Takakai had a dream.
In it, he returned to his high school days, becoming a student once more, living that uneventful academic life.
Yet something felt... off.
The school in his dream wasn't quite the one he remembered.
Ding-dong-ding—
The class bell rang.
The teacher opened a textbook and began lecturing in rhythmic cadence.
Students drowsed at their desks or scribbled notes to pass around.
So familiar.
Even though he'd left those days behind years ago.
Even though he thought he'd forgotten that time entirely.
Now, stepping back into this space, every detail felt achingly recognizable.
Yes.
I belong here.
I'm part of this school... or am I?
Something tugged at his consciousness, resisting the dream's pull.
Anomalies he hadn't noticed before grew glaring.
No.
This wasn't his school.
No matter how familiar it felt, no matter how strong the déjà vu—this place wasn't real.
It was... made of something else.
Different.
Not where I lived.
[Then, what makes it different?]
A voice, soft yet probing, echoed in his mind.
A gaze, unseen but palpable, fixed upon him.
The world blurred at the edges.
Familiarity twisted back into strangeness.
Students laughed and chatted as they passed him—without a single footstep.
No, not just footsteps.
The warm sunlight streaming through the windows illuminated a soundless classroom.
A hushed glow over dim desks.
The figures had vanished, leaving only a few shadowy outlines seated as if waiting.
Who were they?
Squinting, he strained to see—
The blurred shapes sharpened.
Beside him: Shijou Maki. Fujiwara Chika. Others he knew.
Further back: Kumami and Katabuta from the Slacker Alliance, Hayashibe Kenta and Nanami from Crimson Knot.
Farthest, near the door: Gotou Hitori and Aoyama Nanami, poised as if ready to flee.
Where is this?
His awareness flickered awake.
Why am I here?
Sensation returned—his limbs, his body, his self.
A chill seeped into his pores.
Then, he saw it.
Perched on the teacher's desk, clutching flowers—a jester.
[Whether tragedy or comedy, those who face adversity with passion...]
[Their unrestrained emotions—I crave them, yet they elude me.]
[I don this costume, performing sorrow, performing joy...]
[Giving them experiences beyond their lives, harvesting feelings buried beneath reason.]
[Yet it is never enough. Born inhuman, I yearn to be human...]
[Thus my hunger has no end. My search only drags me deeper...]
[Into this vortex of death and sacrifice.]
[But it matters not. Only in this hell can I taste more...]
[Can I draw closer to you humans.]
[Show me more, child of fate...]
[Give me... MORE.]
The jester's painted face contorted in a mockery of grief—no tears, only artifice.
The world dissolved again.
Like surfacing from deep water, Takakai's mind cleared.
He opened his eyes to the ceiling he'd stared at for over a week.
Silent. Unmoving.
"Mmm... tonkotsu ramen, hehe..."
Chika, curled against him, sleepily licked his shoulder before settling back into dreams.
Dawn's first light crept through the window.
Takakai knew: Time was up.
After weeks of respite, the Sacrifice Game was calling again.
Slaves to its twisted rules, they would gamble their lives once more in a world of horrors.
How thrilling.
A grin tugged at his lips.
He roused Chika (who'd stayed over after a late gaming session), showered, dressed, ate.
By the time they reached the Market, the others had gathered:
Slacker Alliance and Crimson Knot—full roster present.
Maki, Kaguya, Hayasaka—already waiting, grim-faced.
No small talk. No laughter.
Only steel resolve.
Soon, Miko Yotsuya arrived, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
"Senpai..."
The faint shadows under hers betrayed a restless night.
Last to appear: Aoyama Nanami and Gotou Hitori.
The latter looked like she'd pulled another all-nighter (or ten). The former, however, was the picture of readiness.
Takakai's gaze lingered on Nanami.
He never asked why her dossier was near-blank—but the question festered.
Yet her calm mask revealed nothing.
With a quiet exhale, he turned to Kumami, now standing at the group's center, unlit cigarette dangling.
"No speeches. We're all prepared."
A spectral ticket materialized in her hand.
"So... try not to die, yeah?"
The moment neared.
No visible signs, no sounds—just instinct.
Takakai raised his hand.
A ticket coalesced: a blurred student ID, illegible, owner unknown.
[Twilight Tier Admission Pass: School Horror Tales]
"Goddamn it—"
He bit back the curse. Pointless.
Beside him, Miko shuddered.
"Don't fear it."
He offered a smirk.
Then—time clicked into place.
The ID self-ignited.
Bwoooong—
A grotesque chime reverberated in his skull.
[Welcome to the Sacrifice Game.]
[Your assigned dungeon rank: Twilight-Night.]
[May you witness the end of all things... in true terror.]
Darkness swallowed the world.
When light returned—
Ding-ding-ding!
"Woo! Finally—class is over!"
Chika stretched at her desk, grinning.
"You should pay attention. Quit borrowing my notes before exams."
Maki sighed, long-suffering.
"..."
Takakai turned to the window.
To the campus beyond.
He knew this place.
Shuchi'in Academy.