The discussions in the hall had not yet subsided, and the air was thick with unease and suspicion. Kanjuro, disguised as Ikumi Tamata, stood quietly toward the back of the crowd, his gaze lowered as if deep in thought, but in reality, taking in all the activity in the hall, including Vermouth's seemingly casual movements and Saguru Hakuba's occasional scrutinizing glances.
Suddenly—
"Click... creak..."
A dull and ancient sound of mechanical gears turning came without warning from the high dome ceiling of the hall, clearly overriding all the whispers.
Everyone looked up in astonishment.
Just above the center of the hall, a section of the dome previously adorned with complex religious frescoes saw its heavy decorative panels slowly slide open to the sides, revealing a pitch-black square opening. Immediately afterward, a platform steadily descended from the opening. Prominently seated on the platform was a wide, high-backed chair inlaid with dark gems, and an figure sat upon the chair.
The platform stopped when it reached approximately the height of the second floor, allowing everyone to clearly see the person on it.
It was a figure wrapped in a heavy black coat, appearing exceptionally thin, even hunched. He wore a wide-brimmed fedora pulled low, and his face was covered by an eerie, pure white mask with no pattern, only two holes cut out for the eyes. He sat there silently, hands crossed on his lap, wearing white gloves. Although his face was hidden, an indescribable aura of coldness, decay, and absolute authority, accumulated over what felt like centuries, spread out tangibly, making the temperature of the entire hall seem to drop several degrees.
Standing rigidly on either side of the high-backed chair, like the most loyal guards, were two men.
To the left was Gin. He was still clad in black, his silver hair hanging down. His stern face was devoid of expression, and his green eyes, like a frozen lake, sharply and murderously swept over the crowd below. His right hand hung naturally at his side, but no one doubted that a deadly weapon was concealed there.
To the right was Vodka. He wore sunglasses, his figure burly, standing there like a wall, faithfully guarding the wheelchair. He was equally expressionless, but his aura was slightly duller compared to Gin's.
And slightly further back behind the high-backed chair, Vermouth had quietly taken her position at some point. Her hands were crossed in front of her, a faint smile on her face, her posture elegant and submissive, as if that were her rightful place.
This scene—the mysterious masked figure in the chair, coupled with the infamous Gin and Vodka, and the complex Vermouth—instantly sent the hearts of all the detectives and scholars in the hall soaring into their throats. The air solidified, and even breathing became cautious.
The figure in black on the chair slowly raised his white-gloved right hand. The movement was somewhat sluggish but carried an undeniable sense of control. A specially processed voice, genderless and possessing a distinct electronic synthesized quality, clearly echoed throughout the hall via a hidden amplification device on the platform:
"Welcome, everyone, to my Twilight Mansion."
The voice was flat, without any inflection, yet it sent a chill down the spines of everyone who heard it.
"I am Renya Karasuma."
The name was like a heavy hammer striking everyone's heart. The legendary centenarian billionaire, the mastermind behind the Black Organization, the king of crows... He was actually alive! And right before their eyes!
"I have invited you all here not merely to display this vulgar gold or to tell old stories." Renya Karasuma's synthesized voice continued, the two black holes on his mask seemingly staring at everyone. "I am very interested in your wisdom, your powers of observation, and... your ability to survive under extreme pressure."
He paused, his folded hands lightly rubbing against each other.
"Therefore, I have prepared a small test."
One could hear a pin drop in the hall. Everyone held their breath as an ominous premonition surged in their hearts like a cold tide.
"The rules of the test are simple." Renya Karasuma's voice remained flat. "Starting from now, within seven days—that is, 168 hours from now—I want all the 'detectives' or guests who fancy themselves detectives in this mansion, except for those I designate..."
His voice suddenly turned cold, and even through the electronic synthesis, it sent a bone-chilling shiver through everyone:
"...to have only one remaining."
"What?!" The crowd instantly exploded! Shock, fear, angry low growls, and questioning voices rang out in unison.
"What did you say?!"
"Only one remaining? You've got to be kidding!"
"This is murder! This is a crime!"
Renya Karasuma turned a deaf ear to the commotion below, merely raising his hand slightly. The cold killing intent emanating from Gin and Vodka suddenly intensified, instantly suppressing most of the noise.
"Silence," the synthesized voice commanded.
The hall was forced into a dead silence once more, with only heavy breathing heard here and there.
"The last one to survive," Renya Karasuma continued, as if stating something unrelated to himself, "will be someone I have a very important matter to entrust with. As for the reward... it will naturally be more generous than you can imagine, and may even include certain secrets regarding 'longevity'."
"Of course," he changed the subject, "during these seven days, the mansion will be completely sealed. All means of communication will fail. Food, water... are not in infinite supply. You may cooperate, be suspicious, form alliances, or... eliminate each other. I do not care what methods you use."
His gaze (seemingly through the mask) swept across the faces below—some pale, some angry, some terrified.
"Finally, I will give you a hint. Among you, there may be ill-intentioned 'wolves' mixed in. Therefore, the test has already begun. I wish you all... a pleasant game."
As his voice fell, the platform began to rise slowly, carrying Renya Karasuma, Gin, Vodka, and Vermouth back into the black hole in the ceiling. The heavy decorative panels closed again, fitting perfectly as if everything that had just happened was merely a collective hallucination.
However, those cruel rules, the cold gazes left by Gin and Vodka, and Renya Karasuma's final hint about the 'wolves' were like the heaviest of shackles, firmly locked onto everyone's hearts.
The hall fell into a dead silence, followed by a chaos even more intense than before. Some tried to rush to the main door, only to find it had long been locked from the outside and was made of exceptionally sturdy material; some took out their phones, and as expected, there was no signal; some looked around in terror, watching the 'companions' they had just been discussing things with, their eyes filled with suspicion and wariness.
"'wolves'? Who is it? Kanjuro? Or... someone seemingly harmless nearby?"
Panic spread rapidly like a virus.
In the crowd, Kanjuro, disguised as Disguise, lowered his head slightly, and the corner of his mouth curled into an extremely faint, cold arc where no one could see.
A test? A game? Eliminating each other?
Just as I intended.
Renya Karasuma probably couldn't imagine in his wildest dreams that Gin and Vodka, whom he relied on as his right-hand men and who were standing by his side at this moment, had already been imperceptibly eroded and guided by the power of the dark bible much earlier through various means and opportunities, ultimately having absolute loyalty to Kanjuro branded into the depths of their souls. Their current 'loyal guard' was nothing more than a good show put on for that old crow.
And Vermouth was a deadly dagger that had long since defected.
The hunting ground Renya Karasuma thought he controlled had actually been under Kanjuro's control from start to finish. This cruel game of 'only one remaining' was, for Kanjuro, nothing more than the perfect stage for clearing the board, screening the chess pieces, and ultimately forcing that 'king of crows' hiding behind the golden mask into a corner.
He raised his head, his eyes returning to the sharpness and calmness appropriate for Disguise, even carrying a hint of perfectly timed solemnity and vigilance, blending perfectly into the panicked and suspicious crowd around him.
The game had officially begun. And the hunter was already in position. The cruel rules announced by Renya Karasuma were like a giant boulder thrown into an already restless pond, stirring up not just ripples, but a vortex powerful enough to swallow reason. The first few hours were spent in shock and useless efforts to find an exit. When everyone confirmed that the mansion was completely sealed, communication was entirely cut off, and the only exit would possibly be opened by Renya Karasuma seven days later, an oppressive, suffocating atmosphere began to shroud the entire space.
On the first day, a semblance of order could still be maintained. Everyone occupied a corner of the hall or nearby rooms, vigilantly guarding the small amount of luggage they carried—most of which contained some emergency food and water. Although Renya Karasuma didn't explicitly say there was a food shortage, the phrase 'not in infinite supply' was like the Sword of Damocles hanging over their heads. At lunch and dinner time, the servants originally responsible for hosting had disappeared, and only a number of simple sandwiches and bottled water, clearly fewer than the number of people, were placed on the long table in the hall. No fighting occurred, but the exchange of glances when taking them was already filled with calculation and wariness.
On the second day, the food and water on the long table became even scarcer and were no longer replenished. Silent hostility brewed in the air. Some people began to form alliances, usually with a few people they already knew or felt they could trust. Saguru Hakuba tried to maintain a certain level of order and rationality, calling for everyone to stay calm, distribute resources reasonably, and wait for a turn of events, but his influence seemed pale in the face of survival instincts. Ooka Momiji followed closely by Saguru Hakuba's side, her face growing paler day by day, and the unease and confusion in her eyes deepening. She didn't bring much food, and although Saguru Hakuba tried his best to take care of her, resources were limited, and the pressure increased with each passing day.
By the third day, the situation took a sharp turn for the worse. The last bit of public food was quickly snatched up by several strong, fierce-looking men, triggering the first small-scale pushing and arguing. Gin and Vodka occasionally appeared like ghosts in the shadows of the second-floor gallery, coldly looking down at the chaos below as if enjoying a fight between trapped beasts, further intensifying people's fear and sense of isolation. Some rooms inside the mansion that were originally locked were found to be forceable, and occasionally a bit of old canned food or bottled water could be found inside, which triggered more intense searching and potential conflict. Trust became an absolute luxury; everyone was like a startled bird.
It was against this background that on the afternoon of the fourth day, Ooka Momiji was alone, huddled behind a thick, dusty curtain by a window in the Library. She had just almost been knocked down by a fierce-eyed stranger detective while trying to find water; she was now shaken, hungry, and thirsty, and more than anything, she was tormented by the dual anxiety of her unknown fate and Kanjuro's whereabouts. Saguru Hakuba had been pulled away by several other detectives to discuss something and was temporarily not by her side.
Slight footsteps were heard.
Ooka Momiji's body stiffened, and she subconsciously shrank further back, her hand reaching for a small self-defense letter opener hidden in her sleeve.
"Miss Ooka?" A clear, calm, but deliberately softened female voice sounded.
Ooka Momiji looked out through the gap in the curtain and saw the capable face of 'Disguise', currently showing a hint of concern. She didn't have a deep impression of this female detective, only remembering that she wasn't very sociable and always acted alone, but she didn't seem threatening.
"Miss... Disguise?" Ooka Momiji responded hesitantly, not completely letting down her guard.
'Disguise' stopped a few steps in front of her, not continuing to approach, seemingly understanding her fear. She (he) held half a bottle of water and a small pack of compressed biscuits, showed them, and then gently placed them on a small, dusty Round Table nearby.
"I saw that you didn't seem to get today's rations," 'Disguise's' voice was calm, not trying to curry favor, yet it had a strange power that put people at ease. "This is for you. I still have a bit for myself."
Ooka Momiji was stunned, looking at the water and food that could be called treasures right now; her throat moved, but she didn't immediately go to take them. Suspicion rose like instinct: Why give it to her? What was the motive?
'Disguise' seemed to see through her doubts and slightly twitched the corner of her mouth; the smile was a bit weary but very sincere (at least it looked so): "Don't misunderstand, I'm not some selfless saint. It's just... I feel that for a girl like you, in this environment, it's too difficult. Although Mr. Hakuba is doing his best, he has too many things to take care of." She paused, her gaze sweeping over the faint sounds of arguing coming from outside the Library, and lowered her voice, "Besides, I think you're different from them. There's fear in your eyes, but not that... greed that's about to be driven mad."
These words struck a chord with Ooka Momiji. She indeed felt isolated and helpless; Saguru Hakuba's care made her grateful, but it also made her feel like a burden. And 'Disguise's' observation seemed very accurate.
"Thank you..." Ooka Momiji said softly, finally slowly stepping out from behind the curtain, her gaze still wary but with much less hostility. She looked at the things on the table, then at 'Disguise', "Do... do you have enough for yourself?"
"Enough for now." 'Disguise' nodded, her gaze staying on her face for a moment; that look was focused and... gentle? Ooka Momiji's heart skipped a beat for some reason, feeling that this Miss 'Disguise's' gaze seemed a bit too deep, not quite matching her capable appearance, but this gentleness in the current environment was like a small spark in a world of ice and snow, making one involuntarily want to get closer.
"Eat quickly, don't let anyone see."'Disguise' reminded her, leaning against a nearby bookshelf herself, her posture relaxed, but her eyes still sharply watching the movement at the door, as if standing guard for her.
Ooka Momiji no longer hesitated, eating the compressed biscuits in small, quick bites and drinking a few sips of water. As the food and water entered her stomach, they brought a bit of warmth and strength, and also made her tense nerves relax slightly. She secretly observed 'Disguise'; the other's profile was sharp, her short hair neat, and she was focused on listening to the sounds outside. That calm and composed manner inexplicably reminded her of another person... Kanjuro.
This thought made her heart tremble, and then she secretly shook her head. How could it be? The person in front of her was clearly Miss Disguise. It was just that steady aura and the occasionally revealed gaze that seemed to see through people's hearts... No, it must be that she was too nervous and missed (or rather, was too confused by) that demon too much.
'Disguise' seemed to notice her gaze, turned her head, and smiled slightly at her: "Feeling better?"
Ooka Momiji's face turned slightly red, and she nodded: "Yes, much better. Thank you, Miss Disguise. Why... why are you helping me?" She couldn't help but ask.
'Disguise' was silent for a moment, her gaze turning toward the gloomy sky outside the window, and she said slowly: "Perhaps it's because I am also waiting for someone. Someone I don't know where they are, or if they will even appear. The taste of waiting is not pleasant, especially at a time like this... Seeing someone also waiting in unease, I just wanted to help." These words were half-true, yet they perfectly matched Ooka Momiji's current state of mind, instantly closing the distance between them.
Ooka Momiji felt the same way; her nose felt sore, and she almost shed a tear. She was also waiting, waiting for a figure she should hate to the bone, yet could not erase from her mind. The feeling of being in the same boat made her trust in 'Disguise' increase by several more points.
"Are you... also waiting for someone?" she asked softly.
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