1. Rolling Snowball (Time)

（０／21）

It felt just like a dream.

（１／21）

A massive amount of documents hung on the whiteboard. The contents varied. Some looked like academic papers written in tiny English text, while others seemed to be terribly complex electrical circuit diagrams. More easily understandable were the photographs. Most of them were pictures of Yuki's body, not just naked, but even showing her insides. It was the first time she had seen her own internal organs and bones directly—including the state of them being torn to shreds.

Yuki took her eyes off the board and looked around. It was a place like a conference room. The overall impression of being unified in white hinted that this was a hospital. In fact, it was a hospital. A facility heavily laced with shady aspects, under the direct influence of the game's . Besides Yuki, there were three other people in the room—Yuki's agent, the attending physician in a white coat, and the old prosthetic artisan.

"Well... you should just consider it a stroke of luck that you escaped with your life," the artisan said.

"I'll explain it again, but both your arms and legs have already been replaced with prosthetics. For the arms, I just compensated for what you lost, but for the legs, I had to make a little ."

"Adjustment, you say...?"

"Yeah. Whether it was your arms or legs, they were cut off at roughly the same length, but..."

As he spoke, the artisan drew a stick figure on the whiteboard and drew horizontal lines across its arms and legs.

"It's not like they measured it precisely with a ruler, you see. There's a slight discrepancy in the length of the remaining limbs. When outfitting you with prosthetics, this difference has to be taken into account. For the arms, it's simple enough to just make left and right prosthetics of different lengths, but doing that for the legs would cause problems."

"Why?"

"Well, compared to arms, you use both legs in coordination, right? Standing, walking... If the weight is different on the left and right, it'll feel off. Prosthetics are just a bit heavier than a flesh-and-blood body, so if you make them at varying lengths, the weight will be unbalanced. That's why I made adjustments beforehand. In other words, I trimmed both your legs to be perfectly even. I know I'm asking for permission after the fact, but..."

"I don't mind," Yuki answered. Considering the extent of her injuries, that much was a trivial difference.

"Thanks. ...Also, your internal organs took a fair beating too. I haven't used prosthetics for those; I left all of that entirely to the Management. Fortunately, it seems they had stock for every organ, but organ transplants require a lot of aftercare. Ask the doctor for the details."

Yuki nodded.

"Now, here comes the main issue," the artisan said, stroking his beard. "You still intend to continue being a player, right?"

"Yes. That's my intention."

"Then, you'll need some training for a while."

In other words, rehab. She recalled doing it when she lost her fingers, too. Back when Yuki's left arm was still attached, her hand from the middle finger to the pinky was prosthetic. The artisan's prosthetics were incredibly well-made, and she could move them almost exactly like her original flesh and blood. It was perfectly fine for everyday life—but considering she was participating in death games, "almost" wouldn't cut it. It had to be brought as close to completely voluntary control as possible. After her thirtieth game, , where she lost her fingers, Yuki had slightly postponed her next participation to undergo what the artisan called . Thanks to that, her subsequent activities as a player weren't hindered, and she had managed to reach her eightieth game without suffering any further injuries.

However, this time wouldn't go the same way. The scale of the damage was far too great. Not to mention both arms and legs, there might even be effects surfacing from her organs. A 100% recovery was a pipe dream. She would have to accept a certain degree of permanent loss.

There was no shock.

Or rather, she felt nothing at all.

（２／21）

Shirou entered a certain private house.

（３／21）

It was one of the properties owned by the Kurari family. While the family acted as local dignitaries in the countryside, they also held some real estate within the city. Many of them were left unused. Shirou was in a position to freely utilize such residences.

Taking off her shoes and entering the living room, she found a petite woman there. Deeply carved wrinkles reminiscent of tree bark ran all over her face, suggesting she was quite elderly. Shirou didn't know her actual age. She had never asked, nor was she interested.

After exchanging a silent greeting with Shirou, the old woman began her usual routine. She picked up a device about the size of a remote control resting on the table—a radio wave detector—and started examining Shirou's body. Shirou didn't carry any devices that emitted radio waves other than her smartphone, and she had turned the power off beforehand. Naturally, the detector didn't react, and the old woman returned it to the table, saying, "Good."

"No problems. Please, have a seat."

"...I always wonder," Shirou said. "Is this spy-movie-esque procedure really necessary every single time? You're being overly cautious."

"Our opponent is the Management. You can never be too cautious," the old woman replied. "They'll do anything. Embedding a wire in a player's body is child's play to them."

"If you're going to be that cautious, why not stop meeting face-to-face? We could just use email."

"No. No matter what it is, we shouldn't leave any physical trace of our exchanges. Communications might be intercepted..."

"You think they're connected with the providers? Impossible. Now that really is the world of a spy movie."

"Don't underestimate the Management's intelligence capabilities. An organization this pitch-black has been operating under the cover of darkness for hundreds of years. Their defenses are anything but half-baked."

Well, if she put it that way, Shirou wasn't going to rebel. For Shirou as well, being safe was better than being sorry.

The old woman was an employee of the Management. She was one of several within the Management that Shirou kept on her roster. According to her, she worked in the . It was probably a dead-end job, but as an informant, she was the perfect personnel. Because what Shirou was after was precisely that .

Plotting with her wasn't a first. They had been acquainted for over a year now, and she had even been given a spare key to this house. As was evident from her tone earlier, since she preferred face-to-face conversations, they made it a point to regularly meet at this residence.

Shirou sat opposite the old woman. "How did it go this time?" she asked.

"Excellent. I finally found it."

The old woman took a DVD out of her handbag and placed it on the desk.

"The footage of the 99th game. It was left behind in the archives."

Being taken aback—this must be what the phrase meant. Shirou froze for a few seconds,

"...It actually existed?!"

It was something she had requested from her a long time ago. The footage of the 99th game. If she could obtain it, it would be a massive help in conquering it. The exact same game wouldn't be held when it was Shirou's turn—presumably—but she figured she should be able to read the trends.

"It was quite an ordeal. There were hardly any clues, so it was a brute-force search." The old woman rested both elbows on the desk. "Day in and day out, I shut myself in the archives, checking everything. I watched so much gruesome footage. I've had enough of it."

"That's not something a member of the Management should be saying."

Shirou smiled wryly and picked up the disc. Nothing was written on the transparent case; no information could be read from the outside.

"Is this a copy?"

"Yes. The original was a VHS tape, so perhaps 'dubbed' is the better word... In that sense too, we should just be glad it was still left intact."

VHS tapes were, if she recalled correctly, reaching the end of their lifespan right about now.

"My goodness, thank you," Shirou said. "Even so, you really went out of your way. I'd have thought you wouldn't want to leave physical evidence."

"It goes without saying, but store this strictly. If it's found, there will be no excuses."

"Yes. I know."

"Also, don't forget the promised payment."

"Understood on that front, too. It's a large sum, so I'll have it ready for next time. Cash is best, right?"

After briefly discussing the method of payment, the old woman asked, "And how are things on your end, Shirou-san?"

"Excellent on my end, too. I've found a new candidate to challenge the 99th game."

"My. That is good news."

The murder games planned by the Management. A person who clears 99 of them is granted the position of the supreme head of the Management. To obtain that <Achiever's Privilege>, Shirou organized the team known as , probed the Management like this, and put in all sorts of efforts.

"Are you no longer participating in the games yourself?"

"No. I'm participating the bare minimum so my intuition doesn't dull. It looks like it will still be a while before she reaches the 99th game, and I have to participate in that 99th one as well. It'd be a joke if I became weak by then."

"Take care not to die halfway through."

The old woman leaned forward slightly.

"I'll tell you this while we're at it. A large-scale game is scheduled to take place soon."

"How large exactly?"

"I don't know the precise details, but larger than ."

She knew the name of that game. It was held before Shirou became a player, and if she recalled, it had as many as 330 participants.

"The omens are already showing. The number of new players has been increasing lately, hasn't it? That's the setup for it."

"Ah... I heard about that from Takami-san. Supposedly so."

"It seems an ambitious individual has taken a key position. They're gathering hot-blooded comrades from various departments and setting up a massive project. Just like with , invitations will likely go out to almost all active players. Be careful."

The old woman met Shirou's eyes.

"Or perhaps, being you, you can come up with a clever way to avoid it?"

"I've already thought through that in general... a long time ago."

For someone like Shirou, any rule merely existed for its loopholes to be exploited. Shortly after she started as a player, she had thoroughly examined ways to hack the . An approach to obtain game information prior to participation and formulate countermeasures before joining was naturally something she had considered.

Shirou's conclusion was that such a thing seemed difficult. Information about individual games was strictly concealed, and no one besides those related to the project knew the details. Even the agents who delivered the invitations were only given the name of the game, with the concrete contents remaining unknown.

"Choosing to avoid a specific game seems impossible. Well, regardless, thank you for letting me know. I'll at least prepare myself mentally..."

Saying so, Shirou tucked the DVD into the bag she had brought and stood up from her seat.

"Well then, until next time."

"Goodbye. Stay well."

"You too."

As they parted, Shirou made eye contact with the old woman. Her intuition as a player sensed something sketchy, but she didn't tell her that.

（４／21）

Airi made her way to Shirou's residence.

（５／21）

Literally, she came on foot. She took the train to the nearest station. She had enough money to make it groan, so she could have taken a taxi, or even summoned her agent, but the basic means of transport—train and walking—felt right to Airi.

Airi looked up at the residence before her. It was a massive mansion, looking as if giant blocks had haphazardly stacked together. That person called Shirou—she didn't know how many times she had cleared the game, but would the prize money alone be enough for a mansion like this? Was she renting? Did multiple people chip in? Or was she wealthy from the start? While harboring these petty thoughts, she pressed the intercom, waited a moment, and the door opened, revealing Shirou. "Ah, Airi-san," she showed a welcoming smile.

"Welcome. Come on now, please step inside."

Urged in, Airi took off her shoes, passed through the unnecessarily spacious entranceway and hallway, and entered the living room.

There were more people there than Airi had expected. Six in total. Five of them were gathered around a large table, chatting cheerfully. On the table lay a colorful array of dishes and cans of alcohol, the scent reaching all the way to the living room entrance. The remaining person was silently working a frying pan in the kitchen. Judging by her attire, she was likely a maid.

"Everyone! Airi-san has arrived."

Shirou called out with just the right volume to cut through the noise.

The five at the table turned their eyes to Airi and suddenly began to stir. It seemed they had already been told her name.

"Ah, Airi-san!"

The one who spoke with a bouncy voice was Busutake. She was a girl who looked harmless, unbefitting of a player, and they had just spoken recently at the prosthetic artisan's mansion.

"Welcome! Make yourself at home."

"You're already acquainted with Busutake-san, aren't you?" Shirou asked.

Airi nodded, "For the others, it's probably our first time meeting."

"Then, let me give a brief introduction. The one drinking whiskey over there is Takami-san."

"Hey there."

Takami answered, raising one hand lightly.

"The one cooking over there is our housekeeper, Kokone-san."

Likely to avoid spitting into the food, Kokone bowed silently. Airi followed suit.

"And... um."

Shirou turned her eyes to the remaining three.

"You three, what were your names again?"

With perfect timing, as if it had been prearranged, the three stumbled dramatically.

"Didn't you just introduce us earlier...?" One of the three said while picking herself up. "I'm, you know, Kuromatsu."

"I'm Takeda."

"I'm Umesada..."

"We told you to remember us as Sho-Chiku-Bai, didn't we?"

"Ah, right, you did..."

With an expression totally lacking remorse, Shirou turned back to Airi.

"They are new members of , just like you, Airi-san. We are holding a joint welcome party."

. The group formed by Shirou. Its purpose was broadly divided into two. One was to facilitate technical exchange among players and raise each other's capabilities. And the other was to build a team to achieve the 99th clear. The three were recruited for the former purpose, while Airi was recruited for the latter.

Airi looked at the Sho-Chiku-Bai trio. Observing them with their names in mind, hmm, it did certainly seem like their names represented their traits. The one with a calm atmosphere was Kuromatsu (Pine), the slender and tall one was Takeda (Bamboo), and the one with flashy hair color was Umesada (Plum). Since they were going to be comrades from now on, she made sure to memorize their faces and names.

"Also, she is currently holed up in her room, but there is someone named Maya-san. I'll introduce you to her properly later."

"Don't just stand there, come on over, Airi-chan."

Said Takami. She staggered over with a drunken gait. It seemed she had drank quite a bit.

"It was Airi-chan, right? Thanks for joining, you really saved us. Ever since that Yuki boss pushed her away, our leader has been slightly in a bad mood, you see..."

An unexpected name struck Airi's ears. Yuki?

Shirou, looking slightly awkward, said, "I leave the rest to you," to Takami and left the living room.

Takami threw an arm around Airi's shoulder. "Come on, come over here. We've got loads to talk about," she said, dragging Airi to the table with enough force that it was practically an abduction.

"Airi-chan, how old are you? An adult already?"

"I'm eighteen. I am a legal adult, but..."

"Ah, soft drinks it is, then."

Takami handed Airi a glass and filled it to the brim with ginger ale. Airi thought it was surprising she wasn't forcing her to drink alcohol despite this kind of pestering. Strictly between them, it wasn't like she had zero experience drinking, and if told to keep them company, she would have normally joined in.

"Here, cheers."

Takami clinked their glasses together.

"Um, you mentioned Yuki, right? Just now."

"Hmm. Oh, you hadn't heard yet?" Takami answered, tilting her glass. "Before you, Airi-chan, our leader was making a move on her."

"Where is Yuki-san now?"

"Who knows. She's not in . We had a bit of a falling out with her... We've become estranged."

Yuki.

It wasn't like she had a particularly deep connection with her. Their relationship was only to the extent of having run into each other a few times in previous games.

However, she felt a bond with her that went beyond mere acquaintances. Because they were both among the few survivors of Airi's first game—a game treated as something special within the industry—. After the grand outcome of that game was decided, in the lull before it officially ended, Airi had spent some time with Yuki and had a few conversations with her. If it weren't for that time, Airi surely wouldn't have continued as a player.

Airi tilted her glass. Feeling the sting of the ginger ale's carbonation in her throat, she thought.

I wonder what that person is doing right now?

（６／21）

Yuki stared at her left leg.

（７／21）

No matter how you looked at it, it was exactly a .

It was truly well-made. The silicone rubber exterior perfectly replicated skin, and from the gentle curve extending from the thigh to the ankle, the edge of the bone protruding at the ankle, the subtle undulations on the instep woven by bones and veins, down to every single nail attached to the tips of the five toes—it was crafted extremely naturally. Unless someone touched it directly to check, they would never realize it was a prosthetic.

However, only the appearance was flawless. No matter how hard she glared at it or how much strength she poured into it, it wouldn't move an inch. Only the base portion above the middle of her thigh—that is, the flesh-and-blood part—twitched in vain.

"Dammit..."

Yuki muttered, looking around.

It was a room with a fancy atmosphere. With a color palette based on pale pink, stuffed animals and cushions were scattered everywhere. The room wear Yuki had on also exuded that same fancy vibe.

. That was the name of the game. Inside this house, numerous clad in mascot costumes were roaming about, and the premise of the game was to evade them and escape the building. All the necessary procedures for escape had already been completed, leaving her with only the task of making a break for the front door—but at such a crucial moment, her left leg had suddenly stopped working.

Somehow, it broke. She couldn't think of any cause for the malfunction. Well, it was true that she had been jumping, leaping, and moving around frantically throughout the game up to this point, but wasn't that within the scope of normal use? When it came to her finger prosthetics, she hadn't experienced many breakdowns like this. Compared to fingers, a leg is massive in size, and since it's a part driven violently, maybe it easily accumulated heat and became brittle, or something like that.

Machines sure are inflexible, Yuki thought. The fact that a flesh-and-blood body is superior to a prosthetic was something people frequently told her, and she understood it as knowledge, but now it came with actual realization. Having fought prosthetic players in the past—like Riko, Mishiro, and Etsusei—who were all formidable, she had underestimated it, thinking it wouldn't be as troublesome as people claimed. They were a pain to face as enemies, but weak when you used them yourself. It seemed to be that kind of thing.

Since there were no signs of it fixing itself if she just waited, Yuki resumed moving. Using both her arms and her right leg, which were functioning without issue, she dragged herself toward the front door—.

But midway there, a large shadow fell over Yuki.

Wondering what it was, she looked back.

Without presence, without footsteps, right behind Yuki stood a mascot costume over two meters tall.

In its right hand, it held a giant saw. Clumps of cotton were stuck all over the blade, speaking volumes that it had sliced through quite a few people.

Its right arm was already raised high.

Reflecting the lights, it gave a sharp glint. It swung down.

（８／21）

Yuki woke up in a hospital room.

（９／21）

The moment she sat up, her first thought was: What happened?

Her memory was cut off. The saw swung down—and then—what on earth happened to me?

"Good morning."

The voice calling out to her belonged to the agent sitting by her side.

"...Good morning," Yuki returned the greeting, and asked,

"Um, Agent-san, what happened to me? Don't tell me it was a Game Over?"

"No. If that were the case, you'd be long dead. The 86th game, Game Clear. Though, it was quite a nerve-wracking situation..."

Yuki noticed a sense of discomfort in her left shoulder.

Touching it, she figured out what it was. It unmistakably felt like silicone rubber. It had been replaced with a prosthetic.

Ah—that's right. She remembered. After that, she had been slashed cleanly from her back to her shoulder. That was the only sacrifice; she barely managed to escape with her life, but she had lost more of her flesh and blood yet again.

I'm in a slump, she thought. To suffer further damage just four games after getting prosthetics. You could say it vividly demonstrated her decline as a player. She thought she had worked pretty hard on rehab, though.

She felt nothing.

Or rather, she couldn't feel it properly.

（10／21）

Somewhere in Tokyo.

An old woman set foot into a certain building.

（11／21）

It was an unremarkable building. In height, color, and degree of aging, it kept pace reasonably well with the surrounding buildings, blending into the scenery flawlessly. The location was also exquisite. Situated in an area of a town that couldn't be called bustling or deserted, neither the center nor the outskirts; general residents naturally had no business there, and it wasn't even used as a landmark to remember directions. Unless you were someone with photographic memory, keeping that building in mind would be impossible.

Naturally, it was unknown that this was an entire building owned by the that planned and executed illegal games. Within the vast archives taking up the entire fourth and fifth floors, gruesome video records that could never see the light of day were lined up neatly, and almost no one, not even those related to the Management, knew that the VHS tapes which made up the majority were nearing the end of their lifespan. The only ones who knew were a fraction of the staff working in this building.

The old woman was one of those few. Opening the building's entrance as she did every morning, she stepped inside with a faltering gait that betrayed her advancing age. Then, appearing before her eyes were stairs with fiercely thick steps, so steep they felt almost aggressive. Unpleasantly, the office was on the sixth floor. There was no elevator. She couldn't clock in without conquering this beast.

A slight feeling of disgust rose in her mind, but it instantly shattered and vanished. The good thing about getting old was being able to forget unpleasant things without even wishing to. The good and the bad both faded away without maintaining their shapes. Only a uniform warmth, like what is said to arrive at the end of the universe, remained behind.

It was very comfortable.

When she first arrived here, it was still painful.

Back when she still sought her identity as a police officer.

Public Security, it's called. Even amidst a police force that had no choice but to be reactive, this was a section that possessed an exceptional "offensive" capability.

Back in her time, they still did old-fashioned things like undercover espionage. An undercover investigation into the that took pleasure in making young girls play murder games. The old woman, in her youth, was selected for this major role. She began the mission burning with a naive anger typical of the youth.

They're insane. That was the impression the old woman held shortly after infiltrating. What was terrifying was that, whether it was the players or the staff, there wasn't a speck of reluctance; rather, they went about their work holding some sort of pride. While feeling a physiological revulsion toward such an industry atmosphere, outwardly she synchronized her wavelength with the surrounding staff and proceeded with her investigation.

She had gathered enough evidence and thought they could round them all up in one fell swoop soon—when out of nowhere, the order came to abort the investigation. According to hints dropped by her direct superior, an agreement had been made over their heads. At what level was this "head"? Was the "agreement" literal?

She, a low-ranking agent, wasn't told the details, but regardless, the was removed from their target of investigation. Incredibly, the police apparatus had appeased a murderous organization.

After that, the Management made contact as well. Summoned directly by someone who seemed to be an executive, the very first thing she was told was:

She thought she had been conducting the investigation carefully, but they had realized it a long time ago. By then, she understood the Management's organizational structure quite well, so she naturally thought: It's over, they're going to kill me.

However, surprisingly, the person continued in a gentle voice:

<If behave, either. poorly treat we won't you>

You damn criminals. What are you saying?

Even now, she wished she had been able to protest like that.

But at that moment, she had completely chickened out. To be honest, she was terrified of being killed. Where did the righteous heart she had during the investigation go? I lived. Thank God. She had even felt that way.

In that instant, something was definitely lost.

If she had to put a name to it, it would be something one could call youth.

And then, the old woman was placed in a dead-end job. Once one loses their youth, a human ages in the blink of an eye. Her mind, her limbs, their movements dulled as if it were a joke, transforming her into an unmistakable senior citizen. She settled into an existence that simply, gratefully, accepted the document compilation work ordered by the Management Headquarters. She could have returned to the police if she wished, but she no longer had the drive for it. In these times where media is said to be democratized, there might be ways to attack the Management without relying on state power, but again, the same applies. Someone who has lost their youth is not fit to step onto the stage.

She thought of Shirou, the youth she had become friendly with lately. One day, she was called out to on the roadside, but through what route had she learned of her existence? Did she know her background? She didn't know the answer to either.

Why was she cooperating with her? Had she still not given up on overthrowing the Management? If Shirou reached 99 clears and became the head of the Management, the organization's structure would change, making them easier to deal with—was that it?

No, it wasn't such a practical reason.

It was far more emotional.

She was simply envious of her youth.

That was why she maintained a relationship with her. Wanting to share in that burning passion—.

She had reached the landing on the stairs connecting the fourth and fifth floors. Just a little more effort. Feeling slightly tired, she squatted there to take a short breather, when,

"Excuse me,"

a voice called out from behind her.

（12／21）

She looked back.

A woman in a black suit stood there.

It was an unfamiliar face. But judging from her clothes and demeanor, nine times out of ten, she was an employee of the .

She had been followed. She hadn't noticed at all. She couldn't hear any footsteps—she was giving it her all just climbing the stairs, her hearing was poor, and a handkerchief was wrapped around the woman's leather shoes. A makeshift silencer.

What made the old woman even more tense was that a handgun was gripped in the woman's hand. Very thoughtfully equipped with a silencer, too. Even if she was shot here, the sound wouldn't leak outside.

"You are Yukariko-san, correct? From the Document Sorting Department." she was asked.

For now, she obediently admitted, "Yes."

"Do you know what my business with you is?"

"No. I wonder what it's about."

In truth, she didn't know. Since she went out of her way to bring a piece, it couldn't just be a business memo. She came here to condemn her—but for what? Was it the meetings with Shirou? Or was it because she had been sniffing around for rumors regarding the upcoming large-scale game?

—I'm absurdly calm, she thought to herself. Well, she was already an old granny. Thirty years ago maybe, but she wasn't scared of dying at this point in time.

"You illegally obtained internal project information. It's regarding that," the woman answered.

"The contents of individual games are classified information of Clearance Level 4. Merely knowing about it illegally makes you subject to punishment."

"Yes. I know."

"Furthermore, you are a former police officer, it seems. You were conducting an undercover investigation, and when your cover was blown, you assimilated into the organization."

"That is correct."

"To be frank, we suspect you may have leaked the information to a third party. What do you have to say about that?"

"I haven't told anyone," the old woman shook her head. "It's just that it seemed a bit hectic inside the organization recently, so I investigated thinking something was starting. Out of pure personal interest. I knew it was classified information, but I only touched upon the very surface, so I thought there wouldn't be an issue. I'm sorry."

"I have been granted the authority to conduct unrestricted interrogation on you."

The woman leveled her gun.

"It's in your best interest to answer honestly."

"Hypothetically, if I had leaked information, would you forgive me if I confessed?"

"Naturally, you won't get off scot-free... But your life probably won't be taken. We do not use unnecessary violence. We respond accordingly to someone capable of listening to reason."

I figured, the old woman thought. The fact that she was still being kept alive was the greatest proof. What was troublesome about the organization known as the Management was that, despite possessing an astonishingly abundant amount of violence, they still persistently attempted to reach mutual understanding through dialogue. They were strangely gentlemanly. There was a composure and dignity there that spoke of a history spanning hundreds of years. If she confessed her relationship with Shirou, the old woman would surely be saved.

But what about Shirou? There would likely be no leniency for her. Colluding with a Management employee. Illegally obtaining game information, even if it was just a little. That was a clear red card. She would be killed, or have her memory erased and forced to quit being a player. Her future would be shut down entirely.

To prevent that—.

The old woman felt a cheerful mood wash over her, highly inappropriate for the situation. She sincerely felt glad she got involved with Shirou. To think she'd be given a second chance! This time, she would do it right.

"I haven't told anyone. I was just personally curious."

"Climb the stairs," the woman gestured with her chin. "We will continue this inside a room on the fifth floor."

"If you're going to interrogate me, you better do it carefully."

The old woman smiled thinly, and said.

"Otherwise, I might just drop dead before you get anything out of me."

（13／21）

Airi woke up in her apartment.

（14／21）

So they brought me all the way to my room this time, she thought. After a game ended, the timing of waking up varied. Sometimes she woke up in the car during transport, and other times her consciousness didn't return until she was carried into her room. This was Room 302, on the third floor. Just how did her agent always carry her? Inside the elevator, carrying her bridal style? —It was probably better not to think too deeply about it.

Airi gave a good stretch, driving away all the drowsiness still clinging to the edges of her consciousness. There were no injuries anywhere on her body. This time marked the major milestone of 90 games, but she had cleared it with ease.

At this rate, would she make it all the way to 99?

No, that's not right, Airi reconsidered. That kind of detached attitude was problematic now. It wasn't a matter of <Will I it? make>, but . Because that was the contract she had signed with .

She recalled the other day. After being invited to Shirou's residence, she stayed for a while and got the chance to talk with all the members of . She wanted to understand each of their personalities, and there was also the matter of skill sharing. Airi had been invited to as a candidate for the 99-game challenge, but the fact that she was an old guard with over 80 games under her belt seemed appealing in itself, and they probed her endlessly for her secrets to survival. However, Airi wasn't the type of player who possessed any special skills, so she couldn't give them any particularly educational answers.

They were weirdos, was her impression. If the leader was eccentric, the members were bizarre. People who gathered seeking the Achiever's Privilege of clearing 99 games. People who gleefully participated in murder games and plotted to hijack the Management. Frankly, it was hard to say they clicked with Airi.

Still, this wasn't limited to ; it was true of players in general. They were supposed to be speaking the same language, yet something felt out of phase. That feeling where you caught glimpses of a rift that could never be bridged.

However, along with finding them incomprehensible, she was also strangely intrigued. That was why Airi persistently lingered in this world. Treating them like a difficult classic text. In order to understand their true meaning—.

The only person participating as a player for a reason like this was probably just herself. And the fact that she was now one of the oldest veterans in the industry just goes to show how unpredictable life and death can be.

（15／21）

Airi went out to the nearby riverbank.

It was a season rich with greenery. Flora grew in rampant abundance. Things were so convenient these days; taking a picture and scanning it into an app was all it took to identify the species. Airi stowed a few types of plants identified in this way into a ziplock plastic bag.

Not to eat them. Rather, the opposite. Everything she harvested were poisonous plants. From here she planned to return home, process them through various means, and extract their toxins.

Airi recalled Takami's words:

"You can do it surprisingly easily."

During the meeting the other day, she had received a comprehensive lecture. The notable species found during this season, and the methods to process them. Each member of had a special skill, and in Takami's case, it seemed to be . She appeared to be remarkably good at playing with nature—taming wild animals, synthesizing nasty chemicals, or effortlessly crafting traps and weapons; she was supposedly a jack of all trades.

"Natural resources are great,"

Takami had said.

"After all, it's an all-you-can-use buffet. The Management keeps a watchful eye to prevent unnecessary tools from entering the , but they obviously can't touch the natural environment. You definitely need to utilize that. If you can craft a bow, arrows, and some deadly poison, you'll rarely struggle in a fight. Well, what you can make depends on the local vegetation, so it doesn't go perfectly every time..."

If I can successfully extract the ingredients, maybe I'll test it on my own body, Airi thought. In a minuscule dose that wouldn't lead to a critical condition, of course. Since she had never experienced poisoning herself before, she was looking forward to it.

As she made her way home while practicing the walking technique of Awahime, a former member of , her phone suddenly rang without warning.

Bringing it to her ear,

"Long time no see! Airi-san."

A bouncy greeting leapt out.

It had truly been a since she had heard that voice, so it took her a moment to figure out who it was. It was Airi's former agent. Her current handler was her second one; this was the first.

"Ah... Hello,"

Airi replied.

"It really has been a while. What's up?"

"Nah, I don't really have any particular business. I was just wondering how you were doing. So? How've things been?"

"Good as always. I actually just got back from a game a little while ago. I've reached my 90th one."

"Whoa! You're already that far?"

"How are things on your end, Agent-san? If I recall, you moved to the game execution department, right?"

"Going great over here too. Work is fun. Being your agent was quite thrilling, Airi-san, but this is even more so. Right now, I'm involved in a very interesting project—"

Suddenly, static crackled on the line. Immediately, the voice cut out.

"Agent-san? Um, hello?" Airi asked.

"...llo? Hello? Ah, good, it connected. No, sorry, problem on my end. Seems like the censorship kicked in."

"Censorship?"

"This phone call, the contents are being intercepted. See, I'm with the execution department now. There's a risk of leaking classified information. That's why when communicating with the outside, I have to be put under these kinds of shackles."

"That sounds quite stifling."

"Totally. It's one of the few complaints I have about this department—it's hard to talk about work. Just the other day, someone from the project vanished, you see. On the charge of leaking game info to someone in another department. The person it leaked to got disposed of together with them, it seems. Even with the censorship, this conversation is pretty dangerous. Depending on the situation, the consequences might even reach you, Airi-san."

"Please don't call me at such a risk..."

"But I wanted to talk to you."

The agent laughed breezily. She was no longer Airi's agent, and perhaps she should simply be called "Staff", but that felt somewhat distant, so Airi decided to keep calling her "Agent".

"I just really wanted someone to listen to me. Or rather, I know it's a bit late to check, but is it okay if we have a long chat right now?"

"Yes, no problem. I'm on my way home."

"Great. Man, where should I start..."

Following that, she joyfully chatted about this she was currently involved in. Of course, since she couldn't mention specific details, she stuck entirely to abstract topics—how all her colleagues were highly motivated, which fired her up too, or how seeing the overall picture of the game gave the organization better prospects, and so on.

At any rate, the fact that she was having fun came across clearly. Not just the players, but the Management's staff as well had a screw loose somewhere. This, too, was a sensation Airi couldn't sympathize with. What was so enjoyable about it?

Every single one of them was in a frenzy.

As if they would die if they didn't have this.

Somehow, it made her feel as if she were being left behind. She hadn't even wanted it, yet everyone around her was flaunting it and looking so happy. Unexpectedly, she felt frustrated.

（16／21）

Yuki woke up.

（17／21）

I just got up, yet I'm sleepy, she thought.

It felt like there was residue stuck in the back of her head. She hadn't slept well.

It had been like this lately. Was it because her flesh had diminished? A disruption in her biorhythms? The cause was unknown, but a persistent feeling of being slightly unwell lingered. An insidious sluggishness, like the onset of a cold.

Yuki unsteadily got out of bed. This was the bedroom of her home. Her second new residence. The address of her former abode, Tochinoki-sou, was discovered by , so she had moved to a villa in the suburbs—but since that address also leaked, she had relocated for a second time. This new base was located near a hospital managed by the Management. Because the current Yuki never knew when she would end up as a .

Yuki picked up a small object resting on the mini table next to the bed. It looked like a gummy candy at a glance. It was small enough to pinch with one's fingers, semi-transparent, and made of a soft material. You wouldn't be blamed for accidentally tossing it into your mouth, but looking closely at the semi-transparent contents would cure you of that urge. Because inside was housed a short needle that appeared to be made of metal.

Yuki pressed it against her thigh.

She applied pressure just like that.

A sharp prick of pain ran through her, followed by that familiar sensation that most modern people would recognize. Something red spread inside the gummy—it was drawing blood. Like a leech attached to the skin.

She had been estranged from this red for a while. For the past few years, fluids had constantly circulated in Yuki's body, causing any blood that came out to be dyed white. Since losing a large portion of her flesh and requiring blood draws three times a day, it had become familiar again. This gummy was a blood extraction device. Apparently a high-tech item developed by the Management themselves, it allowed the task to be done extremely simply and without exposing the blood to air.

Holding this thing that had gorged itself on blood and swollen tight, Yuki headed to the living room. On the table sat a machine about the size of a gashapon capsule dispenser. There was a small hole at the bottom, and Yuki shoved the blood gummy in there—as if inserting a coin.

Instantly, the words <Testing...> danced across the monitor mounted on top. This was a blood analyzer. Once the test began, all she had to do was wait. The testing was entirely automated, and the results were transmitted to the hospital. If there was any abnormality, an ambulance would supposedly fly over right away. As a formality, the test results were also printed out on paper, but since Yuki lacked any specialized knowledge, she couldn't understand them even if she looked, so she usually just skimmed them and tossed them aside.

Next to the analyzer was a slightly smaller machine. Donut-shaped, it was clearly a blood pressure monitor. Yuki slid her right arm through. Since flesh remained on this arm up to the middle of her upper arm, it was barely possible to measure her blood pressure. Along with a drowsy mechanical hum, her arm was compressed, and the measurement began—these results, too, were immediately sent to the hospital. Just like the blood draw, this was also three times a day.

Having her physical condition constantly monitored. It wasn't a very pleasant feeling. But it was necessary. For her current self, whose body was half made of inorganic materials, with the other half mixed with hand-me-downs from others.

Yuki headed to the kitchen connected to the living room and opened the refrigerator. She took out bread and soy milk, finished a simple breakfast, and picked up a flat pouch also resting on the table. Inside were a massive amount of individually packaged oral medications. She opened one of them and poured the pills out into her palm with a clatter.

The volume was enough that she could feel its weight, making a strange laugh leak from Yuki.

Naturally, this was three times a day.

（18／21）

No, feeling dissatisfied would be selfish.

Rather, she should be happy it ended with just this. With the game the other day, she finally reached 90 clears. After that major accident, she hadn't fully recovered and suffered minor injuries here and there, yet she had safely made it to today. If she remembered correctly, around this time, her Master was already completely prosthetic and her pace of participation had begun to slow down. Compared to her, Yuki was doing brilliantly. Despite the numerous restrictions, she should be happy to be living in the flesh. She shouldn't complain about things on the level of blood draws being a hassle or feeling unwell.

Logically, yes.

But, what was it? This feeling. Like something was gradually slipping out of alignment—. Like soaking a slit wrist in a bathtub, helplessly watching the blood slowly spread and ripple—. Like casually looking in the mirror and seeing in one's flabby face—. The mood of witnessing an order that was slowly being lost. She was certain she wouldn't last long at this rate. The incline leading to ruin could be clearly felt.

Was this the sensation of impending death?

Yuki returned to the bedroom. Still sleepy, she thought she'd rest a little longer and headed for the bed—but at that moment, the pile of clothes stacked in the corner of the room caught her eye. They were all wrapped in plastic. Game costumes. The four outfits from her 87th to 90th games. Lately, even the minor effort of taking them out of the plastic and hanging them in the closet had become too much of a hassle, so they had just been left piled up.

Since they caught her eye, she figured she might as well tidy them up. Yuki picked up the costumes. She headed to the closet. The row upon row of lined-up costumes entered her view. Having collected so many, there were over eighty outfits. To welcome these new additions, Yuki was about to rip open the plastic packaging, when—

Then, she suddenly thought.

Why was she keeping these costumes in the first place?

Come to think of it, it wasn't out of necessity. She received an outfit in her first game, and the habit just sort of continued. Just a substitute for medals. She had kept proper records of the individual games, so there was no problem even without the costumes.

Should I just throw them away?

When there were this many, they just took up an absurd amount of space. Yeah, that's good. Let's do that. How do you throw out old clothes? Well, I can just ask my agent. Yuki procured a random cardboard box from the living room and began stuffing the costumes into it. Maid outfit. School swimsuit. White coat. Leotard. Gym clothes. Dress. Robe and pointed hat.

Sailor uniform.

Her hands stopped for just a second.

But she tossed it into the box. She probably wouldn't be able to attend anymore. She had wanted to go all the way to graduation, but it couldn't be helped. Well, the time she did attend wasn't wasted. What you studied mattered more than the academic credential itself.

Just as she finished carrying the cardboard boxes filled with costumes to the entrance, in a stroke of sheer coincidence, the sound of a car could be heard from beyond the door. Her agent had arrived. Come to think of it, today was the day she delivered her bento boxes. Lately, over ninety percent of Yuki's meals were provided by the hospital. The bread and soy milk from her breakfast earlier were also calculated by a nutritionist.

Footsteps approached. When Yuki opened the front door preemptively, there stood her agent, holding a cooler box in each hand.

"Ah... Good morning, Yuki-san."

"Good morning."

Her agent placed the coolers on the step of the entryway. As one could guess from the containers, they were frozen bentos. It was best to store them quickly.

Also, the cooler boxes from the previous delivery were resting on the step. Naturally, they were empty, and the agent effortlessly lifted them to carry them out, but at that moment, her eyes caught the cardboard boxes piled next to them.

"What are these?" the agent asked.

"Game costumes," Yuki answered. "I thought about it, and realized I don't really need them. It'd be a great help if you disposed of them."

<Understood.> —

Is what Yuki thought she would say. In her usual indifferent tone.

However, surprisingly, the agent made a dumbfounded expression. Why? Yuki thought about the reason, and,

"Ah... Sorry. You went out of your way to bring them back every time, and I'm throwing them away after all. But with this amount, they're just too bulky... I won't need costumes for the games going forward, either. So please, take care of it."

"...Understood."

The agent replied.

Yuki nodded silently and hoisted the coolers in both hands.

（19／21）

Having loaded the coolers and cardboard boxes into the trunk of her car, she bid farewell to Yuki and started the car. Getting caught at the first red light,

The agent buried her face in the steering wheel.

"...Oh my god..."

Her voice leaked out.

Of course, she had no intention of actually throwing them away. She would store them somewhere. What had happened to her? She was clearly acting strange. Well, she was a strange person to begin with, but she wasn't supposed to be like this. While apathetic towards most things, she tightly gripped onto a select few things. She was supposed to be that kind of person.

Yet, she had begun letting go of even that minority.

What does this mean?

Her thoughts delved even deeper. What should I do? Is it okay to let her continue like this? I've only been focusing on her physical care up until now, but shouldn't I turn some attention to her mental state as well? It's that kind of era, and the Management's hospitals are equipped with those functions. Have her take a break from the games for a while, assign a counselor to her, and depending on how that goes—

"........."

I'm thinking about weird things, she realized.

Am I worried? How admirable. But don't forget. You are the perpetrator. You are the very person who made her this way. You've simply been cheering her on all this time, haven't you? Despite being on the side of this inhuman system, the moment your ward is about to die, you disgracefully chicken out. It's too late to pretend to be a person of common sense now.

Feign ignorance, and accompany her to the very end.

That is your duty.

（20／21）

I did the chores in a daze, so I don't remember anything in between. By the time I noticed, I had headed to the kitchen with the coolers in both hands, stored the bentos inside the freezer, returned the empty coolers to the entrance, and gone back to the bedroom.

I dove headfirst into the bed. The sensation of a soft mattress, which was no doubt incredibly expensive, welcomed me. But I couldn't sleep. Even though I should have been sleepy. My head was fuzzy, and my fatigue was strong. I felt like I could lose consciousness at any moment, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

What on earth is wrong with me?

I don't know. I can't organize my thoughts. Everything is just endlessly fluffy, slipping away somewhere.

Who am I?

I am Yuki. Sorimachi Yuki. A player of murder games. The only thing that could fill my empty heart was these games. Clearing 99 games. That alone is the foundation that supports me.

I've reached the 90th game. Finally.

And. And. And. And—.

And what happens next?

I close my eyelids.

（21／21）