[Slide—]
Takumi pushed open the sliding door to the yard and slipped on the shoes waiting there at the threshold.
Takumi, already envisioning his future life, walked into the yard and stopped before a small shed on one side that looked perfectly ordinary. He tugged at the door, found it unlocked, and pushed it open.
The next instant, a faint chill wafted out from within, making him shiver.
Why is it so cold? The weather out here is actually rather warm.
Puzzled, Takumi pulled out his phone, turned on the flashlight, and shone it inside. It was nothing more than a typical storage shed—brooms, shovels, a weeder, and some cloth sacks filled with seeds, all carrying a dusty smell.
So that chill just now… was probably nothing more than an illusion.
"Seeds? Planning to start a vegetable patch in the yard? Should I call this the traditional hobby cliché?" he muttered.
Still grumbling, Takumi stepped into the shed. There, on the very back of the shelf, he spotted a small black box whose contents were unknown. A note was stuck to the top.
Placed so deliberately in a spot like this… could it be some kind of hidden item?
Since transmigrating, after hours of searching he hadn't discovered a single supernatural anomaly. After a moment's hesitation, he still reached out to take the box down.
It seemed to be made of iron; the touch of it carried a faint chill.
And although it sat in a storage shed thick with dust, this little box had not collected any—it even gleamed faintly, looking as if it were brand new.
Takumi lowered his head to read the note stuck on the box. On it was a single line:
[Do not let anyone know where you came from.]
What does that mean?
Before he could puzzle over the message, there came a soft click. The lid of the box opened on its own.
At that very moment, his vision was swallowed in darkness. Almost instantly, Takumi lost consciousness.
And then, in that haze, he heard a voice.
It was impossible to tell whether it belonged to a man or a woman, or even what sort of being it was. The voice alone was enough to send chills down his spine, as though it were whispering laughter right beside his ear.
It said:
[Welcome to the "Sacrifice Game."]
[The level of the game you are about to enter is: Dusk.]
[May you, in true terror, bear witness to the end of all things.]
...
Takumi had a dream.
He dreamed he had become the harem emperor of a two-dimensional fanfiction world, effortlessly winning over hundreds of beautiful girls—changing one each day, never running out even after a year—living a life of pure indulgence and delight, almost decadent in its rhythm.
No one could oppose him, no one could disrupt his lifestyle. Because he possessed a supreme system that granted him ultimate power and wealth simply by checking in each day. That very system could even transform into any number of girls to keep him company—white-haired cuties, black-stockinged seductresses, voluptuous bombshells—an all-encompassing collection.
And all he needed to do each day was indulge himself—pleasure so intense it sent him soaring, pleasure until he fainted, and then in his dreams within dreams he kept on indulging, only to wake and continue again.
Ah…
Days like that were truly, truly…
And then his dream ended.
That overly decadent dream—a dream so depraved Takumi thought if it really happened, it would surely summon lustful demons the very next day—dissolved like mist, leaving no trace behind.
What replaced it was a faint, chilling atmosphere, the sensation of being wrapped in cold air as if inside an air-raid shelter.
'What's going on?'
Before even opening his eyes, Takumi had already caught a smell—like something had gone moldy.
No, it was more like the faint rot of damp wood, laced with the drift of dust. It was the kind of odor that only came from a house long abandoned, left uninhabited for years.
'So… where am I?'
Takumi opened his eyes.
A ceiling he didn't recognize.
White walls covered in mottled cracks, with electrical wires exposed and nailed in place, connecting to a hanging lamp above. The bulb was the old incandescent kind, coated in a film of dust so thick he couldn't even see its inner structure. Who knew if it still worked, or if it had already burned out.
On one side of the room, two windows had been boarded up with planks and covered with white cloth, their edges nailed down. Only a dim light seeped through, not enough to reveal what lay outside. Judging by the brightness, it still seemed to be daytime.
His gaze drifted on, past walls where most of the paint had already peeled off, exposing the brick beneath, and settled on a small round table in the corner of the living room. The table was low, flanked by two small wooden stools, one of which lay toppled with a broken leg. On top of the table sat a dead potted plant—too withered to tell what kind it had once been.
Beside the table, it looked like there had once been a door in the wall. But now the door was gone, only the frame remained, and through it he could see a cramped little kitchen. The sink was piled high with bowls and chopsticks, all blanketed in dust.
At the far end, by the wall where his head rested, stood an old wooden door, split by a diagonal crack wide enough that anyone outside could peer straight in. At both the head and foot of his bed stood small cabinets. On the cabinet beside the headboard lay a single sheet of A4 printer paper, densely covered in writing. Unlike the rest of the room's contents, this page bore almost no dust—it looked as if it had been placed there only recently.
This place… it looked like a small rental unit that had been abandoned for quite some time.
Why had he suddenly appeared here?
A kidnapping?
No—that didn't fit. In his memory, at the very last moment before the blackout, there hadn't been the slightest sign of an attack.
And now, right beside him, there was clearly another person.
Takumi could hear her breathing and catch the faint fragrance of women's shampoo.
A woman was lying at his side, in this shabby, dilapidated house, on the very same bed as him.
Her breathing rhythm had already changed the moment he turned his head to survey the room. She was most likely pretending to be asleep.
A honey trap?
But wait—would anyone really kidnap someone from their own home, then set up a honey trap? That didn't seem quite right.
Either way, he needed to get up first and assess the situation. If it really was a honey trap, then all he could do was engage in a dark duel right here and now. He'd heard this was the best way Japanese men handled militant feminists. Takumi figured such experience might be worth learning.
[Buzz—]
But before Takumi could make a move, a shrill noise—like nails scraping across a blackboard—suddenly rang inside his head.
In that instant, Takumi found his body completely immobilized, frozen stiff as though he had been turned to stone, forced to endure that piercing sound echoing endlessly in his mind.
[Buzz—]
The sound was so sharp it was unbearable, lasting a good ten seconds before it finally began to fade.
Then came a voice—its gender impossible to discern, its tone so distorted that just hearing it sent a chill crawling through his bones.
[Welcome to the Sacrifice Game]
The first words sounded strangely familiar, as if he had only just heard them moments ago.
[Player Takumi, this is your first participation in the game. Game level: Dusk]
[Your condition for clearing the game: Escape from Shirakawa Apartments]
[The time limit for this game: seven days]
[Now issuing you the game's hint messages. Be sure to make good use of them]
[Hint 1: The writings left behind by those before hide the path to survival]
[Hint 2: The door reopened will lead to hope]
[Hint 3: A precious item in the dust will bring happiness]
[Hint 4: The secret lies within the place you must never go]
[End of hints. We wish you success in passing this game and drawing closer to the throne that bears witness to the end]
From start to finish, the voice had spoken all this in less than a minute.
And as soon as it finished spouting that incomprehensible nonsense—things that made no sense at all—the eerie voice vanished without a trace. At the same time, the rigid stiffness locking Takumi's body also disappeared, and he once more regained control of himself.
"Damn it—!"
The moment he recovered, Takumi tumbled off the bed, snatching up an A4 sheet from the nightstand in midair and stuffing it against his chest before crashing onto the floor. He rolled once, then scrambled up in a pitiful mess.
Now he was completely certain: he had been dragged into some kind of supernatural event. And worse—one of those terrifying dark events that could very well end in death.
No, wait a second, Director—something's off here.
Wasn't I supposed to have crossed over into a slice-of-life anime world?
This development—this is all wrong! How the hell did it suddenly turn into a death game?!
Can I get a refund? Can I quit this role? This plot has already gone far beyond what I can handle, damn it! Why did it suddenly switch to this kind of style? Couldn't we just stick to a nice, safe otaku-pleasing harem story?
Though he was grumbling endlessly in his heart, Takumi's body moved quickly. He shot to his feet, keeping his distance—far enough not to press too close to the wooden door with a hole in it or the kitchen entrance—while locking his gaze on the bed he had originally been lying on, tucked into the corner of the tiny living room.
And there, he saw her.
A girl with long, jet-black hair cascading down her back. She sat up on the bed, her expression cold, her eyes tinged with an icy sharpness as they scrutinized him.
Scarlet pupils.
A figure on the slim side.
A black long-sleeved dress with white cuffs, tied at the collar with a red cord.
That appearance—and that look, as if she were staring at garbage—instantly awakened Takumi's DNA.
Wait, wait—wasn't this… this was like Kaguya Shinomiya, in her "Ice Princess" days, before she had been changed by the student council president.
What the hell had his supposed two-dimensional isekai story turned into?!
At that moment, Takumi's mind was in a complete jumble. He could no longer even make sense of what kind of protagonist he was supposed to be playing.