The room door finally groaned open with a heavy metallic sound, marking the end of the voting period and the beginning of the so-called "rest" phase. A haunting silence gripped the plaza; there was no sense of victory despite the Infiltrator's death. The way everyone looked at each other had changed—every person was now a "potential Successor."
Ren entered his room, shut the door, and leaned his back against it, breathing heavily. The wealthy youth's words echoed in his mind like a persistent hum: "The fridge contains your ID... and the thing you love."
Ren took slow, hesitant steps toward the small refrigerator humming in the corner. He placed his hand on the cold handle and hesitated for a moment. Was he ready to face his reality in this place?
He pulled the door open, and a soft chill hit his face. There was no food inside—only a single object placed with surgical care: an old, worn-out video game controller that Ren had lost years ago in his real life. Beside it lay a black metallic card with red laser-etched text.
With a trembling hand, Ren picked up the card and read the inscriptions:
[Name: Ren Akagami]
[Role: The Analyst]
[Trait: Late Sight]
"You can view the last 5 seconds of events that occurred at any spot you touch, provided no more than 12 hours have passed."
Ren's eyes widened in shock. "This isn't just information... it's a skill!" he whispered as his mind began connecting the dots. If the village knew he was an "Analyst," what about the others? What about Arima?
Suddenly, the card in his hand flashed, and the red text shifted into an urgent message:
[Alert: The deceased Infiltrator has chosen you to be the (Successor). Do you accept the role?]
Ren froze. The card slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the floor. "Me? He chose me?" Nausea washed over him. If he refused, he might be killed instantly according to the mysterious rules. If he accepted... he would transform from an Analyst into a Killer.
While drowned in the vortex of his thoughts, a muffled gasp came from the adjacent room—Arima's room.
Ren lunged toward the shared wall and pressed his ear against it. He heard nothing but ragged, rapid breathing. Remembering his new trait, "Late Sight," he pressed his palm against the wall and closed his eyes tightly, focusing every ounce of his will.
Suddenly, images flooded his mind like a distorted cinematic reel. He saw a dark shadow standing behind Arima inside her room. But the shadow wasn't holding a knife; it was whispering something into her ear before vanishing through the ventilation duct.
Ren snapped his eyes open, drenched in cold sweat. "Someone was there... but who? And why didn't they kill her?"
He looked down at the black card on the floor. The text was still pulsing, waiting for his answer: [Do you accept the role of Successor?]