The grand, lethal charade began.
Each Player slipped into their assigned role, the performances unfolding with unnerving realism.
Akira, the quintessential bad boy and playboy, was a constant, provocative presence in the school's corridors.
He was always seen leaning against lockers, his predatory charm on full display as he flirted with a revolving queue of blushing girls, cornering them in empty classrooms or secluded stairwells.
Other students would occasionally stumble upon these scenes, freezing at the sound of soft, breathless moans echoing from behind a closed door before hurrying away with flushed cheeks, equal parts scandalized and intrigued.
The burly man, FB, played his part as the unassuming, middle-aged janitor with a terrifying duality.
By day, he swept floors with a silent, methodical diligence.
But as night fell over the city, a different kind of sweeping occurred.
Muffled screams would pierce the darkness, and the morning news would report another grisly disappearance.
Police patrols intensified, a nervous energy gripping the neighborhoods, all while the janitor mopped the school's hallways with the same blank expression.
Yuuki Sakurajima, the stunningly gorgeous teacher, moved through the school like an untouchable ice sculpture.
Her beauty outshone that of famous idols, but her aloof, cold demeanor erected an impenetrable wall.
She rejected every attempt at familiarity from colleagues and students alike, her sharp gaze making it clear that the vast majority of humanity was beneath her notice.
Tomoya Aki, the glass-wearing fanboy, was a fixture of disgust outside the kendo club's dojo.
He would press his face against the window, staring with watery, unblinking eyes at Saeko Busujima as she practiced.
Drool sometimes traced a path down his chin, drawing looks of pure revulsion from every club member who noticed him lurking in the shadows.
And then there was Arisu, the angelic transfer student.
Her smile was a constant, sunny beacon.
She greeted every classmate by name, her kindness seemingly boundless as she offered help with homework, shared her lunch, or simply listened with unwavering patience.
She became the school's beloved mascot of purity.
Even the notorious playboy, Akira, was drawn to her light.
He was frequently seen loitering near her classroom, blatantly flirting with her in ways that made other boys grind their teeth in jealousy and girls burn with envy, wishing they were in Arisu's place.
His supernatural charm, a passive effect of his new bloodline, was already wreaking havoc; girls sighed and screamed for him, while boys seethed with impotent rage.
Akira waited for the teacher to leave Arisu's classroom before stepping inside.
His entrance was a performance of arrogant grace.
"Kyaa! Akira-kun is here!" a group of girls shrieked manically as he swaggered down the class
"What's that creep doing here now?" a cluster of boys muttered, their glares hot enough to burn holes in his back
He approached her desk where she sat, the picture of innocent diligence.
"Hey there, my angel," he purred, leaning down so his voice was for her alone, yet audible to the whole room. "How about a date with me? I know a great place."
The rules were clear: they were students now, not Players.
No mention of the game, no secret discussions. The facade had to be airtight.
Arisu played her part flawlessly.
She looked up, a delicate flush spreading across her cheeks, her violet eyes wide with a shy, flustered innocence that felt utterly real.
"I… I don't think that's appropriate, Akira-kun," she murmured, lowering her gaze demurely. "You say the same thing to so many other girls."
Akira threw his head back and chuckled, the sound rich and confident. "But you're special, sweetie. Think about it."
With a final, audacious move, he reached out and gently stroked her soft lilac hair—a possessive, intimate gesture that sent a fresh wave of jealous whispers through the room.
"See you later."
He left as casually as he had entered, the door swinging shut behind him.
The class released a collective, gossip-fueled breath.
To everyone watching, it was perfectly in character. The school's top playboy was making a move on the purest girl in school.
It would have been weird if he hadn't tried.
They might have even suspected he'd turned gay. And Arisu wasn't just approachable—she was devastatingly beautiful.
So, why wouldn't he?
The stage was set, every actor deep in their role, while beneath the surface, the true game—and the coming apocalypse—ticked away like a silent, deadly clock.
In the health room, Akira sat slouched in a chair, smoking leisurely while skipping class.
The big-busty, blonde-haired nurse, however, took his excuse of being sick with complete seriousness.
She watched him with a hint of genuine concern in her eyes.
"Akira-kun, smoking is bad for your health. I really think you should try to rest instead."
"I can't sleep without smoking and drinking first, Shizuka-sensei," Akira said with a tired sigh. "Sleeping pills might help, but they're worse than drinking in the long term."
It was the truth.
For him, proper sleep was a battle. His brain never truly shut off—it was always whirring, analyzing, imagining, and plotting.
A byproduct of being frighteningly smart, his intelligence left his mind permanently active.
Even when his body was exhausted and his eyes heavy with fatigue, sleep remained just out of reach.
So, he calmed his nerves mostly with drinking.
As for the smoking?
Well, he kept the pack in his pocket most of the time, or left it on his bedroom desk. He only ever lit one after he'd had sex with a woman, smoking in the quiet, satisfying haze of the dopamine rush. Never before.
Of course, the woman in front of him had no need to know that particular detail.
She still wore a look of concern on her face. "Then at least don't smoke. It won't help in that area, either. If drinking makes you feel better, I'll pour you one. But please, rest afterward. You need to take care of your health."
She then retrieved a bottle of sake from her own private collection and poured him a modest glass.
Akira accepted it, a flicker of something like relief in his eyes as he enjoyed himself. He took a slow sip, then a deeper gulp. "It tastes good, Shizuka-sensei."
She took the bottle back, stowing it carefully in her bag. "Now. Please, rest…"
Akira gave a shallow nod and laid back on the cot, closing his eyes.
He faced the blank, white ceiling of the health room, his body still, as if he were just waiting for something—or for the unnatural noise in his head to finally quiet down.
Then, the door to the health room swung open again.
A purple-haired girl entered, guiding—or rather, half-dragging—a glassy-eyed guy who muttered the same phrase over and over again like a broken record.
"Please, don't hurt me! I will not step beyond my role again. Please, no!"
His words were a repetitive, fractured loop, empty of sense but thick with raw, animal terror.
Akira, listening, felt an instinctive shiver crawl up his spine. His eyes snapped open. He stared at the muttering guy with a deep, unsettled frown.
"What happened, Busujima-senpai?"
They knew each other from sharing the same habit of skipping class in the Health Room.
Well, to be precise, he was the one skipping class, while Saeko was usually here genuinely resting for a short while, letting her tense muscles unwind after the intense, brutal training sessions of the Kendo Club.
"I don't know, Akira-kun," Saeko explained, her voice a low, solemn murmur. "We were just… coexisting in the hallway. Then, out of nowhere, he suddenly lashed out in front of me. He shouted that he'd had enough of all this. That he didn't like me—that he only liked two-dimensional figurines. He said he felt deeply insulted having to grovel before 'third-dimensional women.' He kept ranting, saying many other incomprehensible things I couldn't follow."
She paused, her gaze drifting toward the glassy-eyed student trembling on the cot. "For some reason, right after his outburst… it was as if he saw something he shouldn't have seen. And then he just… turned into this."
Saeko looked at the broken boy with something close to pity, carefully guiding him to lie down on one of the health room beds.
"Shizuka-sensei," she asked, turning to the nurse, "do you have any solution?"
"He… let me check, Saeko." Shizuka Marikawa immediately shifted into professional mode.
She checked his pulse, his pupils, his breathing—all while the boy kept muttering and screaming fragmented, senseless phrases under his breath.
After a thorough examination, she straightened up, her expression grave. "Physiologically… he is perfectly healthy."
Akira, who had been watching the whole scene with detached analysis, spoke up flatly. "Maybe we should place him in a mental hospital."
Saeko gave a slow, firm nod of agreement. "Yes. We should hurry before it's too late for him to get proper care."
Without further delay, Saeko pulled out her phone and contacted Takashi Komuro, informing him quietly but urgently that his cousin had suffered a complete mental breakdown—that his mind was, for all intents and purposes, gone.
As this played out, Akira leaned back slightly, his mind already clicking into a colder, more procedural gear.
He watched as Tomoya Aki was carefully, helplessly led away, a shell of whatever he had been before.
A silent, internal prompt flickered in the corner of his perception, clear and administrative.
[Akira has voted for Tomoya Aki's elimination from the team.]
[Cast your votes.]
[Y / N]
Without hesitation, his finger moved.
He clicked yes.
Yuuki Sakurajima: What happened, boy? Why have you started a vote?
Akira: Regrettably, one of our team members has suffered a mental attack from something beyond our comprehension—a consequence of breaking his supposed role. He's now being taken to a mental hospital. FB, I hope you're following them. Put him out of his misery before they actually institutionalize him.
FB: I'm trailing them now. You were right. This game is more ruthless than I thought. I'm not sure what he experienced, but it's clear he's a liability at this point. Even if he survived, there's no guarantee he'd ever recover in the real world. Better to end his suffering now.
Arisu Sakayanagi: I trust both of your judgments. I'll cast yes.
Arisu Sakayanagi clicked yes.
FB clicked yes.
Yuuki Sakurajima: In that case, I vote yes as well.
Yuuki Sakurajima clicked yes.
[Tomoya Aki has been listed as a target for execution]
On the rooftop of the school, a burly man steadied his sniper rifle, the scope fixed on the backseat of the car below.
Inside, Takashi Komuro and Saeko were carefully maneuvering the catatonic, mumbling form of Tomoya Aki into the vehicle.
A sudden, primal instinct screamed in Saeko's mind—a warning of imminent danger. She whirled around, eyes wide.
But she was too late.
The car window shattered.
A spray of blood painted the interior.
Tomoya Aki's head snapped back, his manic, broken words dying instantly in his throat.
Takashi Komuro's roar of anguish tore through the air.
"NO…!"