The notification still floated there, suspended before her eyes on the blue window, its letters sparkling like a divine sentence:
[Faulty equipment zone: Harumi]
Koan stood motionless, breathless. The words danced before her eyes, engraving themselves in her memory. She blinked once, twice, convinced she had misread. But no. Harumi. The tunnel she had chosen was indeed the wrong one.
And instead of being overcome with dread, with that instinctive fear that tightens the throat and makes the hands tremble, a strange sensation rose within her. A shiver. Not of panic, but of elation. As if, at last, the world had heard her silent cries. As if the entire universe had bowed to her secret wish.
She felt her heart beating, not with fear but with joy. A pure, almost sacred joy. In a whisper that was addressed to no one, Koan spoke to herself:
"Fate... fate has heard me." "
She looked up at the translucent ceiling of the Harumi tunnel, where the blue and green reflections of the barriers rippled like waves. Everything suddenly seemed so beautiful, like a cathedral of water and light built just for her. Each beat of her heart resonated with the ground, each blink of her eyelids seemed accompanied by an invisible breath.
Koan thought about everything that had led her there. Her wanderings, her feeling of exclusion, her desire to end it all in a way that would not bear her name. To die, yes, but not by her own hand; to die in a trial, in a deadly enigma, as if she had been chosen by chance, or by a silent deity.
And at that moment, everything made sense. She told herself that all the stars had aligned precisely for her. That they had waited, slowly, patiently, to bring her to this perfect moment where she could die without remorse. It was almost a heavenly embrace, an invisible hand on her shoulder.
She smiled softly, the sad but peaceful smile of those condemned who accept their fate. Her lips trembled slightly, but her eyes shone with an unusual brilliance. In this cursed area, in this failing tunnel, Koan finally felt at home.
Far from the crowd still clinging to hope, she stood alone, a tiny figure moving toward the inevitable. But in her mind, it was no longer a march toward the end. It was a procession. A destiny she welcomed as deliverance.
"What's this Monty Hall problem?" asked a voice in the crowd, sounding intrigued but also suspicious.
Reo took a slight breath and stepped forward. Her voice resonated with a particular gravity, capturing everyone's attention:
"It's a mathematical problem, taken from an old TV game show," he explained. "Imagine this: you are presented with three doors. Behind one of them is a car, and behind the other two... a goat. You choose a door, and once your choice is made, the host opens one of the two remaining doors. Behind it, he reveals a goat. Then he offers you an alternative: do you want to stick with your original choice... or switch doors?"
He paused. Eyes met, some frowning, others exchanging confused whispers.
"So?" Reo insisted, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "In your opinion, is it better to stick with your choice... or switch?"
The majority shrugged. Then a man spoke up:
"It's a matter of luck... it's the same thing, isn't it?"
Nervous laughter broke out, as if to ease the tension. But Reo's face remained frozen, serious. He raised a finger and shook his head gently:
"That's the mistake everyone makes. Many believe it's 50/50 once a goat is revealed... but that's not true."
He took another step forward, his eyes shining with an intensity that silenced the whispers.
"Listen carefully. If you stick with your original door, you have a one in three chance of winning. But if you change, you double your chances: two in three. In other words... changing is always the best choice."
A heavy silence fell over the assembly. Eyes fixed on Reo, some incredulous, others troubled. Heartbeats seemed to echo louder, as if everyone had just realized that this simple, seemingly innocuous game hid a disturbing truth.
Reo, however, remained unyielding. His demonstration was not just mathematical. In his words, another lesson could be discerned, something darker, a strategy that only he seemed to grasp.
Then a voice rose from the crowd, asking Reo why he claimed that changing their choice would give them a better chance than sticking with their first choice.
"Explain to us, why should we give up our initial decision?"
Reo, unperturbed, replied calmly.
"Because the first choice is much more likely to be the wrong one. At the start, there are three doors: two hide a goat, only one contains the treasure. When you choose for the first time, you have a two in three chance of picking a goat. "
But the person was not so easily convinced and immediately replied:
"Even with your reasoning, it doesn't change anything. Two-thirds or one-third, it's still a matter of chance."
A slight smile crossed Reo's face. He was about to reveal the centerpiece, the very heart of his explanation.
"You're forgetting one essential detail. The presenter knows which door is the right one. When he opens one of them, it's never by chance: he always chooses a losing door. By revealing a goat, he subtly influences the game. That's what changes the odds." "
Reo paused, then added in a deep, confident voice:
"So every time you decide to change your choice after the doors are opened, your chances go from one-third to two-thirds. It's the host himself who pushes you to make the right decision, without you even realizing it. It's unlikely that you'll get it right on the first try. "
While people were still skeptical of Reo's explanation, a commotion broke out. Koki and his group finally appeared, walking forward nonchalantly as if the tension in the room didn't affect them at all.
Koki raised an eyebrow, looking at Reo with a feigned annoyance.
"Your explanation is too complicated. Too mathematical. No one here understands this gibberish."
Reo, his pride stung, took a deep breath before trying another approach.
"All right. Imagine a game with a hundred doors. Behind only one of them is a car. "
At these words, Koki burst out laughing and cut the explanation short.
"A car? But come on, who would want to win a car? It's not an interesting prize."
Reo, taken aback, stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if Koki was joking or if he was serious.
"What would you have preferred, then?" he asked with a hint of irony in his voice.
Koki put his hand to his chin, closed his eyes, and then paused deliberately. Finally, in a theatrical tone, he said:
"Hundreds of gold bars... Now that's a real prize."
A few nervous laughs rippled through the audience. Reo, initially stunned, finally decided to play along. He crossed his arms and resumed his example with gravity.
"All right. Let's imagine a game with a hundred doors. And behind one of them, a hundred gold bars."
Reo crossed his arms and stared at Koki seriously.
"Very well. Choose a door at random."
Koki, without hesitation, smiled broadly before replying:
"Number 69, of course. It's my lucky number!" he said with a laugh, triggering a few amused bursts of laughter from the crowd.
Reo, unperturbed, continued in a clear voice:
"Okay. You've chosen 69. Now imagine that I open ninety-eight doors in front of you. Behind each one, there are only goats. So there's only your door, 69, and another one that I haven't opened."
He paused, looking Koki straight in the eye.
"So? Do you want to stick with your choice or change it?"
Koki burst out laughing a second time, shrugging casually.
"Of course I'm sticking with it! It's my lucky number."
A murmur rippled through the crowd, then a voice rose, mocking but full of common sense:
"Do you really think that with a hundred doors, you would have picked the right one on your first try?"
This remark made Reo smile. He realized that his example was finally starting to sink in. The perplexed faces gradually turned into intrigued expressions, and some people even nodded their heads, as if a light had just come on inside them.
So Reo continued his explanation, emphasizing each word to engrave the idea in their minds:
"At the beginning, you had a one in a hundred chance of choosing the right door. Only one in a hundred. That also means that ninety-nine times out of a hundred, your door hid a goat. "
He raised a finger, as if to make a decisive point.
"When I left you with two doors, yours and another, that other door alone contained all ninety-nine chances you had missed. So it has a ninety-nine percent chance of being the right one."
A dense, almost solemn silence followed. And in the eyes of the crowd, Reo saw the spark of understanding appear.
One person raised their hand, looking both intrigued and confused.
"So... this riddle... does it follow the same logic?" she asked.
All eyes turned to Reo, waiting for his answer.
"We had three paths, right?" continued the interlocutor. "Two minutes later, the game master reveals one that isn't the right one... and leaves us the choice of whether or not to change. Is that the same thing?"
Reo nodded slowly, a spark of conviction shining in his eyes.
"Exactly. It's the same logic. Initially, we had three options, three areas. We all chose Toyosu. Then one area was revealed to be faulty: Harumi. "
He paused, scanning the crowd, which had suddenly fallen silent.
"Understand this: if Toyosu had really been the right answer, the probability of us finding it on the first try was low. But the fact that Harumi was ruled out... that increases the chances of the third option. Shinonome."
A murmur ran through the ranks. Some faces froze, others lit up with newfound clarity, as if the pieces of a puzzle were finally falling into place in their minds.
"So..." someone whispered, their voice trembling. "That means... our best chance of survival is to switch to the Shinonome tunnel?"
Reo nodded.
"Yes. That's exactly right. If we stay on Toyosu, it's like refusing to switch doors in the Monty Hall problem. But if we go to Shinonome, our chances of survival increase considerably."
A solemn silence fell. And in that silence, a new truth spread like a wave: they had just understood. Their salvation lay not in their initial choice, but in the one they still had the power to correct.
Koki raised his voice, imposing his authority on the still-hesitant crowd.
"Everyone must go to the Shinonome tunnel!" he said emphatically.
The majority immediately set off, carried away by Reo's logic and Koki's assurance. Amidst the tumult of hurried footsteps, Koki discreetly approached Baka, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Remember what I told you," he whispered in his ear.
Baka nodded, his throat tight, unable to find the words.
Around them, entire groups were rushing towards Shinonome. But some, defiant or still believing in luck, remained in Toyosu. The air vibrated with tension, each step echoing like an irrevocable decision.
The countdown was nearing its end. The five minutes ticked away, and the survivors began to rush to the equipment area to retrieve protective masks. Koki, however, had only one thing on his mind.
He scanned the surroundings, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.
"Reo!" he shouted with all his might. "Where is he?!" "
He repeated his call over and over, but no familiar face emerged. Worry was written all over his hard features. Reo, the strategist, the one who had inspired confidence, had disappeared.
Then, as the countdown ended, Koki stared at the Toyosu area. His heart sank. Among the silhouettes that had chosen to stay there... he spotted Reo.
He stood frozen, his mind confused.
Why? Why was Reo, who had convinced the crowd to switch to Shinonome, standing there among those who had decided not to listen to him?
A bitter doubt crossed his mind, like an invisible blade.
In the Shinonome area, as the survivors still huddled together, a voice rose, clear and sharp:
"If Reo's explanation is valid, then it means that all this is just a game of chance! In that case, why should we listen to a stranger like him?!"
A heavy silence fell. Eyes met, filled with doubt, fear, and a hint of resentment. But before anyone could respond, a new notification appeared in the air, projected from the blue window.
[Reflection time has expired. It is no longer possible to change zones.]
The words resonated like a condemnation. Bodies froze, each realizing that their fate was now sealed.
Koki, his fists clenched, spun abruptly toward the Toyosu zone. His gaze found Reo in the distance, standing motionless among the others. A dull rage rose in his throat.
"You bastard!" he shouted hoarsely. "You set us up!"
The people around him turned, stunned.
"Set us up? Why are you saying that?" asked one of them, his voice trembling.
Koki clenched his jaw tighter, his eyes fixed on Reo, who seemed out of reach.
"Because if he's not with us, it's for a damn good reason. He knew... he knew from the start!"
A shiver ran through the crowd. The certainty that had momentarily calmed them cracked, replaced by icy terror.
The gas began to spread, discreetly at first, almost invisible, before thickening into a fine, suffocating mist. Some, refusing to believe Koki's words, remained motionless, convinced that it was all a charade. But their doubts were brutally dispelled when a woman in the middle of the group began coughing violently.
All eyes turned to her. Many remembered her condition at the start of the test: even when the gas was still just a wisp, she had already seemed fragile, as if her lungs had refused to cooperate.
Her coughing fits intensified, becoming guttural and jerky. Her eyes filled with tears and blood. She brought both hands to her throat, suffocating in a desperate rattle. In a panic, she ripped off her mask and spat a scarlet spray onto the ground, splattering the shoes of a terrified man.
Silence lasted for a fraction of a second, as if suspended, before the truth struck each of them: they had taken the wrong tunnel.
A collective scream erupted. Dozens of bodies rushed towards Toyosu, survival their only instinct. But they had barely covered a few meters when a translucent barrier, vibrating with a cold glow, appeared before them. They crashed into it violently, bouncing back like helpless puppets.
Fists pounded the invisible wall in a desperate din, cries rang out: "Open up! Let us through!" A cacophony of panic where fear mingled with sobs.
Koki, panting, his eyes burning with rage, stood frozen in front of the spectacle. His fists trembled. He raised his head and, in the distance, in the Toyosu area, he saw Reo. Seeing him there, calm, almost unshakeable, drove him mad. His cries were lost in the chaos, but his hatred was evident in his tense features.
A few yards away, Baka fell to his knees, his eyes wide. He stared at the woman dying on the ground, her lungs shredded by the invisible gas. His mind couldn't comprehend it, his mouth stammering incoherent words.
As his hands trembled, Reo walked toward him, his gaze fixed.
"Put on your mask," he said in a cold but firm voice. "Put it on if you don't want to die."
Amid the chaos, as screams still pierced the gas-filled air, a voice rose, attempting to impose some semblance of reason.
"Calm down!" shouted a man, spreading his arms wide. His face was pale, his body trembling, but his words sought to bring hope. "The goal... the goal is to get through the entire tunnel. That woman..." he pointed to the unfortunate woman lying on the ground, still convulsing in a pool of red, "...it doesn't mean anything! Maybe it's just an effect of the gas, maybe she was more fragile than us. We have to move forward! We have to get through!"
A few heads turned toward him, hesitant. His words weren't unreasonable. After all, the riddle did mention surviving the crossing. Maybe they hadn't failed yet. Perhaps there was a way out on the other side.
But immediately, another man lunged at him and, in a fit of anger, slapped him hard across the face. The sound echoed through the tunnel, instantly silencing the few murmurs of hope.
"And why do you think Reo isn't with us?!" " he yelled, his face contorted with fear and rage.
His words fell like a guillotine. A heavy silence fell. Everyone understood at that moment that Reo's absence was not insignificant. He who had guided their every step, he whom many already considered their savior, had not taken their path.
They exchanged incredulous glances, but deep down, they all knew. Their minds still refused to accept it, but the truth was obvious: they had been trapped. Their trust, their hopes, everything had been placed in the hands of a man who was not there to accompany them, but to abandon them to their fate.
And in this tumult of cries, blows against an impassive barrier, and deadly suffocation, the line between survival and condemnation had just been drawn.