Yamado leaned in close, his breath cold against Hikaru's cheek.
"Let's play a game," he whispered, holding up a thick, rusted nail clipper. "Guess the number I'm thinking of. If you're right, I won't take your nail."
Hikaru's heart pounded in his chest. His wrists were raw from struggling against the ropes, and blood dripped down from where the bindings had already begun to cut into his skin.
"P-Please…" he gasped. "I don't want to die."
Yamado smiled, slow and wide. "Oh, don't worry. You'll beg to die long before I let you."
He took a few steps back, theatrically raising both arms. "Guess a number between one and ten."
It was a trap. A game of pure chance—only a one-in-ten chance to avoid more pain. And even that, Hikaru suspected, was a lie.
Yamado could read the doubt on his face.
"Alright, alright," he said, feigning benevolence. "I'll make it easier for you. I'll write down the number on a page, and I'll place it on that table there." He pointed to a small wooden table in the corner. "But here's the twist—you won't guess the number I'm thinking of. You'll guess one I'm not thinking of."
Hikaru's eyes widened. The odds now leaned in his favor. Nine chances to survive, only one to lose.
"I'll let you go," Yamado added, voice dripping with false sincerity, "if you guess correctly."
Hikaru didn't believe him. Of course not. But there was no other choice.
Yamado scribbled in a small leather-bound notebook, keeping the page in full view. He shut the book without turning a single page and placed it upside down on the table, just as he said.
"Now then," he said, grinning. "What number am I not thinking of?"
Hikaru's thoughts raced.
He probably chose something in the middle—like five or six. But what if he predicted that I'd think that? Maybe he picked something at the edge… like one. But what if that's what he wants me to think, and it's actually two?
He took a deep breath.
"Two," he said finally.
Yamado flipped the notebook open with the theatricality of a magician revealing his final trick.
The page contained every number. One through ten. Written plainly.
"All of them?" Hikaru whispered.
Yamado chuckled.
"I was thinking of every number. Too bad for you."
With that, he lunged forward and gripped Hikaru's trembling hand.
"No—no, please—!"
But the scream tore from his throat as the clipper snapped down. Blood sprayed across the cold concrete. His fingernail was gone.
"AaaaaaAAAAHHH!"
Yamado's laughter echoed in the small room like a chorus of demons. He leaned back, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
"You scream better than the last one."
Hikaru could barely breathe. The pain was blinding, a pulsing fire that drowned out everything else.
Yamado wasn't done.
"Next game," he said cheerfully, pulling out a knife. "Rock, paper, scissors. If you win, I let you go. If I win, I cut off one of your fingers. Simple."
Hikaru could barely lift his head, but he nodded weakly. What choice did he have?
"This is a game of Bluffing and Deception. There are some… bonus rules," Yamado said, crouching to eye level. "If you use scissors and lose, I'll let you keep your finger. Sound good?"
He stood again and gave Hikaru a long, calculated look.
"Now… a coward like you will probably choose scissors. That's just the kind of person you are. And for your information, I won't use paper."
That was meant to influence him. Yamado was trying to bait him.
If he's not using paper, scissors would lose to rock… Hikaru reasoned. So if I use rock, I can't lose. But wait—he said this is a game of bluffing and deception. That means he's probably lying. He wants me to choose rock…
And then Hikaru remembered—Yamado had said scissors were the only safe option if he lost. That was intentional.
He wants me to not pick scissors. Which means… I should. That's the only move that works if he's lying.
"I'm ready," Hikaru muttered.
Yamado grinned. "Rock… paper… scissors!"
Hikaru lifted his hand.
Scissors.
Yamado's hand shot out.
Rock.
"Damn," Hikaru breathed.
Yamado let out a full, triumphant laugh.
"I told you, didn't I? I knew you were the type to pick scissors. This wasn't about bluffing. It was about deception."
He lowered the knife but didn't strike.
"You're lucky you followed the rules," he said, eyes gleaming. "You lost with scissors, so you keep the finger. For now."
Hikaru sagged in the chair, his whole body screaming in pain.
"But we're not done," Yamado said. "There's a third game. We'll play tomorrow. I'm a bit tired today."
He turned to leave, locking the heavy door behind him.
Hikaru remained bound to the chair, his fingers twitching, blood pooling at his feet. Yamado had even bandaged the head wound he'd inflicted, as if preserving his life just long enough to prolong his suffering.
Time passed in silence.
The next morning, Yamado returned.
His eyes sparkled with delight. "Today is your final day. Do you have any last wishes?"
Hikaru wanted to say one thing—Yuki.
His sister.
His only remaining light.
But he said nothing. He couldn't give Yamado even that.
"Very well," Yamado said. "The third game is… Russian Roulette."
He reached for a small black revolver on the table.
But before he could continue, Hikaru suddenly spoke.
"Did you do the same to the others?"
Yamado tilted his head. "The others?"
"The six people before me."
A slow grin crept across the man's face.
"That's right. I destroyed all their friendships years ago. And recently… every single one of them started reconnecting. Making friends again. I couldn't bear it. I had to kill them. One. By. One."
Hikaru's blood turned cold.
It clicked.
"This wasn't a coincidence," he said. "Me suddenly finding friends. The others finding friends before they died. That was you… You orchestrated it all."
Yamado's smile faltered—just for a moment.
"You planned it. You created the right conditions. You manipulated us into trusting others again, just so you could rip it away and finish your twisted plan."
Hikaru was right.
Dead right.
And that truth… might just be the key to his survival.