The red light had faded, leaving Matthew and Rin standing in the ruins of what had once been Sora's arena. The air smelled faintly of ozone and burned circuits, like the world itself had been scorched by the system's relentless calculations.
Matthew rubbed his temples. "She… she didn't make it," he muttered, his voice hollow.
Rin didn't respond immediately. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor, where Sora had fallen, the cracked Mask of the Forgotten still faintly glowing. "She smiled," Rin whispered. "Even at the end… she smiled."
A silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the soft hum of residual system energy lingering in the air. Matthew swallowed hard. Victory had a bitter taste—every game, every survival, felt increasingly hollow.
The floor shifted beneath their feet, subtle at first, then stronger, as though the land itself was breathing. A corridor of cracked stone appeared ahead, lined with mirrors reflecting fragmented versions of themselves—some with hollow eyes, some with smiles that weren't theirs.
Matthew's breath caught. "It's… moving," he said. "The system's already trying to start another game."
Rin's hand brushed the glowing Mask. "We need to keep moving. We can't linger… not with what happened."
As they moved, shadows appeared at the edges of the corridor—four figures, standing silently, watching. Matthew squinted: two were Korean, their expressions unreadable yet tense. The other two were English, eyes sharp and calculating.
One of the Koreans stepped forward. "Jisoo," she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet authority.
The other, a boy around their age, nodded. "Minho."
The English players introduced themselves with less ceremony. "Harper," a girl said, sharp-eyed and skeptical.
"And Elliot," the boy beside her added, calm, measuring.
Rin's hand tightened on Matthew's arm. "Looks like… we're not alone," she said.
The system spoke then, flat and inhuman:
Final Game: Players redefined. Allies and rivals await.
Matthew felt a shiver. The final game was already looming, and it didn't care about their grief.