The sound of shattering glass echoed long after the mirror stopped breaking.
Shards glittered across the marble floor like tiny, dying stars. The cracked reflection of the group stared back at them — a hundred distorted versions of the same fear.
Then Grimm's voice rolled through the walls, smooth, theatrical, merciless.
"Trial Four: The Puppet's Shadow — now begins. The rule remains the same: find the one who lost their reflection. Fail, and the curtain closes on your tongues."
The chandeliers above flared crimson. The door behind them sealed shut with a heavy thud.
Mina whimpered softly. "We're trapped again…"
Ms. Kaori held her candle close, her lips trembling. "Stay calm. Just—try to stay calm, please."
Sayaka laughed, the sound raw and frayed. "Stay calm? Did you see that thing? It smiled at us!"
Yume turned toward her, anger breaking through her fear. "We all saw it. Yelling won't help!"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Sayaka snapped back. "Should I whisper next time while our reflections crawl out of the walls?"
Reina clapped slowly, her smile sharp as glass. "Keep fighting. He loves that."
"Indeed I do," Grimm replied instantly, amused. "Do carry on. Every argument feeds the stage."
The mirror flickered. Their reflections blinked — not all at once, but in staggered rhythm. It was like the glass was alive, learning their movements, memorizing their fears.
Toru felt his pulse pound against his ribs. "Everyone, stop moving."
They froze.
Their reflections didn't.
One by one, the mirrored versions began to move on their own — slow, jerky gestures, as though they were puppets suspended by invisible strings.
Sayaka's reflection tilted its head back, grinning too wide. Mina's reflection turned its eyes completely black. Ms. Kaori's reflection pressed a hand against the inside of the glass, fingers leaving a trail of blood that wasn't there in the real world.
Ayaka stood still, her candle flickering in her shaking hands.
Yume whispered, "We're being watched."
Reina smirked. "Correction — we're being directed."
Grimm chuckled through the speaker.
"Very good. Observation is the first step toward enlightenment. Now… let's play."
The room shifted. The mirrors on the walls began to rotate, rearranging themselves like gears in a clock. The group found themselves standing in a ring of infinite reflections — each of their faces repeating endlessly, except for one.
Reina's reflection vanished.
"Where—where is it?" Mina gasped.
Reina turned in place, spinning toward the nearest mirror. Her reflection didn't appear anywhere.
Sayaka pointed at her, eyes wide. "See?! I told you—it's her! She's the one without a reflection!"
"That doesn't prove anything!" Yume shouted back.
"It proves enough!" Sayaka snapped, stepping forward. "Her portrait. The shadow. Now the missing reflection. How much more do you need?"
Reina didn't flinch. Her expression was calm, even smug. "If I were the puppet, wouldn't I be acting more suspiciously?"
"You're always suspicious!"
Toru's voice cut through the chaos. "Stop!"
Everyone turned toward him.
He gestured to the mirrors. "Look closer."
Their eyes darted from one reflection to the next. Reina's was gone, yes—but Ayaka's was late.
Her reflection lagged behind her every movement by a heartbeat, almost unnoticeable unless you watched closely. When she turned, it followed — slow, hesitant.
Ms. Kaori's candle flickered. "Ayaka…? Are you all right?"
Ayaka's breath hitched. "I-I'm fine."
"Your reflection…" Yume whispered.
Ayaka turned toward the mirror — and saw it smile again, independent of her.
Her knees buckled. "No…"
The glass trembled. The smiling version of her pressed its hands against the inside of the mirror. Hairline cracks spread outward from its fingertips.
Grimm's laughter filled the chamber.
"Oh, I do adore confusion. It's such a versatile instrument."
Reina folded her arms. "So what now, ringleader? You want us to vote again?"
"But of course," Grimm purred. "After all… democracy is the purest form of despair."
The lights dimmed. The floor beneath them lit up with crimson rings — one for each of them, just like before.
Sayaka's breath quickened. "No… not again…"
"You know the rules. Each of you will cast a vote. Choose who among you carries the puppet's mark. The majority decides the execution. The house will handle the rest."
Yume grabbed Toru's wrist. "We can't… we can't do this again. We can't just guess."
Toru stared at the reflection of Ayaka in the mirror — still smiling, still staring. "Then we find proof before we vote."
Grimm's tone shifted, low and sing-song.
"Tick-tock, my little actors. The curtain falls at midnight."
The mirrors pulsed once, like a heartbeat.
Ayaka's reflection tilted its head slowly, its smile stretching wider, until the sound of cracking glass filled the room again.
The sound of the ticking filled every corner of the room.
Soft, steady, maddening.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
It was coming from inside the walls, echoing like the mansion's heartbeat. Every second that passed stretched longer than the last.
No one moved.
The shattered mirrors reflected fragments of faces — mouths open, eyes wide, candles trembling. And somewhere among all those reflections, one smiled back when no one did.
Ayaka.
Her reflection stared straight at her, its grin too wide, too knowing.
Yume's whisper trembled in the dark. "We can't do this again… Toru, please, say something."
But Toru didn't. He couldn't. His throat had gone dry, his mind spinning with the impossible image before him — two Ayakas, one trembling and one smiling through broken glass.