Chapter 7

(0/30) Yuki awoke on top of a cold concrete floor. (1/30) Yuki realized she was lying atop concrete right after coming to. The mercilessly cold, rough texture that was characteristic of the material made its presence known from beneath her. She got up off the floor. A white dress adorned her body, the kind that would look stunning under a midsummer sky and that female characters in visual novels would often be wearing. It was her outfit for this game. Although the dress complemented Yuki’s ghostly pale complexion, the summer sky, which would otherwise render the scene picturesque, was nowhere to be found. Her surroundings were dimly lit, almost dark. The lights were off, and no sunshine streamed in through the windows. What kept the room from being completely devoid of light was a monitor displaying a digital number on one of the walls. Its red glow took the form of the digits 05:32:12, and the number ticked smaller and smaller with each passing second. In five and a half hours, the countdown would reach zero. At this stage, however, Yuki had no way to determine whether that would signal the start of the game or its end. Still, the room was awfully dim. Relying on the faint light of the monitor, Yuki took a look around. The space was roughly the size of a living room found in an average middle-class home, though notably, the floor was littered with glass shards and wood scraps. It was a room inside an abandoned building—or at least, that was what it seemed like. Perhaps the organizers had repurposed a building that had fallen out of use into the setting of a game. As she walked around, Yuki hit her foot on something. She looked down to find a backpack lying on the floor. It was not one of her belongings—rather, it appeared to have been supplied for the game. Yuki unzipped it and found a lavish bounty of provisions inside. Among the items, the first to catch Yuki’s eye were emergency rations wrapped in aluminum foil, which perfectly matched her mental image of emergency rations. She decided to try one of the three individually wrapped portions. It tasted like an energy drink manufacturer’s first attempt at making solid food; Yuki quickly concluded that the food in this game fell on the lower end of the quality spectrum. Next, Yuki’s attention gravitated to some first aid supplies. They were all run-of-the-mill items, the kind a hiker, not a combat medic, would carry. Specifically, they consisted of an assortment of household medications and supplies, including bandages, ointment, eye drops, and stomach medicine. Although Yuki had no idea what kind of game awaited her, she figured the supplies would probably—scratch that—certainly be of no use. After rummaging through the backpack in hopes of finding something more useful, she stumbled upon several practical-looking pieces of survival gear. As with the first aid kit, they were ordinary items, such as a sewing kit and a flashlight. Among them, however, were tools that could be used to take another’s life, including a knife and a rope. In addition to those, one final object was inside. “……?” Yuki scrutinized the object carefully, trying to make heads or tails of it. It was a white sheet of paper, one that had a sturdier and more pleasant texture than ordinary printer paper. Both sides were blank, so its purpose was impossible to identify at a glance. Could it be used in first aid somehow? Did she simply not know what a modern gauze pad looked like? After folding it, gently tugging at it, and playing around with it for a little while, she reached a tentative conclusion about what the sheet of paper was for. Then she returned all the items she had laid out on the floor into the backpack, which she took with her as she exited the room. The hallway looked far more dilapidated than the interior of the room where she’d woken. Yuki would have to walk carefully if she wanted to make it out with her legs and dress intact. Although the hallway also lacked any light fixtures, the digital countdown timers attached to various locations on the walls provided some illumination. Directly adjacent to Yuki’s room was a flight of stairs, but she decided to survey the entire floor before checking it out. She opted against using the flashlight that had come with her backpack. Since Yuki was a night owl, the level of darkness in the hallway presented no impediment to her movements whatsoever. Beyond that, she also wanted to conserve her flashlight’s battery. With the game taking place in a dark building, sources of light would almost certainly be crucial. While remaining vigilant of her surroundings, Yuki proceeded down the hallway. She took a lap around the floor. A worn-out floor map that had fallen onto the floor indicated that she was currently on the fifth story. The lack of windows prevented any light from shining in from outside, making it impossible to deduce the time of day. After confirming there were six rooms on this floor, Yuki debated which to investigate first as she began her second lap. Typically, she would have started with the room that had the biggest door, but as the doors on this level were all the same size, she had no choice but to choose one at random. The room she entered was exactly the same size as the one she had woken up in. The interior was completely dilapidated, illuminated only by the glow of a digital timer in the wall. A girl was sound asleep on the stone concrete floor. “…Oh?” That’s unusual, Yuki thought. She had stumbled upon a sleeping player only a handful of times before. Players received a sleeping pill before each game, and since they were extremely effective on Yuki, she was almost always the last to wake. She had been working on adopting healthier lifestyle habits lately, and her sleep quality had also improved somewhat, so perhaps those changes had affected how her body responded to the medicine. Those thoughts ran through Yuki’s mind as she approached the sleeping girl. Like Yuki, the girl was wearing a white dress, but since she gave off the impression of a well-to-do young lady, the outfit looked far better on her. Her gorgeous blond hair was coiled into princess curls and seemed more valuable than genuine gold. It wasn’t every day you came across a hairstyle like this, so Yuki was overcome with awe. Her mischievous spirit took over, instilling in her an urge to touch the sleeping girl’s hair. Yuki tiptoed up to her, and all of a sudden— The girl turned over in her sleep. It happened in the blink of an eye. The girl’s momentum caused her hair to fan out, obstructing Yuki’s entire field of vision. In an unexpected twist, her wish to touch the girl’s princess curls had come to fruition, albeit at the cost of her sight. Before her vision cleared, several cold objects were thrust against her neck. Yuki immediately recognized them: fingernails—long ones, belonging to the girl. “—Would you care to identify yourself?” the girl asked, blinking her long lashes once. At the same time, the force against Yuki’s neck intensified. Yuki raised her hands, as if staring down the barrel of a gun. “…My name is Yuki. Nice to meet you.” (2/30) They moved swiftly after that. The princess-like girl circled around to the other rooms to wake the remaining players, and within five minutes, everyone on the floor had gathered in a single room. “This was the only room without anyone inside,” said the princess, looking around. “Was it simply left unoccupied to begin with? Or could there be another player lurking somewhere? I suppose we will uncover the truth upon progressing with the game.” The princess turned to the players she had gathered. Yuki followed her gaze. There were five people in the room, including Yuki and the princess. Every player appeared to be an underage girl, and all were clad in white dresses. The choice of a white dress for the game outfit was puzzling. With the stage being an abandoned building, was it meant to bring to mind the image of a phantom? If that were the case, then no player was more suitable for this game than Yuki herself. “First, shall we follow the accepted protocol and commence with self-introductions?” the princess suggested, staring straight at Yuki. “Although the majority of us are already acquainted.” “Huh?” Yuki again looked around at the other players. By some odd coincidence, their eyes were all trained on her. “Um… Hang on. Do you all know one another?” “Indeed. We have collaborated in multiple games in the past. You are the sole stranger in our midst.” Similarly, Yuki had never met any of the others before. Three months ago, the pool of death-game players had been almost completely decimated in a game called Candle Woods. These girls must have entered the fray since then. “Guess I’ll go first,” Yuki said. Although she couldn’t quite pinpoint what compelled her to feel introducing herself first was the reasonable conclusion, she continued without a second thought. “My name’s Yuki, and this is my tenth game. It’s been a while since my last one, but my expertise should still come in handy.” Yuki noticed a scowl formed on the princess’s face the moment after the word tenth came out of her mouth. The girl had likely not yet reached that milestone. That was only to be expected, assuming she had debuted as a player after Candle Woods. The other three were probably in the same boat. “Nice to meet you all.” Yuki concluded her introduction with a nod. “…Is that everything you have to say?” the princess shot back. “What more is there to say?” “You could speak on the skills and abilities you possess, for instance. Unless you share that information as well, it will be impossible to determine the optimal way of handling you.” Yuki had never been met with such a response before. Introductions at the start of a game typically covered only player names, game count, and whatever a player felt like sharing—at least, based on the tradition Yuki was accustomed to. Considering the length of time she had stepped away from the games, it was possible that quite a few things had changed during her absence. After some thought, Yuki said, “…Um, since I’m guessing this is an escape game…I’m confident in my ability to detect traps. I’m also pretty decent at close combat. On the flip side, I’m not so good with, you know, games that require intelligence and stuff. I never really went to school.” Yuki looked straight at the princess. “That enough for you?” “Yes, very well,” she responded. “That tells me what I need to know.” Her words stung. “Allow me to go next,” the princess continued. “You may call me Mishiro. As for my experience, this game is my eighth. I take pride in my superior leadership abilities, so I ordinarily assume the role of organizing and coordinating players.” Yuki had already presumed as much, but apparently this curly-haired, haughty princess had the highest game count among the others and served as their leader. That explained her antagonistic attitude. Naturally, she wouldn’t take kindly to someone more experienced coming onto the scene. “Go ahead.” Mishiro gestured to the girl next to her. “I’m Kotoha,” said the girl in a voice that suggested she rarely spoke. “This is my fifth game. I, um…I think I can support everyone from an intellectual standpoint.” Yuki got the impression that the girl was the kind of person to serve as a student librarian, from her bookish-sounding name of Kotoha, her self-proclaimed intelligence, and her downcast eyes behind the lenses of her glasses. The girl’s glasses certainly stood out. Spectacled players in these death games were, as one might expect, extremely rare. That was because the Preservation Treatment players underwent prior to a game corrected visual acuity to a certain degree. Maybe Kotoha had a complicated condition that couldn’t be resolved even with the medical technology of the organizers. Or maybe she had a different reason for wearing glasses—they could have been a pair of fakes she wore as a memento of her late grandmother, for instance. Although Yuki felt an intense urge to ask, she was hardly in an appropriate situation to do so. “It will be quite problematic if you only ‘think’ so,” Mishiro said, her eyes closed. “How many times must I tell you? Do not use expressions that convey a lack of self-confidence. That attitude has no place in a game of life and death.” “Ah. I…I’m sorry.” Kotoha bowed. The exchange was rather uncomfortable to watch, but it painted a clear picture of the pecking order between the two girls. “That’s all,” Kotoha said before passing the baton. “Chie heeere!” said the next girl in a voice so drawn out that Yuki could see the extra vowels linger in the air. “I’m pretty sure this is my fourth game. My usual role is… Well, I’d call myself a jack-of-all-trades, master of none. It’s sorta like I can do pretty much anything, but nothing suuuper well. Nice to meetcha!” This girl, who wore her brown hair in a side ponytail, seemed to be a savvy one. In any class of any school, there would always be a student who didn’t belong to a specific clique yet could naturally gel with any group—Chie gave off that exact impression. Yuki wondered why someone who was the very picture of a smooth operator was playing in these death games, but again, it didn’t feel appropriate to ask. “You’re up!” Chie pointed at the final girl. “I’m Keito.” The girl flashed a suspicious-looking smile. “It’s my sixth game. I’m good at quickly figuring out which players are winners. Nice to meet you.” The moment she said the word winners, Keito winked in Mishiro’s direction. Keito gave off an overwhelmingly shady aura. She had a tall, thin frame and a smile that hinted she was hiding something. Although she was every inch a girl, for some reason, she had the presence of a wicked man, like a host club worker who would use his silver tongue to weasel money out of naive customers, or a television industry insider who sucked up to celebrities only when they were in their prime. Yuki figured that Keito was probably a “clingy” player—someone whose playstyle was to find a capable player, butter them up, and ride on their coattails to survival. In this case, Keito’s target was none other than the princess, Mishiro. Yuki knew from experience that clingy players tended to last surprisingly long, but due to their disposition, they never broke into the top echelon of players. With all five girls having spoken, the self-introductions were over—at least, for those in the room. “I wonder if there’s a sixth player,” Yuki remarked. This was the only room on the floor that had been empty, suggesting the possible existence of a sixth player. The venues of games were not always a perfect match for the number of players; in fact, Yuki had been in numerous situations where there had simply been extra rooms prepared. Still, this was a death game, and Yuki couldn’t bring herself to ignore anything that seemed even the slightest bit unusual. “That’s a pointless topic to pontificate over,” said the blond princess, Mishiro. “As per my earlier statement, the truth will reveal itself as we progress further in the game. Don’t you think we should focus our attention on the matter at hand?” While Yuki found her reply rather standoffish, she didn’t feel strongly enough to grumble about it. Instead, she indicated her agreement with an “I guess so.” “Then let us move on. As for how we will proceed…” Mishiro paused to shoot a glance in Yuki’s direction before continuing. “As usual, I will assume the role of leader. Is that agreeable to everyone?” (3/30) Keito was the first to nod—how fitting for a clingy player. Shortly afterward, the bookish Kotoha and the sociable Chie bobbed their heads as well. The only head that remained motionless was that of the sole newcomer to the group, Yuki. “Very well,” Mishiro said. “As the majority are in agreement, I will again take the—” “I’m not objecting or anything, but…,” Yuki said, deciding to express what was on her mind. “Can you explain why you should be in charge? I mean, I’m the one with the most game experience here. What makes you think you’d be the best leader?” “My fit for the role and the trust placed in me,” Mishiro swiftly answered. “Game experience is not a pertinent factor. Leading others requires a different set of skills than those needed to merely survive on your own. Moreover, none of us know anything about you. From a comprehensive standpoint, it would be more reassuring for everyone else to have someone they’re connected to, such as myself, serve as leader. Would you not agree?” She has a point there, Yuki thought, keeping her mouth shut. “Furthermore, I find you somewhat suspicious.” Mishiro snickered. The girl had a dazzling smile that would bewitch anyone. If it wasn’t filled with scorn, Yuki might have completely fallen under its spell. “Based on what I have observed, I cannot possibly imagine that this is your tenth game. Your comportment lacks the slightest sense of refinement. And considering how easily I overpowered you earlier, I find it difficult to believe that you are ‘decent at close combat.’” “Are you calling me a liar?” “Not at all. Whatever gave you that idea? I simply believe your statements should be more consistent with reality.” Yuki glanced at the other players. Their gazes implied that Yuki was the one out of line. In fact, Yuki was ready to admit as much herself. Despite Mishiro’s caustic and irritating attitude, the girl had a point. It was true that game experience had nothing to do with suitability for leadership. Yuki had never served as a leader, while Mishiro had likely done so several times in the past. There was also no denying that Mishiro had pressed her nails against Yuki’s neck. And although Yuki had no awareness of it, her own behavior had probably indeed reeked of being amateurish. Still, Yuki was not without a defense for herself. She had only just returned from a long hiatus. Ever since the end of Candle Woods, she had been deep cleaning her apartment, improving her lifestyle habits, and completing procedures for enrolling in a high school, all of which had kept her away from her profession. Of course, she had done everything to level up as a player. She had no choice but to acknowledge that she was in poor form at this very moment, but as soon as she found her groove—or if she had still been her pre–Candle Woods self—she wouldn’t just accept playing second fiddle to a domineering princess. However, in death games, one’s abilities in the moment were everything. It would be utterly pathetic to make excuses right now. “Fine.” Yuki retracted her fangs. “Mishiro, I approve of you as leader.” “Then it is unanimous. Shall we begin the game?” Mishiro turned away from Yuki and looked over at the red number displayed on the wall—05:11:13. “The countdown points to this being an escape game. So let’s take the direct approach and head down the stairs.” Escape games were one of the various categories of death games. As the name suggested, the goal was to escape from a certain space. The majority of the time, players would have to push forward while avoiding deadly traps that riddled the venue. Compared to the other categories, escape games were the most common, perhaps due to the relative ease of achieving proper game balance. Mishiro unzipped the backpack at her feet. It was the same kind as the one supplied to Yuki. After taking out a flashlight, Mishiro flicked it on and off. “Is there one in your backpacks as well?” she asked. This time, everyone—Yuki included—nodded. “In which case, we should use them one at a time. A single flashlight will suffice for illuminating the path before us. As we do not know how long each one will last, it would be prudent to conserve our batteries as we proceed.” Yuki concurred. If there was a purpose to the darkness, that had to be it. In this game, light—in other words, one’s field of vision—was a resource that had to be strictly managed. The five players stepped out into the hallway and advanced in single file through the darkness. They had decided via a game of rock-paper-scissors who would take the front with a flashlight in hand, and so the lanky Keito was illuminating the path, with the other four girls following behind her like party members in an RPG. While attuning their senses to the depths of the darkness, the group headed down the hallway. When they reached the end, they began descending the stairs, but as soon as they neared the landing, Keito abruptly stopped in her tracks. “…Whoa there,” she remarked. “What is the matter?” Mishiro asked. Keito responded by shining the flashlight on the floor, revealing an open hole that was large enough to easily swallow a single person whole. “Ah… I see.” Mishiro’s tone implied everything had clicked for her. “It appears the floors of this building have collapsed at various points. I suppose that means we must shine the flashlight at the floor or risk falling through.” “No, that’s not all…” “?” Keito directed the beam of light into the hole. The players all peered down. “Eek…” The reaction came from Chie. A dead body lay at the bottom. (4/30) It lay in a prone position. Although the face wasn’t visible, Yuki could tell the body was that of an underage girl, clad in a white dress. The darkness obscured the sense of distance, but the girl had likely fallen one story below, onto the fourth floor. Her neck was bent at an impossible angle from her torso—she was undeniably dead. The girl’s head appeared to have smashed against the floor, as her insides were spilling out from the point of impact. However, they were neither the red hue of blood nor the translucent color of cerebral fluids—they were white. Thanks to the Preservation Treatment, the body modification procedure performed on players prior to a game, any internal body tissue exposed to air would puff up and transform into white fluff that resembled the cotton inside a plushie. That was one method used by the organizers to turn death games into a form of show business, ensuring that player fatalities were palatable on the screen. As Yuki had never seen a genuine dead body, she had no idea if the treatment achieved its intended effect. “She must be the sixth player.” Mishiro’s voice was calm. “She most likely awakened before the rest of us and fell while wandering around carelessly.” The existence of the body explained the mystery of the unoccupied room on the fifth floor. Not only that, it also cleared up something else that had been bugging Yuki—the reason why she’d woken up so early. Yuki’s room was situated directly adjacent to the staircase. That meant the noise of the pitiable player crashing onto the fourth floor would have sounded the loudest to her. The realization that she’d slept as deeply as usual this time was a slight disappointment. “What a foolish girl,” Mishiro scoffed. “Sauntering around this collapsing building while paying no attention to the floor, without even thinking to first wake up the other players…” “You took the words right out of my mouth,” Keito added. “No, um…” It was the bookish girl, Kotoha, who spoke up next. “What is it, Kotoha?” Mishiro asked. “Um, that…” “The word ‘that’ by itself does not tell us anything.” Despite the pressure from Mishiro, Kotoha remained unable to put her thoughts into words. In the end, she pointed to what she was referring to—a flashlight that was lying next to the left hand of the sixth player’s silent corpse. Presumably, it was the one that had been supplied to the girl. “Ah…” After laying eyes on the flashlight, Yuki understood what Kotoha was getting at. “So this was, um…” She turned to Kotoha, thinking of the right word to use. “This was a pitfall.” Kotoha nodded, indicating that was what she had wanted to say. The presence of a light source next to the body implied that the sixth player—or rather, the first player—had been walking while lighting her path. Yet in spite of that, she had ended up in a hole. There was only one explanation for this: The hole had opened up the moment the girl stepped over it. In other words, she had plunged into a pitfall. Clearing this game would not be as simple as proceeding while shining the way forward. Stepping onto a soft patch on the floor would send them crashing headfirst onto the floor below. This was a minefield game. (5/30) The group stepped out onto the fourth floor. There had been no “mines” past the landing of the staircase. None of the players had gotten hurt, but the distance they had walked had chipped away at their nerves, and the time they had spent descending the stairs had eaten away at the flashlight’s batteries. Typically, staircases connected every floor of a building, but this game was never going to be that forgiving. The stairs came to an end after the group descended a single story, leading to the endless stretch of darkness of the fourth floor. The only light came from the dim glow of digital timers affixed to various spots on the walls. The stairs leading to the third floor were located somewhere on this level, but without any clues as to their whereabouts, the group had no better strategy than to conduct an exhaustive search. They started by investigating the body they had seen from above. Observing it up close granted them two new pieces of information. The first was that the girl was no longer in this world, beyond a shadow of a doubt. The second and far more vital finding was that the flashlight beside the girl had run out of battery. It must have stayed on even after the girl died. Although the players failed to acquire any additional batteries, they rifled through the dead participant’s backpack for useful items before leaving her corpse behind. The group turned their efforts to clearing the floor. Faced with the reality that “mines” in the floor would pull them under when stepped on, they slightly altered their formation. Keito remained at the front of the line, while the other four players followed a short distance behind, the same as before. However, they had added a physical connection between them—a rope that had been among their provisions, which now linked together the hands of the four players to Keito’s torso. “I’m not a fan of how we’re walking her like a dog…,” Yuki commented, looking at Keito out in front. The purpose of the rope was obvious—to keep Keito from hitting the floor if she stepped on a “mine.” Since the rope had to support the full body weight of a person, having Keito hold on to it or wrap it around her arm wouldn’t be enough. It needed to be tightly wound around her torso, but as a consequence, it looked like the group was walking a dog or parading around a slave. “That’s the way it has to be. Safety far outweighs appearances,” Mishiro said. Yuki had to admit that Mishiro had a point. Besides, this arrangement was not going to last forever. It would be far too great a burden for the same player to stay at the head of the line for the entirety of the game, so the group planned to reassign the role after every floor. Once they had safely reached the third floor, or if Keito had succumbed to a “mine” like that poor sixth player, the remaining girls would play another game of rock-paper-scissors to determine the next line leader. Yuki wanted to avoid the responsibility if at all possible, but completely dodging it would open a new can of worms. If her prediction about the game was correct, the act of inaction would likely come at a great cost. “—Wait, Keito,” Yuki called out. Keito’s back twitched as if an electric current had shocked her through the rope, and she stopped in her tracks. She turned around. “What is it?” “It looks a bit dangerous up ahead.” Yuki squinted to get a better view of the path illuminated by Keito’s flashlight. “I think we should take a different route.” “…Would you care to explain why?” Mishiro asked. Although contempt toward Yuki for speaking out was written all over her face, Mishiro seemed willing to at least entertain her opinion. “There’s a surveillance camera up ahead in an obvious location.” Yuki pointed to the ceiling, and the flashlight in Keito’s hands gravitated toward the same direction. The beam of light hit a camera. It had not been masterfully concealed, and it was by no means small—the camera was conspicuous, like one that would be set up for crime deterrence rather than surveillance. “Whoa, how’d you notice that?” Chie asked. “My eyes are used to the darkness,” Yuki answered. “What is the significance of the camera’s mere presence?” Mishiro asked. “There are plenty of them around.” Although players rarely had the opportunity to think about it, these death games were designed as a form of entertainment. Every move they made was continuously being transmitted to viewers with peculiar tastes through surveillance cameras, which were set up all over game venues, including, of course, in locations that showed a blatant disregard for the law. As such, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for participants to stumble upon cameras. “The problem is it’s intended to catch our eye,” Yuki responded. “Don’t you think there has to be something here for them to set up a camera that large?” “Are you suggesting they are deliberately tipping us off to the presence of a trap? Why would they do that?” “To add to the entertainment value. The same thing happens in hidden camera shows, where the envelope gets pushed so much that the production threatens to get exposed.” Did that explanation manage to convince Mishiro? Or had she already made up her mind and was simply egging Yuki on? Or maybe, was she not at all convinced, yet something about the situation had bothered her? Whatever the reason, Mishiro responded, “Very well. Let’s turn around.” So their thorough search of the floor reached its first turning point. The group doubled back, headed down the center path of a three-way junction, and continued walking with Keito leading the way. However, not a minute later— “Wait,” Yuki called out. “This path also looks suspicious. Let’s turn around.” “…What is it this time?” Mishiro squinted and looked up at the ceiling. “I see no cameras around. Would you care to explain how you came to that conclusion?” “…Intuition, I guess. A woman’s intuition,” Yuki responded with a hackneyed phrase. She was not trying to dodge the question. Rather, she could only describe it as her intuition at work. When she looked at the big picture—the red flags raised by the exceedingly ordinary-looking path, the relaxed atmosphere of the entire area, the relative complacency of the players compared to how they’d been earlier, the progress they had made in the building and the overall game, the ploys of the organizers in past games, and so on—she simply got a bad feeling about the situation. Although she was unable to put it into words, she felt that this area was more suspicious—far more suspicious—than the path with the conspicuous camera. “It’s hard to explain, but I think we better stay away.” “Yuki.” Mishiro’s gaze was cold. “At this moment in time, I am still prepared to accept you for who you are.” “What are you talking about?” “I can sense how you feel, but I implore you to make the courageous decision. If you do that, the rest of us will meet you halfway.” “If there’s something you have to say, then cut to the chase.” “Are you sure? Then I will put it bluntly: Quit being so stubborn.” The very next moment, the area was consumed by darkness. Keito had turned off her flashlight, perhaps realizing that the exchange would last awhile. “You have gone too far to back down, yes? After all, you have lied about this being your tenth game. To convince us of your experience, all you needed to do was act like a ten-time player, however minimally. And I have to hand it to you, pretending to detect danger was a crafty little trick. As long as you succeeded in turning us around, your lie would go unnoticed. Nevertheless, this battleground of life and death is no place for your silly games.” Quit crafting a narrative in your head, Yuki thought. “Quit crafting a narrative,” Yuki said aloud. “You sure have a wild imagination. These games suit you, Mishiro.” “Keito,” Mishiro said, “pay her no heed. Please continue onward.” Keito turned the flashlight back on, casting a glow on her worried face. “Are you sure?” “Yes. You need not lend an ear to anything she has to say.” Seriously? Yuki thought. You won’t even think about turning around? Aren’t you the one being stubborn here by telling her to ignore me and keep going? Yuki glanced at the other players—Chie, Kotoha, and Keito—in succession. Chie looked away awkwardly. Kotoha appeared to be deep in thought and was too preoccupied to notice. Keito’s eyes darted back and forth between Mishiro and Yuki before she made up her mind. “I’m going ahead,” she said. Her pace seemed awfully slow to Yuki. She took one step forward. Followed by a second. Even after the third, the fourth, and so on, the ground showed no signs of collapsing. “…………” Relief washed over Yuki. “Yuki.” Mishiro’s gaze appeared as cold as ever, but her eyes also showed a hint of pity. “Anytime is fine. Should you choose to apologize, I am willing to forgive and forget.” Yuki felt a sensation like blood pooling inside her heart. “I’ll think about it,” she replied. (6/30) Yuki did have a defense for herself. She had only said the path was “suspicious”; she didn’t remember saying it was guaranteed to collapse. As to the probability of whether the floor would give way, there was obviously a greater chance it wouldn’t. The gamble was one that didn’t favor Yuki to begin with. If the probability of the path containing a “mine” was 5 percent, or even a mere 1 percent, that was more than enough risk to justify turning around. Just because it turned out there were no traps did not mean Yuki had spouted lies. That was the logical argument. However, the situation had its own circumstances. Explaining her thinking would almost certainly not help her case. The path had not collapsed. Yuki had made an incorrect prediction. That was the long and short of it. There was no use wasting her breath on a third-rate player like the phony princess. Still, Yuki had no choice but to acknowledge Mishiro’s charisma—or at least, her ability to turn any tide in her favor. Yuki was at a disadvantage. Keeping her mouth shut and putting up with whatever came her way was the best course of action. The group did not run into any “mines” as they successfully cleared the fourth floor without incident. After locating the staircase, they descended to the third floor. As before, the stairs continued for only one floor, and what awaited the players at the bottom was the same darkness they had encountered on the story above. Another fateful game of rock-paper-scissors determined that the spectacled Kotoha would lead the way. Kotoha stood at the head of the line with the safety rope tied around her body, and the group began exploring in very much the same manner as they had on the fourth floor. Shortly afterward, the flashlight in Kotoha’s hands ran out of power. That made their second dead flashlight. Keito had led the group from the fifth floor through the entire fourth floor, and her flashlight had died midway through. She’d then borrowed Kotoha’s flashlight, so by the time they reached the third floor, it was already on the verge of dying. In other words, it had taken two flashlights’ worth of battery life for them to explore the fourth floor. Three floors stood between them and the presumed exit, but since they had only three working flashlights left, their supply of light would be depleted long before they could escape the building if they continued at their current rate. Faced with the reality of the situation, Mishiro—the group’s self-proclaimed leader—had only this to say: “From this point forward, let us proceed with more haste.” “Hey, this really isn’t good,” Yuki protested. Her words fell on deaf ears. “Rushing won’t help us make it in time. Besides, this game was designed for us to run out of batteries.” Yuki continued, but no one—not Mishiro, Chie, Keito, or Kotoha—gave her the time of day. She felt as if she really had become a phantom. “We started with five flashlights for five floors. The fourth floor cost us nearly two whole batteries, so if we keep going at this pace, we’ll run out of light halfway through the second floor. That leaves us with one and a half floors in the dark. It’s reckless to try to cover that amount of distance by speeding up.” Yuki had been trying to explain her view of the game since they’d reached the third floor, from around the time Kotoha’s flashlight died. However, it was too late to convince the others of her abilities. Yuki was fully aware that none of them would put stock in what she said, but their survival hung in the balance. If they kept going like they had been, Yuki’s life would be in danger. “We’re going to have to put up with the darkness at some point in this game. On either the fourth, third, second, or first floor, we’ll have to move forward without using batteries. Which means…you know. It’s reasonable to think that the lower we go, the more dangerous the traps. That’s what makes it advantageous to endure the darkness as early as possible—that’s what makes this game entertaining.” The logic of her words was becoming somewhat jumbled, but Yuki persisted regardless. She noticed herself growing impatient. “It’s not too late. The organizers probably expected us to make this realization on the fourth floor and then to brave the darkness on the third floor. That has to be the expected solution to the game. That’s why the traps on this level shouldn’t be one hundred percent lethal. It’ll be too late if we wait until the second story, since the traps there might kill us if we make one wrong move. We’ll be completely helpless in the face of death. That has to be the bad ending the organizers are anticipating. Don’t you get it? Right now, we’re marching straight toward certain doom.” Personally, Yuki thought she was doing a good job explaining. Her reasoning was flawless. She even thought she had managed to lay everything out in an easy-to-understand way. But despite her best efforts, none of the other players would lend her an ear. Yuki began to wonder where things had gone wrong. Sure, considering how she’d acted until this point, she hadn’t exactly done anything to earn the others’ trust, but even so, shouldn’t they be swayed by sound logic? Why didn’t the other players understand something so obvious? Yuki had no idea. Although she was proud of herself for starting back at school recently and gradually picking up life skills here and there, that didn’t change the fact that human psychology remained an enigma to her. As Yuki felt herself getting worked up, the procession of players came to an abrupt halt. That was because the line leader, Kotoha, had stopped in her tracks. “……? What’s the matter, Kotoha?” Mishiro asked. Kotoha was frozen mid-step, with her legs wide apart. Her posture made it seem as if she had been forced to stop at an awkward moment in a game of red light, green light, or like she were a windup robot whose spring had returned to resting position. Maintaining her pose, Kotoha turned her head back to the others. “Um… There’s…” “What is it? Enough dragging your feet. You’re wasting the battery.” Upon being badgered by Mishiro, Kotoha turned off her flashlight and continued to speak. “Th-there’s a mine,” she said in the darkness. “There’s a mine here.” “Do you mean to say there’s a pitfall ahead? How can you tell?” “No… That’s not it!” Kotoha raised her voice in an uncharacteristic yell. “The floor here feels strange! Th-there’s… There’s an actual land mine buried here!” (7/30) It was a common scene in movies: A group of people traverses a jungle when one of them suddenly notices a strange sensation beneath their feet. They look down to see that they have stepped on a terrifying metal disc—a land mine. The group is then forced to temporarily suspend their trek and find a nearby rock or other object to use as a weight to appease the deadly explosive. Every time Yuki saw such a scene, the same questions popped into her head: Why weren’t land mines designed to explode the moment they were stepped on? Why did they function like clicking a mouse, in that they would detonate only upon the moment of release? Yuki didn’t have an in-depth understanding of explosives, but she figured such items didn’t exist in real life. It was the same concept as the deliberate anachronism of using thoroughbred horses in period dramas—they were simply a dramatic license to add to the excitement. But now Yuki and the others were face-to-face with that very product of fiction. “Um, um, um, um, so…,” Kotoha stammered like a broken record. “Calm down,” Mishiro said. “Maintain your current position and do not move a muscle.” “Okay…,” Kotoha said weepily. Anyone would sound the same after stepping on a land mine. Sensing an opportunity, Yuki nudged Mishiro’s shoulder. Mishiro shifted her gaze to Yuki, seemingly unable to ignore the sensation of physical touch. Yuki looked back with a smug grin. “…Hmph.” Mishiro scoffed before turning away. Of course, the only information they had gained was that the traps on the third floor were deadlier than the ones on the fourth. There was nothing indicating anything about needing to conserve their batteries or about whether even deadlier traps awaited them on the second level. Still, Mishiro had been forced to acknowledge that even a sliver of Yuki’s prediction had come true. That was what her scoff implied. “For now…I suppose we have no choice but to imitate what they do in the movies.” Mishiro took off her backpack and flipped it upside down, sending its contents spilling to the floor. “What are you doing?” Yuki asked. “Is it not obvious? I’m going to fill the backpack with debris so it can be used as a weight. Otherwise, it would lack sufficient mass.” Oh, so your brain is functioning, Yuki thought. If Mishiro hadn’t drawn the appropriate conclusion, Yuki would have humbly pointed it out to her. Perhaps Mishiro didn’t deserve the label of a third-rate player—she was at least second-rate. Yuki wasn’t opposed to admitting that much. With the venue being an abandoned building, so much scrap was scattered across the floor that it was difficult to walk around without getting injured. Consequently, finding objects to fill the backpack presented no challenge whatsoever. “Here you are.” Mishiro handed the backpack to Kotoha. “Even if the land mine detonates, I do not believe your life will be in any danger, unless you are extremely unlucky with the blast. Nevertheless…be careful.” “…I understand.” The other players distanced themselves from the land mine—and Kotoha. They hid around the corner to ensure they wouldn’t get caught in a blast. It was just a precaution; after all, the group predicted that the land mine would not be too powerful, and they didn’t want to imagine the possibility of Kotoha failing. Although it was indeed a heartless action, they couldn’t have done anything even if they stayed at Kotoha’s side, and they wanted to convey to her not to take things the wrong way. “Go ahead.” Mishiro signaled. The group waited with bated breath. Yuki counted the seconds inside her head. Ten seconds passed. Twenty seconds passed. Thirty seconds passed, but still nothing happened. “…I—I did it…” At last, an extremely feeble voice echoed through the darkness, prompting the others to breathe a collective sigh of relief. “That takes care of that…,” Mishiro said. “Good work, Kotoha. We should avoid this path to be safe, so come this way.” “R-right,” Kotoha replied in a loud voice. She hurried back with frenzied footsteps that betrayed the depths of her fear. But another noise was mixed in with the sound of her footsteps—that of something being dragged. Yuki immediately identified the source of the noise. “Wait, Kotoha! Be careful not to get the rope caught—” —so walk slowly. Yuki was unable to complete her sentence before a deep, heavy thump rang out; it sounded like the lid of hell’s cauldron opening up. She felt the blood instantaneously drain from her body. “Th-that fool!” Mishiro yelled. But before she could shout another insult— (8/30) The noise was unmistakably a boom. It was a middling sound of an explosion, one that did not exceed or fall under expectations. Pieces of scrap that were warmed and carried away by the blast flew toward the end of the hallway, as if competing in a race. The pieces bounced off the walls and landed close to where Yuki and the others were, forcing them to curl up in order to protect themselves. But that was the extent of the danger. None of the four had sustained any wounds of significance. Their preemptive evacuation had paid off. As for the remaining girl, however… “Kotoha!” Yuki was not the only one to cry out the name. Although the exact timing varied, all four of them had shouted it. They headed down the hallway, which reeked of gunpowder. With all the smoke and dust in the air, a flashlight would not aid their cause, so the group could figure out what had happened only by groping around. First, they realized that the path came to an abrupt end—the blast from the land mine had made it collapse completely. Although the hallway was quite wide, a fault had formed, spanning the entire width of the path from the left edge all the way to the right. The same amount of flooring had likely collapsed along the direction of the hallway as well, which meant jumping across to the other side would be an impossible feat. Additionally, Kotoha was nowhere to be found on their side of the hallway. There were no signs of her body, nor of anything that resembled her body parts. Even if she had been blown to bits, scraps of her flesh would be scattered around, but from the complete lack of any remains, the players concluded that Kotoha had been flung to the other side. Furthermore, the group located the culprit that had caused Kotoha’s misfortune—the rope that had been wrapped around her torso to prevent her from falling. Yuki picked it up. Naturally, a portion of it had burned off. She regretted not having pointed that out earlier. She should have realized the dangers of the rope getting caught around an object that they needed to stay in place. The act of working in the dark had brought about this calamity. None of the players—not Yuki and likely not even Kotoha herself—had remembered the rope had been tied around the girl’s body. The thump Yuki had heard probably came from the backpack falling over. She didn’t know exactly how the rope had caused the backpack to fall, but there were two obvious facts. First, the hallway was filled with pieces of scrap, any of which could have hooked on to the rope. And second, it was impossible to predict how much force the rope could generate on the backpack while it was tied to a girl who was frantically rushing away. Shortly after the smoke cleared, Yuki shined her flashlight on the other side of the hallway. Lying there was Kotoha. Or at least, her body. “—…” Someone audibly gulped. In contrast, Yuki let out a sigh of relief; most of Kotoha’s body was intact. Both of the girl’s legs had been blown clean off, and blood that had transformed into white fluff was littered all over. She was lying face down and appeared to be unconscious, but based on the scene, Yuki determined that the girl had not lost her life. It was exactly as Yuki had predicted—the traps on the third floor were not 100 percent lethal. “Kotoha! Can you hear me?” Mishiro shouted. Kotoha did not respond, nor did she show any signs of movement. The explosion had evidently knocked her out. “…There’s no hope for her.” The princess sighed. “Yuki, please turn off your flashlight. I feel sorry to see her illuminated in such a state.” “Huh…?” Yuki was perplexed. She turned off her flashlight to conserve its battery, but she couldn’t let Mishiro’s statement slide. “You’re going to abandon her? You can’t be serious.” “I am not abandoning anyone. Does that corpse look alive to you?” “She’s definitely alive. With the Preservation Treatment, that kind of injury means nothing.” All death-game players, without exception, underwent a body modification procedure called the Preservation Treatment prior to participating in a game. The procedure stripped players of their body odor, prevented them from dying of blood loss even if they were dismembered, and kept their bodies from rotting even when exposed to the elements. The primary purpose of the Preservation Treatment was to make players’ deaths more palatable for the audience to watch, but at the same time, it also increased the durability of the players’ bodies. The mere impairment of losing both legs, while certainly an injury, would not be anything fatal. In fact, Yuki had lost all four of her limbs in a past game, but she’d still been able to jump and leap around. Yuki continued, “If she fractured her neck or hit her head, it would be a different story, but her injuries don’t appear life-threatening at all.” “I am not referring to Kotoha being biologically alive,” Mishiro responded. “I mean to say that she has died as a player.” “What?” “She has lost both her legs, yes? How could she possibly return to the game in her condition? Are you going to carry her like a backpack? And even in the event she survives the game, do you truly believe her injuries can be healed?” While death games placed little value on life, surprisingly enough, their participants received considerable protection outside the actual games. Once a game concluded, players could receive free medical support from the organizers, and thanks to the Preservation Treatment, the kinds of injuries that could be treated far exceeded the limits of normal medicine. Severed arms or legs could be reattached as easily as one would stitch a plushie back together. However, even with the medical capabilities of the organizers, it was impossible to fully restore a player whose body had been blown to bits in an explosion. “Her chances of making a return as a player are nonexistent,” Mishiro asserted. “Sure, that may be true, but—” “Besides, attempting to rescue her will come at a price. It would require us to use precious battery life to locate a route to the other side of the hallway. And that would mean having to risk stepping on land mines that we would have otherwise avoided. Do you see enough value in her to outweigh those costs?” “—So you’re saying it’s not cost-effective to save her, is that right?” “If I were to not mince words, then yes, I suppose.” Yuki turned to the other two players—Chie and Keito. “…Well, I don’t think we have much of a choice here,” Chie said. “We’re only teamed up to help one another survive. Sure, I think of her as a friend, but it’s not like I’d drop everything to go save her. Besides, isn’t this Kotoha’s fault for being a klutz? I don’t think karma will come for us if we look the other way.” “Ditto,” Keito added. “Worst-case scenario, we waste too much battery and end up shooting ourselves in the feet. Yuki, weren’t you the one who said we should conserve our light?” Yuki narrowed her eyes. She didn’t think of the others as being coldhearted. Oneself over others. Self-interest over altruism. At the end of the day, that was the common attitude in these games. Kotoha’s current status also presented a problem. There was no guarantee she was alive, and even if she was, she would be unable to walk on her own, which meant someone would have to carry her on their back. It was wishful thinking to expect to survive while carrying literal “baggage.” Considering the circumstances, the other girls were being realistic. Still, Yuki was disappointed in them. “In that case, I’ll go it alone,” Yuki said. “I’m free to do what I want, aren’t I?” “No, you are not,” Mishiro snapped. “Yuki, I believe you approved of me as our leader. I cannot accept you running off to make a grandstand play. However, if you insist on going…” Mishiro stuck out her right hand. “I must have you relinquish your flashlight to us.” Yuki looked down at the item in her hand. A flashlight. It was their lifeline in this game, the primary reason they were sticking together. Yuki had only used it to illuminate Kotoha for several dozen seconds just now, which meant its battery was close to full. However— “Fine.” Yuki flung the object at Mishiro. “Happy now?” Mishiro’s eyes widened in surprise after Yuki’s irrational decision. She quickly regained her composure and briefly turned on the flashlight to confirm the batteries were still inside. “…Very well,” Mishiro said. “You disappoint me. And to think I was about to reassess your value as a player.” “Right back at you,” Yuki said while walking away. “None of you get what this game’s about.” (9/30) After separating from Mishiro’s posse, Yuki proceeded through the darkness. While she felt confident in her ability to detect traps, the lack of light undoubtedly complicated things. On her way to Kotoha, Yuki activated two different traps. One was the same kind of land mine Kotoha had detonated, which Yuki circumvented by using a perfectly sized piece of debris as a weight. The second was a bomb connected to a trip wire that was sticking out aboveground. Since it was designed to not immediately explode, Yuki dove into a nearby room and took shelter from the blast. It took little time for her to locate Kotoha, since she didn’t maintain the snail’s pace Mishiro’s group had adopted. One of the few benefits of acting as a lone wolf was the freedom to walk faster than the rest of the pack. Yuki ran up to Kotoha. The girl was still lying on her stomach, and her legs were still missing. It was possible that Kotoha’s legs could have simply been torn off rather than blown to pieces, so Yuki looked around for them, but to no avail. The only thing she found was white fluff. Unfortunately, the likelihood that Kotoha’s legs could be restored to normal was virtually nonexistent. Yuki picked up the flashlight Kotoha had been holding and flicked on the switch. Right after she confirmed there weren’t any issues with the light, Yuki spotted the girl’s glasses nearby on the floor. Cracked lenses and slightly bent frames aside, they were in miraculous condition for having gotten caught in an explosion. And thank goodness for that—for players with glasses, losing their specs was far deadlier than losing limbs. Yuki flipped Kotoha onto her back to put them on the girl’s face. Kotoha opened her eyes. “Ah… Yuki.” Although her words were slurred, she was conscious and even capable of speech. “Do you know where we are?” Yuki asked. “In an abandoned building for a game…” “And your name?” “Shiori Kotono…” “Your player name, please.” “…Kotoha.” “Do you remember how you ended up like this?” “I stepped on a land mine…and the rope got caught…” Everything seemed fine—discounting her two missing legs, of course. At the very least, her life and brain seemed to be fully intact. Yuki looked away from Kotoha and turned her attention to the knapsack hanging from the girl’s back. Like Kotoha’s body, it had retained most of its original form, but its contents had lavishly spilled out of a newly formed, large and unrepairable hole. Understanding that the backpack would have to be left behind, Yuki began fishing through its contents. “Why did you come for me…?” Kotoha asked as Yuki continued rummaging. “To score brownie points,” Yuki replied while transferring objects from Kotoha’s backpack into her own. Right after the word points came out of her mouth, Yuki presented the object in her hands to Kotoha—the mysterious piece of white paper. “Likability is an important factor in this game,” Yuki said. “…So…that’s what it’s for…,” Kotoha muttered. Yuki was not surprised by Kotoha’s reaction. After all, she was a bookish girl who seemed to have been blessed with a good education. It appeared she understood what this game was really all about. Yuki shifted her backpack to her chest and lifted Kotoha onto her back. “You’re pretty light, Kotoha,” Yuki commented. “How much do you weigh?” “Last time I weighed myself, I was just under one hundred pounds…” “Then I guess you’re at around sixty-five now.” Yuki chuckled. “…I can’t laugh at that.” Kotoha hugged her arms tightly around Yuki’s chest. (10/30) Yuki continued heading through the darkness. She heard no footsteps aside from her own. Perhaps Mishiro’s posse was already on the second floor. Yuki searched for a corridor with traces of people having passed through and followed the route she suspected Mishiro’s group had taken. Upon turning a corner, Yuki shined her flashlight down the hallway for a split second to confirm the absence of traps. Relying on the image burned into her retinas, she moved forward while deftly evading piles of rubble. “…You’re amazing, Yuki,” Kotoha said. “Huh?” “Is it really possible to determine if a path is safe at a glance…?” Since reuniting with Kotoha, Yuki had repeated the same series of actions over and over. Instead of leaving the flashlight on, she would light up paths for only a brief moment to make sure the coast was clear. That was her strategy for conserving battery life. “Yeah, I guess so,” Yuki answered. “Detecting traps is mostly instinct. A glance is more than enough. Though keeping the flashlight on would definitely leave much less room for error.” There was also the fact that they were following in the footsteps of Mishiro’s group. It would be safe to assume that a path someone had walked down once before would contain no traps. “So this really is your tenth game, then, Yuki,” Kotoha said. “You didn’t believe me.” “I’m sorry. Honest…” “…Well, it’s been a while since my last game, so I can understand why it sounded like a lie.” Yuki balled her hand into a fist before opening it again. Although her instincts were gradually returning, she couldn’t yet tell whether she had fully regained her form. “Why go back to being a player?” Kotoha asked. “Well, it’s not like I intended to retire or anything. I just had something of an awakening in my last game, so I was working on improving my lifestyle and whatnot. That’s what kept me away.” “When…was your last game?” Despite her introverted appearance, Kotoha was being awfully assertive with the questions. Perhaps she had an insatiable curiosity, being a booklover and all. “Around three months ago, I think…” “Oh… So you were a player from before Candle Woods.” The comment took Yuki aback. “You know about Candle Woods?” “My agent told me about it and how it wiped out the pool of players… They wanted to restore the playerbase as soon as possible, which is why I was scouted.” As Yuki had surmised, Kotoha had debuted as a player after Candle Woods. “Is that true for Mishiro, Chie, and Keito, too?” Yuki asked. “Yes. We became acquainted during a game not too long ago. There were around thirty players, all of us in our first game… That was when we grouped up.” To the best of Yuki’s knowledge, new players often started out in games with other rookies, rather than being put alone with a pack of veterans. That was a mechanism to maintain proper game balance, to make up for the immense gap in ability between beginners and experienced participants. It appeared the players recruited after Candle Woods had gotten the opportunity to meet one another—that explained why the others were used to working in a group. Yuki focused her attention on the path ahead of her. The darkness of the third floor stretched on. She figured it was her turn to ask some questions. “So you said this was your fifth game?” Yuki asked. “Yes.” “Why’s an earnest-looking girl like you playing in these games? Are you in debt or something?” The most obvious benefit for death-game players was the prize money. Although the exact amount varied by individual, players stood to win a few million yen for each game. That was a substantial amount, considering it necessitated at most a few days of work, with no requirements for certifications, experience, or nationality. However, Yuki knew full well that the financial aspect was not the only thing players sought from these games. “…Um…” Kotoha seemed hesitant to reply. “You don’t have to say if you don’t want to.” “Oh, no… It’s fine…” Kotoha took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “…I want to retire early…” “…………” …That’s practical of you, Yuki thought. She shrugged, even with Kotoha on her back. “I want to be a recluse,” Kotoha continued. “I mean, don’t you think people in society are all crazy nowadays? Cynicism, Machiavellianism, the just-world hypothesis… It’s like mass hysteria is taking over. I don’t want to live around those kinds of people. That’s why my goal is to save up as much as I can as quickly as possible, run away to a country with a low cost of living, and lead a quiet life in seclusion.” Yuki wondered about Kotoha’s body, which had been reduced to half its original form. “Will the prize money from this game be enough?” “I think I’ll either have to live frugally or come up with another idea…” Yuki wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to force a smile, so instead she responded with a vague “Ahhh…” “How about your reason for playing, Yuki?” Kotoha asked. “If you don’t want to answer…I don’t mind.” “I’m aiming to set a new record in these games,” Yuki replied. “Ninety-nine consecutive victories. That’s my goal.” “Ninety-nine…? Not a hundred?” “Apparently, the current record is ninety-eight, so I’m starting with ninety-nine. Sure, a hundred sounds much nicer, but you know, I’m putting my life on the line. Haven’t decided if I’ll go the extra mile.” “…That’s an amazing goal. Will you receive anything for a new record?” “Nope, nothing. Just bragging rights, I guess. Maybe they’ll give me a trophy or something, but who knows. And I’m not even sure the current record is ninety-eight. Out of the players I’ve met personally, the highest streak was ninety-five.” Kotoha fell silent. Yuki could sense the girl’s bewilderment. The question on Kotoha’s mind was obvious— —What’s so fun about these games to make you want to set a record in them? Yuki didn’t have a concrete answer. She lacked the linguistic capabilities to explain what Candle Woods had changed in her. “Well, you know…” After struggling to string together her thoughts, Yuki finally decided on her reply. “I just wanted a goal. Didn’t matter what.” “Right…” Kotoha’s reaction was tepid. The corners of Yuki’s lips curved upward into a smile. So this was how my mentor felt, she mused. As the two of them continued making small talk, Yuki eventually spotted the staircase leading to the second floor. Yuki lit up the flight of stairs to the landing for a split second before beginning her descent. After rotating herself a full 180 degrees on the landing, she illuminated the remaining stairs. “Huh…?” Kotoha remarked. “What the heck?” followed Yuki. The rest of the stairs were missing. (11/30) It wasn’t that the stairs had ended—they were missing. The latter half of the stairs leading from the third to the second floor, beyond the landing, had completely vanished. The distance to the floor below was considerable, far enough for one to feel reluctant about jumping down. “…What the heck?” Yuki repeated while looking down. “Was this…a pitfall? Of abnormal proportions.” “Maybe this is meant to be a one-way set of stairs,” Kotoha suggested. “Could it be signaling to us that we won’t be able to come back up after setting foot on the second floor?” “I have a bad feeling about this…” Yuki once again shined the flashlight and estimated the distance to the floor. “There’s no way forward but down. Things might get a bit shaky, so hold on tight.” “Okay.” Yuki stepped forward. Rather than tumble down onto the second floor, she used one hand to grab the edge of the landing, thereby decreasing the amount of potential energy equivalent to her height. After her body became completely still, she let go and fell through the air. She landed on the floor, masterfully maneuvering her knees to dissipate the force of the impact across her body. Kotoha absorbed some of it as well. Yuki looked around. Just like the previous floors, the second level was completely enveloped in darkness. This was where Mishiro and company would have run out of batteries if they had been constantly using their flashlights. Yuki believed the traps on this floor were capable of inflicting lethal harm. With that on her mind, even a ten-time player like Yuki couldn’t help but feel nervous. Still, all she had to do was continue on as before: illuminate the path ahead for an instant to make sure the coast was clear. So Yuki and Kotoha began their quest to clear the second floor. “I don’t hear any footsteps,” Yuki said while walking. “Besides mine, of course. Hate to use such a cliché phrase, but it really is eerily quiet.” “It’s also strange that we haven’t seen any signs of light,” Kotoha added. “With how dark it is, we should be able to figure out where the others are if they’re using a flashlight. But since there’s been nothing so far…” “That means they’ve either made it to the first floor or gotten stranded after running out of batteries.” “Um… Yuki? If the latter happens to be true…” “Yeah?” “What will you do if we find the staircase before reuniting with the others?” “Head down.” Yuki’s answer was instantaneous. “It’s not like we have any way of knowing if they are stranded. I definitely wouldn’t go searching for them if there’s any chance they’d already reached the first floor.” “And what if we reach the exit without running into them?” “…Good question. Well, there’s no telling what things will be like by the exit… I haven’t thought that far.” “I see…” After that brief reaction, Kotoha fell silent. Did she want Yuki to save the others if at all possible? That was certainly a praiseworthy attitude, especially in light of the fact they had left Kotoha for dead without a second thought. “Well, if I’m able to save them, I will,” Yuki said to put the girl’s mind at ease. “Yes… Of course,” Kotoha replied. Yuki couldn’t tell from her response whether Kotoha felt reassured. They turned a corner, and Yuki lit up the path. After confirming the coast was clear, she continued onward. Weird that we haven’t run into any traps, she thought. Every path they had chosen had been safe. The nervousness she had felt upon reaching the second floor seemed to have been misguided. Was it mere coincidence that they had reached a safe area? Had Yuki been wrong about the second level being dangerous? Or had her ability to detect danger started to malfunction? Just as she was beginning to redirect her attention from her surroundings to the thoughts flying through her head— —a chill ran down her spine. Yuki froze for a second. (12/30) An instant later, Yuki resumed walking. Only a split second had passed. To a passerby—disregarding the darkness of the hallway—it would seem as if she had simply been walking normally. Even Kotoha likely did not notice anything out of the ordinary as she clung to Yuki. However, Yuki was aware that her feet had paused for a fleeting moment. Something had caused her to stop—an overwhelming sense of malice had struck her from behind like a bolt of lightning. Yuki pulled forward on the two arms around her chest to lift Kotoha higher onto her back, high enough for their cheeks to touch. To use a technical term, the scene would be referred to as a “Luminous” cheek rub. In as low a voice as possible, Yuki whispered to Kotoha, “There’s someone behind us.” “Huh…?” Yuki pulled once more on the arms of the confused girl. This time, it was a signal to be quiet. Her message must have gotten across, as Kotoha shut her mouth. She also didn’t do anything stupid, like turning around to look behind her. “I can’t really describe it, but there’s bloodlust in the air. Someone’s locked on to us.” Yuki maintained her normal pace as she talked. “Bloodlust…? Is that really a thing?” “Dunno, but I felt what I felt. Interpret it as ‘signs of life’ if you want.” Despite her words, Yuki knew that she hadn’t merely sensed signs of life. It could only be described as unadulterated bloodlust. And it wasn’t just hanging in the air; it was paired with a palpable desire to claim someone’s life. Although Yuki could detect the presence of traps at a single glance, comparatively, she had little confidence in her ability to sense signs of life—and by extension, bloodlust. Did that mean the malice in the air was so strong that even someone like her could notice it? Or had Yuki unlocked a new ability after confronting a woman who could be described as bloodlust incarnate three months prior? “I don’t hear any footsteps…,” Kotoha said. “Whoever it is, they’re probably staying far enough away to not be heard. I’m pretty sure we won’t see anyone if I turn around and shine the flashlight straight ahead.” “Who could it be?” “That’s the question. Are any of the other girls good at sneaking up on people?” “No… I don’t think so.” “That rules them out.” Yuki next thought of the sixth player. The girl had supposedly died before any of them had woken up, but maybe she was still alive. However, the group had confirmed her death, and even if she was still roaming around, there was no way she could have gotten this far without a flashlight. The existence of a seventh or eighth player was also unlikely, given the number of rooms on the fifth floor and the short battery life of the flashlights. Only one possibility remained. “This has to be the lethal trap lurking on the second floor,” Yuki said. “…So you’re saying…it’s a living thing?” There were countless horror stories that featured supernatural monsters no human could possibly stand a chance against, creatures that guaranteed the death of anyone unfortunate enough to encounter them. It wasn’t at all unusual for those tropes to appear in death games, but this was the first time Yuki had come across a monster in her ten games. Now she finally understood why the stairs were missing. It was not to create a pitfall or to signal a one-way path—it was to create a cage to prevent whatever roamed this floor from ascending to the levels above. “Wh-what do we do?” Kotoha asked. “If we’re being targeted…” “Calm down. For starters…it’s keeping its distance, so we’re safe for the time being. I bet it’s waiting for an opportunity to strike.” Yuki began racking her brain. Whatever it was, it had to have some degree of intelligence to tail them. Because its bloodlust had traveled through the air, it was obviously seeking to kill, but for some reason, it had determined the time wasn’t right to do so. But then what exactly was it waiting for? Was it holding out until Yuki exhausted herself from walking? Was it waiting for them to reach a debris-choked corridor that would hinder a possible escape? Or did the second floor have other traps in addition to this “living thing,” and it was waiting for them to take damage from running into one? Or perhaps… “Let’s get a good look at it,” Yuki suggested. Kotoha offered no reply. Yuki unilaterally interpreted her silence as reluctant approval and moved to action. What she needed was a single long corridor, one that was longer than the distance it had opened up between them. Each time Yuki reached an intersection, she shined her flashlight on every path in search of a hallway that fit the bill. It was a waste of batteries, but her curiosity and need to identify the entity following them won out. After locating a suitable hallway, Yuki nonchalantly proceeded down it. As soon as she reached the very end, she spun around with such agility that Kotoha could very well have fallen off her back. The next moment, she pointed her flashlight at their pursuer. The beam shined on a beast. (13/30) It was a four-legged canine of some sort. Its full body resembled a wolf more than a dog. Yet it was far larger than the species of wolf Yuki was familiar with, and it was not roaming around in a pack. It had a coat of black fur, as if it had absorbed the color of a dark, moonless night. Since its entire body was a single color, down to its pitch-black pupils, the creature gave off the impression of being a shadow. The only spots not colored black were the tiny white parts of its eyes visible around its pupils, the small sections at the tips of its paws, and the exposed teeth beneath its snout. Its teeth were clamped down on a piece of prey that was damaged from repeated gnawing. Because the surface of the object was covered with white fluff, neither Yuki nor Kotoha had trouble identifying it. It was a human arm. Just as they began wondering whom the arm belonged to, the creature stirred. Yuki took a step back as the beast inched forward. Despite having been spotted and losing the opportunity for a sneak attack, it had not lost its will to fight. Slowly but surely, one step at a time, it drew closer to the girls to intimidate them. Cautiously retreating backward, Yuki asked, “What the heck is that?” “…It appears to be a beast,” Kotoha replied. Yuki had thought the same. At the very least, it did not appear at all human, nor did it seem as if Mishiro, Chie, or Keito had mutated into a monster. Yuki glanced down at her arms and Kotoha’s arms, just to make sure that the limb in the beast’s mouth did not belong to either of them. After confirming that all four of their collective arms were properly attached, Yuki focused on the white fluff. “Any idea whose arm that is?” she asked. “No… It’s too mutilated to tell.” “That’s not a snack it was given before the game, right? Which means…it got someone.” “I sure hope it only chewed off an arm…” The wolf prowled forward. Yuki took another step back. “Do man-eating wolves really exist…?” Yuki asked. “…I guess they have to, since there’s one right in front of us…” “I think it must have been specially tamed by the organizers. It brings to mind the Beast of Gévaudan.” “The heck is that?” “A legendary man-eating wolf. It was large and had a coat of black fur, and it allegedly devoured more than a hundred people. I imagine the organizers trained a normal wolf to mirror the legend.” “You’re kidding…” Continuing to retreat backward, Yuki reached the end of the corridor. Although she could turn the corner, she would need to point the light away from the beast for an instant to make sure the path was safe. And in this situation, every second was worth its weight in gold. As a result, Yuki froze in place. “Was there only one Beast of Gévaudan?” she asked. “According to many of the reports. But it might be too risky to jump to that conclusion…” “Does it happen to be weak to light?” “No, I haven’t heard of anything like that… But taking the nature of this game into account, it’s possible…” As soon as those words came out of Kotoha’s mouth, the beast ceased its advance and began pacing left and right, as if it had run up against an invisible wall. Bingo, Yuki thought. The beast was weak to light. That should have been obvious, in light of the nature of the game. Players could advance through each floor while wielding their flashlights to stave off any attacks. However, if players had wasted their batteries without thinking of the consequences—as Mishiro’s group had done—this beast would hunt them down. The trap was designed with that in mind. Yuki’s efforts had paid off, as they still had a functioning flashlight. However… “…This isn’t good. It’s almost out.” Yuki looked down at her flashlight. The intensity of its glow had diminished significantly since she’d first turned it on. Retracting her hand, she could clearly see the bulb that served as the source of the light. The battery was on its last legs. Yuki had taken the flashlight from Kotoha midway through the third floor, at which point the battery had already been mostly used up. Still, she would be barking up the wrong tree to curse the flashlight at this critical juncture. The tool had done a commendable job holding out for so long. Nevertheless, all things finite eventually came to an end. The beast likely understood that as well. That was why it hadn’t fled. And it was abundantly clear what the creature would do the moment the flashlight died. Yuki took out a knife from the backpack on her chest. It was a rugged survival knife. She deftly removed its cover with one hand and flaunted the blade at the beast—and Kotoha. “Are you going to fight?” Kotoha asked. “There’s no other choice.” “In these circumstances?” To summarize Yuki’s circumstances, she had a backpack on her chest and Kotoha on her back. “Want me to put you down?” Yuki twisted her lips in a smirk. “Please don’t…” Kotoha hugged Yuki even tighter, much to Yuki’s satisfaction. Yuki figured it would be better to keep the backpack on, as it would function as a breastplate. In order to demonstrate that she was no sheep for slaughter, she stepped forward. That caused the beam of light to shift forward as well, forcing the beast to take one step back. Yuki advanced a second step, then a third, returning to the spot she had previously occupied. The very next moment, the flashlight went totally dead, plunging the area into darkness. But Yuki had already seared the image of the corridor, down to every last stain on the floor, into her mind. Being deprived of sight put her at no disadvantage; in fact, it sharpened her other senses. Not only could she hear her own heartbeat, but she could also feel Kotoha’s pulse and breathing, along with the sweat dotting the girl’s soft, fair skin. Yet Yuki’s net of heightened perception contained no signs of the beast. (14/30) Its presence had faded. The bloodlust in the air had vanished. Still, Yuki was not so foolish as to conclude the beast had departed. However, her body reflected her inner thoughts—her grip around the knife loosened, the low posture she had adopted reverted to normal, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips. It appeared Kotoha noticed those reactions as well, as she relaxed her arms around Yuki’s chest. “Is it gone?” Yuki asked in a way as if wishing that hope into reality. “It’s gone.” “Is it really?” Kotoha asked. “Well, after seeing me take an attacking stance with a weapon right up in its face, it probably didn’t like its chances.” Yuki strained her ears for the sound of footsteps. They were astonishingly quiet, given the distance between them and the beast, but footsteps were indeed retreating farther and farther away. Although Yuki felt no inclination to let go of her knife, for the time being it was safe to assume the danger had vanished. “We should get going, too.” Yuki flicked the flashlight switch off and on again. The light did not turn on. She tossed the now-useless item onto the floor and started walking. “Is it really okay to go ahead in the dark?” Kotoha asked. “Not really, but it’s not like we have a choice.” That the beast was the trap on the second floor suggested that there weren’t any immobile traps, like pitfalls or land mines. In that sense, the lack of light would not affect their safety. But avoiding traps was not the only reason Yuki had continued to light up the hallways—she had also done so to avoid cutting her legs on the debris littering the floor, which included objects sharp enough to function as weapons. Whether it was in a death game or reality, light was an indispensable resource for exploring abandoned ruins. It was no use crying for the moon, so Yuki resigned herself to paying close attention to where she was stepping. “I wonder if the others are alive,” she said. “I sure hope they are…” Yuki thought back to the arm in the beast’s mouth. She had seen only a single limb, but was that really the extent of the damage? “Against a wolf, whispering like this is probably enough to give away our location,” Yuki said. “Or even just making audible footsteps… Wait, scratch that. I bet it can track us down off scent alone.” “It seems like it won’t attack anyone with a light, but it’s pitch-black…” With how dark the floor was, Yuki and Kotoha should have been able to perceive any other sources of illumination. Since they’d noticed nothing of the sort, that suggested the others had run out of light. With that in mind, the likelihood of them being alive was— “Well, let’s not jump to conclusions,” Yuki said, feigning ignorance. “The depressing talk can wait until we see some actual proof. No harm in staying optimistic for now.” “Yes… You’re right.” Those soothing words were meant to reassure Kotoha, but they also reflected Yuki’s genuine beliefs. Although negative thinking was the key to surviving death games, that did not equate to adopting a pessimistic attitude. Someone’s arm had been ripped off. Wolves had a keen sense of hearing and smell. Those were the facts of the matter. Yuki believed there was a difference between a realistic attitude and a pessimistic attitude. Being realistic simply meant acknowledging the facts; it did not imply acting positively or negatively. That was her take. And in reality, the pessimistic outlook proved to be false. Shortly after they resumed their progress, something touched Yuki’s leg just as she passed by a pile of debris. “……!!” Yuki swung her leg to the side, kicking away the mountain of rubble, which collapsed with a loud crash. Although the darkness prevented her from seeing what had happened, she felt a sensation suggesting she sent whoever had touched her leg flying. “Wh-what is it?” Kotoha asked. “Something’s there,” Yuki replied. “Something alive.” Whatever it was had touched her knee. Yuki had felt the texture of skin and the warmth of a body, meaning someone had concealed themselves inside the debris. The space was too small for the Beast of Gévaudan—could it have been a child? Or was there a second beast roaming the floor? Yuki inched forward toward the being she had kicked away. “Wait, wait! Yuki!” The next moment, Yuki felt another touch on her leg. Since she had heard a voice this time, she kept her leg still. She looked down at her feet to see— “…Keito?” It was Keito, the girl with a lanky build. Yuki looked forward, realizing that earlier she had kicked away— “…Rude much, Yuki?” Chie crawled out of a pile of rubble. These two members of Mishiro’s posse had survived. (15/30) Yuki didn’t stop walking. There was no telling when the Beast of Gévaudan would strike again. She wanted to locate the stairs to the first floor as soon as possible. Chie and Keito tagged along behind her. “Glad to see you safe and sound,” Keito said. “Same,” Yuki responded. “Neither of you seem hurt.” Yuki turned to examine the two of them. Although they were covered in scratches, probably from hiding among the debris, the two girls could be described as uninjured. They both had all their limbs attached. Which meant that the arm inside the beast’s mouth belonged to— “Where did Mishiro go?” Yuki asked the burning question on her mind. Chie and Keito exchanged awkward glances. “We lost sight of her while running in the dark…,” Keito answered. “No idea where she is.” According to Keito, after separating from Kotoha and Yuki on the third floor, the remaining players had continued the game with Mishiro taking the lead. Apparently, they’d encountered the Beast of Gévaudan as soon as they reached the second floor. It had shown up out of nowhere immediately after their last flashlight died. Realizing they had no chance of besting it in a fight, the three fled in different directions. Chie and Keito had managed to reunite afterward, but they had no clue as to Mishiro’s whereabouts. “So was that Mishiro’s arm…?” Yuki asked a leading question. “I think so,” Keito answered. From Keito’s reaction, Yuki was convinced that the girl’s story had holes. She had not asked, “What do you mean, ‘arm’?” or “Was there an arm somewhere?”—she had responded, “I think so.” That implied she knew Mishiro had been in a situation where her arm could be chomped off. In which case, Keito and Chie had seen the beast biting at Mishiro’s arm. Only after that did they realize they had no chance of winning in a fight, and they’d run off in different directions. They had abandoned Mishiro. The very girl who had decided to abandon Kotoha had now been left to fend for herself. What an ironic turn of events. “So you were hunkered down in the rubble to, what, hide from that beast?” Yuki asked. “Yeah. There’s no way we’d stand a chance against a monster like that.” “And hiding…turned out all right?” Yuki asked. “It didn’t track down your scent?” “We thought that might happen, but things were A-OK,” Chie replied. “We did get the Preservation Treatment, y’know. We don’t have a scent.” “Right…” Yuki remembered the Preservation Treatment was a thing. One of its effects was neutralizing body odor. It would keep players from smelling sweaty even if they ran around a tropical jungle for an entire week. Apparently, this was effective enough to confound the sharp olfactory senses of a wolf. “Still, it would’ve found us if we made any noise,” Keito said. “We had no idea where we were, since we ran off in random directions, so we were pretty much trapped. We would’ve been goners if you hadn’t passed by, Yuki.” The girl stared at Yuki with a pair of glistening eyes. “If it’s no trouble, I would love to keep accompanying you. Would that be all right?” “I don’t think that’ll stop the beast from attacking.” “You chased it away, right? It won’t attack you again. That canine definitely understands which one of you is the alpha.” Yuki didn’t believe that to be the case. The beast must have been specially trained to kill players. While it would probably prioritize going after easier targets, in the end it wouldn’t hesitate to attack Yuki. She also thought Keito didn’t truly believe what she was saying. Her words were tools to coax Yuki into letting them stick together. Keito wanted someone who would fight for her when the beast came knocking. She was a clingy player who buttered up strong people to survive. With Mishiro out of the picture, she had now set her sights on Yuki. “Well, I don’t mind…,” Yuki said. “We’re almost there anyway.” “Huh?” Chie, Keito, and even Kotoha shared the same surprised reaction. Figures they haven’t noticed, Yuki thought. She decided to lay it out clearly. “The staircase is nearby. We’ll get there after rounding another corner or two.” “…How can you tell?” “The flow of air is different here. I’m assuming the first floor has windows. Some of the outside air is reaching where we are.” “Do you sense anything…?” Chie asked Keito. “Nope… Not at all,” Keito replied. Yuki continued walking without another word. The other two girls also fell silent. They turned one corner, then a second… And in the end, unlike the last time she’d made a prediction, Yuki avoided embarrassing herself. On the right side of the corridor that they had just entered was a magnificent staircase. “…Wow,” Chie remarked. “Didn’t doubt you for a second,” Keito said. “Look… This is really the kind of thing you should notice,” Yuki replied. Even if the others had been terrified by the beast, Yuki thought they were being way too inattentive. Although her remark was patronizing, she couldn’t refrain from voicing it out loud. As they approached the staircase, Yuki noticed a faint glow coming from below. Either the first floor had working lights, or sunlight was streaming in through windows. Regardless, the sight energized Chie and Keito, who excitedly rushed down the stairs like elementary school students being dismissed for the day. However, Yuki stayed frozen at the top of the staircase. After realizing that only two sets of footsteps echoed in the air, Keito turned around. “…What’s wrong?” she asked with a puzzled look on her face. “Don’t tell me—is there a trap on the stairs?” “Huh? Oh, no, nothing like that.” Yuki glanced at Keito, then Chie nearby. Adding in Kotoha, that made four of them. Based on that combination of players, she deduced that the one who would die at the end would likely be— Yuki felt something tighten around her chest—Kotoha’s arms. “Are you going back?” Kotoha asked, seemingly understanding the reason Yuki had frozen. “…Yeah. I think I should,” Yuki replied. She couldn’t lose sight of what was most important here. “Wait, no way… You aren’t thinking of going to save Mishiro, are you?” Chie asked. Yuki smiled at how callously she’d spat “no way.” Mishiro—she was a spoiled, domineering princess and a leader who had been coordinating rookie players post–Candle Woods. This was her eighth game, and she had frequently butted heads with Yuki, who posed a threat to her standing. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Yuki replied. “She might still be alive.” Both Chie and Keito stared back in disbelief. Going to save a single player who had been left behind—that was basically the same thing she’d done with Kotoha, but there was one crucial difference. While Kotoha had merely been physically separated from the group, in Mishiro’s case there was the imminent threat of the Beast of Gévaudan to worry about. However, Yuki felt no hesitation. She took Kotoha off her back and held the girl out toward Chie. “Mind carrying her? Obviously, it’s not a good idea to bring her with me.” “Sure…” Chie grabbed hold of Kotoha and lifted the girl onto her back. “But…why are you doing this? I…I don’t see why you would want to save Mishiro…” Yet another callous remark. Yuki forced a smile before answering. “To score brownie points.” (16/30) How had things turned out this way? That was the sole question on Mishiro’s mind. (17/30) Everything was dark. Mishiro was inside a small room. She had taken shelter in a makeshift hideout. While its exterior took the form of a pile of wood scraps, inside was a hollow space large enough for a person to sit while hugging their knees. It had been a rush construction job, but she was proud of the result. In fact, the beast had approached the room twice and passed right by it on both occasions. Mishiro had, for the time being, ensured her safety. But she couldn’t stay there forever. With every second that ticked away, she inched ever closer to her doom. “…Curses,” Mishiro muttered under her breath to avoid the beast’s detection. The only vibrations generated by that expression of exasperation occurred within her skull. This game had a time limit. Once the countdowns visible all over the building reached zero, it would be game over. Perhaps an oversize bomb on the first floor would blow the building to smithereens, or a lethal device attached to Mishiro’s heart would activate. Although she didn’t know how it would happen, her execution would be a foregone conclusion. In all likelihood, she would not survive long enough to see the countdown hit zero. The beast wasn’t brainless, so it would eventually discover Mishiro’s hideout and trample over her teenage body. Mishiro desperately wanted to leave the room as soon as possible, but she saw no prospect of survival. Before taking cover, she had run around in a frenzy, leaving her with no sense of the floor’s layout. She had no memory of the direction from which she had come, nor any inkling of the direction in which the downward staircase could be. It would be foolish to think she could stumble upon the staircase simply by taking off in a random direction. But her situation would not improve if she continued to hide, and it would be prudent to take the opportunity to escape before her reserves of stamina and willpower ran dry. Alas, Mishiro lacked the courage to do so. All she could do was sit there, hugging her knees, alone. And to be perfectly precise, she could not even manage to do that to her satisfaction. That was because she had only one arm to hug herself with. Her right arm, beyond her elbow, was covered with white fluff. By now, the part of her limb that had originally been attached there was likely settling in the beast’s stomach. Just as how Kotoha’s legs could not be restored, Mishiro’s right arm would likely never be the same again. “Curses,” Mishiro muttered again. She had become a mere shadow of her usual graceful self. That Mishiro had been blown away immediately upon reaching the second floor. Once the group had depleted their batteries, the beast appeared and clamped down on her right arm at lightning speed, and it was lights-out for her. There was nothing elegant about the scream she’d let out. It was no surprise that Chie and Keito had abandoned her and run for their lives. The silver lining was that her forearm had come off rather easily. That meant two things: One, Mishiro reflexively uttered a remarkably pathetic shriek, and two, the beast temporarily ceased its chase. As the beast gnawed on her arm, Mishiro managed to scamper away like a cartoon character. She ran without even thinking about the possibility of other traps, knocking against debris that scratched her body and transformed her dress into a piece of tattered cloth, clumsily tripping on and slamming against the concrete floor and walls to the point where it became difficult for her to even breathe, before finally… She took shelter in darkness. All that Mishiro had left was her small hideout. “…Curses,” she muttered a third time. She had no clue how much time had passed since then. Perhaps at most ten or twenty minutes had ticked away in reality—not a significant amount of time by any means—but to Mishiro, it had felt like an eternity. That was plenty of time to ponder—ponder about pointless matters. Why? How did this happen? Where did I go wrong? The first thing to pop into her head was the face of that wretch—Yuki. The girl with the countenance of a phantom, who claimed to be a ten-time player. This is all her fault, Mishiro thought. If she hadn’t kept running her mouth, my fate would have been different. “We should conserve our batteries”? Of course I knew that! Wasn’t I the first to propose using one flashlight at a time? I was fully aware of our situation. If Yuki had kept her mouth shut, I would have thought to instruct Kotoha not to use her flashlight on the third floor. But because she just had to go and speak out, I was forced to ignore her. Exactly. If only she hadn’t disrupted my rhythm. If only she hadn’t said this was her tenth game. Next, Mishiro imagined the face of the person who had dragged her into this world—her agent. Mishiro could recite every word of the invitation offered to her. “Here, there will be no one to stand above you. We will offer you the status you desire.” That was a given. Since not many people would leap at the chance to play death games, one could easily become a top player after five or ten games. It was comparable to setting a Guinness World Record for spitting watermelon seeds. Upon further reflection, Mishiro realized the social status offered by the games was nothing amazing, but at the time, the invitation had sounded incredibly alluring. Easily becoming a top player in an industry that catered to a clientele of high-society elites? Not too shabby. But her agent hadn’t said a word about wretches like Yuki. This was a scam, Mishiro thought. I shouldn’t have fallen for those empty promises. She thought back to the night she’d destroyed every inch of her room. She had gone on a rampage because she felt she had come up against a wall in life. Since she couldn’t tear down that wall, she settled for destroying her room instead. Mishiro believed her greatest misfortune in life was being born in the current era. No matter what she did, there would always be someone who would rise above her. There were so few peaks in this world, and far too many people trying to reach them. What is someone like me to do in this day and age? Mishiro wondered. Would it be better to die? I beat my little sister with my beloved racket until she had to be rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. If only I hadn’t been born with this disposition. Finally, her mind drifted to the image of her mother. She looked up at the woman who was more than twice her height and asked, “Hey, why does my name, Kazumi, mean ‘most beautiful’?” The woman answered, “I named you with hopes that you would be the best at something, no matter how small.” Shut up, woman. Die. How dare you curse me… Die! You’re the one who’s going to die, said the cold part of Mishiro’s heart to herself. “…………” Mishiro buried her face in her knees. She let her consciousness gradually melt away. She didn’t care if she fell asleep. She was tired. Nothing mattered anymore. Upon losing her right arm, her dignity and her will to survive through thick and thin had evaporated. She had no need for something that had shattered. The second she closed her eyes, a mighty wave of exhaustion washed over her. She was more fatigued than she had thought. As she surrendered herself to the feeling, Mishiro— —heard footsteps. It was no hallucination. The echo of footsteps reached her ears. They were getting closer. Mishiro removed her left hand from her knees and grabbed the knife on the floor. It was the only thing she’d taken with her after emptying her backpack on the third floor. However, what would that accomplish? Did she think she could hold her own against the beast with that pathetic blade? No. The knife was not so much a weapon to her but a charm. She couldn’t stomach the feeling of being empty-handed. And so Mishiro remained motionless as the source of the footsteps entered the room. Although her superb hideout had twice saved her from being attacked by the beast, it had a flaw—it lacked a peephole. She had no way of confirming the identity of the intruder, nor if they had seen through her hiding spot. Mishiro hit her chest with her handless arm, directing herself to stay calm, but in blatant mockery of her command, her heart only beat faster. When her hideout was kicked away, Mishiro thought her heart was going to stop. No—it did stop for a split second. She felt a rip in the fabric of time. When she came to her senses, she found herself staring at a single girl who was returning to a normal posture after delivering a high kick. It was the phantom girl, Yuki. (18/30) Sure enough, Yuki found Mishiro hiding in a spot where rubble had been disturbed. “Hey,” Yuki called out. “Seems like you’re okay.” Mishiro was wearing a dumbfounded expression. Despite the thick shadows of the room, the exhaustion on the girl’s face was obvious. And it was little wonder she was fatigued—she’d been curled up in such a cramped space for quite a while. Yuki thought about giving her a wake-up slap, but before she could lift her hand— “How?” Mishiro asked. “How did you know I was here?” “A woman’s intuition,” Yuki answered, repeating the same phrase she had used some time ago. “Doesn’t matter how long I’ve been away from these games—I’m not going to lose to a stupid mutt.” “What do you want with me?” “Aren’t you the one who wants something from me?” Mishiro fell silent. “That was quite the loud noise just now.” Yuki nudged a piece of scrap with her foot. “Chances are, that beast is sprinting here as we speak. And this time, it won’t just settle for an arm—it’ll devour your whole body.” “…That should apply to you as well, no?” “Nope. I’ve got a safety net. I’ve found the stairs, so I can run away anytime I want.” Mishiro’s expression changed. Yuki continued, “Of course, I didn’t forget how to get there. The other three have already gone down to the first floor. It’s just you and me left.” “…Even after locating the staircase, you decided to come back?” “That’s how it is.” “Do you mean to say you came looking for me…in order to rescue me?” Yuki snickered. “No way. I came to show you up. I can’t stomach the idea of you dying on me, so I need to prove to you here and now which of us is superior.” “Huh…?” “You’ve had too much fun treating me as a punching bag, Mishiro. Can’t remember how many times it was…so let’s just bundle it all into one. If you apologize, I’ll forgive and forget.” Yuki stretched out her arms as if to indicate her generosity. “If you say sorry for acting all cocky, I’ll show you to the staircase.” (19/30) Mishiro was speechless. “Huh? What’s wrong? It’s just admitting the obvious. From where we stand, it’s plain as day which of us is more capable. And you clearly slung mud at me for no reason. I know your heart is filled with guilt, so all you have to do is voice your feelings.” Mishiro’s hand trembled around the handle of the knife. But her trembling led to nothing further. “Or what, do you really not see that I’m on a different level from you? Give me a break. It sure is easy to be smug when you’re incompetent. And because you don’t realize how powerless you are, you’ll repeat the same failures over and over until you die. It’s funny to watch from a distance, but I sure don’t want to stand close enough to breathe the same air as you.” Mishiro was at a loss for words. However, the same phrase repeated itself over and over inside her mind. You wretch, you wretch, you wretch, you wretch—you wretch! “Cat got your tongue? Don’t tell me you’re trying to buy time for the beast to show up. That won’t do. You get ten seconds. I’d hate to do it, but if I don’t hear an apology in that time, I’ll have to give up on you, princess.” Yuki held her palms out in front of Mishiro. She held up the same number of fingers as the number of seconds she had designated—ten. Yuki folded down her right thumb. Yuki folded down her right index finger. From seven to six to five, the number of her outstretched fingers continued to decrease. Mishiro stared on, as if being hypnotized by a coin on a string. Say it, came a voice in her head. Right—she had no choice but to admit it. Objectively speaking, Yuki was the superior player. She was probably telling the truth about being a ten-time player, too. Mishiro had to own up to the fact that she’d acted superior toward a more experienced player. No—she didn’t even need to do that. All she needed to do was apologize. An empty apology was all the situation demanded. There was little doubt Yuki would guide Mishiro to the staircase, as it was hard to imagine she would come back just to put Mishiro down. Yuki was a seasoned player in her tenth game, and she must have wanted to rescue Mishiro. An apology would save Mishiro’s life. However, her mouth remained rigid and refused to budge. Why do you hesitate? she thought. What are you thinking? This is no argument between elementary school students. What will being stubborn accomplish at a time like this? —Stubborn? No. That’s not what I feel at all. So what is it? After going through all this hell, what is this feeling burning inside of me? Frustration. The moment she found the word, Mishiro’s eyes opened wide. The gears in her body began to turn, restoring her normal functions. That’s it. I’m frustrated. I’m too frustrated to admit defeat. So frustrated I refuse to surrender to her in hopes of extending my life. “Shut up,” Mishiro said after the number of Yuki’s outstretched fingers fell to one. “Huh? What?” “I’ve had enough of your poppycock!!” (20/30) Yuki was stunned. Surviving Candle Woods had meant nothing in this situation. The next thing Yuki knew, she was falling backward onto her bottom. Unable to piece together anything to say to her assailant, she could only watch blankly as Mishiro dashed out of the room. “…………?” Yuki held her hand against her chest. Her heart was racing, as was her mind. Still, she tried to piece together the situation with her barely functioning brain. What had just happened? Yuki had located Mishiro. She could have rescued the princess immediately but instead decided to use the opportunity to tease her a little. There was nothing to lose, and even if Mishiro refused to apologize, Yuki was still going to save her. Instead, Mishiro had flown into a rage. Yuki had failed to respond to the unexpected development in time and remained bewildered as the girl pushed her back and raced out of the room. And now… And now, for some reason, Yuki’s heart was racing. She could hear the sound of heavy footsteps from afar. “…Right, I have to get out of here.” Yuki got up off the floor. The footsteps belonged to the Beast of Gévaudan, who would reach this room shortly. Recognizing that time was of the essence, she swiftly left the room while attempting to detect Mishiro’s location. As she sprinted, she touched her chest again. Her heart was still racing. But her heart rate wasn’t elevated because she was running. Nor was it because she felt irritated at the unexpected turn of events. In fact, Yuki came to understand that it meant the opposite. She was curious about Mishiro. She had warmed up to her. “Poppycock,” huh? she thought. Yuki was impressed with Mishiro’s defiance. It felt as if Yuki had struck and been repelled by the softest part of Mishiro’s heart. Yuki found her endearing. She also didn’t want Mishiro to die. Yuki’s heightened perception simultaneously picked up the presence of two beings. The first was the Beast of Gévaudan. The second was Mishiro. The girl was presumably running aimlessly through the hallways, but evidently, the gods of survival had not forsaken her, as she happened to be making a beeline toward the staircase. However, the fangs of the beast were inching ever closer to her. At this rate, she wouldn’t make it to the stairs in time. After turning a corner, Yuki spotted Mishiro’s silhouette. Mishiro was about to run straight through a three-way junction. Meanwhile, a shadowy figure was barreling down the side path. Yuki bolted forward at full speed and leaped at Mishiro’s back— (21/30) “…Gah?!” Mishiro felt something hit her from behind. Her posture crumpled, and the inertia from the force caused her to roll onto the floor. Discovering just how disorienting it was to fall over in the dark, she managed to stop herself from tumbling, and she got back up. A stinging pain shot through the cuts that had formed all over her body. “I’ve taken a shine to you!” The voice belonged to Yuki. “As a special treat, I’ll save you this time! Turn left at the next corner and then take the third right! Hurry while I distract the—” The girl’s words cut off abruptly. Mishiro heard something topple over, followed by sounds of a struggle. Was Yuki flailing around all alone? No, that was impossible. Among the cacophony of noise was snorting that sounded far too intense to come from human lungs. It was the trap of the second floor—the man-eating beast. Yuki had become its next victim. Until a few seconds prior, Mishiro had been where Yuki was. If Yuki hadn’t kicked her away, Mishiro would have fallen into the clutches of the beast instead. Yuki had protected her. Not only that, she had also disclosed the location of the staircase—and to Mishiro no less, someone whom she should have deeply resented. Despite the fact that Mishiro had repeatedly lashed out at her and had refused to apologize. The question going through Mishiro’s mind: Why? Was it a trap? Was Yuki still out to get her? That was certainly a plausible explanation. Still, Mishiro ran as Yuki had instructed. She turned left at the next corner. Then she took the third right. There was no reason for her to trust Yuki, but trust her she did. Because when Yuki shouted the directions to the stairs, her voice had sounded far brighter and cheerier than any Mishiro had ever heard before. (22/30) Yuki heard footsteps heading farther away. Guess Mishiro’s gone, she thought, feeling the beast’s breath on her skin as it pinned her to the floor. The Beast of Gévaudan had claimed Yuki with its fangs, chomping down on her stomach from the side. However, Yuki remained unfazed. Although she felt pain, she did not associate it with the feeling of suffering. In fact, it only served to calm her down. That was proof of two things: that she was on the brink of grave danger and that she was back in practice as a player. Relief flooded over her—the game had been far too lenient, rendering her uncertain as to whether her instincts had returned. But this moment communicated to her that she was back in business. Yuki was very much in peak condition as, despite the dark, she deftly maneuvered her knife from behind her back to slice the eyeball of the beast, attempting to force it to retreat. She even had the mental leeway to consider the audience; executing the beast in an excessively brutal fashion would earn her their disapproval. Some people rejoiced at the deaths of humans yet took great exception to the abuse of animals, and many such people were among the members of the audience. As far as Yuki was concerned, it was outrageous to demonstrate an unwavering devotion to animal welfare while watching a death game, of all things, but there was no denying reality. If she fell out of favor with the members of the audience—the games’ patrons—there could very well be an adverse impact on the prize money she received for surviving. She had to act like the ideal player and set aside her personal beliefs. In this world, what mattered was whether you could act according to others’ desires. Actors sure have it rough, Yuki thought. With her free hand, she pulled out a second knife, which she had secretly swiped from Mishiro. It was time to show off her dual-wielding skills. (23/30) Kotoha’s group reached the first floor. There were no traps. But there was ample light. (24/30) Just as Yuki had predicted, the first floor had windows, which were fitted with iron bars. Although they were too narrow for anyone to squeeze through, they did allow light to stream in from outside. It was the early morning, and the sky was still ultramarine, but there was plenty of light. Kotoha, Chie, and Keito did not need to watch their footing as they progressed through the first floor. “Y’know, it really feels like we’ve reached the end,” Chie said, gazing at the sky through the iron bars. “Sure, we shouldn’t let our guard down, but we’re definitely past the worst of it.” “Yeah…,” Kotoha replied from Chie’s back. Kotoha twisted around. Keito was straggling far behind them. Although the first floor appeared completely safe, it could very well be an illusion to hide the existence of traps, so Chie was walking out in front. Keito had taken the lead on the fifth and fourth floors, Kotoha on the third, and Mishiro on the second, so now it was Chie’s turn. Besides Yuki, they’d all had at least one opportunity to be line leader. There were no signs of Mishiro or Yuki coming up from behind. Had the two girls simply not caught up yet, or had they run into trouble? Kotoha wondered what would happen if her group reached the exit without them. The most likely scenario would be— “I gotta admit, I’m surprised,” Chie said. “That Yuki is a real nice gal. Not only did she go save you, she also went back for Mishiro, even though they kept butting heads… You’re lucky to be alive, Kotoha.” Yuki. A player in her tenth game who looked like a phantom. A player from before Candle Woods. She had constantly been working to save others throughout this game. However— “That’s not it,” Kotoha said. “She’s frightening, far more than she looks.” “Huh? What makes you think that?” “Do you want to know?” “You betcha!” Kotoha twisted around again. After making sure that Keito was walking far enough behind, Kotoha brought her voice to a whisper. “If I tell you, will you promise me one thing?” “Huh?” As if sensing something foreboding in those words, Chie lowered her voice to match Kotoha’s. “What do you mean by that?” “Just promise me you’ll do what I ask. I only need your word.” “…Well, okay, I guess.” “Do you still have that paper?” Even without a view of Chie’s face, Kotoha could tell she was surprised. “Paper?” Chie asked. “The sturdy white sheet about the size of a handkerchief. It was inside our backpacks.” Chie fished around inside her backpack, which she had strapped to her chest just as Yuki had done. “Oh, here it is.” She pulled out a white piece of paper. “It’s synthetic paper made by YUPO.” “…What’s that again? I know I’ve heard the name somewhere…” “It’s the material used for ballots in government elections. After it’s folded, it’ll open back up by itself inside the ballot box, so it’s convenient to use.” “Huh… Really? I’ve never voted or anything, so I didn’t notice. So?” “Well, there’s one other thing I found curious… The outfit for this game.” Kotoha looked down at Chie. She had on a white dress that would look dazzling beneath a summer sky. But it had accumulated many tears in her walk through the scrap-strewn building, becoming something that would be embarrassing to wear in public. “Have you given any thought as to why it’s a white dress?” Kotoha asked. “It completely clashes with the venue of the game.” “I did wonder about that…but is it really anything strange? It’s not like I can think of an outfit that would match the vibes of an abandoned building. Did you figure something out?” “Yep. I’m pretty sure these dresses are modeled after chitons.” “…Okay, now that’s definitely not a word I’ve heard before…” “A chiton is a form of clothing that was common in ancient Greece. It’s made by folding a large sheet of linen fabric twice, without making any cuts. It was the predecessor to the tunic, so its shape is close to that of a dress.” “Huh. But what does that have to do with anything?” “Does anything come to mind when you hear the words ‘ancient Greece’ and ‘vote’?” “Not really, no.” “……” Kotoha fell silent. Good grief, she thought. Kids these days have no appreciation for education. The internet doesn’t always cut it. She decided to change her approach. “Then let me ask you this. Why do you think this level doesn’t have any traps?” “Huh? Well…” “Don’t you think that suggests there’s an unavoidable trap by the exit? Don’t you think there could be something waiting for us at the very end that will serve as the culmination of this game?” “…I mean…” “Think back to everything we’ve been through. All the traps set in this building can be avoided by making someone else take the lead. Not just the pitfalls and land mines; that goes for the beast, too. A creature of that size should be completely full after eating a single person. The game was balanced so that you could breeze through it just by having someone else walk out in front. Why do you think that is?” “…………” Chie grew pale. “Sorry. I figured it out at the very beginning,” Kotoha said. “I kept quiet, knowing something like this would be waiting for us at the finish line. I mean, if it turned out to be true, there would be no avoiding it… Truth be told, I was ecstatic to lose at rock-paper-scissors and to take the lead on the third floor. Because braving danger head-on would most likely save me from being chosen at the end… And since you’ve been carrying me, Chie, I won’t vote for you. So I’d like you to not vote for me, either.” The next moment, Kotoha heard two voices from behind. One was Keito’s, while the other belonged to someone else she knew. As the two sets of footsteps got closer, Kotoha turned around and called out the girl’s name. “—Mishiro! You’re okay!” “…Yes. For the most part.” Mishiro looked down at her missing right arm. That was not her only injury, either; she was covered in cuts and scrapes, and her dress was in tatters. She looked less like a girl on a summer’s day and more like a young slave. “Um… Where’s Yuki? Wasn’t she with you?” “…She…jumped in to protect me.” Mishiro’s tone suggested a reluctance to admit it. “She became the beast’s victim in my stead. I believe she is no longer with us…” Kotoha doubted those words. Is that really true? She couldn’t possibly imagine Yuki dying after seeing her demonstrate such magnificent skill. Yet Mishiro didn’t appear to be lying. “Anyway, I’m glad to see you’re all right,” Keito butted in. “What a relief. Goes to show that you’re our one and only leader.” Kotoha thought Keito was acting awfully chummy despite having abandoned Mishiro when fleeing from the beast. However, Mishiro showed no anger. Instead, with a dour look on her face, she simply replied, “…I suppose so.” As if in consequence of the tremendous melancholy behind those words, the group simply marched ahead silently for a while. It was only when they reached the iron door resembling an exit that their silence was broken. Chie was the one to speak. “What on earth…?” (25/30) The exit stood before their eyes. It was an iron door, likely made of the same material used for bank vaults. Above it was a monitor with a blank display. The door had no knob or handle, and it would not budge even with the entire group pushing against it. It was impossible to open through sheer strength alone. On either side of the door were three small rooms, each around the size of a shower stall, for a total of six. These rooms were unlocked, and inside each was a single desk and chair, as well as the same kind of monitor as the one above the door. They also contained a digital timer like the ones the players had repeatedly seen throughout the building, and on the outer wall was a single rectangular gap. As if waiting for Kotoha and the others to look around, the monitor emitted a conspicuous static noise. “—Welcome, players. Congratulations on clearing the game.” An inoffensive-looking mascot appeared on the screen. Kotoha had imagined something like this would happen. In these games, the presence of a monitor implied the appearance of an explainer. In situations where it would be otherwise difficult to explain the rules, or in games with many first-time players, explainers would show up to guide players in the right direction. For this game, the explainer was a mascot character that resembled a wolf. Its design was neither ferocious nor adorable; it was very neutral and inoffensive. It evoked a sense of pity, as though it had been created during the mascot fad a decade ago but was discarded for lacking any sense of uniqueness. Kotoha speculated that the character hadn’t been specially created for this game but rather been reused from somewhere else by the organizers. The wolf mascot continued, “While that is what I would like to say, the game has yet to conclude. It is now time for you to undertake the Final Trial. I trust you see the rooms on either side of the door, yes?” That was very much a rhetorical question, as the mascot had almost certainly been watching when the group was examining the rooms. “Each of you will step inside a room,” the mascot went on, without waiting for an answer. “However, it appears not all of you are here. As such, there will be some waiting involved.” “—Not all of us are here?” Kotoha parroted back. “Does that mean Yuki’s alive?” “This goes without saying, but each room can only accommodate a single player,” the mascot continued, ignoring Kotoha. “When someone enters, the door to the room will lock automatically. The lock cannot be disengaged from inside, so take this time to conduct any unfinished business you may have outside.” Mishiro narrowed her eyes in reaction to the part about the lock. Whatever happened in those rooms, it required that they be locked in. Although some parts of the explanation didn’t sit right with them, the group followed the wolf mascot’s instructions and entered the rooms. Without her legs, Kotoha was unable to sit down on a chair by herself, so Chie assisted her. The moment Chie left the room, the door closed on its own, and a clunk echoed, signaling the door had been locked. Kotoha had been isolated from the outside world. She waited patiently as the seconds ticked away. She glanced at the timer on the wall. 01:32:45. All the digits between zero and five were present exactly once. When Kotoha had woken up, there had been five and a half hours remaining on the countdown, which meant it had taken the group approximately four hours to reach the exit. Was that all it took? Kotoha thought. She was so exhausted that she would have believed they’d been wandering the building for four whole days. If this was how she felt despite having been carried for the entire second half of the game, she couldn’t begin to imagine how tired the others were feeling. They still had an hour and a half left, but there was no need to wait for the rest of the time to elapse, as a few minutes later, Kotoha heard footsteps beyond the door. As soon as she did, delight came over her. It had to be Yuki. After the moment of joy passed, Kotoha’s nerves showed on her face. Is Yuki really all right? It sounds like she’s doing well enough to be walking on both legs… Before Kotoha could get lost in her thoughts, she heard the outside monitor turn on again. The wolf mascot repeated the same explanation it had given the players a few minutes earlier. Kotoha heard the sound of a door opening and closing, and she even made out the clunk of the lock. The monitor in Kotoha’s room flicked on. “Now, let’s begin,” said the wolf mascot. (26/30) Mishiro focused her mind, hanging on to the explainer’s every word. “Players, open your backpacks and look inside the inner right pocket. There, you should find a white piece of paper. Have you located it?” The wolf mascot held up a piece of paper. However, Mishiro was unable to do as the explainer asked. This was no surprise, as her backpack had been incinerated when the land mine exploded on the third floor. “Oh? It appears a number of you have misplaced it… In that case, I ask anyone without a backpack to open the drawer of your desk. You will find the same sheet of paper inside.” Mishiro did as instructed and grabbed the piece of white paper. She recalled finding something similar inside her backpack at the start of the game, though she hadn’t given it any thought at the time. She had merely assumed it was some kind of double-sided tape. “This is YUPO paper,” the wolf mascot explained. “It is resistant to water and difficult to rip apart, and it will open on its own when folded. It’s used for ballots in our country’s elections. Did any of you make that connection?” The wolf mascot paused as if to gauge the players’ reactions. “…I see. It appears a number of you did. Then you should already understand what this paper will be used for. In just a moment, you will be casting a vote. You will write the name of the player you believe to have contributed the least in terms of clearing this game. The player who receives the most votes…” The wolf mascot paused once more—this time for emphasis. “…will die.” The explainer continued, “There is a gap in the wall to your right, which serves as both the slot of the ballot box and a vent. A chemical gas we have painstakingly created will flow into the room of the player who receives the most votes. For the sake of your mental well-being, I shall abstain from explaining the specific effects, but know that the lethality rate is virtually one hundred percent, with death occurring within five minutes of administration.” “…………” I see… So that explains it, Mishiro thought. This was the reason Yuki had saved both Mishiro and Kotoha. Yuki had understood what the paper represented and had anticipated a trial like this awaited them at the very end. Of the five players, she was the only outsider, so she must have thought she would receive the most votes if they got through the game normally. That was why she’d risked being devoured by the beast to save Mishiro. “You will have fifteen minutes to vote from the moment I announce the start of the voting period. Be aware that any player who fails to cast their ballot in that time will be treated as having voted for herself. This concludes the explanation. I will answer any questions you may have at this time.” The wolf mascot fell silent. Mishiro stayed quiet as well. Although she had questions she wanted to ask, she decided to first see how the other players would react. Before long… “One player has posed a question,” the wolf mascot said. “‘What will happen if two players tie for the most votes?’ An astute query. If that occurs, the votes will be weighed differently; players who voted with the ballot found inside their backpack—in other words, players who did not misplace their original ballot—will have greater voting power. Should the tie still persist, then there will be a tiebreak vote between the two top vote-getters. As there is an odd number of players, that vote will assuredly be decisive.” That rule penalized Mishiro, who had lost her ballot, although she thought it was better than having no voting power at all. “…There has been another question. ‘What if a player casts a blank ballot or writes something besides another player’s name?’ In that case, it will be treated the same as not casting a ballot—the vote will count toward the player herself. The same rule will apply for an illegible ballot or other relevant cases, so I advise that you cast your ballot carefully.” That meant there was no way to avoid the trial. Mishiro wasn’t surprised. The organizers would never give the players an out after putting them through so much trouble. “I would like to ask a question,” Mishiro said. “Let us assume a player received or stole a ballot from another player during the course of the game, or chooses to use the paper inside their desk in addition to their original ballot. What will happen if that one player casts multiple ballots?” “…There has been another question,” the wolf mascot said, following a brief pause. After repeating the content of Mishiro’s question, the wolf mascot answered, “In that case, only the first ballot cast will be considered valid. If it is impossible to determine which ballot was cast first—for instance, if two ballots are tied together—then only the first ballot we count will be considered valid. Regardless, a single player cannot cast more than one vote.” The answer came as a great relief to Mishiro. Harvesting ballots would not grant a player an advantage. If, at the start of the game, Yuki had predicted what would happen, she would have had the opportunity to obtain at least two additional ballots—one from looting the corpse of the sixth player and another from saving Kotoha after she had been blown away by the land mine. Combining those with her original ballot and the paper in her desk would have given Yuki at least four ballots. If players could cast as many votes as they had ballots, Mishiro and the others would have no way of contesting Yuki’s voting power. “…As it appears there are no additional questions, I will take my leave. You have fifteen minutes—until the countdown timer reaches one hour and five minutes—to cast your votes. Players, I wish you the best of luck.” The screen fell dark with a zap. Mishiro glanced at the timer. It read 01:20:03. (27/30) On the table sat a cylindrical pencil case and two pencils. After inspecting the pencils, Mishiro concluded nothing was out of the ordinary about them. She scoured the room but failed to find anything like a golden ballot with the weight of two votes, or an opening that would allow her to see whom another player was voting for. Resigning herself to the lack of any secret loopholes, Mishiro returned to the desk. Mishiro was right-handed, and the beast had devoured her right arm. She had only ever written with her left hand a handful of times in elementary school for fun. To ensure her handwriting would be legible, Mishiro held her pencil as close to the tip as possible. Then she began to think—whose name should she write? First, she imagined the face of that wretched girl, Yuki, the player with whom she had frequently butted heads throughout the game. With her out of the picture, Mishiro would return to the top of the heap. But she couldn’t write Yuki’s name in good faith. Thanks to what had transpired earlier, Mishiro’s stance toward Yuki had changed. Even though the girl was a regular player in these amoral games, she had a personal code of honor. Would Mishiro be able to live with herself for writing Yuki’s name? The next name to come to mind was Kotoha’s. Among the players, she had been most severely injured, which would likely prevent her from ever joining another game. Assuming they would not run into one another in a future game, there would be no issue even if the girl formed a grudge against Mishiro. However, Mishiro again found it difficult to move her pencil. She herself had sustained a permanent injury in this game, so sympathy for Kotoha lingered somewhere inside her heart. “…I suppose I should adhere to the instructions,” Mishiro muttered before writing down a fateful name. Since the beast had eaten her dominant arm, it took a bit of effort, but she managed to submit her ballot. Mishiro sank into her chair and waited for the time to pass. The timer in the room ticked down to 01:05:00. Mishiro assumed the wolf mascot would make another appearance to reveal the votes, but that did not come to pass. The screen remained completely blank. “…Huh?” A voice from a different room revealed to Mishiro the results of the vote. “Wha—? Me? It’s me? Why?” Being in a separate room, Mishiro had no idea how the girl had discovered she’d received the most votes. Perhaps only the monitor in her room had turned on, or the chemical gas had begun streaming through the vent. In any case, the outcome was clear. Mishiro breathed a sigh of relief knowing she had not received the most votes. “Who was it? Who voted for me? Kotoha? Didn’t you promise not to vote for me? You didn’t, right? I voted for Keito, y’know! So why? Did I do something wrong?” It’s because you did nothing, Mishiro thought. Keito had faced the danger of pitfalls by walking out in front on the fifth and fourth floors. Kotoha had taken the lead on the third floor and lost her legs to a land mine. Mishiro had led from the third floor to the second, and the beast had eaten her arm. Yuki had rescued Kotoha and Mishiro. Each and every one of them could be said to have contributed to clearing the game. Only one player was different—Chie, who’d done nothing of importance aside from carrying Kotoha. “This isn’t right. It’s not my fault! We randomly decided who would walk out in front with rock-paper-scissors! I don’t deserve any blame! Why did everyone listen to the explainer? You should’ve voted for who you wanted to kill! No… Don’t push the blame on me for this stupid reason!” The first time Mishiro had felt that feeling was when her little sister was born. Anytime something happened between them, Mishiro always bore the full brunt of the blame. She had found it odd how her mother wouldn’t treat them equally. But the time she definitively felt that feeling was when a fatal incident occurred at her high school. A student who had been treated as a lapdog had apparently taken matters into their own hands, but for some reason, hardly anyone showed any sympathy for them. That was when it finally clicked for Mishiro. Nobody has any sense of humanity. She wondered if what she had just done was no different—making a problem go away by pinning the blame on a convenient scapegoat. But this time felt more wicked than usual, since they could justify their target based on her lack of contribution to clearing the game. “Why?! Why me and not Keito? What does that kiss-ass have that I don’t? Mishiro, didn’t you see? She ran away before me! And she was laughing, too! She was relieved to not be attacked before she even thought about showing any concern for you, y’know! You should’ve killed her instead of me! Right?…Say something!! I’ve only got five minutes left!!” Mishiro said nothing. She quietly closed her eyes. “You’ll pay for this. I’ll curse you. I’ll curse you. I’ll curse you. I’ll curse you. I’ll curse you! I’ll curse you! I’ll curse you!! I’ll curse you!! I’ll curse you!! I’ll curse you!! I’ll curse you!! I’ll curse you!! I’ll curse you!! —…” Chie banged on the door, repeating the same words over and over. The volume and tone of her voice remained constant, and the banging continued without end. There were no signs of the door opening. Before long, the voice abruptly stopped like a speaker that had been turned off. It was replaced with the faint sound of sobbing. Yet that lasted for just a brief moment. Soon afterward, the girl fell silent, leaving Mishiro with only the sound of ringing in her ears. The digital timer in the room read 01:00:02. (28/30) The door opened. Yuki stepped out of the room. She was the first to exit. A somewhat wobbly Mishiro appeared soon afterward, followed by Keito. After recalling that Kotoha was unable to leave her room on her own, Yuki went to get her. She hoisted Kotoha onto her back, just as she had done on the third and second floors. That made four of them. There was no fifth player to join them. The door to Chie’s room stayed locked and wouldn’t budge, even when they pushed or pulled it. There weren’t any gaps above or below the door, so the group was unable to peek inside. However, the fate of the occupant was obvious to all who had heard her screams. Of the four remaining players, Mishiro was the first to speak. “Yuki,” she said. “You managed to survive… That is a great relief.” “Yep. All thanks to you.” Yuki took out a bloody knife from her backpack. It had belonged to Mishiro previously. “I went and used this for myself. The rest came easy.” “…My knife… You got it back?” “I didn’t want it to go to waste.” Mishiro’s eyes settled on Yuki’s body. Although there was white fluff coming out of her stomach, she was otherwise uninjured. In the end, the Beast of Gévaudan hadn’t been able to land another attack on her. Things had been different when Yuki was carrying Kotoha, so with nothing to hold her back, overcoming an obstacle like that was child’s play. Mishiro grabbed own right shoulder. Yuki didn’t have to ask to know what was on the girl’s mind. “Um…” The voice came from behind Yuki—from Kotoha. “It’s probably not right to ask…but who did you all vote for?” The players froze and exchanged glances for a short while. “…I voted for Keito.” Kotoha was the first to break the silence. “I was indebted to Chie for carrying me here…” “…My vote was for Chie.” It was Mishiro who spoke up next. “I followed the instructions of the explainer and selected her.” “I voted Chie, too. Same reason as Mishiro,” Keito said. Nobody spoke of what Chie had yelled in her dying moments, as if they had all silently agreed not to bring it up. “How about you, Yuki…?” Kotoha asked. “Who knows?” she replied. “I guess it must’ve been Chie. She probably voted for Keito, so they’d otherwise be tied at two votes apiece.” “You ‘guess’? What’s that supposed to mean?” “Well, you know. There was that rule about how only the first ballot would be valid when submitting multiple, right? I didn’t care who I voted for, so I wrote everyone’s names on different ballots and stuck all four into the slot. That’s why I don’t even know where my vote ended up.” The other players were speechless. “…You had…four ballots?” Keito asked, breaking the profound silence. “Yep. My original ballot, the one from the sixth player, Kotoha’s, and the one inside the desk. That makes four.” “Does that mean you realized they were ballots from the very beginning?” Mishiro asked. “More or less. You all seemed pretty chummy with one another, so I figured I’d be exiled at the end. That’s why I went to save Kotoha and Mishiro. To gain brownie points.” Still… “For this stupid reason,” huh? Chie’s words echoed in Yuki’s mind. It turned out that Yuki’s ballot had ended up influencing the results. Since it didn’t matter to her whom she voted for, she’d figured it would be fairest to vote at random, but now she was having second thoughts. That may have been irresponsible of her. It would probably be best to devise a different rule for deciding who to kill off, for any similar situations in the future. Like with the doors to the individual voting rooms, the exit door swung open on its own. Yuki and the others left the building and found several cars parked outside. Each girl’s agent came out to greet them. They had cleared the game. Once again, Yuki had survived to see another day. “Yuki,” Mishiro called out when it was time to part ways. “What?” Yuki asked. “Earlier…you mentioned taking a liking to me.” “Oh yeah. I guess I did.” “Was that merely a lie to convince me to not vote for you?” “Huh? No, I wasn’t thinking that deeply. Nobody’s ever said anything so strongly to my face before, so you sparked my curiosity. That’s all there is to it.” Mishiro stared intently into Yuki’s eyes, as if trying to glean her true thoughts. As Yuki had no guilty conscience, she stared straight back. Before long, a sour expression formed on Mishiro’s face. She paused for one or two seconds more, probably to steel her heart, before addressing Yuki in a reflective tone. “Yuki, I sincerely apologize for acting so full of myself.” Yuki was taken aback. The princess continued, “You have made me fully aware of which one of us is superior… Now, if you will excuse me.” As Yuki stood there frozen, unable to react, Mishiro climbed into a car. “Um…Yuki? I want to get into my car, too, so I’d appreciate it if you could let me down…” When Kotoha tapped her on the shoulder, the spell was broken. Yuki grew completely dumbfounded. (29/30) Regular players like Mishiro each had an exclusive agent. Before being assigned someone to manage them, new players had to clear their first game, which many were unable to accomplish, and clear a second game to demonstrate that they were not one-and-done players. Agents all fit a specific mold—they wore sunglasses and black suits and drove black cars, like a group that existed only in urban legend. However, individual agents came in all shapes and sizes. Some did only the bare minimum, silently sending off and greeting players, while others cheerfully conversed with their players, got involved in their private lives, and provided extra support to push them to even greater heights. Mishiro’s agent belonged to the latter group. “That was unlike you, milady,” her agent said, turning the steering wheel. Mishiro’s agent directed those words to the back seat, where Mishiro’s head was drooping listlessly. “Could that have been the first apology of your life? What a sight to behold. I only wish I’d been recording it. If I—” “Would it be all right if I vented a little?” Mishiro interrupted. “…In here? Honestly, I would prefer if you didn’t…” “Supporting the mental well-being of players is part and parcel of an agent’s duty.” After giving that self-serving remark, Mishiro raised her right leg and kicked her agent’s seat with all her strength. “Damn her!!” she screamed. “Damn her!! Damn her!! Damn her!! That wretch!! —****!!” She continued to kick with all her might, shouting everything and anything that came into her mind. The seat pushed against her leg with every kick, causing the cuts on her back to sting in pain, but she paid that no mind. Her priority was to get out everything weighing on her heart. Mishiro continued until her stamina ran out. Then she lay down across the back seat, panting. “Good thing I wasn’t recording that, milady,” her agent said cheerfully. “Your reputation would go down the drain if anyone other than me heard those filthy words.” “Silence…” Despite her exhaustion, Mishiro did not weaken her tone. “If you’re so frustrated, then wouldn’t it have been better not to apologize to her?” “I offered an apology because I felt it necessary. If I do not acknowledge reality, I will be unable to face it head-on. That would make it impossible for me to defeat her.” “…Oh? Does that mean you’re going to continue as a player, milady?” Mishiro looked at her right arm. Everything beyond the elbow was gone, and it couldn’t even bear the weight of anything heavier than a pair of chopsticks. She would have no chance of surviving her next game in her current condition. “I must start over from scratch,” Mishiro said. “Regarding the suggestion you made to me some time ago… I will go along with it.” “Which one? Attaching a drill to your right hand?” “I would gladly accept the operation if I could still participate like that, but it would be a violation of the rules, yes?” “Well, you can’t bring in any weapons.” “Then I will request an ordinary prosthetic arm.” “You say ‘ordinary,’ but even with their skill, it’ll be impossible to perfectly restore your arm, you know. It won’t exactly be starting over from scratch.” “I’ll have to make up for it by leveling up. Regardless, with my current abilities, I hardly stand a chance against that wretch. I require a significant boost, enough to completely negate the disadvantages of a prosthetic arm.” “Well, sounds like you need a hand. In two senses of the phrase.” “…………” “Get it? A physical hand and a helping hand…” “Keep your eyes on the road while driving.” “As you wish.” (30/30)