The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above Arata's desk. Papers stacked neatly, his keyboard clicking in soft rhythm. On the surface, he was just another nameless office worker at twenty-one, living quietly, blending into the endless grey of city life.
He smiled timidly when spoken to, bowed politely in hallways, and laughed softly at his coworkers' jokes. The perfect mask.
No one here knows.
Not about the games.
Not about Aya's trembling devotion.
Not about Haruto's suspicions.
Not about the screams.
Arata kept his head low, his life quiet. Every night, though, when he lay in bed, he could still smell the blood.
Then the envelope came.
A plain white letter, slipped into his apartment mailbox with no stamp, no address. Only one word written in red across the front:
"Return."
His hands froze as he opened it. Inside, only a single slip of paper:
> "Level Two begins. Meet at the old gymnasium, midnight. All players required."
His chest tightened. His fingers trembled. But his lips curved upward, just faintly.
So it wasn't over.
The building smelled of dust and mold, its windows cracked, its floorboards warped with age. But as the clock struck midnight, the air seemed to freeze.
And then he saw them.
Aya. Haruto. Daichi. Riku.
Alive.
They stood in a circle, staring at one another with eyes full of ghosts.
Aya was the first to move. She rushed forward, tears spilling as she threw herself into Arata's arms.
"Arata… you're here… you really came…"
Her hair brushed his cheek, her grip so tight it felt like she would never let go. He caught a glimpse of her wrist — the faint scars were still there, but now hidden under bracelets of silver.
She leaned close, whispering in a trembling voice only he could hear. "I remember everything… even the moment you killed me. And that's why I knew… we're bound forever."
Arata's heart pounded. He forced his timid mask back onto his face, stuttering softly. "A-Aya… I thought you… you were…"
Alive. Obsessive. More dangerous than ever.
Haruto's voice cut through the air like a knife.
"So it's true." His eyes, once hesitant, now burned with icy calculation. "We were never meant to die. That first game… was just the prologue."
He adjusted his glasses, gaze fixed sharply on Arata. "And I haven't forgotten what I saw in you."
Arata's smile faltered, his shoulders hunching timidly. "I-I don't understand what you mean…"
But inside, his pulse raced. Of course you haven't forgotten. You never will.
Daichi's laugh was hollow, broken. He lit a cigarette with trembling hands. "So all that blood, all that screaming… it was just theater? A tutorial? Hah… I wasted years trying to drown it away with booze and gambling, and it turns out we were just rats in a cage."
Riku spat on the floor, his fists clenched. His voice was venom. "No. It wasn't fake. We felt it. I died. I still see your face every time I close my eyes, Arata."
His gaze was full of hate, shaking with rage. "This time… I'll make sure it's you who dies."
The distorted voice echoed suddenly through the gym, silencing them all.
> "Welcome, survivors. Congratulations on clearing the Tutorial. Level Two begins now. Seven games await you. Fail, and punishment will no longer be illusion."
> "This time, the deaths will be real."
The gym floor cracked open, revealing a staircase descending into endless darkness. The stench of iron and ash wafted up, the smell of something far worse than blood.
Aya clung tighter to Arata's arm, smiling faintly, her eyes shining with obsession. Haruto's glare never left him. Riku trembled with rage. Daichi muttered curses under his breath.
And Arata?
He lowered his gaze, trembling like the timid boy they thought he was. But in the reflection of the cracked gym window, his lips curved into a predator's smile.
The tutorial is over. Now the real game begins.