The classroom was a ruin, its walls scarred with peeling paint and broken desks shoved into corners. A makeshift stage dominated the space, cobbled from splintered wood, draped with tattered curtains, and splashed with pink and red paint. Three chairs lined the front, cables snaking from their armrests to the humming power bank of a broken janitor bot.

  Sakura stirred, her head throbbing as the world illuminated into colour. She blinked against the dim glow of a setting sun seeping through cracks in boarded windows and draped clothes. Her wrists burned, ropes biting into her skin while a pain lingered around her temple, blood crusted along her cheek as she struggled to remember, a staff’s heart-shaped tip glinting in the dark, then nothing. Beside her, the hushed tones of Ichika and Hinata muttered as they strained against their bindings, their faces pale and drawn.

  “Sakura! Sakura, wake up, please!” Ichika’s voice cracked, her black hair plastered to her sweat-soaked forehead. Hinata’s pink pigtails bobbed as her face was bruised, she tugged at her ropes, her eyes wide with panic.

  “My head…” Sakura groaned, her voice hoarse. She squinted at her friends, relief flickering through the haze. “Ichika, Hinata, you’re okay?”

  “What’s this?” Sakura’s gaze swept the room, landing on the stage. A split wall stood at its center, hiding something… or someone…. behind it. The air felt wrong, thick with dread.

  “It’s Ahmya,” Hinata's voice barely a whisper. “She’s gone insane.” as her body trembled.

  “Where’s Kitaro?” Sakura asked, her heart lurching, straining her neck as she glanced in all directions, only to see a few faint red dots blinking back at her from the ceiling.

  Hinata nodded toward the stage, her voice hushed to avoid Ahmya’s wrath. ‘He’s up there, with two other Scavs.’ Beyond the split wall, out of Sakura’s view, three boys, each sat bound to a chair.

  Kitaro, his head slumped, and the other two students, their faces twisted with fear. “Help us, please!” one cried, his voice raw. The other muttered, shaking. Kitaro stirred, groaning, “Where am I?”

  Lights flickered on, harsh and buzzing, illuminating the stage. A shadowy figure stood at the far end, always watching, cloaked in darkness off stage as she hide from the boys behind the wall. “Hel… Hel… Hell,” a voice stammered, high and unsteady. It cleared its throat. “Hello… and welcome to my game.”

  Sakura’s stomach twisted. Ahmya. The third-year loner, always quiet, always alone, top student. But this voice, nervous yet edged with something unhinged. The figure shifted, lips catching the light, trembling. “Th-the winner will… will be…” Ahmya’s words faltered, then hardened. She crossed her legs, the motion deliberate, embarrassed. “My boyfriend!”

  The room erupted. “You’re crazy!” the first boy student, Hanayama, shouted. “This is insane!” the second, Oyama, thrashing against his ropes “You held us for days for this!” Kitaro’s voice cut through, steady but firm. “You need to let us go, we can help you!”

  Ahmya’s silhouette stiffened. She raised a remote, her fingers twitching over a button. “Quiet,” she snapped, sharp as a dagger, then softened, meek as a church mouse. “Please.”

  “You can’t do this!” Ichika yelled, her voice fierce despite her bindings. Hinata’s plea was softer, desperate. “Stop this, Ahmya!”

  A click echoed. The janitor bot jolted, electricity surged, and screams tore from the stage. Hanayama, Oyama, and Kitaro spasms, their bodies jerking against the chairs. Sakura’s cry caught in her throat as a jolt hit her, Ichika, and Hinata, pain searing through their nerves. “Aggghhh!” they gasped, the world blurring.

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  The shocks stopped. Sakura slumped, gasping for air as her vision blurred. On the stage, the boys panted, cables sparking faintly.

  Ahmya stepped onto the stage, light beaming off her thick-framed glasses, her modest skirt swaying. She gripped a knot-twisted wooden staff, adorned with faded pink and red ribbons, its metal heart-shaped tip gleaming as she raised it toward the girls, tapping it against her palm, its tip flashing.

  Hinata shrank back, eyes locked on the staff’s gleaming tip.

  Still hidden from the boys behind the split wall, Ahmya’s face lit with a smug curl, fingers steady on a shock remote, leaning her staff against the the wall confident they were secure in their seats. Sakura’s breath caught, that staff had shattered her world. “Do as you’re told,” Ahmya said, her voice dark. “Disobedience will get you a higher voltage.”

  She plucked pre-made plaque card off her chair before taken the seat on stage, her hands trembling. “Question one,” she read, her stutter returning. “If we were t-to date, where wou-would you take me?” as a lump in her throat cleared.

  The boys stared at the partition, shocked, as a motor in the ceiling camera could be heard in the deafening silence. Hanayama’s jaw drop, Oyama eyes swelled and Kitaro brow raised in confusion. “Can Number One go first?” Ahmya asked, almost polite. He spat, “Like hell would I date you!” A flick of her thumb, and Hanayama screamed, electricity coursing through him.

  Ahmya’s face fell, looking to the floor, her voice barely audible. “Please answer. I don’t want to keep doing this.”

  Kitaro lifted his head, his black hair matted with sweat and blood. “I’ll go first. Ahmya, was it?” His tone was calm, almost kind. Ahmya’s eyes glittered as she raised her head, hopeful, but his next words were steel. “I couldn’t date a woman who hurts others.”

  Another click the janitor bot buzzed. Kitaro’s body arched, a choked cry escaping him. Sakura’s heart raced. “Kitaro!” Ichika pleaded, lurching forward. “Please, stop, Ahmya!” Hinata begged. Sakura’s voice joined them, raw with fear. “You’re going to kill them!”

  Ahmya’s head twitched, in a moment she was monstrous, her expression gloating, sinister. “My parents gave me higher voltages,” she said, almost casual.

  She grabbed the Love Staff, stepped toward Hinata, pointing the staff at girls from the stage, humming power from the janitor bot’s cables as sharp jolt sparked, Hinata screamed, her body convulsing. Sakura and Ichika gasped as shocks ripped through them too, the remote in Ahmya’s other hand glowing. “They’ll be fine,” her voice cold.

  When it stopped, Hinata sagged, unconscious. Hanayama slumped, his face scrunch, eyes closed, unwilling to believe this was happening. Kitaro and Oyama gasped, recovering. Ahmya’s voice softened, apologetic. “Sorry, some times, I lose myself.” her hand tremble as she re-reads the card in her hand, her mouth moves but she doesn’t speak, till “That leaves Number Two. How do you answer?”

  Oyama’s face glistened with sweat, his voice a stammer. “I… I… I wou…” He flinched, eyes squeezing shut, bracing him for a jolt, then shouted, “I would walk you to my family’s sweet store… get you whatever you want!”

  Ahmya froze, a tear glinting in her eye as she removed her glasses, hands trembling. Someone was finally playing her game.

  Hanayama stirred, finally opening his eyes at the lack of getting shocked again, his voice venomous. “Take him and let the rest of us go, you crazy bitch!”

  Ahmya’s demeaner twisted once again as her thumb twitched over the remote, Hanayama convulsed, biting his tongue as he screamed before collapsing unconscious.

  Hinata woke to screams, crying, “Stop this, it’s insane!” Ahmya glanced over with piercing eyes, another shock left the janitor bot, silencing Hinata as her body went limp.

  Ahmya’s gaze snapped to Sakura and Ichika, her voice cold. “Any more outbursts from the audience?.”

  Sakura and Ichika exchanged looks, their voices shaking. “Are.. they dead?” they asked, eyeing Hinata and Hanayama . Sakura shook her head, glancing at their ID cards, clipped to Hinata’s skirt and hanging around Hanayama’s neck. “No, their IDs are still active.”

  Ahmya’s silhouette loomed, reaching for her staff, her confidence now suffocated the pair. “Any more outbursts in Round 2, and you will be eliminated,” Ahmya’s voice cut through the whispers, her staff raised like a queen’s sceptre, her words a promise of worse to come.