Time was accelerating.
Outside the window, most of the boards nailed shut, only a few thin beams of light seeped through—and even those lights were changing rapidly.
The once-bright room was darkening bit by bit.
A damp, rotten-wood stench spread through the air.
And the clock they had taken from the corridor—its hands kept moving forward, and forward still—approaching six, then seven, then eight, and inching toward nine.
Takumi fell to the floor.
[Bzzzz—]
A piercing noise filled his skull; everything around him blurred in a dizzy haze.
He seemed to see… something.
The Black guy—who had still looked perfectly normal when they'd parted ways—was now lying on the floor, his eyes vacant, his face covered in blood. Like a puppet, his trembling hand clutched the hour hand of the wall clock, forcing it forward little by little.
Beside him, Tanaka stood expressionless, holding something that looked like a necklace in his hand, simply watching everything unfold.
[Click—]
[Click—crack crack—]
Tiny fractures began to spread across the surface of the wall clock in the Black man's hand.
And his body, too, started to split open with countless fissures, oozing more blood.
At last, the clock's hand could no longer move even a fraction.
And the Black man lying on the ground had become nothing but a decaying heap of flesh, his original form completely unrecognizable.
"So, turning the hands brings the curse down on you? Turning them clockwise seems to cause more severe damage than counterclockwise."
"And even when forced, it can only turn up to about nine o'clock. Looks like it can't go past that time."
"Alright, that gives me a rough grasp of its limits and function. Next is figuring out how to find Room 109."
Tanaka muttered under his breath.
His voice was low—suppressed—like he was deliberately avoiding being noticed by someone.
But even so, Takumi could still clearly hear what he was saying.
109?
Why did he want to find 109?
Was there something special about that room?
[Bzzzz—]
The dizzying, ear-piercing noise grew louder.
The scene before him twisted, blurring out of focus.
Takumi thought that next he would either regain consciousness, or die, or face some even crueler fate.
But instead, an unbearable pain tore through his left hand—like someone was sawing it off with a dull blade, halfway through already, the flesh slowly peeling apart.
He wanted to scream.
Yet he realized that aside from his left hand, he could no longer feel anything.
It was as if his entire body had vanished.
Only that left hand—still somehow there—throbbed with agonizing pain.
[Bzzzz—]
The shrill sound rang out again, then abruptly faded.
And then, he heard a voice.
[I am Kyosei…]
It was a distorted human voice, full of static, like a jammed tape in an old projector.
[So it's come to this, after all…]
[I knew there would always be someone unwilling to accept their fate—someone who'd try to change it, even if it meant doing something irrational…]
[I did everything I could. I gathered 18 survivors. I led them to explore every room outside of 304, left behind supplies and rule sheets, did everything possible to help those trapped here with no escape.]
[At our peak, we reached 26 people—almost every room filled.]
[But destruction is always easier than creation. It took only one person's actions—just a few who followed—and everything collapsed, all effort undone, back to square one. No… worse than square one. From here on, things will only grow worse. There will be no recovery.]
[For that, my conscience is clear. I did my best. Maybe I wasn't ruthless enough—couldn't bring myself to kill when needed—but I never harmed anyone. From the moment I was trapped here, everything I did was to save, to help. That was my choice. I walked this path to the end. So even if I die, I can rest in peace.]
Was this… his final testimony?
That voice was calm—so calm it sounded like two acquaintances meeting by chance under the afternoon sun, greeting each other casually.
[But for the sake of those who may come after, I have to leave something behind.]
[In the end, I caught a glimpse of part of the truth—and came into contact with things that never should've been touched. Before my existence vanished, I changed the layout of every single room.]
[Lock the front door. Close the living room door. Put on earplugs—and, if needed, a mask to block out snoring. That way, you can safely make it through the night, as long as you stay in the room you first woke up in. Otherwise, it all depends on luck.]
[If you can hear this message, it means you've touched the wall clock—and it also means your spirit is strong enough. Maybe you can still accomplish something. Not for anyone else—just to save your own life.]
[Go to Room 206. Go down through the crack in its floor—that's the only normal way to reach the 1st floor. Don't use the stairs; they all only lead to the 3rd floor.]
[Room 109 holds all the records. Find 109, and you'll understand what really happened here.]
[After that, what choice you make—it's up to you.]
The final words felt as if they were whispered directly into his ear.
Takumi finally opened his eyes.
The wall clock now showed 8:50.
Outside, the sky had gone completely dark; the living room was pitch-black except for the faint light of the lighter in Kaguya's hand.
Within that dim glow, Takumi saw Maki crouched on the floor clutching her forehead—and from the darkness surrounding her, countless indistinct, shadow-like arms were stretching out, as if to drag the girl away.
"Hey—"
The jumble of noises in his head hadn't fully subsided yet.
His stiff body had just regained mobility.
Hesitating for less than a second between staying put and lending a hand, Takumi—who was closer—reached out toward Maki.
He reached for the backpack she was carrying, the one containing the two wall clocks.
Maki, seemingly in a daze, didn't react at all—she just let Takumi unfasten the straps and take the pack from her back.
Without a moment's hesitation, Takumi turned and hurled the backpack toward Kaguya.
He was sorry for not choosing to save her—but if Maki's current condition was caused by the power of the haunting, then she was most likely beyond saving. In contrast, the wall clocks—the tools capable of turning back time—were far more important, vital to survival. They absolutely had to be preserved!
The next instant, Takumi felt an icy touch.
Those indistinct arms had seized him as well.
"Quick—"
Before he could even finish saying the words "turn the clock," Takumi, along with Maki, was dragged down into the pitch-black floor.
Just before his vision was swallowed by darkness, Takumi thought he heard the faint laughter of a child.
[Thud!]
With a dull crash, he hit the ground hard—only for Maki's petite body to land squarely across his stomach a heartbeat later.
In that instant, it felt as though all his internal organs were about to be squeezed out through his mouth—truly an unforgettable sensation, to say the least.
"Wha—damn it… what the hell just happened…"
He propped Maki up and sat himself up as well.
There was no time to indulge in the soft warmth of a girl in his arms.
Takumi looked around, spotting a small desk lit by a cute little lamp and a room that, overall, looked fairly cozy.
This wasn't Room 208 anymore.
Though the size and layout were roughly similar, this was clearly not the same place.
Takumi stood up, giving the room a quick once-over. It looked like a woman had lived here. Even though the walls, floor, and ceiling all showed the same dirty, worn-out marks that came with being part of this cursed Shirakawa Apartments, the resident had clearly made an effort—covering the walls with cute stickers, setting up various tables and chairs, and decorating the bed in a pink-and-sky-blue fairy-tale style. It seemed like she had tried her best to make the place feel a little more ceremonial, a little more like home.
Unlike the previous rooms, the living room window here had been covered with translucent fabric, letting in the faintest trace of light—though by now, since night had fallen, there was nothing to see outside anyway.
"Ugh… my head hurts… feels like I was forced to go shopping with Nagi and Tsubasa for three days straight—my brain, my heart, my whole body feels ready to collapse… what's going on here? Huh? Where is this?"
Maki let out a pained groan as she sat up from the floor, looking around in confusion.
"Wherever it is, it's probably not a good place. From here on, everything depends on Shinomiya-san."
Feeling a subtle unease in his chest, Takumi forced a dry laugh and glanced around more carefully. Seeing nothing immediately out of place, he allowed himself to relax just a little.
That Tanaka—whatever he was planning, after forcing that Black guy to turn the clock, he no longer had a second expendable pawn to use. And Kaguya's group, at least, had four people; any one of them could turn the clock back and reset everything to the start. Once time was restored, those who retained their memories could respond far more effectively. Even Yamamoto Hiroshi and Maeda Miwa, those two deadweights, should more or less realize the situation by then.
Takumi believed Kaguya was a rational person.
If it were her, she'd already have the clock in hand, acting immediately.
So he simply stayed where he was and waited.
Maki, understanding his intent, gave a faint nod and waited silently as well—for the moment when everything would rewind.
01, 02, 03…
Takumi quietly counted the seconds, counting the slow, torturous passage of time.
598, 599, 600…
But even after he counted a full 10 minutes the rewind still didn't happen.
No way, right?
That was what he wanted to ask.
The rewind never came.
Even after he counted for 20 minutes, nothing happened.
No strange noises, no abnormal sights.
The dim room, lit only by a small desk lamp, remained wrapped in its quiet atmosphere—unchanged, still, as if nothing in the world had moved, shrouding Takumi and Maki within.