Chapter 8

(0/41) Like with any other field, senior-junior relationships existed in the death-game industry, as did mentor-protégée relationships. Finding a mentor early on represented the most important factor in a player’s long-term survival. Learning through repeated trial and error was infeasible, as a single misstep in a game could lead to death, and the internet offered no tips and tricks for survival due to the underground nature of the industry, which was limited to the shadow of society. Therefore, the only avenue of “study” was to rely on the oldest method of education—finding a mentor and learning by word of mouth. Yuki had once had a mentor of her own by the name of Hakushi, who’d cleared an earth-shattering ninety-five games—the highest amount of any player Yuki knew. There was a time when Yuki had learned the ropes of death games from her accomplished mentor. “Beware your thirtieth game.” That was one of the lessons Yuki had received. “There’s something known as the Wall of Thirty. Around their thirtieth game, perfectly capable, experienced players who had been clearing games without any issue suddenly drop dead. The ‘wall’ refers to that dip in the odds of survival. That’s why there are so few players like me who have crossed thirty.” “…Is that because the organizers raise the difficulty level on purpose?” Yuki asked. The organization running the games would certainly have methods of encumbering certain players. “Nope,” Hakushi replied. “The difficulty remains the same. There’s nothing suggesting the organizers intervene during games, either. In fact, they loathe the idea of tipping the scales to manipulate the outcome.” “Then is it carelessness? Like maybe the thirtieth game is right around the time players have enough experience to get overconfident…” “That could be part of it. Some players may also be overly conscious of the Wall of Thirty and psych themselves out because of it. But speaking from experience, I don’t believe the phenomenon is anything that nebulous. Everything begins to work against you, and it feels like the whole world is out to get you. It can only be described as a curse. When it happened to me, it was the first and last time I’d ever been put through such a game. It certainly isn’t something I want to go through twice.” “…How can a player get over that wall?” Yuki asked. “Wouldn’t we all like to know?” Hakushi replied. (1/41) Yuki awoke inside her tiny studio apartment. (2/41) Her head still felt a little woozy, and her body lethargic. Those were lingering side effects from the sleeping pills that were handed to her at the start and end of every game. Realizing that a game had just concluded, Yuki let out a groan to express her displeasure before getting off her mattress. A white lab coat was folded up next to her pillow. It had been the outfit of her twenty-ninth game, but Yuki knew it was not the one she had worn herself. Her own costume had disintegrated when some chemicals splashed onto it during the course of the game. Though many of Yuki’s past game outfits had gotten damaged or ripped, she’d never had one completely dissolve on her. This was also the first time the organizers had given her a brand-new outfit as a memento of the game. Yuki took the lab coat into her hands. The next moment, she slammed it onto the floor with an audible bam. “Dammit,” she muttered. (3/41) After completing her usual post-game rituals—storing the outfit in her closet, offering a prayer to the departed players, and reflecting on the game itself—Yuki left her apartment. She was going on a walk. At some point, she had turned that into her hobby. The Yuki of the past had thought walking around without a specific goal in mind was a waste of time, something only for old people who were bored out of their skulls, but her stance on this had changed. Apparently, setting aside the time to do nothing was a plain old human need. When something unpleasant happened, or when she was feeling down for making a stupid mistake, an extended walk would heal her spirit before she knew it. This time, however, the walk failed to improve her mood. In her twenty-ninth game, Yuki had yet again made a fool of herself. Her lab coat hadn’t been the only thing to disintegrate; the chemicals that had doused her from overhead had burned off the skin all over her body and, according to her agent, had even melted off half her skull. The hair currently on her head wasn’t the real thing. A woman’s hair was her life—this was certainly not a belief Yuki held, but she couldn’t help feeling shocked by the reality of having sustained a head injury that had stripped her of her hair. Her missteps hadn’t been limited to her most recent game. In the game before that, and the one before that as well, Yuki had not been in her usual form. While the outcome of her twenty-eighth game, Ghost House, would likely not have differed had she been in peak condition, she was still conscious of her embarrassing showing. It’s not looking good, she thought. Even though the next game is finally my thirtieth. Or maybe…because the next game is my thirtieth? (4/41) After another two weeks wearing down the heels of her loafers, Yuki once again took to the asphalt on a nighttime walk. This had become part of her daily routine lately. She was attending a night school, and rather than make a beeline home after class, she’d been choosing to wander around the vicinity. Initially, Yuki would first stop by her apartment to change into a tracksuit before going out again, but after getting tired of doing that, she now took walks in her sailor-style uniform. Loitering around late at night in a getup like that was socially undesirable behavior, especially for a minor like her, but for some reason, nobody had ever scolded her. Maybe she had simply been fortunate enough to avoid running into police officers, or the game organizers had been working their magic in her favor—or perhaps other people thought her to be a real phantom and concealed themselves in the shadows, reciting incantations in hopes of pacifying her spirit. Two weeks had passed since her previous game, and Yuki had yet to get back into form. She had tried every trick in the book—eating nutritional foods, avoiding naps, adding these walks to her routine—but to no avail. She was fully aware that part of the problem was that she couldn’t tell what was working. It felt as if the gears of her body were failing to mesh in harmony, as if something in her core had been severely rattled. To Yuki, a period of two weeks represented a cycle, for it was the typical duration of her break between games. A week was not enough time to recover her stamina, while an entire monthlong hiatus would dull her senses. Thus, she thought it best to operate on an interval of one game every two weeks, which meant participating in two or three every month. Her agent was well aware of that fact and would soon—perhaps as soon as this very night—approach Yuki with an invitation to another game. However, the crucial detail was that Yuki was in no condition to accept such an invitation. One particular option nagged at her mind—delaying her return to the games. Obviously, that was a course of action available to her. Although the organizers had zero concern for human rights, they were egregiously kind toward players outside the games. Players reserved the right to accept or decline any game invitation. Turning down one invitation would not make their future games any more difficult, nor would it cause them to receive threats along the lines of, “What an adorable little sister you have; it’d be a shame if something happened to her.” It was perfectly acceptable for a player to say no if they so wished. But as far as Yuki was concerned, that would amount to kicking the can down the road. She couldn’t imagine her condition improving over time—in fact, it would likely only worsen. The longer she stayed away from the games, the duller her instincts would become. An unpleasant vision of the future entered Yuki’s mind: After declining the invitation, she would fail to get back into practice and end up turning down the next invitation as well, and the next and the next, repeating the same decision over and over. Eventually, her instincts would completely rust, her self-confidence would fade away, and in the end— —she would never participate in another game for as long as she lived. “That’s the one thing I want to avoid…,” Yuki muttered. She had no intention of helplessly watching as her goal of clearing ninety-nine games slowly slipped away. But what, then, was she to do? Agree to participate in spite of her current form? Was it not the mark of an amateur to accept a challenge all willy-nilly because things would otherwise continue to worsen? Yuki didn’t just want to win; she wanted to win as a seasoned professional. To Yuki, putting on a reckless performance was as shameful as giving up halfway. She had spent the past two weeks mulling over everything. And yet she had reached no conclusion. She stood at an impasse. On this day, Yuki had again failed to stumble upon a solution. After completing her usual walking course, she would typically buy some ice cream at the convenience store before heading home. Today, however, she deviated from that habit, as she thought it undesirable to cool her body down too much. Breathing through her mouth to stave off her craving for food, Yuki set a course for home. And for an instant, she stopped in her tracks. (5/41) After that second elapsed, she continued walking. She had paused for only the briefest of moments. There was virtually nothing irregular about her movements. Had there been a hundred people watching her from nearby, ninety-nine of them would not have noticed anything strange. Her action would have escaped the notice of a layman, but against a professional, it would likely have amounted to a mistake. Yuki had felt someone staring at her from behind. She had cultivated this sixth sense of hers by teetering on the brink of life and death over the course of twenty-nine games. It allowed her to perceive any threat to her life. While that obviously included sensing hostility, she could also detect, with rather high precision, the presence and stares of other people. She’d also trained herself to avoid alerting people to the fact that she’d sensed them. That was what she had hoped to do in this situation as well. It was only for a mere moment, but Yuki had reacted to the person’s gaze. A professional with keen observational skills, like a police detective or a private eye, could very well have noticed Yuki’s unnatural movement. She had been too careless. Even though she was outside a game, she had demonstrated an excessive lack of attention. Her condition was clearly abnormal— Yuki cut short her train of thought. None of that was important. Right now, her priority was the gaze. How long had it been on her? In all likelihood, it had only just landed on her, but since Yuki was off her game, she couldn’t say that with certainty. It was possible someone had been watching her since the beginning of her walk or even since she was in class. Whom did the stare belong to? A classmate from her night school? A police officer seeking to scold a minor for walking around late at night? Her agent, who had finally come to invite Yuki to her thirtieth game? Or perhaps a player with a grudge who had discovered where Yuki lived and was waiting for the perfect moment to carry out an assassination? Regardless, Yuki had to uncover the identity of her pursuer. She strayed from her usual route home and headed to a nearby park. She didn’t have a particular reason for deciding on the park. She did think she could minimize damage there if she was forced to cause a commotion, but she also had a gut feeling, bordering on conviction, that a park was the perfect setting for a midnight rendezvous. In any event, she ended up in a park. It was a rather bare-bones affair, with swings, a slide, rideable animals with springs jutting out of their abdomens, and a single bench. It seemed like management hadn’t been by to spruce things up in ages, as the equipment had rusted and weeds were running rampant. Since it was the middle of the night, no one was around. Yuki stopped in the center of the park and turned around with the agility of a phantom. While heading to the park, she had pinpointed the direction the gaze had come from. Directly in her line of sight was a tree, large enough for a single person to hide behind. “Come out,” Yuki said. “What are you sneaking around for?” There was no response. Yuki grew annoyed. After losing her patience, she approached the tree, figuring there would be no issue if she took matters into her own hands. On the way to the park, she had also narrowed down the identity of her pursuer. They were no professional. Either one of her classmates or a random creep must have spotted her. Why the heck does this have to happen now, of all times? she thought. This is supposed to be an important milestone for me. I’m nearing my thirtieth game, for crying out loud— Wait—is this because my thirtieth game is around the corner? When Yuki was halfway to the tree, her pursuer stepped out from the shadows. It was a middle-aged man. Yuki had never seen him before. Since she made a living in an industry that exclusively employed women, she had an exceedingly short list of male acquaintances, limited only to her father, her classmates, and her teachers. This middle-aged man was nowhere on it. But for some reason, he seemed familiar. It wasn’t that he looked familiar—Yuki had never before seen his well-worn checkered suit or his toned body, which suggested a regular habit of exercise, nor had she seen the sullen look on his face, which brought to mind a man battered by the rocky waves of society for decades. But the man’s aura—the quality of his that suggested he could very well die from pushing himself too hard—seemed familiar to Yuki. “Please excuse me.” The man took off his hat and gave a low bow. “I was planning to speak with you once your errands had finished. I sincerely apologize for the trouble.” “…Who are you?” Yuki asked. “My name is Tsutomu Kaneko. I believe you became acquainted with my daughter the other day.” Yuki’s eyes widened in disbelief after she heard the man’s name. Her mind overlaid the image of a certain girl onto the man’s face. Player name—Kinko. A girl whose name shared the same written characters as the man’s surname. A girl who had lost her life in Yuki’s twenty-eighth game, Ghost House. A girl whose death was something in which Yuki bore great responsibility. This man was— “—Her father?!” (6/41) Yuki had met the girl two games ago, during Ghost House. Her player name was Kinko. She was a small girl with blond pigtails and a delicate frame that seemed like it would fall apart with the wrong touch, as well as an overly serious personality that suggested she had missed out on much of life. She was an upstanding player—quite a rarity in death games—which made her all the more memorable to Yuki. And following the events of this night, Kinko had evolved into a player whom Yuki would likely never forget for the rest of her life. Although Yuki had previously met fellow players outside of the games, this was her first time encountering a player’s parent or other relative. (7/41) Rather than continue the conversation standing up, Yuki and Mr. Kaneko sat on the bench. It was in shabby condition, fitting for seating in a run-down park. Being the rogue that she was, Yuki took no issue with that, but she was reluctant to make this gentleman sit on such a seat. In fact, she even suggested that they head to a different location. “No, this is fine,” Mr. Kaneko replied. “This is not a conversation that will be appropriate elsewhere.” The two of them were sitting side by side. “…Where should I begin…?” the man muttered, stroking his beard. “Um, Mr. Kaneko?” Yuki jumped in before the man could continue. “Yes?” “First, I just want to ask, how on earth did you find out about me?” Right now, that was the question at the top of Yuki’s mind. The organizers heavily safeguarded players’ personal information. Even if Mr. Kaneko had been a member of the audience during Ghost House, he would have no way of knowing Yuki’s address. Plus, it wasn’t as if Yuki had been going around gloating about being a regular death-game player, and besides attending night classes, she had virtually no social footprint. And yet somehow the man had managed to track her down. “All I can say…is that I tapped into my network.” Mr. Kaneko struggled to come up with an answer. “I apologize. I am not entirely sure of the specifics myself.” “…Right.” Sensing that the man had special circumstances, Yuki figured it best to not dive too deep with her questioning. “How much do you know about me?” “I know that you are a regular player and that you recently participated in the same game as my daughter.” “I assume you are referring to Kinko.” “Was that the name she went by?” “Huh?…Well, yeah. Players generally use aliases to hide their identity. We call those ‘player names.’” “I see…” It seemed the man was not so familiar with the specifics of the games. As such, he was probably unaware of who had killed his daughter. “She was a small girl with blond pigtails,” Yuki said, “and the same strong sense of responsibility as her father.” “As me…? I’m not sure I would give myself that much credit…but there’s no doubt. That’s my daughter.” The man’s expression was melancholic; unsurprising, considering he had lost his daughter. Nothing was more tragic than losing one’s child. Yuki felt the normal human response of sympathy, in addition to guilt at having been involved in Kinko’s death. But at the same time, something wasn’t quite adding up. What was it, exactly, that was bugging her? She thought back to everything Kinko had said over the course of the game. Right—the reason she had joined was… “By the way, sir,” Yuki said, “there’s one thing I’m curious about.” “…What is it?” “Kinko mentioned she had joined the game to pay off her father’s debts. Do you have anything to say about that?” At the time, Yuki had thought Kinko was raised in a toxic family environment with a scumbag of a mother and a sleazebag of a father, who’d forced Kinko to bear the burden of everything. But the man sitting next to Yuki was far removed from the man she’d imagined—and in fact, he seemed far more down to earth than she could ever hope to be. It wouldn’t bother Yuki if the man turned out to be the kind of person to sell his daughter to death games, but she had still felt compelled to ask. “I have no excuse,” Mr. Kaneko replied. “It is true that I had liabilities. My business fell on hard times, and, well…” “So you made your daughter join a death game?” “Absolutely not! I most certainly…did no such thing…but that may have been the end result. Back then, I was too preoccupied with myself…” “…Right.” Yuki determined that the man was probably not to blame. It was certainly in line with Kinko’s personality to research the games and join without anyone asking. Perhaps the organizers had scouted her, but either way, Kinko had almost assuredly become a player of her own volition. “I take it you know what happened to your daughter in the game?” “…Only the fact that she did not make it out alive.” “Does that have to do with why you came looking for me?” “Of course.” Mr. Kaneko balled his hands into fists atop his knees. “I wish to avenge my daughter. I will not stop until the organization behind the games is destroyed. And I would like to request your assistance in this, Miss Yuki.” (8/41) Mr. Kaneko reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Yuki expected the man to pull out his business card, but since they had already concluded their introductions, what appeared in his hands instead was a small plastic bag, similar to the kind used to store evidence for a murder investigation. It contained a capsule pill, one large enough to be difficult to swallow. “What’s that?” Yuki asked. “A transmitter. It will continuously relay the location information of whoever ingests it from anywhere in the world.” The man offered the object to Yuki, who accepted it and examined it carefully. Since the capsule was opaque, she couldn’t see the transmitter inside, no matter how much she strained her eyes. After sensing Mr. Kaneko’s gaze on her, Yuki lifted her head. “I would like for you to swallow that before participating in your next game.” “…So that’s your plan.” Yuki had no trouble putting two and two together. Bringing a transmitter into a death game, which operated in the shadows of society, could serve only one purpose— “The most confounding aspect of the games is their secrecy,” the man explained. “While that certainly applies to the games themselves, it also goes for the organization behind them, along with the audience. Everything occurs outside the public eye. On the other hand, should their operation be exposed to the world, dismantling them will be no difficult task.” A logical conclusion. In twenty-first-century Japan—at the very least, in the Japan of today—such deadly games had no place in society. If their existence was brought to light, both the games and the organization behind them would swiftly be dismantled. “Of course, no harm will come to you from swallowing the transmitter, and it will naturally pass through your body after several days. There’s nothing else to do on your end. All I ask of you is to ingest the capsule. Once the location of the game is revealed, we’ll handle the rest.” “‘We’?” A horrified expression appeared on the man’s face, implying he had said too much. “Are you not working alone, Mr. Kaneko?” “…No. To tell you the truth…that capsule was created by my associates.” The evasive answer clued Yuki in to the man’s circumstances. “And you can’t tell me anything more about those ‘associates’?” “I cannot… Apologies.” Yuki imagined that Mr. Kaneko belonged to a so-called society of victims. Since many had fallen prey to the games besides Kinko, accordingly there would be several times as many family members of victims. It was easy to imagine those people coming together. That would also be consistent with the man’s mention of having located Yuki through his “network.” The man must have been instructed to keep the existence of the society a secret, hence his evasive answers. That was likely to hedge their risk—without knowing whether Yuki could be trusted, they couldn’t rule out the possibility of her leaking information about the society. Lurking in the shadows to ensure safety was not only a tactic used by the game organizers. Yuki toyed around with the capsule inside the bag. “You do realize you’re asking this of a player, right?” “Yes. Will you assist me?” “I’m a player—that means I approve of the games. Do you really think I’ll help you?” “Of course, I did consider that. When the games are successfully dismantled, I’ll offer you my assistance to ensure you will never have any struggles in life. With my personal connections, I can refer you to a new place of employment.” Yuki thought the man’s answer was way off base. Even without any support, she could live off her total winnings for quite some time. Being referred to a new place of employment would mean nothing; her incompatibility with the normal waking world was one reason why she had turned to death games in the first place. Besides, Yuki had not become a player in pursuit of fortune or a stable career. “I’m pretty sure you have the wrong idea,” Yuki said. “Mr. Kaneko, do you think I’m playing these games reluctantly?” “…Is that not the case?” Yuki’s heart panged. “Not at all,” she replied. “Sure, there are players like Kinko who feel compelled to participate, but they generally quit after five or six games. Those of us with a higher game count are in it because we want to be. We’re the ones with warped views of life and death. We have something we can’t accept that overshadows the thought of losing our lives. That’s why we continue to play.” “Something you can’t accept…?” “For me—” —it’s an idle life of nothing, Yuki was going to say. That’s why I’m aiming to clear ninety-nine games, she was going to say. However, no words came out of her mouth. “Miss Yuki?” “…Well, there’s a bunch of things. A whole bunch,” Yuki said, playing it off. Mr. Kaneko didn’t pursue it any further, probably recognizing that it was a delicate subject. “I am fully aware of how rude this will sound,” the man said, “but I believe that you, Miss Yuki…or rather, all players should value yourselves more highly.” Yuki felt something stir inside her heart. She had most felt this sensation during her verbal altercation with the psychopath from some time ago. Prior to that, she had felt it as a child when being scolded by her teachers and mother. It felt as if her legs were about to give way, as if something had grazed her heart. It was the sensation of someone encroaching on somewhere she didn’t want them. The feeling of someone rejecting the root of her very being. The man continued, “Our modern era embraces a diversity of lifestyles, though reasonable bounds still exist. Death games should only be enjoyed through manga or film. Their existence in real life—and I say this with full conviction—is clearly abnormal.” Shut up, Yuki thought. Of course the games are abnormal. We play in them knowing that. Unfortunately, we players are just as abnormal. So save your breath and don’t tell me what I already know. Just leave me be. “These games have no place in twenty-first-century Japan. Miss Yuki, I beg of you. You have played in numerous games… Someone like you surely has other paths available, with or without them. Please lend us your aid.” Shut up. Don’t you say “played in numerous games” so casually. My achievements are mine and mine alone. How dare you tell me I have other paths available; how dare you talk like you know me? Yuki gripped the capsule tightly. She thought about shoving it back at the man. She had plenty of words to say to him. I have pride in being a player. I chose this path of my own volition. I’m going to clear ninety-nine games. So take this away and get out of my sight. She was going to say that. “—…” However, no words came out of her mouth. Instead, an unintended smile formed on her face. This is a hopeless case, she thought. (9/41) After parting ways with Mr. Kaneko, Yuki set a course for her apartment. She thought it would be rather amusing if a second stalker turned up, but alas, her walk home was a peaceful one, granting her ample freedom to contemplate the problem in the palm of her hand—the capsule-shaped transmitter. “…Japanese people really can’t say no, huh?” Yuki had not agreed to Mr. Kaneko’s request, but she hadn’t been able to turn him down, either. The man said she could throw the transmitter away, but urged her to at least consider the offer before her next game. So Yuki had accepted the capsule. Although she hadn’t said yes, she couldn’t say no, either. That was her current predicament. She stroked the plastic bag with her fingers. Why had she accepted the capsule? There was no way she could swallow it. While she felt genuine sympathy for Mr. Kaneko over the loss of his daughter, that was completely irrelevant. If the plan became exposed, Yuki would certainly not be spared her life, and if the games were dismantled, that would be problematic in its own right—her vow to clear ninety-nine games would crumble away. However, she had found herself unable to voice this out loud, for her mind had begun to waver. Her extended slump had chipped away at her confidence and her pride of living as a player. She had been too embarrassed to admit that she couldn’t accept the man’s request because it would interfere with her goal of clearing ninety-nine games. Yuki opened the plastic bag and took out the capsule, which was as thick as her pinkie finger. The idea of swallowing it here and now crossed her mind. That would solve two problems at once. For one, she would be compelled to sit out any games while the transmitter was inside her, which would result in her declining the next invitation. And two, it would offer her a polite excuse for getting rid of the capsule, as it would be flushed down the toilet in a matter of days. There would be no downsides. Despite the logic of this scenario, she opted against the idea because she wasn’t a fan of pills. The thought of the capsule getting stuck in her throat made her uneasy, so she wouldn’t be able to swallow it without water. The sleeping pill she was given before every game gave her similar issues; she always had to close her eyes and swallow it in the same manner as a picky child would eat their carrots. She had to prepare herself, and so, capsule in hand, she returned to her decrepit apartment. A car was parked in front of her building. “—Good evening.” The window of the driver’s seat rolled down to reveal the face of Yuki’s agent. Yuki instinctively hid her left hand—the one with the capsule in it—behind her back. Since it was in her fist, it should have been out of sight, but Yuki still felt anxious. If it were discovered, she would be in hot water before the game even began. Seemingly oblivious to Yuki’s panic, her agent spoke in her usual tone of voice. “You have been invited to a game. Are you ready?” “Oh yes.” The second after Yuki blurted out those words, she realized what she had just done. What are you saying? Don’t get caught up in the moment. Her agent opened the rear car door. “Here you are.” Yuki opened her mouth to try to amend her previous statement. “No, um—” “Is something the matter?” “…No. It’s nothing,” Yuki said, not out of instinct, but rather of her own volition. I guess this is fine, she thought. Since she was stuck between a rock and a hard place, going with the flow seemed like a perfectly valid option. It was her style to not turn down anything that came her way and to answer the call to action on the spot. All she needed to do was see things through. She could get rid of the transmitter by tossing it out the window when her agent wasn’t looking. Yuki entered the car while clad in her sailor-style uniform. “This is for you.” Her agent handed her an object—a normal-size capsule. Of course, it was no transmitter—it was a sleeping pill. This was one way the organizers kept the locations of games hidden. Players would immediately nod off upon ingesting the medicine, and when next they woke, the game would begin. “Here you go.” Yuki’s agent offered her a paper cup. Since she had been working with Yuki for over a year, she knew full well that Yuki couldn’t swallow pills without water. Yuki reached for the cup with her left hand but stopped short. She couldn’t grab anything with the transmitter still in her hand. Instead, she first placed the capsule in her mouth before accepting the cup with her newly emptied hand. Then she gulped down all the water at once, sending the capsule down her throat. For some reason, this felt more unnatural than usual. Not a moment later, Yuki realized she had just made a grave mistake. “……?!” She opened her right hand. In it sat a normal-size capsule—the sleeping pill. So then what had Yuki just swallowed? This is bad, she thought. I can’t join the game like this. Yuki clutched her stomach. Unfortunately, she lacked the skill to regurgitate on command. Although she could induce vomiting by sticking her hand down her throat, causing such a dramatic scene would draw the suspicion of her agent. Yuki looked ahead. The car was already in motion. She quickly glanced at her agent through the rearview mirror. She had to do something—it would be strange for her to stay awake after having swallowed the pill. If her agent began to suspect that Yuki had swallowed something else, it would take little time for the truth to come to light. My hands are tied, she thought. While pretending to rub her eyes, she swallowed the sleeping pill in her right hand. Moments later, she realized her second mistake. What the heck am I doing? Just because we’re moving doesn’t mean we can’t turn around. I should’ve turned down the invitation… But it was too late. The drug activated immediately, and a wave of drowsiness assaulted Yuki. She tried to resist it, but not once in her previous twenty-nine times had she been able to escape the pull of slumber. So for the thirtieth time in a row, Yuki quickly fell asleep. Would she get the chance to experience this a thirty-first time? (10/41) Game start. Mikan awoke to a shaking sensation. (11/41) Pain ran through her entire body, forcing her eyes open. Mikan looked around groggily, turning her head left and right. She was in a cramped room. The room was so small that she couldn’t even lie down across the floor. With her back resting against the wall and her legs folded underneath her, Mikan had only barely managed to fit inside the space. She was in such an awkward position; it must have been a cramp that jolted her awake. As that thought ran through her head, she stood up. Mikan immediately identified the room as a shower stall, for she bumped her head on a magnificent showerhead moments after getting to her feet. Clutching her head, Mikan looked up at the showerhead before scanning the other items in the room—a shower hose, a faucet, a mirror, a small caddy with various toiletries, a towel hanger that held a thin towel, and a round light fixture protruding out from close to the ceiling. The more she saw, the less it seemed the place could be anything but a shower stall. While many compartments of this kind featured glass panels, the walls around Mikan were completely white and opaque. She turned the lock connected to the door handle, pushed the door ajar slightly, and peeked outside. As she looked through the gap in the door, the only thing she could see was white—white steam, to be exact. The fact she had woken up inside a shower stall convinced Mikan that it was steam rather than fog. Beyond the steam, she could make out a tile floor and walls, along with several baths filled with hot water. The venue for this game was a large bathhouse. Considering the immense amount of steam lingering in the air, Mikan certainly sensed the ill will of the organizers. She speculated that the game would require her to pay close attention to where she was walking, so she carefully exited the shower stall— —only to then realize she was completely nude. “……?!” Mikan scurried back inside and shut the door, ensuring that no one would see her body. She hugged her shoulders. She was naked. Completely naked. The same way she’d come into this world, without a single fiber of cloth around her body. Why am I naked? she asked herself. Because this is a bathhouse, she answered. That’s not it, she shot back. Mikan darted her eyes around like a country bumpkin visiting the big city for the first time. Were there cameras in this room, too? Was she being watched from somewhere? Death games were forms of entertainment, and players were constantly being monitored by members of an audience. This was Mikan’s fifth game, and in one of her previous games, she had been forced to wear a risqué outfit. Back then, she had gone along with it for the sake of money. However, being nude was a completely different story. Mikan looked around restlessly, not for cameras, but for an outfit. Each game featured some kind of outfit, ranging from a proper costume at best to something bordering on exhibitionism at worst. Was there none for this game? Since the venue was a bathhouse, would the players have to go without one? Just as Mikan was about to fall into the depths of despair at the thought of having to proceed in the nude, she spotted a towel on the wall. So they want us to cover up with this, huh? After wrapping the towel around herself, Mikan looked at her reflection in the mirror. Upon noticing that her appearance looked several stages closer to that of a civilized person, she unbecomingly wondered if Adam and Eve must have felt the same way. As she prepared to exit the shower stall a second time, Mikan made another discovery. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something glimmering from inside the caddy. “……?” She squinted to get a better look. Whatever it was had a golden sheen. She would likely have paid it no mind had it been silver, but the color gold never failed to bewitch the hearts of those accustomed to living in a capitalist society. Mikan brushed aside the toiletries with her hand. Inside the caddy was a small, rectangular golden block—a key for a shoe locker. (12/41) Instead of using normal keys, shoe lockers at traditional bathhouses used wooden blocks that had slits on the bottom edge. The custom had developed centuries ago, when guests of theaters and other establishments would deposit their shoes upon entry and receive a block in return as a sort of claim check. Mikan couldn’t remember when she had picked up that factoid. In front of her was a golden shoe-locker key with a large number 17 etched into it. Mikan grabbed hold of it and found that it was heavier than expected—around two pounds, or probably even more. Regardless, it was too heavy to be an ordinary wooden block painted over with gold leaf. Although she couldn’t deduce whether it was genuine gold, it undoubtedly contained metal. Mikan took the golden block with her as she exited the shower stall. She carefully walked through the steam-filled bathhouse, paying enough attention to avoid slipping. Mikan was certain the block was a key item for the game. Its golden hue and hefty weight hinted that it was valuable. Not only that, it wasn’t a regular gold bar; it took the form of a shoe-locker key. Any experienced player could imagine the implications— —Carrying the block to the exit was the condition for clearing the game. That would make this a special kind of escape game. Simply exiting the bathhouse would not be enough. Players would need to search the venue for a shoe-locker key—the majority of which were presumably well hidden—and use it to retrieve footwear from a shoe locker before escaping. The heavy steam and any traps lurking within the bathhouse would stand in their way. As Mikan walked ahead carefully, staying on the lookout for traps, her lips twisted into a grin. Fortune had smiled upon her: A key had been hidden inside her shower stall, and she had managed to locate it. She also thought it lucky that this game—which was likely going to be her last—was an escape game. Compared to competitions, escape games typically had higher survival rates. Mikan’s lucky streak continued as she spotted the exit straight away. Its location was immediately obvious, even within the heavy steam—or rather, because of the heavy steam. The steam in this section of the room appeared far heavier than in other areas. This meant the temperature was low enough for water vapor to condense into droplets, suggesting the existence of an open door. Mikan charged into the dense steam, and her vision was quickly impeded. She raised her guard, slowly but firmly stepping across the tile floor. To speak only of the positive outcome: She no longer needed to show any caution. The texture of tiles underfoot had vanished. Mikan floated in the air before falling backward and slamming against the floor. Belatedly, she realized that she had been tripped. The countless pitter-patters of bare feet surrounding her echoed through the air. A great number of arms—likely equivalent in number to the sets of footsteps she had heard—reached through the steam and held down her body. A heavy tug on her trademark orange hair pulled back her scalp. Her extremely sensitive neck felt no tickling sensation as hands clamped down on her windpipe. The hands on her shoulders felt like they were clutching her bones instead of her flesh, and the weight of several people pressed down against her torso. Her already-limited field of vision was obstructed by a towel, and within three seconds of flailing her legs in a desperate attempt to avoid capture, Mikan lost the freedom to open and close her mouth, and her screams of protest were silenced. Naturally, her hands, clutching the shoe-locker key, were not spared, either. Mikan heard one person’s footsteps and realized they had taken away her key. But at this point, Mikan could not care less about the item. Fear dominated her mind. She felt many people around her. She was being restrained by a large group of girls. She grew dizzy at the feeling of their thin fingers digging into her flesh, their hair brushing annoyingly against her skin, the weight of their bodies keeping her on the floor, their moist skin, their body temperatures, their breaths, and even their abject bloodthirst. What’s going to happen to me? she wondered. They stole my key, but what do they plan on doing with me now that I’m useless to them? Mikan would come to learn the answer momentarily. After the weight pressing against her body disappeared, she was dragged across the tile floor. The thought that they were guiding her to the exit did not once cross her mind. The moment her head and shoulders were plunged into a bath, Mikan figured out the fate that awaited her. She inhaled at the moment of impact, unfortunately allowing water to enter her lungs. She had already mentally surrendered, but her instincts kept screaming at her to resist. However, those instincts were far inferior to the combined intelligence of the dozen or so girls holding her down. As a pain like nothing she had ever felt before assailed the inside of her nose, a single image entered her mind. It was the face of her younger brother, who lay on a hospital bed—the boy whom Mikan would have been able to save had she returned from this game alive. She had made her last stand. Mikan went limp, and her mind faded to nothingness. (13/41) Game start. Yuki awoke to a shaking sensation. (14/41) Pain ran through her entire body, forcing her eyes open. “Ouch…,” Yuki groaned as she sat up. She was inside a cramped room. The room was so small that Yuki was unable to lie flat across the floor. Her body only fit because it had been curled up, her feet against the wall. She must have been like that for a while, as the cracking sound of bones throughout her body told Yuki she had slept in an awkward position. The game had begun. Yuki placed a hand to her head. Her memories from before she’d fallen asleep were somewhat jumbled. It occurred to her that this was an important milestone: her thirtieth game. She’d been out of shape lately and wavering on whether to join the game, but in the end, she was swept along and agreed to participate. And then her agent had passed her the sleeping pill— “—Right.” Yuki looked down at her stomach. She was wearing no clothes, and her stomach was completely bare. She couldn’t find any signs of her stomach having been opened. Had her agent not noticed anything? Was the transmitter she had unintentionally ingested still inside her at this very moment? Was her location being transmitted from her stomach to somewhere outside the venue? I messed up big-time, Yuki thought. Perhaps it was fortunate she hadn’t said that out loud. She had joined a game after swallowing the transmitter, thereby going along with Mr. Kaneko’s request and unwittingly aiding the plot to destroy the death games. What the heck am I doing? What kind of moron swallows the wrong pill? The shame she felt over what happened far outweighed the embarrassment of her naked body being exposed to the audience. Yuki turned to the white walls surrounding her. What’s it like outside? Did the game already end? Or is it still going on? Forget that; how are Mr. Kaneko and the other victims going to move ahead with their plan? What are they going to do after learning the game’s location? He told me he’d “take care of the rest,” but does that mean he’s going to make this the final game? Or will he and his associates simply use this chance to observe and lay the groundwork for something in the future? I wasn’t going to accept his deal, so I didn’t ask about any of that. How the heck should I—? Yuki slapped herself hard on the cheek. The pain settled her restless spirit back into her body. Calm down, she told herself. Don’t worry about the transmitter. Didn’t Mr. Kaneko say you only had to swallow the capsule? Ingesting it doesn’t change what you have to do. Live. Survive. Even if this game is your last, even if you lose your goal of clearing ninety-nine games, you can’t die here. Don’t let your will to survive fade away. Yuki slapped herself once more on the cheek to refresh her mindset. The truth was, it didn’t work in the slightest, but at the very least, she was able to demonstrate her intention to focus on the game. She thought on her current situation. She had been placed in a space resembling a shower stall. Upon opening the door and peeking outside, she saw a large bathhouse that was filled with far more steam than any bath she had seen in her lifetime. The heavy steam was mostly likely an intentional design choice to limit players’ range of vision. Next, Yuki looked down at her body. She’d been stripped of her clothing and left completely nude. Perhaps this game lacked an outfit, as the venue was a bathhouse. Yuki found that to be an odd choice. She took the towel hanging on the wall and wrapped it around herself, barely managing to conceal the parts of her body she needed to conceal. Just as she was about to exit the shower stall, she noticed something glimmer out of the corner of her eye. Lying inside the hair filter in the drain was a golden shoe-locker key. A large number 9 was etched into it. (15/41) After exiting the shower stall, Yuki turned around and examined the exterior of the room where she had woken up. The shower stall was of a bare minimum size and seemed more like a telephone booth or a portable toilet. Perhaps the term shower cubicle was more appropriate. Upon closer examination, she spotted scuff marks on the wall, and upon even closer examination, she noticed scrapes on the section of floor directly beneath those marks, suggesting that the shower stalls had risen up from beneath the floor. The shaking sensation that had roused Yuki was no hallucination—she had been jostled awake by the force of the shower stall coming out of the ground. With both hands, Yuki clutched the golden block she had found in her stall. She believed it to be a key item. Would she need to open a shoe locker and retrieve the footwear inside in order to escape? Did that make this an escape game? She lacked sufficient evidence to paint a full picture. Yuki remained cautious as she walked. The shower stall opened onto an area replete with baths. To list the things that were visible: First of all, there was heavy steam akin to that of London, the city of fog. The steam dampened Yuki’s skin as she moved ahead, and it severely limited how much she was able to see. The floor was completely tiled. Due to the aforementioned steam, it was plenty wet; anyone walking without sufficient care would likely trip and fall. Perhaps the floor would be better described as a path, as it was extremely narrow in width due to the individual baths lining either side. Yuki tried scooping the contents of one bath, only to discover that it was normal hot water. There was a medicinal bath, a Jacuzzi, and even something described as an electric bath here. Thinking back to how her bones had cracked when she’d woken up, Yuki contemplated taking a dip while she was still uninjured but ultimately passed on the idea. Here and there, Yuki also spotted multiple shower stalls like the one in which she had woken up. The door of every last stall was open, indicating that Yuki had come out of the starting gate later than the other players. A short while later, Yuki stumbled upon those “other players.” She heard the sounds of people in a bath in front of her. Yuki squinted to get a clearer look. The distance made it difficult to tell, but there seemed to be three human figures in a bath farther down the path. The sounds suggested they were not pouring water on themselves, but rather moving around inside the bath. Yuki approached, and as soon as she got close enough to identify human silhouettes, the noises ceased, suggesting that the other players had noticed her. She continued forward, when all of a sudden— “Who are you?” A voice shot through the steam. It was a low voice tinged with caution. Even though it was rather quiet, Yuki had no problem hearing it, perhaps because the sound waves were being amplified by all the water. “Oh, um, I just—” Yuki was going to say she had just woken up, but she found herself unable to finish her sentence. The moment after she opened her mouth, one of the silhouettes made a motion, resulting in the sound of something cutting through the air. (16/41) Yuki instantly ducked. A gust of air passed over her head. Moments later, she heard the clanging of an object bouncing on the tile floor. Yuki turned in the direction of the sound, but the thick steam prevented her from identifying the projectile. She could have walked over to it but decided instead to focus her attention on where it had originated from. Yuki turned back around. The three silhouettes splashed out of the bath. While paying careful attention to her footing, Yuki chased after them. Since she was keeping her eyes on the floor, she spotted a fourth player crouching next to the edge of the bath. The fourth player swung at Yuki’s legs. Even through the steam, Yuki could tell that they were holding on to something, so she reflexively removed her legs from the floor—by diving forward. While in the air, she threw her shoe-locker key into a bath so it wouldn’t weigh her down in a fight. The same moment the block hit the water with a splash, Yuki landed on her hands; she turned around while sliding across the tile floor. The fourth player was already inches away. Yuki grabbed her by the wrist, which was moving toward Yuki’s face. Although she had successfully stopped the oncoming attack, because she hadn’t adopted a proper defensive posture, the force caused her to collapse backward. The player grabbed Yuki’s shoulder and rested her knees on Yuki’s stomach. Their faces were in close proximity, close enough that they could see each other through the steam. Yuki’s eyes widened in shock—was this player a boy? But then she immediately walked back that thought. Although the player had a boyish face, Yuki didn’t need to rip off the towel wrapped around her opponent to tell that her body was clearly a woman’s. Although the player looked exceedingly boyish, she was a girl. Yuki breathed a sigh of relief. The organizers hadn’t altered the rules of the games to allow prepubescent boys to participate. Still grasping her attacker’s right wrist, Yuki cast her gaze at the girl’s hand. It was wrapped around a weapon—a mirror shard. Just then, Yuki remembered that her shower stall had been equipped with a mirror. Her opponent had broken one and was using a shard from it as a knife. Yuki also noticed some kind of fabric between the shard and the girl’s hand—it was a scrap of a towel wrapped around the blade to form a makeshift grip. As Yuki telepathically sent the girl praise for her resourcefulness, the very next moment— The girl loosened her grip on the mirror shard, and as a natural result, gravity took hold, sending the knife plunging downward. Dodging it was no issue. Although the girl was on top of her, Yuki had the freedom to move her head. But the problem was that Yuki inadvertently closed her eyes at the sight of the object falling toward her. When someone in close proximity was trying to harm you, wincing was far more disgraceful than getting stabbed in the face. A stinging pain ran from Yuki’s right cheek into her cheekbone. She had taken a punch. Right after Yuki opened her eyes, the second punch landed. Her vision shook. As soon as the shaking stopped, she saw the girl raise her left hand—a sign that she was going to throw a punch from her left. Yuki attempted to stick out her right hand to guard against the attack, but her position underneath the girl presented an issue; on its way up, her arm got caught on the edge of the bath. Since her right shoulder was pressed against the bath, her arm’s range of motion was constrained. Her immediate priority was to put some distance between herself and her opponent. Even as she took a fourth and a fifth punch, Yuki put all her strength into moving her legs, managing to shift herself a few inches to the left along with her attacker. Then Yuki threw a right counterpunch at the girl’s face. The girl was focused solely on attacking and hadn’t noticed Yuki getting in position to counterattack, so the punch caught her unawares. Seizing the opening, Yuki pulled down the girl by the shoulders, lifting her upper body with her back muscles to land a headbutt. The girl reacted as any living being would—she bent over and recoiled, thereby shifting her center of gravity backward. The next moment, Yuki thrust her hands at the girl’s chest and successfully got the girl off her. Now it was Yuki’s turn to get on top of her opponent, whose back had hit the tile floor. As she did so, she shrewdly grabbed the mirror knife the girl had dropped and brought it against the girl’s neck, pushing it forward to the point that the tiniest amount of extra force would cut into flesh. The girl stopped resisting. She hadn’t breathed her last—she was admitting defeat. “Who are you?” Yuki asked, repeating the same words she had been asked earlier. “Why did the other three run away? Why did you stay behind?” The boyish girl offered no answer. “Answer me,” Yuki prodded. “As I was trying to say earlier, I just woke up. I have no clue what this game is about, so I’d appreciate you telling me everything you know.” “…Huh?” The girl showed a confused reaction. “You ain’t with the entryway crew?” “Entryway?” “A new player…? At this point in the game?” The girl seemed taken aback. “Sorry, but I’m a heavy sleeper. I’m always late to the party.” “…………” Following a prolonged silence, the girl replied, “My bad.” (17/41) After seeing the will to fight leave the girl’s face, Yuki lowered her blade. She picked up the shoe-locker key she had thrown into the bath and followed the girl, who had beckoned her to come with. The boyish girl introduced herself as Azuma. “This here’s my seventh game. Nice to meetcha.” In these games, it was a fairly common occurrence for players to exchange pleasantries with someone they had tried to kill just moments prior. Finding nothing unusual with it, Yuki responded with a “nice to meet you” of her own. Then she attempted to introduce herself. “I’m—” “Yuki, yeah?” “Huh? Have we met before?” “Nah, first time. But I’ve heard talk of a veteran player who’s got the look of a phantom. The stories are right—you’re pretty damn strong.” Azuma touched her neck. She had gotten cut during their earlier grappling match. Yuki had never before encountered a stranger who knew her name. Now that she’d reached her thirtieth game, perhaps she was gradually entering the ranks of the heavyweight players. “Glad you ain’t an enemy,” Azuma said. “As you suspected, I’m Yuki. This game is my thirtieth. It’s an important occasion, so I need to be giving it my all.” “Your thirtieth, huh? That’s a milestone.” The girl seemed to be aware of the Wall of Thirty. “By the way, where are we going?” Yuki asked Azuma, who was walking a few paces ahead. “Somewhere to use this?” Yuki held out her shoe-locker key. “Nope. We’re headin’ in the opposite direction.” “……?” “We’re here.” The two girls reached a section of the bathhouse where the steam appeared far denser than elsewhere. Yuki charged through, following after Azuma. Although no more than a yard separated them, Yuki’s vision was so constrained that she would probably lose sight of Azuma if she looked away for even a second. “Who goes there?” asked someone through the steam. “Not a suspicious soul,” Azuma replied. After that, Azuma and the mysterious voice had a back-and-forth conversation. Yuki realized Azuma had used a code phrase earlier—if someone failed to give the correct response, they would be branded an enemy. “You may pass,” said the voice. Azuma and Yuki continued walking. Soon the steam thinned, the air cooled, and a soft light filled the area. And before Yuki’s eyes appeared… “…An open-air bath?” “Welcome to our base.” The area consisted of a single large bath that was surrounded by rocks. The water reached slightly above Yuki’s knees. Around the bath was a grove of trees, and beyond that, Yuki could see a wall made of tall stalks of bamboo. That probably indicated the boundary of the game venue. Azuma and Yuki proceeded deeper into the base. After sloshing through the water for quite some time, they reached the innermost section of the base, where Azuma’s teammates had gathered. Upon noticing Azuma, the other players welcomed her back. Some of them turned to look at Yuki, so Yuki returned their stares with a nod and a “hello.” As the girls offered nods in response, Yuki sized them up. There were nine of them, which meant the three people from earlier had not been the entire rest of the team. Factoring in the lookout waiting inside the steam and other players who had possibly gone out to the indoor bath area, Yuki estimated the team consisted of fifteen players. Like her, the majority of them were unclothed and wearing only a towel for defense, but among them were— “Huh?” Yuki reacted. “Hey, Azuma…” “Yeah?” “Some of the girls here are wearing bathrobes—where did those come from?” “Ah… We stole ’em off enemy players. Seems like a few were in the changing room.” “There’s a changing room?” “Yep. Haven’t seen it ourselves, though.” Azuma lowered herself into the water until her shoulders were submerged. “Take a dip,” she suggested. Yuki did as instructed. “I know I’m repeatin’ myself, but… My bad,” Azuma said, lowering her head. “Didn’t occur to me there’d still be someone who’d just woken up. But now that I think about it, there’s no way the enemy would act solo. Sorry for gettin’ carried away and treatin’ you like an enemy.” “Don’t apologize.” Yuki motioned with her hands to show she had no hard feelings. “Nobody got hurt, so don’t let it get to you.” Azuma nodded. “By the way, how long has it been since the game started?” “Can’t say for sure without any clocks around, but no less than a few hours. You’re probably the last to wake up.” Yuki was astonished at her tardiness. Although she was no stranger to being late for the start of a game, she had never overslept by several hours. It was no surprise there had been a misunderstanding. Why had she woken up so late this time? Was it really just coincidence that she had fallen into a deeper sleep than usual? Or was it deliberate intervention at the hands of the organizers? She rubbed her stomach. “I’ll give you a rundown of the rules,” Azuma continued, “but before that, I want you to agree to one thing.” “What?” “Mind leavin’ that shoe-locker key of yours with us?” Yuki looked to her side. A block of pure gold sat atop a rock. Yuki believed it to be this game’s key item. “That means joinin’ our team,” Azuma said. “You’ll realize it after hearin’ about the current state of the game, but it’s near impossible to clear this game solo. There’s another team besides ours, but they stopped recruitin’ new members. It’s a win-win for you and us. Sound good?” “Sure,” Yuki replied. Her immediate priority was to learn the rules of the game. She handed her shoe-locker key to Azuma. “Thanks.” Azuma accepted the block and passed it to another teammate, who then disappeared into the grove surrounding the bath, presumably heading to a stash of shoe-locker keys. Azuma began to explain, “This game’s largely divided into three areas.” (18/41) The first area was the open-air bath, their current location. It consisted of a single large bath surrounded by a grove of trees, and it served as the base for Azuma’s team. With no shortage of hiding spots, and a wall of steam covering the entrance, it was easily defendable while being difficult to attack. The second area was where players had first woken up—the indoor bath area, which featured rows of individual baths. The facility had likely been specifically prepared for this game, as it had an unusual layout and was larger than an ordinary bathhouse. A small number of shoe-locker keys had been hidden inside the baths, so Azuma and other players had been conducting a search when Yuki first spotted them. The third area lay beyond the exit to the indoor bath and stretched from the changing room to the entryway. This section of the venue was thought to contain shoe lockers that could be opened with their keys. Azuma’s team had yet to see it for themselves, so that was information they had obtained from what she had dubbed the “entryway crew.” Like with the open-air bath, the entrance to the area was covered with thick steam, making it a perfect spot to set up an ambush. There was only one entrance between the open-air bath and the indoor bath area, and one entrance between the indoor bath area and the changing room. As far as Azuma’s team could tell from their investigation, there weren’t any secret passageways or doors. “The most important point is that this is an escape game,” Azuma continued. “You’ve probably figured this out by now, but those blocks are key items. Victory means bringin’ ’em out of the bath area, reachin’ the entryway, gettin’ footwear from the shoe lockers, and exitin’ the building.” Yuki nodded. “Thing is, unlike normal escape games, there ain’t any traps. We haven’t looked everywhere, so we aren’t totally sure, but we haven’t run into a single one. Instead, there’s an even nastier element to this game… Was your block in your shower stall?” Yuki had no reason to lie, so she replied, “Yep.” “There wasn’t one in mine. If you ask around, you’ll hear answers goin’ both ways. That means there ain’t enough keys for everyone. So—” “There’s a hard cap on the number of players who can escape,” Yuki finished Azuma’s sentence. In many games, the number of victors was determined in advance, perhaps to make balancing the difficulty easier. In Yuki’s experience, these kinds of games had a survival rate hovering around 70 percent. As such, there were likely only seven-tenths as many shoe-locker keys as players. “And because there’s a cap, players will end up fighting over the keys,” Yuki continued. “That makes this a competitive game of sorts, too.” “Yuki, say you woke up earlier and found nothin’ in your stall. What would you do?” “Well, I’d probably try to find the exit.” “And say you reached the entryway and found out you needed a key. Would you go back to the indoor bath area?” “I wouldn’t,” Yuki responded immediately. “I’d wait in the entryway for someone to show up with a key.” There were two main strategies for clearing a game with a key item: Make the effort to search for the item or steal one from another player. Anyone confident in their own strength would find the latter option to be far less of a hassle. “Figures. I’d do the same,” Azuma responded. “So right when the game started, a bunch of players crowded round the entryway. Each time an unsuspectin’ sheep came by, they’d all fight over that one key. Yuki, what would your plan be in that situation?” “Form an alliance.” Once again, Yuki answered instantly. “Fighting over a key each and every time is way too inefficient. I’d work together with a number of players and try to secure enough keys for our group.” “Exactly. So the entryway players banded together. And ’cause they can’t escape until they get enough keys for all of ’em, more and more players and keys gathered in the entryway. And the important fact is that the larger the team, the stronger it is. That’s why they kept mergin’ with others, causin’ their numbers to swell.” Mimicking what many little kids often did in a bathtub, Azuma used her towel to form an air bubble in the water, visibly representing the word swell. “But the growth ain’t sustainable,” she continued. “After all, people started fightin’ over keys because there weren’t enough for everyone. So the entryway crew stopped recruitin’ new members when they were comin’ up on the supposed limit.” “…How big is their team?” “Thirty, by our estimates. They’re the largest bloc of players in this game and make up the majority.” Yuki did some calculations in her head. If there were thirty keys, that would place the total number of players at fewer than fifty. Although this game wasn’t as large as Candle Woods, it still boasted a sizable player count. Azuma adjusted her posture in the bath, as though trying to avoid a leg cramp. “That’s pretty much how things’ve panned out,” she said. “It’s not like I saw it all go down, so it could be different…but probably not by much. Anyway, we know two things for sure: One, there’s a team by the entryway. And two, we’re the ones who missed out on joinin’ ’em.” Azuma looked around to her teammates before continuing. “In other words, we’re the latecomers. We’re in the same boat as you. If we walked to the exit with keys, the entryway crew would take ’em away from us, so we had no choice but to hide out here. The most we can do is search the baths and find as many keys as we can.” Azuma made eye contact with Yuki. “That’s all. Any questions?” “Right…” Yuki took a moment to gather her thoughts. “You said the other team has around thirty players by your estimates, but what are you basing that on? The numbers carved into the blocks?” Each of the shoe-locker keys had a number on it. Yuki’s had the number 9. It wasn’t difficult to imagine that the number of keys equaled the highest number of people who could escape. “That’s part of it, but it’s also ’cause of the number of shower stalls. There’s around fifty, so if you take the average survival rate of seventy percent, you get thirty-five. Take away a few for any keys that might’ve already been used, and you get thirty.” That makes sense, Yuki thought. The number of phone-booth-size shower stalls where they had woken up would be equivalent to the number of players. “How many players are on your team?” Yuki asked. “Includin’ you and me, twelve. There ain’t any teams besides us and the entryway crew. And I doubt there are any neutral players or anyone who’s still asleep.” “How many keys have you collected?” “Yours makes ten. Eight were from our shower stalls, and two we found in the baths.” Yuki thought that was a lot. Assuming there were thirty keys in total, ten was quite a large number of them. As long as their keys were kept safe in the base, it would be impossible for the entryway team to escape with all their members. Which meant the other team’s next move would likely be— “What stance has the entryway team taken against yours? Have they tried to steal your keys?” “Nope. At least, not yet. Both our teams are peacefully searchin’ the baths. We’ve fought over newly discovered keys, but those were minor scuffles at most. The other team doesn’t know we’ve got ten of ’em, so they probably think searchin’ will get ’em across the finish line. “Still…” Azuma changed the tone of her voice. “I doubt that’ll last for long. At some point, they’ll get impatient and charge in here. That’s why we’ve been gettin’ ready…” As Azuma said that, she grabbed the mirror knife that had caused Yuki great trouble earlier. Yuki had held it once herself, so she knew it was not just a glass shard wrapped in cloth—it was more than sharp enough to cut through human flesh. “That’s impressive,” Yuki said. “It’s not the most durable weapon, but other than that, it seems more than usable.” “Glad to hear such praise from a pro like you. But…what’s your honest take? You think we’ve got a chance to survive?” Yuki looked at Azuma. Then she glanced around at Azuma’s teammates, who were now her own teammates. “No worries,” Yuki replied. “While we have a disadvantage in numbers, we have plenty of advantages, too. That includes these mirror knives and the fact that the enemy will be forced to go on the offensive. And besides…I can’t speak for the others, but you’re quite the fighter, Azuma. I think we can do this.” Yuki hadn’t said that as lip service. The other team had thirty players, while theirs had twelve. Yuki had faced such a disadvantage several times in the past. Besides, this game wasn’t strictly competitive—it was an escape game. There was no need to confront the other team head-on. Sidestepping the other side to escape was another path to victory. In Yuki’s mind, this situation did not constitute a predicament. However, while she had expressed reassuring words aloud, she did feel a degree of unease internally. First of all, she was off her game. The gears in her body felt out of place. Her actions were stiff, due to thoughts of the Wall of Thirty clouding her mind. Her poor condition was evident in the fact that she had swallowed the wrong capsule and that her right cheek still stung from Azuma’s punches. Yuki’s mentor, Hakushi, had referred to the Wall of Thirty as a “curse,” and at this very moment, Yuki was feeling adverse effects commensurate with that description. She was also anxious about the leader commanding the entryway team. Not only were they in charge of a large group of thirty players, but the rules had no stipulations for alliances, which meant the possibility of betrayal was always on the table. Managing such a team would be no easy feat. Yuki figured that whoever was leading the charge was no amateur—it had to be a player of a similar caliber as herself, someone with a wealth of experience who had played in more than twenty or thirty games. In all likelihood, it was someone whom Yuki had met at least once before. The question was—who exactly was the enemy commander? (19/41) Mishiro sat on a massage chair in front of the shoe lockers. (20/41) The massage chair was not in operation, nor was it powered on. It would be the height of foolishness to use one in the middle of a death game. Mishiro was sitting on it for two reasons: to be in full view of the shoe lockers and to demonstrate her standing to other players. Mishiro glanced to the side. The wood plank floor led to a step, beyond which was a tile floor—the entryway of the building. Although Mishiro couldn’t see the exit from her current position, she remembered it was around ten yards away. That meant a physical distance of ten yards was all that stood between her and clearing the game. Yet the reason Mishiro did not head for the exit could be found in the odor of burnt flesh in the air. The corpses of five players lay in the entryway, all of them electrocuted. Apparently, a high-voltage current was flowing through the tile floor. Three of the players had died before Mishiro had arrived. After that, a fourth player had fallen in and died in a struggle against another player. Then a fifth had shown up, asserting that touching the floor with only one foot at a time would keep players safe from the current, before being proved wrong in the most gruesome of ways. Another player had fashioned wooden shoes out of floor planks she had destroyed, but after two guns set up around the exit turned to point at her—likely a trap to deter rule breakers—she was forced to abandon her escape in disappointment. Everyone who had seen that knew they couldn’t escape without following the proper procedure—obtaining the necessary shoes. Mishiro looked out in front of her. Shoe lockers filled the area. They were small compartments, as one would expect for a communal bathhouse. Each individual locker had a hole in the bottom left for a block, the majority of which had already been filled. Mishiro had confirmed that all open lockers contained shoes, along with the fact that wearing them in the entryway would prevent a player from getting shocked. That was why Mishiro could clear the game right now if she wanted to. The reason she chose not to was because she had more than her own life in her hands. Mishiro was leading a large group composed of the majority of players in the game. She couldn’t leave until their team had collected enough keys for everyone. Since their alliance was not bound by any rules, she would not be penalized for betraying her team and clearing the game on her own, but considering it was possible she could run into her current teammates in a future game, deserting them would not be a good idea. The drawbacks and benefits of betraying them aside, she had no intention of making such a petty-minded play. Mishiro heard footsteps from beyond the shoe lockers. A girl came flying through the curtains that divided the entryway area and the changing room. “We did it!” she yelled, rushing up to Mishiro with the same energy. “We wiped out their entire team! That’s five extra for us!” The girl showed off the items in her hands to Mishiro: five bright, shiny shoe-locker keys. This player went by the name of Riko. She was a tiny girl reminiscent of a small animal, and she was Mishiro’s protégée. They had met in Mishiro’s thirtieth game, and Riko had grown greatly fond of her mentor. “Excellent work,” Mishiro replied. Riko inserted the five keys into the corresponding shoe lockers. Her hands now empty, she returned to Mishiro. “Please do the thing!” Riko closed her eyes, and an expression of eager anticipation formed on her face. “…………” Meanwhile, Mishiro looked slightly troubled. After quickly glancing at her left hand, she brushed it over her protégé’s head. Riko’s face melted with glee. “I am surprised you do not tire of this…,” Mishiro said, moving her hand back and forth. The petting served as a reward. As their mentor-protégée relationship evolved, at some point Riko had started demanding that Mishiro stroke her head. Mishiro had no idea what was so delightful about having one’s head rubbed, but judging by Riko’s expression of bliss, it evidently brought her pleasure. Riko gestured at her neck with a finger, as if telling Mishiro, Here too. “…………” Mishiro looked down at her right hand. Then she used it to tickle Riko’s neck. Riko’s face exploded with ecstasy so intense that it would be almost inappropriate to show the game’s audience. “I did not get a prosthetic for this purpose…” Mishiro sighed, her left hand on Riko’s head and her right hand on Riko’s neck. This was a regular occurrence. The two of them were close enough to meet not only in games but also in their private lives, and since Riko would demand a reward for the most trivial of achievements, such as arriving to their meeting on time, Mishiro had given countless head rubs. On top of that, Riko had grown more demanding as of late and would request extra services like neck tickles. Although that seemed to be enough to satisfy her for now, if the trend continued, Mishiro would possibly need to acquire a third arm. Riko was a capable, hard worker, so without these demands, she would be the perfect, adorable protégée. As her hands were getting tired, Mishiro pulled the plug on the reward. “That’s the end of that.” She gently patted Riko’s cheeks. “Wah… Thank you so much…” “The game is still ongoing. You must straighten up.” “…Right!” Riko slapped her cheeks. “Should we go attack the team over there next?” “No, we’ll stand by for a while longer. The situation has changed.” “Huh? Did something happen?” “The reconnaissance squad we sent out has yet to return. It is fair to assume they have been captured—or rather, killed. Although the enemy has only been responding to our attacks up until now, they have finally shown a will to go on the offensive.” “Does that mean they’re attacking as their last resort?” “Perhaps. Or someone new may have joined their team. It’s possible a player who recently woke up is influencing them.” “…This late in the game?” The players in this game had started at different times. They had been stuck inside shower stalls until being brought aboveground. In this game, the early bird got the worm. At first glance, it would seem unfair for players to wake at different times, but perhaps the organizers thought it would make things more entertaining. In reality, the game had progressed in a way that completely diverged from the original ruleset. “If the reconnaissance squad got captured…that means the secret’s out.” Riko looked toward the changing room area. “We weren’t attempting to hide anything, so there’s no issue,” Mishiro replied. “You should take this opportunity to rest. Why not make use of this bathhouse and take a dip in the water? See if you can locate any unrecovered keys while you do.” “You got it!” Riko gave a forceful salute, slamming her hand against her forehead. “See ya!” In the same manner in which she came, Riko stomped on the wood planks and disappeared. Freedom from the girl brought a certain melancholy to Mishiro, like how one would feel after escaping a crowd of people. Mishiro leaned against the chair and muttered, “She’s a real bundle of energy…” Riko was the kind of girl who absorbed the vitality of those around her. Simply talking to her for two or three minutes wore Mishiro out. Mishiro was proud of her ability to manipulate others, honed through playing game after game, but it failed to work on Riko and Riko alone. Instead, whenever the two of them were together, Mishiro was always the one being pushed around. Still, having Riko around was a delight. Although Riko was undoubtedly a handful, Mishiro was quite happy to have someone fawn over her so genuinely. That was something unfathomable for her past self, who could only command others with an overbearing attitude and form surface-level relationships. Riko’s presence made Mishiro feel she had achieved considerable growth as a player. It made her think it was well worth it to have overcome the struggles she had faced with the Wall of Thirty. “…Still…,” Mishiro murmured, staring at the ceiling. She pondered the existence of a new player—someone who had woken up several hours late, when the endgame was nigh. If such a player did exist, she must have been quite capable, considering she had rallied the open-air bath team to battle. Who could it possibly be? (21/41) Yuki and her team were doing all they could to prepare for a final showdown. First, they took inventory of their current firepower. Their team consisted of twelve players, including herself and Azuma. Besides Yuki, everyone on the team was a rookie with fewer than ten games under their belt. Azuma was the only one with any semblance of combat skills, while the others could accomplish only as much as a normal teenage girl. To ensure she would not mistake her teammates for the enemy, Yuki committed to memory the faces and names of the others. In terms of other resources, their team had a few dozen mirror knives, like the one that had given Yuki trouble earlier. They also had access to several traps that made use of natural objects in the grove surrounding the open-air bath. These had not been set up from the start of the game; rather, the team had crafted them at some point to protect their stash of keys. Yuki found the traps to be quite impressive and inferred that the team would be more suited for defense than offense. The girls then investigated the surrounding terrain—the grove, the heavily steamed section around the entrance, and the indoor bath area as well. In the course of their investigation, they ran into a group of girls from the entryway team who had likely been sent as a scout force. With only mirror knives on hand, Yuki’s team decided that killing them would be too much of a pain, so they settled for knocking them out cold and tossing them into shower stalls. The enemy players would remain unconscious for several hours, and Yuki’s team impeded them further by using objects to block the shower doors from outside and wounding the girls so that they would each be unable to use one of their legs. Realistically, it was safe to consider them out of the game. Their success at reducing the enemy’s numbers raised the morale of the open-air bath team, even if they had taken out only a handful of players. After returning to base, they began a strategy meeting. In light of their terrain advantage and the fact that their team was more suited for countering than attacking, everyone agreed to adopt a strategy of an offensive retreat. As the most capable melee fighters, Azuma and Yuki would comprise the vanguard, while the other ten players would bring up the rear. Their plan was to gradually whittle down the enemy’s numbers by pulling back the front line of battle through guerrilla tactics, such as making hit-and-run attacks in the steam and throwing knives from afar. And so Yuki’s team took up their positions and waited for the time to come. (22/41) Around the entrance to the outdoor bath, the cool air leaking in from outside lowered the temperature, making it easier for water vapor to condense into droplets, thereby resulting in heavier steam. Yuki could understand the principle behind this phenomenon thanks to her night classes, where she’d been slowly expanding her knowledge base. That being said, she hadn’t actually been able to put this together on her own, making sense of things only after Azuma had explained them to her. At any rate, Yuki and Azuma were hidden in a wall of steam, where visibility was so bad that they could barely see the space in front of them. Being the two best fighters on their team, they would engage in guerrilla tactics when the entryway team passed through. “Think we can pull this off?” Azuma asked. Although she was right next to Yuki, the heavy steam prevented Yuki from making out the other girl’s expression. “Probably,” Yuki answered. Victory would mean ending the game with a majority of their team alive. It did not mean decimating the entryway team—that was never going to happen. If they managed to cull the enemy forces by a certain amount, the other team would likely seek a ceasefire. The biggest issue in the game was that the number of players who could survive was fewer than the total number of players. Put another way, if the number of living players became less than or equal to the maximum possible number of survivors, the remaining players would be guaranteed to clear the game. At that point, it would be unreasonable to battle to the death until one side was completely wiped out. Both sides would benefit from negotiations once the total number of players had decreased a certain amount. Currently, the open-air bath team had twelve players, while the entryway team had about thirty. Since the number of remaining shoe-locker keys was also estimated to be thirty, it would take twelve players dying for the game to end. In practice, however, both sides would probably want more leeway and wait until fifteen or twenty players had bitten the dust, but regardless, the teams would begin peaceful negotiations long before either side was wiped out. Both teams would certainly feel resentment toward each other after losing their allies, but no player would be foolish enough to throw away a guaranteed victory for that silly reason. As such, the game would end in an amicable settlement with a key-sharing agreement. Thus, the conflict that was about to begin was neither a campaign of annihilation nor a war to protect shoe-locker keys from the enemy. It was a battle to determine which team would shoulder a larger share of the remaining twelve deaths. That was another reason that Yuki’s team had settled on a defensive strategy. They would win not by wiping out their opponents but by chipping away at the enemy forces until they reached the golden number. “…………” Inside the wall of steam, Yuki and Azuma waited anxiously. Much time had passed, but the entryway team showed no signs of appearing. Since their scout force had been taken out, were they taking a cautious approach? Whatever the reason, Yuki had time on her hands. Her minutes alone with Azuma ticked on. When there was nothing else to fill the time, Yuki had a go-to topic of conversation with other players. She would ask why they had joined this industry, where human life had little value. Yuki went so far as to open her mouth, but before she could speak— “Hey.” Azuma preempted her. Forced to quickly change the shape of her lips, Yuki responded, “What?” “Why’d you decide to play death games for a living?” Yuki was taken aback at being posed the very question she had planned to ask. “Um… Well…” The phantom girl tried to answer, but— “……” “…Yuki?” Yuki brought her hand to her throat. She couldn’t say it. The same thing had happened with Mr. Kaneko. Out of form as she was, she couldn’t bring herself to say that she was aiming to clear ninety-nine games. Instead, Yuki offered an alternative reason. “…I guess it’s because there weren’t any other paths for me. I didn’t mesh well with the normal world. I joined these games wanting an escape, and things progressed from there.” “Huh. Same as me, then.” “Really?” “Yeah. I mean, ain’t it obvious? You think a forward, masculine girl like me can fit into society?” That was a difficult question to answer. “Well, I don’t see a problem,” Yuki said, going for a diplomatic response. “It’s not like you refer to yourself in the third person or anything like that, at least.” “Ha-ha, you’re right about that… But I guess for me, it’s less about not fittin’ in and more about not wantin’ to fit in.” There was a tinge of emotion in Azuma’s voice. “Dunno why. Wearin’ a uniform, actin’ friendly… None of that stuff should be impossible or painful, but for some reason, it never worked for me. It’s much easier to slash at someone’s neck to kill.” “What would you do if someone said they’d free you from these games?” “Huh?” “Let’s say someone offered to find you a proper job so you wouldn’t have to play in these dangerous games anymore. How would you respond?” Of course, Yuki had Mr. Kaneko’s proposal on her mind. She just wanted to put the question out there. A swatting noise emitted from where Azuma stood; she must have thrown a punch. “I’d give ’em a good smackdown,” she answered. “Sure, I had no other path, but I’m here ’cause I wanna be. I’d be pissed off if someone said they’d find me a ‘proper’ job, like I’m some kinda charity case. An asshole like that deserves a punch.” “I totally get you.” “You askin’ that ’cause someone said somethin’ to you?” “No, that’s not it…” Just as Yuki was trying to play it off, her mouth froze. She raised her guard. “They’re here.” “I noticed, too,” Azuma said. Yuki sensed a large number of players approaching, heading straight for the two of them. Yuki grabbed the mirror knife at her feet with both hands. Azuma did the same. “Let’s do this.” “Yeah.” After that brief back-and-forth, the two of them fell silent. They steeled themselves for the imminent battle. The knives in their hands were not meant for throwing. It would be near impossible to hit a target in such heavy steam, and all that would accomplish was informing the enemy of their position. Instead, the smart decision would be to wait until the enemy came within reach of their blades. So the two of them waited. Before long, they sensed not only the presence of the enemy but also the sound of footsteps paired with sloshing water. Yuki strained her ears— “……?” That’s odd, Yuki thought. Are there that many of them? There were far more sets of footsteps than Yuki had expected. It wasn’t just ten or twenty players—it was closer to thirty. Azuma and the others had estimated there were around thirty people on the opposing team, which meant virtually all of the enemy’s forces were oncoming. That also meant that few players were currently on guard in the entryway. To make a comparison to soccer, it would be as if every single player on a team, sans the goalkeeper, was around the other team’s goal. Not even the elementary schoolers would make such a thoughtless play. If those guards failed to notice Yuki’s team slipping past them—a possibility made quite likely by the steam—they would allow their enemy to reach the entryway. Their defenses were stretched far too thin. Yuki considered the situation. Was the enemy trying to make them think the entryway was vulnerable? Maybe the guards there were few in number but excelled at combat and would stop anyone from getting through. That would be the opposite formation as that of the open-air bath team, which had placed their best fighters out in front. If Yuki’s team assumed the entryway was vulnerable and attempted to charge through, the enemy’s rearguard would stop them and buy time for the vanguard of thirty players to return and launch an attack from both flanks. That was quite possibly the enemy’s plan—to completely wipe out the open-air bath team. Or could it be—? The moment the second possibility crossed Yuki’s mind, she heard footsteps from the open-air bath. “Um… Azuma! Yuki!” Someone had called out to them in a whisper. Yuki turned in the direction of the voice and saw a silhouette in the steam. It was one of her teammates. “What’s up?” Azuma asked in a hushed voice. “Something strange is happening.” “What?” “There are sounds coming from the bamboo wall, like someone’s scraping it…” “…Huh…?” That reaction came not from Azuma but from Yuki. Yuki’s mind went completely blank, as if she’d spat out her soul with that one breath. Her head felt far heavier than the cloud of steam surrounding her. An intense shock came upon her hollow heart. A jumble of anger, regret, and embarrassment that made her want to hit herself. The exact same feeling had assaulted her in her previous game, along with the game before that. Why? Why didn’t I realize it? Why didn’t I check for myself? Yuki’s legs moved faster than she could think. Without paying any attention to her footing, she dashed into the open-air bath. “Wait… Yuki?!” A voice and the sound of footsteps came from behind. They were Azuma’s. The girl was following Yuki, but Yuki didn’t respond or even cast a backward glance. At this moment, she had no mental capacity to spare. Why? Once again, Yuki questioned herself. Azuma said that this game is largely divided into three areas. Why did you automatically believe that? Sure, you were impressed with her knack for fighting, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s a rookie in her seventh game. Why didn’t you think of the possibility she may have made an error in judgment? Why didn’t it occur to you to ask if there were really only three areas, or about any of the other rules? Isn’t questioning everything the secret to survival? How did you forget the key to being a player? When did you get so lazy? Before the final showdown, you closely investigated the soon-to-be battlefield—the open-air bath. That should’ve been plenty of time for you to get a look at the bamboo wall. Why did you not think anything of it? You knew the venue was a bathhouse. So why didn’t you think of the obvious possibility? What’s wrong with your brain? Is it made of bamboo? Don’t you dare blame this on the Wall of Thirty. Unbelievable. You’re such a bonehead. Yuki escaped the steam and leaped into the open-air bath. She crossed the water, sprinted through the grove, and rushed at the bamboo wall as if she was going to tackle it. The wall stood at nearly three times her height, and although there were no protrusions to use as handholds or footholds, Yuki scaled the wall with stunning technique. She peeked over to the other side. Beyond the wall was a second open-air bath—along with a large contingent of players from the entryway team. (23/41) Mishiro opened her eyes while sitting on the massage chair. Before her were two sets of shoe lockers, standing side by side. Each held thirty-five pairs of shoes across seven columns and five rows, adding up to seventy pairs in total. Considering the total number of shoes, as well as the number of shower stalls set up in both baths, the starting number of players was likely one hundred. Adding together the sixty-five members of the entryway team and the dozen or so members of the open-air bath team, the current player count stood at just under eighty. The shoe lockers to Mishiro’s left were opened with blocks of pure gold, while those to her right were unlocked with blocks of pure silver. Furthermore, each set of keys was numbered independently of the other. That was why, despite the game starting with a hundred players, the largest key number was 35. As long as players remained in the open-air bath and the indoor bath areas, it would be difficult to realize the truth of there being two baths. Beyond the shoe lockers were separate sets of curtains that led to the two changing rooms. Bathhouse curtains normally indicated men and women, but since all the players were girls, the curtains in the venue did not separate baths based on gender. Rather, the word gold was written on the left set of curtains, while the word silver was on the right. Naturally, the keys hidden in the respective baths matched that color. Mishiro’s alliance had just wiped out the team taking shelter in the silver bath. Their next target was the team in the golden bath, but since they now had full access to the silver bath, Mishiro had proposed a plan to attack them from the rear, going through the bamboo wall of the silver open-air bath. Their ambush would be highly effective as long as the enemy didn’t realize more than one bath existed. The sound of energetic footsteps from the golden bath’s changing room informed Mishiro of the results of their strategy. “We did it, Mishiro!” Riko dashed out of the changing room, brushing away the curtains with her head. “Your strategy worked! We stole the keys from the open-air bath team!” Mishiro was surprised. “Really…? So quickly?” “Yes. It was a big success!” That was remarkably easy, Mishiro thought. The players in the silver bath put up much more of a fight. “Are there any casualties on our side?” Mishiro asked. “Only minor ones! A few girls were injured, but everyone’s alive!” “How many keys did the team in the golden bath have?” “Get ready for this—they had a whopping ten of them!” Riko stuck out both of her hands. Mishiro glanced at the shoe lockers. They had nearly completed the set of silver keys and had already gathered a majority of the golden ones. Ten more keys meant that they would have access to enough shoes for everyone on the entryway team to escape. Mishiro then looked at Riko’s hands, which were thrust out in front of her. All ten of her fingers were splayed out to indicate ten keys, but Riko had not a single one of them in her possession. “Where are the keys right now?” “The others split up and are bringing them back as we speak! They’re too heavy for me to carry all by myself!” After the successful raid on the silver bath team, Riko had returned with all five of the keys they had swiped. However, this time, they had obtained twice as many, and the density of gold was twice as much as that of silver. Indeed, it would be somewhat difficult for Riko to carry all ten by herself. “That’s all I have to report for now! Look forward to more good news!” Riko did not demand the usual reward—perhaps she thought there was no time for that—and turned on her heel. “Wait one moment,” Mishiro said, facing Riko’s back. “Where are you going now?” “Huh…? I figured I’d go back in and protect the keys. The enemy team will probably put up a desperate struggle…” That made sense to Mishiro. Since her team now had the necessary number of keys, the golden bath team would be stuck if they used the footwear to escape. That meant the enemy would have to strike back as soon as possible. Mishiro had no objections to Riko’s assessment. However… “You wait here,” Mishiro said. “Stand guard in my stead and ensure no weasel attempts to escape from under our noses.” “In your stead…?” “I will take your place.” Mishiro stood up from the massage chair. “It would be dishonorable if I did not at least show my face for the end.” The leaders who naturally emerged out of death games fell into one of two categories: “soldiers” who fought on the front lines, and “commanders” who issued orders from the rear. Although Mishiro fit the archetype of a commander, she had resolved to step forth into the open at critical junctures. That was because simply waiting at the rear for an entire game would make others think she was slacking off. Mishiro pushed Riko by the shoulders and made her sit on the massage chair. “No, but…,” Riko protested. “What is it?” “Are you sure about this, Mishiro? After all, this game is your…” Riko seemed concerned. Mishiro wondered what she was so worried about, before realizing that this game was a personal milestone. It appeared Riko was concerned that Mishiro was facing some sort of curse like the Wall of Thirty. “Players only face misfortune around their thirtieth game,” Mishiro said. “This game should present no issues for me.” Riko still looked worried, so Mishiro rubbed the girl’s head to forcibly shut down her protests. “I am counting on you,” Mishiro whispered into Riko’s ear. “As always, if anything should happen to me, you are free to go all out.” Riko nodded. Mishiro patted the girl on the shoulder, then turned her back to the entryway. (24/41) Yuki’s team fought their hearts out. (25/41) A second open-air bath. The implications of that were obvious. Just like how ordinary bathhouses had separate baths for men and women, this game also had two baths. Yuki’s team watched helplessly as players from the entryway team opened a hole in the bamboo wall and infiltrated their base, fully realizing that their plan had been foiled. The existence of two baths also meant the number of players—and enemies—was twice the amount they had estimated. While the large difference in team size certainly did Yuki’s team no favors, being attacked from both flanks was quite devastating. Since they’d been caught off guard by the shocking truth, they were unable to coordinate as things quickly fell apart. Despite the circumstances, Yuki’s team had still fought their hearts out. But these games offered no consolation prize. It took little time for the entryway team to steal the shoe-locker keys hidden in the grove and leave the open-air bath. The pitter-patters of more than forty sets of feet faded into the distance, leaving behind only the forlorn figures of the open-air bath team, who looked like they had just been mugged. (26/41) “Is…everyone here?” It was Azuma who called out to her teammates. Her voice sounded strained, as if she had gotten injured. “Respond if you are.” “I’m here,” Yuki answered. She was lying face up with arms and legs outstretched in the middle of the grove. Despite being a phantom, Yuki was out of breath. Her exhaustion resulted from her attempt to steal back the golden blocks from the entryway team. However, not even she could achieve success against a force numbering over forty strong. “Hiwada, here.” “Karin too.” Replies came from all over the open-air bath. “Eleven, huh?” Azuma said, confirming the numbers once the voices stopped. “Where’s Sugiyama?” “Over there,” someone replied. “…Um… She hit her head on a rock, so…” The girl trailed off. Not a single soul asked her to finish the sentence. Out of their team of twelve, eleven players had survived. In Yuki’s eyes, that was not a bad outcome. The raid force from earlier had probably been instructed only to steal shoe-locker keys, as twelve players were too many to attempt to kill. Although eleven was not a bad number of survivors, they were in dire straits. “My bad, team,” Azuma said. “Didn’t realize there were two bath areas…” “You shouldn’t apologize,” Yuki interrupted. That was her rule of thumb—players who gave a verbal apology had higher odds of dying. For that reason, even though Yuki also felt guilt at not having realized the truth, she dared not express it aloud. “Instead, let’s turn our eyes to the future. What will we do now?” Nobody offered a response. “The other team probably has enough keys,” Yuki continued. “Once that raid force reaches the entryway, it’s game over for us. The entryway team will escape with their members, and we’ll be left behind. This is no time to be lying down.” “…You’ve got a point there,” Azuma said. “At the very least, we have three different options. The first—do nothing. We keep quiet as the entryway team escapes, and then search for extra keys they don’t use or any keys that are still hidden in the baths. That should allow some of us to survive.” “Some of us…?” someone questioned. Exactly—choosing that option would mean fighting among themselves to claim the remaining spots for survivors. Yuki wanted that option to be the last resort, if at all possible. “The second—we chase after the enemy to steal back our keys,” Yuki continued. “Wait, there’s no way…” “Yeah, we did just lose to them. Which means there’s little chance of success. That rules out this option, too.” Yuki rose to her feet before going on. “The third—we charge into the entryway, all or nothing.” Suddenly, the air grew tense. “You’re suggestin’…a suicide attack?” Azuma asked. “There’s no reason we need to feel attached to our original keys. The entryway team has dozens of others, so we can use those instead. As long as we reach the entryway, they’re ours for the taking. Their defenses should be weak right now, so there’s some hope of success.” “‘Weak’…? Aren’t there around twenty of ’em who stayed behind?” Initially, they’d estimated there were thirty players on the entryway team. In light of the revelation of there being two baths, however, they’d adjusted that to sixty. Since the attacking raid force was composed of more than forty players, that left around twenty enemies standing by in the entryway. The calculation was an extremely simple one. Charging into enemy territory without a plan should have been an option to be avoided at all costs. The open-air bath team had made preparations so that they wouldn’t have to resort to that. But at this stage, Yuki couldn’t think of any other way out of their predicament. “I won’t force it on anyone,” Yuki said, looking around at the other girls, who appeared hesitant about the idea. “Only those of you who want to join, join.” She was fully aware that her voice sounded far colder than before. (27/41) Five girls raised their hands. Including Yuki, that made a total of six players. As their chances of success would rise with a larger group, Yuki wanted to persuade the remaining five players to join, but they were quite obstinate. It seemed they were counting on the possibility Yuki’s suicide mission would be met with a counterattack—with fewer players to fight over leftover keys, that meant higher odds of survival. Yuki didn’t have the time to try to convince them. Once those forty-plus players from earlier returned to the entryway, Yuki’s squad would truly have no chance of survival. They had to move ahead with their plan, even with only half of their original numbers. Since the entryway team had vanished through the bamboo wall into the other bath, Yuki’s squad decided to head through the bath they themselves were in. Although steam filled the area, the terrain of the game was extremely straightforward. As long as nobody got in their way, all they would have to do was run in a straight line toward the exit. The six players ran without exchanging any words. Shortly afterward, they reached the section of the room with heavy steam. “…Dammit…,” Yuki muttered. She was in a sour mood. Her heart had grown cold, but despite that, she couldn’t think straight. Although she sensed she was entering crisis mode, her thoughts wouldn’t clear. Her body felt heavy. A mysterious feeling of nausea spread through every inch of her body, as if she had woken up after less sleep than usual, or as if she had suffered a string of losses in mahjong or poker. She couldn’t shake off a certain doubt that pestered her mind. She was resisting with all her might to not voice it out loud. Yuki’s squad charged into the heavy cloud of steam. Although she felt signs of the enemy all around, she paid them no heed. She kept running to stave off her nausea. “Guh…” The groan came from Azuma, who was at the rear of the line. Yuki couldn’t help but react to the girl’s voice. Looking back, she saw that the five silhouettes that were supposed to be following her had been reduced to four. Behind them, Yuki sensed someone thrashing around violently on the tile floor—Azuma. The girl was resisting being restrained by members of the entryway team. “Don’t stop!” Yuki yelled at her four remaining teammates. “We can’t afford to let up now! Confuse the enemy and push through!” Although she thought she hadn’t made a great case, the other four began to move their legs again, as though intimidated into action. Of course, Yuki also resumed her flight. They had just arrived at the critical juncture. Yuki’s mind roared. Is this the end? Is this where I die? (28/41) Mishiro looked down at the player who had now become a corpse. The girl had the face of a boy and, in accordance with her appearance, had quite the vitality, too; it had required ten whole players to hold her down and drown her in a bath. “Let’s move on,” Mishiro instructed her teammates before chasing after the five players who had run past them. She caught up immediately, thanks to her teammates farther ahead who had slowed down the runners. Just as she had done earlier, Mishiro tripped the player at the rear of the pack and worked together with several teammates to drown the girl in a bath. Two down. Her team killed a third and a fourth player in exactly the same manner. As the one-sided battle continued rather mechanically, a thought entered Mishiro’s mind. How ridiculous. The situation was not worth taking seriously. Mishiro had thought the enemy would have more fight in them, but was this the best they could muster? The player who had entered the fray several hours late like a true hero turned out to be nothing special. Whoever it was had been too careless to notice the fact that there were two baths and so foolish as to endanger their entire team by resorting to a suicide attack. Mishiro thought back to her shameful performance in a game long, long ago and snickered. This mysterious player was no match for her, nor could they even hold a candle to that phantom girl. Allow me to admire the foolish look on your face, Mishiro thought. After successfully eliminating a fifth player, Mishiro drew close to the final runner. She attempted to trip the player in the same manner, but with this being the sixth time, her enemy appeared to sense the danger. Before Mishiro could stick out her leg, the player turned their entire body around. And then— (29/41) And then— The two girls were reunited. (30/41) They exchanged no words. Still, everything was made clear. The two of them fully understood each other’s position. Yuki understood—that the princess she was face-to-face with for the first time in eight months, Mishiro, was the leader of the entryway team. That the girl had kept playing death games despite the loss of her arm. That she had grown capable enough to lead the entryway team, to toy with the open-air bath team throughout the entire game, and now, to have her hands inches away from Yuki’s throat. Mishiro understood—it had been this wretch. The phantom girl, the one who had knocked Mishiro off her pedestal in the past, was the player who had joined the open-air bath team late. She was the one who had wiped out the entryway team’s scout force, who had failed to figure out the trick of this game and had allowed her team’s keys to get stolen, and who had directed her side to launch a Hail Mary suicide attack. It had to have been her. Yuki…couldn’t move. Her whole body was frozen, as if nails had been hammered down into her vital spots. Fog clouded her mind, and she had no idea why. Maybe she was surprised to encounter an unexpected opponent, maybe the curse of the Wall of Thirty that was affecting her form had peaked at this very moment, or maybe she was experiencing a sudden bout of vertigo after spinning around so vigorously. Or perhaps all three of the above had occurred at once, and her brain had stalled due to being unable to process the information. For several seconds, despite facing the last moment of her eleventh hour, Yuki stood as still as a scarecrow. Mishiro…had a mirror knife in her left hand. She had swiped it off the boyish player. She had no way of knowing it, but the girl in front of her had fallen into a daze and would be unable to properly defend herself. If Mishiro simply brought down her knife, she would have easily claimed Yuki’s life right then and there. However, Mishiro made a motion not with her left hand but with her right—the one she had recovered after vowing to take revenge on the girl before her very eyes. After sticking out her right hand straight in front of her, Mishiro struck the phantom girl’s face—by slapping her on the cheek. And then Mishiro shouted— “—What is this farce?!” (31/41) It was quite a loud smack, which meant the force of impact had been fairly trivial. A loud noise signified that the majority of the kinetic energy had been converted into sound energy. Thus, the damage inflicted on Yuki should have been negligible. However, since Yuki had taken a shaky stance, she lost her balance in spite of the weak slap. She fell backward onto the tile floor, then sat up in a motion that seemed unimaginably slow given that she was in the middle of a death game. What awaited her was a knee to the face. “What is this farce?! What is this farce?! What is this farce?! Huh?!” As Yuki remained on the floor, Mishiro continued to shower her with kicks, each of which came paired with an angry jeer. Yuki remembered Mishiro as someone with a far more sophisticated vocabulary, but it had been quite a while since last they’d seen each other; perhaps Mishiro had abandoned her refined speech patterns. No—that wasn’t it. Yuki had caused Mishiro to abandon it. Yuki had infuriated Mishiro so much that the latter was unable to maintain her composure. “I demand you explain yourself! Is this the performance of a Candle Woods survivor?!” Perhaps Mishiro’s anger had subsided somewhat, as she returned to her princess-like tone from the last time they had met. Since her kicks had stopped, too, Yuki escaped by scuttling away. Yuki expected Mishiro to say, “Hold it right there,” but in reality, Mishiro shouted— “Stay away!” Those words were directed not at Yuki but at the many members of the entryway team around them. “Keep your hands off her! That wretch is mine! If you dare get in my way, I will not hesitate to beat you to death!” (32/41) Yuki fled. Mishiro gave chase. Seeing the phantom girl make a pathetic escape only fed Mishiro’s anger. She had not come all this way to witness this sorry sight. A single phrase swirled around in her head. I can’t stand her. I can’t stand her. I can’t stand her. Mishiro couldn’t stand the fact that the girl was fleeing with her tail between her legs, couldn’t stand being shown such a pathetic maneuver. Everything Mishiro had done up to today was for the sake of taking revenge on Yuki, the phantom girl who had once humiliated her. Yet what on earth was this? It was pointless to win against a weakling. Their final showdown needed to be far more dramatic—a Mishiro who had crawled up from the depths of hell against a Yuki who had become far more superhuman since last they met. They would fight tooth and nail, and in the end, Mishiro would emerge victorious. That was how it had to be. Otherwise, Mishiro’s deepest desire would remain unfulfilled. As Mishiro chased after Yuki, memories resurfaced in her mind. She thought back—to her ninth game. It was the first game she’d played in after getting more or less accustomed to the new arm she had received from the prosthetic craftsman. She learned the hard way that her confidence had been misplaced. Over the course of the game, not only did she lose her prosthetic forearm, but she also lost her right upper arm, forcing her to pay the craftsman another visit. As far as Mishiro could remember, that experience was far more humiliating than what she had gone through in her eighth game. Mishiro thought back—to her seventeenth game. It was an escape game set in an abandoned school, in which players would be penalized for breaking “school rules.” With a decent number of games under her belt, Mishiro had grown arrogant without realizing it. She was forced to acknowledge a basic tenet of human error—the greatest danger lurked when one started feeling settled. As a consequence, Mishiro lost her hands, feet, and a number of organs. Stripped of most of her movable body parts, she’d needed to crawl across the finish line like a caterpillar. That game had been the one where she had sustained the most severe injuries. Mishiro thought back—to when she confronted the Wall of Thirty. The game venue consisted of an entire village, and players were tasking with vanquishing a man-eating beast that descended on the settlement night after night. This was a problem for Mishiro, as her encounter with that beast in Scrap Building had instilled in her a fear of wild animals. Even the barks of stray dogs would cause her to subconsciously curl into a ball. As for what happened during the game, well, Mishiro was honestly foaming at the mouth with fright on the first night. The second and third nights, all she could do was tremble in fear. What brought back her composure was meeting a girl who had gotten her right arm gnawed off, just as Mishiro had experienced in the past—Riko. If the girl hadn’t lost her arm, Mishiro probably wouldn’t have taken her as a protégée, nor would she be here right now. Her journey had been anything but straightforward. Despite everything, she was still facing forward for the sole reason of taking down that wretch. And yet…, Mishiro thought. While I’ve been hard at work, what on earth has she been doing? “Die!” Finally, even the most direct of insults flowed out of Mishiro’s mouth. “Enough toying with me! Repent with your life!” It was then that Yuki showed her first signs of resistance from beyond the steam. “Wh-what are you talking about?! Did I do something to you, Mishiro?” “Do you intend to play dumb?! You wretch! How do you think I’ve felt…?!” Mishiro was no longer able to control herself. She blurted out everything that entered her mind. “What’s the deal with your pathetic performance?! You’re no different from how I used to be! What happened to the goddess who appeared before me on that day long ago?!” Her words must have cut deep, as they elicited another reply from Yuki. “Don’t put me on a divine pedestal!” Yuki snapped. “I’m human! It’s perfectly normal for me to be off my game sometimes! I’m still giving it all I’ve got!” “Silence!” Mishiro shouted, making it difficult to interpret whether she desired a response. “‘All you’ve got,’ you say? My efforts have been far more desperate than yours! I began by recovering my losses, and even rejected everything about my past self! I have fought through far more trying experiences than you! That is why we now face this outcome!” “—Shut up! I know that already!” An object cut through the steam and flew toward Mishiro. It was a mirror knife. But there was no need to evade the frantic attack. The weapon passed by the right side of her body and slid onto the floor with a clatter. Mishiro caught up to the phantom girl. She grabbed the girl’s wet hair and pulled her closer. At the same time, Mishiro swung down the mirror knife she was holding in an underhand grip. “You disappoint me!” Mishiro shouted as she carried out her attack. “I have not fought through forty games to be reunited with such a pathetic wretch!!” (33/41) Upon hearing those words… …Yuki felt a great commotion in her heart. (34/41) At this point, even with her scalp being pulled back and the tip of a blade inching toward her, Yuki still found herself unable to conjure a single thought. With her mind completely blank, she had been moving her body and engaging in dialogue entirely thanks to her nerves. And in her empty mind, something began to bud. It exploded and filled Yuki’s head for a brief moment, before gradually coming together and forming two sentences. Forty games? A jerk like her? Compared to all the insults Mishiro had hurled at her, that truth stung the most. Mishiro. That nasty player who acts like a snobby princess. I figured she’d be below me for all of eternity. But this jerk. This asshole… She overcame the Wall of Thirty long ago, and now she’s risen above me. She’s talking down to me. I can’t stand this. So— I won’t accept dying like this, Yuki thought. I won’t. I don’t want to die this way. I’m ready to accept death whenever. I don’t care if I lose my life in an unexpected traffic accident. I’d even be fine dying to the curse of the Wall of Thirty. But there’s no way I’ll ever accept defeat at the hands of this piece of shit. This is the one death I refuse to comply with. I’d rather go out choking on a pill. I can’t stand the thought of being killed by this second-rate player. Before Mishiro’s knife could reach her flesh, Yuki felt another stir in her heart. She regained the ability to breathe subconsciously. Her head grew cold, dropping to the same temperature as that of her heart. Right—I get it now. This must be how she felt back in that abandoned building. Reflexively, Yuki grabbed hold of Mishiro’s knife. (35/41) A second later, pain coursed through Yuki’s hand. That was the natural result, for she had clutched the blade of a knife. Since picking up a broken mirror shard was dangerous in itself, the risks of grabbing one that had been polished into a weapon were obvious. Just as how a cornered rat would bite a cat, people often put up a last-ditch resistance when staring death in the face. That was especially true in these games. Despite that, a look of surprise came to Mishiro’s face, as though she thought the impossible was happening. Yuki was surprised at what she’d done. She had defended herself on instinct. That feat would have been impossible for the girl she’d been a few moments ago. The two of them stared at each other in disbelief for a second or two. The first to return to her senses was Yuki. Inches away from Mishiro, she headbutted the girl in the face. “……!” Mishiro staggered back. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Yuki fled. “Hold it right there!” The shout came immediately afterward, followed by the sound of footsteps. Sprinting across the floor of the indoor bath, Yuki focused her attention on her surroundings. She sensed the presence of numerous players around her. They were Mishiro’s underlings, members of the entryway team. The vast number suggested that the forty-plus players from earlier had already returned. It appeared they were standing around idly, loyally following Mishiro’s order to stay away from Yuki, but if their leader died, they would be freed from their chains and almost certainly attack. The situation could be summed up in a single word: hopeless. Yet Yuki’s heart did not waver. A single phrase kept repeating in her mind. I’m not gonna die. I’m not gonna die. I’m not gonna die. “I’m not gonna die!” The moment Yuki shouted that out loud, pain shot through her right foot. She tumbled onto the floor and slid across the tiling. As she slipped, Yuki glanced at her right heel. Sticking out of it was a hair accessory shaped like an orange. She had stepped on the tip of the orange leaf. Had someone dropped it? Luck was not on Yuki’s side—the curse of the Wall of Thirty was still in full force. Now unable to support her body weight with her right foot, Yuki changed tack to avoid the pain—by crawling on all fours. She found the method to be rather practical. It eliminated the risk of slipping on the wet tile floor, and by keeping low to the ground, she could use the steam as cover. In fact, Azuma had used a similar trick by crouching down to catch Yuki off guard during their initial encounter. Crawling was possibly the most optimal method of movement in this game. Just as she had finished that thought, she reached her destination. Without losing any speed, she scooped up the mirror knife on the floor. She had run in an arc to retrieve the weapon she had thrown at Mishiro. Now, the two of them were on equal footing. In fact, Yuki would have an edge. Thanks to the steam cover and Yuki’s determination to keep quiet, Mishiro likely hadn’t noticed she had picked up the knife. Mishiro would think her to be completely unarmed. Yuki turned around. A dark silhouette in the steam was approaching at reckless speed. Moments later, Mishiro appeared within point-blank range, brandishing a knife. With one hand, Yuki parried the oncoming attack, and with the other, she swung her mirror knife. It appeared Mishiro had truly been caught unawares, as a look of surprise once again formed on her face— But Yuki’s knife failed to penetrate the girl’s body. The blade bounced off the girl’s flawless skin and shattered quite readily. This time, it was Yuki’s face that was colored with surprise. Indeed, the knife’s biggest flaw was that it had been made of mirror glass, an extremely fragile material. Though it hadn’t appeared damaged, it must have gotten cracked when Yuki tossed it earlier. The frozen hands of time began to tick once again. Yuki crossed her arms and curled over to protect herself from Mishiro’s knife. Since the Preservation Treatment would immediately stop any bleeding, a knife would not do much damage, as long as it failed to hit any vital spots. And in Yuki’s current pose, all those spots were guarded. However, Mishiro’s next attack was not with her knife. Instead, she shoved Yuki’s crossed arms. Although the blow did not have much force behind it, since Yuki’s center of gravity had been lowered, Yuki readily tumbled into the bath behind her. It was a medicinal bath. Due to the colored water, she was unable to see anything, even with her eyes open. As bubbles vigorously spewed out from her mouth and nostrils, Yuki attempted to raise her head above water, but before she could, Mishiro shot her arm through the bath and pressed Yuki’s head against the bottom of the bath. Yuki was fully submerged. Her supply of oxygen had been cut off. She stopped blowing bubbles and grabbed Mishiro’s arm. It felt nothing like human skin. That meant it wasn’t her left arm—it was her right. Mishiro had lost her right arm in a past game, so this one had to be a prosthetic. Wherever she procured it from, it was made out of a hard material. Recognizing the futility of struggling against the girl’s arm while underwater, Yuki changed tactics and instead began violently flailing her legs. As Mishiro stood there, Yuki managed to hook the girl’s legs and pull her closer. It was far more difficult to keep your footing in water than on land. Yuki had carried out an atypical sweep, but both of Mishiro’s legs readily gave way. From underwater, Yuki hear the sound of Mishiro slamming her head against the edge of the bath. After being freed from Mishiro’s clutches, Yuki lifted her head above the surface. Mishiro was facing the opposite direction. She was cradling her head in her hands and attempting to step out of the bath, but Yuki closed in on her. Just as Yuki was inches away from her opponent, Mishiro abruptly turned around. A memory surfaced in Yuki’s mind—from when the two of them had first met. After Yuki had gotten close to Mishiro, the girl swiftly turned around. As her trademark princess curls blocked Yuki’s field of vision, she’d then clawed at Yuki’s throat with sharpened nails. What Yuki had fallen for back then was likely Mishiro’s signature move. This time, however— “I’ve seen through your tricks!” As Yuki shouted that out, she swung her right arm out of the water. A large amount of medicinal bathwater splashed onto and around Mishiro’s face. Since Mishiro’s hair was now damp, it was no longer voluminous enough to fully obstruct Yuki’s view. That allowed Yuki to dodge the knife that came swinging at her throat. Yuki landed another headbutt, making Mishiro flinch and drop her knife. Before the weapon could fall into the bath, Yuki caught it. In a single smooth motion, she thrust the knife at Mishiro’s throat as payback. “……!!…!!” Mishiro reached her arms out toward Yuki. But that was all. Moments later, they drooped into the water along with the rest of her body. There was an expression of deep peace on her face, one that not even the most relaxing of baths could induce. Yuki stepped out of the water. “Good game,” she whispered in a voice low enough for no one else to hear. She didn’t check to see if Mishiro was alive or dead. (36/41) Yuki headed for the exit on all fours. Although she sensed hostility coming from countless enemies around the exit, she had no choice but to go for it. Charging forward was the only option available to her. She had taken down Mishiro, the leader of the entryway team. However, that was all Yuki had accomplished; winning the fight didn’t mean Yuki would be crowned the next leader. Though it appeared she had been gaining notoriety as a player lately, the others would certainly not give her a free pass. There was no avoiding a battle with the rest of the team. Numerous footsteps began closing in on Yuki. Bring on the extra innings, she thought. I won’t lose to your followers, either. (37/41) Riko sat atop the massage chair, deep in thought. She was reminiscing about the start of her relationship with her mentor. (38/41) Riko did not have an admirable reason that she could tell others to justify playing these games. Her motive for joining was the same as that of the vast majority of players—she felt tired of everything about the world and no longer cared whether she lived or died. That was why Riko had become a player. In her debut game—a battle against a man-eating beast—Riko had sustained severe injuries. She was bitten all over and lost around half her body. The Preservation Treatment kept her alive, but she would never recover the body parts that the beast had devoured. While the great bodily loss was challenging enough, the mental damage she had suffered presented its own issues. What will happen to me if I survive like this? What am I supposed to do? I’d much rather be dead—those thoughts had filled her head. Still, the reason Riko lived on was because someone had looked after her. Mishiro. She was an experienced player who had apparently been in her thirtieth game at the time. She frothed at the mouth and fell unconscious as soon as she encountered the man-eating beast, which caused Riko to doubt her capabilities at first. However, after spending one night together, followed by a second, Mishiro demonstrated more and more of her expertise, and in the end, she led the majority of the players to victory. She had also been the one to save Riko from the jaws of the beast. If Mishiro hadn’t stepped in, Riko would have suffered a far worse fate. “I have a mission,” Mishiro told Riko one day. Riko couldn’t remember where they had been when Mishiro said this. Since Riko’s body was still maimed at the time, they were probably riding in a car after the game ended. Or was she lying on a hospital bed? Maybe they were heading to meet the prosthetic craftsman. In any case, no matter where or when it had been, that was how the conversation began. “A player by the name of Yuki once trampled my pride. I continue to play in these games so that I may exact my revenge on her the next time we meet.” Riko had not heard that from Mishiro only once. In fact, Mishiro brought up the phantom girl so many times that Riko lost count and even began to wonder if Mishiro had gone senile. Yuki—a player who resembled a phantom. Apparently, she and Mishiro shared a deep connection that dated back to a past game. “Is that…your entire reason?” Every time, the same thought would enter Riko’s mind. She usually kept it to herself, but on that occasion, she’d posed the question to Mishiro. “It certainly is,” Mishiro answered. “It was most frustrating. I refuse to stand inferior to her. Humans are perfectly willing to risk their lives for a reason as simple as that.” Was that really true? Riko didn’t know for certain, as she didn’t even have “a reason as simple as that.” “It appears that what you lack, more so than arms and legs, is a mission,” Mishiro said. “Shall we start by fixing that?” Players who had sustained severe injuries that even the medical technologies of the organizers could not heal—having their limbs be blown to pieces by a bomb or devoured by a beast, for instance—were by no means lost causes. Although recovering one’s original limbs would be impossible, attaching new ones was within the realm of possibility. Behind the scenes of the games, a prosthetic craftsman served players who had lost parts of their bodies yet still desired to play on. Mishiro made the appropriate arrangements for Riko. “Um…” Upon learning that, Riko asked Mishiro a question. “Why are you being so nice to me?” Not only had Mishiro rescued Riko from the clutches of the beast, but she was also supporting her physical and mental rehabilitation. Riko had no idea why Mishiro would go to such lengths for a stranger. “Nice?” Mishiro snickered. “I am not so honorable a woman.” Riko still remembered the look on Mishiro’s face back then. She wore a sinister expression—one that could not be matched by even a witch stirring a bubbling cauldron. “How should I put it…?” Mishiro continued. “Riko, how would you define your ‘self’?” “My self?” “Of the things that exist in this world, how much would you consider to be part of one’s self? Would you include clothes, glasses, and piercings? The strands of hair and nail clippings that come off one’s body? How about the prosthetic hands and feet that will soon be attached to you?” Riko couldn’t understand Mishiro’s question. All that Riko thought of as her “self” was her body, which had now been reduced to half its original form. She answered as such. “I would propose a slightly broader definition,” Mishiro replied. “Although I would not include the examples I listed, I strongly consider my mission, along with the results that come of it, to fall within the boundaries of ‘self.’ If I request a hitman to kill someone, for instance, I would judge myself to be responsible for the killing.” That was an easy-to-understand example. In that case, Riko would reach the same conclusion. “Now, here is a question that arises.” Mishiro stroked Riko’s cheek. “Say I let someone live, guided them, and instilled in them a goal. What if there was someone whose entire existence was the product of my actions? What if there was someone who was entirely subordinate to me? Would you not consider the accomplishments of that person to be the same as my own? Would you not consider that person to be part of my ‘self’?” In that moment, a warmth came to Mishiro’s eyes. Of course. Mishiro had nothing sinister planned for Riko. She was simply welcoming Riko as a part of herself. “For the sake of honesty, I will say that you are not the first person I have done this with—you are the fifth. Of the four who came before you, two have perished, but the other two are thriving. If you live long enough, I will certainly introduce you at some point.” Mishiro brought her face closer. “Now, let us return to the topic of your purpose,” she whispered into Riko’s ear. “I will grant you a mission to fill your hollow soul. You will be my protégée, Riko. Until your dying breath.” So that’s how it is, Riko thought. Mishiro was expanding the scope of her self. She was seeking someone who would serve as her right hand—no, more than that—someone who would give up their body for her. That was precisely why she had saved Riko and why she was going to such lengths for her. Riko, who was spiritually empty, would be a perfect vessel. Mishiro was by no means a kind soul. Riko understood deep down that she was frightening. But what frightened Riko even more was the fact that she accepted Mishiro’s demand. It was entirely accurate that Riko lacked a mission—the one thing she needed most. Mishiro’s words had sent thrills through Riko. I want to serve my savior, she thought. I want to be useful to her. I want her to whisper more orders into my ear. “I will give you your first order.” Every last cell in Riko’s body hung on Mishiro’s words. “If I fall to that wretch, you will take over in my stead.” (39/41) After Yuki had wiped the floor with ten players, nobody else stepped up to challenge her. Perhaps as a result of Mishiro’s strong leadership, the players on the entryway team excelled in teamwork, but their individual abilities were nothing more than ordinary. Besides Mishiro, their team seemed to be made up of all rookies. Yuki had also started to recover her form, so she was able to easily slip through the enemy’s line of defense. Yuki crossed the changing room and stepped through the curtains into the entryway. The sight before her did not betray her expectations. What first caught her attention were two sets of shoe lockers. Then Yuki turned to the side and saw a second set of curtains. They had the word silver on them, while the curtains Yuki had come through bore the word gold, suggesting that the shoe-locker keys hidden in both baths were made out of different materials. Beyond the lockers was an area for removing one’s shoes, and beyond that was the exit—the ultimate goal for all players. A number of silent corpses littered the space before the exit, likely the result of those players attempting to escape without shoes. Besides Yuki, there was only one living person around. A young girl was sitting on a massage chair. She gave off the impression of a small animal, and in reality, she was also quite short in stature. Even though she hadn’t been leaning far back in the chair, her feet did not reach the floor. When she spotted Yuki, the girl’s face twisted in surprise, and she immediately jumped off the chair. “Wait—are you Yuki?” she asked. “You know about me?” “Mishiro always talked about you…” Those words caught Yuki’s attention—they implied this girl and Mishiro had met before today. Perhaps she was Mishiro’s protégée. Seemingly mustering as threatening a voice as she could, the girl asked, “How did you get here? What happened to Mishiro?” “What do you think happened?” “I’m the one asking the questions here!” “I don’t know,” Yuki answered, walking toward the shoe lockers. “This is an escape game. I don’t need to check if my opponents are dead or alive.” She came before the lockers and saw silver blocks inserted into the ones to her right. Each set of lockers had thirty-five individual compartments, for a total of seventy, and at least sixty of them already had keys inserted. That was likely more than the total number of players on the entryway team. Yuki approached the lockers to borrow a pair of shoes, but the girl came over and barred her path. “What do you want?” Yuki asked. “Mishiro ordered me to not let anyone open the lockers.” “Right.” Yuki ignored the girl and kept walking. The girl wouldn’t budge. “Mishiro told me I could go all out if anything happened to her.” “Be my guest.” The girl offered no reply. Instead, she charged across the wood plank floor straight at Yuki. Yuki thought she could easily dodge the attack. She thought she had kept enough of a distance to evade anything the girl tried, even if a Gatling gun came jutting out of her chest. However, that was a miscalculation. Yuki bore the full brunt of the girl’s charge and was sent flying against the wall. (40/41) For a second, Yuki was unable to process what had happened. But her stupor lasted only a second, as pain ran through her back immediately afterward, screaming at her to snap to her senses. Yuki shook her head to clear her mind before looking up. The girl was right in front of her—and throwing a punch. Yuki put up her guard, but since she had yet to fully recover her form, in the back of her mind, she knew that had been the wrong thing to do. It was pointless to defend—she needed to be dodging attacks at all costs. The girl’s fist made contact with Yuki’s crossed arms— —and stabbed through. Both of Yuki’s arms bent at a spot with no joints. “Ah—” She looked down. After snapping both of Yuki’s arms, the girl’s fist had gone no farther. Yuki again raised her head to see that the girl’s swing had reached its physical limit. It appeared the girl had been standing too far away to reach beyond Yuki’s arms and pierce her chest. The moment after Yuki processed that fact, the much-awaited pain finally hit her. “GAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! AAAA—” Yuki’s screams were interrupted by a punch to the face. Yuki raised her arms—which were dangling at the ends—in an attempt to guard her face, but that did nothing to stop the girl’s onslaught. A second punch came. Followed by a third. And a fourth. And a fifth. The punches continued at a constant rhythm, and every single one of them landed with ferocious power that belied the girl’s small form. It felt like she was being struck with a dumbbell. Yuki was certain no human fist could generate that kind of force. It could only come from a prosthetic arm—just like Mishiro’s. While the thrashing continued, Yuki realized that the girl’s legs were also artificial. As evidenced by Mishiro, these games allowed prosthetics, as long as they didn’t have taser functionality, hidden blades, or other weapon-like features. Not only were players permitted to embed armor inside their body in the same way as that psychopath from once upon a time, they could also equip themselves with prosthetic arms made from rigid material that could consecutively land powerful punches or high-performance prosthetic legs that would grant them agility far beyond the capacity of their formerly human body. Although bringing in outside weapons was prohibited, there was plenty players could do while still abiding by the rules. Yuki had no idea exactly how the girl had modified her body, but regardless, her weight and muscle strength were certainly not those of a small girl. It would be unwise to consider her a human. Yuki had to view the girl as a human-size killer robot. The girl continued her relentless assault. As Yuki’s arms became more and more mangled, she waited for an opportunity to counter. Unlike the girl in front of her, Yuki hadn’t equipped herself with any cyborg-like features—her body, from her head down to her toenails, was exactly as she had received it from her parents. Mishiro, the girl’s mentor, had been forced to use a prosthetic for her right arm, but the rest of her had seemed completely human. Even that psychopath, who had considered it naive to go into death games without stronger equipment than one’s opponents, had gone no further than shielding a number of her vitals. Why were all of them fixated on keeping their original human body? The answer was simple: Everyone knew that a player who had discarded their own flesh and blood could not live for long. Yuki lifted her human knee, hitting the girl in the jaw. Even while being backed against a wall and taking nonstop punches, Yuki had opened enough space to raise her knee. The girl’s head was apparently still human, and she exhibited the natural human reaction to being struck in the jaw—losing her balance and becoming momentarily immobilized. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Yuki slipped past the girl and dashed toward the shoe lockers. The impact of the tackle from earlier had caused a number of the locker doors to open, revealing clunky shoes like the kind used for bowling. With her arms out of commission, Yuki stuck one foot into a locker and pulled out the shoes, ill-manneredly slipped them on using only her feet, and stepped into the entryway. Just then a drop of water fell from her wet hair and vaporized with a zap after landing on a tile. Yuki realized there was an electric current flowing here, hence the need for shoes with high electrical resistance. All five people lying dead on the floor had likely met their doom via electrocution from coming in contact with the tiles. “I won’t let you get away!” a voice shouted. Yuki didn’t turn around, but she heard the sound of someone putting on shoes and stepping into the entryway. She’s too late, Yuki thought. Under these circumstances, the girl wouldn’t be able to catch up. By appearances, the girl was far smaller than Yuki, but considering the material composing her limbs, she was likely heavier, too. Thus, Yuki had the advantage in terms of agility. And since any contact with the floor meant electrocution, it would be too dangerous for the girl to attempt the same kind of tackle as she had performed earlier. Or so Yuki had thought, but… “Gah…?!” A force sent Yuki flying diagonally forward, causing her to slam against the wall of the entryway. She had feared the worst, but apparently, no current was flowing there. With no time to feel relieved, Yuki turned around, her body hugging the wall. The girl had planted her hands on the floor—while wearing shoes on her hands. She had on four shoes—two on her hands and two on her feet. “…Way to go overboard!” Yuki subconsciously shouted. The girl pounced forward, with a speed unimaginable for someone so small. Yuki looked down at the floor. Fortunately—unbelievably fortunately, considering her current form—as if every ounce of her luck from the past several months had consolidated together in that spot, her path to victory lay right at her feet. It was one that would pose danger to Yuki, too, and could very well have been the final trap brought on by the curse of the Wall of Thirty, but she had no other option. Following a brief prayer, Yuki lifted her right foot. In doing so, she kicked up a corpse that had been lying on the floor. To be more accurate, it was a powerless kick, as she had done no more than raise her foot. The body did not fly toward the girl; all that happened was that the legs of the corpse came slightly off the ground. However, that was plenty sufficient. The legs of the corpse made contact with the girl’s legs. The girl’s face turned pale, as if her head had also been replaced with a prosthetic. It was a not uncommon occurrence—someone attempting to save another person from being electrocuted would touch them directly and get shocked in a chain reaction, contrary to intentions. That phenomenon was especially likely to occur in this game, as players lacked a proper outfit and had plenty of moisture on their skin. You really do hear the crackling, huh? Yuki thought. The effects were immediate. The girl, whose name was still unknown to Yuki, collapsed face down onto the tile floor, which only further intensified her torture by electrocution. Yuki wasn’t sure exactly at what point the girl had succumbed to the current, but she did not once get back onto her feet. The area fell silent, making the battle that had transpired seem no more than a dream. In that moment, the only sensation Yuki felt was the pain in her arms. “Haah…” Yuki let out an audible breath. It was not a sigh of relief—or even a sigh at all. She had simply exhaled to release the excess air from her lungs. Yuki made for the exit. There was a risk that water had gotten on her right shoe when she kicked up the body, so she hopped forward on her left leg. Without tripping or erring in any way, Yuki safely passed through the doorway. Upon exiting the building, she reached a parking lot. Waiting there were black cars, likely in equal number to the number of players—one hundred. Yuki’s agent was standing nearby, as if she had been watching the game unfold with the audience. “Welcome back,” she said in a nonchalant tone. “While I would like to drive you home… I suppose we should visit the hospital first?” Yuki looked down at herself. Her body was covered with only a towel, and both of her arms were bent at abnormal angles. She looked like an alien. Lacking the energy to speak, Yuki dipped her head forward to indicate her assent. (41/41)