Game 2
The next morning, the four women were ushered out early to a vast room filled with the remaining contestants. The walls seemed to stretch endlessly upward, reaching heights that could dwarf even the tallest buildings. Sawdust covered the floor, giving the whole space a raw, industrial feel. Before them stood towering pink walls adorned with childish drawings, each sectioned off by ten large gates, with guards stationed at every entrance. Mikoto couldn’t shake the feeling of unease as her eyes lingered on the windows high above them. The guards weren’t just there for show. If they lost, there was no doubt they'd be shot on the spot.
“…Separate into groups of five,” a woman’s voice said over the PA system, sending a ripple of frustration through the crowd.
“I elect Misaka-san to find our fifth,” Misaki declared, placing her hands gently on Mikoto’s shoulders with a confident smile.
“W-wah?” Mikoto stammered, stumbling forward as she turned to face Misaki. “W-why me?”
“Mmm~, because we trust you the most~☆,” Misaki answered, closing her eyes and tilting her head innocently.
“It’s true, we do,” Index chimed in, bending backward to survey the sea of people. Her bright eyes scanned the crowd with a playful, yet determined, look.
“Given the number of players left, we’ll have 72 groups of five,” Kazari said, her gaze shifting across the crowd as she calculated the numbers.
“I wonder what they’re going to have us do,” Mikoto mused aloud, her hand nervously rubbing her armpit, still irritated by the situation.
“Well, better get to looking, mhm!” Index said, sitting down on the sawdust with her legs crossed as if she were already settling in for a long wait.
“I guess so,” Mikoto muttered, her voice a mixture of exhaustion and annoyance. I guess fucking so.
Mikoto wandered through the crowd, her mind slowly drifting away from her. She saw Saten a few paces away, but immediately dismissed the thought. There was no way she was going to approach her now. After all, Saten wasn’t exactly the ideal person to help in this situation. And besides, Mikoto didn’t have the luxury of dealing with that nonsense. Everyone she passed seemed to either already be in groups, or like Kongou and Mugino, had their own teams filled up completely.
A large clock on the wall caught her attention, counting down the minutes. Seven minutes left. Mikoto's frustration reached a breaking point, and she ran a hand through her hair, letting out an exasperated yell.
“I’ll be your fifth,” came a deadpan voice from beside her.
Mikoto turned to see a woman standing there, her presence almost ominous. She had shoulder-length black hair with a slight purple sheen, her eyes sharp and focused, almost cold with intensity. Player number 100, Mikoto realized, her stomach tightening.
“Misaka Mikoto,” the woman said without a trace of emotion, her voice steady and unyielding. “It’s been some time.”
Mikoto blinked, trying to place the woman’s face, but her name was just out of reach. “I’m sorry, do I know you…?” Mikoto scratched her head, confusion clouding her thoughts.
“Regrettable,” the woman replied, speaking in English now, her gaze never wavering from Mikoto’s.
It hit Mikoto suddenly, like a thousand points of light. “Ah!” She gasped. “Nunotaba Shinobu. Holy shit, you’re alive!”
Nunotaba Shinobu—the woman Mikoto had almost forgotten about entirely, the one who had been lost to the darkness of the underground world. The thought of her had slipped away, swallowed by time and the chaos of their shared history. “I thought you might’ve been executed...” Mikoto stammered.
“I was taken underground,” Shinobu said, her voice unwavering. “Beaten, tortured, and forced to work on protocols for various black projects. Once Aleister Crowley was murdered, the program crumbled, and I managed to escape.”
Mikoto was silent, the ramifications of the words hanging heavy in the air. “All those years...” she trailed off, staring down at the floor.
“Think nothing of it,” Shinobu replied, her voice a perfect mirror of the cold detachment that had become so familiar to Mikoto. “We should head back to your group.”
With a nod, Mikoto followed her back toward the others. The clock was ticking down—four minutes remaining. Not bad.
“What took you so long?” Index yawned, sitting up with sawdust in her hair. She blinked lazily at Mikoto, clearly uninterested in any further details.
“You try finding someone in this mess,” Mikoto shot back, scowling at her.
Index yawned again, waving a hand dismissively. “Blah blah blah.”
“Oh~? Nunotaba-san,” Misaki said, stepping forward with a smile that seemed a little too polished. “It’s been some time.”
Mikoto blinked, frowning slightly. “Eh? You remembered her right off the bat?” She could feel a twinge of frustration—what the hell?
“Yes, of course!” Misaki's smile brightened even further, her tone soft and warm. “How could I forget altering people’s memories for her sake after you saved Febrie~?”
Shinobu’s expression didn’t change. “Unfortunately,” she said in perfect English, “I was still apprehended and taken to a torture camp beneath the city, where I resided for many years, forced to benefit evil scientists.”
“Ha…h?” Misaki’s mouth hung open slightly, the force of the revelation landing on her like a ton of bricks. She was stunned, visibly shaken by the unexpected turn of the conversation.
“There were gaps in Misaki’s powers,” Index added, her voice suddenly smug. She nodded to herself with an air of finality.
Misaki shot her a sharp look, narrowing her eyes in irritation.
“There were roadblocks along the way you wouldn’t have known about unless you dug deep,” Shinobu continued, her words deliberate, her random choice of English precise. Her tone was flat, emotionless.
Mikoto couldn’t help but wonder why Nunotaba didn’t just leave Japan for an English-speaking country. It was clear she preferred it, but her fluency in the language seemed just a bit too awkward at times. Mikoto found it oddly endearing. She wondered how Misaki would sound if she spoke English—it was an amusing thought. That sugary voice, now tinged with something a little more infallible...
“I see,” Misaki said, bowing slightly, her expression softened. “My apologies then.”
The voice on the PA system cut through the tension, booming across the room. It startled Index, causing her to jolt and tumble backward into the sawdust, her legs flailing in a comical yet tragic manner. The sound of activity picked up as the countdown ticked down toward its final seconds, and the remaining players gathered near the gates, their eyes looking nervously around the space.
“Welcome to the second game, the Playhouse,” the voice echoed, drawing everyone’s attention. “Groups will be picked at random to stand at each gate. When the alarm buzzes, the first person in each group will enter. Inside, they will find five additional doors. They must choose one at random and proceed onward. After five minutes, the process will repeat until all group members are inside. Players will have a total of 25 minutes to exit the playhouse alive. If a player fails to do so, the entire group will be eliminated. If all players successfully exit, they will move on to the next round.”
Mikoto's heart sank. 25 minutes huh?
“It seems like some paths inside will be easier than others,” Kazari said, her expression thoughtful. “We’ll have to be smart about it.”
“How? It sounds raaaandom,” Index whined, rolling around in the sawdust, not even trying to hide her annoyance.
Mikoto glanced at Misaki, then around at the groups being chosen for the activity. There had to be something they could do. She wasn’t about to let herself, or any of them, die. She had to make sure that didn’t happen. There’s no way in hell I'm letting anyone down.
“Mikoto,” Misaki said softly, moving closer and lowering her voice so only Mikoto could hear. “I think I have a plan.”
Mikoto froze. Her shirt clung to her back, sweat forming in tiny beads as anxiety gripped her. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, trying to sound confident, but she couldn’t help the nervous smile that crept onto her face.
“I’m sure you can feel that magnetic field around the playhouse,” Misaki began, her voice steady. “If you can bend it... weaken it even, I think my Mental Out might be able to access the minds of the winning groups.”
Mikoto smirked, closing her eyes briefly in admiration. “Just as I’d expect from you.”
Misaki’s voice took on a teasing lilt. “You flatter me~,” she purred, her tone dripping with sweetness.
Mikoto's face flushed slightly, a heat creeping up her neck, but she forced herself to stay focused. “We should probably wait to weaken the field until after someone wins,” she suggested, trying to sound as unbothered as possible.
Misaki nodded. “Agreed.”
Minutes turned into hours. The first 10 minutes felt like an eternity, then 20, then 40. After nearly 100 minutes, Mikoto was starting to feel desperate. Not a single group near them had made it. What the hell was happening? Was everyone really that bad at guessing? What was behind those gates? I wish I could just blast a hole through everything. That’d solve this whole damn thing.
Misaki seemed to be losing patience as well. “We may have to pick the minds of another team,” she said, crawling over to Mikoto and sitting down beside her. “But we don’t know if the layouts are the same for every building.”
Mikoto’s eyes widened as an idea hit her. “Wait... What if you took control while a group was inside and tried to figure it out?” She looked at Misaki with newfound excitement. “We could use their experience to know what to expect.”
Misaki tapped her chin thoughtfully. “That could work, but it’s risky if we get caught.”
“And it’ll be guesswork under stressful circumstances… playing with people’s lives,” Mikoto said, her gaze dropping to the sawdust beneath them.
Misaki’s eyes were focused, her mind clearly working through the possibilities. “Let’s just hope the next group makes it through... and that we’re not next.”
Mikoto felt the familiar spark of energy pulse from her hands, though it was small, barely noticeable. How much do I have to weaken the field?
“I think if you can create a small hole—toward the bottom where they might not notice—just a few centimeters in diameter, it should be enough,” Misaki said, her eyes fixed on the gate, calculating.
Mikoto took a deep breath. She needed to focus. I can do this. I think I can do this. Her fingers twitched slightly, but she suppressed the urge to act until the moment was right.
“I believe in you,” Misaki said, her smile genuine and warm. It caught Mikoto off guard, and a faint blush colored her cheeks. She looked away quickly, trying to compose herself.
Meanwhile, Index was busy making snow angels in the sawdust. “They make it so obvious...” she groaned, her voice muffled by the dust as she rolled around.
“Our chances are not gratuitous,” Shinobu said from where she sat, her hand resting casually over her knee as she watched the spectacle with disinterest.
“I think we’ll do fine,” Kazari added, leaning back on her elbows and glancing up at the ceiling, her tone calm and collected.
Time seemed to drag on as another group prepared to enter the playhouse. The minutes passed by quickly, but the tension didn’t let up. Then, without warning, a chilling scream pierced the air, followed by silence. The group inside had been executed. The next group stood up and moved toward their gates. Player 98, Wannai Kinuho. Player 97, Maaya Awatsuki. Player 96, Kongou Mitsuko. Player 432, Miho Juufuku. And finally, player 297, Mii Konori. Nobody particularly interesting, at least as far as Misaki was concerned. Still, every new group added another layer of uncertainty.
Mikoto hadn’t noticed Konori, and a wave of unease washed over her, constricting her throat. Why was she there? The last time they spoke, things weren’t exactly cordial. The thought that old faces from her middle and high school years were resurfacing felt surreal—like flipping through an old yearbook only to find everyone alive and moving about. It made everything feel even more suffocating. What the hell is going on?
“I’ve got them under control,” Misaki’s voice broke through Mikoto’s spiraling thoughts, smooth and reassuring, as she scooted closer. Her proximity alone was enough to make Mikoto's heartbeat stutter. The cool confidence radiating off of Misaki always had this uncanny ability to ground her. Yet, right now, Mikoto couldn't shake the sense of nervous energy she felt crawling up her spine.
The former ace of electricity forced herself to focus. She closed her eyes, steadying her breath, and concentrated. A vein popped on her temple as her mind sought the electric hum of the playhouse’s electromagnetic field. It was weak, at least compared to how strong she used to be. She reached into it, probing the boundaries, her fingers weaving through the threads of energy.
She twisted her field like a six-dimensional screw, grinding her focus to a razor-sharp point. Almost there… Her breath caught as she pinpointed the exact location, right by the platform’s base. “Five centimeters,” Mikoto muttered, her eyes still shut tight. “I’ve got it. Right by the platform’s base.”
Her hands folded into a triangle, the upside-down shape forming the last piece of the puzzle. Despite the strain appearing on her physically, it was much easier to maintain the hole now. The effort had been taxing at first, but now that it was there, she could feel it vibrating faintly in her bones.
Misaki didn't need any further instruction. “As long as it lets my connection proliferate inside,” she murmured, her tone soft but firm, “I’ll let you see everything I see, if you let me.” Her voice was like a warm breeze, carrying a sense of assurance with it, but there was no time to dwell on it.
Mikoto hesitated, but nodded. She trusted Misaki not to look into her thoughts. After all, if she wanted to, it wouldn’t be difficult given her current state.
The first contestant, Wannai Kinuho, stepped through the gate, her eyes wide with anticipation. Mikoto observed, feeling a bead of sweat drip down her temple. The massive platform, isolated by a small brick wall, felt like an absurdly extravagant stage. It was so artificial, so blatantly controlled, and it felt like a concentration camp. The oppressive pink walls surrounding them didn’t help. Every corner felt like it was closing in, like they were trapped in a circus, but the clowns were all psychopathic bitches.
There were five doors, each numbered. Misaki, ever the strategist, took a deep breath. “Door four,” she said with the precision of someone who had calculated the odds, and without hesitation, she guided Kinuho to it.
And while Mikoto must have thought those things about her, it was entirely a random decision.
The door opened automatically with a soft click, and Kinuho stepped into the narrow corridors. Mikoto could sense the slight ripple of confusion in the air as the pink walls stretched before them, the long corridors branching out into occasional junctions of left, right or straight.
“Looks like we’re dealing with a maze,” Mikoto said, the nerves in her voice just barely contained. She wiped a stray strand of hair from her forehead, fighting against the heat that was starting to rise inside her.
Misaki furrowed her brows, her gaze scanning the scene in front of them. “It would seem…” Her voice carried that cool, disinterested air, but Mikoto knew better. She was thinking, always thinking. It was what made her dangerous—her ability to assess and calculate situations with terrifying precision.
“Should we let the others in on this?” Mikoto asked, glancing around at their group. She didn’t want to risk making decisions on her own if there was someone who could help.
Misaki paused, her lips curling slightly as she gave Mikoto a sidelong glance. “Do you think they might be able to contribute to the problem-solving?” she replied, as if considering the options carefully.
“Kazari can,” Mikoto said, her voice steadying a little as she looked towards Kazari, who was sitting cross-legged and appearing way too calm for the situation at hand.
“Yes?” Kazari asked, her response so immediate that it almost felt like she’d been listening the entire time.
“That was quick,” Mikoto remarked, her exhaustion creeping in despite herself. She hadn’t realized how tense she was until now. She took a deep breath and tried to shake it off.
Misaki chuckled softly. “Even with restrictions, five people and sending a message to a sixth is nothing,” she boasted, her tone light.
Kazari raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching slightly. “Where is she at?”
“Still wandering, trying to find her bearings,” Mikoto replied, watching Kinuho make hesitant decisions at each junction. “She’s got stars in her eyes, but she’s no closer to figuring it out.”
At the fourth junction, Kinuho veered left, trying to avoid making a full loop. But the uncertainty of the path made Mikoto’s nerves fray, her mouth drying out. Is she about to screw up?
A bead of sweat formed at Misaki’s hairline, a subtle sign of the pressure she was feeling as her mind worked. “We still have two minutes,” Kazari reassured, her voice calm. It was almost too calm for Mikoto’s liking.
The maze had no clear answer. It was pure trial and error, and it was testing them to the limit. How much longer can we keep this up?
Mikoto’s mind raced as she closed her eyes and focused. “Wait, what’s Wannai’s ability?” she asked, voice low, trying to concentrate as the seconds ticked away.
“She can manipulate water,” Kazari chimed in, her tone dismissive.
Mikoto’s brow furrowed. “Useless,” Misaki muttered from the side. “What can she possibly do with water here?”
Mikoto, though, wasn’t so quick to dismiss the possibility. “Can you have her sense if there’s any water nearby?” she asked, the dryness in her mouth giving her the idea.
Misaki’s voice crackled in her mind, already responding. “Checking now.” Mikoto could almost sense the shift as Kinuho honed in on the moisture in the air. A little luck, maybe a lot of it, but it wasn’t enough to leave them dangling at the edge.
Then Kinuho hit the jackpot. The background moisture in the air was faint, but one trail was slightly elevated compared to the rest. She followed it, left, right, left—straight, left, right, straight, left. It led her to a vase in a small room, the soil had just a bit more moisture retained in it as a green plant gestated within. There was a door marked with the number four. She reached for the handle, the hinges opening with a soft creak. Then, a sound—reminiscent of the 2000s email notification, an odd reminder of a time long past.
“Unbelievable,” Misaki exhaled, leaning back in her seat. “What a pernicious clairvoyance you have, Misaka-san~.” The praise was gentle, but Mikoto couldn’t ignore the underlying tone of respect in Misaki’s words.
Mikoto’s lips curved into a half-smile, despite the sweat gathering on her arms. “I figured it was better than going off nothing,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, though the satisfaction of getting it right was a rare moment for her lately.
As soon as the buzzer went off, signaling the next contestant, Mikoto’s tension returned with a vengeance. The game hadn’t paused, and the next player—Maaya Awatsuki—stepped forward, ready to face her trial.
Misaki didn’t waste time. “Door three,” she decided, as if it were nothing.
Inside, the challenges shifted once more. Awatsuki had a clear advantage with her ability to manipulate buoyancy, but that didn’t mean it would be a walk in the park. The obstacles kept coming, one after another: a wall, metal rods, tightropes, a giant rotating wheel with spikes. Awatsuki floated effortlessly, dodging each one.
“You really chose the right girl for this one,” Mikoto said, still half-smiling as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Despite everything, it was hard not to appreciate the ease with which Awatsuki navigated the challenges.
Misaki, as always, didn’t let her guard down. “You should trust me, Misaka-san~,” she said, her voice thick with teasing warmth.
“Forever and always,” Mikoto answered, feeling a flutter in her stomach that she couldn’t quite shake.
And then came the iron pumps. Gaskets? Crushers? The term eluded Misaki’s mind for a moment, but her strategy never wavered. She had to analyze the timing of these mechanisms—two-second intervals and then five seconds for the two in the middle. The pattern was tricky, but Misaki was already there, guiding Awatsuki with a laser-like focus.
Time was ticking, and the level of danger seemed to escalate.
“What is it?” Kazari asked, her tone curious yet calm, sensing the change in Misaki’s demeanor.
Misaki exhaled, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the scene unfolding before her. “There’s traps everywhere,” she muttered, her voice tinged with frustration.
Awatsuki was facing her first major challenge in the large room ahead. Her path lead to a small island, and beyond that, another chamber. Tiny metal dots were scattered across the ground and walls, almost invisible to the naked eye. They looked like nothing more than harmless flecks, but Misaki knew better. Each one was motion-activated, a silent trigger waiting to unleash a disaster.
Awatsuki floated just a bit, testing the air, but in a split second, a laser shot across the room and burned into her arm. A sharp hiss of pain echoed from her as she recoiled, tumbling backward. The glow of the laser was gone in an instant, but the burn on her arm would be a mark she wouldn't soon forget.
“Do you think they’re all lasers?” Mikoto’s voice came through, filled with the same concern that was pulsing through Misaki’s veins. Her body tensed as she watched Awatsuki try to regain her footing.
“I… don’t think so,” Misaki replied, her eyes darting over the room, calculating every potential danger. She was already thinking two, three steps ahead. But the traps weren’t done yet.
A sudden barrage of arrows rained down from above, like a deadly storm of steel. Each arrow, sharp and unforgiving, was aimed with precision, targeting anything that moved. Without missing a beat, Misaki activated Awatsuki’s buoyancy, forcing the arrows to float harmlessly around the room.
For a brief moment, Misaki was able to see them all. There were flamethrowers, giant boulders poised to fall, spiked balls swinging from side to side like pendulums of death. And, of course, more lasers.
“Shit,” Misaki muttered under her breath. There was so much to keep track of, so much potential danger in every corner. Her fingers tightened around her brain, guiding Awatsuki through the chaos, narrowly avoiding the deadly traps. The island in the middle seemed safe at first, but Misaki could feel the undulation of danger even in that small sanctuary. Beneath the surface, the sand seemed to shift and pulse, like quicksand waiting to pull them down.
“Okay, we’re almost through,” Misaki said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. She guided Awatsuki to the next area, which was a narrow hallway rather than another chamber. It felt like a brief respite.
“You’re doing great,” Mikoto chimed in, her voice strained but warm. “How much time we got?”
“About 2:01,” Kazari replied, her voice steady as ever, though her eyes never left the screen.
Awatsuki took a single step forward, and the floor beneath her lit up with the telltale signs of another trap. A hiss echoed, followed by the ominous glow of two moving lasers. They were closing in, one from either side. Awatsuki had no time. She shot upward, trying to dodge the beams, but they followed her, relentless in their pursuit.
The situation grew more desperate. Awatsuki contorted her body in mid-air, trying to avoid the beams closing in on her. She twisted, dipped, and dodged, but the lasers were unforgiving. At the last moment, she dropped to the ground, just in time to avoid being hit. Her body skidded across the floor as she slid forward, narrowly missing the second wave of lasers.
With a final burst of speed, Awatsuki shot forward, her body twisting and turning with impossible agility. The lasers flashed past her, one after another, each a near miss. When she reached the end of the hallway, the final laser shot past her face, leaving a trail of heat behind.
Misaki wiped the sweat from her brow. She quickly scanned the wall ahead. Four holes sat ominously in the pink concrete. The question now was which one would lead them to the finish line.
“I think one takes you to the end, and the others lead back to the start,” Kazari guessed, her needlelike mind piecing together the puzzle now that Misaki had clued her mind in.
Misaki smiled, albeit briefly, her determination still unwavering. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
Misaki’s mind moved swiftly, guiding Awatsuki through the air with expert precision. She smiled slightly as Awatsuki slipped through the second shoot—just as the blonde had randomly chosen. The slide was smooth, and Awatsuki’s body twisted in graceful arcs, sliding down the metallic tube with ease. It wasn’t until the end of the slide that she was unceremoniously dumped out at the top of the first room. She landed with a soft thud, her feet skimming the ground after the drop sent her two meters down.
The hole in the ceiling closed with a mechanical hiss. Awatsuki hovered, undeterred by the sudden fall, and tried to reenter. She pushed against the vent, her buoyancy lifting her, but the tight gap closed too quickly. Awatsuki let out a grunt of effort before finally pushing the sides of the vent apart, allowing herself to float back into the room with ease.
Mikoto, drenched with sweat, leaned back slightly, her exhaustion apparent. “You know, I don’t remember her being able to float indefinitely,” she said, the weariness in her voice barely hidden behind the words.
Misaki glanced at her, her brows furrowing slightly as she observed Mikoto’s fatigue. She gave a quiet, almost tender sigh before answering. “She’s a Level 4 now. Her control over buoyancy is much more precise.”
Kazari, ever the observer, interjected, her tone relaxed despite the intensity of the trials. “She’s quite capable now. I’d say you got lucky with this combination.”
Misaki barely acknowledged Kazari’s comment as she watched Awatsuki carefully maneuver through the space. The middle slide—its entrance was missing from the ceiling.
“Let’s try that one,” Misaki said under her breath, already directing Awatsuki toward the missing path.
Awatsuki floated upward, heading straight for the absent third slide. As Awatsuki descended into the gap, she landed in a similar room to earlier, decorated with a simple vase and some flowers.
The buzzer blared to life, signaling the next batch. The sound seemed too harsh in comparison to the quiet that followed.
Mikoto let out a forced chuckle. “We’re sure cutting it close, huh?”
Misaki, who had been focusing on the trial, turned her gaze back to Mikoto. Her concern deepened as she took in the sweat clinging to Mikoto’s face and down her neck, the labored breath escaping her lips. Misaki hated seeing it. Seeing her like this. Mikoto had always been the picture of strength, and yet now she seemed so fragile, so worn down by the burden of the task.
She softened her tone. “Are you okay?”
Mikoto wiped her face with the back of her hand, exhaling heavily. “We’ll just have to hurry,” she said, her voice quieter, strained.
Misaki’s heart tightened at the sight. Mikoto was always the one pushing forward, the one who never faltered, but now it was different. The weight of the task, was clearly taking its toll on her. Misaki felt a pang of guilt, an ache deep within her. This wasn’t what she’d imagined. She hadn’t expected the Ace of all people’s powers to have weakened so much. She hadn’t realized just how quickly it would wear Mikoto down.
The thought made her stomach churn. “I’ll make it quick,” Misaki whispered to herself, determination solidifying in her chest.
Misaki’s thoughts moved with a precision that belied the frustration gnawing at her. Kongou was a challenge to maneuver, to say the least. Each movement sluggish and heavy, as though trying to direct a massive, cumbersome force of nature. Kongou’s size—easily 150 kilos overweight—made the task feel even more daunting. Every time she tried to move the woman, it felt like pushing a mountain. Misaki couldn’t help but picture Kongou like the purple blob from McDonald's—a jiggling mass that resisted every effort. Please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t let this be another athletic obstacle course, Misaki thought with a touch of panic.
Door one loomed ahead, and when Kongou stepped through, the sight before her was a ball pit so vast it could have swallowed entire cities. It stretched for at least 100 meters in every direction, the sea of plastic balls looking deceptively innocent. On the far right were eight slides, topped with a grotesque clown head, eyes wide, grin stretched to unnerving proportions like some sort of bizarre Juggalo decoration.
Misaki steeled herself, her breath quickening. “Alright, Kongou. Let’s figure this out.”
Kongou, looking like a weighty, swaying balloon, didn't seem phased. She levitated upwards with a gentle gust of wind, her movement slow but deliberate. As she hovered towards the clown’s oversized head, Misaki noticed a small hole nestled at the tip of its bulbous nose. She felt her stomach tighten. “Perhaps to open the mouth?” Mikoto’s voice broke through, her clothes soaked through with sweat.
Misaki tugged at her collar, feeling the heat of the room closing in. She could feel the pressure of the clock ticking in her neurons.
With a soft exhale, Misaki guided Kongou carefully toward the pit. “Okay, let’s try this.” She hesitated, her eyes twitching, but forced herself to lower Kongou slowly into the pit, as the woman sank deeper and deeper into the sea of balls. The pit felt endless, the plastic spheres pressing against Kongou’s body with unnerving tightness. The deeper she went, the harder it was to find any sense of clarity. It felt like searching for an apple in an unapologetic diabetic’s house.
“We need a way to find the key,” Misaki said under her breath, considering Kongou’s ability. Wind. If Kongou could manipulate the air, maybe that could help them sift through the sea of plastic. “Let’s try something.” Misaki guided Kongou's hands into the air.
With barely a thought, Kongou summoned a miniature tornado, the winds swirling through the sea of balls. Instantly, the air became alive, the balls lifting into the air, weightless. The effect was immediate and striking; they hung suspended in space, spinning and hovering with eerie precision. But as Kongou floated through the mass of shifting spheres, Misaki’s mind began to race. Where was the key? The balls were light. Had it been swept into the air?
“You could drop them in small groups,” Mikoto said, her voice strained but practical, still managing to offer a suggestion despite her obvious fatigue.
Kazari’s voice followed. “Might the key be in one of the lower hanging balls?” she proposed, shrugging slightly, as though offering the simplest answer to a complex puzzle.
Misaki absorbed their ideas, taking in a breath and focusing on Kongou’s hands as she sliced the wind through the hovering balls. With delicate yet precise gestures, she sliced through them like a knife through water. Slowly, the shredded balls fell back into place, leaving the space around them slightly clearer. The suspense was agonizing. And then, on the third movement—a gleam. A flash of gold that shimmered amongst the scattered remnants.
Kongou wasted no time. She thrust forward with surprising agility, her hand like a vice on an ice cream cone as she gripped the key—long and golden, shining brightly as she yanked it free. Misaki’s pulse quickened. This was it. This had to be it.
In mere seconds, Kongou was gliding back to the top of the slide. Misaki’s heart continued pounding as the woman inserted the key into the opening, her thick fingers handling it with clumsily. With a low mechanical groan, the clown head’s massive mouth slowly creaked open, swallowing Kongou whole.
The room fell silent for a moment, but only for a moment. The next challenge loomed large ahead of them—a room identical to the one before, but now with three clown heads leering down at them, their eyes blinking with unsettlingly slow, deliberate motions.
Misaki groaned, massaging her temples. She could feel the weight of the task ahead pressing down on her chest. “Great,” she muttered under her breath. “Not more clowns.”
She didn’t want to deal with this. But there was no choice. Misaki poised herself, trying to push the frustration aside.
“I think this may be one to enter at the beginning,” Kazari said, her voice cool, but tinged with a hint of uncertainty.
“I think… I could find those keys… m-magnetically,” Mikoto said, her head beginning to bob, her soaked hair slapping against her back with each movement.
Misaki didn’t reply immediately. She could feel the pressure of their situation, but there was no time to dwell on it. She moved quickly, each decision made out of necessity, repeating what she had done in the previous room. She tried all clown mouths, each leading to a different scenario. The first took her to a ball pit with four clown heads. The second had two. And the third led her to a room with flowers in a vase.
“Still got two minutes on the clock,” Kazari said, her voice calm but alert.
Mikoto, who was on the brink of collapse, looked up weakly. “Maybe you should rest for those two minutes,” Misaki suggested, reaching over and gently placing her hand on Mikoto’s sopping wet shoulders. “Will you be able to resume if you quit?”
“N-no…” Mikoto’s voice faltered, and Misaki could see the struggle behind her eyes.
Misaki frowned, feeling the guilt welling up inside her. I should have been more considerate. I shouldn’t have pushed her so hard, she thought. “Maybe I could lend you—”
“I’ll be… okay,” Mikoto cut her off, her voice weak but still trying to muster a semblance of a smile.
The buzzer sounded soon after, signaling the next contestant. Misaki braced herself. It was Miho Juufuku—small, agile, and with the ability to alter people's perceptions of her presence. Her power was subtle, niche—like a weaker version of Mental Out, but it was far from a game-changing asset in a situation like this. Misaki had to admit she didn’t know how much help Miho would be, but she had to keep the faith.
Door one opened, revealing what looked like the inside of a circus tent, except there were no seats—just blue walls trimmed in wood with strange shapes carved into it. There was a door on the opposite side, which opened to reveal a man—roughly in his 40s, broad but difficult to judge whether it was muscle or fat. His presence was imposing in a way that suggested he was no stranger to physical confrontation.
A voice from the speaker overhead echoed coldly: “You are to fight your opponent to the death. Failure to do so will result in a double elimination.” The words cut through the room, heavy and final.
“Are you kidding me?” Mikoto said, her voice a mix of disbelief and frustration, as her mind pushed against the limits of her fatigue.
Misaki knew this was a turning point. She had to make a choice, and it wasn’t one she could afford to delay. Miho’s ability could potentially help them win this, but there was still a moral cost. She could use Juufuku’s power to cloak herself and ambush the man, or… something else. But in a moment of hesitation, a dark, commanding voice broke through her thoughts.
“Do it,” Kazari said, her gaze unwavering, a quiet but dangerous intensity radiating from her. Misaki felt a chill wash over her from the force of Kazari’s words. She had no room to argue. Kazari was right—this was the best option, and it needed to happen.
With a sigh, Misaki concentrated on Juufuku’s ability, using it to blind the man to her existence. The atmosphere in the arena shifted as Juufuku’s presence became a shadow, nearly invisible. Misaki guided her movements carefully, taking every step with precision, careful not to make a sound, fearing the slightest noise might give them away. If her ability even worked that way.
The man, confused and panicked, swung the knife wildly in the air, stabbing at nothing. He stopped, then ran in a circle before freezing again, his erratic movements a result of his fear and confusion. Misaki waited for the right moment, then struck—swiftly, silently—a single, precise motion to the brain stem. The man crumpled to the floor, lifeless.
There was a mechanical hum, and a lift descended into the room, carrying her to the next challenge—another room with flowers in a vase.
As Juufuku exited, Misaki turned her attention back to Mikoto. The poor girl had collapsed, gasping for air, her body shaking as though she had just swum across a boiling lake. She was drenched in sweat, her face red from the exertion, her body temperature soaring.
Misaki’s heart stopped. She rushed over, placing a hand on Mikoto’s forehead. “What can we do…” she whispered to herself. She shouldn’t have pushed Mikoto this hard. It was her fault. It always was.
Suddenly, a familiar voice broke through the tension. “Make way, make way,” Index yawned, strolling over nonchalantly.
Index knelt beside Mikoto, placing her hands gently over her chest. A faint blue light radiated around her, calm and soothing. One… two… three. It was done. Mikoto’s body temperature didn’t return to normal, but her expression shifted from one of pain to a peaceful tranquility. She blinked her big chocolate eyes up at Index.
“What happened?” Mikoto asked, her eyelashes fluttering in confusion.
“I don’t know, you collapsed,” Index shrugged with a stretch.
“They were cheating without involving us,” Shinobu added, saying ‘involving’ English for emphasis, her tone marked by mild frustration.
Misaki chuckled softly, trying to relieve the tension. “Cheating’s a strong word.”
“Oh no…” Mikoto’s eyes widened suddenly as she sprang to her feet, panicked. “The hole!”
“It’s closed. I lost connection,” Misaki said with a soft exhale, trying to calm herself. She was more at peace now. The hole, the connection, the thread of control—it was all gone.
Mikoto looked at her, confused. “What do you mean? Can’t I just open a new one and—?”
“We could try that, but it looks like we’re out of time,” Misaki said, before the buzzer sounded.
The next contestant, Konori, stepped forward, a normal woman entering an unknown space.
Mikoto collapsed back onto the ground, exhaling heavily. “Having one room we don’t know isn’t too bad,” she said with a sigh.
“What?” Index asked, tilting her head in confusion.
Shinobu raised an eyebrow, then crossed her arms. “Will you be explaining the layout of the rooms to us or keeping it a secret as a detriment to the team?”
Misaki couldn’t help but smile. “Of the four rooms we observed,” she began, sitting down with a tired sigh, “door one leads to an arena. You have to kill a person from another group to progress.”
“Wait, couldn’t we technically all be eliminated then?” Mikoto interjected, sitting up, her voice still shaky.
“Yes,” Shinobu said matter-of-factly. “If one group kills another’s teammate, and then their group fails to complete the other rooms, both groups would be eliminated.”
“What about the other rooms?” Index asked, still sitting patiently.
“Door two is a ball pit,” Misaki said with a languid grace, brushing away a few errant strands of Mikoto's damp hair. Her delivery, ever cool and measured, belied the trepidation coursing through her veins. “It’s vast, spanning at least a hundred meters in every direction. Within its depths lie multiple keys, hidden among the pits, each one unlocking a hideous clown face door.”
“Bleeeh,” Index groaned theatrically, her shoulders slumping in a caricature of exhaustion.
Mikoto flushed, the warmth of embarrassment creeping up her cheeks. “I-I’ll handle that one. It should be quick for me...” Her voice wavered, but she clenched her fists, steadying herself.
“Understood,” Kazari replied with quiet firmness, her nod resolute.
“Door three is an obstacle course,” Misaki continued, her fingers weaving through Mikoto's tangled hair with an absentminded tenderness. “This one demands extraordinary athleticism. It concludes with a laser—lethal on contact. The exit lies in the center chute beyond.” Her words hung in the air for a moment.
“I’ll do it,” Shinobu said, stepping forward with an unflinching gaze. “I’ve escaped from worse.”
“Door four is a maze,” Misaki went on, her voice as tranquil as a still pond. “Would—”
“No,” Kazari interrupted, a steel edge in her voice. “I’d lose my way. I’ll take the unknown room instead.” Her resolve was unshakable.
“Are you certain?” Mikoto asked, her surprise evident.
“I’m more capable than you give me credit for,” Kazari replied, a faint smile brushing her lips. Yet her eyes betrayed a profound seriousness that even Misaki couldn’t ignore.
As the conversation dwindled, the ominous buzz of the timer reverberated through the room.
“Do you think...?” Mikoto began hesitantly, her voice fragile.
“I’m sure they made it through,” Misaki replied with a reassuring smile, though her own heart felt leaden. Her composure was a mask, a shield against her own doubts.
The distant staccato of gunfire punctured the uneasy silence, sending a shiver racing down Misaki's spine.
“I don’t want door one,” Index muttered, arms crossed in defiance, as they all lined up.
“I suppose remembering a maze is preferable to taking a life,” Kazari said, scratching at her cheek with a pensive air.
“I’ll take it,” Misaki volunteered, her brow furrowing as she made the decision.
“Are you…?” Mikoto turned to her, concern etched in her features.
“Yes,” Misaki said simply, her voice steady. A small, practiced smile followed, but Mikoto saw through it. That was Misaki’s way—masterfully hiding her emotions behind an impenetrable facade that most people seemed oblivious of. Did Mikoto just happened to know her that well?
The heavy blare of the timer signaled Mikoto’s turn. Steeling herself, she approached door two and grasped the handle. The mechanism yielded effortlessly, revealing the cavernous ball pit Misaki projected into her mind. It stretched endlessly, the synthetic scent of industrial chemicals clinging to the air like an invisible pall. Mikoto’s jaw tightened. No doubt, this place had seen death before—and the chemicals were meant to cover up the blood and guts. Those pieces of subhuman filth wouldn’t get the one up on her, though.
The pit shimmered with an array of colors: pink, yellow, cyan, and white, hues that matched the vibrant walls and garish slides. Mikoto closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, tuning her senses. A faint electromagnetic disturbance buzzed at the edge of her awareness. It was subtle but insidious, interfering with her abilities. Was it designed specifically for her? Or was it merely a safeguard against others like her? The questions gnawed at her thoughts until she forcibly silenced them, slapping her own cheek to regain focus. If the key wasn’t magnetic, she would need extra time. If the key really was gold, well that would be just fine too, since diamagnetic objects repel magnetically; she would still be able to tell where it is. Weak or not, her senses were still fine tuned at least.
Exhaling sharply, she extended her electromagnetic field outward. It twisted and buckled under the room’s constraints, but she pressed on, refusing to yield. Her limitations were constructs of her own doubt, nothing more. She had overcome greater trials before—at 12 years old, she had pushed herself to the brink of her abilities. Now, she needed that same defiance, that same arrogance. She needed to be the strongest. She had to believe in herself, she had to—
Her field surged, breaking through the interference in a burst of raw power. An electromagnetic pulse radiated outward, rippling across the entire playhouse and beyond. Mikoto staggered, the effort nearly toppling her. Her chest heaved as nausea threatened to overwhelm her, but she steadied herself. She had done it. She had overcome the barrier, a feat worthy of a Level 3, maybe even a Level 4. Had Index’s magic unlocked something in her…? Mikoto inhaled and steadied herself as she wondered just how was able to do what she just did. But there wasn’t time.
Scanning the pit, she pinpointed the key—a faint glint buried among the white balls, 14 meters ahead and 40 down. Her lips curled into a grim smile. As if anyone else would’ve fucking found it.
With a flick of her wrist, she magnetized her shoes and dashed along the pink walls, defying gravity with ease. Her movements were a seamless dance of precision and power, culminating in a triumphant 360-degree spin before she landed with feline grace. The ball hovered in the air and popped before the key leaped into her hand as though summoned, and she flung it into the lock from three meters away, twisting it effortlessly with her power.
The next room awaited. Its cruel design was all too familiar. Mikoto’s senses honed in on the remaining keys, and she dispatched them with ruthless efficiency, scattering them with a burst of repulsive force toward the clowns’ dumbass faces. For a fleeting moment, she felt like her old self—a memory of confidence and strength rekindled within her, though she did feel a bit weak and short of breath. It was intoxicating, like the euphoria of MDMA. A thought flashed through her mind, bitter and wry: Is everything going to feel like a drug comparison now?
The doors were all unlocked. Mouths. Whatever. Mikoto wondered why they hadn’t included clocks in the rooms. Would she even hear the buzzer when it sounded? The choice was obvious: between letting people track the time and ramping up their anxiety, or denying that and letting them piss it away in ignorance, they chose the latter. There was probably a science behind it. Not that it mattered. All she cared about now was finding the person responsible for all of this—and ensuring they paid for every life lost.
Mikoto clenched her fists and dashed across the pit, leaping from one ball to another until she propelled herself to the top of the slides. Mouth three. The room with the vase of flowers. Seeing it in person reminded her of a dentist’s waiting room: unnervingly sterile, polished to a point of falseness. Whatever. She opened the door to find an empty, white-painted room—exactly as she’d glimpsed, along with that stupid sound, before Misaki hijacked her vision and switched it to someone else.
Outside, the massive digital clock ticked down: two minutes, five seconds.
“Did you feel that?” Index asked, her eyes fixed on the gate ahead.
“Was that Misaka-san…?” Misaki flinched.
“Without a doubt,” Kazari said, tapping her shoe anxiously in the dirt. “Looks like she’s back to her old self.”
“I hope that’s all it is,” Misaki replied, a bead of sweat sliding down her temple.
“You think she got attacked, or—” Index began.
“No, it’s probably just my imagination running wild,” Misaki said, shifting her weight nervously.
The alarm buzzed, and Shinobu stepped forward without hesitation. Misaki watched her approach the gate, her confidence redoubtable. Shinobu didn’t seem to have any abilities—just a calm, calculated demeanor. Trusting her sent a shiver down Misaki’s spine straight to her legs, yet Mikoto hadn’t seemed concerned. Her quiet faith in Shinobu’s capabilities offered Misaki a small reprieve despite her absence. She’s fine.
Shinobu surveyed the room as she stretched, rolling her neck to ease the tension. Before her stood a towering wall, three or four meters high. Without delay, she stepped back and sprinted toward it. Her movements were measured but efficient, her speed carefully calibrated to maximize her vertical leap. As she reached the wall, she took one step on it with a 45 degree angle beneath her. That meant her running speed was perfectly proportional to her vertical leap. She was lucky with the shoes they gave her, because thanks to the friction on them, she didn’t need to jump farther or extend her legs awkwardly like she considered—she scaled the wall gracefully and landed on the other side like a shadow slipping through the night.
Beyond the wall lay an obstacle course of metal rods—horizontal and vertical—a gymnast’s morning routine. Shinobu contorted her body, weaving through the rods with the precision of a master acrobat. Each movement built momentum for the next, her fluidity turning the challenge into a dance.
Next came the tightropes: a series of ropes stretched high above an abyss, zigzagging between precarious platforms. Shinobu sprinted forward, covering the first distance in a blink before leaping to the next platform. Higher and higher she climbed, her movements unwavering despite the thin sheen of sweat forming on her forehead.
One again, Shinobu launched off the ground in a sprint, this time as fast as she could. She covered the distance in the blink of an eye before twisting her leg to hop onto the next room, climbing up with a slight sweat. The top platform had to have been 20 meters in the air. Taking a breath she repeated the process for the other ropes. She would’ve liked to say no sweat, but…
The next room was narrow, featuring a giant rolling ball with panels and spikes on the end. Stretching her arms out she popped them before kicking the ground with the toe of her shoe. Leaning forward she bolted toward the corner where the wall would meet the moving panels. She kicked off the wall and then again off the spike sticking off the panel. From there she hit the left wall, kicking off that to launch her over the giant ball with pinpoint timing. Up and over, she landed with the grace of a black cat on Friday the 13th.
Then came the pistons: enormous mechanisms lining a hallway, their movements staggered to create deadly patterns. She wiped the sweat off her forehead as she eyed the giant metal beasts in front of her. They were just so massive. Her whole body would take up maybe 50% of one. It was a hallway of just pistons. There was eight of them, with the two in the middle operating on a different timing schedule. It would have helped if Misaki told her what it was—why didn’t she? Did she want her to die?
Jogging to the edge of the hallway, she looked to the middle pistons. Shinobu squinted. She could barely see anything, but there was movement, and that’s all she needed. Shinobu observed their timing, counting seconds under her breath. Two and five seconds. Taking a deep breath she hopped onto the brass center as the first one opened up. One… two… three. Four… She stopped and waited for a second before the middle piston opened. Five. She hopped over. The four behind her closed. One. She stepped over. Two. She stepped over again and sprinted, jumping off the last piston in a hurry.
The following chamber was deceptive in its stillness. Sensing danger, Shinobu removed her shoe and tossed it forward. Instantly, a web of lasers activated, reducing the shoe to shreds. She cupped her chin and rubbed it as she walked forward in what she perceived to be about two or three meters of clearance, her eyes scanning the room for clues. Small barely perceptible indents dotted the walls and floor, barely visible to the untrained eye. Slivers of silver shined from the right angle behind them. Clearly those were the sensors to activate the traps. Then, as she looked to the ground, she noticed the same thing hidden in the dirt.
Shinobu sighed. If she hugged one end of the wall she wouldn’t have the information from the other. And there was always the possibility of the ceiling. She figured by then she was probably at the four minute mark. There wasn’t time to analyze things and come up with an optimal strategy.
She took off her other shoe and stepped forward, just before the first sensors on the ground and wall. She held out her shoe below two on the wall. Nothing. So she ducked; she could potentially phish for any on the other side this way. And so she did. Bobbing, weaving, and contorting, to not set anything off before her shoe could. And that it did. Midway through the chamber, she held it up and forward.
A giant wrecking ball with spikes fell from above and began to sway back and forth, mere centimeters from her face. Not only would she have to be cautious, but she’d also have to hurry and cross that stretch before it hit her. Biting her bottom lip she slithered forward, her upper body wavering up as her lower body snaked up then down. The shoe had a laser shoot through it, so she moved it lower. Another laser. She moved it up instead.
Her only choice was to jump as the ball was coming back. And so she did, barely managing to avoid getting hit, lucky enough that the space beneath the sensors in that spot had nothing. By now her bangs were wet and she could feel goosebumps popping up on her arms.
From there it was more of the same. Until the last meter. She misstepped. Shit. A barrel with holes shot out from a panel in the wall across from her torso. Before it could fire she leapt forward and rolled. Flames singed the edge of her jacket as she got away.
Brushing herself off Shinobu didn’t look back. She walked forward with the flames casting a red glow against her back. In a swift hop she leapt onto the wobbly platform surrounded by moving sand. From there, there was a glass hallway. That must be the lasers then. She ran a hand through her hair and cracked her knuckles in one hand with a subtle movement of her fingers.
The ten-minute mark loomed in her mind, a sinister countdown she could almost hear ticking in her teeth. Shinobu gritted them, her annoyance at the blonde’s infuriating vagueness a thorn she couldn’t pull free. Was it apathy or malice? Why withhold critical details? It was maddening, but she couldn’t afford to dwell. Not now.
She stood at the edge of the hallway, its pristine glass walls glowing faintly in the ambient light from either side, as if they too awaited her demise. The air was heavy with silence, oppressive and sharp, like the calm before an executioner’s blade fell. She hesitated. A cautious step forward? Or a sprint? The memory of that warning gnawed at her—the lasers move.
Without further deliberation, she hurled herself forward in a precise motion, her body coiled like a spring, and began to run. The hallway erupted into blinding white light, illuminating every surface in harsh clarity. A low hum resonated through the air, growing louder with an almost malevolent glee. Then came the first laser.
A cerulean beam materialized ahead, sudden and swift, slicing the air with clinical precision. Shinobu’s knees bent instinctively, her body dipping backward into a perfect limbo. The beam seared overhead, close enough for her hair to stir in its wake. She straightened, her breaths measured but shallow, only to freeze as a second beam roared toward her from behind, a hunter closing in on its prey.
Spinning on her heel, she bolted forward, only to meet another beam generating before her, this one lower. She leaped, her legs curling beneath her in midair, her movements fluid but edged with recklessness. No sooner had her feet touched the ground than the first beam returned, doubling back at an impossible speed. It followed her every motion like a vengeful ex. There was no way she could outrun either.
She ducked. It dipped. She jumped. It climbed. The hallway became a relentless symphony of light and heat, each note more frenetic and deadlier than the last. Shinobu twisted her body in the air, spinning with an almost balletic grace to evade the twin beams now converging upon her. She would have been cut in half if she hadn’t. The thought made her feel the nerves in her palms vibrate. Then, their paths crisscrossed, splitting the space into a deadly latticework she navigated by instinct alone.
The exit was just meters away. But her reprieve was short-lived. A new threat appeared: more lasers, these spiraling horizontally, spinning like the blades of an infernal mangler. Shinobu paused, calculating the pattern. She held her breath, her muscles taut as she twisted her body perpendicular to their rhythm, slipping through the deadly intervals like a screw into drywall.
Her foot caught the edge of the floor, and she stumbled forward, her balance faltering for the first time. She could hear the hum of the lasers behind her. Run or dodge. Run or dodge. Fucking hell. Shinobu shot upright, her legs surging with every bit of power she could muster. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed her fears—the lasers were converging, their paths merging into a single inescapable web. She couldn’t dodge this time. There was no room, no angle.
The only choice was forward.
The hallway blurred around her as she continued to sprint, the hum of the lasers swelling to a crescendo. They chased her with ruthless precision, forming a net that closed in just as she reached the exit.
With a final, desperate leap, she dove forward, her body twisting midair as she tumbled into the dirt beyond the hallway. The laser net closed behind her, so close it seared the soles of her feet, the heat licking at her heels as she landed.
Her body hit the ground in a graceless sprawl, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The faint glow of the lasers vanished, leaving only the dim ambient light in the hallway once more. She lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, trying to piece herself together.
If she tried to dodge those, she would’ve fucking died. She would have died. Death. The end. Ridiculous. This wasn’t a playhouse—it was a slaughterhouse. Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. Shinobu pushed herself up, her limbs aching but resolute. The game demanded her submission, but she would give it none.
It was the middle circle, wasn’t it? Shinobu’s body felt like it had just endured hours of grueling gym training. Her legs trembled like jelly as she eased herself onto the slide, exhaling in a quiver. The descent was brief—a quick, almost mocking reprieve—before she was unceremoniously deposited into a small room. The simplicity of the space was almost disconcerting: an end table with a vase of flowers, the delicate aroma at odds with the trials she’d endured.
Groaning softly, she pushed herself upright, every muscle yelling, and limped toward the door. It hissed open as she pulled the handle down, revealing Mikoto and Kazari seated on the floor.
“Ah! Glad you made it!” Mikoto said, springing to her feet with the energy of someone who hadn’t faced death in a laser hallway.
Shinobu’s gaze shifted to Kazari, who remained comfortably seated, her expression unreadable. “I’m late.”
“Well,” Mikoto said, scratching the back of her head, “it doesn’t really matter as long as everyone gets here before the last five minutes.”
“Right,” Shinobu muttered, walking past her.
Mikoto’s eyes dropped to Shinobu’s feet, her brows knitting in confusion. “Eh? What happened to your shoes?”
Shinobu frowned, sitting heavily on the ground without answering.
Before anyone could press further, another door slid open, and Index strolled in, looking far too relaxed. She stretched her arms overhead, yawning as though she’d just woken from a nap.
“That was quick…” Mikoto said, tilting her head. “I think?”
“It was,” Index replied, covering her mouth with her hand as she yawned again. “You have a very distinct presence, Miko-chan.”
“What do you mean?” Mikoto asked, her brow furrowing.
“Maybe I just got lucky, but the magnetic currents in this place are all messed up. They influence my magic when I throw it out,” Index explained, casually forming a small blue orb of light with a bright white center.
The glowing ball danced erratically through the air before popping against Mikoto’s nose with a faint plink.
“See?” Index said, flopping onto the floor with her arms and legs spread wide.
Mikoto blinked, rubbing her nose. “Yeah… I guess so.”
“How did you manage to overcome the limiter?” Kazari asked, her tone tinged with curiosity, apparently unaware of how weak Mikoto had gotten over the years.
“I’m not sure,” Mikoto admitted, leaning back against the wall. “I just pushed everything forward and let it go. It felt great—like taking off a weighted vest.”
Mikoto extended her hands, lines of electricity crackling between her fingers. Her lips curved into a small, satisfied smile.
“I want a steak,” Index said abruptly, sitting up.
“You’re not getting my dinner again tonight,” Mikoto replied, fixing her with a pointed look.
“But!” Index whined, clasping her hands together in a plea.
“You ate mine and Shokuhou’s, you glutton,” Mikoto retorted, folding her arms and glaring.
“I’m a growing girl!” Index protested, puffing her cheeks in defiance.
“No, you’re not,” Mikoto hissed, her tone dripping with exasperation.
Outside the room, the timer ticked down relentlessly as their bickering echoed off the walls.
Misaki stood apart, her expression carefully neutral as her gaze fixed on the glowing countdown. Two minutes remained. The decision was inevitable, but that didn’t make it any easier. She’d already done it by proxy; what was one more life in the grand scheme of things?
She glanced at the remaining groups—twelve, by her count. There would be one more full round and then a smaller one to follow. Her acute glare lingered on Mugino’s group. They hadn’t gone yet. No one else stood out, though.
With a faint, imperceptible wince, Misaki turned her focus back to the numbers. Time marched forward, merciless and unyielding.
The irritating buzz jolted Misaki from her thoughts. She stepped forward as the gate creaked opened, stopping before door one. The other doors were sealed by heavy shutters. This was it. Taking a steadying breath, she forced herself to focus. The others—Uiharu Kazari, Mikoto, the rest—were probably fine. Kazari, the clever one among Mikoto’s old friends, likely faced something intellectual.
As she entered, a pungent chemical odor assaulted her senses. The room reeked of antiseptic—a sterile veneer permeating in every way. There was no blood to mark the spot where her previous opponent had fallen, but the memory of violence lingered, palpable and oppressive. Near the center of the room, another blonde woman stood, her hair the dull hue of straw.
“Finally,” the woman muttered, unfolding her arms with a practiced ease. A knife glinted in her hand, likely the same one from the last altercation.
The cold, mechanical voice of the intercom droned overhead, but Misaki didn’t hear it. Her mind was elsewhere, calculating, preparing. Her gaze wandered to the wall, seemingly disinterested, though her peripheral vision tracked every subtle movement the woman made.
“Lucia,” Misaki said softly, her tone devoid of warmth. “Still the church’s loyal dog?”
The woman hesitated, her expression faltering. “Huh? Do I—”
Lucia’s words died on her lips. Misaki didn’t need her to finish. The woman’s mind was hers now, bound and subdued by a force she couldn’t comprehend. Lucia’s eyes widened, filled with a dazed, unnatural adoration. Without hesitation, she turned the blade on herself, plunging it into her neck with mechanical precision.
The sickening sound of tearing flesh filled the room as blood erupted in violent arcs, painting the pristine walls with crimson streaks. Misaki moved forward, unhurried, stepping past the collapsing body without a glance. Her shoes avoided the pooling blood as though by instinct. Shokuhou Misaki merely walked to the lift she knew would descend.
In the white room above, the remaining four waited. Index lay sprawled on the floor, kicking her legs idly in the air. Kazari leaned against the wall, silent and contemplative. Shinobu sat cross-legged, her forearm resting on her knee, while Mikoto paced, her steps erratic.
“She’ll make it, right?” Mikoto muttered under her breath, her worry audible. Misaki was one of the most capable ability users she knew—there was no way she could lose. But doubt whispered insidiously in her mind. What if it was a magic user? Could they counter her? Was there any even here? Shouldn’t Mental Out work most of the time anyway? Was there some unknown spell at work in this place? Her thoughts spiraled, colliding in an unrelenting storm of anxiety.
The door slid open, and Mikoto’s frantic pacing halted abruptly. Misaki stepped through, unscathed, her composure unnervingly intact. She forced a small, brittle grin as her arms wrapped beneath her chest.
Mikoto’s tension broke, her face lighting up with relief—her mouth opening before smiling large. She began to approach, but Shinobu was faster. The girl shot to her feet and marched forward, her expression thunderous.
The sound of the punch thudded, cracking through the room as Misaki staggered and fell, her golden hair splaying out like a shattered halo on the floor.
“What the hell!?” Mikoto yelled, her voice rising in disbelief.
“Eh?” Index blinked, raising her head.
Kazari tilted her head slightly. “Mmm…”
Misaki lay there silently, her hand gingerly touching her cheek. She didn’t resist, didn’t lash out—only stared up at Shinobu with those inscrutable eyes.
“What’s your problem?” Mikoto demanded, stepping closer, her brows slanted in confusion and anger.
Shinobu ignored her, towering over Misaki instead. “You almost got me—and by extensionyou—killed. Was that your intention?” Her voice was crisp, each word a dagger, especially the English ‘by extension you’.
Misaki let the silence stretch, her lips curling into a faint, almost mocking smile. “Sorry,” she said finally, her tone light yet piercing. “I just didn’t trust you, is all.”
Shinobu’s fists clenched and unclenched, her frustration barely contained. With a huff, she turned away, crossing her arms as she walked back to her spot.
Mikoto rushed to Misaki’s side, kneeling beside her. “Hey,” she said softly, her brows arching with concern. “Are you okay?”
Misaki’s lips curved into an exaggerated, saccharine smile. “Peachy keen, Misaka-san~,” she replied, her voice dripping with false cheer.
Mikoto sighed, recognizing the facade but saying nothing. She helped Misaki to her feet just as another door opened opposite from where they all came in.
The group filed out into the larger chamber containing the playhouses they entered from, just on the other side. A guard stood waiting, their voice as flat and lifeless as the walls around them.
“Congratulations. Your team has advanced to the next round.”
The group was escorted out, retracing their path through the same labyrinthine maze of pink walls and endless stairs. Misaki remained silent, her eyes forward, the faintest shadow of a smirk playing on her lips. Whatever lay ahead, she had no intention of faltering.