Hiroshi slid into his seat, his backpack carefully positioned beside him. The book remained inside, untouched, yet an odd sensation clung to him. It felt heavier than before, as if something inside was pressing against reality itself. He shook off the strange thought. It was probably just his excitement. After all, finding an ancient, unknown text was the kind of thing that happened in stories—not real life.

The English teacher, Mr. Kisaragi, strolled into the room, placing his worn-out textbook onto the desk with a dull thud. His usual monotone voice cut through the casual chatter of the students.

"Alright, everyone, settle down. We'll begin with attendance."

Hiroshi barely registered the roll call. His mind was elsewhere, drawn to the book in his bag. His fingers itched to open it, to run his hands over the strange, otherworldly symbols. But a voice in the back of his head whispered a warning—something about the way the book had resisted being opened earlier unsettled him.

Maybe I should wait until after class…

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a strange warmth spread from the bag at his feet. The sensation was slow at first, creeping up like a trickle of heat. Then, in an instant, it surged.

A light—blinding, unnatural—burst forth, spilling from his backpack and flooding the classroom with a dazzling radiance. It wasn’t just bright; it was suffocating. The air grew thick, pressing against his lungs as if it had weight. The warmth transformed into something oppressive, something alive.

Students gasped, shielding their eyes. Some screamed, chairs screeching against the floor as they backed away. But the moment they reacted, it was too late.

The light flared, consuming everything.

And then—

Darkness.

A silence, deep and unnatural, swallowed the room. No sound. No movement. Just void.

Hiroshi blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim, flickering lights above. He sat frozen in his chair, pulse hammering in his ears. At first, he thought the power had gone out. But something was wrong.

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Terribly, horribly wrong.

His classmates—his friends—were motionless. Not slumped over, not unconscious, but utterly still. Their eyes remained wide open, glassy, yet unseeing. The color had drained from their skin, leaving them looking like mannequins dressed in school uniforms.

Hiroshi’s breath caught in his throat. "Guys?" His voice barely rose above a whisper.

No response.

His heart pounded as he turned toward Misuri, the girl who sat closest to him. He hesitated before reaching out to touch her wrist.

Cold.

Not the cold of someone resting under an air conditioner. Not the cold of someone in shock. This was something else. Something absolute. As if all warmth, all life, had been drained from her body.

The realization hit him like a train. They weren’t just frozen.

They were dead.

A strangled sound escaped his throat as he pushed himself back, the chair clattering to the floor. The sound echoed through the silent room like a gunshot. He turned wildly, looking for any sign of life.

Mr. Kisaragi still stood at the front of the class, hands resting on his desk. But his eyes… they weren’t just blank. They were wrong. Something in them wasn’t human anymore.

Then, as if sensing Hiroshi’s gaze, the teacher’s head twitched, jerking at an unnatural angle. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. His body swayed like a marionette with its strings cut.

Hiroshi’s stomach churned. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

He turned back toward the window, desperate for any sign of normalcy. Maybe someone outside—maybe another class—

His breath hitched.

Outside the window was nothing.

Not the school grounds. Not the bustling streets of Tokyo. Not even the sky.

Just darkness. A void that stretched infinitely in all directions.

His hands trembled as he took a shaky step back, his mind racing. No. No. No. This wasn’t real. This was a dream. A nightmare. He just had to wake up. Any second now, he’d hear Fuyumi teasing him again, Sinjuro laughing, Misuri rolling her eyes—

A sharp click sounded behind him.

The sound of a book opening.

Hiroshi’s blood ran cold. He turned, his gaze locking onto his desk. The book—the one he had never been able to open—was now lying there, its pages flipping on their own as if possessed.

Strange symbols began to glow, shifting and rearranging themselves into words Hiroshi could understand. His eyes widened as he read them:

Welcome, Bookkeeper.

The ink seemed to bleed across the pages, forming new lines before his very eyes:

Turn the page, and the game begins. Refuse… and remain lost in the void.

A hollow, distant whisper slithered through the air, creeping into his ears. It was neither male nor female, neither young nor old.

“Decide.”

Hiroshi could barely breathe. His eyes darted toward his classmates’ lifeless forms. Then back at the book. Then toward the nothingness beyond the window.

The world—the one he knew—was gone.

And the only thing left was the book.

His hands shook as he reached for the page.

He didn’t know if this was a choice.

Or if he had already lost.