It was a Monday. I've checked twice already. Although it would have been nice if it were still somehow Sunday, I had to accept the reality.
It was Monday. I've checked thrice now. So why was the school so empty?
I placed a hand on the front gate, wrapping my palm around the much-too-ornate black metal that adorned it. Immediately, the cold autumn air bit at my skin, making me jerk back.
“Satoshi!”
Hearing my name, I moved towards a pair of students by the entrance—the only two other souls in this grey wasteland. Our drab charcoal uniforms blended into the sky, so the first thing I noticed was the crimson armband of the Class President—Kaede. She stood with her arms crossed, and I could see her unnaturally bright blue eyes piercing through the fog. If I were any more paranoid, I would have looked at my phone to verify that I wasn’t late, but I had grown tired of checking the day and the hour.
“Yo, Satoshi! Come here, dude.”
Next to her was one of the boys from my class—Daiki, I think. We don’t talk much, and it seemed the only reason he called me over was because he wanted a third party in the little argument he was having with the president. That's the last thing I want to be, but I indulged him; for the past 15 minutes, I’ve heard nothing but the sound of my shoes scraping the ground, so I am desperate for human contact.
Daiki leaned on one of the pillars. “Satoshi, did you see anyone on the way here? Anyone at all?”
I shook my head. “The streets were empty.”
“Exactly! So if there is no one here, we should all go home, yeah?” He beamed, aggressively pointing a finger at the president’s chest. “But Madam President here wants us to sit for—what—half an hour until someone shows up?”
Swatting his finger away, Kaede’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I haven't received a notice of dismissal. I cannot allow anyone from class C-3 to leave until we’ve gotten official communication from the staff.” Turning back towards the door, she held it open for the two of us. “I’ve already sent an email to our homeroom teacher.”
“You’re still clinging to that?” Daiki snapped, throwing his arms in the air. “Nobody’s here—nobody!”
“It’s our responsibility as students.” Kaede was unmoved—her gaze now fixed on me. “Don’t you agree?”
I patted down the sides of my trousers, exhaling sharply while trying to come up with a diplomatic solution. “If we head to class and wait there, we can at least say we showed up.”
Kaede nodded. “An acceptable compromise.”
Daiki didn’t seem to think so. He groaned, rubbing his temples. “Not you too…” Looking at the gaping entrance which the president continued holding, he reluctantly headed inside.
I followed right after.
As soon as the doors locked behind us, Kaede sped towards our classroom as if afraid she would miss something. The president moved quickly while never descending into anything that could be considered running (that would be against school rules, after all). This left me and Daiki in the back, dragging our feet.
He folded his arms behind his head. “Come on, man.”
“I don’t want to get into an argument is all."
“So you decided to lick those black boots of hers instead?” Daiki clicked his tongue. “I thought you were after the Emiri chick. You know. The plain one.”
“She's not plain. She's-" I paused, realizing I walked into a trap. Expectedly, Daiki had that knowing grin of his. “So,” I began trying to change the subject. “What do you think caused all this?”
Daiki snorted. “Probably some kind of strike.” His smirk faded just a little. “Remember when the trams went off for like a week after the accident?”
I didn’t respond.
We finally reached the classroom. The room was half-empty, with ten other students scattered anemically between the seats. There were a few people I recognized—Emiri among them. She sat in the back near the door, fidgeting with a strand of her brown hair while scrolling through her phone.
Daiki may have called her plain. I prefer the term economical. Unlike some other girls in the class, she had no frills—no piercings, no makeup, no dye. Her grades were neither high nor low, and she was neither swarmed by friends nor lonely. Emiri was the platonic form of what a high school girl should be. In a way, she reminded me of myself.
One other person I knew was Kaito. He’s into some of the same stuff as me when it comes to obscure manga. We don’t really talk much; our back-and-forth consists of him recommending stuff to me and me returning the favor. To his credit, the man's selection is excellent.
I took a seat by the window, trying to avoid making eye contact with Kaede by the teacher’s podium. Daiki also slumped in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “So we’re all stuck here like a bunch of suckers.”
Kaede opened her mouth but remained silent. With each tick of the clock, it was getting harder to deny it. No new messages. No alerts. The whole class was in limbo—waiting for some invisible trigger to move forward.
The limbo didn't last long.
A strange sound filled the room. It was faint at first, like the hum of electricity coursing through an overvolted battery. Then, the lights flickered, and—with theatrical timing—the doors slammed shut.
“What the hell?” Daiki muttered, jumping out of his seat. He rushed to one of the doors, grabbing its handle.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Despite being an athletic guy, it wouldn’t budge under his assault.
Kaede stepped forward—her boots clicking against the floor. “Stop being dramatic,” she ordered. “Probably a malfunction with the automatic locks.”
The building was pretty modern, having finished construction just a year ago, but I didn’t know that we had automatic doors—let alone any kind of locking mechanism.
The president pulled out her phone. “I’ll call for assistance.” But before she could dial anything, a sharp static crackle erupted from the intercom. After a few seconds of this auditory torture, something intelligible finally came through.
[“1-2-1-3.”] The voice was distorted and vaguely feminine, as though filtered through a cheap modulator.
[“1-2-1-3.”] It repeated.
With a loud snap, the projector turned on, and a ray of filthy white light cut through the dust.
[13 > 12]
[COMMAND UNIDENTIFIED]
[PLEASE FORMULATE A SOUND ETHICAL ARGUMENT AS TO WHY YOU SHOULD BE ALLOWED TO LIVE]
[VOTE WILL PROCEED IN]
[30 MINUTES]
I shifted in my seat, scanning the other students. Everyone was looking at everyone else for answers: a bystander effect in action. A few of them clung to their phones, expecting somebody to answer from the other side.
A faint sliver of hope came when the room was flooded with the cacophony of notification sounds—the whistles, chirps, and dings forming into a strange ode. When they checked what the notification was about, their smiles quickly faded. On all of our devices, a rudimentary app had appeared—no icon, no name. Opening it, I saw a scroll-down wheel full of names. Emiri was there, as was I, Kaede, Daiki, Kaito; in short, all thirteen of us.
I glanced at the whiteboard again. The message was still there, etched in eerie white on the dark surface. Soon enough, [30] turned into [29], and it didn’t take a genius to realize that a countdown had begun.
After pounding on the door like an ape trapped in its enclosure, Daiki pulled away, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Come on! We can’t just ignore it!” His voice rose—the panic creeping in.
This was when Kaede made her move. Straightening her back, she leaned into the microphone as she had done many times before during her class announcements. “We'll go one at a time. Everyone needs to state why they should be left alive. After that, we'll vote.”
The idea terrified me. What would I even say? What was there to say? I couldn’t even tell what my favorite color was, let alone list five interesting facts about myself.
“Just like that?” Daiki objected, shaking his head. “We're doing this—we’re really doing this?”
“We are.” As always, the Prez's will was absolute.
“You know that you were only elected because nobody else wanted to do the paperwork, right?” Turning my head, I could see that Momo had stood up—her pink fingernails tapping against the desk. I suppose most would consider her sexy because of her long blonde pigtails, curvy figure, and those playful, half-lidded eyes. Despite this, that girl was so far above me in the social hierarchy that I sometimes failed to register her as a human as opposed to some ethereal being. “And you want us to just sit here while you play dictator?”
Kaede didn’t flinch. Instead, she used the opportunity to lean into the microphone again. “This is a stressful situation. We need somebody to take charge. As the class president, I feel uniquely qualified to be that person.” That’s Kaede for you—using that jab as part of her campaign. “If you have a better idea, Momo, now’s the time to share it with the class.”
Momo’s lips twisted into a smirk, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she leaned back, throwing her black platform shoes onto the table and flashing her panties. I wasn't sure if she was trying to provoke a reaction, but it was working.
[25]
“Fine, I’ll go first,” Daiki muttered. Walking up to the podium, he tapped the microphone the way people do in movies. “This is a game, right? There are going to be some challenges—physical challenges, I mean. I am on the track team, so I would say having me around would be helpful.” He wasn’t a great orator, but you couldn’t deny that Daiki had a point. “I am also a big guy, yeah? More than willing to take a punch for one of you lot and not even whine about it.”
Next up was Shun Takahashi—one of the top students. Why do I know that? Because he wouldn’t shut up about it. “We vote for the students with the lowest grades. The weakest link goes first.” Expecting to be bombarded with boos, Shun raised his hands like he was warding off invisible punches. “That’s tough, but that’s fair.”
Tough but fair, huh? Deciding it this way would free us of all of the responsibility, so I could see the appeal. Turning over to the grade results plastered on one of the walls, I—fortunately—found my name somewhere near the midline.
“Satoshi.” Kaede’s wolf-like eyes stared straight at me. “Why don't you go next?”
“This is taking too long.” Ignoring Kaede's order, Momo sauntered to the podium—her platforms ticking in rhythm with the clock. “Listen,” she began, almost annoyed that she even had to do this. “I am not going to give you some grand speech about why you shouldn't pick me. We all know that I am not going to get shafted in the first round of this thing—that would just be insulting." Leaning against the podium, she wiggled her hips. “No. I am going to give you an alternative.” Kaede looked like she was about to interject, but Momo held up a hand. “There is somebody that we should remove first. Sayaka. The retard.”
The room went silent. Even Daiki, usually quick to add something, looked taken aback. I used the silence to figure out who Sayaka even was. By the process of elimination, she seemed to be the girl sitting at the back of the class. Her head hung low, so I couldn’t even see her eyes underneath the short messy crimson hair.
“If someone has to die, why should it be us instead of a retard?” Rubbing her fingernail on the microphone, Momo put on a salutary voice. “You know the only reason that she isn't in a special class is because her father didn't want a retard daughter on the record, right?”
I tried to listen in for Sayaka's rebuttal. The only thing that came out was a few gross snorts as she tried to hold back tears. I still couldn’t see her eyes, but a few had dripped onto the surface of her desk, leaving small glistening spots.
Walking away, Momo leaned back on her chair with a self-serving smile like she’d just delivered the punchline to some joke. There was a sick feeling settling in my stomach, and it wasn’t just me. The entire room felt heavier. Every eye seemed to be on either Momo or Sayaka, though I could bring myself to look at neither.
Finally, the votes were tallied. The projector flickered briefly before displaying the cold white numbers. Momo's name sat at the top. Her smirk lingered for a moment longer as if she hadn’t quite processed what just happened. Then, slowly, she turned away from the projector—backlit by its harsh white light. “You're kidding, right?” Her fingers tightened around the edge of her desk. “You'd rather pick me over the ret-”
There was a sound—subtle at first, like a great wheel spinning in the heavens. The air compressed. Hummed. Distorted. A sickly smell of ozone flooded the room as Momo jerked upright like she was trying to escape an invisible grasp. I could see her eyes turning bloodshot as her body shrank. It was slow at first. Then, she collapsed inward all at once. The empty uniform deflated onto the floor—crumpled and wrinkled. Where there was once a human being, there was now only a pathetic little shape trembling atop the folds.
Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
Except for Sayaka.
Slowly, she pushed herself up from her desk. Her head was still bowed low, but I could see her lips quivering.
Momo crawled (if you can even call it that) out into the open air, stumbling over the elastic strap of her skirt. Her tiny arms pushed away the fabric of the fallen uniform, inching back from everyone.
Sayaka took a step forward.
As if shrinking to just a few inches tall wasn’t bad enough, the woman folded in on herself—falling to her knees and gasping for air. Even at this scale, I could see her tiny chest pounding like that of a scared mouse.
Sayaka took another step.
She didn’t hesitate.
A wet crunch.
I flinched. The noise was something between a cockroach and an eggshell cracking. Sayaka stayed there for a moment—her foot grinding against the floor. When she finally stepped back, there was nothing left of Momo but a vague red smear on the white heel of her shoe. The tiny woman’s viscera folded nicely into the rubber treads of the sole, dropping down in viscous chunks.
Immediately, panic seized the room. Daiki gripped his mouth, looking like he was about to throw up. With a sharp jolt, he threw the doors open, allowing the rest of the class to file out into the hallway and run to the bathrooms. This wasn’t a feat of some supernatural strength, but rather a simple privilege granted to us by whoever organized this thing. We killed a person for them, and they were letting us take a piss. That was their idea of a quid pro quo.
The only one here who seemed impressed by Sayaka's actions was the projector.
[12 = 12]
[VOTE SUCCESSFUL]
[PROCEEDING TO THE NEXT ROUND]
The bathroom I was in was a little out of the way and incredibly small, but that was why I liked it. The other ones tended to be crowded with guys chatting between the stalls. I just couldn’t go like that. Even if there were only six of us left in the entire school, I just couldn’t. Peace. Quiet. That was what I needed.
It wasn’t perfect, though. In the distance, I heard the labored pounding of aluminum on glass. Daiki was probably trying to break a window somewhere, but it wouldn’t work. This building was designed to withstand a nuclear meltdown—and I am not being hyperbolic here, it's an actual safety measure against the city’s power plant.
Ignoring the pounding, I leaned against the sink, gripping its porcelain edge to steady my breath. I hadn’t thought about it before, but this bathroom felt oddly misplaced—hidden away like an afterthought during construction. Maybe it was meant for faculty or disabled students, although we never had the latter. Either way, everything inside was both too dark and too bright at the same time, with the high-ceiling window overlooking nothing but the gray static sky.
I turned on the faucet, letting the water run over my hands. I splashed some on myself—the droplets mingling with my sweat. The cold helped to ground me. It was then that I realized there was someone behind me.
“So,” the figure purred, twirling a lock of black hair, “wanna talk about what I saw earlier?” Turning around, the realization hit me like a second splash.
It was Rika.
Just like Momo, Rika was one of those girls who failed to register in my mind as a human being. With her raven-black hair formed into a halo bun and those milky white eyes, she looked like an angel of death—a very attractive angel of death. She was taller than most girls, making me instinctively straighten my posture whenever she was in the same room as me.
“I am sorry?” I called out to the intruder, knowing deep down that it was her invading my space.
Rika took a step forward, making me recoil as my back slammed against the sink’s edge. “Momo. On the floor.” She reached out with her slender fingers, wrapping them around my cheeks like creeping vines. Her black nails—long, manicured, sharp—dug into my skin. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but enough to remind me that she could. “Even now, your cheeks are warm.”
I felt warm spit building up in my mouth. “That’s not-”
A few loose strands had escaped her bun, framing her porcelain face. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say it.” Pulling one of her hands away, she tapped it against my groin. “You got pretty hard watching that blonde bitch pop like a bug, didn’t you?”
The bathroom felt smaller than before as I swallowed with a dry throat. “I…I really don’t know what you’re talking about. So. Sorry?”
Rika hummed. Then, with agonizing slowness, she leaned in—too close, too much—until I could feel her breath ghosting over my earlobe. “We both know you only rushed here to jerk off while the memory was still fresh.”
I shut my eyes, maybe hoping that Rika would somehow disappear if I couldn’t see her. But with her warmth gliding over my face, I knew she was still right in front of me. “What do you want from me?”
“Another vote is happening soon,” she murmured, rubbing the side of her face against mine. Much to her amusement, I once again pulled away, smacking the back of my head against the mirror. “Boys versus girls. One side shrinks.”
But with Momo gone, it would be a tie—a perfect 50/50.
Rika grinned as if she could read my mind. “And you’re my tiebreaker.”
I took a careful drag of the sterile air which now mixed with her perfume. “What if I refuse?”
“Everyone finds out about your little kink.” She punctuated her sentence by squeezing my cock. I felt a wave of nausea washing over me as she put pressure on my balls, making me realize how fragile they are. “I wonder how that would go over with the rest—with Emiri, for example.”
The image of Rika's head smashing against the mirror played over and over in my mind. I could picture the way its surface would shatter—the way her blood would seep into the silver cracks. But, in the end, I couldn't bring myself to raise a hand against this creature. I just couldn’t. I was paralyzed, and she knew it.
Rika’s grip on me loosened. Then, a side of her face lifted into a cruel smile. “Geez. Stop taking this so seriously, Satoshi.” She let go, reaching for the door. “[It's just a game.]”