Sometimes the system doesn't speak aloud.
It shows. Through hints, symbols, distortions in balance. An error too precise to be a coincidence.
> "Floor 2-D: system access interference detected. Intruder unidentified. Stability reduction: -1."
The screen blinked, and everything froze.
"Someone tried to access the central network," Aoi reported. "From inside."
I stared at the line silently. Minus one. A point that had cost us effort, anxiety, sleepless nights.
And someone just... erased it.
"We need access to the terminal log," I said. "We don't have much time."
"What if the log is deleted?" Mina asked softly.
I looked at her. A subtle question. Too timely.
By morning, the rumors had spread.
Class 2-C allegedly accused 2-B of sabotage. Someone had stolen a vital component from their generator. Noise, panic, ultimatums.
"See?" I told Toru. "All by the book. A mistake becomes a reason. A reason becomes a conflict. Conflict becomes collapse."
"What if we strike first?" he asked.
I stayed silent.
Kana disappeared for two hours. Came back claiming she'd been searching for an alternate ventilation route. But the time log had gaps. The cameras hadn't captured her at any junction.
Hayato once again tried to enter the technical section. This time with someone else's ID. Officially — "a mistake."
Mina keeps leaving more and more. Returns as if nothing happened. But I can see it — she's hiding something. Or someone.
> "Remaining time: 6 hours. If the traitor isn't identified, the class will lose control."
"We have an idea," Aoi said. "A secret test. We'll send a fake assignment, supposedly from the system. If the traitor gets it — they'll act."
"Risky," I replied. "But we're out of options."
We launched a "false alert": a message about a communication failure between floors. Only three people were informed.
Half an hour later — panic broke out on the third floor. Someone had already acted on the fake intel.
"He exists," I said. "He's active."
That evening, I walked into the technical corridor. Silence, flickering lights, the scent of metal. And footsteps.
"Takumi," a voice behind me. Mina.
I turned.
"Don't walk alone," she said.
"Afraid?"
She looked me straight in the eyes.
"For you."
I wanted to believe her. I really did.
But betrayal doesn't always hide in the eyes.
Sometimes it hides in desire.
And even in silence.