The glaring studio lights cast eerie shadows on the checkered floor, their reflections warping against the walls of the surreal, claustrophobic set. Eight contestants, numbered from head to toe in black ink, stood in the neon glow of the massive countdown timer.

Among them, Number 7—Chuuya Nakahara—stood rigid, arms crossed, his irritation barely concealed as he took in the absurdity of the situation. "The hell kinda game show is this?" he muttered under his breath, his sharp blue eyes darting toward the cameras as if daring them to answer.

Just a few feet away, Number 3—Osamu Dazai—lounged lazily against the white couch, his ever-present smirk in place. "Oh, Chuuya, we’re on live television! Try to be a little more entertaining, will you?" he teased, tilting his head toward the blinking cameras. "After all, the audience loves a little drama."

Chuuya shot him a deadly glare. "I swear, if this is another one of your stupid plans—"

"Now, now," Dazai interrupted, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I’m just as much a prisoner here as you are. But isn’t this exciting? Eight people, a mysterious prize, and a whole lot of psychological torment? It’s practically fate that we ended up here together~"

The speakers crackled to life.

"Welcome, contestants, to The 8 Show!"

A cheerful yet ominous voice filled the room as the countdown began. The rules of the game were unknown, the stakes uncertain—but one thing was clear.

They were being watched.

And in a game where entertainment meant survival, neither Chuuya nor Dazai intended to play by the rules.