White ground, white walls, white ceiling—and ten men who don't even know their own faces.
Shutarou wakes with no memory except his name, surrounded by nine strangers in identical gray sweatsuits, sealed inside a facility with no windows and no way out. A knife drawer stocked "for someone to use." A speaker that crackles to life with a single rule: kill, or be killed, and only the last man standing gets his memories—and his freedom—back. One more thing: one of them isn't really an amnesiac. One
Ten Men Who Lost Their Memories - A Scream in the Darkness and the Worst Encounter
The inside of his eyelids was dark.
No — his eyes were open, and it was still dark.
The world that had been pure white moments ago was now painted over in black. The scream from before still echoed around and around in the back of his skull. The smell of iron and salt clung to the inside of his nose and wouldn't let go.
(A blackout... how long is this going to last?)
Shutarou stared at his own palms. Of course, he couldn't see a thing. Even the shape of his fingers dissolved into the darkness. Only the cold sensation of the floor told him this was the same cafeteria he'd been standing in moments ago.
How long had he stayed like that?
With a thunk, the world turned red.
The emergency lights on the ceiling flickered on with a dull, stupid sound. The white walls were repainted a sickly red. The familiar hallway now looked like the inside of some creature's guts.
He looked around. Everyone was either slumped on the floor or leaning against the walls. Every single one of them was eyeing the others with suspicion.
"...Is anyone... missing?"
Gou's voice had lost its usual strength.
Just then, Hiroki came staggering down the hallway from the far end. His face was pale as death, his lips trembling.
"S-Satoshi... Satoshi is..."
Shutarou looked where he was pointing.
The crossroads of the hallway. Directly beneath a red lamp, Satoshi lay collapsed. The chest area of his gray sweatshirt was soaked a dark, ugly color. Beside him, a silver kitchen knife lay on the floor. Its blade glistened wetly with a dark red liquid.
His breath stopped.
Just moments ago, they'd been thinking about getting out of here together.
"Well done."
A voice crackled down from the ceiling speaker, laced with static. It was the kind of voice that felt like a cold hand reaching directly into your chest and squeezing your heart.
"One person has been eliminated. Nine remain. Darkness reveals a person's true nature. A promising trend."
No one could speak.
"Ah, and one more thing. My collaborator among you — he seems to have done his job properly. I'm a lucky man, to have such an excellent pawn."
The broadcast cut off with a click.
What remained was the red light, the corpse, and nine men glaring at each other.
"You bastard, how dare you—!"
"I-I didn't do it! It wasn't me!"
"You're the one who found him first! That's suspicious as hell!"
Hiroki backed away. Another man stepped forward. Everyone's hands were shaking. Everyone's eyes were narrowed. Suspicion and paranoia didn't even begin to cover it. This was a pack of wild beasts circling their prey.
(At this rate, someone else is going to die.)
Something smoldered in the back of Shutarou's mind, a slow, searing sensation.
The remnants of a memory — of failing to protect someone. A shadow whose face and name he couldn't recall.
He looked at everyone's faces. He was scared. Scared for himself. But still.
"...Stop it."
His voice came out smaller than he'd expected.
Every gaze in the room snapped to him in an instant. But he couldn't stop now.
"Satoshi is dead. But turning on each other and killing each other — that's not right. We need to talk. Properly."
"...Hah?"
Gou's mouth fell open. It was a strange expression, caught somewhere between anger and bewilderment.
"You — in this situation, what are you even saying—"
Kazuki pressed his temples and shook his head.
Shutarou knew. He knew he was saying something wildly out of place. But these were his honest feelings. A world where someone dies and someone else rejoices — he wanted no part of it.
That was when it happened.
"Don't give me that crap, you bastard!!"
A voice loud enough to split eardrums echoed through the hallway.
Shutarou turned. Standing there was a man with blond hair slicked back. He was glaring straight at Shutarou, fists clenched, looking like he was about to lunge at any second.
"You think pretty words are gonna stop people from killing each other?! Hypocrite!!"
Ryou's voice trembled with rage and fear. His eyes looked like they were about to burst into tears, but he was desperately masking it with anger.
Shutarou stared right back into those eyes.
"Call me a hypocrite if you want. I just don't want any of you to die."
"So what?! What can you actually do with that blank look on your face?!"
"And you — you think grinning your way through this is going to solve anything?"
Unusually for him, the emotion poured straight out of his mouth. Ryou's carefree, thoughtless cheerfulness — for some reason it infuriated him beyond reason. How could anyone act like that at a time like this?
"The hell did you just say to me—!"
Ryou took a step forward. Shutarou stepped forward too, refusing to back down. The others around them edged away, some looking exasperated, others looking entertained.
No one stepped in to mediate. If anything, they were thinking that if someone became the target in this commotion, they themselves would be safe.
"This is bullshit! No memories, no exit, stuck in a place like this!"
Ryou shouted.
"This is such bullshit!!"
It wasn't anger.
It was despair.
It was a helpless scream against the absurdity of their situation.
Shutarou couldn't say anything anymore. No, he thought. I don't want to blame this guy.
That was when—
Creak.
Behind him, the floor groaned.
Before he could turn, a silver arc flashed in the corner of his vision.
"U-Uwaaaaaaah!!"
Takeru came bursting out of the cafeteria kitchen, eyes bloodshot, a kitchen knife raised high. The blade was aimed at Ryou's back.
Ryou froze.
He couldn't escape.
(—I couldn't protect him.)
Something burst in the back of his mind again.
Before he knew it, he was kicking off the floor.
His thigh muscles contracted like steel springs. The sensation of nearly stomping through the floorboards. His body flew to Ryou's side in an instant.
"Eh?"
He grabbed Ryou's arm. Half-dragging him, he ran down the hallway.
"W-Wait, you bastard!"
Behind them, Takeru's angry roar and heavy footsteps gave chase. But they grew fainter by the second.
The distance was widening.
This was no ordinary speed.
It was his own body, and yet it felt like it belonged to someone else. The sound of cutting through air roared past his ears. With every step, the scenery streamed backward. The red-and-black striped hallway seemed to warp and twist.
"Y-You — your legs are fast as hell!!"
Ryou shouted as he was dragged along.
Shutarou had no spare breath to answer. He ran up the stairs in a frenzy. Ryou nearly tripped, but before he could think, he'd hoisted the other man's body onto his shoulder.
Adrenaline burned through his entire body.
(What the hell are these legs?)
Even he couldn't believe it.
The end of the hallway. A plate that read "R-07." The infirmary. He shoved the door open with his shoulder and threw Ryou inside. He tumbled in after him and immediately twisted the lock.
Click.
The sound of the lock engaging echoed unnaturally loud.
"...Hah... hah..."
His heart was about to leap out of his throat. His lungs creaked and groaned, desperate for oxygen. Shutarou slid down to the floor with his back against the door.
Ryou was on his hands and knees, breathing hard.
"...You've gotta be kidding me."
Ryou's voice, finally forced out, was hoarse. The usual bottomless cheerfulness was nowhere to be found.
"You — just now... what the hell was that running?"
"I don't know."
Shutarou stared at his own legs. His legs, beneath the gray sweats. Just ordinary legs. Nothing special about them. And yet, just now, he'd been running at clearly inhuman speed.
(What... am I?)
Having no memories meant not knowing who he was. He didn't even know his own body.
Ryou staggered to his feet and pulled bandages and disinfectant from a shelf.
"Give me your hands."
Shutarou held out both hands without protest. The scrapes he'd gotten when Takeru had grabbed at him were oozing blood. He hadn't even noticed.
Ryou silently pressed a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant against the wounds.
It stung. The pain brought him back to reality.
"...Sorry."
Ryou muttered as he wrapped the bandages.
"I said terrible things to you. Called you a hypocrite."
Shutarou shook his head silently.
Ryou didn't look up. His hands, wrapping the bandage, were trembling slightly.
"I've been... scared this whole time. No memories, and then I wake up in some place I don't know, told to kill each other. It made no sense, but I figured I couldn't let anyone see how weak I was."
Ryou laughed at himself. It was a twisted laugh, nothing like his usual warm, friendly grin.
"So I kept grinning. Figured if I did, things would work out somehow. ...Pathetic, right?"
Shutarou took the bandage from Ryou's hands, and this time he began disinfecting the scrapes on Ryou's arm.
"It's not pathetic."
Ryou looked up. His eyes were slightly moist.
"I'm scared too. Because I'm scared, I thought we had to talk. That's all it is."
His words were still short and clumsy. But it was the most honest thing he could say right now.
"I don't want to see any of you die. That's all."
Shutarou's usually vacant brown eyes were, just for now, fixed straight on Ryou. Deep within them, something hot was definitely burning.
Ryou caught his breath.
Then, this time, he smiled a real smile — a slightly pitiful one.
"...What the hell is that."
"That's all it is."
A strange silence settled between them.
The hostility from before had vanished cleanly. In its place, a curious sense of solidarity — two people who had acknowledged each other's weakness — connected them like a thin thread.
That was when it happened.
Bang — the infirmary door rattled.
"Hey, I know you're in there! Come out!"
Takeru's muffled voice came through the door.
"Those two are dangerous! Did you see Shutarou's legs?! That's not normal! And Ryou's attitude! Both of them are way too suspicious!"
This time, another voice joined in.
"...He's right. That leg strength is a threat. If we leave them be, they might kill all of us."
It was Kazuki's calm voice.
"Yeah!" "They're obviously working together!"
Other participants' voices began chiming in one after another.
"At this rate, we're all going to get killed! We need to eliminate those dangerous elements while we still can!"
Takeru's inciting voice echoed through the hallway.
Clang, clang — the sound of metal scraping against metal. Someone must have gone down to the basement storage and brought up a crowbar or a wrench.
Outside the door, a mob driven by fear was gathering, having decided to eliminate Shutarou and Ryou.
"...Damn it, we're surrounded."
Ryou cursed under his breath. He scanned the room — not a single window. The only exit was the door in front of them.
They were rats in a trap.
Then, the facility broadcast crackled with static once more.
"Current survivors: nine. Twenty-two hours remain until the next judgment. Trust does nothing but get in the way of the killing."
It was as if the timing had been designed to mock the two people in the room.
Ryou's face was pale with fear, but he looked at Shutarou and grinned.
"...But you know, right now, I've got no choice but to trust you."
Those words were like a small light flickering to life in the dark room.
Shutarou nodded without a word.
From outside the door, an ominous metallic sound began — someone trying to pry the door open with a crowbar.
An inescapable locked room.
And a mob trying to eliminate the two of them, who had only just begun to bond.
In the white room lit by red lamps, Shutarou slowly rose to his feet.
(Like hell I'm letting it end here.)
For the first time, the thing he wanted to protect took shape as words and settled into his chest.
Clutching that warmth, he simply stared at the door as it began to rattle and shake.
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