The storm did not move on.
If anything, it pressed harder, rattling the windows like fists pounding to be let in. The foyer stank of wet clothes and fear. The curtains clung damply to the walls. And in the middle of the marble floor, beneath a tattered sheet, lay the body of Mr. Aizawa—silent, heavy, impossible to ignore.
No one wanted to sit near it. But no one wanted to be alone either.
"W-We can't just stand here," Ayaka said at last, her voice tight with effort. She still held herself like a leader, chin lifted, but her hands trembled. "We need to… to spread out. Find dry rooms. Maybe a phone line. A way to—"
"Escape?" Reina interrupted, her laugh soft, sharp. "Didn't you see the gates? Didn't you see the bus vanish? We're stuck in the middle of nowhere!."
Sayaka lunged toward her, but Shibata barked them apart, his booming voice echoing through the chamber. "Enough! No fighting. Everyone—move in groups. Explore. Find what we can. We'll meet back here."
So they did. Hesitant, muttering, clinging to any sense of order.
---
The Dining Hall
It was Mika who screamed first.
Not a piercing scream, more like a gasp strangled into sound. "Oh my god. Look at this!"
The others crowded into the dining hall behind her.
The table stretched nearly the length of the room, its wood scarred by time but gleaming under rows of silver candlesticks. Plates sat neatly at each setting, forks and knives polished to a dull shine. But it wasn't the tableware that made their stomachs twist.
It was the goblets.
Each was half-filled with a dark liquid. Thick. Viscous.
"Wine?" Tsubasa tried, though his voice cracked. He leaned close, sniffed. His face blanched. "No. Not wine."
The liquid was almost black. The smell coppery. Metallic.
"Blood," Reina said simply.
"Shut up," Sayaka muttered, though her voice lacked heat.
None of them touched the cups again.
---
The Portrait Gallery
Further down another corridor, Toru found himself walking beside Yume and Kanae. Their shoes echoed against warped floorboards, dust curling in the air. The walls were lined with portraits, each massive, framed in gold gone green with rot.
"Wait," Kanae whispered, pressing her glasses closer to her nose. She pointed at the nearest canvas. "Look."
It was a class photo. Painted in oils, students lined up in neat rows before the mansion itself. The uniforms were older, outdated, but unmistakable.
"They look… like us," Yume whispered.
Toru's stomach tightened. She was right. The faces weren't identical, but close enough. Too close. One boy had Tsubasa's sharp jaw, another Ayaka's commanding stance. And near the edge, blurred, almost unfinished—someone who looked horribly like him.
His candle flickered in his palm. No one else noticed.
"These are from decades ago," Kanae said, voice shaking. "Different generations. Different… classes. They never made it home."
Yume grabbed Toru's sleeve, her grip tight. "Don't look anymore. Please."
---
The Doll Room
Elsewhere, Kenta's laughter cracked like glass. "Hey, come check this out!"
The clown had stumbled into a smaller chamber, and when the others followed, their breath hitched.
The walls were lined with dolls. Porcelain faces, all cracked, all smiling. Their glass eyes reflected the candlelight in sharp points. Dozens of them, hundreds maybe, perched on shelves and chairs, all watching.
Kenta picked one up, shaking it like a prop. "Hello! Welcome to Creepsville! Want to be my fri—"
The doll's head slid off its neck. It rolled across the floor, staring at him upside down.
Every other doll in the room tilted their heads in unison.
Kenta dropped the body with a scream, bolting for the hall.
No one laughed this time.
---
The Library
They gathered again in the mansion's library, a room choked with dust and silence. Shelves stretched to the ceiling, their books swollen with age. A grand fireplace sat dark, cold.
Ayaka tried to organize them. "Okay. We'll wait out the storm here. In the morning—"
"In the morning we'll be corpses," Reina said.
"Shut up!" Sayaka snapped.
Before the fight could spark, a bell rang.
Not the sharp ding of a school bell, but a deep, resonant clang that vibrated through the shelves. The chandelier flames sputtered, flared back to life.
And then came the sound.
Wood scraping stone.
At the top of the stairs in the foyer, a figure emerged.
He wore the robe of a headmaster, but his face was hidden by a porcelain mask painted with a fixed, cheerful smile. His joints creaked like a puppet's as he bowed, jerky yet deliberate.
"Good evening, students," he said. His voice was smooth, hollow, echoing through the hall. "Welcome to Edelweiss Mansion. Your new home… and your final classroom."
No one breathed.
"You are thirty students," the puppet continued. "Yet only twenty-nine belong. One of you is an Extra. A soul that does not fit. A mistake."
The mask tilted, its painted smile stretching somehow wider.
"Unless the Extra is revealed, this class cannot graduate. Until then…"
He gestured toward the shrouded body of Mr. Aizawa.
"…accidents will continue."
Kenta's voice cracked. "Y-You killed him?"
The headmaster tilted his head. "The house corrects errors. It does not tolerate mistakes."
Ayaka forced herself to speak. "W-What do you want us to do?"
"The rules are simple." The puppet spread his arms. "Discuss. Vote. Reveal your Extra. Or suffer."
The bell tolled again.
And then, just as suddenly, the figure vanished into shadow.
---
The First Trial
Chaos exploded.
"This is insane!" Sayaka shouted. "We're not doing some murder game!"
"It's already started," Reina said, smiling faintly.
"Shut your mouth!"
"They're lying," Tsubasa cut in, his bravado returning in sharp edges. "There is no Extra. It's just the teachers—or one of us—messing with our heads."
"Then how do you explain Aizawa-sensei?" Kanae snapped, her voice breaking.
Silence.
Eyes shifted. Glances darted. Fear curled like smoke.
"Maybe it's him," Mika said suddenly, pointing straight at Toru. Her hands trembled, but her voice rose. "He barely talks. He's… weird. I've seen him staring at nothing."
Dozens of eyes turned toward him.
Toru froze. The candle in his palm burned bright, its flame unseen by anyone else. It flickered faster, as if mocking him.
"I-I'm not—" His voice caught in his throat.
"Or maybe you," Sayaka snapped at Mika. "You just want attention. You'd kill for a spotlight."
"Don't accuse me!" Mika shrieked.
"Stop it!" Yume cried, tears welling. "Stop accusing each other—we don't even know what this means—"
But it was too late.
Paranoia had taken root.
And the mansion was listening.