The seventh day, the darkest hour before dawn.
The interior of the mansion seemed completely saturated with an invisible despair and madness. The number of remaining people had quietly decreased again last night; the broadcast no longer sounded, but the realization that "one less" person remained coiled around the hearts of every survivor like a cold vine, strangling them. The air was not only filled with dust and the faint scent of blood but also added an indescribable chill that seemed to seep from the ancient stone cracks and the depths of the gold decorations. This was not a natural cold brought by the change of seasons or day and night, but a viscous, ominous chill, as if the Twilight Mansion itself was slowly dying, or... something even more terrifying was waking up.
To survive, the remaining people had completely torn off the mask of civilization. Traps, ambushes, deceptions, and even short-lived, fragile alliances could turn into a backstabbing blade in the next second. Food and water had long since become legends, and the instinct for survival drove people to do things that crossed all bottom lines. Occasional short screams from afar, sounds of intense fighting, or another cold corpse discovered after a long silence made these final moments feel like walking on a blade's edge.
Ooka Momiji followed "Disguise" almost step by step. Having experienced that fatal deception and the subsequent rescue, her dependence on "Disguise" had reached its peak. In her eyes, "Miss Disguise" was not only a protector but also the only warmth and guidance in this boundless darkness. Although "Disguise" still spoke little and her expression was mostly calm to the point of indifference, the absolute reliability she showed in times of crisis, as well as the occasional concern for her condition (even if it was just a simple "Can you still walk?" or handing her the last bit of clean cloth to wipe her face), made Ooka Momiji deeply grateful.
They were currently hiding in a deserted Small Chapel in the East Wing of the mansion. The stained glass had long been broken, leaving only a twisted black iron frame that cut the weak, iron-gray morning light outside into strange shapes. The air was bone-chillingly cold, and Ooka Momiji wrapped her thin kimono jacket tightly around her, yet she still couldn't help but tremble slightly.
A khaki trench coat, still carrying a hint of body heat, was gently draped over her shoulders. It was taken off by "Disguise."
"Miss Disguise, you..." Ooka Momiji looked up and saw that "Disguise" was only wearing the shirt underneath, and she hurriedly tried to refuse.
"Wear it." "Disguise's" tone brooked no argument as she sat down beside her, leaning against the cold stone wall, her sharp eyes scanning the chapel's only entrance and those broken window frames. "I won't be cold while moving. You save your strength."
Ooka Momiji no longer insisted and wrapped the trench coat tightly; it seemed to still carry a crisp and reassuring scent from "Disguise." This silent consideration felt so precious in such a precarious environment. She stole a glance at "Disguise's" profile; in the dim light, that clearly-lined female face looked somewhat tired, but her eyes remained firm and bright, as if they could pierce through all the gloom.
"Miss Disguise..." Ooka Momiji spoke in a low, somewhat raspy voice, "Really... thank you so much. If it weren't for you, I might have already..."
"Disguise" turned her head and looked at her. This time, her (his) gaze was no longer entirely a sharp scrutiny, but had an added trace of... something akin to gentleness? Ooka Momiji wasn't sure, but she was willing to believe it was tenderness.
"I said, I have my reasons for helping you." "Disguise's" voice was still calm, but it seemed to have softened slightly. "Besides, you are... purer than most people. In a place like this, it's rare to maintain a bit of purity."
This near-compliment brought a faint blush to Ooka Momiji's pale face, and a warm current welled up in her heart, temporarily dispelling the surrounding chill. "But I'm also very useless, always dragging you down, and I almost got myself killed because I trusted others too easily..."
"Surviving is the greatest use." "Disguise" interrupted her self-deprecation, her gaze returning to the entrance as if listening for movement in the distance. "Don't think too much. It's the last day, stay focused."
"Mm." Ooka Momiji nodded vigorously, leaning her body slightly toward "Disguise" to draw from that reassuring, steady presence. She hesitated for a moment before saying softly, "Miss Disguise, I... I have a request, is that okay?"
"Speak."
"If... if only one of us can survive and get out in the end..." Ooka Momiji's voice was very soft, yet it carried a sense of resolve, "I hope that person is you."
"Disguise's" body seemed to pause almost imperceptibly, and she didn't respond immediately.
Ooka Momiji continued, as if confiding an important decision: "I don't know why you're so good to me, maybe it's for your own reasons like you said. But to me, you are the only presence during these days that has made me feel safe and treated like a human being. I don't know what will happen after we get out, or what that Renya Karasuma really wants to do... but if only one can live, I'm willing to give the chance to you."
She looked up, her eyes glistening with tears, but her gaze was exceptionally clear and firm: "Because... you are like a sister to me. The best sister who appeared when I was most afraid and helpless."
The chapel was silent, save for the whistling sound of the wind passing through the broken window frames. The cold air swirled, yet it seemed unable to penetrate the small space between the two, built of dependence and a certain twisted tenderness.
After a long while, "Disguise" slowly let out a breath and reached out, gently ruffling Ooka Momiji's hair. This movement was much more natural than when she had wiped away the tears before, even taking on a hint of genuine, almost doting affection.
"Foolish words." "Disguise's" voice was low, carrying a complex emotion. "Survive, and don't easily give up for others. This is my final advice to you."
She neither agreed nor refused; she simply withdrew her hand and resumed her guarded posture.
But Ooka Momiji felt as if she had received some kind of tacit consent and promise. She buried her face in the collar of the trench coat that carried "Disguise's" scent, feeling an unprecedented, almost blissful sense of security. Even if danger lurked everywhere outside, even if the air grew colder, and even if less than a day remained in the countdown, as long as "Sister Disguise" was by her side, she felt it wasn't so scary anymore.
She was completely immersed in this illusion of being protected and cherished (or so she thought), entirely unaware of the glimmer of both pity and playfulness that flashed through the deep eyes of the person she regarded as her "best sister." She would never know that all this "tenderness," "consideration," and "protection" were part of a carefully woven play, designed only to bind her more firmly to the chessboard as a perfect pawn that could be used at any time, or even as a sacrificial offering if necessary.
Kanjuro (in Disguise) felt Ooka Momiji's unreserved dependence and her gaze of pure trust, yet his heart remained unmoved. Sisters? Tenderness? These were merely insignificant by-products of the manipulation process. The more Ooka Momiji invested her emotions, the more beneficial it would be for his future plans.
From deep within the distant mansion, a muffled sound and a short cry seemed to ring out again, followed by a return to dead silence.
The number of remaining people has likely decreased again.
The last day's sunlight was struggling to penetrate the thick clouds and the cold gold shell of the mansion. The true finale of this cruel game, as well as the ultimate showdown between the hunter and the king of crows hidden behind the game, was about to reach its final chapter on this stage shrouded in cold and madness. The "sister" Ooka Momiji relied on would also shed this disguised skin and reveal her true, shivering countenance. Seventh day, noon.
It should have been the warmest and brightest time of the day, yet the interior of the Twilight Mansion was as if it had been dragged into a polar eternal night. That eerie chill was no longer a seepage but surged from all directions like a tangible tide, soaking every inch of space. Breath turned into white mist, and exposed skin quickly lost sensation; an ominous grayish-white frost condensed on the surfaces of the walls and gold decorations. The massive fireplace in the central hall, which had originally burned to dispel the dampness, had long since gone out, leaving only cold ashes.
Cold had become a more direct and ruthless killer than hunger.
The broadcast no longer announced the numbers, but the survivors knew in their hearts that very few "people" were still alive. Of the original twenty, those who could still move and think were likely fewer than five. And the method of elimination, besides mutual slaughter, had added another—freezing to death.
Ooka Momiji and "Disguise" moved to a relatively sheltered spot near the entrance of the Basement that had once been used as a Wine Cellar. It was still bone-chillingly cold here, but at least there was no draft. They huddled behind a large, discarded oak wine barrel, sharing the last bit of chocolate crumbs, hard as stone, found on a frozen corpse.
In the distance, a faint and intermittent sound, like a wild beast gnawing on bones, drifted over, accompanied by a tooth-aching friction. Ooka Momiji's body stiffened, and she looked at "Disguise" with a pale face. These past few days, they had more than once glimpsed hair-raising sights while moving—parts of the frozen corpses were missing... "Disguise's" face looked exceptionally grim in the dim light; she (he) only shook her head slightly, signaling Ooka Momiji not to make a sound or look. But that sound, and the indescribable sweet-scented bloodiness mixed in the cold air, were like cold needles piercing through one's last bit of sanity and bottom line.
"To survive... they..." Ooka Momiji's voice shook uncontrollably, her stomach churning.
"Here, survival is the only law." "Disguise's" voice was low and calm, as if stating a simple fact. "Morality, ethics, humanity... they are all burdens that can be discarded." She (He) scanned the narrow stone steps leading to the Basement with sharp eyes.
Just as the words fell, stumbling and heavy footsteps came from above the stone steps, along with heavy breathing that didn't sound human.
A figure appeared swaying at the entrance. It was a tall man; Ooka Momiji vaguely remembered him as a former athlete known for his physical prowess. Now, his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, his cheeks were gaunt, his lips were cracked and purple, and his whole body was shaking uncontrollably—not from the cold, but from a madness born of desperation. His gaze was like that of a dying hungry wolf, fixed firmly on the two behind the wine barrel, especially when he saw the tiny bit of chocolate crumbs in Ooka Momiji's hand; a hoarse, greedy sound came from his throat.
"Food... give me... give me the food!" the man growled hoarsely, approaching step by step, holding a section of a rusty iron pipe with a sharp tip that he had dismantled from somewhere.
Ooka Momiji was too frightened to move and tightly gripped "Disguise's" sleeve.
"Disguise" quickly pulled Ooka Momiji behind her and assumed a defensive stance, shouting, "Back off! We don't have any extra food!"
"Liar! I saw it all!" the man swung the iron pipe frantically. "Give it to me! Or I'll kill you! Anyway... anyway, only one can live in the end!" His logic had been completely dominated by survival instinct and madness, leaving only a naked desire for "resources" and "eliminating competitors."
He suddenly accelerated and charged over, the iron pipe whistling as it lunged straight for "Disguise's" face!
"Disguise" dodged to the side, her movements still agile, but the underground space was narrow, and with Ooka Momiji behind her, she was inevitably restricted. She (He) tried to parry the iron pipe with her arm while looking for a chance to counterattack. However, the man's fighting style was completely desperate; when one strike missed, he immediately swung horizontally with staggering force.
During a dodge and parry, "Disguise," in order to protect the completely stunned Ooka Momiji behind her, took a hit from the iron pipe on the outside of her left arm. With a "rip," the trench coat sleeve tore, and blood quickly seeped out, emitting a faint steam in the cold air.
"Miss Disguise!" Ooka Momiji cried out; seeing that striking red, her heart felt as if it were being violently squeezed.
"Disguise" only frowned slightly, as if she couldn't feel the pain; her footsteps didn't falter as she continued to maneuver calmly, trying to find an opportunity for a finishing blow. But the man's frantic attacks were relentless, and danger lurked at every turn in the narrow space.
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