Minutes crawled by. Makoto Nishikado did not budge.
More than a few people were on the verge of tears.
Some checked their watches compulsively. Others clenched their fists until their knuckles went white. One woman bit her lip until it bled.
The air was thick with a suffocating, feverish dread, as if every heartbeat in the crowd had become a countdown.
He's really not leaving?
Speculation ran wild. Did he not care about their lives, content to let America drop nukes? Or did he have absolute confidence that even if the bombs fell, he could protect everyone here?
Strong as he was, could he really shield hundreds of thousands of people from that kind of weapon?
Nobody could guarantee they wouldn't be the unlucky one.
The safest bet was for Makoto to relocate. Stop dragging them into this.
"Um, Nishikado-sam..."
Shiro Suzuki started to speak, but his younger daughter tugged his sleeve, warning him to stop.
Sonoko thought her father had truly gone senile. You've already pledged yourself to the man. Open your mouth now and watch everything you've built evaporate.
Once you put your chips on someone, you didn't second-guess it. Not unless you wanted to lose from both ends.
The same thing had nearly happened with Senzaemon Nakiri, who'd been about to speak up when Alice stomped on his foot, hard.
As the minutes ground on, the fear in the air thickened until it was almost liquid.
Finally, someone cracked.
"Excuse me... Nishikado-sama, would you consider eating somewhere else?"
All eyes snapped to the speaker: Oko Shinomiya, first heir to the Shinomiya family fortune.
Beside Kaguya Shinomiya, Ai Hayasaka's expression brightened.
Oh, he's dead.
Ai Hayasaka had originally been planted by Oko as a spy to monitor Kaguya. But over the years, she and Kaguya had become more like sisters. If Oko died, that would be nothing but good news for Ai.
"Why's that?" Makoto asked, feigning ignorance.
Oko, somewhere north of forty and more than two decades older than Kaguya, managed a strained smile that reeked of appeasement and anxiety. "Well... those are nukes. If they land here, with this many people around..."
"You dare question Makoto!"
Nayuta pointed at Oko with the theatrical outrage of the nose-hair minister from a Stephen Chow movie.
Makoto didn't say a word.
Bang.
Oko Shinomiya's head snapped back, a neat hole punched through the center of his forehead. He hit the ground like a felled tree.
Hundreds of thousands of people stared in shock. Who fired that shot?
On the livestream, from Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Ishigami's voice came through cold as ice. "He dared question Makoto-senpai. He was asking to die."
The entire crowd stared at the screen, utterly dumbfounded.
What?
He could shoot that far?!
Washington to Tokyo. Over ten thousand kilometers.
How did he even hear them?
Makoto pulled out his phone and looked mildly surprised. "Oh. Forgot to mute my mic."
"..."
Across Shuchiin Academy, students collectively buried their faces in their hands. Ishigami's getting more terrifying by the day.
With Oko serving as a cautionary tale, nobody else dared suggest Makoto move.
Still, on the periphery, a steady stream of people slipped away, terrified that American President's promised nukes would catch them in the blast.
Among them were a number of familiar faces, characters from the original stories, people Makoto knew.
"Eri, let's go."
Kogoro Mouri sidled up to his wife, keeping his voice low. His eyes darted involuntarily toward Makoto, then snapped away. Anxiety was scrawled across every line of his face.
"Ran hasn't come back yet," Eri Kisaki said, frowning. She clearly wasn't on board.
"Ran's in America. She'll be fine. We're the ones in danger. If Nishikado can't stop the nuke, or if even a fraction of the blast catches us... then what?"
Kogoro's voice rose despite himself, sweat beading on his forehead.
"If we drive to the city center now, we might still make it."
A single warhead had a blast radius of roughly ten kilometers. If they drove now, there might still be time.
Even as he said it, Kogoro didn't sound convinced.
An older generation understood that history better than Ran's ever could, and feared it more deeply.
Eri's brow furrowed. Then she noticed Yukiko Kudo standing just behind Makoto's right shoulder. She walked over. "Yukiko, are you leaving?"
Yukiko looked at her old friend for a few seconds, then shook her head. Not a word.
Eri remembered. In the Chainsaw Man world, Yukiko had severed ties with her own family for Makoto's sake. That was still fresh.
From Eri's perspective, the decision hadn't been wrong. But it had left a crack in their friendship.
When Yukiko said nothing, Eri didn't push. She turned back, ready to leave with Kogoro.
But as she turned, Yukiko spoke. "You'd better not go."
Eri stopped mid-step, confused.
"What are you standing around for? Let's go!"
Kogoro's voice had gone sharp with impatience. He kept glancing back toward the parking lot, terrified that every passing second was one too many.
In his mind, the image bloomed unbidden: a mushroom cloud, the thermal wave, the shockwave, streets burned to carbon, and...
He couldn't let himself think further.
"I'm not the one leaving! Go by yourself!"
Eri's temper flared at being barked at.
It wasn't hard to see how these two had managed to live apart for ten years. Even in the original story, their relationship hadn't mended until well after Shuichi Akai's return. There were reasons.
"Fine! Leave! But don't come crying when you're turned to ash!"
Kogoro spun on his heel and stomped off. But his steps felt strangely heavy, and after a few paces, he couldn't stop himself from looking back.
"I'm not worried about you. I just don't want Ran to be sad."
He threw the line over his shoulder and broke into a run toward the parking lot.
He got in the car. Turned the ignition. The moment the car shot out of the lot, his hands were shaking on the wheel. In the rearview mirror, Totsuki Culinary Academy shrank and shrank, and Makoto and his wives vanished from sight.
"It's fine. It's fine..." Kogoro muttered to himself, trying to steady his own nerves. "There's still time. There has to be time..."
He floored the accelerator. The car screamed down the highway. Every vehicle around him was doing the same thing, a mass exodus of panicked humanity, fear etched on every face behind every windshield.
Horns blared. Curses flew. The noise bled together into a single ugly chorus.
"That stubborn woman!"
After some distance, he thought of Eri again, but by now the road behind him was choked with cars. Going back was impossible.
Meanwhile, at Totsuki Culinary Academy, the vast majority of festival-goers had fled by car. Barely one in ten remained.
"Hachiman, I..."
Saika Totsuka gripped the sleeve of Hachiman Hikigaya's shirt, face pale.
Hachiman shook his head, telling him not to worry, his gaze locked on the back of that man.
His relationship with Makoto wasn't close. He couldn't claim a tenth of Ishigami's bond with him. But as one of the original wave of players, Hachiman was among the people who believed in Makoto Nishikado the most.
Because of that man, they'd come home from other worlds again and again.
"Trust him," he said quietly. Maybe to Totsuka. Maybe to himself.
Time bled forward in excruciating increments.
On the highway, Kogoro's car had covered a considerable distance.
He looked out the window. The hilltop where Totsuki sat had long since disappeared from view.
"At least the blast shouldn't reach here..." He was panting, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Then the car radio shrieked with static, followed by an emergency broadcast:
"Emergency alert! Emergency alert! Multiple unidentified objects detected approaching Tokyo airspace at high velocity! Repeat, multiple unidentified objects approaching Tokyo airspace at high velocity! Citizens are advised to proceed immediately to the nearest shelter! Citizens are advised to proceed immediately to the near..."
The broadcast cut to dead air. Nothing but the hiss of static.
Kogoro's hands jerked on the wheel, nearly losing control.
He looked up at the sky.
Nothing.
Just as he and the other drivers exhaled, the sky finally answered.
A massive warhead came streaking from the edge of the heavens.
Not one. Two. Three. Four...
The first struck downtown Tokyo.
The earth roared. A blinding white-red flash turned the sky to noon.
Totsuki sat in the mountains. The violent tremor sent more than a few fleeing cars tumbling off the cliffside roads.
Kogoro's car lurched and swayed. He white-knuckled the wheel as the sounds engulfed him: screeching metal, shattering glass, screams, and the explosions, each one closer than the last.
The second warhead hit Edogawa Ward, on the city's eastern edge.
The shockwave kicked up a wall of dust that swallowed the sky. The ground heaved as if the world itself were coming apart.
"No... no no no no no..."
Kogoro stared into the rearview mirror at the rising mushroom cloud, pupils contracting to pinpoints.
That churning, fire-red mass trailing the breath of death. Identical to the textbook photographs.
Then more warheads fell, one after another, blanketing the entirety of Tokyo.
"What... what is this?! Why are they bombing the city?"
His voice cracked, rising to a shriek. "Shouldn't they be aiming at Totsuki?!"
The words came out warped, soaked in the verge of tears, in despair, in the most primal terror of an ordinary man staring down annihilation.
"Idiot. They'd never target just Totsuki."
Nayuta watched the warheads plummet with utter disinterest, the contempt of someone who had once dominated every American citizen from the shadows. "Obviously they'd factor in Makoto's escape range too."
If the Americans had committed to a nuclear strike, they wouldn't pin their hopes on hitting one campus. They'd seen the Flying Thunder God Technique. They knew Makoto could teleport a thousand meters in the blink of an eye. Carpet bombing was the only option.
All of Tokyo was being leveled.
No. Possibly all of Japan.
Put yourself in their shoes: America had burned every bridge with Makoto Nishikado. They'd go all-in. No half measures.
Anyone thinking clearly would have realized the safest place to be was right beside Makoto.
But in the grip of mortal panic, the brain didn't work properly. People hadn't seen it.
Then again, the Japanese had never been the sharpest.
Screams erupted from across the academy grounds, but the detonations swallowed them almost instantly.
More people abandoned their cars on the highway and sprinted back toward Totsuki like the mad. The road was littered with empty vehicles, scattered luggage, and people who'd fallen, picked themselves up, and kept running.
Kogoro Mouri was running too.
Dignity was a luxury he could no longer afford. His suit jacket had been lost somewhere along the way. His tie hung crooked around his neck. One shoe was gone.
His lungs burned like they'd rupture, but he couldn't stop. Would not stop.
Mushroom clouds rose behind him. The earth shuddered beneath his feet. The air stank of char and ruin, the smell of annihilation itself.
"Eri! Help! Help me!"
He could see it now. The gates of Totsuki Culinary Academy. The silhouettes of those who'd stayed. And there, still seated in the same spot, posture unchanged, that man.
Makoto Nishikado.
Kogoro Mouri half-ran, half-crawled through the gates, and on his last stride, stumbled and went down hard.
Lying on the ground, he twisted to look at the sky behind him. Warheads fell in dense clusters, fire and smoke devouring half the horizon.
But his eyes, against all instinct, drifted to the distant figure of Makoto Nishikado.
Kogoro Mouri had once been the Tokyo Metropolitan Police's top-ranked marksman. His vision was exceptional. Even across that distance, he could make out the man eating, expression serene, as if watching a fireworks show.
Kogoro Mouri felt like a clown.
One thought surfaced, and one thought only.
One thought surfaced, and one thought only: Damn... is it too late to change my mind?