Third-person point of view:
The White Room had never allowed him to fully master the use of firearms. Though that facility skirted illegality in every imaginable way, Ayanokōji felt it was illogical for his father to orchestrate something of this magnitude at the nation's most prestigious high school. If something like this came to light, he wouldn't escape unscathed: prison would be his inevitable fate. Organizing an event on this scale didn't fit with the government or any rational actor. Too chaotic, too exposed.
The tremors stopped as abruptly as they had begun. For Ayanokōji, the expected attack never came. For the rest, it had been just an earthquake. People relaxed a little, though no one took their eyes off the fogged windows. The mist pressed against the glass like a living entity, white and impenetrable.
In the distance, an older woman murmured prayers without cease. Her fingers clutched a silver crucifix hidden beneath a gray scarf. She wore a long yellow dress that revealed not an inch of skin, as if already preparing for the final judgment.
"Death is approaching..." she whispered in a hoarse voice. "The Lord is punishing us."
Ayanokōji ignored the comment and headed toward Kushida. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his group: Haruka biting her lower lip nervously, Sakura hugging herself, and Akito with clenched fists. Even he, who usually kept his composure, seemed affected by the plumber's screams that had echoed minutes earlier.
Before reaching Kushida, Yamauchi rushed ahead, without Ike this time.
"Kushida-chan!" he said in a trembling voice laced with opportunism. "What did you see out there? Don't worry, I'm here to protect you. No matter what happens, I'll defend you!"
His eyes gleamed with a mix of lust and heroic fantasy. Kushida looked at him as if he were an insect.
A sharp, resounding slap echoed throughout the store. Yamauchi's eyes widened in shock, his hand flying to his reddened cheek.
"Stay away, you disgusting creep!" Kushida shouted, her breathing ragged.
Everyone turned. The silence that followed was thick. Kushida trembled from head to toe, on the verge of collapse. To most, it was pure traumatic shock. To Ayanokōji, it was a mix: genuine shock and the inability to maintain her perfect facade under such pressure.
He raised his hand to the crowd in a calm but firm gesture: I'll handle this. No one argued. He extended his palm to Kushida. There was a 70% chance she would reject it. Against all odds, she took it.
He led her toward the restrooms. They entered the accessible one: larger, thicker door, greater privacy. He felt the stares from the Kiyopon group and from other classmates he hadn't noticed before: some from Class C, a couple from Class A. He closed the door carefully and turned.
Kushida's facade crumbled completely. Her shoulders slumped, her lips began to tremble, and tears rolled uncontrollably.
"She... Mii-chan... was the only one who truly got along with me..." Her voice broke. "She was the only one who understood me!"
Ayanokōji stepped forward and, for the first time in his life, hugged someone on his own initiative. Without ulterior motives. He just needed her to pull herself together. To tell him what she had seen. In his mind, he clung to the most rational theory: hallucinogenic toxins. It had to be that. Any other option was... unacceptable.
Kushida gripped his shirt tightly, soaking it with tears and snot.
"Mii-chan...!" she sobbed.
Ayanokōji said nothing. He just let her cry. Fifteen minutes. Maybe more. She gradually calmed down, embarrassed at having broken down in front of him.
"Breathe," he said softly, guiding her to the sink. "Splash your face."
He turned on the faucet. As the water ran, Ayanokōji took some toilet paper and wiped her cheeks with a gentleness he didn't even know he possessed.
Kushida suddenly looked at him with rage.
"Do you really think that by doing this I'll sleep with you, you bastard?"
She raised her arm as if to strike him, but stopped. Something in her instinct told her it wasn't a good idea.
"I'm not interested in your body," he replied calmly. "I want to know what you saw."
Kushida grimaced. Her stomach churned violently. She turned to the toilet and vomited everything: breakfast, protein shake, bile. Ayanokōji knelt without hesitation and held her hair back.
When she finished, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"It's... impossible," she whispered. "I think I'm going crazy. Is it the stress?"
"Stress doesn't cause shared hallucinations," Ayanokōji said. "Tell me what you saw. I'll believe you."
Kushida met his eyes. She hated that empty expression, but for the first time, she sensed real honesty. She leaned on his shoulder, unable to look at him directly.
"I was with Mii-chan... we stepped out for a moment because she needed air... Suddenly, a tongue... long, slimy... grabbed her by the neck." Her voice trembled. "I heard it snap. It lifted her several meters... and took her away. I don't know where."
She extended her arm, staring at her open palm, then clenched her fist tightly.
"Another one came at me. I fell trying to run. It grabbed my ankle... I managed to kick it off. I hurt my nose when I fell... and also..."
She slowly pulled down her athletic sock. Around her ankle was a spiral mark, thin but deep. The skin was turning purple.
"It's too strange a bruise," Ayanokōji murmured, examining it. "Almost as if something tried to..."
He stopped upon seeing the terror in Kushida's eyes.
"You'll be fine," he said instead, though he didn't fully believe it.
At that precise moment, the lights flickered violently. Once, twice, three times. Then absolute darkness.
Kushida clung to him desperately. Ayanokōji took her hand, oriented himself in the dark, and found the door without issue. They emerged holding hands.
Dozens of gazes fell on them. Kushida released him immediately, flushed and furious.
"I-I got scared by the blackout! You saw nothing!" she shouted, and fled down another aisle.
Ayanokōji sighed in relief: none of his close group had seen. Explaining it would have been troublesome.
He headed toward the back of the supermarket, where the generators and warehouse were. On the way, he found someone hunched against a shelf, phone to his ear, hand shaking.
"Hirata?"
Hirata Yōsuke jumped and turned. His perfect face was shattered by panic.
"Ayanokōji-kun! Karuizawa...! She got separated from me! She's in the pharmacy! Something broke in through a shattered window...!"
Ayanokōji placed both hands on his shoulders and squeezed firmly.
"Breathe."
Hirata obeyed, inhaling deeply. Then he showed him the phone.
Kei's messages grew increasingly desperate: blurry photos, short texts, pleas. The last was a video from four minutes ago.
Kei recorded in selfie mode, breathing heavily, locked in a bathroom stall. Then she focused on the door: ajar, no lock. Distant screams could be heard, objects falling, something dragging.
"I don't know what it is..." she whispered in the video, hand over her mouth. "Please, come...!"
The video cut off.
Hirata trembled.
"No... I can't go out there... Not alone..."
Ayanokōji glanced at the group. Yamauchi was still rubbing his cheek, depressed. Ike tried to cheer him up without success.
An idea crossed his mind.
First: restore the electricity. The only truly safe place.
Second: see what miracle he could work for the parasite... or for Kei.
Priorities.