I thought I understood the impact that the news of someone's death could have on those receiving it. However, I was utterly wrong. When you lose someone so deeply rooted in your daily life, there's no way to measure the mental confusion it brings.
Miyu runs toward the courtyard, but Haruki and Mikoto do not try to stop her this time. They couldn't, even if they wanted to. They know there's no way to reason with her, and even if they could, they wouldn't feel justified in doing so.
Manabu runs after her toward the body of our deceased friend. I continue watching through the window as the two, in tears, reach Shou's lifeless form.
Could it have been different? If I had suggested Shou for recruitment, he might still be here with us. Probably pulling some silly stunt, maybe even getting in the way, but at least he'd be alive. Alive, with that goofy smile on his face. How could I let it end like this?
I sigh and slowly descend the stairs.
The closer I get to this reality, the more suffocating it becomes. I feel as if I'm sinking into a dense, oppressive quicksand. The tension crushes every bone and muscle in my body, inch by inch.
Reaching the ground floor, I, too, head toward the courtyard. Unlike those two, I am sure a gunshot won't kill me because I carry the curse of being a player. If they are risking their lives just to see the face of a dear friend one last time, the least I can do is go there out of respect for Shou's memory.
This leads me to question myself. What if, by some chance—a mere chance—I made the wrong deduction?
'Shimizu Shou was the one who ratted me out to the student council.'
I projected the uncertainty of guilt onto him without hesitation.
I approach his body but remain standing, for I fear that if I kneel, I won't have the strength to get back up. In this bitter moment, all I can do is keep Miyu company as she cries over her friend's body.
Fortunately, Manabu is strong enough to handle his own emotions and support her. This role must be fulfilled by him because I am in no condition to come up with excuses like "it was meant to be" or "he's in a better place now."
"Shimizu-kun had many flaws—he was stubborn and overly opinionated. But he had a good heart and would never hurt anyone around him. Why is it that it's always the good ones who suffer the most?" Miyu laments, tears streaming down her face.
Unfortunately, this is the reality, and it is far from fair. There is no moral restriction on what happens. Sometimes the good die, sometimes the bad, with no distinction. And now, he has simply ceased to exist, as if everything he did in life meant nothing.
Why are we subject to this randomness?
That's just how things are. We come from nothing and return to nothing without receiving any satisfaction for our actions or purposes.
Manabu wraps one arm around her and pulls her close to comfort her.
Am I to blame for all this? If I hadn't doubted his integrity, my friend might still be alive. By acting on a mere suspicion, I delivered him to death.
Strangely, all I feel is guilt consuming me—no sadness for this loss nor anger toward the perpetrator of the crime. Unlike them, my eyes have never once asked for tears.
Am I truly that horrible of a person, or have I already rotted away inside?
8:19 PM
The shock of Shou's death rendered the rest of the day useless. It emotionally shattered some members of the group. Seeing our morale so low, Mikoto decided to postpone our counterattack until the next day indefinitely.
Gradually, each member was dismissed, and the council room emptied. This would have been my opportunity to discuss Mikoto's reckless plan with her. However, I lost interest. I'm not in the right mental state to talk to her—I feel hollow.
My stomach churns. I'm incredibly frustrated with my own reaction. I imagine I should at least feel sad, but I can't even mourn the death of a friend properly.
A constant sensation lingers—that this is normal, usual, banal. Has this happened before?
The only thing enveloping me from head to toe is disgust. This feeling doesn't come from the gruesome sight of a corpse in a pool of blood but from within me. It's a reflection of my inner self. Witnessing that scene made me feel like the filthiest grime imaginable coated every surface of my body.
Why? Why do I feel this way? What have I done? This makes me want to sit and wait for the clock to mark my death.
I want to disappear from here.
Damn it, my head hurts so much.
Dizziness.
I feel terrible, just like on the first day of the game. This sensation goes far beyond guilt—it's as if I've actually killed someone. I can almost see blood on my hands.
Shou's death seems to have triggered visions of hundreds of fallen, mutilated bodies before my eyes. What does all this mean? Why am I suffering for something I've never committed?
Could I be capable of such a heinous act? Under what circumstances would I abandon my rationality and corrupt my soul?
"Johann, are you feeling well? You seem a little disoriented."
The serene voice of the girl leading the resistance against this game touches my ears. Hearing her really lifts a weight off my shoulders. Her presence feels like pure water, capable of cleansing me of this sea of filth that overwhelms me. However, I don't want to burden her with comforting me—she has far more pressing responsibilities. This is something I need to resolve on my own.
"Ah, yes. It was just a bit of dizziness; no need to worry about me. Well, I think I'll be going now. I'll meet you all in the morning," I respond, trying to deflect.
After replying to Mikoto, I realize Haruki and the others have already left. I was so shaken that I hadn't even noticed we were alone in the room.
If I drew her attention, I don't want to imagine how pathetic I must have looked.
"All right, you are dismissed. However, could you at least hear something before you leave? I have been hiding something from you, and I think it would be unfair not to tell you," she says, lowering her head slightly.
Hiding from me?
I nod and turn my gaze to her.
"I was the one who conjured this game," Mikoto abruptly reveals.
"You what?!" My eyes widen.
She created this supernatural environment?! How?! Is she confessing to being responsible for all of this?!
Her words completely shatter me—I struggle to process the information. All I can do is stare at her, stunned and unable to say anything.
Seeing my petrified state, she speaks again.
"I do not even know where to begin, as it is quite a long story. However, I ask you to please hear me before drawing any conclusions. I do not want any misunderstandings."
It's hard not to be skeptical after such a shocking revelation. No justification for this act comes to mind. However, what else can I do but listen? I'm not interested in creating conflict between us, and since she's bringing this up, the least I can do is give her the time to explain.
"That's a severe claim. But I'm curious about your motives," I reply, regaining my composure.
"I will start by explaining the essence of the game," she says, sitting in her chair. "Basically, this dimension results from one of the most powerful black magic rituals known in history. As you have seen around the school, it is a contract with the personification of Death itself."
So she made a pact with that thing wandering around the school perimeter? It's naturally a chilling thing to hear.
"Black magic, huh? I admit that would be a hard explanation to swallow if I weren't experiencing this myself."
"Indeed, this kind of knowledge has always been hidden from the masses. It has been practiced and developed in secrecy to the point where you could count on your fingers the number of people capable of conjuring it worldwide. That is precisely why it seems so distant to you."
"So, being such an exceptional magic, how were you able to perform it? Are you a witch or something like that?" I ask.
"It is somewhat hereditary, nothing too complicated to understand. Essentially, when a conjurer dies during their own ritual, the curse is automatically passed to the closest person nearby. This person is usually a family member."
"Usually? So, it's not strictly passed from parent to child?"
"Not necessarily. The essence of Death decides who the next bearer of the curse will be and who would be worthy of such an honor. For example, I inherited it from my mother, who had inherited it from her older brother. Since my uncle did not have children when he died, it was passed to his younger sister, as Death deemed her the next in the line of succession. If the bearer has no close relatives, it would likely pass to an unknown blood relative."
It really does sound like a curse, seeking a new host like a parasite.
"Wait a moment, from what you just described... If you inherited the ability to conjure this magic, then your uncle and mother died performing a ritual they themselves conjured?"
"Yes. I do not know much about my uncle, as he died before I was born. Mentioning his name was always taboo in our family because, apparently, he was not an exemplary person and probably died conjuring the game for mere amusement."
In other words, a psychopath.
"You may have heard this in passing, but my family is one of the most traditional in this region, responsible for the town's temple. It is no coincidence that this black magic ritual remains in the hands of a family of priests and priestesses. It is a well-thought-out preservation of power," she continues her explanation.
I am not too familiar with this cultural aspect since I come from abroad, but I have some understanding of what she is talking about. During certain times of the year, the local population gathers for festivals related to this temple.
"And about my mother," she pauses briefly. "Well, as I just mentioned, with my uncle's death, the role of family priestess and bearer of the game fell to her. Fortunately, unlike her brother, she was much more responsible and did not conjure the game to take lives but to save one—my life."
A pact with Death to save a life? That is quite the irony.
"How exactly did she die?" I ask.
"It was fifteen years ago. I was very young and do not remember anything. From what my relatives told me, an armed man invaded the temple where we lived, and she conjured the game so he could only take one life. In this case, hers. Both died as players and with that, I became the sole survivor of the main family branch," she replies, her voice tinged with melancholy.
"And your father? Was he also a victim of this attack?"
"He was not there on the day of the incident. To be more precise, he rarely stayed at home; we never had much contact. Unfortunately, he passed away a few years later."
I can see from the movements of her hands and her somber gaze that she is uncomfortable discussing this. But why does she insist on sharing it with me?
"I am sorry for making you relive such painful memories."
She shakes her head and speaks again.
"There is no need to apologize. Think of it as me venting about my life to you. In my position, I have never had many opportunities to expose such afflictions from my past, so it is not all bad."
It hurts to see someone I always considered so strong in such a fragile state. Well, diamonds, despite their hardness and value, lack resilience.
"That man. Did he have any reason to attack your family? Was he after the curse your family carries?"
"I cannot say. However, I would not doubt that he was seeking revenge against my uncle. He was a horrible person, and many people probably harbored resentment toward him even after his death. Since he no longer belonged to the living world, his family became the perfect target to settle scores."
"Okay, I understand the general aspects of what this game is and how it works. However, you still haven't explained why you conjured this reality."
"That is another problem—I do not fully remember. The game we are currently in exhibits properties I have never heard of; I would describe it as a true anomaly. Among these anomalies is the faint memory of events leading up to the game within a short timeframe."
Anomaly, huh? That is the exact word that came to mind to describe these strange occurrences I have noticed.
Why does everyone seem to gravitate back toward normalcy? Why this constant feeling that everything is so normal and that I have seen it happen before?
If what she says is true, then everything is likely interconnected.
"Now that you mention it, I felt very strange on the morning of the first day. My short-term memory was a complete mess. To be honest, I barely remember the beginning of that morning."
"As a player, you must have experienced the same effects as I did. But to answer your question, I firmly believe I conjured the game because it was necessary to protect myself. I have vague flashes of memories where my life was in danger. I believe someone was shooting at me," she sighs. "Whenever I try to recall that event, my brain freezes."
So, it was self-defense. Knowing this puts me somewhat at ease, but at the same time, this anomaly worries me.
"All right, there is no need to strain yourself. I believe you—I do not think you acted with malicious intent."
"The only thing I can assert is that the assailant had a firearm, which led me to deduce that the foreign girl, carrying weapons within the game, was the one who shot at me that morning. She must also be the author of the black magic disrupting the original mechanics of the ritual."
In the end, everything points to Ailiss. There is no denying her culpability. I tried to deceive myself all along; for some reason, I feel a particular fondness for her. As Mikoto herself mentioned, it must be the anomaly generated by Ailiss that made me not see her as an enemy. Somehow, she might have manipulated my memories in an attempt to insert herself as a presence in my past. Perhaps as the childhood friend I never had.