Through careful deduction, Takakai, Kaguya, and Maki had pieced together a rough timeline of the Shirakawa Apartments' descent into horror.
The earliest phase was when the apartment was still normal—or at least, when its abnormalities hadn't yet drawn outside attention. Back then, it was just another aging complex, connected to the real world.
The most direct evidence of this was the newspaper article about the government evacuating residents during the flood. The moment the apartments turned into something wrong happened during that evacuation—specifically, when rescuers tried to evacuate the occupants of Room 304. Something terrible occurred, twisting the building into a cursed space that now dragged people in from all over the world.
304 was the origin of it all.
Takakai couldn't say for sure who had lived there, but his best guess was a family—a couple with at least one child, likely a very young girl. And judging by the clues… she might have suffered horrific abuse. Scalding water. Burns.
"Children are the apartment's taboo."
Maybe that taboo was the child of 304.
Many of the rescuers who had come to evacuate the building never made it out. They were trapped on the first floor, becoming part of the apartment itself. Now, they seemed to have lost most of their humanity, retaining only fragments of instinct and intelligence.
That was why, when Takakai explored the first floor earlier, he hadn't been attacked—because his actions mirrored those of the original evacuees. But the moment he tried to return, the remnants of the rescuers manifested, blocking his path. The wall of bodies in the dark, the final whispered exchange—they were trying to stop him from going back upstairs.
However, the apartment's anomalies required interaction to take effect. Since Takakai had never encountered that specific scenario before, he'd been caught off guard. But now that he knew what to expect, getting back wouldn't be so easy.
Not that he planned to return.
The first floor held the key to the apartment's transformation. To find a way out, they had to explore it thoroughly—whether that meant investigating Room 109, where Sanchez had lived, or uncovering whatever lurked in the hallway.
If things went south, he could tug the rope for a time rewind. If that failed… well, he still had 11 save files left.
He was prepared to gamble his life for answers.
The sound of flowing water echoed as Takakai reached the hallway near the entrance.
But something nagged at him.
109 and 304—these rooms held the apartment's darkest secrets. But would uncovering them really lead to an escape?
The four cryptic phrases echoed in his mind:
"The words of those before hide the path to survival."
"The door that restarts leads to hope."
"What is precious lies within the dust."
"The secret hides where you must never go."
The first one was clear enough—previous survivors' notes (like the rules and supply caches) had saved them multiple times. Without the message left after turning the clock in 206, they'd have wasted precious time.
But the others? No clues yet.
As for the last line… 304 was the obvious answer. But Sanchez had opened its door twice—the first time without consequence, the second time triggering the apartment's corruption.
Maybe the door itself wasn't the true taboo. Maybe something inside 304—a hidden spot, a secret—was the real key.
Problem is, the third floor's a goddamn nightmare right now.
Like something out of The Evil Within, with its warped geometry and shifting corridors. Searching for clues there was near-impossible.
And then there was the bigger question:
Was the unknown voice's guidance even trustworthy?
This place was called the Sacrifice Game, after all. Takakai doubted a normal "infinite flow" scenario would have such a name.
The water sloshed as Takakai reached the wall opposite Room 106.
He moved steadily, despite the darkness and the knee-deep water.
Because someone was guiding him.
A hand on his shoulder, leading him forward.
No—multiple hands.
Though he couldn't see them, he felt them—figures surrounding him, walking with him in the dark.
As long as he kept moving, they did too.
But if he deviated—if he tried to enter 109 instead of heading for the exit—their behavior might change.
Time to test a theory.
Takakai pulled out the rescue team badge he'd taken earlier. Before leaving, he'd asked Sun Dajun to fashion it into a makeshift pin. Now, he fastened it to his shirt.
The footsteps around him stopped.
The guiding hands vanished.
Did the badge fool them?
Quickening his pace, Takakai ran his fingers along the wall until he found what he was looking for.
Room 109.
He gripped the doorknob.
Click.
Locked.
…Well, shit.
Takakai wasn't a locksmith. The only people in their group who might have picked it were Sun Dajun (too physically weak for this mission) and Green (who'd probably piss himself the moment he stepped foot downstairs).
His heartbeat quickened.
The air grew colder.
He could feel the unseen figures watching him, their gazes piercing through his flimsy disguise.
A frigid breath brushed the back of his neck.
What now?
One tug on the rope, and Kaguya would rewind time.
Even if that failed, he could load a save.
But hesitation wouldn't solve anything.
Takakai exhaled slowly.
The apartment's anomalies required interaction to act. But what if—
What if he interacteddeliberately?
His willpower seemed stronger than most. The anomalies followed certain rules—like the knocking entity's relentless attempts to coax people into opening doors, or the way the "identity-stealing" presence treated him as part of the apartment.
So what were the rescuers' rules?
They hadn't hindered him when he left the apartment earlier—in fact, they'd helped. So maybe—
"Resident of 109, please open the door! The flood's coming—we need to evacuate!"
Takakai slammed his fist against the door, shouting with all his might.
"The water's already inside! It's not safe—please, open up!"
His acting was terrible. But it didn't matter.
Because the moment he spoke, other voices joined in.
"109's locked—no response! The next flood surge is coming—we have to get them out!"
"I thought the first floor was cleared! Doesn't matter—we're breaking it down!"
"Comms are down! Screw protocol—get the ram!"
Though the darkness remained, Takakai could hear them—dozens of rescuers, shouting, moving through the water.
No—he could see them now.
A sharp pain flared in his left wrist (the one wearing the watch).
The badge on his chest grew warm.
And then—
Images flashed before his eyes.
Young faces. Early twenties, full of determination.
"The flood's hit early—Shirakawa Apartments isn't fully evacuated! Nearest team, move out!"
"Copy that! Squads 1, 2, and 3—cover floors 1, 2, and 3! Go, go, go!"
Figures waded through murky water, rushing into the building.
Door after door. Person after person.
Takakai realized he was seeing through the eyes of the badge's original owner—reliving the past.
"Sir, I'll carry you—easy does it, we're almost out."
"Hey, kid, don't be scared. The boats are right outside—you're safe now."
"Life vests on! Stay close—we've got you!"
The water rose rapidly, nearly knocking people off their feet.
But the rescuers pressed on, guiding residents to safety.
And then—
Takakai saw him.
The squad leader, reaching for an elderly man.
"Take my hand."
"I'll get you out."
As the man turned, Takakai saw his face—
And froze.
That voice…
Even distorted by time and memory, he recognized it.
Xusheng.
The man from the clock's illusion.
Was he the rescue team leader that day?
Had he witnessed the moment the apartment turned?
Before Takakai could process this, Room 109's door burst open.
A force shoved him forward—
And he tumbled into the room's hallway, the door slamming shut behind him.
The overhead light flickered.
Takakai stood, staring down the dry, decaying corridor of 109.
Alone.
For now.