Long before she ever stepped into this classroom, everyone already knew—a sick girl would be transferring in.
No one could say where the rumor had started or how it had spread so quickly, but within days, nearly the entire school had heard: the new transfer student, Asamoto Eriko, was mentally ill.
Schizophrenia? Or was it dissociative identity disorder?
Whispers swirled. Speculations ran wild. The students dissected the unknown girl's imagined abnormalities, each version more grotesque than the last.
At first, it was just that she heard voices—dark, intrusive thoughts telling her she'd be hurt. But she'd undergone treatment, they said. She was nearly recovered. That was why she could return to school.
But as the rumors multiplied, so did the distortions.
Some claimed Asamoto Eriko had slashed her parents with a knife. Others swore she crawled on all fours like a dog, scavenging for filth in the grass. Some said five people lived inside her skull. Some whispered she bit through her roommate's neck at midnight. And then there were those who insisted she'd already killed several classmates—that she'd been protected, transferred here to escape justice.
The girl hadn't even arrived, yet they had already constructed a past for her, a narrative so vile that disgust festered effortlessly.
If you stopped to think about it, wasn't it strange? To despise someone you'd never met, based on nothing but hearsay? To join the chorus of hatred without questioning, without once asking if any of it was true?
No one verified. No one hesitated. They only embellished, only amplified, only stoked the flames of their own baseless loathing.
And so, consensus was born.
No one knew how it had formed. Maybe it began as an offhand remark in some small clique. But now, it was an unshakable truth:
[Asamoto Eriko is a deranged lunatic who hurts people for no reason. Everyone must hate her.]
Students and teachers alike obeyed this invisible rule. To defy it meant punishment.
Yes—this was the unspoken law of the school.
A student who ignored the consensus would become another Asamoto Eriko, a rightful target for torment.
A teacher who resisted might not face immediate retaliation, but soon enough, they'd meet misfortune—small accidents, strange coincidences.
And if anyone dared ask, Isn't this bizarre?
The answer was obvious:
Of course not.
This was just how schools worked. This was the natural [atmosphere], wasn't it?
The problem wasn't the system. The problem was her—the unwanted outsider, the freak who dared disrupt their harmony.
Especially since she was mentally ill. Didn't that make her even more despicable? People like her only ruined the [atmosphere]. So of course anything done to her was justified. Of course showing her kindness was wrong.
And of course—they were the ones in the right.
"Cough…! Ugh…! Hkk—!"
Kumami was on her knees, one hand braced against the floor, coughing violently.
Bright red droplets splattered onto the ground.
Along with them—her own severed tongue.
[Ah-ah~ That's a no-no!]
A giggling voice chimed beside her.
[You can't talk to the psycho, you know? Good girls don't break the [atmosphere]~]
Another voice, patient and instructive, added:
[That's right~ These are the "Rules for Dealing with Disaster Eriko"!]
[Rule 1: Asamoto Eriko is disgusting. No one may speak to her. Those who do must cut out their tongues to stop the contamination.]
[Rule 2: Asamoto Eriko is trash. Her meals must be mixed with bugs and garbage. If she refuses, force-feed her. Those who object get the same treatment—with double the bugs.]
[Rule 3: Asamoto Eriko is a bitch. She answers teachers' questions to show off. Strip her and lock her in the classroom or bathroom. Anyone who hesitates gets the same treatment.]
[Rule 4: Asamoto Eriko shouldn't have been born. Make sure she knows she's unwanted. Daily, destroy her books, bag, stationery, and shoes. Roommates must regularly trash her clothes and bedding. Those who don't comply are her accomplices—throw them off the rooftop.]
[Rule 5: Asamoto Eriko pollutes the air. When she enters a space, drive her out immediately. Insults, beatings, stabbings with compasses—all allowed. Just don't leave visible wounds. Those who call this cruel are trash too—gouge out their eyes and ears so they can't testify.]
[Rule 6: Asamoto Eriko is a slut who seduces teachers. Get rid of any teacher who's kind to her. If they won't leave, kill them. Bury the bodies behind the old school building. Everyone must participate. Slackers die first.]
[Rule 7: Asamoto Eriko is a curse. She picked up a recruitment flyer for the nonexistent "Occult Club." She'll become a urban legend and bring misfortune. When the time comes, bury her alive in the greenhouse. Anyone who didn't attack her enough joins her.]
The voices chanted the rules cheerfully, earnestly.
These were students. Human students.
So why—why did they sound so inhuman?
No. It wasn't just them.
Kumami remembered. Before entering this dungeon, Takakai had briefed them on intel from Fujika Middle School and Shirasawa Elementary. Among the clues was mention of [Takamagahara]—the refuge of the remnants of the Watchers, those malignant entities.
[Yoruyama Middle School] had operated straight through the post-war era. No matter how many students and teachers vanished or died, no one questioned it. Not until Moriwara Kōji, one of the core grudges, detonated an aerial bomb in the assembly hall, killing most of the staff and students, finally forcing the school to shut down.
Yet even then, no one found it strange. The world simply… forgot.
The Sacrifice Game's information suppression could explain some of it—but the game hadn't existed back then. Which meant…
[Takamagahara] must have been pulling the strings.
And according to Shijō Maki's relayed intel from Takakai, the main campus's death toll exceeded 10,000. That couldn't have happened overnight. It must have accumulated over years, decades.
Yet 10,000 dead high schoolers without a single investigation?
Impossible. There was more to this.
Tch. Too little intel. Too many unknowns.
They were working blind, shackled at every turn. This dungeon exploration was infuriating.
"Pah!"
Kumami spat out a mouthful of blood.
She sent her final message to Maki and Chika outside.
As for Kenpei—she couldn't reach him anymore. After confronting the core grudge, the information lockdown had deepened. She couldn't communicate with her team now.
But even though Kenpei no longer remembered his captain, he hadn't stopped enforcing the student lockdown. His intermittent broadcasts still paralyzed the教学楼's entities, buying time until the "teachers" arrived for class.
As for herself…
Kumami forced herself upright, facing the encircling students.
Every one she'd torn apart with her chainsaw had already reassembled.
The core grudge—Asamoto Eriko—had vanished again.
And these things weren't about to let her go.
She could already hear their murmurs.
[Cut out her tongue~ So she can't speak~]
[Force-feed her bugs~ And spit~ And plastic~]
[Strip her~ Throw her off the roof~ Toss out all her things~]
[Gouge out her eyes~ Her ears~ So she can't see or hear~]
[Bury her~ Bury her in the dirt~ Bury anyone who helped her too~]
The giggles swirled, a dizzying tide crashing against her mind.
She knew. She wasn't leaving this room alive.
But she had no regrets. The moment she stepped in alone, she'd been prepared.
This was how it went in Crimson Moon dungeons.
Someone had to be the first to fall.
Why not her?
[RUN. Before the other classes' ghosts break free. Get out of the building. Regroup with Takakai. I've passed all the intel I could. YOU HAVE TO LIVE.]
Maybe the tone was too harsh. But having your tongue ripped out tended to put you in a foul mood.
Footsteps—
Two figures sprinted from the school building vanishing into the woods.
Only after confirming Maki and Chika's escape did Kumami wipe the blood from her lips and face the closing circle of students.
Now—it was just a matter of how long she could stall.
—Thud.
Takakai stopped mid-step.
He turned, gaze slicing back toward the campus, now swallowed by the trees.
"What's wrong?"
Miko noticed his expression.
Takakai didn't answer. He closed his eyes, exhaled sharply, then steadied himself.
He'd been receiving real-time updates from Maki. He knew what had happened.
Less than an hour had passed since Maki adjusted the broadcast.
The core grudge in Class 2-10 had been identified. Critical intel—unobtainable through normal investigation—had been extracted via Kumami's direct confrontation.
The cost: Kumami's life.
Even a fully equipped crimson Moon player, once cornered, was doomed.
Takakai didn't know what to say. The first casualty in his third official mission—again, it was her. The woman he'd saved back in Fujika Middle School.
Damn it. I warned them. I told them how dangerous that classroom was. Stupid. Now I owe her again.
This timeline was a loss. Which meant—no more holding back.
And…
"You've been tailing us long enough. Aren't you tired? Or do you just enjoy skulking in the dark? Personally, I think it's a shit hobby. How about we talk face-to-face?"
His voice was calm. His hand wasn't.
Gunfire erupted.
Three figures emerged from the shadows—cloaked, veiled, straight out of a bad anime.
"E-eh?!" Gotō Hitori flinched. Her malice-sensing blessing hadn't detected them at all.
Takakai didn't react. Pistol in one hand, Alice's Cabin and his domain at the ready, he studied the trio.
His own malice-sensing had failed too.
But that didn't matter.
Because his second blessing—the one from Herdal—was screaming at him.
Warning him.
These three were sociopathic [abnormal humans].