The Hallway of Forgotten Uniforms
Past the art classroom, the hallway led to an activity room.
Empty.
Through the window, piles of dirty school uniforms—some stained with blood—could be seen heaped inside.
Takakai found white chrysanthemums here.
Fifteen of them, placed neatly on a desk before the uniform mound, as if left in mourning.
They were Relics.
Each flower could suppress an ayakashi's movements. Based on his first-loop experience, one chrysanthemum could barely slow a ghost student—not stop it entirely.
But multiple used together?
Even a high-tier horror might be immobilized.
The catch?
Unknown side effects.
"Dolls, cleavers, masks, candles, flowers… and this is only a quarter of Fujisaka's map—just two floors. The risks are high, but the rewards? Even higher."
A proper Crimson Moon-class team—prepared, armed with Relics, bolstered by top-tier Blessings—could harvest unimaginable gains here.
The greater the danger, the richer the spoils.
Storing the chrysanthemums in his watch, Takakai moved on.
The Crushed Flowers
The next activity room held shoes.
Dozens of them—boys' and girls'—piled nearly waist-high.
No intact chrysanthemums here.
Only torn petals, trampled into the floor.
Who had done this?
The withered flowers suggested it happened long ago.
As Takakai picked up a fragment, a vision flickered:
Two figures arguing in the classroom.
Their words were indistinct, their faces blurred.
But their emotions burned clear—
One, volcanic rage.
The other, abyssal sorrow.
Who were they?
Mourners for the dead students?
And why did he—
The vision shattered.
Takakai turned to Miko.
"Did you see something?"
"...Two people, maybe?"
Miko's reply was hesitant.
Just that?
Surprisingly, he had perceived more.
Miko wasn't lying—he was certain.
But in that moment, he hadn't just observed.
He'd become one of the figures—felt their sorrow as his own.
What does this mean?
"Keep moving."
Shaking off the thoughts, Takakai pressed forward.
Their destination was close.
The Elevator of Screams
The hallway twisted unnaturally.
Soon, an elevator came into view—its doors gaping open.
Dried blood coated its interior.
Scratches gouged the walls—fingernails clawing in desperation.
The stench of decay hung thick in the air.
Nearby, a janitor's closet and another activity room held nothing of note.
Then—a bathroom.
Headless bodies littered the hallway outside.
From within came sounds of retching and gurgling water.
Miko glimpsed chained heads peering from the darkness and promptly looked away.
The others didn't dare glance at all.
Only Kobayashi Ringo hesitated—but with Takakai striding ahead, she hurried after.
Class 3-23 & 3-24: The Toybox
The next hall opened into a wide lobby.
Two classrooms stood bathed in dark crimson.
Their floors were carpeted in flesh.
Not a single fragment larger than a finger remained.
A 10-centimeter-thick layer of minced meat and bone blanketed both rooms.
"Nngh—"
Miko nearly fainted again.
She saw their past.
These classes were specially selected.
A toybox for the "honor students" of Class 3-1.
Any "bad student" could be summoned here—for any purpose.
Perhaps the closest thing to hell within this school.
A single red candle burned at the classrooms' entrance.
Takakai sensed only one entity here—the amalgamation of countless vengeful spirits.
Better not touch that candle.
Disturbing it would be… unwise.
"We're almost there."
He led the group past the nightmare.
The Corridor of Weapons
The final stretch of hallway looped impossibly, defying real-world geometry.
Bloodstains thickened with every step.
Discarded weapons lined the path—
Knives.
Ice picks.
Cleavers.
Even a chainsaw.
Each tool whispered its victims' final screams.
Miko saw their deaths replay.
Her steps faltered.
The onslaught of horrors left her clinging to Takakai's arm, nearly carried along by his momentum.
"It's okay. Just illusions."
His reassurance was flat—factual, not comforting.
But it steadied her nonetheless.
Her sleeve grew damp with silent tears.
Takakai didn't slow.
[Alice] was temporarily neutralized.
The ram mask's corruption gnawed at his mind.
He had to reach the watch's marked location—now.
"I… I don't want to see anymore…"
Miko's plea went unheard.
No mercy came.
"Sorry. You'll have to endure."
Takakai's voice cut through her despair.
"Everyone starts like this. The suffering, the fear—there's no escaping it. For ordinary people dragged into this, survival means adapting. Getting stronger. It's the only way."
Not kindness.
Just truth.
Yet somehow, it anchored her.
…Am I relying on him too much?
The thought flickered—
Then the visions ceased.
They had passed the gauntlet.
Class 3-1: The Defiant
The door to Class 3-1 loomed ahead.
Like its second-year counterpart, the room was lavishly decorated—a stark contrast to the squalor elsewhere.
And like that other classroom, it held corpses, not ayakashi.
Twenty-three students lay peacefully on the floor, faces tinged blue.
Creak—
Takakai pushed the door open.
No supernatural presence lingered.
Instead, an eerie calm pervaded the air—so potent it even dulled the ram mask's influence.
These deaths had been accepted.
No resentment festered here.
At the room's center lay a note, carefully penned on lined paper:
"Those who succumb to madness cannot become True New Humans."
"We rose above beasts by embracing humanity, not regression."
"We refuse to slaughter. We refuse to harm."
"Kill us if you must. But one day, your lies will unravel—and you will pay for your sins."
"—Class 3-1, Year ■■, All 23 Members."
Beneath the signatures, a single dismissive response:
"FAILURES."
The vision came unbidden—
A lone "honor student" resisting the school's indoctrination.
Others joining his cause.
Their ranks swelling to 23—a record.
That year, the torment of "bad students" nearly ceased.
It couldn't have been easy.
Yet they held firm.
Perhaps the faculty allowed it—an experiment in defiance.
But in the end?
Locked in this room.
Given a final command: Kill each other.
When they refused—
Poison gas.
Their peaceful expressions belied the agony of their deaths.
"So you watched."
Takakai set the note down.
"You let this child gather allies, fumble toward rebellion… and when they wouldn't break, you slaughtered them. Then stood there, observing."
He turned.
The watch's marker pulsed ahead.
Now he understood where it pointed.
The observation room.
The Shattered Wall
Takakai strode to the classroom's side wall.
Drew back his fist.
Slam—!
The concrete cracked like glass.
Again.
BOOM—!!
The wall exploded inward.
Cold light spilled through the breach.
Revealing rows of figures—
Ram masks.
Duck masks.
Turtle masks.
Teachers.
Researchers.
All standing where they had decades prior—watching as children below descended into madness.
Just as they did now.