The wind felt calm and gently cool, the sky clear like a river of glass, the moon casting its soft light on the ocean below.
The four airplanes moved in coordinated formation, glinting under the moonlight as they carried the future hitmen over the ocean.
Inside one of the planes, Hikaru sat by the window, lost in thought, staring at the dark waters passing below.
Most passengers kept to themselves, absorbed in their own business, except for a few. A beautiful woman sat a few rows ahead, her purple eyes striking. Her medium-length black hair was tied in an elegant ponytail, and she wore a white shirt, blue jeans, blue slippers, and a brown overcoat . A few candidates glanced her way, attempting to flirt subtly.
One of the candidates stood up from his seat and went to the girl, his tone dragging and unsettling in a most comic way possible.
"Heyyy~~Ladyyy, can I know your name, please?"
The girl stiffened, clearly uncomfortable, but managed to reply, "My name is Sayuri."
The man spun around, laughing in a ridiculous, exaggerated way. "Ha…ha…ha! She said her name to me—it means she likes me! I've got a chance!"
He quickly turned back to her, trying to look composed. "Heyyy lady, can I get your number? Don't worry—during S.A.O.E.T, I'll protect you from those shitty people. After all, I'm the strongest and most skilled here."
Sayuri froze, stunned and unsure how to respond.
Before she could say a word, a few more candidates jumped up. One yelled, "Hey! Who do you think you are, calling her that? If you think you're protecting her, you're wrong—I am!"
In an instant, the confrontation spiraled, and the candidates started shoving and fighting each other in the aisle. Sayuri tried desperately to intervene, but Hikaru, sitting nearby, remained completely unfazed, watching the drama unfold with detached eyes.
As the brawl to impress Sayuri raged, a sudden, sharp, commanding voice cut through the air like a blade. Instantly, every candidate froze and returned to their seats. The cabin fell into a tense, heavy silence.
The instructor stood near the cockpit door, his presence radiating authority. His voice, old yet sharp and resonant, filled the plane.
"Fellow candidates," he began, "after a few more hours of travel, your journey will reach its true beginning. The S.A.O.E.T will commence soon."
He paused, letting the words sink in, then continued with cold precision. "As soon as we reach the edge of the Island of Death, the trapdoor beneath your feet will open, and you will fall from the plane. The rules are simple: one-fourth of all candidates will receive parachutes. The rest… will fight for survival. Life and death will be decided in an instant."
At that moment, the chosen candidates were handed their parachutes. Sayuri received hers, her expression a mix of relief and determination. Hikaru, however, found no parachute waiting for him—luck had not favored him this time.
Even without a parachute, Hikaru remained unshaken. It wasn't arrogance or overconfidence that steadied him—it was that his mind was buried deep in thought, staring out of the plane's window, completely absorbed. The instructor's words, the instructions, the chaos around him—all of it barely registered. For Hikaru, the edge of the Island of Death was just another backdrop to the calculations and strategies running relentlessly through his mind.
As the airplanes continued their journey, the scene shifted back to the warehouse. Inside the dimly lit cabin, the doctors and nurses worked meticulously on Mike, Aki, and the third person, their movements precise but tense. The danger in the room, however, was impossible to ignore.
The two politicians and the businessman, tied to chairs with heavy chains, sat frozen in terror. Their eyes were wide, sweat poured down their faces, and their hearts pounded so loudly it felt as if the walls themselves would echo it.
Their bodies trembled as they struggled, but the dirty, muddy cloths stuffed in their mouths silenced their screams.
In front of them, Jester moved with a manic energy, setting up a camera. As he finished, a twisted excitement lit his features. "Eheheh… this is going to be a lot of fun," he muttered to himself, the corners of his lips curling into a sinister grin.
He turned to the hostages, scanning them like a predator.His gaze flicked between them, settling dramatically on one of the politicians. He pointed with both index fingers, theatrically, and sauntered closer.
"So~ Mister Politician, player number one," he began, his tone eerily casual. "I'm going to ask you a question that will decide whether you live or die."
Before he could continue, a sharp, muffled voice sting through his ear like a bee. Jester's grin faltered, excitement giving way to irritation.
Turning sharply, he stormed over to the businessman and yanked the cloth from his mouth. The businessman immediately shouted, his voice raw with anger and fear.
"What do you think of yourself?! If the leader finds out you kidnapped me—ME, the owner of N.J. Textile—you're dead meat!"
The room fell into a suffocating silence, broken only by the soft, mechanical beeps of the monitors. Yet the doctors and nurses continued their work as if the world outside didn't exist, tending to Mike, Aki, and the third patient with robotic precision.
Jester turned his back to the hostages, his voice suddenly sharp and venomous, filled with rage. "Power… Power… and power!"he hissed, each word cutting through the thick, tense air. "He can do that… You can do that!"
He strode to a nearby table and yanked a lever with a loud clank. Instantly, the heavy cellar door in the ceiling slid open. A figure dropped through the gap, suspended in midair for a heartbeat before the chain caught him.
Blood poured from every orifice—mouth, eyes, ears—and his body was naked, battered, and glistening under the dim fluorescent light. Flowers, bright and grotesque against the dark red of his blood, had been forced into his wounds. He hung upside down, swaying slightly from the chain, the metallic scent of his blood mixing with the faint perfume of the flowers.
Jester threw back his head and let out a sudden, piercing laugh: "AHAHAHAHAHAH!!!" The sound bounced off the cracked walls, echoing through the warehouse. His excitement returned with a manic force.
"Isn't it exquisite, Mister Businessman?" he bellowed, pointing toward the dead body hanging from the chain. "Look at him! How I decorated him with flowers! Doesn't he look… elegant? Like a true antique piece?"
The three hostages froze instantly, their bodies rigid, faces pale. Their eyes were wide, the image etched into their minds like fire. Sweat dripped from their temples, their hearts thundering so violently it felt like it might burst from their chests. Even breathing seemed impossible as the horror of what they were witnessing unfolded before them.