The man who had been clapping stepped into the light. He was tall, lean, wearing a black coat with silver etchings that seemed to shift if you looked at them too long.
Akira tensed. "Who are you?"
He smiled, but his eyes stayed cold. "Names don't matter. Only results."
The stranger beside her muttered, "I'm already hating this guy."
A low hum filled the control room. The screens around them flickered, switching from arena footage to a single live feed—an overhead view of a massive labyrinth. The walls shifted and twisted on their own, like the maze was alive.
"You'll enter the maze," the man said. "You'll have one hour to reach the center. Fail… and the maze will keep you."
Akira's eyes narrowed. "And what's at the center?"
He smiled wider. "Not what you expect."
The floor beneath them jolted. Panels split apart, dropping them into darkness. They landed hard—inside the maze.
It was silent. Too silent.
They started moving, the narrow corridors forcing them shoulder to shoulder. Every corner looked the same—until Akira spotted a faint glow ahead. She rushed toward it… and froze.
It wasn't a light.
It was herself.
A perfect copy of Akira stood there, smirking. The duplicate spoke first. "I'm the reason you'll never make it to the center. Because I already did."
Before Akira could react, the copy blurred forward, matching her moves exactly—strike for strike, block for block.
The stranger yelled her name, but something yanked him backward into the shadows, silencing him mid-shout.
Akira spun—but her copy was gone.
Then, over a hidden speaker, the man's voice returned.
"Plot twist, darling… the maze isn't here to test your strength. It's here to decide which version of you gets to leave."