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Chapter Text

The hum of the Dealers’ Den was steady tonight, a mechanical rhythm that never changed.

Cards shuffled. Screens flickered. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed too loud, too long.

Arisu Ryohei sat alone in the far corner, a dim halo of red light catching the smoke from his cigarette. He hadn’t moved in hours. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but there was a stillness to him that made the other dealers glance his way and look quickly back again.

He was an old myth in a young world, the King of Hearts, the man who could unmake players without lifting a weapon.

The title had stopped meaning anything years ago.

He watched the feeds from the first-stage arenas scrolling across the wall monitors. Faces he didn’t recognize screamed, ran, begged. New arrivals, still believing survival was a matter of luck or cleverness.

They didn’t understand yet.
No one ever did, not at Stage One.

By the time they reached his domain, they’d have learned what the games were really about. The cruelty wasn’t in dying. It was in realizing how easy it was to kill.

The door hissed open behind him, and he didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Chishiya never entered a room; he slid into it, quiet and self-assured, like a secret already half-told.

Arisu kept his eyes on the monitors as the white-haired man approached.

“Still brooding over your kingdom?” Chishiya’s voice was soft, threaded with that faint, mocking amusement that could sound like affection if you wanted it to.

“Stage One,” Arisu said simply, exhaling smoke. “They still scream the same way.”

“Of course they do.” Chishiya came to stand beside him, arms folded loosely across his chest. “You forget it’s all new to them. The terror. The thrill. The belief that they’re special enough to win.”

Arisu finally looked at him. “And you don’t believe that?”

“I know better,” Chishiya said lightly, and his mouth curved just enough to make it unclear if he was joking.

He wore his title like a tailored coat, immaculate, untouchable. The King of Diamonds. The tactician. The mind that never stopped calculating.

If Arisu’s realm was emotion, Chishiya’s was intellect. Two sides of the same equation.

They’d learned long ago that they understood each other in ways no one else could.

Chishiya leaned against the railing that overlooked the lower floor of the den. His gaze drifted across the rows of terminals, the holographic projections, the dealers moving with mechanical precision.

“Stage One’s filling up fast,” he said. “The Beach is forming again.”

Arisu’s interest flickered. “Already?”

“Mm.” Chishiya tilted his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Humanity’s favorite trick, as in rebuild the illusion of control before they even understand the rules.”

Arisu stubbed out his cigarette. “You think it’ll be any different this time?”

Chishiya looked at him. “No. But I think it might be entertaining to watch.”

Arisu arched a brow. “You sound like you want to go.”

“I do.”

That made Arisu pause.

Chishiya, King of Diamonds, never left his arena. He preferred distance, preferred watching people destroy themselves through logic. For him to suggest leaving the safety of the den meant something had shifted.

“Why?” Arisu asked.

Chishiya smiled. Small, knowing. “Curiosity.”

The silence between them stretched, comfortable but charged. It was always like this, long pauses filled with thought rather than emptiness.

Arisu looked down at the glowing feeds again, the tiny figures running through their first games. He’d seen hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. And yet he couldn’t remember a single face that had lasted.

He wasn’t even sure what lasting meant anymore.

“You could come too,” Chishiya said suddenly.

Arisu’s gaze flicked toward him. “To the Beach?”

“Why not? It’s a circus, but at least it’s a new one. You look like you could use the distraction.”

Arisu let out a soft breath, not quite a laugh. “A distraction from what?”

“From yourself,” Chishiya said simply.

There it was, that razor honesty that cut through all pretense. Chishiya’s tone was never cruel, but it was surgical. He knew exactly where to press to make something hurt just enough to feel real.

Arisu leaned back, eyes half-lidded. “You think the Beach can entertain me?”

“I think watching people pretend they’re free might,” Chishiya replied. “Besides, when was the last time you stepped outside your little kingdom?”

Arisu considered that. The truth was, he didn’t remember. Days, months, years- it all blurred together. The Dealers’ Den had become a loop: games, calculations, victories that meant nothing. Predictable, like the heartbeat of a machine.

Maybe Chishiya was right. Maybe he needed to see something crumble again.

Chishiya turned toward him fully now, his voice softening in a way that almost felt dangerous.
“They call you the King of Hearts, but I think you’ve forgotten what that means.”

Arisu’s eyes narrowed. “And what do you think it means?”

Chishiya stepped closer, close enough for Arisu to smell the faint trace of smoke and metal on him. “It means you understand people. You know how they think, how they love, how they break. But lately...” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming in the half-light. “You’ve been acting like one of my Diamonds.. cold, calculated. Predictable.”

The word hung between them. Predictable.

Arisu hated it precisely because it was true.

He met Chishiya’s gaze without flinching. “Maybe I’ve run out of people worth understanding.”

Chishiya smiled. “Then maybe it’s time to find new ones.”

Down below, one of the dealers switched the feed to a live view of the Beach. Even from the monitors, the place pulsed with chaotic energy, things like firelight, laughter, desperation. A civilization built from exhaustion and denial.

Chishiya’s eyes followed the movement on screen. “Look at them,” he murmured. “Still trying to build meaning from ashes.”

Arisu said nothing.

He could see the appeal, though. The false promise of community, the temporary warmth of shared delusion. For the players, the Beach would feel like hope. For the dealers, it was just another experiment.

And for him?

Maybe it could be both.

“You really think there’s anything left there for us?” Arisu asked quietly.

“For me?” Chishiya’s tone was light. “Information. For you…” He let the sentence trail off deliberately, a faint glimmer of challenge in his eyes. “Maybe something resembling amusement.”

Arisu studied him for a long moment. “You want me to go.”

Chishiya’s lips curved into that familiar, feline smile. “I want to see what happens when the King of Hearts walks into a room full of people who still believe in love.”

Arisu’s laughter came quietly, the sound low and rough from disuse. “You really are cruel.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. The hum of the den filled the silence. That endless, mechanical pulse of the Borderlands.

Then Arisu stood. His movements were slow, deliberate. The other dealers fell silent as he passed out of instinct. The air shifted when he moved.

Chishiya watched him with a look that was equal parts curiosity and something unspoken.

“Fine,” Arisu said. “I’ll go.”

“To the Beach?”

“Why not?” He reached for his coat, slipping it over his shoulders with the ease of habit. “You’re right. It might be… fun.”

Chishiya smiled, low and pleased. “I’ll meet you there.”

Arisu paused at the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. “Try not to start the game without me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Outside, the city was still burning quietly, the distant fires casting long shadows across the empty streets.

Arisu lit another cigarette as he walked. The taste was bitter, grounding. Above him, the sky was a blank, the Borderlands’ version of twilight.

Somewhere out there, a new round of players was building their paradise.
He wondered how long it would take before they realized it was a cage.

He smiled faintly to himself not with joy, but with the kind of detached curiosity that came from watching a story repeat its ending.

Maybe the Beach would bore him. Maybe it wouldn’t.

But at least it would be something new to destroy.

He was passing the intersection at Meiji Avenue when he noticed movement - two silhouettes in the orange haze, standing before a building glowing with the unmistakable red pulse of an arena beacon.

GAME STARTING SOON
DEAD OR ALIVE — 3♣

A low-level game. Not worth his time.

Still, something about the two players made him pause.

The taller one had a rough, athletic energy, confident, restless, the kind of man who’d start a fight for the thrill of it. The other was thinner, nervous, with a pair of glasses slipping down his nose. They were talking too loud, laughing to cover the fear in their voices.

New arrivals.

Stage One optimism.

Arisu almost walked past. Then, without knowing why, he stopped.

Maybe it was boredom. Maybe curiosity. Maybe the faint tug of something he couldn’t name.. a memory that wasn’t really a memory.

Either way, he found himself turning toward them.

“Hey,” the tall one called as he approached. “You heading to this game too?”

Arisu slid his hands into his coat pockets. “Something like that.”

“You played before?”

“A few times.”

The nervous one adjusted his glasses, trying for a smile. “Then maybe you can tell us what the hell ‘Dead or Alive’ means. Is it, like, a trick question?”

Arisu glanced up at the red-lit sign above the door. Dead or Alive.

“No trick,” he said. “Just a choice.”

That earned him a wary look from both men, but the taller one grinned anyway. “Good enough for me. I’m Karube, by the way. This is Chōta.”

Arisu nodded. “Ryohei.” He didn’t bother with the rest.

Karube slapped him lightly on the back. “Cool. Guess we’re teammates now, huh?”

He let the touch happen, unfamiliar warmth seeping through the cold veneer of habit. It was strange how easy people reached for connection in this world, like pretending they weren’t alone made them safer.

Maybe that was why he stayed. To see if he could fake it, too.

The three of them stepped through the glowing arch. The metal doors sealed behind them with a hiss, and the air changed- thicker, charged.

A voice crackled from the ceiling.

“Welcome to the game: DEAD OR ALIVE.”
“Each player must pass through one door per round. Choose correctly to survive.”
“Choose wrong, and you die.”

A map blinked to life on the wall, a simple floor plan of a building. The first room was labeled START. Two exits: DEAD and ALIVE.

Karube let out a short laugh, all bravado. “So we just pick ‘alive,’ right? Seems obvious.”

Arisu said nothing. He’d seen this exact setup before, countless times. The pattern of deaths always started the same way: someone assumed logic applied here. Someone trusted instinct. Someone died screaming.

But this time, he wasn’t the strategist or the dealer. He was a player again.. by choice.

He followed as Karube pushed open the ALIVE door.

A burst of heat hit them from the hallway beyond,  flames already licking at the wallpaper, smoke rolling down like fog. The ceiling groaned. Somewhere above, metal shrieked as something heavy collapsed.

Chōta coughed. “This place is burning!”

“Looks like it,” Arisu said mildly.

“Do we- do we keep going?”

Karube turned, eyes wide and bright in the firelight. “We came this far. Let’s win this thing.”

Win.

Arisu almost smiled. The word still existed for some people.

They ran.

The air grew hotter with each turn. Every door was another question - Dead or Alive - but the signs were meaningless. The Borderlands didn’t play by language; it played by psychology.

Arisu could feel the structure of the game unfolding in his mind like a diagram. Each correct choice fed them forward, each wrong one ending in flame. He watched the walls, the floor, the shifting temperature of the air, the way the system subtly guided panic.

He could have solved it instantly. But he didn’t.

He let Karube and Chōta lead, their decisions guided by luck and adrenaline. He wanted to see what it felt like to follow again, to be human by imitation.

Karube kicked through another ALIVE door, ducking under a collapsing beam. “Damn, this place is trying to kill us!”

Chōta laughed breathlessly. “You think that’s the point, genius?”

Arisu followed silently.

The heat licked at his skin. Ash drifted in the air like snow. Each second stretched into a thread of tension, the kind that used to thrill him.

He’d forgotten what that felt like.

They hit a dead end, two doors side by side, both marked ALIVE.

Karube cursed. “What kind of trick-”

Arisu stepped past him, touching the handle of the left door. It was cold. Too cold for a hallway full of fire.

“Left,” he said.

Chōta hesitated. “You sure?”

“No.”

Karube grinned. “I like this guy.” He pushed through the door, dragging Chōta after him.

The corridor beyond was empty, the air suddenly clear. No smoke. No heat.

They’d found the exit.

The game voice returned, calm and toneless.

“Congratulations. All players survive. Visas extended.”

Chōta collapsed against the wall, trembling with relief. Karube laughed, the sound bright and raw. “Holy shit, we made it!”

Arisu stared at the glowing EXIT sign above them. The letters blinked lazily, indifferent.

He felt… nothing. No victory, no relief. Just the faint curiosity of watching others still capable of those emotions.

Maybe that was the experiment not the game itself, but the act of pretending he was one of them.

Outside, the night was quiet again. The building behind them burned steadily, casting the three of them in shifting red light.

Karube turned to him, sweat streaking his face. “You’re not half bad, Ryohei. Stick with us, we could use a guy like you.”

Arisu met his gaze, then Chōta’s uncertain, hopeful smile.

“Maybe,” he said.

Karube laughed and clapped him on the shoulder again before leading Chōta down the street, already planning where to sleep, what to eat, what to do next.

Arisu watched them go until they vanished into the dark.

He took out his communicator and pressed a button.

“Chishiya.”

The line clicked open instantly. “You’re late.”

“I told you I might be.”

A pause. Then, with mild curiosity: “And was it worth it?”

Arisu looked back at the smoldering building. The flames twisted in slow motion, painting the sky red.

“I don’t know yet,” he said. “But for a moment, it almost felt unpredictable.”

Chishiya’s soft laugh came through the static. “Careful, King. Curiosity looks good on you.”

The line went dead.

Arisu slipped the device into his pocket and started walking again, toward the faint neon glow on the horizon where the Beach waited.

Behind him, the fire kept burning. Steady, patient, alive.

The city had gone still again, as if the fire behind them had burned the sound out of the world.

Karube was still grinning, the afterglow of adrenaline radiating off him like heat. Chōta, beside him, was half-laughing, half-coughing, his voice breaking in disbelief every few words.

Arisu followed a few steps behind, hands in his coat pockets, gaze half-lowered. He told himself he was only staying because it was easier than leaving, that he’d rest a few hours and then head for the Beach.

He didn’t bother asking why he believed himself.

They passed through the empty streets in easy silence. The last traces of smoke drifted upward, blending into the thick dusk.

Karube kicked at a can as they walked, the metallic clatter echoing. “You got any idea where we can crash tonight?”

Chōta rubbed his eyes. “I’m fine with anywhere that’s not on fire.”

Arisu’s eyes caught on the flickering sign of a department store across the intersection -  PARCO. The glass doors hung crooked, and the inside was cloaked in dust, but it would do.

“There,” he said.

They crossed the street. The entrance creaked as Karube forced the doors open. The smell of old air rushed out, something between rust and forgotten perfume.

“Luxury accommodations,” Karube muttered. “Five stars, at least.”

Arisu let the faintest smile tug at his mouth. “You’ve stayed in worse.”

“You don’t know that.”

He didn’t, but the remark made Karube laugh anyway.

They found a café on the second floor, half-lit by the orange wash of sunset through broken windows. Tables overturned, chairs scattered. Chōta cleared a space and sat on the floor with a sigh that sounded more like release than exhaustion.

Karube leaned back against the wall, rubbing his neck. “So, Ryohei, right? You said you’ve done a few games before. How long you been here?”

Arisu hesitated just long enough to measure the question.

Long enough to make it sound believable.

“About a month,” he lied.

Karube nodded, impressed. “No kidding. Then you probably know how to handle yourself. You look like you don’t panic easy.”

“I don’t see the point,” Arisu said.

“Guess it’s different when you’ve been around,” Chōta murmured. “We only got here, what.. two days ago?”

“Three,” Karube corrected. “If we count the first night.”

“Yeah,” Chōta said. “Still feels like a nightmare.”

Arisu studied them quietly. The way Chōta’s hands trembled even now, the way Karube kept glancing at the dark corners of the room like he was daring something to move — it was all textbook Stage One behavior.

Fear still visible, hope still intact.

It almost felt like watching a memory he couldn’t remember having.

“You said a month?” Chōta asked. “You figure there’s a way out?”

Arisu took a long breath, slow enough to sound thoughtful. “Maybe. If you play enough games, collect enough cards…”

He let the sentence trail off, as if the rest were too uncertain to finish.

It wasn’t the truth. He knew exactly what the end looked like, the way every player who tried to “win” ended up back at the starting point, stripped of the illusion of meaning.

But he didn’t want to ruin the fiction yet.

Karube was still talking, his energy unbroken. “So, the Beach, right? Heard about that place. Some kind of safe zone? Everyone’s talking about it.”

Arisu’s hand tightened around his knee before he caught himself.

“Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

“You been?”

“No.” Another lie, smooth, practiced. “But I heard they’re trying to collect the cards too.”

Karube whistled low. “Guess we’ll have to go there sometime.”

Arisu nodded faintly. He told himself that staying, just for tonight, was harmless. A delay, nothing more.

They scavenged what they could from the mall’s remains. Bottled water, canned coffee, a few energy bars hardened with age. Karube insisted on splitting everything evenly, though Arisu hadn’t asked for any.

They ate in near-darkness, the silence broken only by the occasional rumble of the collapsing city beyond.

Chōta sipped his coffee, grimaced, and said, “You ever wonder what this place really is?”

Arisu looked up. “All the time.”

“Like- what if we’re dead? Or in some experiment?”

Karube made a face. “Bro, can you not say ‘dead’ after the game we just did?”

Chōta chuckled weakly. “I’m serious, though.”

Arisu’s eyes followed the reflection of firelight dancing on the metal tables. “Does it matter?”

That silenced them both.

After a moment, Karube gave a short laugh, not quite comfortable. “You sound like you already gave up figuring it out.”

“Maybe I did,” Arisu said softly.

Later, when Chōta drifted to sleep against the wall, Karube lingered near the window.

The city stretched beneath them, all ash and red glow. Somewhere far off, the faint shimmer of the Beach’s floodlights pulsed like a heartbeat against the horizon.

Karube spoke without turning. “You really don’t scare easy, huh?”

“I just don’t see the point of fear,” Arisu said.

Karube smirked. “That’s the kind of thing a psycho says.”

Arisu almost laughed. “Maybe I am one.”

They stood there in silence for a while, the word hanging between them like a private joke that wasn’t funny.

Karube eventually stretched and yawned. “Anyway, thanks for the save back there. You basically got us through that death maze.”

“I just followed you,” Arisu said.

Karube glanced at him, eyes narrowing like he wasn’t sure whether that was humility or mockery. “Yeah, sure. Good night, Ryohei.”

“Good night.”

When the sounds of sleep finally filled the air, Chōta’s shallow breathing, Karube’s occasional shift against the floor. Arisu remained awake.

The city lights flickered through the cracked window, painting his reflection across the glass.

He watched himself. The stillness, the faint gleam of eyes that no longer held surprise, and wondered if this was what Chishiya meant when he accused him of acting like a Diamond.

Predictable.

Detached.

Dead long before the system ever decided the outcome.

He could leave now, walk to the Beach before dawn. No one would notice. No one would care.

But something in him resisted.

The sound of Karube’s soft snore. The way Chōta murmured faintly in his sleep, something that might have been a prayer.

They were real, for now. That was enough to make him stay.

He reached for his communicator, thumb hovering over Chishiya’s contact before lowering it again.

No point checking in yet. Not until he understood what this strange, temporary gravity meant the quiet pull toward people who didn’t matter.

The clock on the far wall blinked, the numbers fading in and out.

03:17 AM

Time didn’t mean much here. But the night still felt longer than usual.

He closed his eyes, not to rest but to listen to the soft rhythm of breathing, to the faint hum of neon far away, to the slow echo of something like life stirring faintly in the silence.

Just for tonight, he let the lie stand.

He was one of them.
Just another player.
Alive, for now.

After careful consideration, Arisu decided that a cigarette was needed. A burning truth.

He tentatively stepped past Karube and Chota's sleeping forms and exited the building through the shatter glass entrance.

Arisu grasped the lighter in his coat pocket, feeling the cool metal against his fingers before taking out a cigarette from another pocket in his coat. Flicking the lighter once, twice the cigarette lit and he took a slow drag.

The night pressed against the mall like a weight. Arisu exhaled slowly, cigarette glowing in the darkness. The Beach could wait. Always could wait.

Movement from an alley caught his eye. A woman emerged. Her posture controlled, deliberate, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her. She wasn’t brash, but she carried the quiet certainty of someone who had survived. Not loudly, not aggressively, just enough to make herself known.

She noticed him and gave a subtle nod. “Evening,” she said softly.

“Evening,” he replied, flicking ash.

Her gaze lingered on the cigarette, then on him. “You smoke.”

“It helps pass the time,” he said flatly.

She offered a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Same here.”

Her hands were steady, her expression calm. But Arisu noticed the slight tremor in her fingers.. the residue of adrenaline, the quiet echo of survival.

“I just came from a game,” she said. “Two of Hearts. Runaway Train.”

Arisu’s jaw tightened slightly. He didn’t like her. She had survived, yes, but she carried it like a quiet medal, not yet tested beyond that.

“You made it,” he said. Neutral, noncommittal.

“Yes,” she said simply, almost like a statement of fact. No self-congratulation, no boast, just survival.

“That doesn’t make you skilled,” he said softly, exhaling smoke.

Her eyes flicked up briefly, but she didn’t argue. “Maybe,” she admitted, “but surviving something once.. it counts for something.”

He ground the cigarette under his boot. Annoying how calm she is.

“Are you heading somewhere?” he asked.

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No. Just.. moving. Needed to get away.”

Arisu considered it, then gestured toward the mall. “Inside. Shelter. Food. Sleep, if you want.”

Her eyes flicked to the boys sleeping on the floor, but she didn’t comment. “Alright,” she said, following him.

Inside, the stale air of the empty mall greeted them. Karube and Chōta lay sprawled across the tile, exhausted. Shibuki paused near the doorway, observing them with a careful, measured glance.

“New arrivals?” she said quietly.

“Yes,” Arisu said.

Her gaze shifted to him. But she said nothing.

She moved further inside and sat near the boys, careful to keep her distance, her posture composed yet relaxed.

Arisu crossed his arms, silently counting the seconds before he could endure her presence no longer.

Karube blinked awake and squinted at her. “Who’s that?”

“Shibuki,” she said simply. “I survived a game. Two of Hearts. Runaway Train.”

Chōta stirred, rubbing his eyes. “Sounds... intense.”

She nodded once. “It was. But I managed.” Her voice was calm, neutral, almost understated. She wasn’t trying to impress, only stating the truth as she saw it.

Arisu noticed the difference immediately. She carried her survival quietly, without the performance that usually annoyed him. Still, he didn’t like her.

“You’re staying?” Karube asked.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I’ll be here for now.”

Arisu muttered under his breath, annoyed. Figures.

She didn’t seem to care about the irritation she caused, only about finding a spot to rest. She observed, silently taking in the environment, noting the boys’ positions, the cracks in the walls, the scattered debris, without comment or judgment.

Karube and Chōta were soon distracted by exhaustion again, drifting back toward sleep. Shibuki remained awake, leaning against the wall near the window. Cigarette in hand, she let her eyes follow the distant fires outside, quietly present but not intrusive.

Arisu stayed by the opposite window, arms crossed, silently watching her. She wasn’t aggressive, not a threat, not a boastful intruder. And yet, her mere presence was enough to irritate him the calm, quiet survivor who followed him inside despite his preference for solitude.

She hummed softly to herself, just enough to fill the silence without imposing. Arisu noted every subtle movement: the faint shift of weight from one foot to another, the brief tightening of her jaw when she noticed his gaze.

He didn’t like her.
He didn’t trust her.

Yet she was here.

Of course she is, he thought. The Borderlands have a way of letting the quiet follow the calculated.

For now, he allowed it. He didn’t have to engage, didn’t have to tolerate more than observation. He could plan, wait, calculate.

The Beach could wait.

Tonight, there were other variables to consider.

And Shibuki, quietly confident and understated, had just become one.

The morning light was thin; not golden, not hopeful, just another gray wash over the ruins.

The city smelled of rust and wet concrete. Arisu stepped over a collapsed traffic light, his shadow long against the cracked asphalt. Karube and Chōta trailed behind somewhere, scavenging from the nearby buildings for food that had outlived its expiration date.

He needed space. He needed quiet.

And he needed to see Chishiya.

The communicator buzzed faintly in his hand as he slipped into a narrow street lined with vending machines and sun-bleached posters. He pressed the receiver to his ear.

“Where are you?” he said.

Chishiya’s voice came through smooth, detached, almost amused. “You sound like you missed me.”

Arisu rolled his eyes. “Convenience store on the east block. The one with the blue shutters.”

A pause. “You picked a crowded spot.”

“No one comes here anymore,” Arisu replied. “Meet me in ten.”

The convenience store still had its glass intact. The shelves were skeletal, half-looted, littered with empty bottles and dead flies.

Arisu leaned against the counter, lighting a cigarette and watching the smoke curl toward the flickering fluorescent lights. The hum of the city was faint, the echo of a world that had forgotten itself.

He heard the door slide open without a sound.

“Still dramatic as ever,” Chishiya said, stepping inside.

His pale hair caught the dim light, the glint of his earring flashing when he turned his head. His white hoodie was spotless, as if the Borderlands had never touched him.

Arisu gave a small smirk. “You’re late.”

“I was busy surviving,” Chishiya said, leaning lazily against a shelf. “You should try it sometime.”

Arisu ignored the jab. “You heard anything from the Beach?”

“Nothing useful,” Chishiya said. “They’re still scrambling for cards. The dealers are quiet, though.”

“Good,” Arisu said softly.

Chishiya tilted his head, studying him. “You sound almost bored. You’ve been quiet for days.”

“I’ve been… watching.”

“Watching what?”

“People.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow. “People? Since when do you care about those?”

“I don’t,” Arisu said.

Chishiya smirked. “Then what’s this about?”

Arisu flicked ash into a cracked display case. “There are two of them. New players. One’s loud, the other’s fragile. They remind me of something I can’t name.”

“And?”

“I’m thinking about taking one into a game.”

That made Chishiya straighten slightly, interest flickering across his normally impassive face. “You?” he said. “Volunteering for company? I thought you preferred the solitude of your throne.”

Arisu met his gaze, steady. “I want to see how long they last.”

Chishiya stepped closer, curiosity sharpening. “You don’t mean helping them, do you?”

“Help?” Arisu gave a short laugh. “No. I want to see what they do when they think someone’s on their side.”

Chishiya’s mouth curved into something like a smile. “Ah. An experiment.”

“If you want to call it that.”

“You’re testing attachment,” Chishiya said, his tone soft but precise. “You think you can fake empathy long enough to study the collapse.”

Arisu met his eyes. “I don’t need to fake it. I just need to watch.”

Chishiya hummed thoughtfully. “And if they surprise you?”

“They won’t.”

“Bold,” Chishiya murmured. He moved around the counter, brushing his fingers against the dusty shelves. “You used to have that same arrogance when you designed the Hearts games.”

Arisu’s jaw tightened slightly. “This isn’t a game.”

Chishiya looked over his shoulder, half-smiling. “Everything here is.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. The hum of the flickering lights filled the air.

Finally, Chishiya said, “You’ve changed, Arisu. When we started this… you were a cynic, not a voyeur.”

“I’m still both,” Arisu said flatly.

“No,” Chishiya said, leaning against the counter beside him. “You’re getting sentimental.”

Arisu turned his head sharply. “I’m not.”

“Of course not,” Chishiya said lightly. “That’s why you’re delaying your return to the Beach. That’s why you’re suddenly fascinated with two players who mean nothing to you. You don’t care, but you can’t look away.”

Arisu’s fingers tightened around the cigarette. “They’re unpredictable. That’s all.”

“Unpredictable people make you nostalgic,” Chishiya said. “That’s dangerous.”

Arisu exhaled slowly. “Maybe I want a little danger.”

“Then you’ll get it.”

Chishiya’s expression softened briefly, a faint shadow of something resembling affection, though with him, it was hard to tell where affection ended and manipulation began.

He brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. “You’ll bring one of them to a game. Which one?”

“Karube,” Arisu said.

“The loud one.”

“He’s impulsive,” Arisu said. “He’ll think he’s making his own choices.”

“And you’ll make them for him,” Chishiya said, amused.

“I’ll see what he does when the structure bends. I want to know what it takes for him to turn.”

“Predictable,” Chishiya said softly. “You’re still trying to disprove chaos. You still think everything follows a pattern.”

Arisu met his gaze. “Doesn’t it?”

Chishiya smiled. “Maybe not everything.”

They stood in silence again, the tension between them subtle but electric. The air hummed with the faint sound of neon and the muted creak of metal in the heat.

Finally, Chishiya said, “Be careful, Arisu. Pretending to care has a way of becoming real.”

Arisu looked at him at the calm intelligence in his eyes, the faint amusement, the knowing smirk that always carried a hint of affection beneath it.

“I’ll manage,” he said quietly.

“I know you will,” Chishiya said, stepping back toward the door. “But that’s not the problem, is it?”

Arisu said nothing.

When Chishiya reached the threshold, he paused. “When you’re done with your.. experiment, come back. The Beach misses its king.”

“The king hasn't even started his reign yet, so I highly doubt that.” Arisu said.

Chishiya’s smirk widened. “Maybe not. But I do.”

The door slid shut behind him, the sound soft, deliberate.

Arisu stood alone again, smoke curling around his face. He watched the empty doorway for a long time, until the silence grew thick enough to feel like gravity.

He flicked the cigarette into the dust and turned toward the street.

The experiment had already begun.

Chapter Text

The mall had become a kind of purgatory, too quiet to be alive, too intact to be dead.

It had that smell Arisu associated with long-forgotten places: dust, old air, the faint trace of something burned. The sunlight that slipped through the cracked skylights came in fractured lines, making ghosts of everything it touched.

He walked ahead of the others through the main concourse, his footsteps echoing. Behind him came Karube, steady and loud; Shibuki, deliberate and silent; and Chota, who muttered under his breath as if speaking kept the quiet from swallowing him.

Arisu didn’t really know them. One day wasn’t enough to. But in the Borderlands, proximity replaced friendship. You learned the outlines of a person by the way they survived.. or didn’t.

They reached the central atrium, a wide hollow space where a drained foutain sat like a crater. The last of the afternoon light fell there, soft and yellowed. Arisu stopped beside it and sat down on the marble rim.

Karube followed his lead, dragging a half-crumpled pack of cigerettes from his pocket. He offered one silently. Arisu took it without thinking, and for a moment, that felt like something close to trust.

Chota frowned. “Seriously? Both of you?”

Karube lit his cigarette first, the lighter’s flame flickering against his face. “You don’t want one?”

Chota shook his head. “Not trying to die faster than necessary.”

“Death’s got better aim than cigarettes,” Shibuki said. Her voice was low and dry. She leaned against one of the fountain’s pillars, already smoking her own. The gesture looked practiced, almost elegant, but her eyes didn’t match the calm.

Arisu watched her for a second, then looked away. There was something about her too sharp, too knowing. She spoke like someone who’d already decided everyone around her was temporary.

She probably thought she was a step ahead all of them.

He preferred silence.

They smoked in quiet for a while, the air thickening with the smell.

It was Karube who finally broke it. “I am thinking about going to a game today.”

Arisu nodded.

Chota groaned. “Already? I just got here. We can’t keep jumping from one to the next.”

“You can,” Arisu said evenly. “Your visa’s still good for another three days, isn’t it?”

Chota blinked. “Yeah, but-”

“Karube’s only has two days left."

Karube exhaled smoke through his nose. “You keeping tabs on all of us now?”

“Just paying attention,” Arisu said.

Chota muttered something about 'insane logic' and wandered a few steps away, pacing near a boarded-up storefront. He didn’t leave, but he was already checked out of the conversation, the way people got when they didn’t want to hear the truth.

Arisu turned his eyes to Karube. “You should come, I know you have already thought about it seeing as you brought it up.”

Karube gave a short laugh. “You’re not even gonna tell me what kind of game it is first?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why should I follow you into it?”

“Because not playing kills you faster.”

That earned him a long, steady look. Karube didn’t seem frightened, just thoughtful. The kind of man who measured danger before he acted. Arisu respected that.

He flicked ash off his cigarette. “You’ve got until sunset. After that, it won’t matter what kind of game it is.”

Karube’s eyes narrowed. “You talk like you’ve seen this before.”

Arisu shrugged. “Everyone here has.”

It wasn’t the full truth, but it was close enough.

Shibuki exhaled smoke in their direction, her voice cool. “He’s right. Visa runs out, you’re done. No reset button.”

Karube turned to her. “You going too?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not this time I have four days left due to the two I got yesterday.”

Arisu could hear the faint edge in her tone that mix of calculation and fear she tried to disguise. It wasn’t cowardice. It was strategy. She knew better than to risk her life unless she had to.

Chota echoed her immediately. “Yeah, same. I’m sitting this one out.”

Karube looked back at Arisu. “Guess it’s just us, then.”

Arisu nodded once, the smallest trace of relief in the motion. He didn’t like groups. Too unpredictable. Too emotional.

Shibuki stubbed out her cigarette on the marble and dropped the butt beside the fountain. “You two go get yourselves killed then. I’ll keep an eye on the place.”

Arisu didn’t answer. She wasn’t talking to him anyway.

He stood, tucking his lighter back into his pocket. “South exit. Sunset,” he said to Karube.

Karube’s mouth twitched- not a smile, exactly, but close. “You always talk like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like the world’s already decided what’s going to happen.”

Arisu’s gaze flicked toward the skylight. The sun was slipping lower, turning the dust gold. “Maybe it has.”

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Karube nodded, tapping ash off his cigarette. “Alright, then. I’ll meet you there.”

Chota groaned, “You’re actually going?”

Karube grinned without humor. “Man’s got a point. Visa’s almost out. Might as well burn another day while I’ve got it.”

Shibuki looked away, pretending not to listen. Arisu knew she would, though.

He watched Karube walk toward the escalators, the sound of his boots echoing up the concrete. Arisu waited until he was gone before sitting again.

Chota kicked at a discarded can. “You really think he’ll make it?”

Arisu didn’t answer immediately. He lit another cigarette instead. The flame wavered against the draft that always crept through the cracks in the mall.

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” he said finally. “People either make it or they don’t.”

Shibuki’s voice came from behind him. “You’re not good at pretending you care.”

He lookd at her over his shoulder. “I don’t.”

Her mouth curved into an almost-smile. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”

He let the comment hang.

When she turned and walked away, her footsteps were soft, almost soundless despite the heels of her shoes. Arisu watched her disappear into the long hallway where the glass was still half-mirrored. For a second, her reflection overlapped his own, two strangers, both too aware of what they’d lost.

By the time Chota wandered off to scavenge for snacks, the light had faded enough to stain the mall amber. Arisu finished his cigarette and flicked it into the fountain’s hollow basin. The ember landed with a faint hiss.

He sat there a while longer, alone with the sound of the air shifting and the distant hum of something mechanical a generator, maybe.

He didn’t know what game was waiting for them. He didn’t need to. The Borderlands always asked the same question, just dressed it differently each time: What are you willing to lose to keep living?

Arisu leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching the last thread of smoke disappear.

When the light thinned to gray, he stood.

He didn’t look back at the others. He didn’t say goodbye.

The south exit waited, and somewhere beyond it, the beacon would rise.

Karube would be there.

The rest.. the rules, the blood, the choice would come later.

Arisu lit one more cigarette before stepping into the dark.

The flame caught easily.

The lobby hummed with tension, a low, unbroken current beneath the steady buzz of fluorescent lights. The walls were off-white, sterile, the kind of color that made skin look paler, thoughts feel sharper.

Players clustered in uneasy groups, eyes darting toward the registration table. One by one, they offered their phones, their faces blank as the collars clicked around their necks.

Arisu watched in silence. The metallic sound reminded him of a door locking somewhere deep in his chest.

Karube stood beside him, hands in his pockets, shoulders loose but gaze alert.

The screen behind the registration desk flickered to life.

GAME: TAG - 5 OF ♤.
RULES: FIND THE SAFE ROOM. SURVIVE UNTIL THE TIMER ENDS.

The line of text pulsed once before fading.

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

Arisu didn’t move. He scanned the lobby instead, eyes flicking between players, mapping exits, noting posture and tone. His gaze stopped, just for a moment, on a figure leaning against the far wall.

Chishiya.

Unmoving. Composed. Half-shadowed under the flickering light.

Their eyes met only for a fraction of a second before Arisu looked away.

When the automatic doors slid open, the players began to pour into the game area. The air shifted instantly, colder, quieter, charged with invisible static.

The building stretched high into the dark, its corridors long and symmetrical, every floor identical in shape but not in sound. Some doors hummed faintly. Others were silent. None were marked.

Arisu walked forward without speaking. Karube followed, his boots echoing. The rest scattered like startled birds, each chasing their own survival instinct.

“Looks like a maze,” Karube muttered.

Arisu nodded slightly. “It’s not a maze if it has a pattern.”

Karube tilted his head. “You see one?”

“Not yet.”

They moved through the first corridor, trying handles, pressing on walls. Every door was locked. The building swallowed sound; even their breathing felt muted.

Then came the footsteps. Heavy. Steady.

The first tagger appeared tall, masked, its metal head shaped like a horse. A rifle gleamed faintly in the low light.

“Back!” Karube hissed.

The group nearest the entrance scattered instantly. Arisu stepped behind a column, heart pounding steady, calculating distance, speed, escape routes.

“Stay low,” Karube said. “I’ll draw it off.”

Before Arisu could object, another voice cut through the echoing hall.

“Hey, you.”

A big guy Arisu vaguely recognized stepped from the shadows, face impassive, gaze cold as a blade. “You look like you can move. Come with me.”

Karube hesitated, then nodded once.

Arisu caught his eye briefly a flash of wordless communication, then they split.

Aguni and Karube moved toward the lower floor, their silhouettes swallowed by darkness. The sound of the tagger’s boots followed them.

Arisu exhaled slowly, then turned toward the stairwell. He paused halfway up the first flight.

Chishiya was waiting there, leaning casually against the railing as if he’d been there the whole time.

“You’re going up,” Chishiya said, voice low but clear.

Arisu blinked, surprised but not startled. “Yeah.”

Chishiya pushed off the railing, falling into step beside him. “Good. Let’s see what kind of game they’ve dropped us into this time.”

They ascended together, their footsteps barely making a sound on the concrete stairs. The silence between them was easy, familiar in its restraint.

On the third floor landing, Chishiya glanced over his shoulder. “That guy.. the one you came in with. Karube, right?”

Arisu hesitated. “Yeah.”

“New?”

“One of the guys I told you about yesterday.”

“Hmm.” Chishiya’s voice was mild, but his eyes flicked sideways, assessing. “He doesn’t seem like your type.”

Arisu frowned faintly. “My type?”

“Too loud. Too sure of himself.” Chishiya smiled, faintly, without warmth. “You prefer quiet people.”

Arisu looked away. “He’s.. different. But he’s quick. The big guy saw it.”

“Aguni would recruit a storm if it looked strong enough to throw a punch.”

“Aguni? Wait, is that hatters right hand man? The guy from the beach?” Arisu asked.

Chishiya hummed in confirmation. "I have made myself quite comfortable there, just counting down the hours till my dear king will join me."

Arisu rolled his eyes. "You will know."

They reached the fourth floor. The hallway stretched ahead of them; doors, corridors, intersections that all looked the same. Arisu’s eyes moved constantly, cataloging. “The safe room’s hidden,” he murmured. “No signage, no pattern yet.”

Chishiya slipped his hands into his pockets. “It’ll be somewhere unexpected. Something that looks too ordinary to bother checking.”

Arisu gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. That was usually how it went.

They continued upward. The fifth floor, then the sixth. With each level, the muffled sounds of the other players grew fainter, until all that remained was the faint hum of electricity and their own breathing.

The top floor opened into a wide hall, bordered by narrow catwalks and glass panels overlooking the levels below. From here, the chaos unfolded in miniature.

Arisu leaned against the railing, scanning. “They’re panicking already.”

Chishiya followed his gaze. “They usually do. The trick is to watch who doesn’t.”

Below, a handful of players worked systematically, testing doors instead of running. One group huddled near a stairwell, arguing in low, urgent voices.

And far below, near the base floor, Aguni and Karube were moving like soldiers. The flash of a gun barrel caught the light. The tagger appeared, mechanical, relentless.

“Aguni’s baiting it,” Arisu said.

Chishiya’s mouth curved slightly. “Predictable.”

“Karube’s with him.”

“That might end badly for your new friend.”

Arisu said nothing. He smiled though.

The echo of gunfire rang out below. The sound was distant but sharp. Arisu followed the movement, watching the flashes in the dark, the shifting shadows. Aguni’s tactics were efficient, blunt but effective. Karube moved with surprising speed, flanking the tagger on command, his body language halfway between bravery and desperation.

“He’s faster than I thought,” Arisu murmured.

Chishiya tilted his head. “Still reckless.”

Arisu exhaled through his nose. “You’d rather hide and wait?”

Chishiya smiled faintly, eyes fixed below. “It’s not hiding if you’re learning.”

Arisu didn’t answer. He kept watching until the gunfire stopped. The silence that followed felt heavy, expectant. Somewhere below, someone screamed.. then nothing.

“They’ll clear it,” Chishiya said eventually, tone neutral. “Aguni’s too stubborn to die early.”

Arisu stepped back from the railng, his pulse still racing beneath his calm exterior. “If they’re buying time, we should use it.”

“For what?”

“To find the safe room.”

"You really want to find it?" Chishiya questioned

"No point dragging it out." Arisu responded

Chishiya turned toward him, amusement ghosting over his expression. “You think it’s up here?”

“I think everyone assumes it’s not.”

A small sound of approval escaped Chishiya, not quite a laugh. “Still the same.”

Arisu ignored the comment and began checking the walls, knocking lightly against them. One section near the end of the hall gave off a duller thud. He paused. “Here.”

Chishiya joined him, eyes flicking to the seam where the wall met the floor. Barely visible, but there..

A thin line of separation.

“Hidden panel,” Chishiya murmured. “Of course.”

Arisu crouched, tracing the edge with his fingers. No handle, no keypad. He searched along the base until he felt a faint indent; a button, flush with the metal.

He pressed it.

A soft clic echoed, and the wall shifted inward, revealing a narrow passage lit by a single flickering bulb.

For a second, neither spoke.

Then Chishiya smiled, faint and knowing. “Found your way in again.”

Arisu straightened, meeting his gaze. “It’s not over yet.”

“Mm.” Chishiya’s tone was thoughtful, not teasing this time. “But you’re getting faster.”

Below them, the sounds of the others carried faintly through the floors running, shouting, the metallic rhythm of the tagger’s pursuit. Arisu could almost see the patterns forming, chaos converging toward something inevitable.

He looked back toward the hidden door, then at Chishiya. “We’ll wait until the others are closer. No sense drawing attention.”

Chishiya tilted his head. “Always the observer first.”

“Observation saves time.”

“It also costs opportunity.”

Arisu’s lips curved slightly. “Not if you’re patient.”

For a moment, they simply looked at each other. An unspoken understanding in the quiet space between the hum of the lights and the distant thrum of footsteps.

Then, slowly, they turned back toward the railing.

Below, the chaos continued. Aguni’s commands echoed faintly, sharp and deliberate. Karube’s voice answered once, defiant, before being swallowed by the building’s metallic acoustics.

Chishiya’s expression didn’t change, but his voice softened, almost conversational. “You think he’ll last?”

Arisu followed the movement below, the blur of figures in the dim light. “If he keeps listening to Aguni, maybe.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Arisu’s hummed. “Then he won’t.”

Chishiya regarded him for a moment, unreadable. Then he turned back to the hidden passage. “Let’s see how long the rest of them take to catch up.”

The timer on their phones ticked down in silence. The faint, rhythmic hum of the building filled the space between them.

From this high vantage, Arisu could see everything: the chaos, the fear, the patterns forming like veins beneath the concrete. The constant motion, constant awareness. And up here, beside Chishiya, he felt like a spectator to it all.

When the next scream rose from below, Chishiya didn’t flinch. Neither did Arisu.

The game went on.

And both of them were already thinking about the next move.

Chapter Text

The air is colder here.

It smells of dust, metal, and something older. The kind of scent that doesn’t belong to a living place. Arisu moves quietly, his footsteps echoing through the narrow corridor. The walls close in around them, slick with condensation, pulsing faintly under the weak overhead bulbs.

Behind him, Chishiya’s pace is measured, deliberate. The faint click of his shoes marks a rhythm Arisu has learned to follow almost unconsciously.

Neither of them speaks. They don’t need to.

The silence between them is something practiced, not the brittle quiet of fear, but the functional kind that comes from two people who’ve learned to survive by listening harder than they breathe. Arisu glances down and sees the faint outline of a pistol tucked into Chishiya's right pocket. Where did he get that?

Arisu traces his hand along the wall as they walk. It feels warm in some places, humming with current beneath the concrete. The architecture of the games always hides something alive underneath, some pulse of machinery that feeds on human panic.

He wonders, absently, if the walls remember the people who’ve died here.

“How far do you think it goes?” he asks eventually, his voice steady but hushed.

Chishiya hums softly, as though considering the question from a detached distance. “Far enough to make them believe they have a chance.”

Arisu almost smiles at that not because it’s funny, but because it’s so perfectly him. That calm cynicism, that refusal to play by the rules even when pretending to.

“Maybe they do,” Arisu says, more to himself than to Chishiya.

Chishiya glances at him, a flicker of pale light catching his eyes. “Hope is a liability, Arisu.”

“Maybe. But it’s still a strategy.”

It gives Arisu a weird sense of deja vu.

The corridor turns sharply, slanting downward. Water drips from the pipes above, each drop echoing into the distance like a metronome marking the seconds they have left. The sound folds into the faint vibration of the countdown voice somewhere above ground, the same mechanical cheerfulness that has narrated every game they’ve played.

Arisu imagines it counting down even now, numbers dissolving like air.

He doesn’t feel afraid. Not anymore. There’s a clarity in him now, a sharpened calm that has replaced the tremor of earlier games. Maybe that’s what survival does: it burns out everything unnecessary, leaves only what works.

And yet- underneath the logic, there’s something else. A pulse that has nothing to do with fear.

Chishiya walks slightly ahead now, phone light casting long, thin shadows across the walls. The glow outlines his shoulders, his profile, the curve of his mouth when he thinks. Arisu watches the way his hand rests loosely at his side, fingers relaxed even in the dark.

He’s unflappable. Always.

Sometimes Arisu wonders if that’s strength or detachment, and if he envies it or despises it.

“You’re thinking again,” Chishiya says without turning.

“Bad habit?”

“Predictable one.”

Arisu huffs out a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sigh. “Maybe you just know me too well.”

“Unlikely,” Chishiya replies. “I just know patterns.”

But Arisu doesn’t believe that. Not entirely. There are things Chishiya doesn’t analyze.. glances, silences, the way he lingers a little too long before speaking. For all his logic, Chishiya watches people the way a biologist watches a heart in a jar: not for answers, but for the small, involuntary proof of life.

They walk for several more minutes, though time has no shape here. The passage tightens, forcing them to move closer. When Arisu’s shoulder brushes Chishiya’s, neither pulls away.

The quiet hum of the place grows louder. A deep vibration, like the engine of a machine stirring awake. Arisu realizes what it means before Chishiya speaks.

“We’re near the core,” Chishiya murmurs. “The energy draw is stronger.”

Arisu nods. “Then the safe room’s close.”

“Safe,” Chishiya repeats, his mouth curving faintly. “Interesting word for a place built to kill us.”

The word hangs between them like static.

Arisu feels the strain in the air. Every game has that point of convergence, when observation ends and action begins. He can sense it now, like the change in air pressure before a storm.

He shifts the strap of his bag, fingers brushing the edge of the knife hidden there. He knows the shape of it by memory, not because he expects to use it, but because familiarity steadies him. He will use it without hesitation if necessary, though.

At the next turn, the corridor widens into a small antechamber. A single light flickers overhead, casting the floor in long, uneven shadows. Ahead, a sealed steel door marked faintly with the outline of a heart.

Arisu stops.

He doesn’t need to check the map in his head to know what this is. The design is consistent, symmetry and symbolism, all theater and cruelty. Behind that door lies the safe room, and somewhere within, the second tagger.

Chishiya stands beside him, hands in his pockets, gaze sharp and unreadable.

“Two left,” he says. “The guy that Aguni and Karube are after, and whoever’s waiting behind that door.”

Arisu nods. “We’ll need to deal with this one fast. The other’s bound to circle back once he realizes.”

"I would say the other two are keeping him busy, if they aren't piles gore by now."

Arisu glances at him. “You sound almost excited.”

Chishiya tilts his head, eyes catching the low light. “Don’t you?”

Arisu doesn’t answer. Excitement isn’t the right word. It’s closer to inevitability-  the pull toward something that has already decided them both. Every game, every choice, narrows to this single point: two players who know the rules too well to believe in luck.

He looks at the door again. The metal surface is dented in places, marked by past attempts.. maybe from players who never made it this far. Arisu has seen games in this exact building before, its good for spade games he supposes. The handle gleams faintly under the flickering light.

They stand there for a long moment, breathing in sync. The silence feels almost reverent.

“This one’s different,” Arisu says at last.

“Mm. The design suggests a secondary lock. Could be voice-triggered, could be biometric. Maybe they’re getting creative.”

Arisu studies the seams of the door, the faint shimmer of sensors buried within the steel. “Or maybe they’re just bored.”

“That,” Chishiya says lightly, “would make two of us.”

A small smile ghosts across Arisu’s mouth, gone as soon as it appears. The exchange feels too normal for a place like this, which is precisely why it steadies him.

Chishiya steps closer to the door, tracing the edge with one fingertip. “We’ll open it on my mark. If it’s booby-trapped, we retreat. You stay low; I’ll take first sight.”

Arisu watches the precision of his movements, the measured calm that never breaks. “You trust me to follow your lead?”

Chishiya glances back over his shoulder, eyes sharp, expression unreadable. “I trust you to survive. You’re inconveniently good at it.”

Arisu’s smile deepens, small, tired and painfully genuine. “And you’re inconveniently good at making it sound like a compliment.”

A faint sound breaks the quiet-  something moving on the other side of the door. Slow. Deliberate.

Both of them still instantly, heads tilted toward the noise.

The scrape of metal against stone. The hiss of something dragging.

The second tagger.

Arisu’s pulse doesn’t quicken, but something inside him narrows, sharpens. His world collapses to sound and distance, six meters of corridor, one door, two players.

Chishiya’s voice is barely a whisper. “There.”

Arisu nods once. “I hear it.”

The noise stops. Then: a single, heavy thud.

Chishiya’s hand slips into his pocket, fingers closing around something small,  a makeshift flash charge, Arisu guesses. He’s seen him build them before, quiet as breath, deadly as lightning.

Arisu readies his knife, turning it once in his hand. The metal catches the dim light, flashing like a signal.

For a heartbeat, they both stand motionless.

Then Chishiya glances sideways, eyes meeting Arisu’s. No words. No nod. Just understanding.

The world contracts to the sound of their breathing and the faint mechanical hum behind the door.

They are ready.

Across from him, Chishiya crouches, pale hair dimmed by the red emergency light. His expression is unreadable, not calm so much as utterly focused.

“Ready?” he murmurs.

Arisu nods once. “Go.”

The door unseals with a slow, hydraulic sigh.

Inside, the air is thick, humid with iron, vibrating faintly from the speakers that pump the countdown through the whole building. The glow is red and pulsing, the color of an artery.

And at the center of the room stands the tagger.

He’s larger than either of them, built broad through the shoulders, face hidden behind a steel mask carved into a grin. A machete hangs in one hand, a jagged pipe in the other. The collar at his throat blinks with the spade symbol.

The moment stretches, taut as wire.

Then the tagger moves.

He’s fast, too fast for his size. The machete arcs toward Chishiya in a flat, slicing sweep. Chishiya slips back, the blade missing his chest by inches. The air sings with the sound of steel.

Arisu darts right, circling. His shoes skid slightly on the wet floor; water ripples outward. He notes the angle, the reflections, the way the tagger plants his left foot more firmly than his right. Injury or imbalance, either way, something exploitable.

The machete comes again, a downward blow this time. Arisu parries with the crowbar he scavenged earlier, the impact shuddering through his arms. Sparks spray. The force drives him backward, boots scraping concrete.

Chishiya moves in from the flank, calm even now. He fires once,  the suppressed crack of his pistol echoing in the chamber. The bullet glances off the tagger’s shoulder armor.

“Kevlar,” Chishiya says. “Of course.”

Arisu lunges low, drives the crowbar toward the tagger’s knee. The man twists aside, grabs Arisu’s jacket, and slams him against the wall. Pain blooms along his ribs, but Arisu’s already reacting-  pushing up, twisting, kicking off the concrete. His heel catches the tagger in the jaw. The mask clangs against bone.

Chishiya doesn’t waste the opening. Two more shots, aimed clean at the gaps between armor plates. The tagger staggers, growling, blood blooming through the seams.

He swings wildly now , strength over precision. Pain and panic does that to a person.  Arisu ducks beneath the machete, slides behind him, locks his arm around the tagger’s throat. The man thrashes, slamming him against the wall again and again, but Arisu holds. His forearm tightens; the collar blinks in his peripheral vision, bright and rhythmic.

“Now!” he shouts.

Chishiya steps in, unhurried. He levels the pistol at the exposed side of the tagger’s neck.

One shot.

The sound is flat, clinical.

The tagger shudders once and goes still. His weight collapses backward, dragging Arisu down with him. The smell of blood and gunpowder fills the room.

Arisu pushes the body aside, breathing hard but steady. His pulse is quick, not frantic, the precision of exertion, not fear.

Chishiya checks the collar. The spade symbol flickers, then fades. “He’s finished.”

Arisu nods, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. “That’s it, then. No other signals?”

“None,” Chishiya says. “Which means he was the last.”

For a long moment, neither of them speaks. The only sound is the slow drip of water from the pipes above.

Arisu studies the body. The mask has cracked along the jawline, showing the ghost of a face beneath, young, hard-lined, expression frozen mid-rage, mid-panic. Another piece on the board, removed.

Chishiya holsters the pistol. “Secondary room should be ahead. Probably where the button is.”

Arisu looks toward the far wall, where a narrow stairwell leads upward into dim light. “Then we finish it.”

He moves to climb, but Chishiya’s hand lands lightly on his shoulder. The touch is brief, grounding.

“You’re bleeding,” Chishiya says, soft.

Arisu glances down. A shallow cut along his forearm, nothing deep. “It’s fine.”

“Still,” Chishiya murmurs. He tears a strip from the edge of his shirt and ties it with quick precision. His fingers are deft, impersonal and yet the gesture carries an intimacy that catches somewhere in Arisu’s chest.

When Chishiya finishes, he steps back. “Try not to make it worse.”

“I’ll do my best,” Arisu says, voice dry.

A faint smile ghosts across Chishiya’s mouth. “Your best tends to involve trouble.”

The speakers above crackle.

‘Two minutes remaining.’

The voice is bright, mechanical, cruelly cheerful.

Arisu exhales through his teeth. “Still time to clear it.”

Chishiya nods once. “Aguni’s group or whatever is left of it should be on the upper floors by now. If they reach the control panel before we do-”

“They won’t press the button without confirmation.”

“Good,” Chishiya says. “I hate redundancies.”

They start toward the stairwell. The steps are narrow, slick with condensation. Arisu leads; Chishiya follows, flashlight beam slicing through the dark in clean strokes.

The building creaks around them, full of heat and old machinery. Somewhere far away, gunfire echoes faint, distant, too far to mean danger. Aguni, Arisu thinks. Karube. The girl athletic looking girl he saw. Still fighting, still alive.. probably.

He grips the railing tighter and keeps moving.

When they reach the landing, the corridor opens into a smaller chamber — walls lined with corroded panels, the air humming with static. In the center: two terminals, each glowing faintly blue.

The safe room. Arisu half-expected the safe room to be one of the apartments but then again.. the rules never stated that.

Arisu slows, scanning for movement. Nothing. Just the residual pulse of electricity and the distant rhythm of the countdown.

Chishiya steps past him, eyes flicking between the screens. “Synchronization mechanism. Both buttons must be pressed within three seconds.”

“Classic,” Arisu mutters.

They stand there for a moment, facing each other across the terminals. The red light from the corridor fades behind them, replaced by the sterile glow of the machines.

“Ready?” Chishiya asks.

Arisu nods. “On three.”

They count silently - one, two.

The floor trembles. A mechanical groan reverberates through the walls. Somewhere far above, the structure shudders as if something massive has shifted.

Both of them pause, instinctively glancing toward the ceiling.

“Probably just the building settling,” Chishiya says.

Arisu isn’t sure. The vibration feels too deliberate, too alive. But he pushes the thought aside. “We’ll clear first. Think later.”

“Finally,” Chishiya says, lips curving faintly, “a philosophy I can support.”

Arisu positions his hand above the glowing button. The metal is warm, humming faintly with stored energy.

Through the thin walls, he thinks he can hear faint shouting,  maybe Aguni's voice, or Karube’s - too muffled to make out words. They’re close now, all of them, racing toward the same fragile victory.

“After this,” Chishiya says quietly, almost to himself, “we see who’s still standing.”

Arisu looks up, meeting his eyes across the room. “We always do.”

The light from the terminals flickers once, throwing their shadows long against the walls.

Outside, the countdown ticks down its final minute.

They don’t move yet. 

Arisu closes his eyes, exhales once, and listens to the hum of the machines, the faint static of Chishiya’s breathing, the echo of people somewhere above.

Then he opens them again.

“Let’s get this over with,” he says.

And together, they step forward.

The blue light flares beneath Arisu’s fingers. He presses first. A sharp hum vibrates through the room, the terminals responding instantly.

Chishiya presses simultaneously. The synchronized click of the buttons echoes in their ears.

The hum grows into a resonant chord, filling the chamber like a held breath finally released. The red warning lights vanish; the cold blue glow of the safe room swallows the shadows.

Arisu exhales slowly, muscles uncoiling, the weight of adrenaline settling into his bones. Around them, the building seems to exhale too. A low creak of settling metal, the faint hiss of hydraulics powering down.

Chishiya leans against the console, eyes scanning the monitors. “Game cleared.” His voice is calm, mimicking the voice Arisu has hear oh so often, there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, something like satisfaction.

Arisu steps back from the terminals, hands sliding into his pockets. The echo of the fight still thrums through his veins, and yet, for the first time in hours, he feels the edges of the tension soften.

He pulls a cigarette from the pocket of his jacket, the foil crinkling in the silence. The lighter sparks, a small flare against the sterile blue light. He inhales slowly, the smoke curling upward, twisting lazily toward the ceiling. The acrid sweetness of it grounds him, connects him to himself after the chaos of the corridors and the bodies.

Chishiya doesn’t move. He watches Arisu with that same unreadable expression. The corners of his lips lift slightly, not a smile, but an acknowledgment.

“You smoke after every game?” he asks in a way like he already knows the answer.

Arisu hums in acknowledgement. 

Arisu exhales slowly, letting the gray spiral dissipate into the harsh blue light.

They don’t speak for a while. The hum of the room and the lingering scent of gunpowder and iron hang between them. Somewhere above, faint shouts and footsteps indicate Aguni, Karube are moving through the building. They’ll find the cleared terminals soon, maybe congratulate each other, maybe collapse with relief. Arisu doesn’t envy the moment. He only savors this one, the pause, the aftermath, the quiet.