Without even a moment to breathe, the girl abruptly leaned forward, following Takakai as he plummeted through the window.
She could feel the cold creeping up behind her.
As if something had reached out to seize her, to drag her into an abyss of endless darkness. This overwhelming sensation terrified her to the point of trembling, yet even so, Hayasaka managed to leap through the window in that instant, falling alongside Takakai.
A murky black fog enveloped Hayasaka in the blink of an eye.
An icy wind lashed against her skin.
And then—she sensed something.
"This is…"
It emerged from the depths of her consciousness, from the most primal layer of perception—something as fundamental as hot and cold, hunger and satiety—directly imprinting itself onto her awareness.
Was it… a thread? Or perhaps… intestines? An umbilical cord?
In her dazed state, she glimpsed a gloomy, dilapidated school.
And from its windows, from within the building, stretched purplish-red umbilical cords, writhing upward into the sky.
Where… are those things even leading?
Instinctively, Hayasaka tried to look up.
Snap!
But the crisp sound of a cut, followed by a severed umbilical cord spurting blood as it recoiled back into the sky, forcibly diverted her attention.
Snap—snap—
A pair of bloodstained scissors opened and closed relentlessly.
Hayasaka lowered her gaze and saw a girl—no older than eleven or twelve—wielding a rusted cleaver, severing the umbilical cord of a white-coated researcher before decapitating him in a single swing.
[Liar. All of you are liars.]
The girl was covered in wounds, yet her eyes were terrifyingly cold, like a monster's.
Corpses littered the hallway—adults and children alike, all beheaded, all devoid of umbilical cords.
[I don't need anything anymore. I can do it alone. I won't be weaker than anyone. I won't be worse than anyone.]
Her murmurs grew increasingly vicious with each word.
[I won't be fooled again. No more adults tricking me. I won't be a stupid kid anymore.]
Slowly, she turned around, revealing a small face marred by bruises and lacerations—clearly beaten.
The Butcher emerged from a classroom, his clothes dripping blood, and approached the girl. He reached out, patting her head—not like a child, but like a dog. Yet the girl remained expressionless, merely gripping her cleaver tighter as she advanced down the hallway.
What… am I seeing?
For a brief moment, Hayasaka's wavering consciousness seemed to clear.
Then she saw the girl—who had already walked far ahead—turn her head 180 degrees, locking hollow eyes onto her from behind.
A blink later, that blood-smeared, battered face was suddenly right in front of Hayasaka, nearly touching hers.
A shrill noise screeched in her ears.
The girl's mouth moved, saying something—but Hayasaka couldn't hear it.
She could feel something swirling in her mind, trying to show her something.
Something dark, twisted, maddening—a condensation of endless resentment, the crystallized suffering born from sin, the polluted essence of a grotesque urban legend itself.
Yet she saw nothing. Felt nothing.
Even though she knew she was perceiving something, that she was seeing, hearing, sensing—there was nothing there.
Well, "nothing" wasn't quite accurate. The girl's piercing shrieks did inflict excruciating pain. But this pain came from the act of transmission itself, not the content. The mental strain Hayasaka endured was purely from the girl's [existence], unrelated to the "information" she radiated—the kind Takakai would've instantly grasped.
In other words…
She didn't understand.
Blink.
Amidst the agony and tinnitus, Hayasaka could only watch the girl's lips move.
Not a single word reached her—just noise, noise, and more noise.
Blink again.
The hallway itself seemed to warp, twisting under some horrific force.
To Hayasaka, the entire corridor dissolved into pixelated static, a fragmented mess beyond comprehension.
Though the mental strain was immense—enough to make her faint—Hayasaka's rigorous training, combined with the sip of Writhing Blood Takakai had forced into her earlier, kept her barely conscious.
And so, she experienced the sheer, pure beauty of feeling like an elementary schooler shoved into an advanced calculus lecture—drowning in input yet understanding nothing.
What is she even saying?
Why do I feel like I'm seeing something… but also not?
What the hell is happening?!
Bzzzt—
As the screeching faded, the girl's contorted face gradually dissolved, along with the blood-soaked hallway.
Hayasaka, having gleaned nothing, collapsed onto the floor—only to realize she was back in the school's hallway, now on the second floor.
Did falling through the window return me to the [Inner Layer] takakai-san mentioned?
Where is he now?
Just as she wondered, a door nearby creaked open. Turning, she saw Takakai—now clad in the Butcher's apron—leap out before slamming it shut, as if fleeing something terrifying.
"Phew. That should buy us some time. Oh, Hayasaka. You're alive."
He flashed her a grin.
Fresh hickeys dotted his neck, and scratch marks lined his arms. Hayasaka blinked, her mind briefly conjuring… scenarios—before she immediately dismissed them.
There's no way takakai-san would have time for that in this situation. And even if he wanted to, who'd cooperate? Everyone here is a headless freak.
"Takakai-san, I'm glad you're unharmed."
Still dizzy, Hayasaka steadied herself against the wall and smiled.
"Wait, you're actually fine?"
Takakai frowned, studying her.
Her condition seemed… normal. His Blessing confirmed she was alive—no neck wounds, no signs of being a [Pseudo-Living]. But this didn't add up. When I passed through that fog, I suffered like hell. Why is she unaffected?
Earlier, after forcibly kissing a ghostified Kaguya—exploiting her [self-identification as living] to trigger her羞恥心 (shame) into releasing him—Takakai had fallen into the fog and landed in a crimson-drenched school.
Corpses everywhere. Adults and children, all beheaded. All slaughtered by that frail-looking girl.
Every step she took splattered blood.
And in that blood, faces surfaced—pleading, screaming in despair.
Survivors fled, but none escaped. She knew where they hid. Knew their secrets. None could resist.
Humming, the girl waded through the carnage—until she stood face-to-face with Takakai.
Amidst the cacophony of madness, he caught the whispers of children:
[The Shrine Maiden.]
They trembled as they spoke of her—of Hachiya Chiyo.
[She's really… a miko? No way…]
[But the ones who bullied her… I want to go home…]
[The Shrine Maiden of the Wrathful God? Wasn't that just her bragging? It can't be real…]
Their voices shook with fear. Even half-heard, their terror was palpable.
[How…? She tricked us?!]
Adults, too, wailed—more confused, more terrified, more broken.
[The escape route's sealed! Impossible! No one knew!]
[It's the Butcher! That retard! We talked in front of him—he snitched!]
[Even so, a kid shouldn't undo years of prep! Where's Director Satō?! Why isn't he—Wait, who's knocking? NO! NOOO—]
Their final screams were delicious.
Takakai watched the girl swing her rusted blade—chop, chop, chop.
Her strength defied her frame. No child could wield that cleaver like a scalpel.
Something invisible coiled around her. Faint whispers buzzed.
And in her eyes—only cruelty. No humanity left.
This was her end. Her 定格 (fixed point).
The Shirasawa Elementary incident might've spiraled further.
But for Hachiya Chiyo, this massacre was her terminus.
How did she do it?
Though Takakai's perception was sharp, this was just a phantom of the past—not the core obsession. He couldn't delve deeper.
Yet, pushing his limits, enduring the mental corrosion, he did glimpse something:
A school hallway, still normal.
A bruised girl with chopped-off hair, sitting alone on the stairs at night.
No students stayed this late—not with the [Pitch-Dark] rumors. Even teachers left; though their "authority" once repelled it, the children's twisted retellings had mutated [Pitch-Dark] into something worse.
But what Hachiya Chiyo encountered wasn't that.
First, footsteps.
Then, a swaying flashlight.
The Butcher emerged—stinking, filthy, his mind long eroded into that of a beast. Yet he still remembered his father's words: "Do your duty."
So he patrolled.
Once, he'd drag lost kids out of the school.
Now, he dragged them to the kennel.
Tonight, he'd found another bad dog.
One no one would miss.
[Hello.]
The girl stepped forward, waving at him.
——
Before Takakai could see more, the vision shattered, returning him to the Inner Layer.
The missing intel was frustrating, but what he'd learned already connected many dots.
Still… I was practically crippled by that mental assault. How is Hayasaka—a normal person—so unaffected? Does she have some hidden SAN-lock trait?
Staring at her—completely sane—Takakai's confusion deepened.