[The Clue: ~The Offering
Explanation: The Cetus waits, but its appetite grows. The more time passes, the fewer offerings will be available.]
Upon reading these words, Reo smiled nervously, almost relieved.
"Perfect... this clue comes at just the right time," he said. "It confirms what I thought: there must be a special object to satisfy Cetus. It doesn't necessarily have to be a human life."
But not everyone shared his optimism. Several members of the group exchanged heavy glances, filled with doubt and fear.
One of them shook his head.
"We saw it with our own eyes..." he whispered. "A human sacrifice was enough to fulfill the conditions. What's to say that the 'object' you're talking about isn't simply... us?"
A shiver ran through the assembly, and panic rose again—that raw panic that drives survivors to imagine the worst, and sometimes to accept it.
Doubt set in. Eyes averted. The fragile line between morality and survival threatened to break a second time.
Arito approached Reo, his face impassive. "I'm sorry, but they're right. The clue mentions offerings, and the only offering we know that works... is us. Even if your 'special object' really exists, we can always use a human life as a last resort. "
Some members of the group nodded immediately, as if relieved that a brutal but simple line of reasoning had been voiced aloud. "It's even the best solution," added one of them. "At least we know it works."
Reo scanned the crowd. He felt the mood shift: fear was finding refuge in cruelty. The majority did not believe in his theory. They preferred bloody certainty to a saving hypothesis.
He then looked Arito straight in the eye.
"What if it were you, Arito?" he asked calmly. "If someone decided that you should be the offering, how would you react?" "
Silence fell immediately, heavy and cutting. The word "sacrifice" suddenly took on a different meaning when it was no longer abstract, but directed at a living, breathing person.
Arito frowned, not understanding what Reo was getting at. "What are you trying to say?"
Reo took a deep breath. "A puzzle is meant to be solved by everyone. No matter who, no matter the group. But if your hypothesis is true... If the offering must be a human life... then, by definition, not everyone can succeed. That would mean eliminating some candidates to allow others to pass. " He took a step toward Arito. "Does that make sense to you? A riddle where half must die so that the other half can move forward?"
A murmur ran through the crowd. Some, who until now had been convinced by the idea of sacrifice, began to exchange hesitant glances. Reo's logic was making its way through, replacing panic with the beginnings of reflection.
"If there is an object that can be used as an offering, then yes, everyone can succeed... provided they find it." Reo continued, his voice firm. "But with your idea, Arito, the only solution is for someone to die. It's no longer a riddle, it's an execution."
Faces slowly turned toward Arito. His argument had just collapsed, swept away by Reo's crystal-clear logic. The momentum behind his theory dissipated, and the people who had agreed with him seconds earlier withdrew their support, as if his idea had never existed. Arito remained silent, his opinion left on the table, crushed by Reo's relentless counterargument.
Enrai, standing slightly behind his companion, watched the scene with the attention of a privileged spectator. With his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on Reo, he couldn't help but gasp in admiration. The clarity, the logic, the confidence... This boy had, in just a few sentences, turned a panicked crowd around. Impressive... he thought.
Just then, a quiet footstep sounded near him. The friend of the deceased Takeyasu, Shunpei, approached with a tense look on his face.
"He's strong, huh..." he said in a low voice. "But you and your friend should be wary of him."
Enrai turned his gaze slightly, intrigued. "Why is that?"
Shunpei sighed, as if reliving a bad memory. "That guy... Reo... Do you know what he did with the first puzzle? He tricked us all. He pretended to have found the solution, he made us believe he understood... But it was just a way to push the others into the lion's den. The result was a bloodbath. He manipulated us."
Enrai remained silent for a few seconds, his expression frozen between surprise and reflection. His admiration was slowly tinged with a new caution. Shunpei continued, in a more serious tone:
"So yes, he's brilliant. But someone who thinks like that, who sees further than everyone else... is also someone dangerous."
Enrai nodded slowly as he listened to Shunpei's story. He now understood the bitterness in the man's voice better, but he remained clear-headed nonetheless. He took a slight breath before responding, his tone calm but sharp.
"I understand how you feel. However, in a world like this... you have to be smarter than others to survive. If Reo has surpassed you, then you have only yourselves to blame, not him." "
Shunpei didn't seem offended by the remark; on the contrary, he smiled bitterly, almost resignedly.
"I don't blame you for what you're saying. You're right. That's precisely why... I have a plan."
He paused, watching Enrai closely, as if to gauge his reaction.
"And if you're interested... you and your friend can join forces with me."
A few minutes later, as Reo and the rest of the group were preparing to set off in search of the missing offering, Enrai approached them. His usually impassive expression had become more serious. He raised his voice just enough to be heard by everyone:
"Before you go any further... are you really sure you can trust him?"
A murmur ran through the group. Some stopped dead in their tracks, others exchanged puzzled glances. Masaki frowned, unable to determine what Enrai was getting at.
"What do you mean?" someone in the crowd asked.
Enrai took a brief breath, then declared in a clear voice, without hesitation:
"During the first puzzle, Reo deliberately manipulated his group. He led them to failure in order to eliminate as many as possible. You cannot in good conscience place your trust in him."
At these words, a heavy silence fell, immediately followed by palpable agitation. Eyes turned to Reo, suspicious, incredulous. Whispers swelled, heavy with doubt and concern.
"Is it true...?"
"Why would he do that?"
"He's playing a double game..."
In an instant, certainties wavered. The shadow of doubt crept into every mind, and the group's confidence cracked, weakened by Enrai's revelation.
Reo's intentions, once seen as a saving grace, suddenly became suspect. The survivors, already on edge, began to wonder if they were following a man whose goals were completely beyond their comprehension.
Reo stepped forward, willingly exposing himself to the suspicious glances now directed at him. His eyes rested for a moment on Enrai, then he declared in a calm voice:
"Very well. If you think sowing discord will help you, I'm listening. But explain one thing to me: why would I lie? I have much more to gain by telling you what we should be looking for than by remaining silent."
Murmurs rose. Reo's calm assurance contrasted with the tension in the air.
Enrai did not look away.
"In that case, where do you think this 'object' you mention might be?"
Reo paused briefly. He thought back to the exact wording of the clue: The Cetus waits, but its appetite grows. The more time passes, the less the necessary offerings will be available.
A hidden area... Difficult access... A resource that disappears over time...
Then it hit him.
"If we follow the logic of the riddle, this object must be in a place that is normally inaccessible. And we just crossed a toxic area. The only place this offering could be... is there. In that area."
A shiver ran through part of the group.
Going back there seemed inconceivable.
Suddenly, a voice broke the silence:
"Enrai! We found it!"
Shunpei had just stepped forward, out of breath, his arm raised toward his companion.
"We know where the offering mentioned in the clue is!"
All eyes turned to him, hanging on his words, as the tension suddenly rose a notch.
A wave of panic swept through the crowd just as Enrai fired a shot low to the ground.
The sharp detonation echoed like a clap of thunder, instantly freezing every step, every breath. The dust raised by the impact slowly settled, but the air remained thick with an almost suffocating tension.
Enrai raised his weapon, pointing it indiscriminately at the compact mass in front of him.
"Nobody move," he said in a cold, perfectly controlled voice. "My group will go first. You will wait until we have collected the offering."
Indignant murmurs erupted, but no one dared cross the invisible line he had just imposed.
Then Enrai turned his head slightly toward Reo, his steely gaze locking with hers.
"You heard the clue just as I did. If there are fewer and fewer offerings as time goes by... That means there won't be enough for everyone. So I will choose those who will survive. And I won't let you pull the rug out from under us." "
His statement, relentless, sounded like a sentence.
Behind him, Shunpei and Kageatsu had already set off, approaching the misty border marking the entrance to the toxic zone. Their silhouettes became vaguely blurred as they crossed the thick veil that billowed like poisonous smoke.
No sooner had they set foot on the other side than a translucent window appeared before them, casting its bluish light into the mist.
[Number of Calydonian Boars remaining: 4]
Shunpei and Kageatsu plunged into the toxic zone, moving as fast as their tense bodies would allow. Breathless, eyes squinted to make out shapes in the mist, they searched every corner where something seemed to move.
After a few seconds that seemed endless, a guttural growl echoed.
A Calydonian boar burst out of a thicket, its eyes bloodshot, its tusks bristling like ivory blades.
"There!" cried Shunpei.
The fight was brief, brutal, frantic. The boar charged, narrowly missing Kageatsu by a hair's breadth. He threw himself to the side as Shunpei swung his weapon with desperate precision. The creature collapsed, letting out a final hoarse groan before dissipating into a fine, luminous dust.
A fragment remained, levitating gently above the ground, translucent and glowing blue.
Kageatsu grabbed it with still-shaking hands.
"We've got it. Hurry."
They made their way back to the exit of the toxic zone where Enrai was waiting for them, his eyes fixed on them as if they had just brought back a sacred relic. Without a word, the three of them headed for the bridge.
The group that had stayed behind watched them, petrified.
Some had their arms crossed over their chests, as if instinctively protecting themselves.
Others stared at the fragment as if it were a nuclear weapon ready to explode.
When they reached the edge of the precipice, Shunpei stepped forward.
His fingers tightened their grip on the fragment.
The Cetus, lurking beneath the waves, slowly opened its mouth, revealing a black abyss pulsing with anticipation.
Shunpei took a deep breath... then dropped the fragment.
It slid into the damp darkness of the monster's mouth.
An oppressive silence fell instantly.
The bridge shook gently.
Its color oscillated between gray and blue at first.
Then a brighter hue, almost bright enough to burn the eyes, began to spread across its tiles.
Everyone held their breath.
The color slid, spread...
And the bridge turned green.
An intense, clear, luminous green.
A murmur of relief rippled through the crowd, some almost falling to their knees.
They had succeeded.
All the conditions had been met.
Now that they all knew how to solve the riddle, a feverish excitement swept through the group. They exchanged glances, their breathing quickened, and, almost as one, they began to hurry toward the toxic zone. The air vibrated with a strange quivering, as if the ground itself were holding its breath as they approached.
Just before crossing the invisible border where the yellowish mist began to ripple, Masaki raised a hand to silence them.
His face was grave, but his eyes shone with implacable logic.
"Listen to me for a second. "
His calm but firm tone cut everyone's momentum short.
"The bridge will only take three at a time. So we need to organize ourselves intelligently. We'll form groups of three. One offering for each group, and everyone gets through. No pushing, no betrayal."
A discreet sense of relief spread through the group; some nodded, others murmured their approval. The idea made sense, and above all, it prevented the situation from escalating.
But no sooner had they set foot in the toxic zone than an icy glow flashed before them.
A notification appeared in the air, sharp as a sentence.
[Number of Calydonian Boars remaining: 3]
Silence fell suddenly.
One of them frowned and asked hesitantly,
"Wait... is there a problem? Why is everyone stopping?" "
Masaki took a deep breath, his gaze sliding over the newly formed groups. Four groups. Twelve people. Then he looked back at the notification floating like a silent threat.
"Only three boars..." he whispered. "There are four groups. That means one of them won't be able to leave with an offering."
A shiver immediately ran through the crowd, everyone glancing at their own group as if the future had just been turned upside down.
Masaki quickly scanned the crowd, immediately looking for the two children. When he spotted them, a sudden pang of sadness crossed his face. They were standing slightly apart, alone, neglected.
No one had chosen them.
Masaki took a step forward, his jaw clenched, then raised his voice to cover the murmurs.
"At least... take the two children into your groups. They can't stay alone."
An uncomfortable silence fell.
Everyone looked at their neighbor, as if the initiative should come from someone else. Shifty eyes, pursed lips, hands clenched nervously. No one wanted to be the one to sacrifice themselves.
Then a voice rose, sharp, almost accusatory:
"And you, Masaki... why don't you give up your place to a child?"
The words fell like a stone into a calm lake. A wave of discomfort, then a heavy silence.
Masaki stood frozen, his lips parted. No answer came. Because he had none. Because he, too, wanted to survive. His hand trembled slightly, and he looked away, unable to meet the children's gaze.
This silent hesitation said much more than any justification could have.
If even he, who had just demanded that they be protected, was not prepared to give up his place... then who would do so for two children?
The truth imposed itself, brutal and stark: everyone secretly hoped that someone else would sacrifice themselves. And in this moral vacuum, the two children remained alone, suspended between hope and abandonment.
But as Aiko fired off questions without even pausing for breath, as if each new idea called for another, a notification suddenly appeared before them, springing into the air like a guillotine.
[All the boars of Calydon have been hunted down.]
Aiko stopped short. Saigo looked up at Kōan, worried but confused.
And Kōan felt the information pierce her chest.
It meant only one thing... Their group would leave without an offering.
Around them, the other groups gradually returned, each holding a shiny fragment in their hands, tangible proof of their survival.
The atmosphere had grown heavy, but no one said anything.
As they approached the bridge, one by one, those who had succeeded passed in front of them. Some turned their heads away. Others stared straight ahead as if the children did not exist. One or two glanced briefly at them, then immediately looked away as if it were a forbidden gesture.
Shame clung to their heels.
Guilt hung heavy in the air.
These adults, who just minutes earlier had refused to give up their seats, were now unable to meet the gaze of two children whom they had tacitly condemned to a chance at survival.
Aiko still didn't understand.
Saigo silently squeezed his sister's hand.
And Kōan watched the scene with a strange calmness, a calmness that belonged only to her, born of that inner abyss where even fear struggled to take root.
Now it was their turn.
Kōan took a slow breath, then turned to Aiko and Saigo. Her features remained impassive, but her voice was surprisingly soft.
"Everything will be fine."
Aiko nodded confidently.
Saigo held his sister's hand tightly.
Kōan began to recall the first riddle. In it, she had tried to deliberately kill herself. But this time, it was no longer to escape. It was to protect.
They stepped onto the bridge.
On the other side, the survivors watched them in silence, unable to utter a word. They all knew what was going to happen. They all knew that a group without an offering had no chance unless they sacrificed a human life.
The first stones beneath their feet changed color imperceptibly.
An icy red, almost translucent, began to rise up the structure, a relentless sign of impending failure.
Aiko tightened her grip on Kōan's sleeve.
Saigo opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to call for help, but no sound came out.
And at that precise moment, Kōan moved.
A sharp gesture.
Instinctive.
With no turning back.
She released Aiko's hand, turned slightly...
and simply let herself fall into the void.
Aiko screamed.
The figures on the other side remained frozen.
Kōan was already falling, her body swallowed by the abyss, like a silent offering she had chosen herself.
As she fell, certain she would disappear into the void, a sudden shock pulled her arm back.
A hand. A quick, determined grip, trembling but incredibly strong.
Kōan looked up, stunned.
Aiko was holding her.
The little girl, clinging with all her strength to the edge of the bridge, had grabbed her wrist in a movement as instinctive as it was desperate. The thin muscles of her arm were strained to the limit, but she didn't let go.
"Aiko... what are you doing?!" whispered Kōan, her voice broken with incomprehension.
Aiko gritted her teeth, tears already welling up in the corners of her eyes.
Her wrist was slipping, her arm was shaking, but she refused to give in.
She refused to let Kōan die.
"Let go of me..." Kōan said, almost pleading. "Otherwise you won't be able to cross either. Let me go. It's... it's better this way."
She couldn't even understand why one of her suicidal impulses hadn't kicked in.
Aiko shook her head, swallowing a sob that made her whole body tremble.
"I know that... Mr. Kōan, I know you don't want to die!"
The word pierced her chest.
"Sir."
A title of heartbreaking simplicity, but laden with naive respect.
A reminder that she still existed, that she wasn't a ghost, that she wasn't empty.
That she was someone in the eyes of this child.
Kōan stood frozen for a moment, struck by this reality she had almost forgotten: someone had just given her a name... a gender... an existence.
Aiko continued, breathlessly:
"In the first puzzle, I hurt myself. Everyone saw me as a burden. And with my little brother... we were nothing to them. Just problems.
But you... you never talked to us like that.
I was happy to be in your group. Because I know you're a good person." "
Kōan felt her throat tighten.
A mixture of pain, surprise, and shame too, shame at wanting to die when someone had just reached out to her, literally and figuratively.
She looked at Aiko, examining the small figure who was desperately trying to hold her back even though she didn't have the physical strength to do so.
How could she hold her like this?
Was it thanks to her power?
Or simply thanks to that fierce will that only the desperate can possess?
"Aiko... let me go..." whispered Kōan, her voice trembling. "You have to live. Let me go. I beg you. "
But Aiko tightened her grip, her fingers turning white with the effort.
"No... I won't let you go. Because I can see it... you don't want to die."
The bridge vibrated beneath their bodies.
Its color was turning distinctly red, a dark, threatening red that spread like a vein ready to burst.
"Aiko!" someone on the other side shouted in panic.
"The bridge! Hurry!"
Aiko took a deep breath.
Her eyes met Kōan's, with tragic gentleness, devastating lucidity.
"I just wanted... to say thank you. Thank you for everything, sir.
I'm really glad... we met. "
Her fingers loosened.
And before Kōan could shout, grab her, or even understand,
Aiko threw herself forward.
She let herself fall, willingly, into the void beneath the bridge.
Her body vanished into the abyss.
An offering.
A sacrifice.
A farewell.
A sad smile still clung to the face of the child who had chosen to die to save another.
Kōan screamed.
A muffled, almost silent scream, as if his own breath refused to escape.
The bridge turned green again.
And Aiko... had disappeared.
Kōan didn't even have time to catch her breath.
The bridge was still pulsing beneath her feet, vibrating like a sated beast, when she grabbed Saigo's hand.
"Come. We have to run. Now."
The boy nodded without understanding, his little fingers clutching hers with broken trust.
They sprinted away.
The planks creaked beneath their flight, the residual red still pulsing in places like a threat ready to resurface.
"Koan..." Saigo asked between gasps for breath. "Is... is Aiko coming back?" "
The child's voice was so pure, so full of candid hope, that Kōan felt her heart contract painfully.
She wanted to answer.
She wanted to say yes, to give him something to hold on to.
But no sound came from her lips.
She simply squeezed his hand a little tighter.
When they reached the other side, a heavy silence greeted them.
Everyone looked at the pair—the breathless adult and the lost little boy—with a mixture of astonishment, discomfort, and feigned sadness.
Some lowered their eyes, others whispered, unable to meet the child's gaze.
Pity hung in the air like a pungent smell. Kōan could feel it in every glance, every whisper, every short breath.
And it burned her.
She, usually so reserved, so self-effacing, felt a sudden, uncontrollable anger rising within her.
Something cracked inside her.
She took a step forward and, for the first time, raised her voice.
"Don't look away now. It's because of you that Aiko died. Because of you who didn't even want to take them into your group. Because of you who preferred to save your own skin rather than two children!"
A shiver ran through the crowd.
Some closed their eyes, others clenched their teeth.
They knew she was right.
They had all seen it.
They had all looked away when the time came to choose.
But despite this silent guilt, a woman replied in a weak voice:
"We... we want to live. It's human nature."
Kōan felt Saigo trembling against her.
She placed a hand on his shoulder.
At that moment, Reo stepped forward.
He managed to catch her eye, his usually impassive expression slightly clouded.
"Why," he said in a calm but firm voice. "Why didn't you use your power?"
"Because I wanted to survive too." "
Without waiting any longer for the murmurs of the crowd, she took Saigo's hand and led him away, to where the noise was gradually fading.
As she walked, she found herself thinking back on her former life. An existence plunged into the depths of darkness, where each day seemed crushed by its own weight. Yet even in the heart of that darkness, she sometimes glimpsed a fragile, distant, but very real light.
She stopped, took a breath, and declared that even though life had so many flaws, so many rough edges that had made her want to end it all, the little moments of happiness she had experienced were truly valuable. A value she had never been able to recognize.
Then, in a whisper that sounded almost like a promise.
"Saigo, I'm going to show you that despite its imperfections, despite its shadows, life is worth living."
Spectator's note:
Bun Chokan:What did I just see?