Something flickered at the edge of vision.
A distorted, blurry image, as if obscured by some unseen force.
A shadowy figure, crawling forward from some hidden corner.
Then—a faint glimmer of light, and within it, moving figures.
Where is this?
What are those people doing?
[You must be new here. Do you know why we use children as test subjects?]
A man sorted through his notes before suddenly turning to a subordinate.
Under the sterile white light, the examination table held something that barely resembled a human anymore—twitching, not yet dead. Unfamiliar, yet eerily recognizable.
The subordinate stared at the thing on the table, his expression strained.
[Because… they're easier to control? Less likely to resist?]
The man shook his head, grinning.
[No, no, far too simplistic. If control were the goal, the military could subjugate anyone. We choose children because they're ignorant. Impressionable. Like cults indoctrinating the young, we mold them into what we need.]
The subordinate hesitated.
[But… I heard the past two years of research only produced monsters that can't even spread. Those "shadowy things" vanish if their targets don't believe in them. The Butcher too—kids who don't know him don't turn into dogs. How is any of this battlefield-ready?]
[Setbacks are inevitable when pioneering the unknown. But we will succeed. Look at this subject—the first case of an outsider transformed by rumors. We're breaking new ground! And one project has succeeded. Maybe you'll even get invited to Takamagahara one day.]
The man chuckled, his voice dripping with ambition—and something darker.
[But this year's enrollment is too high. Satou-san, isn't this risky? We still don't understand this subject's condition—]
The man—Satou—waved him off, ending the discussion.
Haa… haa…
Labored breathing echoed softly, unnoticed.
The two continued working, scalpels glinting as they dissected the twitching mass on the table.
A muffled scream.
Foul, yellowish-black ooze spilled everywhere.
The bloated body convulsed, its throat clogged, its agony soundless.
Haa… haa…
The breathing grew heavier.
The creak of teeth grinding together.
Then—the light receded, swallowed by encroaching darkness.
No.
Not the light fading.
The small figure in the vents was retreating, crawling back the way it came.
Haa… haa…
Through the cramped duct, the girl emerged in a storage room, changing back into her school uniform—stained, as if splashed with something foul.
She carefully concealed the vent's entrance. It was too small for most to fit through, but her malnourished frame slipped in easily.
This was how she'd uncovered truths she was never meant to know.
[...]
The girl showed no reaction to the horrors she'd witnessed.
She simply… continued living, as if nothing had changed.
Had it, though?
Suddenly, her gaze snapped toward the wall—as if staring straight through it, at the unseen eyes watching her.
Splash—
Icy rain poured from the sky.
Splash— splash—
A torrential downpour drowned the world in darkness.
Takakai's eyes snapped open.
The vision lingered—Chiyo, discovering the secret research beneath Shirasawa Elementary, slithering through vents to witness atrocities no child should see.
How? The details were unclear, but one thing was certain: Before becoming the core grudge, Chiyo already knew the truth.
She'd realized the school was a military slaughterhouse, its students mere fodder for weaponized horrors.
She'd even learned of Takamagahara.
That was why, as a specter, she'd severed Shirasawa's connection to it—why this dungeon retained so many clues about the place.
But how?
A malnourished 10-year-old shouldn't have uncovered such classified intel. The military would never leak Takamagahara—not even Satou would dare.
Then… was it the KP?
Just as Fujioka High's destruction had miraculously spared one teacher and student, Chiyo—doomed to die ignorant—had stumbled upon the darkness festering beneath Shirasawa.
What could she do with that knowledge?
Her enemies were untouchable. She had no allies—not even a single friend or trustworthy adult.
The sheer cruelty of it made Takakai's stomach churn. He could almost see the KP grinning, reveling in the tragedy of its design.
Disgusting.
Takakai pushed himself up.
The world around him was a void, save for the relentless rain.
No—not entirely.
His eyes adjusted.
A withered garden, grass and shrubs dead despite the downpour.
Ahead stood a dilapidated two-story building, its walls peeling like rotting flesh.
Splash—
The rain grew heavier, colder.
Takakai stepped forward, spotting graffiti on the wall—stick-figure children and taller figures playing together, surrounded by flowers and a smiling sun.
Creak—
The door groaned open.
Lights flickered—on, off, on, off—before settling into a dim, sickly glow.
Overturned chairs. Toys trampled into the filthy floor.
Black footprints marred every surface.
[■…■■…]
A whisper, just beyond comprehension.
Takakai approached a small table, spotting a note:
[Chiyo, dinner's in the kitchen. We took Riko out. If you see Nana, tell her not to wander off.]
The handwriting was gentle, warm.
Likely from the orphanage's caretaker—someone who'd taken in lost children during desperate times, teaching them, finding them futures.
They're gone now.
That day, after school—after being bullied, her books torn, her body bruised—Chiyo had returned home to find the door ajar.
Neighbors swarmed inside, looting everything.
Officers and soldiers stood impassive, citing "food poisoning" as the cause.
White sheets covered the small, still forms.
Her family—the one she'd found after losing her first—was gone.
Only broken toys remained, crushed under greedy feet.
[Since the orphanage is disbanded, you'll board at Shirasawa Elementary. The dormitories are quite comfortable for a child.]
A voice echoed behind Takakai.
He turned, catching a glimpse of a fading figure—Satou.
[■■…■…]
The whispers grew louder, sharper.
Takakai moved through the dining room, where phantom laughter once rang.
Children gobbling food, scolded for eating too fast.
A caretaker patiently feeding a fussy toddler.
Chiyo among them, smiling, helping corral the rowdy ones.
[■…Out■…!]
The voice gained force.
Upstairs, the dormitories stood divided—boys and girls in separate rooms.
Takakai heard lullabies, hushed nighttime gossip, scoldings for staying up too late.
A timid child, clinging to an adult's hand on the way to the bathroom.
Chiyo, older now, sometimes woken to guide the little ones, whispering dreams of futures that would never be.
She'd known, deep down.
Her birth parents were in town—she'd overheard the whispers.
She'd been left at the orphanage's doorstep.
She might've even passed them on the street, unaware.
But the caretakers here had become her real family.
In her dreams, she'd repaid their kindness—given them the happy lives they deserved.
Now, even those dreams were ashes.
[GET OUT—]
The voice screamed.
A force like a freight train slammed into Takakai, hurling him through the air.
As he tumbled into darkness, he glimpsed a final image—
A small figure, alone on the filthy floor, clutching a broken toy in the empty house.
Then—
Light.
Takakai gasped awake to dim fluorescent bulbs and Hayasaka's tearful face.
"Thank goodness… You're awake…"
He sat up, finding himself in a cluttered storage room—broken desks, chairs, blackboards, cleaning supplies, and trash bins.
The walls were decayed, resembling rotting flesh. The floor and ceiling were blackened, rough to the touch—almost like skin.
"After we fell, we landed in a school hallway. You collapsed unconscious. I… I heard noises from the classrooms. I was afraid, so I carried you and hid here."
Takakai frowned.
I was unconscious during the vision? And Hayasaka evaded threats alone? Is the deeper layer less dangerous, or were the horrors not fully active yet?
His eyes scanned the room.
Every detail matched.
This was the storage room from his vision—where Chiyo had hidden, where she'd first slipped into the vents.
"Good work. Smooth sailing was too much to hope for… but is this a coincidence?"
He rose, staring at the walls.
No.
This was no accident.