Even after an hour passed, Kaguya still hadn't triggered the wall clock to start the rewind.
There was no way to know what was happening on her end.
The near-tormenting wait brought no result; the room was still the same, the silence still just as heavy and absolute.
It was already night now, and neither Takumi nor Maki dared to step outside and explore.
So after briefly exchanging what little they knew, the two simply sat down against the wall, about one meter apart, quietly waiting for that uncertain moment when the rewind would arrive.
A minute, two minutes…
They turned off the only small desk lamp in the room, and in the darkness, where only silence existed, the two of them just sat there quietly.
They had already searched the apartment earlier.
The results—no abnormalities in the living room or kitchen, no corpses or anything of the sort.
But this place also had a rule sheet and a supply box, so both of them ate a few compressed biscuits, temporarily easing their hunger.
As for checking the corridor beyond the living room door—Takumi discovered the door had been locked from the outside.
There was no way to open it, so all they could do was stay put.
Darkness.
Silence.
In that motionless waiting, Takumi could feel every muscle in his body tensed to its limit, his nerves strung so tight it felt like they might snap at any second.
Yet even so, he didn't dare turn on the light, didn't dare speak, didn't dare close his eyes to rest—he just kept sitting there.
That outdated, now-irrelevant rule sheet had emphasized the dangers of nighttime: after 9 p.m., never turn on the lights, never speak, never make a sound—do everything possible to stay quiet, to make the place seem like an empty, uninhabited room.
Understanding that the abnormality within Shirakawa Apartments had worsened from a once-stable state under some external influence, Takumi was certain that the "safe zones" mentioned in the rule sheet were probably no longer safe, while the places labeled "dangerous" were surely still dangerous—perhaps even more than before.
Thus, neither Maki nor Takumi moved. They simply stayed where they were, silently waiting—waiting for Kaguya to trigger the rewind, or… waiting for dawn to come, for that still-uncertain morning.
Maybe they wouldn't even make it through the night.
That thought slipped quietly through Takumi's mind.
Still, they'd gathered plenty of conclusions by now.
For instance, after hearing Maki describe the strange blood-red writing she'd seen in those records, Takumi could basically confirm that the current abnormalities in Shirakawa Apartments—the horror stories themselves—relied on one crucial medium to take effect: information exchange.
This interaction could take place through vision, hearing, thought, or other sensory channels. For instance, the "Three Knocks Curse" had nearly wiped them out through auditory interaction, while Maki's anomaly was triggered by textual interaction. Compared to direct sensory exchanges, anomalies caused by written interaction were a level weaker in effect—hence why Maki hadn't been killed on the spot and had remained conscious until now. Still, considering that she had dragged Takumi into being trapped with her in this unknown, haunted place, how long she could stay alive remained uncertain.
However, if even written interaction could produce such effects, then Kyosei—who had been clearly recorded by the previous generation of survivors as already dead, theoretically having turned into a monster alongside "Fridge Guy" and "Under-the-Bed Guy"—had left behind so many rule sheets and supply boxes, and had even somehow altered the layout of every room in Shirakawa Apartments. In theory, their group should have interacted with Kyosei's traces quite frequently by now. So why hadn't Kyosei come to harm them?
Could it be that the man hadn't actually died? That he still retained his own will—and thus refused to harm others?
Or perhaps, before dying, he'd arranged something to ensure he wouldn't hurt anyone after death?
'Thinking of it that way, that wall-mounted clock might also have been designed by him. After all, once I moved its hands, I gained the ability to see others doing the same, and my senses underwent some kind of abnormal change—allowing me even to see Kyosei's final message before his death. So, in this now-completely-runaway Shirakawa Apartments, could that man—who had once, through sheer strength, organized all the survivors—really have vanished without a trace, unable to act again?'
Takumi thought about many things.
But as he did, he silently exhaled, stopping his wandering thoughts.
He was trapped here now.
If he couldn't survive, then all the clues he'd gathered would be meaningless.
How pathetic.
This feeling of struggling just to survive—how utterly pathetic.
Couldn't he at least become some kind of cool, heroic figure instead?
As he was thinking that, Takumi suddenly heard a faint, almost imperceptible sound beside him.
It came from Maki's direction.
What was she doing?
Instinctively, Takumi grew alert—but then realized that if Maki had really turned into something terrifying, there was nowhere to hide in this cramped little room anyway. So he stayed still, silent, letting her do as she wished.
Then he felt Maki quietly move closer to him, sitting down beside him until their shoulders and arms occasionally brushed—no more than three centimeters apart.
A finger rested on the back of his hand and began to write:
[In such darkness, sitting too far apart makes it hard to notice if anything's wrong with each other. You must be feeling nervous too, right? Don't worry—this lady will protect you. With me here, everything will be fine.]
Although she was writing in Japanese, Takumi—thanks to his language plug-in—could easily understand what she meant.
He got it. Maki was afraid of staying alone in this dead-silent darkness, so she'd come to his side. And because the rules demanded total silence at night, she was using her fingertip to write as a way to communicate.
Having read the original story and knowing the characters' personalities was indeed a huge advantage—if it had been someone who couldn't understand Maki's subtext, they might've just thought she was an annoying girl.
Thinking that, Takumi suddenly felt a mischievous urge. He caught Maki's hand and placed his own index finger on the back of it.
Soft. Warm. The kind of well-kept hand only a young girl would have.
He could feel her slight trembling—his sudden action must have startled her a bit, making the already timid girl rather nervous.
'Come to think of it, isn't this the first time I've ever held a girl's hand in my life?'
'Crap—why am I suddenly thinking that being like Kira Yoshikage doesn't sound so bad…'
While that thought flashed through his mind, Takumi began tracing words with his finger on Shijō Maki's hand.
[According to horror movie logic, in a moment you'll realize I've only got one hand left—you've been interacting with a severed hand all along.]
The moment he smoothly finished writing that, Takumi clearly felt Maki's hand go rigid, even trembling a little.
Several minutes passed before he heard her take a deep breath. Then, pressing her hand firmly against the back of his, she quickly wrote with her fingertip:
[That joke isn't funny at all. Go polish your emotional intelligence, you idiot!!!]
The three exclamation marks she carved onto his hand were so forceful it felt like she was about to slice it open—enough to show just how angry the usually composed Shijō Maki was at that moment.
[Sorry. I was actually worried you might've really lost a hand. I'm kinda scared myself right now.]
Barely holding back a laugh, Takumi wrote again on Maki's hand:
[Hmph, well, you're just an ordinary commoner, after all. Being scared in a situation like this is perfectly natural.]
Even without seeing her face, Takumi could easily imagine Shijō Maki tilting her head slightly upward with that proud, haughty look of hers.
At a time like this, she still insisted on maintaining that air of arrogance—didn't this girl ever get tired of pretending?
As Takumi thought that, Maki continued writing.
[Don't worry, I'll protect you properly. I'm a proud member of the Shijō family's new generation of geniuses—I'm not about to hide behind someone else just because of some "rule-based horror."]
[Besides, I can tell you're actually pretty capable. Maybe not the brightest in normal situations, but the more dangerous it gets, the quicker you react. You might even be stronger than me or my Oba-san. Well—if you trained more, that is. You're really not all that sturdy right now.]
[Anyway, don't be afraid, okay? Even I, a girl, haven't been scared. Don't go being less brave than me. Of course, if you're really terrified and want a hug, I might make an exception just this once.]
At the end, the girl lightly patted the back of Takumi's hand, then simply placed her palm over it.
Her hand was much smaller than his—soft and smooth—her fingers slipping gently between his, bringing with them a faint warmth and fluttering pulse in the dark.
Takumi didn't speak or move.
Embarrassingly enough, even though he couldn't see her face in the pitch black, having a real, beautiful girl comforting him so gently made his heart beat faster.
He wanted to shake his leg, scratch his cheek, or run a hand through his hair—yet his body had gone completely stiff, unable to move at all.