The dormitory was silent save for the faint rustle of sheets.
A lone firefly of flame flickered above Arthur's bunk, casting a warm, wavering glow just enough to illuminate the worn pages of The Two Lost Oni.
Miles stirred in the bunk below, rubbing his eyes groggily, "You're still awake?"
Arthur didn't look up, "Red Oni followed a lawful good nature but often created problems that the Blue Oni resolved in a much more reasonable manner, yet gets looked down upon." He turned a page, "But the Blue Oni fails to understand why he's unfit to be king if his solutions to everything are to kill a life instead of change it."
Miles sat up, curiosity slicing through his drowsiness. He climbed up to Arthur's bunk, "Didn't peg you for a folklore guy," Miles admitted, peering at the book.
Arthur snorted, "Joseph's copy. I was curious and decided to read it."
Miles skimmed the summary, his brow furrowing, "So let me get this straight—Red Oni's the people's champion, Blue's the outcast, and they're fighting because...?"
"Because the gods think it's funny. To use personal hatred as a means of entertainment for an unwanted rivalry." Arthur snapped the book shut, "However, the ending was ripped out. So, the new ending according to the book is them about to have their final showdown."
A beat of silence stretched between them. Miles studied Arthur's eyes lingering on the book's front cover, a storm of thoughts brewing behind them.
"What's next for you?" Miles asked suddenly, "After you help Vanessa hit #1?"
Arthur's gaze drifted to the ceiling, the firelight carving deep shadows under his eyes, "Dunno if I get that luxury." His thumb brushed the book's cover, a restless gesture, "A promised future like that scares me to think about. The absurdity of this world is rather unpredictable, so I'll go along with what I can for now."
Miles flicked his forehead with a playful snap, "You're not in prison anymore, dumbass. Dream. For real this time."
"Tch."
"Ever thought about a family?"
Arthur's laugh was a short, sharp bark, "Not unless they're as down bad as me." Then, quieter, almost hesitant: "Gwin, maybe. If she meant it. But right now? Options open."
The admission hung between them. Miles fidgeted, his hands twisting in his lap.
"You ever… fuck someone?" Arthur asked.
Miles turned scarlet, his face flaming, "Wha—no! Have you?!"
"Nope." Arthur sat up onto his side, "Wonder how it feels, though. Bet it feels amazing." His grin turned wolfish, "Random question, ass or tits?"
Miles nearly fell off the bunk, clutching the edge, "Dude—"
"C'mon. Hypothetically, you were about to die and a nurse asked you which part of herself you wanted to see one last time… what would it be?"
Miles quickly glanced at Gwin's bunk; she was motionless under her blanket. He exhaled, his voice barely a whisper, "...Ass."
Arthur nodded sagely, "A man of culture. I wouldn't mind resting my head between these soft pillows."
"Shut up." His shadow hand gently bonked Arthur's head with a soft thump.
Arthur laughed, before pressing, "Lingerie preference? Red's classic. Black's dangerous. White—"
A muffled giggle cut through the dark.
Both froze, hearts pounding.
Gwin's blanket shifted—just slightly.
Arthur and Miles locked eyes in silent panic.
Five heartbeats passed, each one a hammer strike.
"…Bed," Miles hissed, scrambling down with a clumsy thud.
Arthur killed his flame with a flick of his fingers, darkness swallowing the room—but not fast enough to hide the triumphant smirk on Gwin's face, wide awake and filing away every word with glee.
---
The lights of the Association hallway flickered overhead as Team 3 followed their instructor.
Arthur and Miles walked shoulder-to-shoulder, exchanging a whisper.
"You think she heard us?" Miles muttered, glancing at Gwin, who hummed a cheerful tune, her steps unusually bouncy, almost skipping.
"No idea," Arthur muttered back, "But she's way too happy for another exam. That's for sure."
Gwin shot them a knowing smirk over her shoulder—just enough to make Miles' face burn with embarrassment—before skipping ahead with a sway in her hips.
The instructor stopped before a heavy steel door, its surface etched with hazard warnings that glowed faintly in the dim light.
"This is where we part ways," he said, his voice grave, "Each remaining team has been placed in an isolated simulation. Eagle designed these scenarios himself—consider them a crucible. Pass, and you advance. Fail, and you're out."
Arthur's eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion in his gaze, "What's the catch?"
The instructor's lips thinned, a grim line, "This exam has the second-highest failure rate for a reason. The scenarios are pulled from real-world disasters. The villains? Straight from the Association's S-Class Threat database."
Miles stiffened, his voice cracking, "You're throwing us against S-Class?!"
"Simulations," the instructor corrected, his tone unyielding, "These S-ranks are former villains dated back 30 years ago, so we have their information ready for the contestants. But the pain? The consequences? All will be real. Good luck."
The door hissed open with a metallic groan, revealing a pitch-black chamber that seemed to pulse with menace.
Team 3 stepped inside, their breaths shallow.
The void swallowed them whole, a suffocating embrace.
Light blazed back into existence—but the world they knew was gone, replaced by a nightmare.
The Eiffel Tower lay in twisted ruins. The Seine ran black with soot, its surface rippling with the echoes of dying fires. And the air… the air screamed with the wails of a city in torment.
A child's sob cut through the devastation, fragile and desperate, "Help… please…"
A girl, no older than ten, huddled beneath the rubble of a collapsed café, her dress stained with dust and blood, her small frame trembling with fear.
Gwin moved first, her voice urgent, "We've got you—"
"Tell me, child, do you believe in heaven?"
The voice was silk, chilling the blood in their veins.
Team 3 turned as one, their hearts seizing.
And there he stood.
Sin, the Messenger of Salvation.
His presence alone crushed the air from their lungs, a suffocating weight that bent the world around him.
Draped in tattered priestly robes, his face was a grotesque mosaic of stitched flesh and golden scripture that gleamed with unholy light. His smile split ear to ear, a gash of malice, "Sloth, Envy, and Wrath. I can see it in your eyes that each one of you represents a sin the gospel warns us not to follow. Yet you still allow sin to lust over you, you filthy degenerates."
An information text appeared beside him, a holographic list of his Triggers glowing ominously:
Body Alteration – Sin could reshape his flesh into weapons, armor, or worse.
Destruction Beam – A single glance could reduce city blocks to dust.
Judgment – His eyes highlight a colorful aura around his target, revealing the sin of the seven deadly sins they committed the most.
Gwin didn't wait, her instincts kicking in.
"Miles, grab the girl! Arthur—"
Sin moved.
A blur of rotting fabric—then a backhand that sent Gwin flying like a ragdoll, "May the Lord cleanse the Envy from your heart and purify your soul." The impact cratered her into a building, the sound of shattering bones louder than the collapsing rubble, a sickening crunch that silenced the air.
"GWIN!" Miles lunged, shadows erupting like a tidal wave—
Sin caught his wrist in an iron grip.
"Begone… Sloth."
Miles screamed as his arm folded backward at the elbow, bones jutting through skin with a wet snap, before being kicked toward a ruined store, his body skidding across the debris-strewn ground.
Arthur's fire ignited in a roaring blaze—but Sin was already behind him, breath hot and rancid on his neck.
"Your turn, Wrath."