Chapter Text
The scene before him unfolded with a dreadful familiarity, an inescapable torment that had become the essence of his existence in these wretched couple of days. Yet, there was a disgusting interest to the horror that now consumed his very being, an evil force that ate away at his consciousness and haunted his thoughts. Was it guilt that bled into his heart? Or perhaps anger? Maybe it was the searing pain that trembled through his chest, tangled with the numbness that engulfed his mind. Time itself seemed to bend, both sluggish and swift as his fear intensified. Nothing made sense anymore—then again, had it ever?
As he rose from his bed, the young man was confronted by his own reflection in a mirror that stood before him, a display of his fragile form. The sight repulsed him, an embodiment of weakness. He gazed into his own eyes, void of life, much like those of a corpse. Familiar yet distant, they bore witness to the hidden depths of his soul, showing nothing but despair. The fading memory avoided his grasp. Why did this feeling of loneliness feel so familiar? Like an old lover, it wrapped its claws around him once more.
“Again?” he muttered to himself, his voice an echo in the silent room.
The touch of warmth caressed his neck. His breath caught in his throat. There, beside his reflection, stood a figure with a wide smile which hid pure darkness—a void that threatened to consume him entirely. He dared not meet its eyes. Their unsettling smile alone was enough to unnerve him. But the warmth turned constrictive, tightening around his neck like the thorns of a rose that pierced the flesh of who dared pick them. “Look at me.” the figure whispered, its voice a pitiful whimper.
His world collapsed as he shut out reality, closing his eyes and clutching at his throat, peeling away the comfort of his red-dotted scarf. His lungs struggled as he starved for air, while his hands trembled, feeling only the raw sensitivity of his skin. The piercing sensation persisted, lodged just outside his constricted airway. Desperate, he raked his nails across his flesh, seeking the knot that imprisoned his breath. The pain of self-inflicted wounds paled in comparison to the suffocating agony that dulled his senses, imprisoning his hoarse voice.
The darkness behind his closed eyelids became an inviting sensation as his body grew heavier, sinking into the abyss. Escaping this spot became an impossibility—his feet felt glued to the ground, binding him before the cursed figure that mirrored his own appearance. With a desperate attempt, he forced his eyes open to combat his never ending despair, yet he recoiled from meeting the gaze of his tormentor. Their slender fingers constricted around his throat, intertwining with his own hands in the reflection.
Driven to the edge, he dug a nail into his Adam's apple, rupturing the delicate blood vessels beneath the skin, crimson streams flowing freely. The flesh, now marred and bloodied, turned cold beneath the trail of blood. It no longer felt like what it was, but rather a chilling, dense liquid with the metallic scent of copper. The frigid touch provided an odd pleasure, replacing the piercing, burning throb around his neck with a harsh, agonizing cold against his skin. And so, he persisted, relentlessly digging at the same spot until the smears transformed into droplets.
In the mirror, the figure let go its grip on his neck. A surge of air flooded his lungs, overwhelming his frail body like a tidal wave crashing upon the shore. His trembling legs gave way, and his limp form crumpled to the floor. Through blurred vision, he attempted to steady himself, his blood-stained hands finding a place besides his unstable legs. The world spun around him, a dizzying dance induced by the loss of blood or the suffocating embrace that had trapped him for what felt like an eternity. With each passing moment, his heartbeat grew louder, pounding within his chest.
Collapsed on his knees, the sensation in his legs fading, he realized they could no longer support his weight. Blood trickled down, staining his clothes and the cold floor, the amount far exceeding his expectations. His discarded scarf lay crumpled, absorbing the blood, emitting a sickening squelch as he reached out, desperate to hold it in his hands. An invisible force held his chin, lifting it against his will as he lacked the strength to resist.
Meeting his own lifeless eyes in the mirror's reflection, he discovered a childlike presence beside him—a ghost of sorts. “Look at me, Mister...” the child playfully uttered. A searing heat surged within his stomach, a heavy burden that demanded release. Instinctively, he doubled over, expelling the contents of his gut.
The sensation of gentle taps on his lower back startled him, and his widened eyes struggled to comprehend the sudden shift. Shin found himself no longer in his room but in the common area, the space that connected to the trial room they had just emerged from.
Nothing but stomach bile came out of him, filling his mouth with the acidic taste of putrid bodily fluids. He clenched his stomach as he felt more and more bile moving up his esophagus. His eyes watered, and tears would occasionally roll down his face as he kept on vomiting on the carpeted floor.
“Let it aaaall out.” the figure murmured, continuing to tap Shin's back gently. “Don't choke, though.” Lowering themselves beside Shin, they stroked his back, offering comfort and support as he emptied the contents of his stomach. His eyes struggled to remain open, swollen with tears and the stinging scent of his own bodily fluids.
Once the expulsion had ceased, Shin reached towards his neck, his hand searching beneath the red-dotted scarf. He felt the metallic band around his neck, along with his unharmed skin. Relief washed over him, mingled with confusion. Why did he expect something more than his collar to be there? It felt as if he had lived through one of his daydreams, yet the details evaded him. One thing was certain—the events of the past few hours were etched into his memory.
His breathing remained unsteady, shaky from the strain it had endured. “Can you stand up?” the person beside him asked, still supporting his weakened body. Shin nodded, chiding the person softly. Determined, he attempted to rise on his own, but his legs trembled beneath him, and he instinctively rested his hand on the shoulder of his companion. With his head still spinning, he dared not take another step, fearing he might lose to the exhaustion that dwelled in his body.
The person beside him grasped his outstretched hand and helped him to his feet, guiding him towards the dormitories. Rather than walking, they gently pushed him forward, aware of his limited strength and how much it limited his movement. Finally, Shin raised his gaze and noticed the person's face, tilting his head slightly to meet their eyes upon sensing the height difference. It was Keiji, the tall blond policeman, and one of Sara Chidouin's allies. “Keiji...” Shin weakly called out.
“Hm?” Keiji met his gaze, his usual nonchalant expression provoking a pang of pain in Shin's weary eyes.
Shin scoffed, attempting to put on a brave front. “Goin' soft?” he taunted.
Keiji took a moment to craft his signature smug grin, rivaling the facade of overconfidence worn by the one they called Sou. “Not at all,” he replied. “You just looked too pitiful.”
Shin wished he could muster a witty answer, but his ever-changing expression showed the truth in Keiji's words. He felt as pitiful as he looked in that moment, reliant on others as he had always been. Keiji too, expected a response to his petty insult, but none came. Observing the vulnerability in Shin's demeanor, he almost felt the need to apologize.
As they neared Shin's room, a sense of unease gripped over him, causing his heartbeat to quicken. He detested the idea of entering that suffocating space, though he couldn't pinpoint the exact reason why.
Shadows seemed to lurk from within, and a deep instinct told him that once he stepped inside, he would never come out. Fear consumed his thoughts, and his anxious heart only amplified the nauseating churn in his stomach.
In a stuttering, barely audible voice, Shin called out to Keiji, halting him in his tracks. “I…” he began, his words overshadowed by the stammering noise created by his own mind. “A favor,” he mouthed, “I need a favor.”
Keiji scoffed at the request. “What?” he questioned. “Consider this the kindest thing I'll ever do for you.” Cold fury rose within him once again. Forgetting the reason for his previous kindness, as he deemed Sou undeserving of even this small dishonest act. He refused to let Shin's actions go unpunished, since because of him, the cost had been high, with lives lost and potentially more sacrifices in the future. He wondered why Sara would ever believe Sou was worth to keep participating in these trials.
Releasing his hold on Shin's body, Keiji let him stumble against the nearby wall. The blond man bid Sou farewell and turned to make his way towards Sara's room, as she had been feeling unwell following the trial. “Please.” he heard the desperate plea, uttered by Shin's hoarse voice.
Keiji briefly halted his steps, but without looking back, he simply replied, “Deal with it yourself.” He wondered what expression Sou wore in that moment, but he dared not glance back, fearing he might waver in his statement. Whether it was built-up anger towards him or a sense of justice, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse. Keiji knew that this was no easier for Sou. The recent events had likely impacted him more profoundly than the others. Yet, the rage that smoldered within Keiji's heart refused to dissipate.
Sara remained unconscious the next morning.. Gin, Reko, and Keiji stayed in her room, waiting anxiously as she remained in shock. The acting floor master; Tia Safalin, acknowledged the situation and assured the trio that the games would only resume once Sara woke up. And in the meantime, they were granted freedom to occupy themselves as they pleased.
The following day was a strange one to say the least, a departure from the usual routine. Keiji found himself with an unusual absence of strange tasks to occupy his time, as well as the lack of any imminent threats left him oddly bored. Lost in his own thoughts, his inner thoughts wer abruptly interrupted by a soft voice which called out.
“Gin,” he acknowledged, noticing the anxiety etched on the young boy's face. “What's wrong?”
Gin hesitated for a moment, his fidgeting hands grappling with his claw gloves. With a hint of nervousness, he finally spoke, adjusting his face mask as he did so. “I heard a strange noise coming from the dorms,” he began, his voice tinged with unease. “t was a loud crash, followed by... laughter.”
Keiji furrowed his brow, considering the implications. “By Sou's room?” he speculated silently, his mind still reflecting on the unsettling favor from the previous night. Gathering his resolve, he instructed Gin, “Stay here. Allow Mister Friendly Policeman to have a little chat with him.” Keiji pointed at himself, his trademark grin adorning his face.
Gin nodded silently before settling in the common room, his eyes shimmering with their usual childlike radiance. He nestled Mister Mew on his lap, finding comfort in the place they sat.
As Keiji ventured down the dormitory hallway, an oppressive chill irradiated the air, reminiscent of the eerie atmosphere from the previous day. It seemed as if time stood still whenever one stepped foot in this place. And what was there not to find disquieting? The plaques commemorating those who were no longer among them, coupled with the suffocating aura emanating from Sou's room. The familiar sensation struck a chord within Keiji, evoking memories of past horrors endured.
He tapped gently on the wooden door, which creaked open ever so slightly. As he pushed it further, a strong metallic odor invaded his senses. “Sou?” he called out.
No response.
Thoughts raced through his mind, but he dismissed them for the time being and stepped into the room.
Crunching sounds echoed as he took a few steps forward, his gaze drawn to the scattered shards of glass scattered across the floorboards. They appeared shattered beyond what one would consider natural. Keiji bent down, selecting a larger fragment lying at his feet. Its tip was stained with a deep red hue. “Are you in here?” he called out once more, his words lost in the oppressive silence. He pressed on, the fragments beneath his shoes emitting an increasingly hollow crunch.
The room itself bore no significant signs of chaos, much to his relief. The beams in the ceiling remained unadorned by any sinister attachments. However, the same could not be said for the floor and walls, which told a different tale. Yellow-esque walls were marred by small splatters resembling blood, while the floor was indiscriminately splattered with crimson droplets. And as Keiji discovered larger shards, they too bore an intense stain of red.
The mirror, once proudly framed in front of the beds, now lay shattered on the floor of Sou's room. It was clear that this destruction was not inflicted by a strike of a stick, but rather through repeated punches and kicks, relentlessly hitting it until the mirror lost its place on the wall.
The crashing noise Gin had heard earlier might have been caused by the shattered mirror, but the laughter that accompanied it remained a puzzle. The room's disarray disturbed Keiji, leaving an uneasy feeling in his gut.
The suffocating silence amplified every sound, from his own labored breaths to the pounding of his heart, growing faster with each passing moment spent in this eerie place. He decided it was time to leave, unwilling to delve any further into the room's secrets.
As he turned to depart, the weight of the atmosphere seemed to bear down upon him, making each breath feel ragged and forced. It was as if the very air in the room conspired to make it difficult to inhale. Each step he took became a difficult task, his feet burdened and sore, as though walking barefoot over shards of glass. His face burned with heat, his vision blurred, and an uncomfortable itchiness afflicted his wet hands, causing cold sweat to trickle down his fingers.
Clutching the doorframe for support, reaching it from where the mirror once stood felt like an endless ordeal, though only seconds had truly passed. A figure stood motionless before the room. “Sou?” Keiji called out, his voice laced with uncertainty. “The door was unlocked, sorry 'bout that” He straightened his posture, wiping away the sweat droplets that streamed down his face.
The figure remained stationary for a disconcerting moment, allowing Keiji to realize the height disparity between them. “Q-Taro?” he questioned, his voice tinged with surprise.
Keiji glanced upward, meeting the gaze of the figure in the doorway. Their eyes, a void of pitch-black darkness, contrasted starkly against the well-lit hallway. They seemed to absorb any trace of light, leaving only an abyss within. The figure's red skin appeared more vivid than the splatters of blood that adorned the room.
Holding his breath, Keiji locked eyes with the figure. With a gulp, he mustered the courage to stride forward, brushing past the illusion that haunted his mind. The lingering gaze of his so-called boogeyman sent a shiver down his spine, his breath prickling the nape of his neck and causing his skin to erupt in goosebumps.
The encounter with this figure was not unfamiliar to Keiji, although it had been a long time since their paths had crossed. He preferred to dismiss it as a mere gust of cold air, something he alone could feel. There was no reason to let it manifest into something more than that, no reason to let it become real.
Lost in his desire to escape the dreadful aura that surrounded the place, Keiji strode through the hallway without concern for his destination. All he wanted was to evade the gaze of the figure he despised, to forget about it as he had done in the past. However, the hallway seemed to stretch on much farther than he remembered.
Turning a corner, he came face to face with a shorter figure whose eyes held a similar sense of loss. Yet, as their gazes met, the figure hastily retreated, attempting to flee the scene. Keiji recognized the beanie that snugly covered their head. “Sou!” he called out, but his voice fell on deaf ears.
Keiji reached out, his left hand grasping onto Sou's shoulder, preventing him from escaping. He firmly held onto Sou's jacket, raising his arm in the process. Upon noticing Sou's hand, Keiji swiftly grabbed hold of his wrist. The touch of their hands caused Sou to flinch. His hands were tinged with a purple hue, knuckles bruised and stained with dried blood. Keiji pressed onto the palm, making Sou yelp in pain. “Let go!” Sou pleaded, attempting to shake him off to no avail.
Ignoring the plea, Keiji jerked Sou's wrist towards his face, seizing his hand once it was within reach. The contact between their hands made Sou wince. Embedded in his hand's skin tissue were small fragments of glass, some deeply lodged, some others surrounded by dried yellowish fluid. With a firm grip on Sou's wrist, Keiji pulled him along, forcing him towards the men's washroom on the other side of the common room. Despite Sou's feeble attempts to resist, each weak punch or slap only intensified the pain in his hand, driving the shards of glass further into his flesh.
“Don't ,” Sou spoke in a softer, more soothing tone, reminiscent of how he would address Kanna or even Sara when he was preoccupied with maintaining appearances. “I can't go in there.”
Keiji halted his steps, loosening his grip on Sou's wrist. “Why?” he inquired, turning to face the man whose pleas he had disregarded for the past few minutes.
Sou fell silent, contemplating his next words or actions. However, the more he thought about it, the more apparent it became that escape from Keiji's grasp was unlikely. No convincing lies came to mind; Keiji had always been a smart one. Yet, revealing the honest truth would only expose Sou's vulnerability and further low his already pitiful image.
Lowering his gaze and biting his lip, Sou exhaled with frustration, finally relenting, “You'll kill me, won't you?”
Keiji's eyes widened in surprise. How had Sou arrived at such a conclusion? “I saw you,” Sou trembled, his words stumbling over one another. “I saw you coming out of my... my room, wearing that terrifying expression.” Slowly, he raised his gaze.
Feeling Sou's hand tremble within his grasp, Keiji looked into his glassy eyes and witnessed genuine fear reflected in them. It reminded him of the fear a child would exhibit moments before wetting themselves. Though difficult for him, Keiji understood how Sou felt. It wasn't the first time someone had described his appearance as terrifying after one of his ‘episodes,’ nor had he been blind to it himself. It was a common occurrence among the police force—everyone had their own boogeyman. It was up to the individual to determine whether they allowed those fears to become real.
Keiji released Sou's wrist and instructed him to stay put. Sou complied without questioning, and Keiji left him alone in the wall next to the washroom for several minutes, occupied with opening and closing cabinets from within. Sou had the opportunity to escape, to find a weapon or devise a plan. Yet, the fear of the man just a few steps away kept him rooted to the spot, immobilized.
Half of Sou's face was buried in his scarf as he sighed in disbelief, surprised that his half-truth had been believed. In reality, he had indeed seen Keiji leaving his room with a furious expression. The fear he felt now was more of a momentary reaction, but his true concern lay with the mirrors.
The mirrors proudly hanging on the washroom walls seemed to reflect someone other than Sou. It was a person wearing the same scornful expression that Keiji had worn before. The terrifying expression of someone capable of snapping his neck. Sou feared them more than he feared Keiji himself, and he dreaded the mirrors that reflected such a menacing image that stared at him with such empty eyes.
As footsteps approached from the washroom, Keiji emerged holding a small red box. “I knew I had seen a first aid kit somewhere!” he proudly announced.
“You know I could've just gone to Safalin, right?” Sou snarked, grinning beneath his scarf.
“She's currently taking care of Sara.” Keiji replied.
Sou flinched at the mention of that name.
“So, you're stuck with me.” Keiji said with a gleeful smile.
Keiji extended his hand, expecting Sou to reciprocate. Sou scoffed but placed his right hand in Keiji's outstretched hand. Keiji then carefully inspected the wounds on Sou's hand.
After examining it closely, Keiji retrieved the small red box and opened it, revealing its unwrapped contents: needles, thread, gauze, and some analgesics. He further rummaged through the box and retrieved a pair of tweezers and some disinfectant. "This may sting a bit..." Keiji whispered.
“Please, I'm not a child—” Sou retorted, but before he could finish his sentence, Keiji sprayed the disinfectant onto his stretched hand. The alcohol burned his skin, causing a sensation akin to touching a hot oven. It was almost unbearable, bringing tears to his eyes, but he only managed to let out a pained moan.
“You were saying?” Keiji taunted.
“Shut up.”
“O... okay.”
Having disinfected specific areas of Sou's palm, Keiji used the tweezers to carefully remove stray pieces of glass that were not deeply embedded. Sou's expression subtly shifted to one of increasing pain with each extraction. Some of the shards were firmly lodged, causing the wound to bleed when they were pulled out.
Keiji initiated conversation, asking why Sou had punched his mirror until his hands bled. He could hear Sou gulp nervously before responding, “Why do you even care?”
He hummed, thinking of a way to answer his small question, “I care enough to lose some precious relaxing time tending to you.” Keiji finally replied.
Sou clicked his tongue and fell silent, lightly clutching the sides of his jacket with his free hand. He recoiled slightly when he felt a sharp pain from a small piece of glass embedded in the tip of his index finger.
“Does it have to do with that favor from yesterday?” Keiji pressed on, pulling out one of the larger pieces of glass from Sou's palm.
“I don't know what you're talking about.” Sou denied.
Keiji sighed, closing his eyes and pressing his lips together. With a sarcastic tone, he continued, “You know, when you were vomiting all over the place.”
“That did not happen.” Sou insisted.
“Safalin had the worst time of her career cleaning that mess up, I assure you," Keiji retorted. "I even had to carry you all the way to your room while smelling like rotten milk.”
“I got it, so just—”
“And we're sitting here, and I'm pretty sure you haven't taken a bath since.”
“Cut it out!” Sou shouted, clenching his teeth. “No, this doesn't have anything to do with what happened yesterday!”
The sudden outburst caught Keiji off guard, causing him to drop the tweezers. However, he couldn't help but find it amusing to tease Sou occasionally, just like he did back on the first floor, even though it felt like ages ago.
After picking up the tweezers, Keiji couldn't help but hide a small smug grin, struggling to contain his laughter. He could tell that Sou had lied to him, not only from his reaction but also from the stiffness of his hand and arms, the slurred way he pronounced his lie, and the way he visibly relaxed after giving his dishonest answer. It was clear that Sou intended to hide the truth as best as he could.
In another world, Keiji might not have cared at all about Sou's problem. Maybe he didn't truly care in this world either; perhaps he was just bored and needed something to focus his thoughts on. Why should he care about a broken mirror and bloodied pieces of glass? He didn't care. Sou having a rough day was no different from the rest of them, and he couldn't care any less. Yet, he couldn't understand why he felt such a strong desire to uncover what was wrong. Maybe there was nothing wrong, but if that were the case, why didn't the dreadful feeling of despair that filled him just leave? Why did Sou's room give him a strange sense of familiarity? And why did he feel sympathy when he saw Sou's tearful and terrified face? He didn't understand it, and with every piece of glass he extracted from Sou's hand, he understood it even less.
As he stood up, he was met with the gaze of a stranger, completely different from the glassy, tearful eyes that had pierced through his soul just moments before. “Why are you doing this?” Sou wondered aloud. “I never asked you to.”
Keiji pondered the question for a moment, unsure of the answer himself. “I suppose there are some things you can't really do on your own.” he replied, tapping his chin with the tweezers and scrunching his nose slightly. “For one, I didn't think you could get all the glass out of your hands by yourself.”
“I would've gone to Safalin.” Sou quickly interjected. It was true; he could have waited for Safalin in the nurse's office while she finished tending to Sara.
“Secondly,” Keiji added, “what kind of Friendly Policeman would have left a person to fend for themselves with such a wound on their hands?” He looked amused.
Sou rolled his eyes, but he seemed satisfied with the answer, as he didn't press the matter any further. “You don't seem to have lost your charm.” he remarked sarcastically.
“And you seem to have recovered your wit.” Keiji retorted as he wrapped Sou's right hand in white bandages.
They both laughed, the banter between them seeming strangely joyful. It was different from their usual banter during the games and trials. They didn't have a reason to deceive or trick each other this time, yet neither wanted to reveal too much about their true feelings. It was a game of cautious banter, where they avoided exposing weaknesses or giving the other leverage. Yet, it was an honest game between them. Every emotion displayed on their faces, every movement of their bodies, and every word they spoke back and forth felt genuine—or at least, it was starting to become that way for them.