The classroom reeked of sweat and fear, its makeshift stage a mockery of romance with pink and red paint poorly applied under flickering lights. Sakura’s body ached, the ropes cutting into her wrists, her temple throbbing from the Love Staff’s blow. Beside her, Hinata lay slumped, unconscious, her pigtails, normally bouncing, limp. Ichika’s eyes swelled with despair, her face pale from repeated shocks from the salvaged janitor bot. On the stage, Kitaro, Hanayama, and Oyama sat bound, cables sparking faintly from their chairs.

  Sakura’s gaze darted to the corners, spotting a pile of cruel weapons, her fire axe, knives, scav armour and Kitaro dented helmet lay disregarded in the corner. “Pssst, Ichika,” she whispered, nudging her head to point at them. “If I can untie my ropes…” She shuffled her chair, its legs scraping sharply against the floor. As the pair stopped, eyes turned to Ahmya, but they huffed in relief as they noticed Ahmya was distracted, her eyes locked on her placard, lips moving silently as she rehearsed her next question.

  Ichika’s eyes widened, a hissed warning. “Don’t risk it!”

  Ahmya’s voice cut through the pair, stuttering from behind the stage’s split wall. Face down into her plaque cards, cheeks reddened by a hot flush “Q..question t… t-two. If we had a f-future to… together…” Her tone wavered, embarrassed. “H-how would you see us together?”

  Kitaro lifted his head, his black hair matted with blood, his gaze locking on Sakura’s shuffling chair. “I couldn’t see us together, not after all this,” he said, voice steady but cutting deep. “But if you turn yourself in, I promise to visit you.”

  A click echoed. The janitor bot jumped with a surge of energy , and Kitaro’s body arched, a scream tearing from his throat. Oyama flinched, watching in horror, while Hanayama remained unaware, unconscious. Sakura froze, her chair’s screeeech betraying her movement. She flinched, meeting Ichika’s shocked stare.

  Ahmya stormed to the edge of the stage, she gripped the Love Staff, its heart-shaped tip slamming it against the stage, a sharp crack echoing. Looking down her thick-framed glasses, the shock remote clenched in one hand, the Love Staff in the other, its heart-shaped tip glistening. “What do you think you’re doing?” she snarled, her voice a venomous, eyes piercing Sakura and Ichika.

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  Words sat on Sakura’s lips, before she could speak, Ahmya’s thumb twitched on the remote, and electricity ripped through Sakura and Ichika.

  “Ahaaaa!” Sakura screamed, her vision blurring. “Eheeee!” Ichika gasped, her body convulsing. The world spun, pain searing every nerve. When it stopped, Sakura panted, her mind awash, borderline conscious. Ichika slumped, out cold, having accepted the embrace offered as pain’s release. Hinata remained limp.

  Ahmya’s voice drifted, cold. “Oh, you’re still awake, You’re stronger than your…” as her face twists, choking on the next word “friends” as the cold tone returns “Let that be a lesson.”

  On the stage, Oyama trembled under a spotlight, Kitaro still recovering beside him. “Now back to my question,” Ahmya said, her stutter softening. “Num… number Two, please answer.”

  Kitaro’s gaze steadied Oyama. “Go on,” he murmured. “You’ll survive this.”

  Oyama’s voice shook, eyes distant, hopeful. “Honestly, I don’t know. I always wanted to tour the world… we could go together. But in the end, we’d take over my family’s sweet store.” He smiled faintly. “As long as I’m with someone, I’ll be happy.”

  Ahmya’s breath hitched, a tear glinting behind her glasses. With a cry, she tore down the split wall, revealing herself to Oyama. Her skirt swayed, her face alight with manic joy. Oyama startled, Kitaro remained composed, and Sakura struggled, her vision clearing. “Number Two, I choose you!” Ahmya declared.

  “Let… us… go,” Sakura rasped, her strength fading. Kitaro’s voice was firm. “I can’t let you go free after all this.”

  Ahmya ignored them, wrapping her arms around Oyama, who froze, shocked. She pressed her lips to his, a desperate, clumsy kiss, her glasses slipping down her nose, Oyama’s eyes wide with shock.. Stepping back, she muttered to herself, clutching the shock remote. “They can’t interrupt our date…” as she pushed her glasses back

  Oyama squealed, “A date? You can’t kill them!”

  Ahmya's finger hesitated over the remote, conflicted between the shy softer Ahmya “I don’t want to kill them…” and her darker self, “I’ve got an idea.”

  A click ever so faint to Sakura struggling consciousness, her vision darkened, fading to black. A final click, and electricity surged via the Janitor bot through her and Kitaro, their screams mingling. Oyama’s horrified face was the last thing she saw, Ahmya’s silhouette looming, pressing the remote’s buttons, the Love Staff gleaming like a cruel sceptre.