Light's eyes gleamed as he analyzed the chaos. His schemer's ability allowed him to see patterns others missed. He realized Dew was the easiest target.
With a cunning smile, he called out, "Hey Dew, what are you doing? Can't even handle a chair? You don't know your place here."
Dew hesitated, suspicious. Why would anyone help me in a game where survival is everything?
Light pressed on, voice dripping with false concern. "Don't you see? Others are strong—Terbol, Protogonaist. If we work together, we can reach the final. That would be fair for us both."
Dew's guard lowered. He listened.
Light leaned closer, whispering advice. "The chair is afraid of your face. Cover it with cloth so it won't feel threatened. Turn around, pretend to sleep. The chair will think you're harmless, like another chair. Then reveal your face suddenly—it will die, and you can sit."
Dew followed the instructions, smiling faintly. Just as he was about to sit, Dransart shoved him away.
Moments Earlier
Dransart had overheard Light's plan. It sounded less like help and more like a trap to form a team. He acted quickly, pushing Dew aside to prevent Light from gaining advantage.
But Light was faster. He slipped into the seat of the "dead" chair, grinning.
"Yes," he whispered. "All in the palm of the great schemer."
The Other Players
- Vazor fought valiantly. Though the chair was only an object, it had dignity. At last, it yielded, allowing him to sit.
- Terbol sat on his chair instantly. The trembling of the seat suggested it had seen something it should not.
- Protogonaist, glued to his chair, managed to free himself by using another grounded chair. He sat triumphantly, released from his sticky prison.
Now only Dransart and Dew remained, with one chair left.
The Final Struggle
Dransart ran, avoiding Dew's gaze. He forgot his anger, dashed toward the chair, and cursed under his breath. Dew, spurred by Light's words, sprinted faster. He reached the chair first.
But then, Protogonaist's freed chair startled Dew. The last chair fled, hiding behind Dransart. His foot slipped—he fell and landed squarely on the seat.
Dransart realized instantly: This is my Last-Minute Luck.
The Sovereign's voice thundered:
"Dew is eliminated."
Light laughed, his voice echoing with cruel joy.
"Kekeke… bye bye, my dear comrade. I don't feel sad. In this game, eliminating comrades is the only path to victory."
The players looked at each other, shaken. The word allies lost all meaning.
The Sovereign's eyes gleamed with amusement. "You are shocked, I know. But betrayal is the essence of catastrophe. Allies are illusions."
Then, with a wave of her hand, attendants appeared, carrying bundles. Weapons.
The Sovereign declared:
"I return your weapons. You will need them to conquer the next challenge. Sleep well tonight—for tomorrow, you may die. Or you may entertain me."
The players stood in silence, gripping their blades, guns, and relics. Each understood: the next round would not be a game of tricks or chairs. It would be war.