The game arena was an abandoned subway station, the kind where the walls dripped with moisture and the stale air tasted like rust. The neon sign at the far end flickered to life, blood-red letters spelling: “6 of clubs — Blind Trust.”

The rules blasted overhead in a distorted voice: Two players per team. One blindfolded. One guide. Both must reach the exit alive.

Arisu’s stomach twisted. His eyes darted to you, panic flashing for just a second. He remembered Karube, Chōta — how quickly people could vanish — and the thought of sending you blind into danger made bile rise in his throat.

“I’ll take the blindfold,” he said immediately, voice sharp, too fast. He didn’t want to hear your protest. He couldn’t risk watching you stumble into something he couldn’t save you from.

The fabric slid over his eyes, cutting the world into suffocating darkness. All that was left was your voice, low, steady, trembling at the edges as you guided him through the maze.

“Left… careful, there’s glass—no, stop!” you hissed, pulling him back just as a spiked mechanism slammed down inches from his face. His breath left him in a shudder, and for a second, he wanted to tear the blindfold off, to see you, to protect you.

But he forced himself to keep going. Step by step, word by word, trusting you with everything he had. His hand brushed the wall; his fingers itched to reach for yours, but all he could do was follow your voice, follow the tether of you pulling him through the dark.