The door to Floor Four didn't open.
It dissolved.
No sound. No announcement. Just silence—thick, absolute—and then a ripple through the classroom like heat over concrete. The world peeled away, and suddenly they were somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere cold.
Somewhere made of mirrors.
Ayato's breath fogged in front of him. The air smelled like glass and old books, and the light was weird—sharp and colorless, like the sun filtered through ice. He glanced at Yui, who looked lost and small. Mio's fingers trembled as she flipped open her book. Ren took a step forward—and his reflection took a step backward.
Not mirroring.
Mocking.
"Where… are we?" Yui's voice barely carried through the stillness.
Mio didn't answer right away. She just stared at the pages, her lips moving silently.
"This is Floor Four," Ayato said, eyes scanning every surface. "A mirrored maze. But not just physical… mental."
Ren's voice was tight. "Explain."
Ayato swallowed. "These mirrors aren't meant to reflect you. They're meant to rewrite you."
He felt it already—the pressure, the whispers, the way the air buzzed with something unnatural. Like the dungeon was watching, waiting for them to break.
[Welcome to Floor 4: The Mirror Labyrinth]
"Where truth is not truth. Where the face you wear is not your own."
Objective: Locate the central chamber.
Warning: Identity corruption will increase with prolonged exposure.
Note: Killings inside the mirror realm will not affect karma.
Ayato's eyes narrowed at that last line.
Why would it say that unless it expected us to fight each other?
He already knew the answer.
The maze wasted no time splitting them.
A mirrored hallway unfolded like a blooming flower. Each wall shimmered and twisted like liquid glass. One step too far, and Yui was gone—sucked into a corridor that hadn't been there a second ago.
"Yui!" Ren shouted, running forward—only to vanish himself.
Ayato and Mio stood alone now.
Except… not alone.
Their reflections remained.
And they weren't still.
Ayato walked the corridor carefully, ignoring the voices, ignoring the copies.
But the walls whispered in his own voice.
"Why pretend, Ayato?"
"You've always wanted to be the one with blood on your hands."
"You didn't kill Daichi to protect anyone. You killed him to prove you could."
Ayato stopped. The reflection beside him had stopped too.
He looked into it—and the reflection smiled.
Not his smile. Too wide. Too cruel.
Ayato drew his dagger. The reflection followed suit.
"I'm not you," Ayato muttered.
"You will be," it whispered back.
The glass cracked—and the reflection stepped through.
Same face. Same stance. Same blade.
But it didn't move like Ayato. It moved faster. More fluid. It anticipated him.
Steel met steel. Sparks lit the mirror maze like fireflies.
Ayato backstepped, Shadow Flicker activated—but the mirror used it too.
"This is what you become when you stop pretending you care," Mirror Ayato hissed. "I don't hesitate. I don't doubt. I just survive."
"Then you die here," Ayato snarled.
He dropped his guard for one half-second—then reversed his grip and threw his dagger into the mirror's foot.
As it stumbled, he lunged and slammed his fist into its throat.
[Skill: Karma Pulse – Internal Disruption]
The mirror shuddered, cracked—and shattered.
Ayato stood over the shards. Blood dripped from his knuckles.
But it wasn't his.
The mirror floor whispered.
"One down. Two remain."
Ayato's heart pounded.
What does that mean? Who else is left?
He wiped his hands on his pants, trying to steady his breathing.
This place is messing with my head. But I can't let it win.
He pressed on, the maze shifting around him.
Every mirror showed him a different version of himself—some angry, some broken, some smiling with blood on their lips.
He tried not to look.
But the whispers followed him.
"You're not a hero."
"You're just a killer."
"You'll leave them all behind."
Ayato clenched his fists.
Shut up. Just shut up.
Mio wandered a circular library. Shelves of glass books surrounded her, all blank.
Her reflection appeared… but instead of copying her, it mocked her past.
"You weren't chosen because you're clever. You were chosen because you're predictable. You seek answers. And you'd burn everyone for them."
Mio hesitated.
"Ayato will leave you behind eventually," her reflection said softly. "He always does."
The reflection leaned close.
"Just like he did in Cycle Seven."
Mio blinked—and saw herself in another lifetime. Alone. Bleeding. Forgotten.
She screamed—and fire surged from her hand, incinerating the image.
Ayato reached the central corridor first. The maze was quiet now. Almost expectant.
One by one, the others emerged—wounded, shaken.
Ren had a cut down his side. Yui looked paler than ever. Mio had soot on her hands and a haunted look in her eyes.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
They had seen too much of themselves.
Ayato met Mio's eyes. She looked away quickly, but not before he saw the fear.
What did she see?
He wanted to ask, but the words stuck in his throat.
A final room. A single mirror stood at the center—unbroken, tall as a door.
A prompt appeared:
[Final Mirror – Choose One to Enter.]
Only one may carry the truth to the next floor. The rest must forget what they've seen here.
The group fell silent.
Ayato stepped forward.
"I'll go."
Ren muttered, "Of course you will. You always step in like the world owes you leadership."
Ayato turned.
"No. I step in because I know what happens if we hesitate."
Ren clenched his jaw. "Then maybe it's time someone else stepped up."
Tension cracked in the air.
Yui raised a hand. "Enough. No one's forcing anything. We vote."
Mio looked at Ayato.
Then she said, "I choose Ayato."
Yui nodded after a pause. "Me too."
Ren sighed. "…Whatever."
Ayato stepped into the mirror.
It didn't shatter.
It accepted him.
Inside the final mirror, Ayato stood in a void.
No walls. No floor. Just darkness.
Then came the voice—not the system's.
Something older.
"You wear the mask well, Observer. But even masks rot eventually."
A hand—black as ink—reached from the void and pressed against Ayato's chest.
"You still believe there's a right way out of this. There isn't."
Ayato whispered, "You're wrong. I'll find it."
The voice chuckled.
"Then I'll see you on Floor Ten."
Ayato was thrown back—violently.
He awoke in the hub room.
Alone.
[Floor Four Cleared. Memory Retained: Observer Only.]
[Next Floor: The Painted Theater.]
[Note: Karma no longer private. Judgments begin accelerating.]
Ayato sat up, rubbing his temples. His head pounded.
Where are the others?
He looked around the empty room, his heart racing.
Did they forget? Did they make it?
He stood, pacing the floor. The walls felt closer than before. The air was thick with silence.
A few minutes later, the others appeared—one by one, blinking and confused.
Yui rubbed her eyes. "What happened? I feel like I lost something."
Ren frowned. "Yeah. Like a dream you can't remember."
Mio looked at Ayato, her eyes sharp. "You remember, don't you?"
Ayato nodded. "Yeah."
Yui sighed. "Of course you do."
Ren crossed his arms. "So, what? You get to keep the secrets now?"
Ayato clenched his fists. "It's not like that. The mirror chose."
Mio stepped closer. "What did it show you?"
Ayato hesitated. "A voice. It said… it'll see me on Floor Ten."
Mio's eyes widened. "Floor Ten? That's where…"
Ayato nodded. "Yeah. Where the last cycle ended."
Ren groaned. "Great. More cryptic crap. Just what we needed."
Yui rubbed her arms. "I don't like this. I don't like any of this."
Ayato looked at them—his friends, his allies, the only people left who mattered.
I have to protect them. Even if it means carrying the weight alone.
He sat down, leaning against the wall.
"We should rest. The next floor's gonna be worse."
Mio sat beside him. "They always are."
Ren flopped onto the floor, wincing. "I'm so sick of this place."
Yui curled up nearby, hugging her knees. "Me too."
Ayato closed his eyes, but he didn't sleep.
He just listened—to the others' breathing, to the hum of the dungeon, to the whispers in his own head.
You're not a hero. You're just a kid. A kid who's seen too much. Done too much.
He opened his eyes. The numbers above their heads flickered—rising, falling, never stable.
Karma's not private anymore. Judgments are coming faster.
He looked at Mio. She was watching him, her eyes tired but steady.
"We'll get through this," she said softly.
Ayato nodded. "Yeah. We will."
He didn't know if he believed it.
But he wanted to.
And for now, that was enough.
(Chapter 11 End)