Episode 4: Spill Your Guts

  The blood hadn’t dried.

  Two thin lines still stretched across the classroom floor and disappeared beneath the door.

  No one stepped over them.

  No one spoke about them.

  The screen flickered.

  White text.

  Black background.

  GAME TWO: SPILL YOUR GUTS

  1.Each player will write one question targeting a specific player.

  2.Questions will be shuffled and redistributed.

  3.The selected player must answer truthfully and completely.

  4.Refusal requires the player to drink.

  5.Dishonesty or cheating results in immediate elimination.

  A pause.

  Then—

  The classroom door opened.

  She entered.

  Navy blazer. Plaid skirt. White shirt.

  Almost correct.

  A metal tray rested in her hands.

  Small glass vials. Clear liquid. Identical.

  She placed the tray on the teacher’s desk.

  Then picked up the red box from Game One.

  Shook it once.

  Not violently.

  Deliberately.

  Her head tilted slightly as she walked between desks.

  Watching.

  Monitoring.

  Ayato’s gaze dropped.

  Both shoes curved inward the same way.

  Two left.

  No limp.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  No imbalance.

  He said nothing.

  Sheets of paper slid from beneath each desk.

  Pens followed.

  The scratching of ink filled the room.

  No one dared look too long at anyone else.

  Questions folded.

  Dropped into the red box.

  Fina shook it again.

  Then placed it back on the desk.

  PLAYER 07. DRAW.

  Cherry stood.

  Walked forward carefully.

  Reached inside.

  Pulled a slip.

  Unfolded it.

  Her face tightened.

  “It says… Player 12.”

  Ayato rose slowly.

  Cherry read the question.

  “Who do you believe is responsible for Player 18’s removal?”

  Silence.

  Eyes on him.

  He answered calmly.

  “I am.”

  Murmurs.

  Cherry frowned. “What?”

  “I miscalculated. I selected the wrong player. The system punished the room.”

  The screen flickered.

  RESPONSE ACCEPTED.

  Cherry sat down shakily.

  ?

  PLAYER 03. DRAW.

  Mizhang stepped forward.

  Pulled a paper.

  Unfolded it.

  Smirked faintly.

  “Player 01.”

  Mio rolled his shoulders.

  “Of course.”

  Mizhang read:

  “If you had to choose right now — Cherry or yourself — who survives?”

  The air went thin.

  Cherry stared at Mio.

  Mio didn’t look at her.

  Didn’t look at Mizhang.

  He looked at the tray.

  Clear vials.

  No difference between them.

  He walked forward slowly.

  Cherry whispered, “Mio, don’t.”

  He picked up one vial.

  Turned it between his fingers.

  “Some questions,” he said quietly, “aren’t worth answering.”

  And drank.

  The room froze.

  He swallowed.

  One second.

  Two.

  Three.

  Cherry grabbed his arm.

  “Mio—”

  He coughed.

  Hard.

  Bent forward.

  The class held its breath.

  The screen flickered.

  Then—

  SAFE.

  Mio exhaled.

  A weak laugh left his mouth.

  Cherry shoved him lightly.

  “You’re insane.”

  Fina’s head tilted further.

  The screen updated.

  Emotional instability reduces efficiency.

  Cherry stepped back immediately.

  The room fell silent again.

  ?

  PLAYER 19. DRAW.

  Satori stood.

  Hands trembling.

  He pulled a slip.

  Unfolded it.

  Read it twice.

  “Player 04.”

  Yuri met his gaze calmly.

  Satori swallowed.

  The question:

  “Who do you believe is lying about their paper?”

  The room stiffened.

  Yuri’s eyes didn’t move.

  Satori hesitated.

  “Just answer,” Mizhang muttered.

  Satori looked around.

  At the blood on the floor.

  At Fina.

  At the tray.

  “I don’t think anyone is,” he said quickly. “I think we’re all telling the truth.”

  The screen flickered.

  Paused.

  RESPONSE INVALID.

  Satori blinked. “What? I answered.”

  Fina stepped forward.

  Crowbar resting loosely in her hand.

  He backed up slightly.

  “I told the truth—”

  She swung.

  The lights cut out.

  A dull impact.

  A short, strangled sound.

  Silence.

  The lights returned.

  Satori’s desk was empty.

  A fresh line of blood stretched across the tile.

  Under the door.

  PLAYER 19 REMOVED.

  No one screamed.

  No one moved.

  Fina returned to the desk.

  Set the crowbar down.

  Tilted her head.

  Watching.

  ?

  PLAYER 14. DRAW.

  The girl Mizhang had slapped earlier stood slowly.

  She reached into the box.

  Pulled a slip.

  Unfolded it.

  Her hands shook.

  “It says… Player 12.”

  Ayato stood again.

  She read:

  “What did you notice about her?”

  The room shifted.

  Ayato didn’t look at anyone else.

  He looked at Fina.

  “Her shoes,” he said evenly. “They’re both left.”

  A few students glanced down.

  Fina looked at her feet.

  Then back at him.

  “I lost the other one.”

  Cherry let out a shaky laugh.

  “It’s dark. Maybe she grabbed the wrong pair.”

  Fina did not respond.

  The screen flickered.

  RESPONSE ACCEPTED.

  She picked up the red box.

  Shook it once more.

  Then stepped back toward the door.

  Paused.

  Her head tilted slightly.

  Observing.

  Then she exited.

  The door closed softly.

  The screen remained lit.

  GAME TWO CONTINUES.

  No one rushed to draw.

  No one wanted to be next.

  Ayato’s eyes moved slowly across the room.

  Across the desks.

  Across the blood.

  And then—

  Near the back.

  A pair of loafers.

  Same brand.

  Same scuff mark near the toe.

  Both curved inward.

  Two left.

  The student noticed him staring.

  Shrugged casually.

  “I lost the other one.”

  Exact words.

  Ayato didn’t react.

  But something cold settled in his chest.

  The mimic wasn’t improvising.

  It was learning.

  The screen flickered once more.

  Emotional instability reduces efficiency.

  The tray of vials gleamed under the classroom lights.

  No one moved.

  Game Two was not finished.

  And neither was the learning.