Devoider
Arata's head throbbed as consciousness slowly returned to him. The st thing he remembered was walking home from work, turning a corner, and witnessing something he shouldn't have. A hooded figure standing over a body, knife glinting in the streetlight. Then darkness.
His eyes fluttered open to an unfamiliar ceiling, arched stone vaults stretching overhead. The air smelled of old incense and melting wax. As his vision cleared, Arata realized he was lying on a pew in what appeared to be an ancient church. Stained gss windows filtered dusty beams of colored light across the stone floor.
"Where am I?" he muttered, sitting up and wincing at the pain that shot through his temple.
That's when he saw it, dominating the front of the church was a stone statue unlike any religious iconography he'd ever encountered. The figure was female, mounted on a cross, but this was no traditional depiction of suffering. The stone woman possessed an otherworldly beauty, her features carved with impossible perfection. Her body, barely covered by strategic draping, dispyed curves and contours that seemed too sensual for a pce of worship. Despite the apparent sanctity of the setting, there was something disturbingly alluring about the statue; eyes that seemed to follow him, lips that almost appeared to smile.
Arata stared, transfixed by the contradictory image of holy reverence and explicit sexuality frozen in stone.
Shinozaki Arata (篠崎 新) had always been unremarkable in every conceivable way. At twenty-six, he possessed the kind of face that blended into crowds, with features neither handsome nor unattractive, just ordinary. His apartment in a neglected corner of the city matched his personality: functional, sparse, and devoid of personal touches beyond a few manga volumes and a half-dead housepnt he'd received as an office gift three years ago.
Each morning, he would wake at precisely 6:15 AM, shower for exactly seven minutes, and dress in one of his five identical white shirts and bck scks. The convenience store near his apartment knew him only as "bck coffee, egg sandwich guy." His coworkers at the insurance firm where he processed cims barely remembered his name, despite his five years of employment.
Arata's bank account told the story of his existence, enough to survive but never enough to thrive. His sary disappeared methodically: rent for the one-bedroom apartment, utilities, groceries, and the occasional book. He had no debt, but no savings either. His life existed in perfect financial equilibrium, neither improving nor worsening, simply continuing.
Twice a month, his phone would dispy his mother's number, calls he would watch ring until they stopped. The messages she left, updates about retives he barely remembered, thinly veiled questions about his career progress, and reminders of family occasions went unreturned. His father hadn't spoken directly to him in three years, communicating only through his mother with curt inquiries about Arata's 'situation.'
What had caused the rift remained nebulous even in Arata's own mind. Not a single explosive argument but rather a slow erosion. Expectations unmet, disappointments accumuted, and eventually, the unspoken agreement that distance was preferable to discomfort. During rare moments of introspection, usually te at night when sleep evaded him, Arata would wonder if his parents had simply expected someone... different. Someone who wasn't so thoroughly average.
Arata's love life existed only in the most theoretical sense, like a mathematical equation yet unsolved. In twenty-six years, his heart had known rejection with more intimacy than affection. He carried these failures not as badges but as scars, each one a reminder of his apparent unworthiness.
During his university years, he had mistaken study partnerships for something more, interpreting polite smiles as invitations to deeper connections. Each attempt at confession had been met with the same pained expressions—surprise, discomfort, and the inevitable "I just don't see you that way." The rejections were always kind, which somehow made them worse. He wasn't even worth anger.
One particur rejection had crystallized his understanding of his pce in the romantic hierarchy. After months of building what he thought was a meaningful connection, sharing lunches and conversations that stretched te into evenings, Arata had finally gathered his courage. The confession died halfway through when he saw the look of horror spreading across his companion's face, followed by a stammered expnation that they had only ever seen him as "a good friend, like a brother."
Later, at an office drinking party, Arata overheard colleagues discussing his awkward attempts at flirtation with the new receptionist. "Some guys just don't understand when they're out of their league," one had said, not realizing Arata sat just around the corner, sake cup frozen halfway to his lips.
Over time, Arata came to view love not as the warm embrace depicted in manga or films but as a curse designed specifically to torment the unremarkable. Each failed connection reinforced his belief that for some people—people like him, love existed only as a spectator sport, something to witness but never experience.
By his mid-twenties, Arata had resigned himself to solitude. He stopped trying, stopped hoping, stopped imagining futures that included someone beside him. He built routines that accommodated only himself and his modest needs, finding a cold comfort in predictability that romance could never provide.
As Arata stared up at the unsettling statue, memories began to flood back, not just of the hooded figure with the knife, but of everything that had led to this moment.
The attack had been swift, the bde finding its mark between his ribs with practiced precision. He recalled the strange sensation of warmth spreading across his shirt, the metallic taste filling his mouth as he colpsed onto the rain-slicked pavement. The hooded figure had simply walked away, not bothering to check if Arata was dead or take his wallet. He hadn't even been the intended target, just an unfortunate witness in the wrong pce at the wrong time.
As he y dying in that empty alleyway, rain pattering against his face, Arata found himself surprisingly calm. There was no desperate struggle to hold on, no frantic bargaining with higher powers. Instead, a curious sense of release washed over him, as though a weight he'd carried for twenty-six years was finally being lifted.
"It's over..." he had whispered, blood bubbling at his lips. The thought brought not terror but a strange peace. His ordinary life with its ordinary disappointments, his daily routines, the rejections, the silent phone calls… all of it concluded with this random act of violence. There was a certain poetry to it, he thought hazily. An unremarkable life ending in the most remarkable way.
His final thoughts weren't of regrets or missed opportunities. There was only the gentle acceptance that comes when one releases a burden they've carried too long. The mundane existence that had defined him was slipping away, and Arata felt almost grateful.
Then darkness.
And then, inexplicably, light.
His eyes fluttered open to an unfamiliar ceiling, arched stone vaults stretching overhead. The air smelled of old incense and melting wax. As his vision cleared, Arata realized he was lying on a pew in what appeared to be an ancient church. Stained gss windows filtered dusty beams of colored light across the stone floor.
"Where am I?" he muttered, sitting up and wincing at the pain that shot through his temple.
The statue dominated the steepled alcove at the front of the church, illuminated by a shaft of multicolored light from the stained gss above. Unlike traditional religious iconography, this stone figure possessed an unsettling sensuality that seemed wholly inappropriate for a pce of worship. The goddess—for she could be nothing else—had been carved with painstaking attention to anatomical detail. Her face bore an expression of serene ecstasy, lips parted slightly as if in the midst of pleasure. The sculptor had rendered her form with uncomfortable precision: the gentle swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the subtle definition of her abdomen. Even the triangur patch of pubic hair had been meticulously etched into the stone, visible beneath the translucent draping that clung to her form rather than concealed it.
Arata found himself unable to look away, mesmerized by the contradiction of divinity and carnality frozen in stone before him. Something about her eyes, deep-set and unnervingly alive, seemed to track his movements, to recognize him specifically. The longer he stared, the more certain he became that the statue's fixed expression had somehow shifted into something resembling recognition.
The carved goddess's gaze still burned into Arata's skin when a voice shattered the heavy silence. "Hey, you okay there?"
Arata twisted toward the sound, wincing as fresh pain nced through his ribs. A young man stood at the chapel's side entrance, backlit by the stained-gss window, his silhouette framed in fractured hues of crimson and gold. His beauty was disorienting, sleek bck hair brushing sharp cheekbones, lips slightly parted in concern. His lean body moved with athletic grace as he approached, fingers brushing the back of a pew. Even his uniform, a crisp highschool gakuran, sleeves rolled to the elbows, looked unfairly elegant on him.
Arata's throat tightened. Whether from lingering pain or reflexive shame at his own rumpled saryman clothes, he couldn’t tell.
"The name's Yuuto (優翔)," the youth said, tilting his head. His scent, something clean and citrusy, cut through the chapel’s musk. "You look like you got hit by a truck. What happened?"
Arata pressed a hand to his ribs, expecting blood, but finding only unbroken skin beneath his shirt. "I... got stabbed. In an alley. I felt everything, breathing blood, losing consciousness. Then I woke up here." His fingers trembled against his chest where the knife had entered. "It's impossible."
Yuuto's honey-brown eyes widened. His tongue darted over his lower lip, leaving it glistening. "Damn," he breathed. "Same thing, sort of. Freak motorcycle accident, wrapped my bike around a telephone pole." He lifted his shirt without hesitation, revealing unmarred, toned skin where injuries should have been. A dusting of dark hair trailed beneath his navel, disappearing into his beltline. "Came to in here, under her." He jerked his chin toward the statue. "Think we're dead?"
The question hovered between them. Arata forced his gaze away from the way Yuuto's muscles shifted as he resettled his shirt. He focused instead on the statue's knowing smirk, her stone nipples erect beneath the sheer drapery.
Neither noticed how the shadows deepened around the goddess’s parted thighs.
Arata rubbed his temples, eyes darting between the unsettling statue and the improbably beautiful youth before him. "If we're dead, this isn't any afterlife I've heard of. Where are the pearly gates? The judgment scales?" His voice cracked with lingering disorientation.
Yuuto fshed an easy smile, straightening the cuffs of his gakuran sleeves. The movement accentuated the lean muscles of his forearms. "When I woke up, you were already here. Must've been just seconds apart." He licked his lips again, a nervous habit that left them glistening. "Though you look like hell warmed over while I feel..." He flexed his fingers, marveling at his own vitality. "Better than ever actually."
Their attention snapped to a sudden flicker of dispced air near the central pews. A blink of golden light resolved into a human silhouette, a young girl materializing between one breath and the next. She wore the same style school uniform as Yuuto, though the sailor colr and pleated skirt marked it as the girls' variant. The uniform hugged her developing frame, the hem riding up slightly as she curled into herself, trembling.
Yuuto's breath caught. "Suzume?" Recognition fshed across his face as he took in her delicate features, the mole beneath her left eye, the way her uneven bangs fell across her forehead. His posture shifted immediately, shoulders squaring as he moved toward her with protective intent.
Arata observed the exchange in silence, his fingers absently tracing the pew's worn grain where he sat. The girl, Suzume, shivered despite the chapel's stagnant warmth, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as Yuuto crouched before her, their knees nearly touching.
"Suzume," Yuuto repeated, voice softening as he removed his gakuran jacket and draped it over her shoulders without hesitation. The fabric dwarfed her slight frame, slipping slightly to reveal the hollow of her colrbone. "What happened to you?"
Her fingers tightened around the edges of the jacket, knuckles whitening. "I-I was walking home from cram school. A truck—" She swallowed, shes fluttering. "Brakes screeching, gss shattering. Then... darkness. And now here." Her gaze flicked between them, lingering on Arata's rumpled work attire before returning to Yuuto. "Didn't you... didn't you vanish months ago?"
Yuuto stilled. A muscle twitched along his jaw. "Months?"
"People searched. Your parents put up fliers." Suzume's voice cracked. "I thought you ran away."
Arata watched comprehension dawn on Yuuto's face, the gradual tightening of his throat as he swallowed. Time had moved without them. The realization settled over the chapel like dust, cloying and suffocating.
The revetion struck both men with the weight of a physical blow. Arata sank deeper into the pew, his fingers digging into the worn wood as he processed Suzume's words. Months had passed since Yuuto's accident, yet to him it had been mere moments. The implications stretched before them like a widening chasm.
"That's not possible," Yuuto murmured, running a hand through his bck hair. His confident demeanor faltered momentarily as he paced before the altar. "I remember everything clearly. The curve in the road, the headlight of the oncoming truck, the guardrail... then waking up here. That was—" he checked his wrist for a watch that wasn't there, "—hours ago at most."
Arata's gaze drifted back to the statue, its unsettling sensuality now seeming almost mocking. The goddess's stone eyes appeared to track their movements, observing their confusion with cold amusement.
The three figures remained beneath the statue's watchful gaze, their confusion manifesting in different ways. Arata methodically checked his pockets, finding his wallet, phone, and keys intact—though his phone dispyed no signal and refused to power on. Yuuto alternated between comforting Suzume and examining the chapel's architecture, searching for doors or windows that might lead somewhere recognizable. Suzume huddled closer to Yuuto, her fingers tracing the embroidered school crest on its breast pocket.
"So we're all dead," Arata finally said, breaking the heavy silence. He spoke the words ftly, a statement rather than a question. "Each of us died in different ways, at different times, yet we've all ended up here."
Yuuto shook his head, his dark hair catching the colored light streaming through the stained gss. "I don't feel dead. I feel more alive than before, actually." He flexed his hand again, examining the py of muscles beneath his skin. "If this is the afterlife, it's nothing like the Buddhist teachings or Christian heaven."
Suzume looked up, her eyes still rimmed with unshed tears. "Maybe we're in a coma? My cousin was in one after her accident. She said she had vivid dreams that felt completely real."
"All three of us sharing the same coma dream?" Arata countered, though his voice cked conviction. "That's as impusible as being dead."
Yuuto approached the statue, studying its unnervingly detailed features. "What if we're being tested somehow? Like in those manga where characters get transported to another world to complete some quest?"
A quiet ugh escaped Arata's lips, brittle and hollow. "That's absurd. Those are fantasies for people like—" He stopped himself, but the implication hung in the air: people like me, who find reality disappointing. "Besides, those characters usually get special powers or abilities. I still feel like the same useless insurance agent I was before I died."
"We don't know that we're dead," Suzume insisted, rising from the pew. Yuuto's jacket slipped from one shoulder, revealing the crisp white of her sailor uniform beneath. "This could be... something else entirely."
"Like what?" Arata challenged, his tone sharper than intended.
"I don't know," she admitted quietly. "But giving up on understanding won't help us."
Arata sank deeper into the worn pew, his fingers drumming anxiously against his thigh as he repyed the events in his mind. Wait a minute, his brain suddenly screeched to a halt like a sary man realizing he'd forgotten to submit an important report. "Hold on," he said, his voice cracking slightly as he pointed at Suzume. "You just... appeared. Out of nowhere. In a fsh of golden light. Like some magical girl anime transformation sequence." His eyes widened with the realization. "That's not normal! People don't just materialize out of thin air!"
Yuuto and Suzume stared at each other, their expressions frozen in mutual bewilderment. The chapel fell silent except for the faint creaking of ancient rafters overhead and Arata's increasingly frantic breathing.
"He's right," Yuuto finally whispered, running his hand through his perfectly tousled hair. His handsome face contorted with confusion as the absurdity of the situation finally registered. "You went poof and just... appeared! Golden sparkles and everything! How did I not question that?" He clutched his head dramatically, eyes comically wide. "What kind of person sees someone teleport in front of them and just accepts it as normal?!"
Suzume clutched the oversized gakuran closer around her shoulders, her small face scrunched in concentration. "Did I really?" she asked hesitantly, looking down at herself as if expecting to find residual sparkles clinging to her uniform. "...I just remember waking up here." She gnced between the two males with growing uncertainty. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely positive," Arata and Yuuto answered in perfect unison, then exchanged startled gnces at their synchronized response.
Arata slumped forward, elbows on knees, his ordinary face a mask of exhaustion. "Maybe this is all just my dream," he muttered, more to himself than the others. "Maybe I'm not even dead, just in a coma in that alley, imagining beautiful people and golden light because my real life is so..." He trailed off, unable to finish the self-deprecating thought. "That would expin why nothing makes logical sense. Dreams never do." His eyes drifted back to the inappropriately sensual statue, whose stone pubic hair seemed even more meticulously detailed from this angle. "And why that goddess looks like she belongs in an adult video store instead of a church."
Suddenly, another golden light fred beside Arata's pew, its brilliance making everyone flinch. When it dissipated, there kneeling on the cold stone was a woman whose very presence radiated authority. The sheen of her tailored pantsuit spoke of designer bels, the sharp angles of her tomboy-ish haircut accentuating high cheekbones. Her polished heels clicked as she steadied herself, revealing the faintest tremble in her manicured fingers as she surveyed her unfamiliar surroundings.
Suzume gasped first, scrambling back until her pleated skirt bunched against the pew behind her. "G-golden light…!" Her whisper carried across the chapel's hollow acoustics. Yuuto instinctively stepped forward, though whether to shield Suzume or approach the newcomer was unclear, his grip tightened on the back of a pew, knuckles bnching. His gaze flickered from the woman's diamond-studded wristwatch to the faint lines of exhaustion under her precisely applied makeup.
Arata exhaled sharply through his nose, pressing his palms ft against his thighs. "Great," he muttered, voice deliberately ft, "another dead sarywoman to share my afterlife tedium with." Despite his sarcasm, his shoulders tensed as he assessed her like a puzzled spreadsheet, no bloodstains, no visible wounds, just the disorientation of unpnned existence.
The woman's manicured nails dug into the pew's edge as she pushed herself upright, heels wobbling momentarily before she straightened to her full height. "What is this?" Her voice cut through the chapel, sharper than her stiletto heels. "Some kind of tasteless prank?" Her eyes, lined with expensive kohl, swept over each of them, lingering longest on Yuuto's striking features before dismissing Suzume entirely.
Yuuto cleared his throat, bowing slightly despite the absurdity of the situation. "I'm afraid we're just as confused as you are, ma'am. We all woke up here after... well." He gestured vaguely to his own unblemished torso.
The woman's perfectly arched eyebrows rose at Yuuto's ambiguous expnation, her eyes narrowing like a hawk spotting prey. "What exactly are you implying, young man?" Her voice carried the unmistakable tone of someone accustomed to having her questions answered promptly and completely. The Louis Vuitton bag hanging from her crooked elbow swung slightly as she crossed her arms, creating a barrier of designer fabric between herself and what she clearly viewed as an inconvenience to her schedule. Her gaze swept dismissively over the ancient chapel, lips pursing as though the very architecture offended her sensibilities.
Suzume shrank further into Yuuto's jacket, her slender fingers clutching the fabric tighter against her colrbone. Though she made no sound, her eyes followed the woman's every movement, cataloging the dismissive gnces, the impatient tap of an expensive heel against stone. A subtle flush crept across her cheeks when the woman's gaze briefly nded on her before flicking away, deeming her unworthy of prolonged attention. Suzume's shoulders hunched slightly inward, a defensive posture formed from years of navigating school hierarchies that clearly extended to intimidating adults as well.
Arata observed the interaction with detached fascination, his back pressed against the hard wood of the pew. He'd encountered women like her during his insurance career, executives who viewed his policies as beneath them yet necessary evils. His gaze drifted to the statue's knowing expression, wondering if the stone goddess derived the same bitter amusement from watching humans perform their predictable social dances. The woman's perfume, something expensive and floral, cut through the chapel's musty air, asserting her presence even in stillness.
Around them, the chapel's shadows stretched longer across the stone floor, dust motes dancing in the colored light. The four figures formed an unlikely tableau beneath the goddess's watchful gaze. The confident beauty(?), the shrinking schoolgirl, the resigned saryman, and now the imperious executive—
All equally confused yet expressing it through the lenses of their separate lives.
"What I'm saying," Yuuto expined, his voice maintaining its gentle cadence despite the woman's sharp tone, "is that each of us experienced something tragic before waking up here. I crashed my motorcycle into a telephone pole. The man over here was stabbed in an alley. Suzume was hit by a truck." He gestured toward each person as he spoke, his movements graceful despite the gravity of his words. "We're trying to understand why we're all gathered in this pce, and whether... whether we're still alive."
The woman scoffed, her manicured hand waving dismissively through the air as though batting away an annoying insect. "Ridiculous. I haven't experienced any 'tragic incident' as you so dramatically put it. I was in my office reviewing the quarterly performance reports my CFO had just sent over the final figures." Her fingers brushed an imaginary wrinkle from her tailored scks. " I remember it clearly: I’d just taken a sip of espresso while signing off on a billion-yen acquisition. Then I felt dizzy…" For a moment, uncertainty flickered across her features before her professional mask slipped back into pce. "And now I'm here, dealing with whatever eborate corporate espionage this represents."
Yuuto's expression softened with compassion that seemed to irritate the woman further. "Perhaps you didn't realize what happened," he suggested gently. "The transition was disorienting for all of us. One moment we were experiencing something life-threatening, and the next..." His voice trailed off as he gestured to the ancient chapel surrounding them. The stained gss windows cast prismatic patterns across his features, making him appear almost ethereal.
"What are you getting at?" The woman's perfectly painted lips tightened into a bloodless line. "I think I would know if I'd died, young man. Unlike you teenagers with your dramatic fantasies about mortality, I deal in real-world consequences every day." She turned abruptly toward Arata, identifying him as the only other adult present. "You don't actually believe this nonsense, do you? Clearly, we've been drugged and brought here for some purpose. Industrial sabotage, perhaps, or ransom."
"Your coffee," Yuuto interjected softly, his gaze steady and unflinching despite her condescension. "Did it taste different? Perhaps slightly bitter beneath the espresso?"
The woman's expression faltered, composure cracking momentarily before she recovered. "That's... irrelevant. I need to contact my assistant immediately. This absence will wreak havoc on today's schedule." Her fingers reached instinctively for the smartphone that should have been in her pocket, finding nothing but empty fabric. The realization seemed to unsettle her more than any talk of death.
"We've all checked," Yuuto expined, gesturing toward Arata's dead phone. "Nothing works here. No signals, no power, no way to contact the outside world." He stepped closer to the woman, close enough that she had to tilt her chin up slightly to maintain eye contact. "I understand this is difficult to accept. But fighting against it won't help us understand why we're here or how to move forward."
The arrogant woman's eyes narrowed dangerously, her manicured finger jabbing in Yuuto's direction. "How dare you suggest I was poisoned! Do you have any idea who you're speaking to with such disrespect? I've fired employees for lesser impertinence." Her voice echoed through the chapel, sharp as the click of her designer heels against stone. The professional veneer had cracked completely now, revealing something more votile beneath.
Yuuto's eyes widened, his confident demeanor faltering as he raised his hands pcatingly. "I-I didn't mean to offend you, ma'am. I was just trying to understand how we all ended up here." A faint flush crept up his neck as he backpedaled, his usual charisma momentarily dampened by her ferocity. Even in his apologetic state, several strands of his dark hair fell artfully across his forehead, somehow enhancing rather than diminishing his handsome features.
The woman scoffed at his apology, then swiveled her attention to Arata, who remained slumped in the pew with the resigned expression of a saryman enduring an unnecessarily prolonged meeting. "You," she said, her tone suggesting she was addressing something unpleasant she'd found on the bottom of her expensive shoe. "You're clearly not a child like these two. Are you in on this? Some eborate scam targeting businesswomen? I assure you, my family's legal team will ensure you regret this."
Arata blinked slowly, his unremarkable features arranged in an expression of utter disinterest. "I don't even know who you are," he stated ftly. "Until ten minutes ago, I was bleeding out in an alley after being stabbed by a druggie(?). Meeting entitled executives wasn't on my agenda for the afterlife."
His blunt response seemed to momentarily stun the woman before she drew herself up to her full height, chin lifting imperiously.
"I am Himemiya Sayuri, Chief Executive Officer of Himemiya Financial Group and direct descendant of the Himemiya cn that has advised emperors since the Meiji Restoration. My family controls assets worth more than the GDP of several small nations." She adjusted the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist with practiced nonchance. "When I don't attend the quarterly economic summit, cabinet ministers call my personal line to inquire about my absence."
Despite themselves, all three companions felt a wave of genuine intimidation wash over them. Suzume's eyes grew wide as saucers, recognizing the name from business magazines her father read religiously. Arata straightened slightly in his seat, the insurance agent in him automatically calcuting the premiums on a life so consequential. Even Yuuto, who had been trying to maintain his compassionate approach, found himself swallowing nervously as he recognized the weight of the name she carried.
The Himemiya Group wasn't just wealthy; it was institution-level powerful. Their logo adorned skyscrapers in Tokyo's financial district, their charity gas made national news, and their political connections were rumored to extend into the imperial household itself. Himemiya didn't just belong to the elite; she represented its apex, the rarefied air that ordinary citizens only glimpsed through news headlines and economic reports.
Suzume clutched Yuuto's jacket tighter around her shoulders, her voice barely above a whisper as she turned to Arata. "My father applied for a position at Himemiya Financial five years ago. He said getting rejected was a blessing because the executives there work hundred-hour weeks and still bow to the Himemiya family like they're royalty." Her eyes darted nervously to Himemiya, then back to the floor, afraid the powerful woman might somehow punish her for the comment.
Arata nodded at Himemiya's introduction, his lips quirking into a sardonic half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "A true princess and a behemoth of industry gracing our humble afterlife gathering," he remarked, his tone bancing precariously between respect and mockery. "At least we're dying in distinguished company." He slumped back against the pew, his ordinary features arranged in thoughtful resignation as he studied the imperious woman before him. Despite her haughty demeanor, he could recognize the same disorientation in her eyes that he felt himself, the universal human response to having one's reality completely upended.
Yuuto cleared his throat, drawing Himemiya's attention back to his unfairly handsome face. "Himemiya-san, we've only just woken up here ourselves, mere moments before you arrived," he expined, his voice maintaining its gentle cadence despite her aggressive posture. "Arata-san and I were already here when we witnessed Suzume-chan materialize in a fsh of golden light." He gestured toward the schoolgirl who seemed to shrink further into his borrowed jacket. "And then you appeared in exactly the same way, surrounded by golden particles that dissolved into the air."
Suzume nodded timidly, her small fingers clutching the oversized gakuran. "It's true," she whispered, barely audible in the cavernous chapel. "You appeared just like... just like they said I did."
"Ridiculous!" Himemiya barked, her manicured hands clenching into fists at her sides. "I did not 'materialize' anywhere. This is clearly some eborate hallucination induced by whatever was in that coffee." Her eyes narrowed dangerously as they swept over the trio. "Or perhaps this is some bizarre corporate kidnapping scheme. Either way, I refuse to entertain this absurd fantasy about golden lights and magical appearances."
The tension in the chapel thickened as Himemiya's voice echoed off the ancient stones, making Suzume flinch visibly. The schoolgirl pressed herself closer to Yuuto's side, seeking protection from the intimidating executive's wrath. Yuuto's expression hardened slightly in response, his natural chivalry emerging as he subtly shifted to pce himself between Suzume and Himemiya. The air between them crackled with unspoken challenge.
Arata pushed himself to his feet with a weary sigh, inserting himself into the brewing confrontation with all the enthusiasm of a man volunteering for root canal. "Before we start throwing accusations or theories around," he interjected, running a hand through his hair, "maybe we should focus on something practical. Like finding an exit." He gestured toward the chapel's massive wooden doors at the far end. "Assuming any of us wants to leave this creepy statue's domain, that is."
The suggestion acted like a circuit breaker, temporarily diffusing the emotional charge building between them. Himemiya's lips remained pressed in a tight line, but her eyes flickered toward the doors with undisguised interest. Yuuto nodded gratefully at Arata's intervention, while Suzume visibly rexed, her shoulders lowering from their defensive hunch. Without waiting for consensus, Arata began walking toward the chapel entrance, his ordinary figure somehow commanding in its deliberate movement through the dusty sunbeams.
Himemiya followed Arata with quick, decisive steps, her designer heels clicking against the stone floor like impatient metronomes. She maintained a careful distance behind him, her eyes darting suspiciously around the chapel as though expecting corporate rivals to emerge from behind the ancient pilrs. Despite her imperious demeanor, she couldn't quite suppress the subtle tremor in her manicured hands as they clutched her luxury handbag like a shield. The chapel's unearthly quality; too silent, too dusty, yet somehow immacutely preserved, set her teeth on edge in ways board meetings with hostile shareholders never had.
Behind them, Yuuto guided Suzume with a gentle hand on her shoulder, his protective stance more pronounced now that they were moving as a group. The schoolgirl walked with small, hesitant steps, occasionally gncing back at the statue they were leaving behind. Unlike before, when she'd averted her gaze out of embarrassment, now her eyes lingered on the lewd goddess with something like curiosity. The statue's knowing smile seemed different from this angle, less mocking and more secretive, as though it held answers they hadn't even thought to seek.
Yuuto followed her gaze, his handsome features furrowing slightly as he noted details he'd missed earlier: the unusual symbols etched into the stone base, the unnatural gleam of the goddess's eyes in the dim light, the way her outstretched hands seemed to be offering something invisible yet essential.
Arata reached the massive double doors first, their ornate wooden surfaces carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift subtly when viewed from different angles. Without ceremony, he grasped the eborate brass handles and pulled. Nothing happened. His face reflected mild annoyance as he tried again, putting more force behind the effort. The doors remained immovable, as solid and unyielding as if they were merely decorative elements carved from the wall itself.
"What's wrong?" Himemiya demanded, coming to a halt beside him. Her tone suggested that locked doors were personal affronts designed specifically to inconvenience her. "Don't tell me you ck the basic strength to open a door." Despite her derisive words, her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease as she observed Arata's unsuccessful efforts.
Arata stepped back, wiping his palms on his pants with a resigned expression. "It's locked. Or jammed. Or maybe it was never meant to open in the first pce." He ran his fingers along the seam where the doors met, frowning thoughtfully. "There's no keyhole. No lock mechanism that I can see. It's like it's just... decorative."
"Impossible," Himemiya scoffed, shoving him aside with surprising strength for her slender frame. "Perhaps it requires a woman's touch rather than a failed saryman's fumbling." She grabbed the handles herself, the tendons in her wrists standing out as she pulled with determined ferocity. The doors remained stubbornly closed. After several moments of increasingly undignified struggling, she released the handles, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to maintain her composure. "This is absurd. These doors are clearly defective."
"Or maybe," Arata suggested dryly, "they're exactly as functional as they're meant to be in whatever bizarre situation we've found ourselves in." He tapped his knuckles against the wood, producing a solid, resonant sound that suggested considerable thickness. "I don't think we're getting out this way."
Before Himemiya could respond with what promised to be a scathing retort, the air between them shimmered. Motes of golden light coalesced, quickly forming a translucent rectangur panel that hovered at eye level before the four companions. The panel glowed with an ethereal blue light, dispying text that appeared to float slightly above its surface:
[Team Assembled.]
[Tutorial Mission Initiated.]
[Assessing Roles...]
The floating panel before Arata's eyes hung in the air for one surreal moment, text still glowing with that unearthly blue light. Then, without warning, it blinked out of existence, and with it, everything else.
The ancient chapel, the lewd goddess statue, the stained gss windows casting their kaleidoscope patterns, all dissolved like watercolors in rain. Darkness enveloped Arata, not the ordinary darkness of closed eyes or nighttime, but an absolute void that seemed to swallow sound and sensation along with sight. For an instant that felt both fleeting and eternal, he existed in nothingness.
Then came light. Harsh, natural sunlight that made him squint and raise a hand to shield his eyes. The world materialized around him piece by piece: first the sensation of a gentle breeze on his skin, then the earthy smell of grass and soil, followed by the soft rustling sound of vegetation moving in the wind.
Arata opened his eyes fully, blinking rapidly as his vision adjusted. This was definitely not the ominous chapel anymore. The enclosed stone walls had given way to open sky, the musty scent of ancient dust repced by the fresh vitality of growing things.
He stood in the middle of an open grass field that stretched toward the horizon in every direction. Rolling meadows of emerald and jade swayed in gentle waves under the touch of the wind, dotted here and there with wildflowers that added spshes of color to the uniform green.
The sky above was impossibly blue, unmarred by clouds, with a sun that seemed slightly too bright, too perfect to be real. In the distance, mountains rose in jagged silhouettes, so far away they appeared more like brushstrokes than physical formations.
Arata bnked out for a moment, mind struggling to process the dramatic shift in his surroundings. One second he had been in a chapel that defied architectural logic, and the next, he stood in the center of an idyllic ndscape painting come to life. The ground beneath his feet felt solid enough, the grass tickling his ankles through his socks seemed real, but the transition had been too abrupt, too complete to make sense.
It was only when he tried to raise both hands to rub his eyes that Arata realized his right hand was tightly clenching something. The weight of it had registered subconsciously, but now the sensation demanded his attention. He looked down to find his fingers wrapped around the hilt of a sword.
A straight, single-edged bde that gleamed silver in the sunlight. The weapon wasn't particurly ornate, with a simple crossguard and leather-wrapped grip, but it emanated an undeniable sense of quality and purpose. It looked practical, dangerous, and completely out of pce in his insurance salesman's hand.
"What the hell is this?" Himemiya's sharp voice cut through his daze, drawing his attention away from the bde. She wasn't addressing him specifically, but rather the situation as a whole, her composed CEO demeanor fractured by genuine arm.
It was then Arata realized he wasn't alone in this pastoral nightmare. Standing nearby in the tall grass were his three companions from the chapel, looking just as disoriented as he felt. Yuuto stood protectively near Suzume, his androgynous features tense with confusion.
The schoolgirl clutched at the oversized gakuran she still wore, her small face pale with fear. And Himemiya Sayuri, the imperious businesswoman, stood slightly apart from the others, her designer outfit incongruously perfect against the wild ndscape.
But what drew Arata's attention wasn't just their presence, it was what they held. Each of them gripped swords identical to his own, the weapons looking both natural and completely wrong in their hands. Yuuto held his with the tentative confidence of someone who might have taken kendo lessons as a child. Suzume's bde seemed comically oversized in her trembling hands.
"What is the meaning of this?" Himemiya demanded, her authoritative voice cutting through the peaceful meadow sounds. She was still dressed in her expensive business attire, though it seemed jarringly out of pce against the pastoral backdrop. "I demand to know who is responsible for this absurd charade immediately!" Despite her imperious tone, there was an edge of genuine arm in her voice as her fingers tightened around the sword she seemed reluctant to acknowledge.
Before anyone could respond, Yuuto's attention shifted to something in the distance. "Um, guys?" he said, his voice uncharacteristically tense. "I don't think we're alone out here."
From the distance, movement caught Arata's eye, dark shapes emerging from the tall grass perhaps half a kilometer away. As he squinted against the sunlight, details became clearer: green-skinned creatures running toward them with arming purpose. They were short but bulky in stature, moving with a loping gait that covered ground quickly. The distance made it difficult to distinguish features, but there was something undeniably hostile in their approach. And they weren't just a few, they numbered in the dozens, a small army converging on the four bewildered humans.
"Are those...?" Suzume whispered, unconsciously moving closer to Yuuto as her hands clutched her sword more tightly. She didn't finish the question, perhaps afraid to name what she was seeing.
"Can't be," Arata muttered, but doubt crept into his voice. The creatures' proportions were wrong for humans. Too broad, too hunched, with limbs that seemed slightly too long for their torsos. "This has to be some kind of hallucination. Maybe we're all sharing the same drug-induced nightmare."
Himemiya made a sound of disgust, though whether at the approaching creatures or Arata's suggestion wasn't clear. "Whatever this is, I refuse to participate in such nonsense." Yet despite her words, she took a step backward, bringing herself closer to the others as the creatures continued their advance.
Before anyone could properly collect themselves, the air before them shimmered once more. The now-familiar floating panels flickered into existence before each person's eyes, dispying a single word that hung in the air like a command or perhaps a prayer:
[Survive.]
