It was exactly midnight.
Fifteen chairs.
Fifteen students.
Fifteen sealed envelopes placed neatly in front of them.
The Glass Room had no walls—just transparent panels overlooking the entire city skyline. It felt like they were sitting in the sky itself, suspended above civilization, gods peering down on mortals. But every god in that room knew: they were the mortals now.
No one spoke at first.
Eyes darted. Minds raced.
Some tried to look confident. Others pretended to look bored.
But no one could hide the tension thickening the air.
Then, without warning, the overhead screen lit up.
A masked figure appeared. Smooth suit. No face. Just a blank, featureless canvas—like a mannequin wearing a CEO's attire.
"Welcome, players," the figure spoke. The voice was digitally scrambled, genderless, ageless, omnipresent.
"My name is irrelevant. You may call me The Director."
The figure raised one gloved hand, and the files in front of each student unlocked with a soft click.
"Inside your envelope is your first Marionette Code. This is your target's weakness—the string you must pull."
No one moved.
"You have twenty-four hours to begin your first move. Failure to act will result in automatic elimination."
The Director's voice sharpened like a scalpel.
"Do not underestimate what you've signed up for.
We're not here to measure your intelligence. We're here to measure your ruthlessness."
A ripple of cold went down each student's spine.
"Now open your files."
Click.
Fifteen folders snapped open.
Each contained a psychological profile of another person in the room.
Traumas. Biases. Habits. Fears. Social pressure points. Secrets.
Some were minor: a habit of seeking approval.
Some were devastating: unresolved guilt, repressed rage, hidden addictions.
And beneath each profile, one red sentence:
"To control this person, exploit this code."
Across the room, a quiet girl named Arisa Kurobane studied her file with cold, calculating eyes. Her black bangs veiled her expression, but her mind was already three steps ahead.
So that's his weakness? she thought, eyes flicking to her assigned target. Interesting.
On the opposite side of the table, Yuto Sagawa bit his lip, pretending to hesitate. But deep down, he was already strategizing ten moves into the future.
This game will break most of them by week two, he thought. Good. Less competition for me.
Fifteen minds, fifteen strategies.
Some planned to manipulate gently.
Some planned to crush without mercy.
High above the city, in the transparent Glass Room, the first move was about to be made.
And somewhere in the darkness, The Director whispered into a private channel:
"Let the puppets dance."