No one moved.
The red button in the center of the classroom glowed faintly, like it was breathing.
Ten minutes to push it.
One push to survive.
And if no one did...
Kairo's throat tightened. Around the circle, the other nineteen students were frozen, scanning each other, calculating. The panic from earlier was gone — replaced by a heavier, colder silence.
"Time remaining: 9 minutes, 34 seconds."
The voice came from above, emotionless. Mechanical.
A boy stood up. Tall, broad-shouldered, athletic. Blond buzzcut. Kairo recognized him from the train — one of the first to glare at the Headmaster. He raised his hands.
"Alright," he said. "We don't have to panic. This is a test. That's all. A psychological thing."
"What kind of test ends with elimination?" someone whispered.
"We don't know if it's real," the boy argued. "It could be a bluff. We push the button and maybe we all fail."
A girl two seats to his left laughed. Not a giggle — a sharp, bitter bark. Short pink bob, black lipstick.
"You go ahead and test it, champ. Push the button. See if your guts stay in your body."
Kairo looked across the circle. Aria sat with her legs crossed, elbows resting on her desk, chin on her palm. Watching. Amused.
He hated that he wanted to ask her what to do.
"8 minutes."
The boy stepped toward the button.
Another student jumped up — a girl in glasses. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks. "Wait! What if pushing it makes you the target?"
"Then what, we just wait to die?" another snapped.
Arguments broke out. Voices rising. Fingers pointing. Some stood. Others shrank into their chairs.
Kairo remained seated, heartbeat pounding in his ears. His mind raced.
There had to be logic here. A pattern. A rule to exploit. But it was buried under chaos.
The boy — the blond — looked around one more time.
"I'll do it."
He stepped up, hand hovering.
Aria's voice cut through the room. "You should let the weakest press it."
Everyone turned.
She was still seated. Calm. Icy.
"Why?" someone snapped.
"Because if the button does choose someone to die, it might choose the one who presses it," Aria said. "Better to let someone we don't need be the test rat."
That caused a ripple. Some nodded. Others flinched.
The boy hesitated.
"Or," she continued, smiling faintly, "if pressing it gives someone power... better to make sure it's someone who won't know how to use it."
Now they were listening.
Kairo sat up straighter. "You're manipulating them."
She turned to him slowly. "I'm playing the game. You should try it."
"7 minutes remaining."
The tension cracked like ice.
The boy backed away from the button.
The group began murmuring again. This time, darker. Murkier.
Who was weak?
Who was expendable?
Kairo stood.
"Stop," he said. Not loud, but firm enough that a few heads turned.
"You're falling into exactly what they want. Turning on each other before anything's even happened."
"No one's doing anything," the pink-haired girl snapped. "You got a better plan, hero?"
Kairo ignored her. "We still don't know what the button does. But I doubt it's random. Someone has to try. But we can choose that together. Fairly."
"Fair?" Aria repeated, like the word was foreign.
He faced the group. "We vote."
Silence.
Then, slowly, a few heads nodded.
Kairo continued. "No force. No threats. We all write down a name. The person with the most votes presses it."
"And if they refuse?" someone asked.
Kairo hesitated.
"Then... they'll prove we made the wrong choice."
Scraps of paper were passed around. A pen clicked. Scribbles. Eyes everywhere.
Kairo didn't write a name at first.
His gut screamed that this was wrong. But doing nothing — that was worse.
He wrote: #12 — the number of the white-haired boy who hadn't said a word. The one who kept drawing skulls in his notebook on the train.
They folded the papers. A girl collected them. Tall, graceful, eyes shadowed like she hadn't slept in years.
She counted.
"#7," she said. "Three votes."
A boy in the front row swore under his breath.
It was him — skinny, anxious, twitchy. Glasses fogged. He looked like he wanted to vomit.
"No," he said. "I can't."
"We voted," the girl said quietly.
"You can't make me—!"
Aria stood.
All eyes turned.
She walked slowly toward him. Calm. Methodical.
Then she crouched beside him.
"If you don't," she said softly, "we all die. And we will make sure you're the first."
He stared at her, eyes wide.
Then nodded.
He walked to the pedestal like he was approaching a guillotine.
His hand trembled.
And he pressed the button.
Click.
The light turned blue.
"Choice accepted."
A panel opened on the chalkboard.
A card slid out — black, with a red fingerprint mark on it.
"Student #7 has been assigned the role of Executioner. You have one minute to choose a classmate for elimination. Failure to choose will result in your own death."
The room froze.
Everyone looked at him. Including Aria.
Kairo stood slowly. "You don't have to—"
"I don't want this!" #7 screamed.
But the timer on the chalkboard ticked down. 00:55... 00:54...
He turned, frantic, eyes wild.
"Don't make me do this! Please!"
No one stepped forward.
00:43...
Then a quiet voice spoke.
"I'll do it."
Everyone turned.
The pink-haired girl.
She stood, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Choose me," she said. "Someone has to."
Kairo stepped forward. "No. There has to be another way."
She shook her head.
"This place isn't a school. It's a slaughterhouse. Sooner or later, we all bleed. Might as well be me first."
#7 stared at her, shaking.
00:28...
"Just do it, coward," she snapped. "You think they'll stop the game if you cry hard enough?"
He reached for the card reader built into the board.
Paused.
Then, trembling, he slid the card.
A red flash.
"Student #14 — eliminated."
A high-pitched hum.
A dart shot from the wall.
Straight into her neck.
She staggered once.
Then smiled.
"Guess I flunked."
And collapsed.
Blood spread from her mouth as her eyes rolled back.
"Trial One complete. 19 students remain. Your cooperation is noted. You may now exit."
The doors unlocked.
Kairo couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Aria stepped beside him.
"Told you," she said. "The real game is just beginning."