The board had been wiped clean. Every faction was scrambling. To keep the mission alive, cooperation with Black General and his crew—who now held the keys to student assignments—was non-negotiable.
The faces of the other disguised squad members, especially the Japanese players, looked as if they'd swallowed something foul. With the plot spiraling this far off the rails, their original plan to snatch the target during the chaos was dead in the water. They had no choice but to grudgingly accept the new reality.
While teachers scrambled to tally surviving students' addresses, Black General quietly summoned the leaders of the dozen-plus player squads to the gymnasium lounge. The agenda: redistributing mission targets and carving up the spoils.
"Nightmare, are we going?" Ross asked, the sudden shift leaving him adrift.
"Why would we?" Nightmare countered with a faint smile.
"But the assignment authority is held by..." Ross trailed off, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.
Their target, Juri Saotome, was a teacher—a fully capable adult. She wasn't part of the student pool Black General controlled.
"Damn... Nightmare, did you plan for this too?" Ross stared, awe warring with apprehension. If Nightmare had foreseen this collapse and chosen Saotome specifically... his foresight was terrifying.
"Overthinking it. Just luck." Nightmare inwardly sighed in relief. He'd picked Saotome purely for her easily persuadable nature. Dodging White Mask's scheme was pure, dumb luck.
Saotome, carrying vital intel about the treasure location, was undeniably critical. Black General's faction had to have her marked. The window was closing fast. They needed to extract the dangerously well-endowed teacher before anyone noticed Nightmare was the variable clinging to her side.
A subtle glance sent Ross and Sapphire toward the main exit. Nightmare tugged Saotome's sleeve, leaning close to whisper, "Quietly, Sensei. Follow me."
Her expression remained its usual blend of bewilderment and innocence. Without question, she trailed him out the service corridor, one hand unconsciously supporting her ample chest. "Yoru-kun? Where are we going?"
BAM!
The instant they rounded the next corner, Nightmare whirled, slamming Saotome back against the cold concrete wall. Her eyes widened in shock, a blush creeping across her cheeks. "W-wait! Yoru-kun, this is... too sudden! A little roughness can be nice, but—"
Nightmare clamped a hand over her mouth. His other hand raised a single finger to his lips. Silence. Only when understanding dawned in her dazed eyes did he slowly release her.
Click. The service door they'd just exited swung open. Two players emerged, faces dark with suspicion—clearly spies planted by rival teams near Saotome. One was painfully familiar: the Japanese kid whose distinctive kappa haircut was courtesy of Nightmare's sword on the rooftop.
"Dammit! Where'd they go?" one snarled.
"Obvious! That bastard's trying to sneak Saotome out! Hog the hidden quest for himself..." The kappa-headed kid, Taiji, scanned the hall nervously. "Daito-senpai, shouldn't we alert the Captain?"
"Taiji, you letting that punk scare you witless?" Daito scoffed, hefting a collapsible electro-shock baton. "With every squad crawling over this place? You think he'd dare start something? You think the others would just let him walk off with her?"
"But—"
"Shut it! Where's your Yamato spirit? Even if his blade is fast, you think the two of us can't hold him for one move? Or you think he'll pull a gun here?" Daito spat, contempt dripping. "No way he's got the bal—"
His boast died mid-sentence. A figure in a black gakuran exploded from the shadowed alcove ahead. A blade, cold as moonlight, flashed, illuminating the dim corridor like a lightning strike.
"Kuso!" Daito reacted instantly, shock warring with training. He hadn't expected Nightmare to strike first, outnumbered two-to-one.
"Senpai! Look out!" Taiji's voice cracked. The sight of that blade sent a jolt of pure terror through him. His hand fumbled on the wakizashi at his belt, his charge faltering before it began—the rooftop encounter still fresh in his mind.
Daito, however, was seasoned. Seeing the slash was unavoidable, he made a snap decision. The baton vanished. In its place, a two-meter-long cross-tipped spear materialized. He lunged, driving the point straight at Nightmare's center mass. Reach was his advantage. Unless Nightmare wanted mutual annihilation, he had to parry or dodge.
It was a textbook counter. Flawless. Against anyone else.
A cold smirk touched Nightmare's lips as the spear thrust came. His left hand snapped back, fingers curling. A fist-sized sphere of shimmering, compressed energy coalesced above his palm and shot forward—not at Daito, but upwards, striking the spear's tip dead-on.
— [Arcane Missile]! —
"Nani?! Shimatta!" Daito's eyes bulged. Normally, he'd swat such a weak spell aside. But the timing... it hit at the precise micro-second his thrust was fully extended, his weight committed, his muscles between contraction and recovery.
CLANG!
The missile packed the kinetic punch of a sledgehammer swung by a man four times normal strength—courtesy of Nightmare's monstrous 400-point Spirit stat. The force traveled up the rigid spear shaft. Daito's hands screamed in protest as the weapon was violently wrenched upwards, nearly torn from his grip.
His face paled. Impossible! A Rank 1 player? How?! What kind of Spirit stat does he HAVE?!
He would never know.
SCHIIING!
The instant the spear deflected, Nightmare was already moving. The blade that had flashed light now traced a horizontal arc, humming with released force. It passed through Daito's neck like air. His head toppled, eyes wide with frozen disbelief, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.
Taiji, who had almost closed the distance, saw his senpai decapitated in a single exchange. His courage shattered. He skidded to a cartoonish halt, sneakers screeching, then scrambled backward in pure, gibbering terror.
"Think you can offend the abbot and just walk away?!" Nightmare's voice was icy steel.
He raised the [Honor Blade: Fugu Poison] high, both hands gripping the hilt. Wind howled from nowhere, swirling violently around the gleaming steel, whipping his hair and making his gakuran jacket flap wildly.
— [ULTIMATE ART: CYCLONE SEVERING SLASH]! —