"Hoo—"
A sound so subtle it was almost imperceptible.
And a chill—cold air blowing softly against the back of his neck.
At that moment, Takumi felt as though someone were clinging to his back, someone pressed tightly against him, lowering their head, breathing one breath after another.
Was it a hallucination?
Or was there truly something lying atop him?
In his field of vision, not a trace of light remained.
By now, Takumi had stepped into an absolute darkness where nothing could be seen.
[Splash—]
The cold stagnant water rippled with each of his steps, producing that steady, lapping sound.
The breathing behind him followed in perfect rhythm, not falling behind by even a single step.
Where… exactly was he now?
Unable to see anything, Takumi couldn't help but wonder this in the depths of his mind.
The chill against the back of his neck seemed to grow stronger and stronger.
All that reached his ears was the same unchanging sound of water.
[Splash—]
Then, his calf seemed to bump into something.
Something floating in the water—large in size, yet apparently not very heavy.
It swayed slightly from his touch, and for a moment, it felt as though fingers brushed faintly across his leg—but he couldn't be sure if it was real or not.
Takumi paid it no mind and continued onward along the wall.
[Splash—]
He reached out again, his hand pressing against the damp surface of the wall.
His feet kept moving through the cold water that reached past his calves.
How long was this corridor, exactly?
How much farther did he have to go before reaching the end?
Takumi hadn't expected irritation to rise so quickly within him.
He felt as if every breath he took filled his lungs with cold air—so cold it seemed to freeze his entire throat.
[Splash—]
The sound of water echoed again and again.
This time, it seemed as though something passed by his side.
Slowly drifting past—almost brushing shoulders—yet apart from those footsteps, there was no other movement at all, as if that person didn't exist in the first place.
"…"
Takumi remained silent.
He simply continued moving forward.
Reaching out his hand, he tried to touch the wall.
But this time, Takumi's hand met only empty air—he touched nothing but the void.
"Hoo—"
Another cold breath fell against the back of his neck.
After a brief silence, Takumi stretched out his hand once more, feeling around to the side—then his fingers brushed against the slanted surface of a corridor corner.
Had he already reached the turn?
Recalling the layout of the second floor, Takumi now confirmed that the structure of the first floor had also been altered. Both levels had been transformed into those impossibly wasteful architectural designs that could never exist in real life.
He had now reached the end of the corridor. After turning the corner, he should be able to reach the main door and the restroom.
Come to think of it, if the house wasn't that much larger, then back on the second floor, he had crossed a corridor like this in just a few steps. Yet the distance he had just covered must have taken him at least a full minute. He couldn't tell whether it was the space itself that had become abnormal, or simply that his movement had slowed due to the loss of sight.
In any case, he needed to keep going.
So far, he had advanced only a short distance.
He at least had to reach the corridor and confirm what the situation on the first floor was now. Then, find Room 109—the place that kept being mentioned.
The place Kyosei had said one must go to, yet must never go to.
The place closely tied to Sanchez, the murderer responsible for the death of the Shirakawa Apartments survivors.
The place that even made veterans like Tanaka go to great lengths to reach.
What exactly awaited there?
[Splash—]
Takumi continued forward in the darkness.
He turned the corner, carefully retracing the building's layout in his mind as he took each cautious step.
That breathing sound had vanished.
Had it finally given up?
Just as the rulebook said—as long as there was no interaction, no form of communication,
the anomalies on the first floor apparently would not cause harm.
Thinking this, Takumi walked step by step toward where the entrance should be.
He reached out, feeling forward with his hand.
Soon, Takumi's fingers touched the doorknob.
His spatial memory seemed decent enough; with only one try, he had found the main door's location.
But… was the door closed?
And what would the corridor outside look like now?
Gently, he turned the doorknob.
Takumi heard the crisp sound of the lock disengaging.
Then, bit by bit, he pushed the door open—
erasing the barrier between this room and the outer hallway.
He didn't rush to step outside.
Instead, he reached out, running his hand along the surface of the door.
Under his fingers, Takumi felt rust—and strange, sharp grooves, as if something pointed had gouged into the wood.
Patiently, in the midst of silence and darkness, he continued to feel around.
At last, he found what he had been searching for—a raised shape fixed onto the door: the metal plate of the room number.
[106]
Corresponding to Room 206, where the kitchen floor had collapsed.
This was Room 106 on the first floor.
Then, according to the map of the second floor, Room 109 on the first floor should be on his right-hand side—the second room across the corridor.
Takumi carefully recalled the layout of the second floor, then took a step forward, preparing to move ahead into the hallway.
The rope tied around his waist suddenly tightened sharply, then loosened, then tightened again—repeating three times.
It was the secret signal he had agreed upon with Kaguya and Maki.
Had half an hour already passed?
Although the corridor was right before him, Takumi did not hesitate. He grabbed the rope, pulled it tight, loosened it, and repeated the sequence twice in response.
Then, without the slightest hesitation, he closed the door of Room 106, turned around, and started retracing his way back.
Although he very much wanted to immediately head into Room 109 to explore and find out what was inside, since this was a team operation, it was better not to act on his own.
With that thought in mind, Takumi had just taken a step forward when he bumped into something.
It was large—at least 1.75 meters tall—seemingly dressed in thick, heavy clothing, standing there in the hallway.
"…"
In the silent corridor, apart from the splashing sound of Takumi's footsteps in the water, there was no other sound.
He took another step forward, shifted slightly to the side—and bumped into a second thing.
This one was taller, perhaps 1.8 meters, also clad in thick, heavy clothing, standing motionless in the corridor.
"…"
Takumi continued walking forward.
Soon he bumped into a third, a fourth, and even more of them.
He began squeezing his way through them as he moved ahead.
One silent figure after another stood in the hallway.
Cold, without any sound, without any movement, without any breath.
From the stairwell beyond the corridor, a sound seemed to echo.
It spread from the direction of the staircase, gradually growing louder and more chaotic.
It was as if someone were struggling desperately.
As if many people were violently entangled in a fierce struggle.
Such chaotic noise was gradually spreading through the stairwell outside the main door.
Takumi finally pushed through those things and returned to the living room, where there was at least some light.
From the direction of the sofa came a gaze—something there had lifted its head and was staring at him.
Yet Takumi remained silent, his head unmoving, his breathing steady, as he walked straight toward the kitchen. He did not forget to close the door between the living room and the corridor as soon as he entered. While closing the door, he never turned back to glance at the hallway even once—he shut it entirely with his back to it.
He stepped into the kitchen.
Walked toward the location of the broken hole.
Takumi raised his head, looking up at the light above—at Maki, who was carefully poking her head down from above.
"I'm Takumi. I'm not a resident of Shirakawa Apartments. I'm a player trapped here in the sacrificial game, trying to escape…"
Speaking in a calm, steady rhythm, Takumi recited the agreed-upon line before departure. It was a method they had devised for identification, after all—for every communicable anomaly within the apartment would always claim to be part of the complex itself. So long as they could confirm that a survivor's awareness of this fact had not been distorted, they could be sure the person was still themselves—still safe and trustworthy.
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