Osu's labyrinth was a nightmare devoid of logic. Walls breathed, ceiling merged with the floor, and space bent, forcing them to return to the starting point. Akira created temporary islands of stability with his "Zone," but they only provided a respite. They were trapped.
"It's endless," Shiori whispered in despair, seeing a familiar crack on a "vanished" wall once more.
"No," Kaede objected, her gaze sliding over the distorted lines of reality. "Everything has a pattern. It's just too complex."
At that moment, Ryūnosuke, striking an illusory wall in rage, fell through it. Instead of the expected impact on stone, he collapsed onto something soft and springy.
The team rushed after him, and the world flipped.
The labyrinth's pressure vanished. They stood in a vast, endless hall. The air was thick with the smell of expensive tobacco, old wood, and something electric. A patterned carpet absorbing sound underfoot. Instead of walls—rows of gaming tables, roulette wheels spinning by themselves, and giant, floating dice that periodically clattered and renewed their faces with a roar. It was a giant, surreal casino built into the colony's chaos.
And in the center of this madness, at a poker table, sat him.
A young man in a dark crimson haori with embroidered golden suits, carelessly thrown over pajamas. His posture was relaxed, one leg propped on the table. He twirled a chip in his hand that would flash with light then turn into a puff of steam. A smug, slightly bored smirk lit his face.
Before him, five reincarnated berserkers thrashed about, their eyes hollow with rage. They charged him.
Jintarō Kobayashi—for it was he—didn't even stir. He merely tossed the chip.
"Kokuro: Roulette of Fate. Black. Misfortune."
The space around the berserkers trembled. The first one slipped on a suddenly appearing banana peel and crashed; his axe ricocheted and plunged into the second one's back. The third, swinging his sword, accidentally sneezed so hard he broke his own neck. The fourth and fifth collided heads, knocking each other out.
In a few seconds, only a heap of helplessly twitching bodies remained of the threat.
Jintarō yawned as if he'd just woken up. His gaze slid over the team, stopping on Akira. In his eyes, the color of dark honey, genuine, greedy interest flared, like a collector spotting a rare specimen.
"O-ho-hoi," he drawled, his voice velvety and mocking. "What interesting chips have wandered into my hall." He pointed the chip at Akira. "Especially this one. There's not a single Scar on you. Not one. How do you do it? Cheating?"
"We're just looking for a way out," Kaede said firmly, taking a defensive stance.
"An exit?" Jintarō laughed. "Sweetheart, you're in the biggest casino in the world. You don't 'exit' from here. Here, you either win or lose everything." He looked them all over. "But you're in luck. I'm on a roll today. Let's play. Pass my test—I'll guide you through this boring labyrinth. Lose... well, you'll become part of the décor. You don't mind talking dice as couch cushions, do you?"
At that moment, right above his head, a giant, glowing symbol flashed and flickered—a crossed-out eye. The "Hunter's Mark."
Jintarō raised his eyebrows, looked up, and... laughed. It wasn't hysterical laughter, but joyful, full of excitement.
"Ha-ha! Finally! The stakes have risen! Now the game will get truly interesting!"
He looked at the team again, his gaze appraising.
"Your... energy. Strict, drilled. Smells of mothballs and old scrolls." He snapped his fingers. "You're from 'Tenran'! Seriously?"
"Yes," Ryūnosuke threw out shortly.
"Well, well..." Jintarō leaned back in his chair, looking at them with renewed interest. "So old man Reiden still reigns there? Playing the infallible idol?"
He didn't wait for an answer, as if a dam broke.
"Me, by the way, I was his personal student. The golden boy. Until I got bored." His smirk widened. "I remember, at the 'Heavenly Limit Festival,' a couple of heirs from the 'great' clans hit on me. Noses in the air, started lecturing me, imposing their rotten rules." He snorted contemptuously. "Windbags hiding behind their ancestors' titles. I just... visually explained to them the difference between a title and real power. Sent them to count stars with dislocated jaws."
Shiori looked at him in horror. Kaede kept a cold mask. Ryūnosuke clenched his fists.
"And what?" Akira asked, his quiet voice sounding unexpectedly loud. "Were you punished?"
"Suspended," Jintarō waved his hand as if swatting a fly. "And Reiden-sensei..." he paused, and for a moment, not pain but bitter disappointment flickered in his eyes, "...he didn't even think of intervening. Preferred not to soil his white robes defending a 'troublemaker.' Apparently, his perfect order was more important than a student."
He stood up, his figure suddenly seeming larger.
"So your academy, your rules..." he tossed a chip on the table, and it exploded with a mini-fireworks crack, "...for me, they're just a boring old game I don't play anymore. But this..." he pointed at the "Mark" above his head, "...this—this is for real. So, decide. Will you play with me? Or would you rather be found by those who come for my head?"