If there was one way to understand something in the shortest time possible, hands-on experience was undoubtedly the most straightforward method.
At least, for Kaguya, who had just endured the nightmare-like horror of her body tearing apart, dissolving, and vanishing, she now understood with absolute clarity the terrifying truth hidden beneath this apartment's dilapidated exterior.
"You turned back the clock, so we've returned to the very beginning?"
Kaguya quickly stood up, pushed open the living room door, and glanced at the wall clock in Room 204. Sure enough, the time had reset to the initial moment.
Was something like this even possible?
Just by turning back the hands of a clock, time itself had reversed.
Shinomiya Kaguya felt the common sense she had built up over more than a decade shatter completely in this instant.
"It certainly seems that way. In any case, we need to get out of here as soon as possible. If we really have gone back to the start, then it won't be long before that woman next door starts screaming and summons that unseen thing again."
As he spoke, Takakai picked up the rules sheet from the nightstand, folded it, and stuffed it into his pocket. Then, he glanced once more at the mysterious black watch strapped to his left wrist.
In truth, in that critical moment, his first attempt had been to adjust the hands of this strange watch.
After all, both Maki and Kaguya had already begun collapsing, their bodies disintegrating, and his own form was following suit. In that situation, he hadn't dared to touch either of them, so he had tried moving the watch's hands instead.
But it had been completely futile.
This damned broken watch, missing all but its minute hand, was absurdly sturdy—as if welded to his skin. The hands wouldn't budge at all.
As the situation grew increasingly dire, as they all teetered on the brink of dissolution, Takakai had no choice but to take the risk and reach for Kaguya, attempting to adjust the wall clock's hands instead. This time, it worked.
Maybe this watch isn't part of the rules?
But if that's the case, why is it stuck on my wrist? And why can't I take it off?
Silently turning these thoughts over in his mind, Takakai kept moving, stepping ahead of Kaguya.
"Thank you. Without your actions just now, I wouldn't have survived."
Behind him, Kaguya removed the wall clock from Room 204 and followed, her tone solemn with gratitude.
"Don't thank me yet. We still don't know the exact scope or limitations of this clock's power. Once I open the door, stay alert. We don't know if only those who held or adjusted the clock retain their memories, nor whether those three who turned into… monsters have reverted to normal. If something goes wrong, you must turn the clock's hands immediately. If we can't regroup with Shijou-san, we'll only have one chance to test this."
Takakai took a deep breath, steadying his weakened body as he pressed forward.
"Only one chance?"
Shinomiya Kaguya immediately grasped the implication in his words.
"Turning the clock isn't without cost. First, the amount of time we can rewind seems limited to the duration we've spent in this apartment. Before the reversal, I tried turning the hands further back, but it wouldn't budge—like it was jammed. Second, whoever turns the clock once might not be able to do so again. They might not even be able to touch it afterward."
As he spoke, Takakai reached the front door. He glanced back at the clock in Kaguya's hands, offering a faint smile before turning away to face the now-opened, broken door of Room 204.
He didn't look again at the severed head cradled in Kaguya's arms.
A head that looked exactly like his own—cracked open, with three clock hands dangling from it.
From beginning to end, that head's gaze had remained fixed on him, an oppressive presence he could feel at every moment.
He had a premonition.
Even if he somehow survived this hellish place, that gaze would never leave him.
From now on, every day, every hour, everywhere—he would forever sense those eyes watching him. That cold, dark stare would haunt him until his last breath, until his consciousness ceased to exist.
So that's why the rules didn't specify how to use the clock for survival. Because doing so comes with a lifelong burden?
Even so, they could've written it more clearly. Do you have any idea how much trouble your vague, outdated rules have caused us?
Takakai grumbled inwardly, though he kept it to himself.
Complaining wouldn't change anything. Action was what mattered now. He didn't dare voice his frustrations aloud—who knew if some mind-reading entity might respond?
Creak—
As the door to Room 204 swung open, Takakai's eyes landed on Maki, emerging from Room 208 with another wall clock in her arms, her eyes slightly red. She had recovered faster than him and Kaguya, forcing herself to steady her emotions and rush out immediately.
Of course, in Takakai's vision, she too held a severed head.
Great. Now I've got double the staring. In a way, as long as Maki and Kaguya carry these damned clocks, I'll always know where these two beauties are.
"Stay calm, everything will be fine. Ah, three more of you came out? Are you alright?"
Old Guo was in the hallway, speaking to the Black man and trying to soothe his panic.
Sun Dajun leaned against the wall, his face pale with fear as he warily scanned the surroundings. When he spotted Takakai's group, his expression twisted with unmistakable disappointment.
It seemed those who had vanished and turned into monsters earlier were now perfectly normal again.
Takakai caught Old Guo's gaze—just a fleeting glance, but he recognized the difference. He was now certain: this man who called himself Old Guo had retained his memories. He knew what had happened.
So, when the clock rewinds time, everyone still alive keeps their memories?
Sun Dajun took a step forward, about to approach Takakai.
It looked like he planned to repeat the same act, using the "reality show" excuse to delude himself.
But before he could speak, the previously reclusive White man shoved past him and hurried toward Takakai, desperation in his eyes.
"You're veterans, right?"
The man's voice trembled slightly, his gaze burning with hope as it locked onto Takakai's group.
"That—that was a Obsession just now, wasn't it? One that can reverse time? That's… that's unbelievable! I'm Green. I can be useful. Can I join you? Please, I won't cause any trouble."
Green.
The man gave his name.
A common one, though at least it wasn't as generic as Tom or Jack.
But—veterans?
The idea that this Sacrifice Game had survivors didn't surprise Takakai. He'd long suspected Old Guo was one. But this man, Green, seemed to be a veteran too—though likely just a lucky one who'd scraped through a single mission. Assuming, of course, he wasn't lying.
"What veterans…?"
Sun Dajun, who had been about to question them, hesitated upon hearing Green's words.
"Can you pick locks?"
Before Takakai could respond, Shinomiya Kaguya stepped forward, her voice icy as she addressed the 6'3" White man.
The aura of the Ice Princess of Shinomiya—forged in the cutthroat world of high society—was something Takakai, a mere low-tier writer, couldn't hope to match. Though she looked like nothing more than a teenage girl, the authority in her tone instantly cowed Green, who had already convinced himself of their status.
This was how veterans were supposed to act.
Just like the ones in his last mission, the ones who'd effortlessly navigated the horrors and emerged unscathed. It was only by following them that Green had survived that nightmare.
His strategy was simple: find the strongest players and latch on.
Even if they refused to protect him, their mere presence increased his odds.
"Y-Yes! I can pick locks!"
Green—a former burglar from the U.S.—nodded frantically, pulling a lockpick from his pocket and darting toward Room 205.
"Do you want to summon that thing again with your noise?"
Fujiwara Maki's voice was just as cold as Kaguya's, her glare sharp.
"R-Right. Sorry."
Now fully convinced of their elite status, Green wiped sweat from his brow and worked in silence.
Meanwhile, Takakai observed Kaguya's commanding presence and Maki's disdainful poise, mildly impressed. Despite being just 17, their social maneuvering and acting skills far surpassed his.
Then, his attention returned to Room 205—the lair of the loudmouthed blonde who had doomed them all.
Click—
With a soft sound, the door swung open.
In just over ten seconds, Green had picked the old lock, exposing the darkness within to the hallway's pale light.