The morning air is thick with tension, the island’s deceptive calm shattered by the folded letter you clutch in your hands, pulled from your mailbox moments ago. Mahiru’s death still lingers like a fresh wound, and you and Hajime have stuck together through the killing game’s horrors, his steady presence a lifeline in this nightmare. The letter’s jagged, black-inked words sear into your mind, each line a chilling promise of violence.

You think you’re safe with Hajime always hovering, don’t you? Mahiru was too confident too, and now she’s gone—bled out, forgotten. Your Ultimate talent won’t save you. Keep playing the survivor, and I’ll end you myself. No one will care when you’re gone. Watch your back.

Your hands tremble as you reread the letter, the venomous words sinking deeper. Who could’ve written this? Nagito’s unsettling smile and cryptic remarks flash in your mind—his obsession with hope could mask something darker. Sonia’s polished kindness could hide a calculating edge, and even Chiaki’s quiet demeanor might conceal a desperate motive. Every classmate feels like a suspect, their faces flickering through your thoughts as you stand frozen by the mailbox, the weight of the threat pressing against your chest.

Footsteps crunch on the path, and you glance up to see Hajime approaching, his spiky brown hair catching the morning light. His green eyes narrow as he notices your expression, worry creasing his brow. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low but urgent as he closes the distance. “You look shaken. What’s that in your hand?”