The heavy scent of ozone and nervous sweat fills the cavernous auditorium.
High above, rows of massive digital screens flicker, casting an eerie blue glow over hundreds of students tightly packed into uniform rows.
They all wear identical dark jumpers, their faces pale under the stark lighting.
On the elevated main stage stands MS.
Sato.
She wears a sharp, impeccably tailored black suit that matches her crisp black shirt.
In her right hand, she grips a sleek digital tablet.
Her eyes scan the sea of anxious young faces.
Raising her hand, she activates the microphone, and her voice booms through the auditorium speakers, instantly cutting through the low murmur of the crowd.
“Welcome, students,” MS.
Sato says, her tone perfectly even, almost mechanical.
“I welcome you all to a brand-new day of your trials.”
A collective shudder ripples through the audience.
Students exchange tense glances, but no one dares to speak.
“Today’s activity is titled Face Your Fears,” MS.
Sato continues, tapping her tablet screen.
“In this trial, each student’s brain will be electronically connected to a central computer. You will enter a virtual simulation where your largest, deepest microscopic fear will be revealed. To pass, it must be faced directly.”
She pauses, letting the weight of her words sink in.
The central screen behind her flashes, displaying a complex breakdown of a scoring system.
“The system grants specific rewards for completing your assigned task,” MS.
Sato explains, gesturing slightly to the screen.
“However, you must maintain complete composure. If you allow fear to take root in the physical world, it becomes a fatal weakness. The test commences now.”
In the middle rows, Min-sun watches the stage, her heart leaping violently into her throat.
She can feel the rapid, erratic thumping against her ribs.
Her face turns entirely pale, and her hands grow ice-cold.
Hina notices her distress.
She leans over and gently touches Min-sun’s trembling hand.
“Hey, breathe. Everything will be okay.”
Min-sun pulls her hand back slightly, staring blankly at the stage.
“How can you be sure?”
Sitting on her other side, Arashi scoffs quietly.
“Why are you making faces?” Hina asks, turning her head to glare at Arashi.
“What is that supposed to mean, and why are you even sitting with us?”
“It means you are naive,” Arashi says, his voice flat, completely devoid of emotion.
“This test isn’t just another harmless exercise. It’s an easy cover for them to get directly into our heads.”
Min-sun turns around to face Arashi, her eyes wide.
“What do you mean by that? MS. Sato explicitly said it’s for our own good. To make us stronger.”
“And you really believe what MS. Sato says?” Arashi asks, tilting his head slightly.
“Think about it. By forcing us into a simulation of our worst fears, they gain unrestricted access to our deepest memories, vulnerabilities, and secrets. It’s a psychological mapping tool.”
Min-sun looks down at her feet anxiously, her fingers twisting the fabric of her jumper.
“A cover… to access our memories?”
“Exactly,” Arashi says.
He looks up over her head toward the massive digital scoreboard tracking the candidates.
“She might actually get lucky and stay alive for at least a minute if she keeps her head straight.”
Hina flares up instantly.
She stands halfway out of her seat, leaning over Min-sun to confront Arashi directly.
“Who says that to someone before a trial? Shut up! No one asked for your cynical junk!”
“Sit down, Hina,” Arashi says smoothly, not even blinking.
“Your shouting won’t change the parameters of the test.”
“Keep your mouth shut if you don’t have anything useful to say.”
“I know enough,” Arashi replies quietly, his gaze returning to the stage.
Min-sun ignores their bickering, closing her eyes to focus on her own breathing.
Deep down in her heart, a fierce determination begins to take root.
No matter what happens in there, she tells herself, I am not going to die today.
I survived the Threshold.
I can survive anything.
I have to survive.
For my sister, Primrose.
Arashi watches her silent resolve out of the corner of his eye.
He doesn’t say a single word, monitoring her reaction with cold, analytical precision.
Suddenly, a loud, agonizing scream pierces through the auditorium.
The first batch of students is already undergoing the simulation.
In the front rows, several students thrash violently in their seats, their eyes rolled back.
Some pass out instantly as the central computer registers a failure.
For a few unfortunate candidates, their bodies completely stiffen.
They cannot handle the intense, overwhelming visual horrors projected directly into their minds.
Right there on the spot, their hearts give out.
They bleed to death from their eyes and noses, collapsing forward.
“Medical teams, clear the floor,” MS.
Sato commands calmly into her microphone, her expression unchanging as if watching broken machinery being cleared away.
Uniformed handlers rush down the aisles, lifting the lifeless bodies out of the chairs.
As the last body of a dead candidate is dragged out through the heavy side doors, the central screen flashes brightly, resetting the queue.
A sharp, mechanical chime echoes through the entire room, and new, blood-red text pulses on the monitor:
Candidate 208: Hong-kung Kobayashi.