The players were mobilizing.
One after another, the elites—those standing at the pinnacle of the player hierarchy—sprang into action.
Some wielded powerful cursed artifacts or blessings, vanishing through doors or manipulating small objects to teleport instantly to their destination.
Others, lacking such means, booked flights like ordinary people—those with spatial artifacts traveled light, while the rest lugged heavy baggage.
Then there were the third type: those with no special abilities, unable or unwilling to use public transport. Their methods were more... primitive.
They walked.
They ran.
Some even swam.
To the uninitiated, these were just oddities—viral videos of marathon swimmers crossing oceans. But to players worldwide, from the elite to the rookies, the gathering storm was unmistakable.
"Heard? The 'Slackers' mobilized. Their base is empty."
"Think we could loot it? Might be treasures—"
"Are you brain-dead? Stealing from Crimson Moons? They'd track you down even if you succeeded."
"Just a thought..."
—A conversation on a players-only forum.
"Both northern Crimson Moon teams moved out. Only low-level players left guarding their bases."
"What's happening? Something big enough to draw them all?"
"Rumor says Kumami called them. Must be related to a Crimson Moon dungeon."
"Hope it's good news..."
—Whispers in a snowbound tavern.
"The 'Free Covenant' from Texas mobilized. Last time was for [School Horror Tales]. Same again?"
"Intel says Kumami's alive—three months after being declared dead in that dungeon. How?"
"Whatever it is... monitor their movements. We need answers."
—A discussion in a high-rise office.
The shadows stirred.
Some prayed for success. Others hoped for chaos. Most just watched, waiting.
But one thing was certain:
All eyes were on Japan.
Meanwhile, in the Dungeon...
Takakai had nothing to do.
The Shinomiya family was in full swing—reconstructing a courtroom identical to the one in the dungeon, digging up long-buried case files.
The assembled players had gathered at the riverside base, debating logistics.
That left Takakai, Miko, and Gotou #1 with nothing but time.
Strange...
From life-or-death struggles to utter idleness in hours.
No food, though. The hospital's "meals" had left him wary of eating anything here.
[Aww, Sensei's being modest~]
Alice's voice slithered into his ear.
[Ordinary people would've lost their minds eating that. But you? Just a little dizzy. Is there anything that can break you?]
Takakai's eye twitched.
This phantom—born from his own subconscious—was untouchable. He'd tried everything: mental barriers, visualization, even outright ignoring her.
No effect.
So he treated her like the Joker in Arkham Knight—background noise.
[Can you really ignore me, Sensei?]
Her face pressed against his, breath cold as grave soil.
[You're terrified. Even with your watch, you've lost to Alice every time. Dying to gain an edge is hardly victory.]
[This courtroom act—do you truly think it'll work? The unresolved questions pile up: Where's Hirano's real teacher? Will Takamagahara interfere? What if Alice stays in your head even after clearing the dungeon?]
[You're drowning, Sensei. And that watch? It's an anchor, not a lifeline.]
Her grin widened.
[What happens when you meet something that counters your resets? KP's already a concern, isn't she?]
Takakai's fist clenched.
This thing—picking at his fears like vultures at carrion—was maddening.
"Takakai-san?"
Miko's voice pulled him back.
She stood hesitantly beside him, golden eyes uncertain.
"Bored? Want to sit together?"
He offered casually.
"Eh? I-I wouldn't be disturbing you?"
At his nod, she perched on the courthouse steps—adjusting her distance awkwardly before settling half a meter away.
The derelict buildings around them housed countless mononoke, but these were docile, lost in their own misery. Harmless, so long as they weren't provoked.
A rare respite.
Would be nicer without the chatterbox.
Glancing at Miko's downcast expression, Takakai guessed her thoughts.
"Don't worry. Dungeons like this are rare. And with my ability, failure's never final."
He'd learned from other Crimson Moons:
Ordinary survivors of high-level dungeons became players—skipping straight to the dungeon's tier.
Miko would exit as a Twilight-grade player, forced into monthly games.
For Takakai, this was a silver lining—she'd join his team.
For her?
A lifetime of nightmares.
And her school life? Over.
With her class wiped out—save for her busty best friend—returning was impossible.
Could I have saved them?
Maybe. With infinite resets.
But the watch's uses were finite.
And the cost of exhausting them?
I can't risk that.
[Hypocrite~]
Alice's whisper was venomous.
[Playing the hero for Alice, but those girls? Expendable. How convenient your morals are.]
Hypocritical? Maybe.
But wanting you dead isn't.
I know evil when I see it.
And you?
You're the kind that must be erased.
Alice flinched—then vanished with a hiss.
Even a phantom hated being seen for what she was.
"Takakai-san... you're amazing."
Miko's voice was soft.
"After all that pain, you just... keep going. I couldn't."
She shuddered, recalling the agony of Takakai's "machine."
"I'm not 'used' to it. But with this power... I have to try. Even if it's never enough."
He shrugged.
"Thank you. Without you, I'd never make it out."
Her gratitude was earnest.
"We're a team. And... 'Takakai-san' feels too formal. I'm only about twenty."
Miko blinked.
"Then... how should I call you?"
Takakai pondered.
"Kai-kun"? Too intimate.
"Sensei"? Hell no.
"Since I'm guiding you through this... 'senpai' works."
Miko's cheeks pinked.
She inhaled—steeling herself—then met his eyes.
Golden irises, wavering but resolute.
Her lips parted.
A breathy, hesitant syllable—
"Se... senpai~"