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I could feel the coldness of the blade still resting against my throat, a constant reminder that my life was hanging by a thread.

Yagami's twisted grin was still fresh in my mind as I watched E̸v̴̸i̷l̶ G̶̷o̸̶d̴ casually look at the blade on the floor. She didn't seem to be in any rush, just taking her time, her gaze flickering between me and the White Room Student occasionally.

The room was suffocating, every breath I took felt like it could be my last. My pulse was pounding in my ears, but I wasn't about to let myself show fear. That's what Yagami wanted. He wanted me to break, to crumble under the pressure. But I wasn't going to give them that satisfaction.

"You," E̸v̴̸i̷l̶ G̶̷o̸̶d̴'s voice broke the silence, "You're a product of the White Room, aren't you?"

Yagami froze for a moment, the slightest flicker of confusion crossing his face before he quickly masked it with his usual twisted grin. "What are you even talking about? Isn't it obvious?" he said, his tone dismissive, though his eyes betrayed a hint of unease.

E̸v̴̸i̷l̶ G̶̷o̸̶d̴ didn't move, didn't flinch. She just tilted her head slightly, as if she were studying him. "If that's the case, then your task should have been simple: to bring me back."

"So why is it that you're standing here, intending to kill me?"

Yagami's expression shifted. The grin faltered, replaced by something darker—anger, frustration, hatred. He took a step forward, his fingers tightening around the handle of the knife in his hand. For the first time, he looked less like the calculating manipulator he usually was and more like someone barely holding himself together.

"I don't give a damn about their orders," Yagami hissed, his voice low but seething with venom. "Why would I? I don't need to bring you back. I don't need to listen to them." He pointed the blade toward her, his movements jerky and tense. "Do you know why? Because I hate you."

The words came out like a snarl, raw and unfiltered. His calm facade was gone, replaced by something far uglier festering beneath the surface for far too long.

"I hate your existence," he spat. "I hate everything about you. You—standing there, acting like you're unreachable on top like you're above it all. Do you have any idea how sickening it is to see you treated like some kind of masterpiece?" His voice grew louder, more frenzied. "I'll prove them wrong. I'll prove you wrong."

He gestured wildly, the knife gleaming in the dim light. "You think they care about us? About what we represent? No. All they care about is results. And when I show them I'm better—when I show them I'm superior—they'll have no choice but to acknowledge my capability. To acknowledge my strength. Not yours!"

The room felt like it was closing in, his words laced with a mix of ambition and hatred so intense that I could feel the tension crackling in the air, every nerve in my body on edge as I watched the two of them.

"That's what this is about. You think you can prove this by killing me."

Yagami sneered, his lips curling into a deranged grin. "You don't get it, do you? I don't just think I can. I will. I'll end you, and when I do, they'll see that I'm the one who deserves to be on top. Not you."

My stomach churned.

For a moment, E̸v̴̸i̷l̶ G̶̷o̸̶d̴ said nothing, just stared at him with those unreadable eyes. Then, she bent down and picked up the knife he had thrown at her feet. She rose slowly, holding the blade as if it weighed nothing, her movements deliberate and calm.

"You think killing me will change anything?" she asked, her voice soft but firm. "You believe it will give you the validation you're so desperate for? That they'll see you as superior?"

Yagami's grin faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered, his knuckles white as he gripped his knife. "You'll see soon enough,"

"No," she said, "I don't think I will."

"You've been out here for weeks, maybe even days." Her voice was soft, almost conversational, but there was an undertone of something deeper. "You've walked through the outside world—seen it, felt it. And yet…" She paused, her gaze slightly narrowing. "You feel nothing for it?"

Yagami hardened at her words. The fingers gripping his knife twitched, but he didn't respond.

"Not a shred of curiosity?" she continued, her tone turning faintly inquisitive as if she genuinely didn't understand. "You've been free. Away from those walls, from those blank, sterile halls. And it didn't cross your mind to wonder what life is really like out here. To think about the people who live here, their thoughts, their experiences? What it would be like to meet someone—someone your age, someone who isn't just a product of that place?"

Her words were steady, deliberate. She didn't raise her voice, didn't push. But somehow, each sentence seemed to hit Yagami like a blow.

"It was rare," she added, her tone almost wistful now, "for the White Room to allow anyone outside. Even rarer to have any glimpse of what the world beyond those walls could be. And yet, you've been here. You've had that chance." Her eyes glowed just slightly, though her grip on the knife remained firm. "And all you can think about is killing me?"

Yagami's sneer faltered again, though he quickly masked it with a glare. "Spare me your pretentious lecture," he snapped, his voice laced with venom. "Why should I care about any of that? The outside world is meaningless. Its people? Pathetic. All of it—just distractions from what really matters."

He took a step forward, "You think I'd waste my time chasing some pointless fantasy? No. What matters is proving that I'm better. That I'm stronger. That I don't need them, or you or anything else to validate me."

"So that's what you believe," she said, her voice carrying a weight that seemed to press down on the room. "That there's nothing worth seeking. Nothing worth understanding. No reason to even try."

Her words lingered in the silence, and for a moment, I thought I saw something in Yagami's expression—a flicker of doubt, buried deep beneath his rage and arrogance. But if it was there, it disappeared as quickly as it came.

"You don't know anything about me," he snarled, his voice rising. "I don't need to try. I don't need to understand. I'll prove my worth through action, not meaningless belief."

E̷̸v̸̴i̶̛l̴ G̴͠o̷̷d̷ didn't respond immediately. Instead, she raised the knife in her hand, her gaze never leaving his.

"Try me,"

The fight started so fast, it was like blinking and missing the first move entirely. I couldn't follow most of it—their speed, their precision—it was unreal. They weren't just fast; they were methodical, and calculated. Even with my untrained eye, I could tell this wasn't some messy brawl. It was a battle between two forces that had honed themselves into deadly weapons.

Yagami moved in first, his knife slashing upward in a quick, sharp arc aimed directly at her throat. She didn't flinch. Instead, she tilted her head just enough for the blade to miss by what couldn't have been more than a hair. Before I could even process that, her hand darted forward, the edge of her knife aiming for his wrist to disarm him.

He twisted away, narrowly avoiding the counter, his body snapping into motion like a coiled spring. His foot shot out, aiming for her shin to trip her up. She didn't retreat. Instead, she shifted her weight, stepping into his space and deflecting his kick with her knee. Her blade shot forward again, this time toward his ribs, and the sheer precision of it was terrifying.

Yagami spun to the side, the knife grazing his shirt but failing to connect. He countered with a downward slash, his knife arcing toward her shoulder. She leaned back at an impossible angle, the blade slicing through the air just inches from her chest. Her free hand caught the edge of a nearby desk, using it as leverage to pull herself into a spinning kick that aimed directly at his face.

He ducked, barely avoiding the blow, and retaliated with a quick thrust aimed at her abdomen. E̶̷͘v̵̨͜i̷̵͞l̸̸̛ ̶͠G̴̵̨ơ̶̢d̶̵ twisted her body with uncanny grace, letting the blade pass her side as if she'd known exactly where it would land. Her own knife came up in response, slashing toward his exposed forearm.

This time, she made contact. A thin line of red bloomed on his arm, but Yagami didn't falter. If anything, he seemed energized by the hit as he stepped forward, forcing her to retreat into the limited space between two desks.

I couldn't understand how they were moving so fast. Every step they took seemed to be planned three moves ahead. Yagami's strikes were sharp and direct—every one of them aiming for a critical point. He wasn't wasting energy, every slash and thrust was designed to kill.

E̶̸̷v̷̸̛i̷͜͝l̴̢̨ ̷͠G̴̢o̷̸͢d̸̡, on the other hand, moved like water. She wasn't just dodging or parrying; she was redirecting his attacks, using the momentum of his strikes to open him up for her counters. When he thrust his knife toward her side, she caught his wrist with her free hand, twisting it slightly to throw him off balance. Her knife followed instantly, aiming for his neck.

Yagami jerked back just in time, the tip of her blade grazing his collarbone. He hissed, using his momentum to swing a roundhouse kick toward her head. She ducked low, her body folding smoothly beneath the arc of his leg, and in the same motion, she swept her own leg toward his ankle.

He jumped, avoiding the sweep, and lashed out with his knife again, this time at a downward angle toward her shoulder. She spun to the side, the blade missing her by a fraction, and drove her elbow toward his chest. The impact made him stumble, but only for a second before he recovered, his knife slashing horizontally in a wide arc.

She leaned back, the blade passing so close to her face I feared for sure it had hit. Her response was immediate—she lunged forward, her knife aiming for the underside of his jaw. Yagami batted her hand away with his wrist, his knife slicing upward toward her ribs.

In the chaos, a desk splintered as they collided with it, and Yagami used the opportunity to kick it toward her, forcing her to leap back. She landed lightly on her feet, her knife raised, her breathing calm. It was almost eerie how composed she looked as if this wasn't a life-or-death struggle but just another day.

Yagami, on the other hand, was breathing harder, though his smile hadn't faltered. "You're good," he said, his voice edged with something that sounded like both admiration and disdain. "But let's see how long you can keep it up."

He charged again, his movements faster now, more erratic but no less precise. She met him head-on, their knives clashing in a blur of steel. It was a flurry of motion I could barely comprehend, but even with my lack of training, one thing was clear: they weren't fighting like people. They were fighting like machines, programmed for perfection, efficiency, and death.

As the clash of steel echoed through the room, Ichika's voice broke through the cacophony, casual yet teasing. "Hikigaya-senpai~" she said with an amused lilt, her eyes glinting mischievously like she didn't press a knife to my throat. "Isn't it kind of hot? A girl fighting like that for you?"

I couldn't answer her nonsense, even if I wanted to. My eyes were glued to the fight, unable to tear away from the chaos. The sheer brutality of it demanded my full attention.

Yagami pushed forward, his knife slashing and stabbing in a storm of attacks that forced E̶̸̷v̷̸̛i̷͜͝l̴̢̨ ̷͠G̴̢o̷̸͢d̸̡ to give ground. She was fast, her body weaving and twisting like water, avoiding fatal blows by impossibly narrow margins. The confidence she exuded was unsettling. Even when she dodged a strike that came so close I thought her shoulder had been clipped, her expression didn't change—calm, almost detached.

Then it happened.

In a blur of motion, Yagami feinted high but twisted his wrist, aiming low. His blade struck hers with a sharp clang before dislodging it entirely, sending her knife skittering across the floor. She barely had time to recover when his blade sliced toward her side.

I heard the sound before I saw it. The sickening tear of fabric and flesh. Blood welled from her side, staining her shirt, but she didn't scream. She didn't even flinch. Barely a sound escaped her lips, just a faint, sharp inhale.

And that terrified me.

No normal person could take a hit like that without crumbling. No normal person could bleed like that and stay standing, composed. These two… they weren't human. They couldn't be.

E̶̸̷v̷̸͞i̴͠͡l̸̸͟ ̸͡G̷̷͡o̴̷̵d̸̡ took a step back, her hand briefly pressing against her wound to gauge the damage. Yagami pushed forward, his confidence swelling as he pressed his advantage.

But she wasn't done.

Moving faster than I could follow, she sidestepped his next lunge, her hand darting forward to catch his wrist. With a twist and a sharp movement, she sent his knife flying across the room. It clattered against a wall, leaving both of them unarmed.

For a moment, there was silence, the air between them crackling with tension. Then Yagami lunged.

The fight became something entirely different—more savage, more brutal.

Yagami closed the distance, his fists flying in a flurry of blows. His movements were raw power, each punch and kick aiming to crush, not just incapacitate. She met him head-on, her smaller frame using precision and agility to redirect his strikes. She wasn't trying to overpower him; she was trying to outmaneuver him.

But Yagami wasn't just strength. He was cunning. He caught one of her blocks and twisted her arm, slamming her into a desk with enough force to crack the wood. She retaliated instantly, her legs snapping up and catching him in the ribs, forcing him back.

I thought it would end there. It didn't.

Yagami's eyes burned with something almost primal. He lunged forward with a wild swing, but she ducked beneath it, narrowly avoiding the strike. His fist slammed into the nearest desk, and the sound of splintering wood echoed through the classroom. The desk buckled under the sheer force of the blow, cracking as if it were nothing more than paper. The jagged parts crashed to the floor, a testament to the monstrous strength behind his miss.

She didn't back down. She charged him, ducking under his attempt to grab her. Her elbow drove into his chest with a force that made him stagger, but he caught her leg mid-kick, spinning her off balance. She recovered mid-air, twisting like a cat to land on her feet, but Yagami was already on her.

But it wasn't just the brutality that got to me. It was her face.

There was no anger, no fear, no desperation. Just that same, cold detachment. It was like she wasn't really there—like she was watching herself fight from somewhere far away.

Then something shifted.

Her next movement was different. Subtle, but noticeable—a faint change in her rhythm. She didn't just block Yagami's punch; she redirected it with an almost surgical precision, sending his arm into the edge of a desk. The impact jarred him, and for the first time, his attack faltered.

Her stance adjusted, her movements sharper, more deliberate. She wasn't reacting anymore—she was reading him, anticipating his strikes before they even came.

Yagami launched another brutal swing, but she sidestepped it with almost no effort, slipping into his blind spot. Her fist struck the side of his jaw like a whip crack, snapping his head to the side. He stumbled, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.

Yagami came at her again, his strikes as wild as they were powerful. He brought his knee up, aiming for her ribs, but she twisted around it, her palm slamming into his exposed shoulder with a sickening crack. The blow sent him skidding back, his footing unstable.

She pressed forward now, her movements seamless, each strike landing with devastating precision. A kick to his knee forced him down, and her elbow came crashing into his temple, sending him reeling.

It was mesmerizing and terrifying all at once.

Yagami roared, his fury reaching its peak, and lunged at her again, this time more recklessly. But she was ready. She ducked low, slipping under his outstretched arms, and drove her fist into his abdomen. The air rushed out of him in a harsh gasp as he staggered back, clutching his stomach.

I could barely believe what I was seeing. She wasn't just fighting anymore. She was dismantling him.

And yet, through it all, her face remained the same. Like she wasn't fighting for her life but solving a puzzle, each strike another piece falling into place.

Watching her like this, I felt something twist in my chest. It wasn't fear, though that was definitely there. It was something deeper, something heavier.

A sadness I couldn't quite put into words.

But there she was, standing tall and alone, even as the room around them fell apart.

Yagami lay sprawled on the floor, his breaths ragged, chest heaving. He tried to push himself up, arms trembling under the strain. E̶̸̷v̷̸͞i̴͠͡l̸̸͟ ̸͡G̷̷͡o̴̷̵d̸̡ stood over him, her face unreadable, her shadow falling across his battered frame like the weight of his defeat. She tilted her head slightly, her voice cold and even.

"Do you still want to continue?"

For a moment, Yagami's face twisted in rage, his teeth clenched as he forced himself up to one knee. His hands clawed at the floor for support as if his anger alone could will his body back into action. But when he finally got to his feet, it was clear he was barely holding himself together. His legs wobbled, and he stumbled, crashing into the wall behind him. He caught himself on it, his hand pressed against the surface for balance, his expression a mix of fury and despair.

"This isn't fair," he muttered, his voice low and broken. "It's not... fair."

He looked at her, his eyes hollow now, the fire in them all but extinguished. It wasn't anger anymore. It was something far worse—a kind of emptiness, as though the very foundation of his existence had crumbled beneath him.

E̸̷͜v̷̸̛i̸̸͟l̷̨ ̴̸G̶̢̛o̷̸͡d̶̢'s gaze didn't waver. "You were never going to win," she said simply, her tone devoid of malice, as if stating an undeniable fact.

Yagami flinched at her words, but there was no explosion of rage this time. He just stood there, slumped against the wall, staring at the floor as though searching for something that wasn't there.

I finally let out a breath, and the presence of the knife the insane girl held to my throat was released. The tension that had kept me frozen in place dissipated all at once, leaving me lightheaded.

I barely noticed her approach Yagami until she was standing directly in front of him. He looked up at her, his expression weary and defeated.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice hollow and lacking its usual sharpness.

Ichika didn't answer. Instead, she raised her hand and punched him hard across the face. The sound echoed in the quiet classroom.

Yagami's head snapped to the side, and for a moment, he looked genuinely stunned. Then, slowly, he turned back to her, his cheek red and swelling. He looked annoyed, his brows furrowing slightly, but he didn't say a word.

E̸̷͜v̷̸̛i̸̸͟l̷̨ ̴̸G̶̢̛o̷̸͡d̶̢ picked up the knife from the floor, her steps deliberate as she walked toward me. For a moment, I tensed at first but calmed down. Instead, she crouched down and cut through the ropes binding me.

I rubbed my wrists, wincing at the soreness, but before I could move, her hand gently touched my face, her soft fingers brushing against my cheek.

"Are you okay?"

"Oh, just peachy," I muttered, my voice dry and laced with exhaustion. "Getting tied up, having a death threat hanging over my head, and watching a superhuman death match is exactly how I planned to spend my day."

She tilted her head as if genuinely pondering my words, "Good," she said simply as if my sarcasm had reassured her.

E̸̛v̷̵̨į̸͟l̶̛͢ ̷͠G̵̵̛o̷͠͝d̶̨ turned away from me, her gaze settling on Yagami. She walked toward him slowly. He glanced up at her, still leaning heavily against the wall, his expression a mix of exhaustion and bitterness.

"You've spent your whole life chasing my shadow," she said, her voice low but cutting. "All that ambition, all that obsession—to beat me, to take my place. But realize that it shouldn't be the strength. Strength is useless without freedom."

She stopped a few steps away from him, her eyes cold and unwavering.

"White Room never gave you freedom. Not to you, not to me. But now, you have a moment—a brief flicker of time where you're outside of its grasp. Use it. Find something worth holding onto in this world, something more than the need to win or prove yourself. Because once that freedom's gone, you'll never get it back."

Yagami's lips parted to respond, but no words came. He stared at her, his eyes clouded with something unreadable—maybe anger, maybe despair, or maybe the weight of her words finally sinking in.

The room fell into stillness as the door creaked open. The sharp sound of measured footsteps followed, echoing against the cracked pieces of the desks and walls. A tall middle-aged man stepped inside, his posture immaculate, his suit pristine—an unsettling contrast to the chaos around him. His cold, piercing gaze swept across the scene, lingering momentarily on Yagami slumped against the wall before locking onto E̸̛v̷̵̨į̸͟l̶̛͢ ̷͠G̵̵̛o̷͠͝d̶̨.

I didn't know who he was, but everything about him screamed danger. He carried himself like a predator, calm yet coiled with potential violence.

"Yagami," the man said, his voice as icy and precise as his appearance. "I gave you clear instructions. Yet here you are, indulging in... extracurriculars."

The man's gaze flicked to me briefly, then back to E̸̛v̷̵̨į̸͟l̶̛͢ ̷͠G̵̵̛o̷͠͝d̶̨, narrowing as his lips curved into a thin, humorless smile.

"But I see you've managed to fulfill at least part of your objective," he continued, his tone laced with a faint mockery. "You brought her here. That's something, at least."

"And you are?" E̸̛v̷̵̨į̸͟l̶̛͢ ̷͠G̵̵̛o̷͠͝d̶̨ asked.

The man chuckled, a low, mirthless sound. "You don't know me, but I know you," he said, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Shiba Katsunori. Let's just say I'm here to clean up what Yagami couldn't handle."

Yagami stirred at that, his jaw tightening. "I didn't fail—"

"Didn't you?" Shiba interrupted sharply, his tone cutting like a blade. "You were given a task, Yagami. A task that didn't involve nearly getting yourself killed or reducing this classroom to rubble." His gaze swept the destruction around him with an air of disdain before returning to E̶̸̷v̷̸̛i̷͜͝l̴̢̨ ̷͠G̴̢o̷̸͢d̸.

"And yet, despite all your recklessness, you've brought me exactly what I needed. Efficient in your own, sloppy way."

The moment his gaze settled on me, it felt like I'd been marked. My breath hit involuntarily, and a shiver ran down my spine.

"Unnecessary pieces," Shiba repeated, his voice cold, cutting. It wasn't anger but contempt, the kind that didn't even acknowledge you as a person. Like I was just some stain on his otherwise immaculate plan.

His eyes flicked to Yagami again.

"You didn't just bungle this mission with your theatrics," he said, his tone growing sharper, "but you failed to bring the younger Hikigaya. That was part of the task, was it not?"

Yagami's expression darkened, his lips twitching as though searching for an excuse that wouldn't sound hollow under the man's glare.

Before he could say a word, Shiba continued, "Doesn't matter now. Plans have changed." His voice was curt like he didn't have time for this conversation. "That bastard Sakayanagi's finally woken from his coma. We need to move. Now."

Yagami frowned, clearly caught off guard. "Sakayanagi? What do you—"

"Silence," Shiba snapped, his gaze icy. "The details don't concern you. What matters is we leave immediately."

There was a beat of silence, the weight of his words sinking into the room like a stone dropped in water. Then his eyes slid back to me, lingering for a moment too long.

"But first...

His scowl returned, but this time, it was something darker.

...we clean up loose ends."

The shift happened faster than I could comprehend. One second, he was standing there, cold and calculating, and the next, his hand was already moving, disappearing into his jacket. There wasn't even time to process it. No time to think, to react, to do anything. His arm came back up in a blur, and then I saw it—a gun, sleek, black, lethal.

The barrel was pointed at me.

The world didn't slow down. It sped up. My pulse hammered in my ears, drowning out everything else. My breath hitched, caught halfway in my throat like a noose tightening. My brain screamed at me to move, but my body wouldn't respond.

There was no time. No build-up. No dramatic pause. He didn't hesitate. His finger shifted toward the trigger, smooth and practiced like he'd done this a thousand times before. The sharp click of the safety disengaging sliced through the air, loud and final.

Move. My mind screamed it, but my body remained frozen.

Move!

It happened so fast that my eyes couldn't track it, a streak of motion faster than thought. Yagami moved. I saw the flash of steel leaving his hand, the knife spinning through the air with deadly precision. It struck Shiba, embedding itself deep into his neck.

A spray of crimson erupted, and for a second, Shiba's body shook.

But it was too late.

BANG.

The sound shattered everything. It was deafening, consuming, the force of it vibrating through my ears.

And then, something blurred.

I didn't feel pain. I didn't feel anything.

The world spun around me, chaotic and blurred, until I felt something—a weight pressing against my chest.

It wasn't the sharp, searing pain I expected. It was... warm, light, and trembling a bit. My eyes darted downward, my heart pounding.

E̴̢̛͡v̶̷̢͘i̷̸̡̛͠l̷̴̛͘͠ ̸̛͘G̴͘͝o̴͢͠d̴̸̢͡.

What? Why?

Then I saw it. The dark stain spread across her side. Blood. A lot of it. A hole punched clean through her, just below her ribs.

A soft grunt escaped her lips—quiet, strained, almost like she was holding something back.

No. No, no, no. This can't be happening.

My hands moved on their own, trembling as they tried to support her. I could feel the strength fading from her frame, the undeniable proof of something I couldn't let myself believe. She was bleeding out.

I tightened my grip on her, lowering us both to the ground as my knees gave out beneath me. "You're fine," I muttered, more to myself than her. "You're—you're fine. You're not—"

The words caught in my throat when her weight slumped further against me. She wasn't fine. The blood wouldn't stop. It stained my hands, my clothes, everything like it was trying to consume her entirely.

Her breaths came slower, softer, each one a faint, almost imperceptible struggle. Her eyes, always vibrant and all-seeing, remained open yet started to lose their light.

"Don't," I choked out. "Don't... you don't get to do this. You don't get to just—"

I cradled her closer, my shaking hands pressing uselessly against the wound. "Stay with me," I whispered, my words a chaotic plea. "You always stay. You're—you're supposed to be invincible, aren't you? So, come on. Be invincible."

I was losing her.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. The one constant in all this madness, the one person I could never understand but couldn't imagine losing, was slipping away right in my arms.

"No," I whispered again, the word trembling with every ounce of panic and denial I felt. "You're not allowed to go. You can't."

Her body shifted, barely, just enough for me to notice. Instead of trying to stem the bleeding—something, anything—she moved closer, pressing her head against my chest. Slowly, deliberately, she nuzzled against me, her soft hair brushing against it, her movements weak yet so deliberate it sent a shiver down my spine.

And then I saw it.

Her eyes, usually cold and void, flickered. Barely open, they reflected something I'd never seen before.

It wasn't much, just a faint shimmer, a spark of something unrecognizable. Like a canvas splashed with the first, hesitant strokes of color. Faint, fleeting, but undeniably there.

My breath caught as I stared, unable to look away from this beautiful picture.

The blank state is overfilled with colors.

ㅤ

ㅤ

ㅤ

"W…wa…warm…"