The sirens wailed, signaling the beginning of the Five of Spades game. Players scattered like prey, their frantic footsteps echoing through the ruined apartment building. The tagger—a towering figure clad in armor—moved methodically, each step deliberate, each bullet merciless.

Chishiya leaned lazily against the railing of the top floor, watching the chaos unfold below. He wasn’t panicking. He never did. The game was physical, but survival wasn’t always about brute strength—it was about positioning, timing, and knowing when to move.

Then, amid the chaos, he saw them.

His smirk faltered.

They weaved through the hallways with precision, instincts sharp, just like before. But their face—hardened, unfamiliar. A ghost of someone he once knew.

He raised a hand. Waved.

No reaction. They didn’t look up. They didn’t even hesitate.

Chishiya exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing as he observed them longer than necessary. Then, the metallic thud of the tagger’s boots against steel stairs snapped him back. He turned just as bullets tore through the railing, missing him by inches.

Only then did he move, slipping into the shadows before the tagger could adjust its aim.

---

After the Game

The last gunshot faded. The bodies of the fallen were still warm. The survivors stood in silence, the reality of their existence pressing heavier than before.

Chishiya won, as expected. But that wasn’t what occupied his mind.

He found them near a shattered window, staring out at the silent city. Their shoulders rose and fell with the shallow rhythm of exhaustion, but their posture remained guarded. They had survived. That didn’t surprise him.

He stepped closer, slow, calculated. Then, finally, he spoke.

"What are you doing here?"

They tensed but didn’t turn.

"Why are you in the Borderland too?"

This time, they faced him. Their eyes—void of recognition—studied him like he was a stranger.

"Who... are you?"

Chishiya’s smirk returned, but this time, it barely masked the flicker of something deeper.

This was going to be interesting.