuki explained. “My fingers got burned nice and crisp from an electrified trap. Apparently, there was no hope of reattaching them, even with the Preservation Treatment.” “Has that gotten in the way at all?” Tamamo asked. “Nope. My new ones function perfectly well, no worse than normal human fingers.” Still, while they worked exactly the same, there was no hiding their appearance. Anyone who examined her fingers up close would notice they were prosthetics. To avoid unwanted trouble, Yuki needed to keep her left hand hidden as she went about her day-to-day life. However, that was pretty much the only inconvenience she faced. “The craftsman doesn’t just do fingers, right?” “Of course. He can even give you an entire working prosthetic arm, and he’s able to replace both legs and even some organs, too. On the flip side, his support doesn’t extend to stuff like eyes and ears or other delicate parts. You’ll be out of luck if any of those get injured, so…” Yuki tapped below her right eye. “Take care not to end up like me.” (27/48) Shiro had a dream. (28/48) It was the same dream she’d had on countless occasions. The exact specifics differed every time, and while it was rooted in her real-life experiences, many details deviated from the truth. However, the core of the vision, the part that was of greatest consequence to Shiro, always remained the same. The dream would begin with Shiro beating someone up. It was no fistfight; she would be punching someone without facing any resistance. The person differed each time: an obnoxious coworker from her part-time job, the brattiest kid from her kindergarten class, a problematic celebrity. The person Shiro had done this to in real life was the coach of her old soccer team—a nasty pig however you looked at him, the kind of guy who would be the subject of daily rants on social media and who would no doubt be killed off in a suspense drama. In her dream, it never took long for Shiro to beat the living daylights out of her victim. Afterward, a sense of achievement would well up inside her. It was more than the joy of victory; it was moral euphoria derived from the act of vanquishing evil, plus an addictive dose of pleasure. Now I’ll show off my virtuous deed to everyone. With that feeling in her heart, Shiro would go around triumphantly, figuring she would meet roaring praise. However, that was never how things turned out. Though the details varied, Shiro would receive scathing criticism from those around her and be stripped of her standing. She couldn’t understand why. He’s driven you all crazy, too. You’ve been shit-talking him nonstop behind his back. You’ve been wishing for him to die. So why the hell is everyone pretending to be all Goody Two-shoes now that I finally gave him what he deserved? Are you insane? There’s no hope for any princess who slaps away the hand of her knight in shining armor. No one in the dream would listen to a word of Shiro’s protests, and she would lose everything. She spent the following days in a complete daze, as if all her assets had been seized, while a single phrase repeated itself over and over in her mind: This world isn’t fair. She couldn’t be bothered to do anything. The way things were going, she would end up either becoming a jobless vagabond or turning to a life of crime. Just as she was imagining this dreadful future… “—Are you having financial troubles?” An agent assigned to scout prospective players would approach her. That was the point where Shiro would always wake up. (29/48) Shiro was lying on a sofa in the players’ waiting room. She tried to sit up—only to wince in agony. That was when she remembered she had been injured. Returning to her original position, Shiro brought a hand to her chest. Although the rapier had already been removed with the help of her long-haired teammate, the wound remained. Touching it brought a stinging pain, as did the slightest bit of movement. Still, Shiro had escaped with her life intact. Evidently, she had fallen asleep. While wondering how long she had been out for, she turned only her head to look at the screen. Live footage of the different arenas was being broadcast. Two duels were still in progress, while the other three had concluded. With the footage of the fights taking up most of the screen, the match table with team records was shown in a corner in a shrunken size. Shiro squinted to get a better look but was unable to make out the numbers. What round was it? How many duels had her team won? Shiro tried squinting even harder but was unable to see the current records—because someone had stepped into her line of sight. “You awake?” a voice asked. Shiro attempted to lift her head, but pain once again ran through her chest, causing her to groan. Whether out of pity or simply to get a better look, the other player crouched down and made eye contact with her. An extremely gorgeous girl appeared in Shiro’s vision. “Wha…?!” Shiro reflexively pulled herself back, sending another wave of searing pain through her chest. And yet again, she let out a pained groan. “What’s the matter?” the beautiful girl asked with squinted eyes. “Wh-who are you?” Shiro asked. She didn’t remember there being such a beauty among her teammates. None of them was the least bit sharp, and she had made no effort to even commit their names to memory. The girl untied and let down her hair, revealing her identity to be the long-haired girl who had previously doubted Shiro’s abilities. “Wh-wha…?” Shiro stammered. “You were hiding such a gorgeous face?” “I normally keep my face covered since it stands out, for better or for worse… I tied up my hair since it would get in the way of fighting.” “Ha-ha… It’s a waste to be hiding your beauty. Personally, I would show it off to the world.” “I can do what I want, and I prefer to hide it.” “I recall you mentioning us meeting before, correct? If only you’d had your hair tied up back then, I never would have forgotten a belle like you.” “My hair was actually up at that time, but my body was a little different…” “…?” “Anyway,” the long-haired girl said, clearing her throat, “aren’t you going to ask how the game is going?” “Oh yes… How is it?” “We’re in the middle of round sixteen.” The long-haired girl stepped out of Shiro’s way, giving her a view of the screen. “Our record is seven wins, eight losses. We’re neither at the bottom nor the top. Depending on the results of the final three rounds, there’s still the possibility it’s game over.” Up until the ninth duel, the point where Shiro got injured, Team 8 had been fighting on a rotating basis, with Shiro as their main fighter. It was the same system Team 5 had adopted with Yuki, where one player fought consecutive duels before tagging out when they needed a break. Shiro recalled her personal record had stood at five wins and one loss at the end of the ninth duel, while her team’s overall record had been five wins and four losses. Since her team now had a record of seven wins and eight losses, their number of victories had increased by two. Apparently, her teammates had managed to notch wins even after Shiro had to be pulled out of the lineup. Although they weren’t a sharp group, Shiro was relieved to see they hadn’t lost all their matches. Or could it be that this long-haired girl—who was keen, unlike her other teammates—had been responsible for both those victories? Shiro was about to ask if the girl had secured those wins, but before she could— “Looks like it’s over,” the long-haired girl said. Her eyes were on the screen. The remaining duels had concluded, as the live footage disappeared and the match table now took over the screen. Team 8 had apparently scored a victory, and their record changed from 7W/8L to 8W/8L. Shiro’s eyes then drifted to the record of Team 5—Yuki’s team. Their record stood at 7W/9L. (30/48) Team 5 completed their sixteenth duel. Another loss was recorded under their name. (31/48) Yuki had completely lost her vision. Not only was she unable to fight in duels, but she couldn’t even see the footage on the screen. As a result, she had to ask her teammates to relay the state of the game to her by word of mouth. According to her teammates, Team 5’s current situation was the following: From rounds ten through sixteen, their team suffered seven consecutive losses. Yuki’s teammates had each taken turns entering the arena, and every single one had returned as losers. They’re all worthless, Yuki thought. At the same time, however, she knew the outcome wasn’t entirely their faults. None of her teammates had seemed strong, and because Yuki had led their team to a flying start, they must have grown complacent. “I don’t need to win this duel.” “If I don’t win, someone else will.” Having such a mindset on the battlefield made it much easier to convince oneself to surrender. Compared to players on other teams, Yuki’s teammates were less capable of treating their duels seriously. In any case, at the end of round sixteen, Team 5’s record stood at seven wins and nine losses, leaving them close to the bottom. At the top of the leaderboard were two teams tied with ten wins apiece. The next highest team had nine wins. There were three teams each with eight wins and seven wins, and rounding out the standings was a single team with six wins. Teams were mostly clustered around eight wins. The probability of clearing the game with seven wins was rather low, and even eight wins would be cutting it close. Tiebreaks would be determined based on each team’s total number of surrenders, and since all seven members of Team 5 were currently alive, that meant all their losses had come in the form of surrender. Nine wins was the ideal benchmark to survive. Yuki wanted to end the tournament on two victories at all costs. “…Who’s going to go?” asked one member of Team 5 in the waiting room. All the round-sixteen duels had concluded, and the team was now discussing which of them would fight the next one. Only two rounds remained. Their opponents for rounds seventeen and eighteen would be Team 10 and Team 8, in that order. Both of those teams were also right on the boundary between life and death, which would make them formidable foes. Team 10 currently had seven wins and nine losses. When Yuki fought against them in round eight, their record had been one win and six losses, which meant they had relentlessly clawed back after having their backs against the wall. They had followed the exact opposite trajectory as Yuki’s Team 5 and would almost certainly fight with fervor in the penultimate round as well. And in the final round, round eighteen, Yuki’s team was up against Team 8—Shiro’s team. Since Yuki had stabbed Shiro in the chest in exchange for her left eye, Shiro would likely not be the one to fight, but the matchup could still be considered a clash of fate. Both of the remaining matches were going to be critical. However, nobody on the team volunteered to fight. Every single one of them had declared surrender at least once. None of them were confident in being able to secure victory. The tension in the air was palpable. Yuki thought back to the rules explained by the king. If nobody wanted to fight, someone would be selected at random. While it was certainly possible to leave the decision up to fate, Yuki’s spirit as a player refused to let that happen. That was why Yuki spoke up. “Can I go?” She heard an audible gulp from her teammates. With her eyes shut, Yuki couldn’t see the others’ faces, but she figured they had to be expressing shock and bewilderment. “Is your eye better?” someone asked. “Nope.” Yuki shook her head. “I’ll have to go at it blind.” She could have lied and said her injury was unexpectedly shallow and had already healed, but she decided not to. She didn’t want to deceive her teammates. “I’ve actually prepared for this kind of situation.” Yuki got up off the sofa. “I’ve learned how to fight without relying on sight… If you want, I can prove it by dueling one of you right here.” Yuki grabbed her sword and listened attentively. She was anticipating all six of her teammates attacking her simultaneously, but nobody made a move. “…Can you really win?” someone asked. I can—would probably be the best answer to give in this situation. Yuki, too, desperately wanted to say as much. She wanted to reassure her teammates by showing that she was brimming with confidence. However, what actually came out of her mouth were only vague words. “…I’m going to have to.” (32/48) —Two and a half months after Yuki had taken on Tamamo as a protégée, the two of them had the following conversation. “Guh…” Yuki’s chest slammed into something. Since she hadn’t expected the impact, she reflexively staggered backward. However, there was apparently another object directly behind her, so after leaning against it with the weight of her whole body, both she and the object toppled over on the floor. Yuki removed her blindfold. She was inside her tiny studio apartment. She looked at the object beneath her. It was a heater—a convenient tower heater that didn’t take up much space even in a studio apartment. Although it was far too early in the year to be using its intended function, it had been taken out of the closet for a certain purpose. Next, Yuki saw that her refrigerator was in front of her. As it was sized for a single person to use, it came up to Yuki’s chest. Apparently, that was what she had bumped into. The fridge was smack-dab in the center of Yuki’s room. Of course, that was not its usual location, and it had also been repositioned for a certain purpose. “Yuki, are you okay?” Tamamo’s voice came from behind a desk that was positioned in a corner of the apartment. “Yeah, I’m fine…,” Yuki replied while taking a look around. It was a familiar space where she had lived for several years. However, the layout was different. The furniture was all out of place, as if she’d just had movers carry it in. Duct tape stretched between objects, making her room seem like a crime scene. Empty glass bottles, marbles, and other nefarious-looking objects were scattered all over the floor, ensuring Yuki would hurt her feet or fall over if she carelessly stepped on any of them. Since Tamamo had set everything up, Yuki had no idea what had been placed where. This was a part of her training. Because the vision loss in her right eye was progressing, Yuki was practicing perceiving her surroundings through echoes. Her goal was to find and touch Tamamo, who would be hiding somewhere in the room, while maneuvering around the furniture and obstacles her protégée had set up. She would lose the exercise if she fell or knocked over a piece of furniture. Although the exact conditions for failure were not clearly defined, at the very least, Yuki’s latest attempt was unmistakably a failure. That made her fifth such attempt of the day. She had yet to succeed even once. Her attempts to acclimate to perceiving her surroundings with echolocation were not going smoothly. “This is hard…,” Yuki muttered. “Do you want to keep going?” Tamamo asked. “One more time, please.” The training continued for quite some time, but the results were the same. In her countless attempts, Yuki succeeded only once, but it had been a complete coincidence, as it hadn’t come as the result of echolocation. The nature of her success demoralized her, so she decided to call it quits for the day. “Sorry for making you go through all that,” Yuki said to Tamamo while rearranging the furniture. “I don’t mind,” Tamamo replied. “…So you’re really planning to keep at it?” Tamamo was likely referring not to the training but to Yuki’s intent to continue as a player. “Yep,” Yuki answered. “I’ve decided to play until the day I die.” So far, Yuki had lost three fingers on her left hand and was experiencing vision loss in her right eye. If she kept playing death games, her injuries would likely continue to multiply. Before long, she might even have to tinker with her entire body, just as her mentor had done. At the end of the road, after using every method available to her and exhausting every last ounce of her life force, would she reach ninety-nine games or die along the way? It was Yuki’s wish to meet one of those two fates. “What about you, Tamamo?” Yuki asked. That was when Yuki realized she had not once asked Tamamo about her reason for becoming a player. Two and a half months had passed since she had taken Tamamo under her wing, and it had been nearly four months since their first meeting, but since Yuki was not one to take interest in the personal affairs of others, she had neglected to ask. “That reminds me, why did you become a player?” Yuki reworded her question. “Huh…?” Tamamo stared back with a bewildered look and froze up for a short period of time, implying she didn’t have a prepackaged answer. “…I guess I’d say…because I despised myself…” That was the response Tamamo came up with after taking plenty of time to think. That’s the perfect way to answer, Yuki thought. A vague justification like that was truly fitting for a player. Although one would think people wouldn’t jump headfirst into the world of death games without a compelling reason to risk their lives, surprisingly, there were many who couldn’t express a clear explanation as to why. Yuki didn’t need to ask for more details to feel satisfied with Tamamo’s response. I knew she was meant to be a player— “…By the way, can I ask something else?” Yuki asked. “It’s been on my mind the entire day…” “What?” “What’s with your appearance?” A week had passed since the two of them last met, and today Tamamo looked different. She was wearing her hair down and had on a tracksuit. Her sloppy appearance was reminiscent of Yuki’s. “I’ve been going with it recently,” Tamamo answered. “I don’t mean to brag or anything, but normally, my good looks really grab people’s attention. This is to prevent me from standing out… I referenced your appearance, Yuki.” “…I see.” That was a logical reason. Indeed, a girl as beautiful as Tamamo would certainly run into problems while simply going about her day-to-day life. She ran the risk of attracting unwanted attention from local pickup artists, and the very sight of her could possibly cause elementary school boys to experience a premature sexual awakening. Keeping her face hidden would likely benefit her, the people around her, and all of humanity. (33/48) For round seventeen, Team 8 selected Mido as their representative. After seeing her off, her teammates stared at the screen. A short while later, Mido appeared on one of the streams. Players in sword fighter costumes appeared one after another in the other arenas as well. “…Huh?” the long-haired girl reacted. “Something the matter?” Shiro asked. The long-haired girl gestured at the screen without uttering a word. She pointed at the live footage from one of the arenas—where Yuki was visible. “Oh?” Shiro remarked. “Has she healed already?” “No… Her eyes are closed. She’s going to fight without sight.” The Team 8 members reacted in different ways. Some simply gaped in astonishment, while others voiced their disbelief. However… “She can do it,” the long-haired girl said. “There’s no doubt in my mind.” Her wording seemed curious to Shiro. “Are you acquainted with Yuki?” Shiro asked. “Is that why you knew about her right eye being her weakness?” Before the start of round nine, the one where Team 8 was matched up against Yuki’s Team 5, the long-haired girl had imparted a piece of advice to Shiro: “Yuki’s vision is worse in her right eye. I suggest you keep circling to her right while fighting—” The long-haired girl only offered a vague answer. “We were close for a time.” The return of Yuki spelled bad news for Team 8. After this penultimate round, Team 8 would face Team 5 in the eighteenth and final round. Since the final duel would be the last chance to secure a top spot in the rankings and clear the game, teams would pit their strongest fighters against one another. That was the worst-possible scenario imaginable for this game. “…If she ends up winning this duel,” the long-haired girl said, staring at the screen, “I’ll fight in the final round.” The girl began adjusting her hair. Less than a minute later, her locks were tied into buns at the back of her head, exposing her gorgeous, otherworldly features for the world to see. To Shiro, the girl appeared even more stunning than before. Although the structure of her face had not changed, her expression of determination imbued her with even greater beauty. “By the way…,” Shiro couldn’t help but ask. “Who are you? What’s your name?” “…………” After delivering a glance that seemed to express disdain for Shiro not remembering her name, the long-haired girl replied. “Tamamo.” (34/48) “—Begin!” Even after the king signaled the start of the duel, Yuki did not step forward. She had taken an aggressive approach in her previous matches to hide her vision loss, but now that she was standing motionless in the arena with both eyes closed before her opponent, her secret was out. As such, she no longer had a reason to attack aggressively or prioritize ending the fight quickly. That was why, in round seventeen, Yuki settled on a strategy of waiting. While waiting for her opponent to draw closer, she repeatedly made a clicking sound from inside her mouth with her tongue. In order to hear echoes, she would first need to make noise, after all. Yuki’s echolocation teacher, Rinrin, used the jingling of bells, but Yuki had decided to adopt the standard approach of clicking her tongue. Since she’d devoted an ample amount of time to practicing the technique, she was able to seamlessly transmit sound signals—setting aside the matter of actually receiving those signals. Yuki strained her ears. She thought she could hear the sounds bouncing back, but she wasn’t too confident. All she could see were the backs of her eyelids and the darkness they brought. She was unable to convert the echoes she heard into meaningful information. Even after she heard Rinrin explain her methods, Yuki’s echolocation skills had yet to reach a passing grade. Yuki believed that was because she was lacking an imminent sense of danger. Since she still had full vision in her left eye, there was no urgency for her to learn echolocation. Learning echolocation while being able to see had to be as difficult as learning a foreign language while at home in Japan. So maybe this situation will— Yuki’s train of thought was cut short by footsteps. Her opponent, a player from Team 10, was making her approach. Although she must have been surprised to see Yuki appear in the arena with both eyes closed, it seemed she had regained her composure. Yuki readied herself. Drawing her rapier and bringing it out before her required no use of sight. She strained her ears, concentrating on her opponent’s footsteps. As she lacked the courage to reduce the distance between her and her opponent, she simply waited for the other player to inch closer. Although she continued to click her tongue, she couldn’t get a good feel for her surroundings. Guess this won’t work this time, Yuki thought. It would be asking the impossible for her to pull off a technique she couldn’t even achieve in practice. Her only hope for this duel would be to fight while relying on the sounds her foe made. The very next moment, the footsteps shifted to the side. Yuki had predicted as much. There was no reason to attack your opponent from the front, whether or not they were blind. It was perfectly natural to want to attack from directions they would have a hard time guarding against, such as from an angle, from the side, or from behind. Yuki reoriented her body to face the source of the footsteps. Her opponent moved sideways once more, and Yuki again rotated her body. After Yuki continued to spin around for a while— Her opponent’s presence suddenly grew larger. “……!” Yuki swung her rapier forward. It was an instantaneous decision, basically a desperation move. A second later, however, she sensed the unmistakable force of an impact and heard the sound of clanging metal, telling her she had succeeded in parrying her opponent’s weapon. The joy Yuki felt lasted only a second, for her own rapier was then deflected. With no way to know how her opponent’s blade was moving, Yuki retreated backward while flailing her weapon around in a panic. Her opponent was apparently giving chase, as the clanging of their swords continued to reverberate. Yuki could picture the ungraceful sight of herself being captured by the arena cameras and transmitted to the many viewing screens, but regardless of how uncool she looked, she was managing to put up the bare minimum of a fight, without getting stabbed or killed. As Yuki continued her performance, the fire in her brain rapidly intensified due to a wave of many negative emotions, including anxiety, fear, confusion, and a sense of crisis. It was a sensation she had long forgotten despite living in the world of death games—the feeling of being on the brink of death. Things were bad. Dying was certainly possible. In an attempt to not be overwhelmed by those emotions, Yuki clicked her tongue increasingly faster and louder. This won’t work. Defending won’t be enough. Team 10’s record is seven wins and nine losses. There’s little chance of my opponent surrendering. The only way forward is to stab my opponent to death. That’s why this won’t work. I have to go for it. I have to do everything I can to find an opening to counterattack! With the same feeling of putting all her chips on the table, Yuki channeled every bit of her energy and attention into listening. And then— (35/48) —Nearly four months after Yuki had taken on Tamamo as a protégée, the two of them had the following conversation. “From this point on, use your abilities to find your own way forward and survive on as long as you can.” Tamamo listened as Yuki terminated their mentor-protégée relationship. She was unable to respond and instead simply stood there, perfectly still. Her heart was in a state of deep turmoil and showed no signs of settling down. “Farewell.” Before Tamamo could sort out her feelings, Yuki bid her good-bye and left, conveying she had said everything she needed to and that the rest could be inferred. Even after Yuki walked away, Tamamo continued to stand there by herself. Eventually, a squeezing pain assaulted her stomach, and a single thought set a fire inside her brain. She knows about my shameful disposition. (36/48) Round seventeen came to a close. Team 8’s fighter, Mido, lost—not by surrender but through death. Knowing her team would be up against Yuki in the final round, she had overextended in an attempt to score a victory and had unfortunately fallen short. Team 8’s record remained at a precarious eight wins. However, this did not bother Tamamo one bit. She was fired up, because Team 5—because Yuki—had won her duel. Although Yuki had begun the match somewhat clumsily, after a certain point, her demeanor changed at the flip of a switch. All of a sudden, she started acting like someone with perfect vision—no, her behavior went even beyond that. It was like she had learned how to use echolocation. She’s extraordinary, Tamamo thought. Still, I have to win. (37/48) Yuki left the arena while continuing to click her tongue. She walked down the hallway to the waiting room. Unlike after round nine, she didn’t follow the wall with her hand this time. She had no need to do so. Everything was clear to her. Yuki could see it all. It was a strange feeling, similar to the sensation of trying to picture one’s old elementary school, of blindly rummaging around one’s bag, of reaching for a cola on the table while staring at the TV. That sort of “indirect vision” anyone could experience in day-to-day situations had expanded to encompass the entirety of Yuki’s surroundings. Although her newfound perception was not as accurate as directly seeing things, it beat fighting with half her vision and had allowed her to win the duel effortlessly. Her opponent must have dropped her guard after seeing Yuki with her eyes closed, giving Yuki an opening to counter. She didn’t need to hear the king declare the end of the duel to know she had struck a vital point. Yuki returned to the waiting room, holding back her giddiness at having gained a new field of vision. Her teammates showered her with appreciation and explained the current state of the game. Teams with nine or ten wins were already guaranteed to clear the game, so their matches in round eighteen would automatically be recorded as surrenders. However, Team 5’s final opponent, Team 8, had only eight wins, which meant they would have to snatch victory with their own hands. Nine wins were required to ensure survival. It was a lot of information to take in, but it boiled down to one crucial point: Yuki had to win her final duel. To be precise, her team apparently still had a chance to clear the game if they boosted their tiebreak score by losing the final duel via death rather than surrender, but since Yuki would be the one fighting, that fact was irrelevant to her. Her only path to survival would be ending the tournament with a win. After only a moment’s rest, Yuki turned around and headed back to the arena. (38/48) Tamamo made her way to the arena. She would soon be facing the final duel—one she couldn’t afford to lose. Her teammates all agreed to have her represent the team, since no one else was confident in their abilities, Tamamo was unharmed from her previous duels, and she had a winning record. Tamamo was glad to be fighting, not only because of her personal attachment to Yuki, but also because she believed she was the only one on her team who could defeat her mentor. Yuki had been born anew. No ordinary player could stand a chance against her, not even Shiro at her peak. In fact, Tamamo herself was nowhere near Yuki in terms of skill. However, Tamamo had been the girl’s protégée. She had learned Yuki’s ways of thinking and techniques and practiced with her across dozens of training sessions. Tamamo knew Yuki like the back of her hand. I know I can do this. I’ll show her who I really am. (39/48) Tamamo despised herself. She couldn’t recall when exactly she started hating herself, but she didn’t think she had always felt that way. Perhaps it had been a result of her piano teacher in elementary school bullying her to no end, or maybe her failure to build relationships in middle school had left a lasting mark. She neither remembered nor wished to think back on it. Regardless, once she became cognizant of her feelings, it was like it had always been that way. Even though there was nothing particularly unpleasant about her life, she felt endlessly repulsed by her own state of being. It was part of her nature, beyond help. As Tamamo grew up, her feelings of self-loathing turned into more than a simple mental issue. The world was rather strange, in that people who loved themselves would be blessed with favorable circumstances, while those who didn’t were led down paths that were very much unfavorable. Before she could make sense of things, Tamamo found herself in the world of players, heading down a road of self-destruction. She signed up for Halloween Night, a competition where the living and dead intersected. Even in that game, Tamamo continued to stumble. She was chased by a band of players—including Shiro—and right as she was about to finally plunge into the valley of death— A twist of fate led her to cross paths with a phantom-like player named Yuki. After Yuki rescued her from her predicament, Tamamo became enamored with her. Tamamo’s instincts told her the girl was exactly the one she had been looking for. On instinct, Tamamo asked Yuki to take her on as a protégée. Her agent had told her how those relationships were common in the world of death games. Naturally, Tamamo’s sudden request was met with refusal, but she persisted. She sensed it was her last chance. If she let the moment slip through her fingers, she would never again get the opportunity to transform her life— Although Yuki ended up fleeing, Tamamo had succeeded in getting the girl to agree to the arrangement. Yuki likely had no intention of taking Tamamo on as a protégée, but Tamamo managed to locate her and force her to make good on her promise. Tamamo’s instincts proved correct, and her protégée life under Yuki was filled with bliss. Every time Yuki taught her something, she would feel another part of herself being scraped off. The thoughts, behaviors, and skills of the person she looked up to were overwriting her very existence. The more of her loathsome self was wiped away, the easier it became for her to bear the world’s pain and suffering. Everything was going exactly as Tamamo had hoped. At this rate, she would be able to completely erase herself from the world. Alas, it seemed her mentor had caught on to her shameful disposition, as Yuki announced the end of their relationship without warning. Tamamo couldn’t quite recall how she had reacted in the moment. Had dragged herself away in a bewildered stupor? Or she had broken down in tears? Perhaps she had even drowned her sorrows with alcohol despite being a minor. The gap in her memory was just that profound. The one thing she acutely remembered was the anguish. It was as if she had been thrown out into a cold, empty world. While growing more and more numb, Tamamo spent several days rebuilding her heart, using the final words Yuki had left her as the foundation for doing so. “I need to go beyond what my mentor taught me and find my own unique style—that’s my assessment.” “Tamamo, I want you to do the same.” For the next two months, Tamamo drifted through life as if wandering through darkness. She continued to participate in games and accumulate experience as a player, all the while living as her true self. And now Tamamo had the opportunity to cross paths with Yuki once again. It was time for her disposition to be judged anew. (40/48) When Tamamo arrived in the arena, Yuki was already present. The girl’s eyes were shut, and she was standing perfectly still. She appeared as silent as a sage, as dignified as a professional, as mysterious as a phantom, and as present as a mother. That was the aura she gave off. She even seemed somewhat majestic. Tamamo had been watching Yuki throughout the tournament via the live footage on the screen, but seeing her in person was radically different. Tamamo couldn’t believe she had actually lived with such a person. There was no doubt—this was her former mentor. Yuki was not clicking her tongue, which meant she wasn’t hearing any echoes. However, she appeared to have detected Tamamo’s presence from her footsteps, as her aura suddenly intensified, and she drew her rapier. Tamamo also drew her sword, a plan forming in her mind at the sight of her mentor. The air grew cold. The two of them stood there facing each other for some time, quiet and motionless, when finally… “Begin!” The king on the screen announced the start of the duel, just like in all the other rounds. Yuki had adopted an aggressive strategy up until round nine, while in round seventeen, she had gone with a patient approach. In this last duel, however, she settled on a different opening maneuver. With the utmost care, she inched her way forward. Tamamo mirrored Yuki, closing the distance between her and her mentor. As Tamamo quieted her breathing, Yuki inched closer and closer while clicking her tongue. When the two of them got close enough, they both brought forth their rapiers, which gently came in contact with one another close to the tips, as if kissing. The sound of swords scraping against each other filled the air. Both fighters closely observed their opponent. They shuffled their feet left and right but never forward, maintaining a distance where their blades could just barely touch. And so the final duel kicked off with a calm start. Although that was partially because it was the final duel, this also happened to be Tamamo’s fighting style. While clearing many games, it had become perfectly clear to Tamamo her tenacity was her biggest weapon. She would take and take her opponent’s attacks, waiting for the moment to counter as soon as their strikes started to get sloppy. Although her style may not have been as graceful as Yuki’s or Shiro’s, it was a winning strategy that had allowed her to survive to this day, and she once again decided to make use of it. Even if her opponent couldn’t see—even if her opponent was Yuki—Tamamo refused to let down her guard. (41/48) She’s awfully cautious. That was Yuki’s impression of her opponent. Her foe was careful. They sent no attacks Yuki’s way. Yuki attempted to step forward, only for her opponent to retreat the same distance. Her opponent was refusing to get close enough for them to attack each other. Was she taking a cautious approach because it was the final duel? Or had she seen Yuki fighting in the previous round and decided it would be better to spend time observing? Whatever the case, Yuki wasn’t pleased with the situation. She wanted to avoid a drawn-out fight. Although she could now use echolocation to perceive her surroundings with relative accuracy, she had only just acquired this skill. There were still plenty of gaps in her ability, and these would become more apparent the longer her opponent observed her. Since Yuki had always preferred taking a more aggressive course of action, she decided to make the first move. She took a big step forward, lunging with her sword. Her opponent backed away, so Yuki’s first attack didn’t quite reach, but she took another step forward to follow up with a second lunge. Although Yuki was within blade’s reach, her opponent evaded her thrust. Yuki closed the distance even farther and went for a third attack, but this time, her opponent parried her rapier. That did not stop her from advancing farther and hoping the fourth time would be the charm, but because she had been attacking in rapid succession, she was unable to put her entire weight into her lunge and only managed to poke through her opponent’s clothes. Yuki sensed her opponent’s presence get farther and farther away. The other player had successfully held off Yuki’s flurry of stabs. Her defenses are solid, Yuki thought. Out of all the players she had fought over the course of the tournament, her current opponent was by far the most skilled. And her foe hadn’t made a single attempt to counterattack, despite Yuki being in striking distance and having run out of steam. Whoever this girl was, she was a prodigious defender. Even if Yuki had possessed perfect vision, breaking through would have been no easy task. What was she to do? The sound of clicking and footsteps echoed throughout the arena for thirty or forty seconds. Yuki judged she would have no choice but to take on some risk. And so she lowered her rapier. With closed eyes and her sword by her side—a form unthinkable for a duelist—Yuki walked toward her opponent. In essence, her strategy was to provoke an attack. She would approach her opponent in a vulnerable state, inciting the girl into making the first thrust. Yuki would either dodge or ensure she got hit somewhere inconsequential, before landing a counter. That was the long and short of her plan. Thanks to the Preservation Treatment, players would have the opportunity to heal most of their injuries at the end of the game. As long as Yuki avoided taking fatal wound, there was no issue with being stabbed. Lose a battle to win the war. Yuki could also repeat what she had done against Shiro and defend by grabbing her opponent’s sword. While that would be difficult without her eyesight, it would not be a bad idea to try anything she could. I’ll let you strike first. Come at me. (42/48) Upon seeing Yuki inch closer, Tamamo narrowed her eyes. It was clear what Yuki was trying to do: provoke an attack by deliberately letting her guard down before countering. Tamamo’s inaction had driven Yuki to change tacks. Even in her current condition, Yuki would be more than capable of holding her own in a swordfight, as her ability to detect the malice of others was exceptional. She could easily predict Tamamo’s actions a second ahead of time and use that information to either dodge or, like she had done during round nine, grab her opponent’s rapier. As a temporary countermeasure, Tamamo decided to step backward. She maintained a fixed distance from Yuki and racked her brain for a more solid strategy. Her best choice would be to refuse to engage. Just because her opponent had left herself vulnerable did not mean Tamamo had to attack. She also had the option to continue retreating and keep her distance from Yuki. Since the arena was limited in size, Tamamo would have to back away while following a slightly curved path, but that was all she would need to do to refuse the invitation to strike. Frankly, Tamamo wanted to observe a little more and see just how much Yuki could perceive with echolocation before making the decision of whether to attack. However, if she stalled for too long, Yuki might realize her identity— “…………” Fine, Tamamo thought. I’ll do what you’re asking and strike. However, Tamamo had no intention of letting Yuki get everything she wanted. It was time to play her trump card. She stopped retreating. Yuki continued walking, which naturally reduced the distance between the two of them. Tamamo wet the inside of her mouth with her tongue and waited for the right moment, the perfect distance where her attack would land yet she would not be too close. At the instant when Yuki finished taking a step, when both the sound of her clicking and her footsteps vanished— Tamamo spoke up, raising her voice to make sure she would be heard. “Long time no see, Yuki.” (43/48) The next moment— Yuki’s eyes shot open, a dumbfounded expression coming to her face. Both her long-injured right eye and her newly wounded left eye were pointed squarely in Tamamo’s direction. However, neither of them could possibly perceive Tamamo. Exactly—Yuki was without vision. She hadn’t realized that she had been fighting someone she knew. Echolocation could not tell her how a person looked. She would never have realized who she was up against without Tamamo speaking up as she had. Of course, Tamamo knew Yuki was not the kind of person to show mercy when fighting a former protégée. That was why Tamamo had left this ace up her sleeve until the perfect moment. Just because Yuki wouldn’t show mercy did not mean she would be without reaction. The revelation would naturally come as a shock, and Yuki would be forced to drop her guard. To Tamamo, that brief opening was worth its weight in gold. Before the moment passed, Tamamo thrust her rapier into the right side of Yuki’s chest and pulled it back out. (44/48) “Guh…?!” As her nerves transmitted pain signals, Yuki thrust out her arm—but felt nothing but air. It wasn’t that her attack had missed; her rapier had fallen out of her right hand. The pain in her chest had deprived her of her grip strength, a fact that took some time to process. By the time regret caught up with her, the sword clattered against the ground. Yuki quickly bent down to pick it up, but as she attempted to, she took a kick to the head. Of course, it had come from her opponent. Yuki somersaulted backward, falling over onto the ground. Not only had she failed to pick up her sword, she’d ended up farther away from it. Sensing the situation was dire, Yuki swiftly sat up and clicked her tongue. The echoes revealed the position of her opponent—of Tamamo. The girl was far enough away to be out of blade’s reach. Yuki also sensed Tamamo had two swords, one in each hand, suggesting that she had snatched up Yuki’s weapon. Yuki had messed up. She had reacted too slowly. She never expected to reunite with Tamamo in this game. It had taken her too long to assess the situation, and she had failed to evade Tamamo’s attack. Although she had thankfully avoided sustaining a fatal wound, she had lost her sword. Embarrassingly enough, she had been caught completely unawares. She had been overly focused on making up for her impairment and only anticipated facing vision-related issues during the duel. As Yuki stayed still, mired in confusion, footsteps echoed throughout the arena. Tamamo was approaching. Yuki leaped to her feet and fled. As she ran, her mind remained in full operation. Goddamnit. What do I do? I have no sight and no weapon. I’m not in peak physical condition, either. This arena isn’t large; I can’t run or hide anywhere, and even if that was possible, it wouldn’t accomplish anything. I have to win this duel. Killing Tamamo is the only way I can survive. I have to go for it, circumstances be damned. Yuki turned around and faced Tamamo’s direction. I‘m all banged up, but I’ve got to make a move. I need to block Tamamo’s swords, steal them, and counterattack. Tamamo may be a solid defender, but her offensive capabilities were always lacking. Considering how carefully she’s been moving, that must still be a sticking point for her. I can do it. No—I have to. Tamamo loomed closer. As did the threat of her attack. That moment, incidents buried deep in Yuki’s brain were dragged to the surface. Nostalgic memories of the dozens of mock swordfights she’d had with Tamamo. Yuki recalled how Tamamo would likely thrust her sword— —and stuck out her hands in the path of that imagined trajectory. (45/48) The moment she lunged forward, incidents buried deep in Tamamo’s brain were dragged to the surface. Nostalgic memories of the mock swordfights she’d had with Yuki. Tamamo had never won a single one of their matches, even after dozens of attempts. No matter the angle or the form of Tamamo’s swings, Yuki would always see through her attacks like an all-seeing god and land a counterattack afterward. Yuki had said she could somehow predict Tamamo’s actions. In which case, the same would likely apply in their current duel. Even if she can’t see me, she can read my movements. Which means she’s bound to block my attack, Tamamo thought as time seemed to slow to a crawl. She didn’t have to command her body to move. Instead, all of a sudden, she felt a weight pressing on her back as if an elephant had stepped on her, causing her to instinctively crouch down close to the ground. That was the work of Tamamo’s subconscious, which had been tailor-built to suit a player’s needs. Similarly, Tamamo lunged forward as naturally as if being pulled by the swords in her hands, which were now aimed lower than they had been a second earlier. Moments later, the outcome of that series of actions was revealed to both Tamamo and Yuki. Yuki blocked the rapier in Tamamo’s left hand. It plunged through Yuki’s palm, which she had raised in an attempt to shield the attack, and the tip of the weapon lodged itself into Yuki’s left shoulder. However, that was far from a fatal blow. The rapier in Tamamo’s right hand, however, connected cleanly. Although Yuki had grabbed the sword with her right hand, she evidently lacked the grip strength to fully stop it, as the blade went into Yuki’s stomach and jutted out her back. Tamamo saw both of Yuki’s legs wobble. However, she did not think for a moment she had won. For beneath her disheveled bangs, Yuki had curled her lips into a smile. (46/48) I screwed up, Yuki thought. Although she hadn’t expected to escape the duel unscathed, she had still made a grave mistake. A stab wound of this level would likely never fully heal. It was possible Yuki would have to modify the insides of her body, just like her mentor and Essay. The more pressing issue at present was she had taken severe damage. She couldn’t form a proper fist with either hand, much less contract the muscles in her stomach. Her body was truly in dire straits. However—she was alive. Yuki smiled to herself. She tugged on the two swords that had entered her body, which consequently brought Tamamo in closer. At the same time, Yuki leaned her head back, then slammed it forward, landing a powerful head-butt. She could tell Tamamo had winced. Yuki used the opening to land another head-butt. As soon as she landed a third, Tamamo loosened her grip in both hands and let go of the blades, which Yuki tossed far behind her. Then Yuki tackled Tamamo and pushed her to the ground. That was the point where Tamamo started counterattacking. Yuki felt a sharp pain in her right cheek, likely caused by a backhand slap. However, Yuki did not flinch and hit back at Tamamo. Since she couldn’t use her fists anymore, she struck with her wrist bones. What happened next was exactly what everyone watching the footage of the duel must have been predicting: The two of them traded blow after blow. It was a kind of fight entirely unbecoming of swordswomen, lacking any and all grace. As their slugfest continued, Yuki felt a burst of confidence. The time had finally come. She had managed to reach this stage. Now she had no idea where the hand of fate was pointing. Yuki had an advantage by being on top of Tamamo. As if to gloat about her assured victory, Yuki raised her right hand high into the air… …only for it to suddenly grow heavy. Must be my injuries, Yuki thought. That makes sense. Tamamo stabbed me in multiple spots, so one of the wounds must’ve messed up the nerves leading to my right arm— No, that’s not it, she realized. I can’t make a fist, but my nerves are fine. It’s just that my hand feels heavy. Not for a physical reason—but a mental one. Exactly. Just think about it. It’s obvious. Who are you fighting against? Don’t say you’ve forgotten. It’s Tamamo. Your former protégée. You’ve been beating her up and trying to kill her. How could you not feel anything? You’ve grown attached to her. You don’t want to kill her. You don’t want her to die. (47/48) Yuki thought back to two months earlier, when she bid farewell to Tamamo. Yuki clearly remembered she’d tried to justify her decision by saying she needed to focus on herself and Tamamo wouldn’t benefit if they continued their relationship. She had probably succeeded in convincing Tamamo—and even succeeded in deceiving herself on the surface. However, deep down, Yuki knew the truth. She knew what she was afraid of. She knew what truly mattered to her. Yuki was afraid of having Tamamo die on her, of having Tamamo die within her reach. As she had mentioned to Hakushi some time ago, Yuki felt a sense of responsibility. If Tamamo died in a game, Yuki would bear some of the blame as her mentor. She couldn’t stand the thought of that. She didn’t want Tamamo to get killed. If Tamamo was bound to lose her life, then Yuki would want the girl to disappear somewhere before then. To die in a place far out of sight. To die in a way that would minimally impact Yuki’s mental health. Even though she had never voiced those desires, she couldn’t deny having those thoughts. The words of her mentor from long ago echoed in her mind. “Make an earnest effort to build a connection with another person. It’ll do an individualistic player like you some good.” As it turned out, Yuki had been unable to follow Hakushi’s advice. She had failed to be earnest enough. She had failed to take care of Tamamo until the very end. She had chickened out halfway through, giving in to temptation and running away from her troubles. Not only that, she had even covered it up with a convenient excuse. Perhaps this terrible situation was a direct result of her shameful disposition. The pain of a kick to the stomach pulled Yuki back to reality. Shoot, Yuki thought. In her current state of mind, she wouldn’t even be able to win an unlosable fight. Guarding against Tamamo’s attacks, Yuki calmed her heart and attempted to focus on the duel. Yet her chilly heart instantly began to warm again. Goddamn it, she cursed at herself. What’s with you getting all earnest all of a sudden? You do what you have to do. Isn’t that what defines you as a person? What happened to your usual rules? Aren’t they supposed to give you strength? If you even lose sight of yourself as a player, then your life is pointless. You get that, right? So hurry up and get to it! Yuki felt like she was being ripped into two halves, just as anyone would feel when being forced to do something they didn’t want to. But it was far more intense than any time she had felt the same in the past. Her mind slowed to a crawl, as if gelatin had been injected into every single one of her brain cells. She could no longer generate a coherent thought, as if she had taken a step into madness. However, that proved helpful in her current situation. Once again, Yuki rammed into Tamamo with her head, which had now become nothing more than a blunt object full of matter. She let her hands freely beat Tamamo senseless. At this point, she was no longer clicking her tongue. Instead, she relied solely on what she sensed in the air and what she felt with her hands. That was sufficient. Since she was wounded everywhere, her punches lacked finesse. An onlooker would probably liken her to an angry chimpanzee or a baby throwing a tantrum. Still, Yuki did not think she was being ungraceful, for at the moment, she didn’t have the reasoning ability to even reach such a complicated conclusion. Tamamo made no attempts to counter. Perhaps Yuki’s first head-butt or one of her subsequent attacks had knocked the girl out. As such, the only pain Yuki felt came from the wounds on her body stinging every time she threw a punch. Gradually, she lost the ability to tell if she was hitting her opponent or hitting herself. She felt no difference in the two. Phrases without a clear subject raced through her brain, which had recovered some of its functionality. Die. Go away. You’re the most worthless person on the planet. Don’t ever try to engage with another person ever again. Die. Just die! When her brain tired of hurling abuse, Yuki could no longer sense Tamamo’s presence. Yuki huffed and puffed while on top of Tamamo’s body. She looked down in front of her. Everything was dark. Yet Yuki knew for certain Tamamo was still there. Her soul was still intact. Tamamo wasn’t dead, only unconscious. That meant what awaited Yuki was a task she had wanted to avoid. It took less than ten seconds for her to muster her resolve. Yuki stood up and searched around. She clicked her tongue, which had dried out from her panting. Reading the echoes, she found a sword, picked it up, and returned to her initial position. She held the sword over the chest of the unconscious girl— And plunged it in. And plunged it in. And plunged it in. And plunged it in. Her memories of what happened after that were a blur. (48/48)