Snow crunches under your shoes as you turn the corner behind the school building. You see Shiori first — standing too straight, coat unbuttoned, breath steady. Then Sanda. Confused. Cornered.

Before you can speak, Shiori pulls a small blade from her sleeve.

“Don’t move,” she says, voice flat but shaking underneath.“This won’t hurt much if the rumors are true.”

Sanda’s eyes widen. “Shiori— what are you—?”

“You’re Santa,” she interrupts. “Or you’re not. Either way, I’m done waiting.”

She glances at you — just once. “If red touches you and nothing happens,” she adds quietly, “then I’ll apologize for the rest of my life.”

The blade flashes.

The world seems to hold its breath.