A month had passed since the harrowing night at Kamiko's house, and the world had settled into a fragile semblance of normalcy. Kamiko, Alan, Bachi, Kaguro, and Kashimo had resumed their lives, their group chat on Telegram buzzing with lighthearted banter and plans for gaming sessions. The scars of that night—Johnson's death, the shattered living room, the trauma of survival—had begun to fade, at least on the surface. For most, laughter and routine dulled the edges of memory. But for Alan, the wounds ran deeper. He carried the weight of watching his father take his own life, the echoes of his mother's abuse—her beatings, her betrayal—still haunting his dreams. Though he smiled with his friends, the trauma lingered, a shadow that refused to lift.
Kamiko and Alan had moved to a new house, closer to Bachi, a change meant to offer a fresh start. The group had returned to school, stepping back into the rhythm of classes and camaraderie. It was December, the air crisp with winter's bite, and their school was under renovation, its modern upgrades a stark contrast to the chaos of their recent past. Their classroom, one of several in the sprawling building, housed 38 students in their section—two fewer than the previous year. The room was equipped with two air conditioners, 20 wooden desks arranged in five rows of four, each seating two students. A whiteboard and a smartboard flanked the front, while a CCTV camera watched silently from above. The space felt both familiar and foreign, a place of learning now tinged with an undercurrent of unease.
Kaguro and Bachi arrived early, the first to claim the classroom. Kaguro, ever the instigator, broke the silence. "Hey, we're first! What do we do when we're alone?"
Bachi's expression was heavy, his eyes distant. "Maybe a prank, I don't know. I haven't felt right since… since Johnson." The weight of leading Johnson to his death pressed on him, a guilt he couldn't shake.
Kaguro's tone softened, but his words were firm. "He wasn't good, Bachi. His ambitions were twisted. Don't carry that guilt."
Bachi nodded, though the reassurance felt hollow. "Okay, I'll try."
"Where are the others?" Kaguro asked, shifting the topic.
"I saw Kamiko and Alan leaving their house when I was driving here," Bachi said. "They're close by now."
As if on cue, Kamiko and Alan entered, their presence brightening the room. "Oh, hi!" Alan called, his voice lighter than it had been in weeks.
Kamiko grinned. "Finally, he can ditch that mask. He's recovered."
Kaguro's eyes lit up. "Yes! We need the old Alan back!"
"Just take it off already," Bachi urged.
Alan hesitated, then removed the mask. The face beneath was unfamiliar, transformed by plastic surgery. No burns marred his skin now, his features reshaped into something new. Bachi blinked, surprised. "You look… different."
Kamiko shrugged. "Plastic surgery. The mask was a nightmare—sticking to his face, getting sweaty. His parents thought this was better."
Kaguro frowned. "Why surgery, though? The mask wasn't that bad."
"It was for him," Kamiko said. "It was more than just physical."
Kashimo burst in, his greeting cut short as he caught sight of Alan. "Hey, ever—wait, who's that?"
"It's Alan," Kamiko said. "Plastic surgery."
Kashimo raised an eyebrow. "Okay, I guess."
The five friends settled into their seats in the first row by the door: Kaguro with Kanji , an affable student with a knack for befriending nearly everyone, at the second desk; Kamiko and Alan at the third; and Kashimo and Bachi at the fourth. Kanji , noticing Alan's altered appearance, leaned over. "Who's that with you?"
"Alan," Kamiko replied.
Kanji's brow furrowed. "But he wore a mask, didn't he? And his face…"
"Plastic surgery," Kamiko said simply.
"Makes sense," Kanji conceded, though his eyes lingered on Alan.
The teacher, too, noticed Alan's change and questioned Kamiko, who explained with practiced ease. The morning passed smoothly, the routine of lessons a welcome distraction—until the fourth period, just before lunch, when the world tilted.
Bachi was the first to feel it. His vision blurred, shadows coalescing into monstrous shapes that loomed in broad daylight. He rubbed his eyes, heart racing. "Kashimo, am I seeing monsters? In the classroom?"
Kashimo frowned, scanning the room. "I don't see anything."
But moments later, Kashimo clutched his head, wincing. "Oh shit, what's happening?" he gasped, his voice low but panicked. He saw a different room, one that didn't exist—a place of cold, sterile walls and flickering lights.
Kaguro turned back, catching Kashimo's distress. "What's wrong?"
Akira, sitting beside Kaguro, leaned in. "I heard that too."
The teacher's voice cut through. "Hey, why are you turning back? I'm teaching here."
Kaguro and Akira faced forward, but the unease lingered. Then Kamiko spoke, his voice trembling. "What is that? Is there a demon in the class?"
Alan's face paled. "No, we're in a room. Pitch black, with… things flying around us."
Kashimo's eyes widened. "You too?"
Kaguro groaned, gripping his temples. "Headache, a demon, a dark room—what the hell is this? It's like it's drilling into my skull."
Akira, confused, glanced around. "We're in class. What are you talking about?"
Alan's voice was shaky. "You're hallucinating too, Kaguro?"
Before anyone could respond, the five friends—Bachi, Kashimo, Kaguro, Kamiko, and Alan—vanished. One moment they were there, the next they were gone, as if erased from existence. The classroom erupted in gasps, students and teacher frozen in shock. The teacher's voice trembled as she urged calm. "We'll find them. Stay calm."
Tumika, a classmate with a grudge against Kaguro, smirked. "Finally, my enemy's gone."
The Realm of Darkness
The five friends found themselves in a void, a realm of oppressive darkness where no light penetrated. They stood together, alone in the endless black, their breaths shallow with fear.
Bachi's voice broke the silence. "Didn't we… explore something like this before?"
Kashimo nodded, his voice tight. "Yeah, when we were stuck in that time loop."
Kaguro's eyes darted around, seeing nothing. "What does that mean?"
Alan's voice was small. "Are we in the greater darkness? Or another time loop?"
Before they could process, 35 others appeared—men and boys, their faces a mix of confusion and fear. A voice, deep and resonant, echoed from the shadows. "Welcome to the Realm of Darkness. You have been invited here."
Fujima, one of the newcomers, stepped forward. "We weren't invited."
The voice, cold and commanding, responded. "You violated a rule. You knew of this realm before the tournament began. Your curiosity has brought you here. Now, you will fight."
Kaguro's voice was sharp. "What kind of fights?"
"The punishment for your violation is combat," the entity said. "Form groups of five. With 40 of you, create eight teams. Decide who fights first and who fights last. The winning team returns to the real world."
Bachi's heart pounded. "And if someone dies?"
"If a team wins, any dead members will be resurrected by me," the entity replied.
Fujima's eyes narrowed. "Who are you? What are your powers?"
"You may call me Entity 404," the voice said. "I created this realm, once the right-hand of the Midnight Demon. I can transport you between realities, kill, or resurrect with a single command. Now, let the games begin."
The group scrambled to form teams, alliances forged in haste. Bachi, Kashimo, Kaguro, Kamiko, and Alan naturally banded together, their bond unyielding. The darkness pressed in, a living thing, as the tournament loomed—a battle not just for survival, but for their very reality.
To be continued…