Memories flooded in.
A dimly lit shack.
A man chugging beer, face twisted in rage.
Don't cry. Crying makes Dad angrier.
Angry Dad hits.
With slippers. With chairs. With sticks. With whatever's nearby.
["Worthless trash!"]
["Should've been a son! Sons carry the family name! Daughters? Just property to marry off!"]
Mom hits too.
With needles. With nails. With screams louder than Dad's.
Reasons to be hit:
Leaving too early.Coming home too late.Being seen in the hallway.
Always hungry.
"It's character-building," they say.
Knock-knock-knock.
Debt collectors at the door.
Dad hides.
"Next time I'll win big."
He steals Mom's earnings.
If she refuses, he beats her—
Then she beats me.
If debt collectors catch him—
He comes home and beats us harder.
Teacher says: "Parents are a child's safe harbor."
What's a harbor?
Does it hurt this much?
Takakai's vision blurred.
His limbs numbed, movements sluggish.
A woman thrashed beside him—
Gagged. Suffocating.
Where am I?
["Disobedient mutt."]
Fingers pried his mouth open.
A needle pierced his lip.
Thread yanked through flesh.
"Nngh—!"
No strength to scream.
Just agony.
Again. Again.
The woman beside him wailed, her cries muffled—
Like something stuffed down her throat.
Move.
Fight.
Not like this.
Not dying here.
With sheer will, Takakai fumbled for the rescue badge in his pocket.
No time to adjust the pin.
He stabbed it into his own shoulder, burying it deep.
A cacophony erupted in his ears:
Drills of rescue teams.The child's muffled sobs.A screech that shook the room.
Then—
Silence.
Takakai collapsed onto the floor.
His vision cleared slightly.
The room was warped—walls bulging, furniture fused into the ceiling, a stove bent at impossible angles.
Dozens of kettles hissed steam, fogging the air.
His clothes stuck to his skin—boiling water had seared flesh and fabric together.
Blood seeped through.
His mouth—
Sewn shut with crude stitches.
Good news:
His severed right hand had been cauterized by the scalding water, slowing the bleeding.Nearby, "Maeda Miwa" writhed on the ground—far worse off than him.
Her entire body was stitched like a ragdoll, skin sloughing off from burns.
If not for his own pain, Takakai would've laughed.
Instead, he flipped her off.
Maeda Miwa snarled silently—
Then lunged, knife in hand.
How is she still moving?!
Takakai rolled weakly, but she pounced, pinning him down.
The knife plunged—
Embedding into concrete like butter.
This isn't a normal blade.
It's a cursed object.
She yanked it free, aiming for his throat—
CRACK!
Takakai's left hook shattered her jaw.
Blood sprayed.
His rescue uniform materialized fully, strength surging.
He reversed their positions, pinning her.
She's fast but fragile.
Like Guo, she avoids direct fights.
That's why she hid among us.
Fists rained down.
Once.
"That's for betraying us."
Twice.
"That's for cutting my hand."
Three. Four. Five.
Her face caved, teeth scattering.
She slashed wildly—
Slicing Takakai's ear, cheek, arm.
But his sixth punch—
Crushed her nose into pulp.
Her grip failed.
The knife clattered into Takakai's palm.
Visions flashed:
A surgeon, face smeared red, dissecting something on an operating table.
This blade hungers.
Takakai cut his stitches first, freeing his mouth.
Then—
Methodically broke Maeda Miwa's legs.
No killing.
Dead players become monsters.
A dark-red doll fell from her pocket.
Another cursed item?
He pocketed it.
Standing, Takakai surveyed the room.
No exits.
Just kettles.
Endless kettles.
Then—
One moved.
A pale hand lifted it.
A woman's face, bloodless and blank, peered through the steam.
Her lips parted:
["Disobedient mutt."]