The chandeliers buzzed, rattling chains overhead, until a burst of static hissed from the walls. The voice followed, smooth and theatrical, dripping with cruel amusement.
"Students… gather yourselves. Lesson two is about to begin. Trial two—" Grimm's laugh slid sharp through the speakers. "—starts now."
A chill ran through the foyer. Everyone clutched their candles tighter, as though the tiny flames could protect them. Toru's burned brighter than all the rest, pale and unnatural, and that alone was enough to make every glance shift back to him.
"Name your suspect," Grimm purred. "And the spotlight will judge. Truth, after all, shines brightest when there's no place left to hide."
No one moved at first. The silence stretched long enough to ache, until finally a shaky voice broke it.
"M-Mika."
The word cracked the air.
A beam of white light dropped from the ceiling, slamming down on Mika. The spotlight caged her in a circle of brilliance, locking her trembling form in place.
She screamed, staggering back. "No—no, not me! It's Toru, can't you see?! His candle—it's not normal! It's him!"
But then another voice followed. "Mika."
The light flared brighter, sharper, pressing down like a hand forcing her to the ground.
"No! Stop it!" Mika shrieked, clutching her candle against her chest. "Please—don't do this!"
A third voice joined. "Mika."
The spotlight grew hotter, harsher, its glow pinning her knees to the floor.
Her eyes darted wildly, desperate. "Ayaka—please, you know me, right? I wouldn't—I couldn't—"
Ayaka hesitated, her jaw trembling. But the word left her lips all the same. "Mika."
The chalk moved across the blackboard in long strokes: Mika.
The light swelled again. Mika fell forward, sobbing. Her face twisted from terror into rage. She spun toward Toru, pointing with a shaking hand. "It's him! Why can't you see it?! His candle is wrong—he's the one, not me! Why won't you believe me?!"
Sayaka stepped closer, her shadow falling over Mika's spotlight. "Because I'm sick of your voice."
"No! No, please, I—"
"Mika," Sayaka said.
The light roared. Mika collapsed onto her knees, sobbing hysterically as the blackboard filled with her name again and again. Each repetition was another nail in her coffin.
Yume covered her mouth with both hands, trembling, unable to speak. But her silence was answer enough. The chalk wrote anyway.
Mika.
The blackboard sealed itself.
The chandeliers flared white.
Grimm's laughter filled the hall. "Splendid. Unanimous at last. What harmony! What music! Now then… our little soprano has taken center stage. Let us hear her final note."
The spotlight pulsed once. Twice. Then Mika's voice burst forth.
She screamed—shrill, panicked, desperate. The sound twisted in the air, louder than before, amplified by the walls until it felt like the mansion itself was mocking her. She tried to clamp her hands over her mouth, but the scream ripped out of her throat anyway, scraping her raw.
Her candle flickered violently, its flame shrinking with every note.
Her shrieks climbed higher, piercing, distorted, until her whole body trembled under the force of it. Her eyes bulged, her throat swelled, her jaw stretched unnaturally wide as the sound poured out.
"Please—stop—please—!" she howled, voice shattering with every syllable.
Then came the final, broken scream.
Her head exploded in a wet, sickening pop.
The spotlight cut black. Her headless body collapsed to the floor with a dull thud, her candle extinguishing in a hiss of smoke.
The blackboard etched the final words: Mika Tanaka — Expelled.
Silence drowned the room.
Sayaka's lip curled. "Good riddance," she muttered, though her voice shook with every word.
Ayaka pressed her hands over her face, trembling. Yume dropped to her knees, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. Tsubasa stood rigid, jaw clenched, refusing to look at the body.
And Reina… Reina's faint smile glowed in the half-light. "The mouth that killed, silenced by its own song," she whispered. "How fitting."
Toru's candle burned on. Too bright. Too wrong. The others' eyes drifted back to him, suspicion tightening like a noose.
The chandeliers buzzed again, static seeping into the silence. Grimm's voice returned, smooth and delighted.
"Lesson two, complete," he crooned. "What a chorus! What a finale!" His laugh slithered down the walls, sweet and cruel. "But the curtain hasn't fallen yet… and my stage is far from empty."
The chandeliers died. The room sank into darkness.
Only Toru's candle remained, pale and blazing, the sole light left to guide them.
And every eye turned toward him.