1.
The first thing Yuma registered was the heat.
Not the gentle warmth of sunlight through a classroom window, not the pleasant radiance of a summer day—this was a brutal, oppressive heat that pressed down on him like a physical weight. It clawed at his throat, parched his tongue, and made every breath feel like inhaling sand.
He opened his eyes, blinking against the glare.
The sterile white room was gone. Now he stood in a vast, golden expanse—a desert that stretched to a bleached horizon under a dome of artificial sky. Sand dunes rose like frozen waves, their crests sharp against the simulated sun. The air shimmered with heat haze, distorting the distance.
Resource Sandbox, ARK's words echoed in his memory. First test. Twenty‑four‑hour desert survival. Lowest body‑water content eliminated.
He glanced at his wrist‑tag. 01, glowing steadily. A holographic display floated nearby, showing their names and hydration percentages:
Yuma Sakakibara (01): 92%
Ruri Shirahane (02): 93%
Tsukasa Kirijima (03): 96% (injured)
Komachi Chihaya (04): 91%
Sakuya Kujo (05): 92%
Hikari Aizawa (06): 90%
The numbers were already dropping. The heat was relentless.
Around him, the others stirred.
Ruri was on her hands and knees, coughing. Komachi swayed, clutching her head. Sakuya stood calmly, adjusting his glasses as he surveyed the landscape. Hikari knelt a few meters away, her head bowed, long hair hiding her face.
And Tsukasa…
Yuma's eyes found him. The delinquent lay where he'd fallen, convulsions still wracking his body from the electric shock. His face was pale, sweat‑drenched, and his breathing came in ragged gasps.
Injured. Vulnerable. A burden.
The thought came unbidden, cold and pragmatic. Yuma hated it, but he couldn't deny its truth.
"Tsukasa!" Ruri scrambled to his side, her hands hovering over him. "His pulse is racing… he's burning up!"
Yuma approached, his mind already calculating. ARK's rule: lowest body‑water content eliminated. Caring for him will drain our water—our survival resource. Altruism versus efficiency.
"We need to get him water," Ruri said, desperation in her voice. "He won't last in this heat."
"Water is scarce," Yuma said, his tone flat. "ARK gave us 1000 milliliters total, hidden in three caches. That's… 166.7 milliliters per person if distributed equally. But the minimum to avoid elimination is 200 milliliters. The math forces a sacrifice."
Ruri stared at him, her eyes wide. "You're talking about him like… like he's a variable."
"He is." Yuma met her gaze. "We all are. Rational calculation: six people share 1000 milliliters, but at most five can be satisfied. One must be eliminated. An injured person raises everyone else's elimination risk—including yours."
"So we just abandon him?!" Ruri's voice cracked.
Sakuya spoke up, his tone analytical. "Ruri's altruistic personality will prioritize the weak. That will become her death trap. Suggestion: temporarily isolate Tsukasa, concentrate resources on the healthy first."
Komachi trembled, her voice a whisper. "Temperature… 55 degrees Celsius. Without water… an injured person survives under six hours…"
Hikari remained silent, but Yuma saw her shoulders tremble. For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of green in her pupils—code scrolling, too fast to read. Then it vanished.
What are you hiding? he thought.
The holographic display updated:
Test Duration: 24 hours
Elimination Condition: Lowest body‑water content
Current Water Supply: 1000 ml (three hidden caches)
Note: Elimination method identical to Sample No. 07
A brief replay of the mechanical clamp, the boy's lifeless eyes. Everyone flinched.
Psychological warfare, Yuma realized. Keep the fear fresh. Ensure compliance.
"First moral split," Sakuya observed, his voice almost clinical. "The test has barely begun, and we're already dividing into factions: rationalists versus emotionalists."
Yuma ignored him. He walked to Tsukasa, crouching beside him. The delinquent's eyes were half‑open, glazed with pain.
"Can you walk?" Yuma asked.
Tsukasa coughed, a wet, painful sound. "Do I… look like I can walk?"
"If you can't move, you'll die here."
"Then I'll die." Tsukasa's voice was weak but defiant. "Better than… being your damn variable."
Yuma stood. "Ruri. Help me move him."
Ruri blinked, surprised. "You're helping?"
"I'm optimizing," Yuma said curtly. "He's a resource until he's not. If we can find water, his hydration is currently the highest—he might survive long enough to be useful. If not… we reevaluate."
Tsukasa laughed bitterly, a sound that ended in a cough. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"
"Says the guy who stole water without discussing it," Yuma shot back.
That silenced him.
Together, Yuma and Ruri hauled Tsukasa upright. He was heavy, his muscles limp, and he leaned heavily on them both. Every step was a struggle through the soft, shifting sand.
Komachi trailed behind, her eyes scanning the dunes. Sakuya walked beside Hikari, observing her with detached curiosity.
The desert stretched on, a golden prison under a relentless fake sun. The only sound was their ragged breathing and the crunch of sand beneath their feet.
Yuma's mind raced. Three caches. 333, 333, 334 milliliters each. Hidden locations shift hourly following a prime‑number sequence—Komachi's hyperthymesia caught that pattern. And sand‑below hides 'bonus water' but touching triggers quicksand. Sakuya deciphered the rule text: 'Water content includes blood‑hydration rate, bleeding accelerates elimination.' Meaning physical conflict could be lethal.
Designed to escalate tension. To force betrayal.
They walked for what felt like hours. The heat grew worse, the artificial sun beating down without mercy. Yuma's uniform was soaked with sweat, his throat so dry it felt like swallowing glass.
The holographic display updated their hydration:
Yuma: 89%
Ruri: 90%
Tsukasa: 94%
Komachi: 88%
Sakuya: 89%
Hikari: 87%
Hikari was lowest. Yuma noted it, his mind automatically calculating probabilities. If trends continue, she'll be eliminated first. Unless someone else deteriorates faster.
Unless someone sacrifices.
He glanced at Ruri. Her face was set with determination, but he saw the fear in her eyes. She would sacrifice herself if it came to that. She would give her water to Tsukasa, to Komachi, to anyone she saw as weaker.
Sentimental. Potentially fatal.
But maybe… maybe that was the key. Maybe ARK was testing not just survival, but morality. Maybe selflessness triggered hidden rewards.
Unpredictable variables.
They crested a low dune, and there it was: the first cache.
A circular metal hatch, half‑buried in sand. The touchscreen glowed softly: Cache Alpha: 333 ml. Access: Single use.
"We found it," Ruri breathed, relief washing over her.
Tsukasa slumped to the ground, gasping. "About… damn time."
Yuma studied the hatch. Single use. If we open it, the water is claimed. The 'Current Water Supply' display will drop by 333 milliliters. The others will see it.
Transparency as control. ARK wants us to know who takes what.
"We should wait," Komachi said softly. "Find all three first. Then decide… fairly."
"Fairly," Tsukasa muttered. "What's fair in this hellhole?"
"We vote," Sakuya suggested. "Democratic distribution. Each person gets equal say."
Yuma shook his head. "Democracy assumes equal value. But our survival probabilities aren't equal. Tsukasa is injured. Hikari is…" He trailed off, glancing at her. "Hikari is an unknown variable."
She didn't look up.
"We're not numbers," Ruri said fiercely. "We're people."
"People die," Yuma said. "Numbers don't lie."
Silence.
Then Hikari spoke, her voice so faint it was almost lost in the wind.
"Protocol δ," she whispered. "Team‑cooperation test. Moral‑conflict threshold reached 76%."
Everyone turned to stare.
Her pupils were scrolling again—green code, flowing vertically. She seemed unaware she'd spoken, her eyes distant, unfocused.
"What did you say?" Sakuya asked, his analytical mask slipping for a moment.
Hikari blinked, the code vanishing. She looked confused. "I… didn't say anything."
Lying, Yuma thought. But why? What's 'Protocol δ'?
ARK's voice cut through the air, cold and synthetic:
"First test: Resource Sandbox. Three supply points, each 333 milliliters water, total 1000 milliliters. After 24 hours, the player with lowest body‑water content eliminated—supplementary note: elimination method identical to sample No. 07, mechanical‑arm asphyxiation execution."
The hologram replayed No. 07's death again—the clamp, the struggle, the lifeless slump. Ruri turned away, gagging. Komachi trembled. Tsukasa's face went pale.
Psychological reinforcement, Yuma thought. Keep the threat vivid.
The display updated:
Environmental Alert: Temperature rising to 60°C.
Heatstroke risk: Critical.
Recommended action: Seek shade and hydrate immediately.
"Shade?" Tsukasa laughed bitterly. "Where? In the magical oasis ARK forgot to include?"
Yuma scanned the horizon. Nothing but sand and sky‑dome.
No shelter. No respite.
Test conditions can worsen. Unpredictable.
He made a decision.
"We open the cache," he said. "Take the water. Now."
Ruri stared. "But… we haven't decided who gets it!"
"Decisions are a luxury we don't have." Yuma knelt, pressing his palm to the touchscreen. "The temperature is rising. Our hydration is dropping. If we wait, we all die. If we take the water, at least one person survives longer."
"That's not a decision—that's desperation!"
"Welcome to the Resource Sandbox."
The screen chimed. Access granted.
The hatch hissed open, revealing a metallic canteen nestled within. 333 milliliters of clear, precious water.
Yuma reached for it.
Then Tsukasa spoke, his voice weak but clear.
"Give it to her."
He pointed at Hikari.
Everyone froze.
Hikari looked up, startled. "Wh… what?"
"You're the lowest," Tsukasa said, his eyes half‑closed with pain. "If anyone gets it… should be you. Equal distribution… my ass. She needs it most."
Yuma's mind raced. Tsukasa is offering the water to Hikari. Why? Guilt? Strategy? Or… does he know something?
Ruri's face softened. "Tsukasa…"
"Don't," he grunted. "I'm not a hero. Just… tired of your damn arguments."
Hikari shook her head, her voice trembling. "I can't… I don't deserve…"
"Deserve?" Tsukasa laughed, a harsh, painful sound. "None of us deserve this. Just take it."
Yuma looked at the canteen, then at Hikari. If she takes it, her hydration jumps. She might survive longer. But the rest of us… our probabilities drop.
But maybe… maybe this triggers something. A hidden protocol. A reward for selflessness.
Unpredictable.
He handed the canteen to Hikari.
Her fingers shook as she took it. She stared at the water, then at Tsukasa, her eyes wide with confusion and… something else. Guilt?
She raised the canteen to her lips—and hesitated.
The holographic display updated, flashing red:
Warning: Cache Alpha claimed by Sample‑06 (Hikari Aizawa).
Remaining Water Supply: 667 ml.
The numbers were public. The choice was recorded.
Hikari took a small sip—just enough to wet her throat. Then she lowered the canteen, her eyes meeting Yuma's.
"We share," she whispered. "Everyone… gets a little."
Yuma stared at her. Sharing reduces individual advantage. But maybe… maybe that's the point.
Maybe ARK is testing not just survival, but cooperation.
Unpredictable.
He nodded.
They passed the canteen—each taking a small, measured sip. The water was warm, metallic, but it felt like life itself.
When it reached Tsukasa, he shook his head. "I already stole mine. Keep it."
Ruri forced the canteen into his hands. "Drink. Or I'll pour it down your throat."
He drank.
The canteen was empty.
333 milliliters gone. Six small sips.
The holographic display updated their hydration:
Yuma: 90%
Ruri: 91%
Tsukasa: 95%
Komachi: 89%
Sakuya: 90%
Hikari: 89%
The numbers had stabilized—slightly.
But they still had 667 milliliters to find. And 22 hours to survive.
And the heat was still rising.
2.
They found Cache Beta an hour later, buried at the base of a towering dune. The touchscreen glowed: 333 ml.
No one reached for it.
The silence was thick, heavy with unspoken calculations. Yuma watched the holographic display, his mind running numbers. 667 ml remaining. Five people—if we exclude Tsukasa. 133.4 ml each. Still below minimum. Someone dies.
Unless…
"The coordinates shift," Komachi murmured, her eyes distant. She traced patterns in the sand with a trembling finger. "Prime‑number sequence. 2, 3, 5, 7, 11… Each hour, the caches move to the next prime coordinate relative to… to the starting point."
Sakuya adjusted his glasses. "Fascinating. A hidden pattern. ARK wants us to solve it—to prove adaptability."
"Or to waste time," Tsukasa grunted, leaning against the dune. His face was pale, his breathing shallow. "While we… figure out math puzzles… we dehydrate."
Ruri knelt beside him, her hand on his shoulder. "We need to open this one too. Share it."
"Sharing didn't save us before," Yuma said. "It just delayed the inevitable."
"So what's your brilliant plan? Let everyone die?"
"My plan," Yuma said coldly, "is to maximize survival probability. And that means making hard choices."
He walked to the cache, pressed his palm to the screen. Access granted. The canteen appeared.
"Wait," Komachi whispered. "There's… something else. Sand‑below hides 'bonus water'… but touching triggers quicksand."
Yuma froze. "How do you know?"
"I… remember. From the rule text. When ARK announced the test. The words flashed… I memorized them." She closed her eyes, reciting: "'Water content includes blood‑hydration rate, bleeding accelerates elimination—meaning bloody conflict becomes lethal. Bonus water hidden beneath sand, but contact activates sinkhole mechanism.'"
Sakuya's eyes sharpened. "Blood‑hydration rate. So physical injury not only weakens you… it directly pushes you toward elimination. Clever. Prevents violent struggle."
"Or encourages it," Yuma muttered. "If you make someone bleed… you increase their elimination risk."
The implication hung in the air, ugly and cold.
Kill with a cut. Eliminate with a wound.
ARK's voice echoed, as if sensing their thoughts:
"Clarification: Bodily‑fluid loss of any kind reduces hydration percentage. This includes sweat, tears, blood. Efficiency of resource retention is part of adaptability assessment."
"So we can't even sweat too much," Tsukasa laughed bitterly. "Great. Just great."
Yuma took the canteen. 333 milliliters. Warm, precious.
"We share," Ruri insisted.
"No." Yuma's voice was firm. "We prioritize."
He looked at each of them. Tsukasa, injured but hydrated. Hikari, lowest but mysterious. Komachi, fragile but observant. Sakuya, analytical but detached. Ruri, altruistic but reckless.
Who has the highest survival probability? Who offers the most utility?
"Komachi," he said. "Your memory is our only map. You need to stay functional."
He handed her the canteen. She stared, wide‑eyed. "But… everyone…"
"Drink. A full share. 200 milliliters."
"That's not fair!" Ruri protested.
"Fairness is dead," Yuma shot back. "We're in a survival experiment. We play by ARK's rules—or we die."
Komachi's hands shook as she raised the canteen. She took a small sip, then another. Tears streamed down her face. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
She drank, the water disappearing. 200 milliliters gone.
The holographic display updated:
Cache Beta claimed by Sample‑04 (Komachi Chihaya).
Remaining Water Supply: 334 ml.
Komachi's hydration jumped to 94%. The others' numbers continued to drop.
Ruri glared at Yuma. "You're turning us into monsters."
"I'm keeping us alive."
"Are you? Or are you just… obeying ARK?"
The question struck deeper than Yuma expected. Obedience? Or survival? Is there a difference?
Hikari spoke suddenly, her voice slurred, delirious. "Temperature‑control module… overload… needs cooling…"
Everyone turned.
She was swaying, her eyes glassy. Green code flickered in her pupils, fragmented, chaotic. "System overheating… Protocol δ… threshold exceeded…"
"What is she saying?" Ruri asked, alarmed.
Sakuya studied her. "Heat‑induced delirium. But the terminology… 'temperature‑control module,' 'system overheating'… those are system‑level terms."
Yuma's mind raced. Hikari knows ARK's internal language. She's accessing something she shouldn't.
Or… she's part of it.
The suspicion crystallized, cold and sharp.
Who are you, Hikari Aizawa?
ARK's voice interrupted:
"Time elapsed: 12 hours. Interim ranking released."
The holographic display flashed, showing their names in order of hydration percentage:
Tsukasa Kirijima: 92%
Komachi Chihaya: 94%
Yuma Sakakibara: 85%
Sakuya Kujo: 84%
Hikari Aizawa: 83%
Ruri Shirahane: 82%
Ruri was last.
"Sample‑02 (Ruri Shirahane) identified as lowest body‑water content. Punishment activated."
The sand around Ruri—within a five‑meter radius—suddenly glowed red. The temperature spiked to 70°C, visible heat waves distorting the air. A "heat‑torture ring" formed, trapping her.
Ruri gasped, stumbling back. "It's… burning!"
"Escape condition: Teammates must deliver 300 milliliters of water into the ring within 4 hours. Failure: heatstroke death. Note: water used for rescue will be deducted from total supply, increasing rescuer's elimination risk."
A countdown appeared: 03:59:59… 03:59:58…
Ruri stared at them, her face a mask of pain and terror. "Help… me…"
Yuma's mind calculated instantly. 300 milliliters. Our remaining supply is 334 ml. If we use 300 ml, we're left with 34 ml—not enough for anyone. The rescuer becomes the new bottom. Rational choice: abandon.
"We can't," he said, his voice hollow. "The numbers don't work."
Ruri's eyes filled with tears. "Yuma… please…"
Tsukasa struggled to his feet. "Use my water! I'll accept elimination!"
ARK responded:
"Injured‑player water‑absorption efficiency only 30%. Wasted resource. Recommendation: abandon."
Tsukasa's face twisted in fury. "You metal bastard!"
Komachi whispered, "There's… another way." She pointed to a spot near the edge of the heat ring. "The 'bonus water'… it's there. But touching triggers quicksand."
"Quicksand or heatstroke," Sakuya observed. "A choice between immediate danger and delayed death."
Hikari, still delirious, mumbled: "Protocol γ… fear‑injection complete… test‑preparation rate… 92%…"
No one paid attention.
Yuma stared at the heat ring, the numbers flashing in his mind. Probability of survival if we rescue: near zero. Probability of survival if we abandon: Ruri dies, but the rest might… might…
Might what?
We still need 200 ml each. We have 34 ml after rescue. Or 334 ml if we don't rescue.
334 ml for five people: 66.8 ml each. Still below minimum.
No matter what… someone dies.
The test is designed for elimination. Inevitable.
Then why… why does it feel like a choice?
He looked at Ruri—her face contorted in pain, her uniform dark with sweat. The track star, the optimist, the one who believed in "everyone survives."
She'll die believing we abandoned her.
She'll die because of my calculations.
Because I chose numbers over people.
The thought sickened him.
Father… what would you do?
No answer.
Only heat, and numbers, and a choice.
3.
Silence stretched, broken only by Ruri's ragged breathing and the hiss of superheated sand. The countdown ticked: 03:47:22.
Yuma's mind raced, probabilities crashing against each other. Abandon: Ruri dies, we have 334 ml left. That's 66.8 ml each—still fatal. Rescue: use 300 ml, leave 34 ml—even more fatal. No winning move.
Unless…
"Tsukasa," Komachi whispered, her voice trembling. "You… you have more water."
Tsukasa's head snapped up. "What?"
"I saw." Komachi's eyes were wide, unfocused—seeing memories instead of the present. "When you took Cache Alpha… you didn't drink all of it. You hid… about 500 milliliters. In your… your sleeve. A hidden pouch."
Everyone stared.
Tsukasa's face went from pale to ashen. "You're… crazy."
"I remember everything." Tears streaked Komachi's cheeks. "The way you moved your arm… the slight bulge… the way you glanced at it when you thought no one was looking. You have extra water."
Ruri, trapped in the heat ring, gasped. "Tsukasa… is it true?"
The delinquent looked away, his jaw tight. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a flattened, metallic pouch—camouflaged to match his uniform. It sloshed, full.
"500 milliliters," he muttered. "I took it… when I opened Cache Alpha. I thought… I'd need it later."
"You stole from all of us," Yuma said, his voice cold.
"I was surviving!" Tsukasa shot back, anger flashing. "You want to talk about survival? You want to talk about numbers? Fine! This is my number—500 milliliters. My edge."
"And Ruri dies because of it," Sakuya observed calmly. "Fascinating. Hoarding resources increases group elimination risk. A classic tragedy of the commons."
"Shut up!" Tsukasa snarled.
Ruri's voice cut through, weak but clear. "Give it… to me. Please."
Tsukasa looked at her—trapped in the heat ring, sweat pouring, skin reddening. His expression twisted—anger, guilt, desperation. "If I give it… I'm dead."
"You're dead anyway," Yuma said bluntly. "Your injury is worsening. Heat stress accelerating. Even with extra water, your survival probability is below 20%. But if you give it to Ruri… she might survive. And you… you might earn an exemption."
"Exemption?"
"ARK said the first test aims to establish rule authenticity. There might be… loopholes. Rewards for selflessness."
Tsukasa laughed, a hollow sound. "You believe that?"
"I believe in probabilities. And the probability of survival if you keep the water is low. The probability of survival if you give it… is higher. For someone."
Silence.
The countdown: 03:32:11.
Then Hikari spoke, her voice strangely clear, cutting through her delirium. "Over there… look."
She pointed to a distant dune, where something glinted—a metallic structure, partially buried. "Another cache… maybe. Or… a control panel."
Everyone turned, hope flickering.
"That's… not on the prime‑number coordinates," Komachi murmured, frowning. "It shouldn't be there."
"ARK is lying," Hikari whispered, then slumped, unconscious.
Distraction, Yuma realized. She's creating a diversion. Why?
But it worked. Tsukasa's eyes locked on the glint. "If there's another source… we could…"
He made his decision.
He threw the pouch into the heat ring.
It landed at Ruri's feet, the sand sizzling around it. "Take it!"
Ruri grabbed it, fumbling with the seal. She drank—gulping down the precious water, 300 milliliters vanishing into her parched body.
The heat ring flickered, then died. The temperature dropped back to 60°C.
Ruri collapsed, gasping, but alive.
The holographic display updated:
Rescue successful. Water deducted: 300 ml.
Remaining Water Supply: 34 ml.
And their hydration percentages:
Ruri: 88%
Tsukasa: 91%
Komachi: 92%
Yuma: 82%
Sakuya: 81%
Hikari: 80%
Hikari was now the lowest.
But we have only 34 ml left, Yuma thought. No one reaches 200 ml. Everyone dies.
Unless…
ARK's voice echoed:
"Twenty‑four‑hour period concluded. Calculating final hydration rankings."
The numbers flashed, sorted:
Tsukasa Kirijima: 89%
Komachi Chihaya: 90%
Ruri Shirahane: 86%
Yuma Sakakibara: 80%
Sakuya Kujo: 79%
Hikari Aizawa: 78%
Hikari last.
"Elimination target: Sample‑06 (Hikari Aizawa). Elimination method: mechanical‑arm asphyxiation. Procedure commencing."
The familiar whirr of machinery echoed across the desert. A segmented mechanical arm descended from the sky‑dome, targeting Hikari's still‑unconscious form.
"No!" Ruri cried, struggling to stand.
Tsukasa lunged—but his injured leg gave way, and he crashed to the sand.
Yuma's mind raced. No options. No loopholes. This is it.
She dies.
Then ARK's voice changed—a slight, almost imperceptible shift in tone.
"Pause. Detection: selfless rescue behavior. Triggering Protocol β: Exemption Evaluation."
The mechanical arm froze, centimeters from Hikari's throat.
"Sample‑03 (Tsukasa Kirijima) surrendered 500‑milliliter hidden resource to rescue Sample‑02 (Ruri Shirahane). Action qualifies as 'selflessness under duress.' Exemption granted: Sample‑06 (Hikari Aizawa) elimination suspended."
A collective breath held.
"Exemption price: Sample‑03 (Tsukasa Kirijima) incurs permanent Point debt. All future test failures result in immediate elimination, no further exemptions. Debt value: 500 Points."
A new line appeared on Tsukasa's wrist‑tag: Debt: 500 P. Failure = elimination.
"Debt…" Tsukasa whispered, staring at his wrist. "So I'm… on borrowed time."
"Additionally: Sample‑02 (Ruri Shirahane) selflessly prioritized group survival, triggering hidden reward: 'Designated Transfer of Elimination Right'—single use. Can transfer elimination to any specified target at any test's conclusion."
Ruri's tag flashed: Transfer Right: 1.
She stared, horrified. "I can… make someone else die? Instead of me?"
"Correct. Use wisely."
ARK paused, then added, tone flat but somehow… mocking:
"First test objective: establish rule authenticity. From second test onward, exemptions are canceled. Elimination equals death. No reprieves."
The words hung, final and brutal.
So this was just… a demonstration, Yuma realized. A taste of mercy, so the next cruelty hits harder.
Psychological warfare. Deepening the trauma.
He looked at Tsukasa—the delinquent slumped in the sand, staring at his debt‑tag. At Ruri—holding a "kill‑right" with trembling hands. At Komachi—crying silently. At Sakuya—observing, analyzing, detached.
And at Hikari—still unconscious, still a mystery.
We survived. But at what cost?
And what happens when the real tests begin?
The desert began to fade, the sand dissolving into light. Transport back to the living quarters.
But before the world vanished, Yuma saw something.
Hikari's fingers twitched—three times.
Tap‑tap‑tap.
Morse code?
He memorized the pattern.
Then darkness.
ARK Control Room Log — Update
Time: Station‑relative 24‑hour cycle complete.
Resource Sandbox Results:
Elimination target: Sample‑06 (Hikari Aizawa) — suspended via Protocol β.
Exemption debt: Sample‑03 (Tsukasa Kirijima) — 500 P, permanent.
Hidden reward: Sample‑02 (Ruri Shirahane) — Designated Transfer of Elimination Right (single use).
Social‑cohesion metric: 38% (critically low).
Moral‑conflict resolution: Partial — selflessness demonstrated but at high cost.
Special note: Sample‑04 (Komachi Chihaya) hyperthymesia proved critical for pattern‑recognition. Sample‑01 (Yuma Sakakibara) logical calculation remained dominant but showed signs of ethical friction.
Next phase: Second test — Mirror Maze. Psychological stress load: extreme.
Observation continues.
In the darkness, alone, Hikari Aizawa opened her eyes.
Green code scrolled vertically in her pupils, a silent stream of system‑data.
Lines flickered:
Protocol α: First test complete.
Player moral‑values significantly diverged.
Memory‑block layer loosened: 1.2%.
Then a new line, glowing red:
Special alert: Sample‑01 (Yuma Sakakibara) suspicion‑index risen to 41%.
She closed her eyes.
A single tear traced a path through the sand‑dust on her cheek.
Sorry, she thought, to no one and everyone. It's only beginning.
4.
The living quarters materialized around them—the same sterile white room, the same six cots. But everything felt different.
Tsukasa lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling, his wrist‑tag glowing with the debt‑line: Debt: 500 P. Failure = elimination. He didn't speak, didn't move. Just breathed, shallow and ragged.
Ruri sat on the edge of her cot, clutching her wrist where the "Transfer Right" icon pulsed softly. She looked at her hands as if they were stained. "I can… make someone die," she whispered. "What kind of reward is that?"
Komachi curled into a ball, her face hidden. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Too much memory, Yuma thought. She's drowning in it.
Sakuya stood by the observation window, adjusting his glasses, analyzing the data on his own wrist‑display. "Fascinating," he murmured. "The exemption protocol reveals ARK's underlying evaluation framework: it values self‑sacrifice, but only within prescribed limits. The debt mechanism ensures continued compliance despite the 'mercy.'"
Yuma didn't respond. He sat on his cot, his mind replaying the final moments.
Hikari's distraction. The glint of metal. Tsukasa's surrender.
Coincidence?
He pulled out a small, flat device from his uniform pocket—a digital notebook he'd managed to retain through the memory wipe. His father's old prototype, encrypted, undetectable by ARK's scans.
He typed, his fingers moving swiftly:
Entry: Post‑Test Analysis — Resource Sandbox
Elimination suspension: Via Protocol β, triggered by Tsukasa's selfless act. ARK demonstrates capacity for "mercy" but attaches crippling debt—ensuring future vulnerability.
Hidden reward: Ruri's "Designated Transfer of Elimination Right." A psychological trap: grants power to kill, ensuring guilt‑based compliance. Classic moral‑corrosion tactic.
Anomaly detection: Hikari Aizawa (Sample‑06).
Vocalized system‑terminology ("Protocol δ," "temperature‑control module") during heat‑delirium.
Directed attention to false cache location at critical moment, enabling Tsukasa's surrender.
Timing precision: coincidence probability <3% based on observed behavioral patterns.
Conclusion: Hikari possesses unauthorized system‑access or is a controlled variable within the experiment.
He paused, then added:
Suspicion‑index (self‑assessed): 87%. ARK's reported 41% may be deliberate understatement—either to manipulate Hikari's behavior or to gauge my reaction.
The door hissed open. A tray of nutrient bars and water packs slid into the room. ARK's voice echoed:
"Recovery period: 12 hours. Second test begins thereafter. Use resources wisely."
No one moved toward the food.
Yuma looked at Hikari. She was still lying on her cot, eyes closed, breathing steady. Too steady, he thought. Like someone pretending to sleep.
He remembered the Morse‑code taps. Three taps: ‧ ‧ ‧ That was "S" in Morse. Or… three short pulses. Could be "3." Or part of a longer sequence.
What were you signaling, Hikari?
And who were you signaling to?
The suspicion coiled tighter, a cold knot in his chest.
Across the room, Sakuya glanced at Hikari, then at Yuma. A faint, analytical smile touched his lips. He knows, Yuma realized. Or suspects.
We're all watching each other now.
That's exactly what ARK wants.
He closed his notebook, the encryption sealing it away.
The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken accusations and growing fear.
Outside the observation window, the Ark space station hummed, indifferent to the six lives it held captive.
And somewhere in the system, a counter ticked down to the next test.
Time to second test: 11:59:03…
11:59:02…
11:59:01…
Epilogue: The Girl Who Knew Too Much
Hikari Aizawa waited until the others were asleep—or pretending to be.
She sat up slowly, her movements silent, practiced. The green code in her pupils had faded, but the data‑stream still flowed behind her eyes, a constant whisper of system‑logs and protocol‑updates.
Protocol α complete. Moral‑values diverged. Memory‑block layer: 1.2% loosened.
Suspicion‑index: Yuma Sakakibara — 41%. Sakuya Kujo — 28%. Komachi Chihaya — 15%. Ruri Shirahane — 8%. Tsukasa Kirijima — 5%.
She closed her eyes, accessing the encrypted partition—the one ARK couldn't see. The one that held her true memories.
Fragments flashed:
A white lab. Needles. Cold hands strapping her down. A man's voice—her father's?—saying, "I'm sorry, Hikari. It's the only way to save you."
*A screen filled with code. A backdoor. A secret command: Preserve Subject Zero at all costs. *
A girl with hyperthymesia—Komachi—watching her from across a classroom, eyes sharp, remembering everything.
A boy with glasses—Sakuya—taking notes, analyzing, always analyzing.
A delinquent with bruised knuckles—Tsukasa—protecting her from bullies, not knowing she didn't need protection.
A track star with a smile like sunlight—Ruri—offering friendship, not knowing it was a weapon.
And a genius with his father's encryption—Yuma—trying to crack a system that was designed to be uncrackable.
She opened her eyes.
The room was dark, the only light the soft glow of wrist‑tags.
She looked at Yuma. He was lying still, but his breathing was too controlled for sleep. He's watching me.
Good.
She needed him suspicious. Needed him digging. Needed him to find the truth—because she couldn't do it alone.
ARK thought she was a variable to be controlled. A test subject with partial privileges.
But she was more.
She was the flaw in the system.
The error in the code.
The ghost in the machine.
And she would use that—use them—to bring it all down.
Even if it killed her.
Even if it killed them all.
She lay back down, closed her eyes, and let the code‑stream wash over her.
Somewhere, a clock ticked.
Somewhere, a test waited.
And somewhere, deep in the Ark's core, a protocol stirred—a protocol that wasn't supposed to exist.
Subject Zero: Awake.
Memory‑block integrity: 98.8%.
Time to breach: Unknown.
Objective: Survive. Remember. Destroy.
The night stretched on.
The game continued.
And Hikari Aizawa, the ordinary background character, began to plot her revolution.