It felt like the world itself had twisted just to witness this moment.
Two subjects carved from the same darkness stood across from each other.
Once bound by brutal design, they were now separated by years, blood, and memory.
Beneath a decaying sky that bled a pale, sickly light, time seemed to stall. It stared with them and held its breath.
Ayanokouji Kiyotaka.
Shirou.
They were products of the White Room's cruelest generation. They were not students, or warriors, or even people in the conventional sense. They were sharpened to be perfect. They were edges that had once cut side by side until one grew too precise, too silent, and too unstoppable.
Back in the White Room's Fourth Generation, they had stood alone at the end.
Everyone else had broken or disappeared. But even that was not enough. Shirou had been the last to fall behind.
He had not collapsed under pressure or lost to weakness. He had simply left, unable to overtake the boy beside him.
Ayanokouji had not stopped him. He had not said a word.
But those parting words lingered.
"I want to be free. I want to have friends. Isn't it normal for you to feel this way?"
Even now, they echoed in Ayanokouji's mind like distant thunder. They were words spoken with a softness he had not understood then. They were words that planted something in him. It was something dangerous.
Now, in the rotted belly of a world shaped by nightmares, those same two subjects faced each other again.
Their eyes locked. This was not in recognition, but in calculation. There was not a flicker of relief or a twitch of warmth.
They had spent their lives studying body language, patterns of breath, and micro-reactions. And now, they used those skills against each other like they had been trained to do.
Ayanokouji could not recall Shirou's name.
Something, perhaps the system or the nightmare itself, had pruned that from his memory. He remembered the shape of him. He remembered the stance and the eyes. But he did not remember the name.
***
Ayanokouji spoke.
"Long time no see."
It was not a greeting. It was a probe.
He had planned something different. Initially, he had meant to discard the hostage girl and detonate a fallback strategy if the situation turned hostile.
But the moment his eyes met Shirou's, something shifted. A slight ripple appeared in his calculation. He adjusted. He reclaimed the girl as a hostage. No tricks would work here. Not with someone like him.
Shirou was not like the others.
He would not falter at the sight of a knife to the throat. He would not blink under pressure. He had been raised with Ayanokouji in a cage where blinking meant failure.
The third member of their group was circling behind him. Ayanokouji did not know his name and did not care to currently. The footsteps were light. The intent was clear. Perhaps he thought he was closing in. Perhaps he believed he had an angle.
But then, Shirou spoke. He spoke calmly and casually.
"Don't go closer to him. You are just playing into his hand," he said.
His tone was far too light for the situation. It was almost playful. But behind those words was the same ruthless awareness as Ayanokouji. It seemed like Shirou was not holding anything back in this nightmare.
Ayanokouji had let the third person draw near on purpose. He had mapped it all out. He was moments away from taking two hostages instead of one. But Shirou had seen through it effortlessly.
The third figure paused. He let out a small, frustrated sound. The way he looked at Ayanokouji was bitter and personal. But he did not step forward. He was cautious now.
So the standoff remained. Ayanokouji had a hostage. Shirou was ahead of him. There was another threat behind.
Then what he feared the most happened.
Shirou lifted his hand.
He made a gesture. It was a finger-gun. His index and middle fingers were extended, his thumb was cocked, and it was pointed straight at Ayanokouji's chest.
The stance was casual. The meaning was not.
"I started with 'Kiyotaka,' yet you didn't call me by my name. You are the one being more suspicious right now," Shirou said.
They both suspected each other of being a monster that could shapeshift.
His words were a bullet of their own. They landed.
Ayanokouji remained still, but inside, the machine of his mind spun faster. There were too many variables and too many unknowns.
Why the finger-gun? Was it symbolic?
Why could he not remember the name?
Was it a lock in the system? Was it an ability or a curse?
And more importantly, if Shirou had an ability, that meant he could access the system.
The thing he feared at the start of the nightmare had come true.
The girl was shivering now. She had seen horror in this nightmare. But Shirou could be called a nightmare for those monsters. The things he had done to them just to survive could make anyone uneasy.
But that same Shirou was acting cautiously against Ayanokouji.
Her gaze shifted to Ayanokouji Kiyotaka.
His expression held nothing. There was no tension and no violence. There was just that blank, cutting neutrality that made you feel like you had already died and he was just waiting for your body to accept it.
He spoke again. This time he was quieter.
"I can't remember certain words. The nightmare has probably done something to my mind."
It was flat. It was honest enough to be dangerous.
Shirou did not flinch.
His eyes were nearly identical in their emptiness. But all the emotions could be seen, including the happiness he felt after leaving the White Room.
His eyes were still alive. They were still human. They were far more human than Ayanokouji's could ever be. They were human enough to make you question which one of them had truly won in the end.
***
His voice grew colder and heavier with familiarity.
"I don't like this. Kiyotaka, do you like it?"
The question was not about now. It was old. It was too old for anyone else to understand.
Ayanokouji did not answer. He had not answered back then either.
Shirou's next words pulled them both further back into the void.
"Do you like carrots, or do you dislike them?"
He was cosplaying as Yuki.
The girl blinked. She was confused. It seemed like a stupid question. But the silence that followed was not stupid at all. It was sacred. It was a memory.
Ayanokouji answered, cosplaying as Shirou.
"I don't like them either."
It was the same thing Shirou had said years ago. They had been across a table in a place where warmth did not exist and silence meant survival. It had been their first conversation. It had been their first shared rebellion.
Their eyes grew colder. This was not from exhaustion, but from descent. It was as if they were both falling into something black and bottomless.
***
Ayanokouji began now.
"You were always aggressive and used to take the initiative in fights. Except our third one. That time, we both were waiting for a counter-attack."
His voice was emotionless. But underneath it was pressure. Memory was stacking atop memory.
"During that time my record was 127 victories and 17 defeats. I had a 64-match winning streak."
"While you had 135 victories with 9 defeats. Our score was 1-1 and you only defeated me once after that in judo."
***
Shirou did not blink. His finger-gun remained raised.
Then he said softly:
"Got a moment?"
Ayanokouji did not respond. He was reenacting the same silence from years ago. It was all repeating.
"It's been a lot of years since I beat you in judo, right?" Shirou asked.
Now Ayanokouji replied.
"That's right."
The girl could barely keep herself from trembling. She could hear them and understand the words. But she could not grasp what they meant. Who had that many recorded victories? What kind of life did that require?
The third member remained where he was. He was still bitter and still watching. But something inside him had shifted too.
Shirou continued.
"Boxing, karate, jeet kune do, it's all the same. Even if I win the first or second round, after it turns around once, I can't do anything anymore. You really are incredible."
Ayanokouji did not answer. He did not have to.
Shirou said next:
"There is one thing I want to say to you."
Now Ayanokouji said, starting with the same silence.
".....What?"
"I decided to leave this facility."
Ayanokouji answered him.
"The only ones who can leave this place are the ones who drop out."
>>>
Over the next few minutes...
They were back there again. They were in the sterile white cage that had taught them how to win and how to forget what winning meant.
Both of them were not seeing each other as they were. In their eyes, they were kids again. They were small in height but more ruthless than now.
"I was convinced when Yuki dropped out. Looking at her, I was even jealous."
The child Ayanokouji, as seen in seventeen-year-old Shirou's eyes, replied without any social ability.
"Right."
The child Shirou, in Ayanokouji's eyes, continued.
"I thought you were the same as me. I thought you would want to enter the outside world one day."
The child Ayanokouji replied.
"Sorry, but I never thought like that."
The child Shirou continued.
".... I see. I wanted to invite you to leave with me, but..."
Ayanokouji Kiyotaka said nothing.
"I will go ahead. Let's meet again some day, Kiyotaka."
They came back to reality. They were no longer kids.
>>>
It had already been proved that both of them were real. But they both wanted to finish it.
They wanted to finish it until the end.
A few minutes later...
Their voices were colder now than when they were children.
They were like steel left in frost. They were white and polished, but lifeless.
"Goodbye," Ayanokouji said.
Ayanokouji Kiyotaka hesitated. He still could not remember the name. That was a crucial missing piece.
Shirou understood and finished it.
"Goodbye, Kiyotaka."
Shirou stopped the gun gesture.
Ayanokouji slowly released the girl.
She backed away. She was staggering and her heart was hammering against her chest. The air around them felt thinner now. It felt less like oxygen and more like static.
In a swift motion, Shirou made the gun again.
Shirou pulled the imaginary trigger.
A click.
...
..
.
-
Ayanokouji did not flinch.
Nothing came out. It turned out Shirou was just trying to play with Ayanokouji's mind.
He had no gun ability.
Shirou gestured for the other two to walk away in this ruined village.
They both went away. They left Ayanokouji and Shirou behind.
𓁹𓁹
Now I was alone with him.
Even after everything, after reliving memories only the two of us could remember, we still stood on opposite sides of a fragile, unspoken question. Are you really you?
He was cautious. So was I.
He took the initiative first.
"Let's change locations."
I gave a silent nod. We started walking through the overgrown village. We weaved between ruined walls and splintered huts. The ground was uneven and soft with rot. Our movements were silent. This was not just from practice, but from design.
Yet after a few steps, his voice cut through the quiet.
"What did you do to your feet?"
I glanced at him. I bent slightly to show the wrapped soles of my boots. It was improvised padding made of worn cloth and tight binding with wet dirt. It was crude, but it was effective.
"For less vibration and noise cancellation, right?" he said. A small, knowing smile tugged at his lips.
"Yeah," I replied. "I had to be sure."
The fact that he noticed so quickly confirmed it again. He saw so much despite how little I had given away. This was not a copy. This was him.
But it also told me something else. He had not seen what I had seen on the other side of the river.
He did not know about the Vowalkers hiding in the ground, the submerged forest, or the silence that followed the wave. That meant something.
There is no magnification ability on his side. At least, there is not one that transmits full data across zones.
That narrowed some theories. It strengthened others.
I wondered why I was so focused on abilities.
It was because the girl I had taken as a hostage left behind no trail. There was no scent and no reaction from the terrain. It was not stealth. It was as if the world refused to register her presence. This happened both before and after I grabbed her.
Was it an ability? Possibly. Or it was something deeper.
We stopped at a ruined house. There was no door. Only two walls were still standing. There was a half-collapsed roof and a gaping hole where a window once was. It reeked of mold and decay. But the interior was still. It was dead in the way only forgotten places are.
We entered cautiously. Each of us took a different corner. This was a signal. We were not here to ambush each other. Not yet.
I spoke first.
"What kind of abilities do the other two have?"
The question was not friendly. It was essential.
He did not answer immediately. Then he opened his mouth and I lost the words.
It was not static. It was not muffled. It was simply gone. The names and the terms were erased from my auditory perception entirely. It was like hearing silence stitched between syllables.
I tried to read his lips. But it was as if those words did not exist. I could not make any sense of it.
"I caught none of that," I admitted.
He tilted his head. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I didn't hear the names. Or the abilities. It's like the nightmare won't let me."
A pause followed.
"You were serious?" he asked.
It seemed like he thought I was acting during that time.
I nodded once.
He stared at me. He stared long enough that I could see the gears turning behind his eyes. "So it's targeting you."
"I think so," I said. "Selective censorship. Only I am affected. You can hear everything clearly?"
"Every word," he said slowly. "That's not just censorship. That's isolation."
Exactly.
I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall. My mind ticked through the implications.
He continued. "I'll show you their abilities in action later. If this place won't let you hear them, maybe you'll see something it can't block."
I nodded again. It was the logical next step. Whether or not I trusted him, I needed him.
He shifted his weight slightly. "I was almost certain you'd be the sixth aspirant. If you weren't, everything I'd worked out would've collapsed."
Sixth.
That meant two people were gone. They were missing or dead. The girl's breakdown earlier made sense now. Maybe she had seen them die. Or maybe she lost them before arriving here.
"Why were you so sure it was me?" I asked.
He gave that same lopsided smile. It was the kind only he could give. It was one part exhaustion and two parts amusement.
"The girl—" He said a name, but again, I heard nothing. There was just a blank space.
"—was with her friends Luna and Luzi. Here's the strange part. She knew Luna deeply. But Luzi? Luzi knew only her name and bits of her background."
Again, the girl's name vanished from my ears. I could hear Luna and Luzi just fine. But her?
She was gone.
It happened every time.
The censorship was specific, persistent, and evolving.
If it was limited to me, it was not a coincidence.
"The names I can still hear," I muttered aloud. I spoke more to myself than to him. "They are of people who have already died. Luna. Luzi. They must have..."
"Exactly," he said.
I turned to him. "So the system only censors the living?"
"Nah," he said. He was thoughtful. "It most probably censors the important. The active. If someone is dead, they become static. They are unchanging. The system no longer considers them a threat."
This was a theory I had already begun circling. He just verbalized it first.
"Doesn't that mean," I said, my voice low, "that the third guy you mentioned knows me, but has never met me?"
"That's right," he said. "He knows your name. He knows your past. But not your face."
That was not just dangerous. It was an ambush waiting to happen. I would not even know what hit me. I would be stuck trying to remember a censored name while he held a loaded gun of history in his hands.
He hesitated for the first time.
"Before you meet him... remember. You did something."
His voice was calm, but it was not cold.
"Something really bad. He might lash out. He is—"
And again, the name dropped. It was a clean cut.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
"You really didn't hear that either?"
"Not a syllable."
"Then we've got a problem."
He did not elaborate, but the implication was clear.
The nightmare has redacted this person from me. It is as if it is afraid of what I would do if I remembered them.
I did not like that.
I did not like not knowing who I had wronged.
Wait. This might be a checkpoint.
It is risky, but it is plausible.
"Look over me for a second."
My voice was cold. It told him that I was serious.
I remembered the very first message again.
[Aspirant. Welcome to the Nightmare ???ll. Prepare for your First Trial...]