seijaku

“NO!”

Iwaizumi’s cry fell on deaf ears. The sound of the gunshot solidified an unthinkable reality. He watched, without processing any of it, as Oikawa’s head snapped back, followed by the sickening slump of his limp body. It crumpled to the ground like a sack of rice and it didn’t move again. Iwaizumi counted the seconds, his heartbeats, but still it did not move.

No.

Having forgotten his brawl with the other seeker, who still spat curses at him and tried to pry himself free of Iwaizumi’s death grip, he stood up, then numbly walked over to where Oikawa—Oikawa’s body—lay on the ground. His eyes were still open, but they were devoid of all of the things Iwaizumi had grown to love about them. A hollow hole gushed fresh blood from his temple, trickling into his sweaty, matted hair and staining the grass beneath.

No.

Iwaizumi dropped to his knees, a thick, heavy weight dragging him down, making him feel like he could sink into the ground and seep through the crust of the earth like Oikawa’s blood. What he wouldn’t give to submit to the creeping numbness that threatened to swallow him whole, to take those next few steps and walk into that circle of false hope and let the wordless, heartless guard shoot him in the fucking head, and then maybe he could pretend that he would wake up in his bed at home, see the flurry of messages Oikawa left on his phone throughout the night, call him an annoying prick while he shared a secret little smile with his screen, and they would just go on about their lives knowing none of this ever actually happened, none of it was real, because how could it be?

How could this be real?

“I-Iwai—zumi—”

That fantasy was abruptly shattered by the broken voice from above. Finally tearing his eyes away from the lifelessness that reflected in Oikawa’s, Iwaizumi slowly looked up from where he knelt on the ground. He met Atsumu’s eyes, wide with horror, a few tears streaking down his cheeks, but he didn’t see someone he knew in them. He didn’t see the prized volleyball player he had helped train—”helped” used loosely here—or the man he had forged a begrudging friendship with over the years. All he saw in those eyes was Oikawa, Oikawa, Oikawa.

“I di—” Atsumu swallowed. “I didn’t— I didn’t see—... It-it was…too late, I—”

Iwaizumi stood up. Atsumu’s eyes followed him, terrified to look anywhere else, and Iwaizumi felt his entire body jolt when he placed a hand on the blond’s shoulder. When he met Atsumu’s gaze again, his face was calm. This seemed to placate some of Atsumu’s shaken nerves, at least until Iwaizumi started pushing him backward.

He stumbled back, brows furrowed, then risked a glance behind him, where his feet staggered toward the edge of the safe zone. He whipped his head back to Iwaizumi, a new kind of fear filling his eyes, and he gripped at Iwaizumi’s arms with a desperation.

“No, Iwaizumi, don’t—don’t do this,” he begged, trying half-heartedly to dig his heels into the ground to halt Iwaizumi’s forward momentum. “Don’t, Iwaizumi. Please, please don’t.” He tightened his grip on Atsumu’s shoulder to the point of feeling muscle give between his fingertips. Atsumu cried out and sank his shoulder low, trying to duck away from his grasp. “No, no, no, Iwaizumi, please, please no—don’t. Don’t, don’t, don’t—!”

With one final shove, Iwaizumi pried Atsumu off of him and watched him trip over himself onto the red netting. The guard that shadowed Iwaizumi cocked his gun as Atsumu scrambled to get out of the safe zone. Iwaizumi didn’t even flinch when the deafening gunshot right by his shoulder put an end to the blond’s pathetic squirming.

If Atsumu really thought he was deserving of mercy, Iwaizumi reasoned, he would have fought back.

At least, that was what he would tell himself that night when he was lying in his bed, alone, awake, and wondering how the hell they all ended up like this.

“Are you crazy?!” Kuroo snapped at him, appearing in front of his vision to grab two fistfuls of his shirt and shake him. “You didn’t have to do that!”

“He didn’t have to kill Oikawa, either,” Iwaizumi said, sounding far too calm in that moment. Kuroo stared at him for a moment before slowly releasing his shirt.

“You know what they’re doing to us,” he said, quietly. Iwaizumi stared at him.

“He was safe,” he said. “Just a little farther and he would have been safe. Why did it matter that he kill off one more person, someone who was SECONDS away from safety?!” Needless to say his calm demeanor promptly vanished as he shoved at Kuroo’s chest and gestured wildly to the body at their feet. “What was the fucking point, Kuroo?! You tell me! Tell me right fucking now!”

“You need to stop,” Kuroo growled, catching his wrist when he tried to shove him again. “You think I like this? Being here? Watching people I know die? Well I fucking don’t, Iwaizumi! None of us do! You need to grieve,” he placed both hands on Iwaizumi’s shoulders and looked at him squarely, “and you need to get a hold of yourself. No matter what this game makes you think, senselessly killing your friends isn’t gonna solve anything! He was your friend, Iwaizumi!”

“I loved—!”

“I know,” Kuroo interrupted, gripping him harder. Iwaizumi watched with wide, wild eyes as tears welled up and spilled down the other’s cheeks. “I know. And I am so sorry.” He bowed his head with a broken gasp. Iwaizumi heard and felt his tears splatter down onto his shoes. “I am so, so sorry, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi felt himself break with those words, like glass, a tiny fracture splitting open into a web of cracks that fell apart in shards. A sob wrenched free of his throat and suddenly he found himself clutching Kuroo as if letting go meant his body would shatter along with his soul. He was sure that it would. Maybe he would have been surprised to feel Kuroo shaking with his quiet grief if he weren’t so possessed by his own. Maybe he would have let himself believe that Atsumu truly didn’t realize who he was killing if his anger hadn’t driven him to take his place.

Oh, god, he wailed in the echo chamber of his own mind, I killed him. I killed him.

He had heard that some people described murderers as those who wished to feel like God. Right now, though, as Iwaizumi stared over Kuroo’s shoulder at his own hands grasping desperately at his back, he only felt like a sick perversion of what a human was supposed to be. The veins in his hands thrummed with the life he had taken with them.

What must Oikawa have thought of him? If he had witnessed Iwaizumi’s retaliation in the face of his death by way of taking another man’s life, what would he have done? How would he have looked at Iwaizumi? Would he even be able to?

How was Kuroo able to stand here and hold him after seeing him kill in cold blood first hand? How did any of these people look at themselves in the mirror? How did they sleep at night? How did they call themselves human?

After the game ended some time later, they were all escorted back into the underground facility. Iwaizumi didn’t go without a fight, struggling to stay by Oikawa’s side for just a little longer, but eventually they managed to pry him off and drag him away. Much like his memory of the murder itself, Iwaizumi would never be able to forget his last sight of the love of his life disappearing before him, carted away in a black casket dressed up to look like a gift box.

He threw up on the ground before they pulled him inside and closed the doors behind him.

What happened to all the bodies? What did they do with them? Were they sent back to their bereaved families? Would those people ever know the truth of what happened to their loved ones on this island? Would they ever be given the chance to grieve properly? Would they at least have the body to bury?

Iwaizumi thought of Oikawa’s family and broke down all over again on his cot. He didn’t bother trying to keep quiet about it. He had bottled up everything inside him for his entire life. Like hell was he going to cry quietly after losing the one person who ever saw through him. Just this once, he let it all out without restraint. It only seemed right. Oikawa would have done the same.

Several minutes after everyone had been corralled back into the room of bunk beds, the prize pot was lowered from the ceiling once more. Everyone's eyes were drawn up to the golden light it emitted as the tube came down and deposited more money into the bank. Iwaizumi didn't look at it—couldn't bare to, knowing that a portion of that money was meant to represent Oikawa's life. Fifteen million yen for his life.

What a fucking insult to his name.

Iwaizumi wasn’t grieving alone, however. Oikawa and Atsumu weren’t the only ones they had lost that day. Around him, everyone he knew had gathered to mourn their losses, including Semi Eita and Ukai Keishin. Ushijima and Hinata were understandably the most stricken by their untimely deaths. Still, after hearing about Oikawa, Matsukawa cursed and hit the wall until his knuckles bled before sliding down against it and hiding his face in his knees. Kyotani, surprisingly to the contrary, wept in silence, but with no less intensity, and that was also shocking because Iwaizumi had always thought Kyotani thought poorly of Oikawa.

Ushijima kept his back turned to them, but even that didn’t hide the way his shoulders shook, the way his hands balled into fists in the blankets. Hinata howled his lament for his former coach. He had stuttered about how they had found each other hiding during the game just before two seekers stumbled upon them. Hinata was younger and quicker, and Ukai…not so much. He spoke of how Ukai had sacrificed himself to make sure Hinata got away, and how he was forced to abandon Ukai’s body there in the woods, alone and left to rot, or whatever it was that the masked men did with them after the fact.

Sakusa was the only one who didn’t join them. He sat at the far end of the room by himself, tucked under a blanket, but Iwaizumi knew he wasn’t sleeping. He was probably over there cursing Iwaizumi’s name in silence, wondering why. Why had he done it? Why had he decided the appropriate payment for accidentally claiming his best friend’s life was to atone with his own? Why had he declared himself powerful enough to make that choice?

Iwaizumi wouldn’t blame him if Sakusa tried to kill him in his sleep. It was only fair. If only there were a chance in hell that Iwaizumi would ever be able to sleep after this.

Bokuto and Akaashi held each other’s hands. Bokuto, of course, was a mess of himself. Not only had he lost a friend in Oikawa, but a close teammate as well. It would be remiss of Iwaizumi not to acknowledge that he likely felt everyone’s pain and loss as if it were his own. He had always been extremely empathetic to the point of his own detriment. Akaashi, on the outside, seemed composed, but his gaze was elsewhere, his mind sequestered into itself even as he comforted his lover.

Iwaizumi watched them and wondered what it would have been like if he hadn’t been such a coward for so many years. What would have changed if he had confessed to Oikawa? In high school? While he was in Argentina? When he came back to Japan? If they had been there for each other more, could they have avoided coming here altogether? If both of them hadn’t felt so lost and alone in the world? If they had had each other, could they have said no to the temptation of seemingly “easy” money?

The answer was yes. Even without the certainty of living that life, the answer was yes. He knew it in his soul. The possibility of that life was etched into his bones. If only he had said something. He had already known for some time that Oikawa returned his feelings. So why? Why did he wait?

“Iwaizumi.”

He looked up at the sound of Kuroo’s gruff, hoarse voice, but Kuroo wasn’t looking at him. He was looking over his shoulder at something behind him. Iwaizumi glanced in that direction with his tear-swollen eyes, only to find a group of people eyeing him from a corner of the room. Two of them he recognized—the two seekers he and Kuroo had sabotaged when he saw Oikawa running toward the safe zone. They hadn’t been very pleased with their “betrayal”, as it were, considering they had all been on the same “team”. Iwaizumi’s eyes hardened as he reluctantly turned around again.

“Tonight,” Kuroo continued, lowering his gaze to the floor. “Tonight, none of us are safe. The rules here are twisted. The only three rules they care about are the ones they made us sign. If they gave a shit about us going at each other, they would have done something before Iwaizumi…”

“...Before I killed Atsumu?” Iwaizumi finished, looking up at Kuroo. The latter pursed his lips.

“...Yeah,” he whispered. “They didn’t bat an eye at any of it. Even though it wasn’t part of the game.”

“So what you’re saying is…” Their attention turned toward Ushijima on the bed across from them, who slowly turned his head to regard them from the corner of his eye. “...Killing each other has no consequences? Even outside of the games?”

Kuroo nodded solemnly.

“And I think a few others have figured that out as well,” he said. “Namely those guys.” He jerked his head toward the group of people who had been eyeing them earlier. “If I had to guess, they’re gonna try to make a move tonight after lights out. We should all be prepared when that happens.”

“So it’s not bad enough we have to fend for our lives in these sick games,” Alisa chimed in, lifting her head from where she had buried it in Kuroo’s shoulder.

Her eyes were just as red and puffy as the rest of them, but she was one of the only ones who seemed to have been able to get an ounce of sleep thus far, even leaned uncomfortably against Kuroo like that. Everyone had their coping mechanisms, Iwaizumi supposed.

“But now we have to worry about other players trying to snuff us out in between?”

“I thought something like this might happen,” Kuroo said with a sigh, reaching an arm around Alisa to rub her shoulder. “After the first game, after seeing what all this was really about, I wondered how long it would take before they pit us against each other. Hide and Seek was pretty on the nose, but now it just seems like they were giving us a hint.”

“A hint?” Hinata said, peeking out from behind his arms where they rested on his knees as he sat at the edge of the bed against the wall. “You think they want us to kill each other off outside of the games?”

“Well, think about it,” Kuroo said. “There are only six rounds. We just finished round two and lost…what? Twenty players? A lot of people made it into the safe zone while…shit was happening. I don’t think they’re banking on four more games being enough to eliminate all of us. They still want just one winner.”

“...So what are we supposed to do?” Alisa asked, voice quiet.

“We protect ourselves.”

Iwaizumi looked down at Matsukawa, who still sat on the floor, back against the wall, and stared listlessly in front of him. Iwaizumi pursed his lips.

“...How?” Alisa probed.

“These beds,” Matsukawa said, reaching over to the metal frame of the tower of beds to his right. Without looking, he pinched his fingers around one of the bolts, twisting it loose with surprisingly little effort. “Take them apart. Build a barricade. Keep some pieces to use as weapons.”

“Weapons?” Hinata squeaked, though his apprehension went unnoticed.

“It’s almost lights out,” Akaashi noted, speaking for the first time since he had arrived here, Iwaizumi figured. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Then I guess we should begin.”

Ushijima offered no more words of encouragement as he stood up, climbed the stack he had been sitting under, and promptly started dismantling it from the top bunk. Iwaizumi and the rest looked at each other before they all began to shuffle into action.

It wasn't enough to distract them from anything that had transpired mere hours ago, but having something to do with his hands did help Iwaizumi's mind to go into auto-pilot. He focussed on the simple task at hand, helping the others fortify a little corner of the room as other players began to do the same.

It was during this that, as he lifted the pillow from a cot, he found the stowed away bento box Oikawa had hidden under it that morning. Iwaizumi stared at it for a long time, replaying the conversation in his head on loop.

“You didn’t eat anything.”

“That’s not true. I ate some.”

“Bullshit. Come on, scarf it down already.”

“There’s not enough time right now. But look, see? I’ll save it for later. Okay?”

Those were the last words they had exchanged with each other. It was such a nothing conversation, a kind of banter they used to have every day. Neither of them had had any clue that they wouldn't get another chance to talk to each other. In spite of everything that had happened, neither of them really believed that they would die that day. It didn't seem possible. All this time, Iwaizumi had imagined that they would either go down together, or they would be the last two standing.

Maybe he should have walked into that safe zone himself instead of pushing Atsumu into it.

"Hey."

Iwaizumi jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. His head snapped around to see Matsukawa standing next to him, a knowing look in his eyes. For some reason, it pissed off Iwaizumi to no end.

"What do you want, Matsukawa?" he asked, turning away to grab the bento box and set it aside so that he could continue dismantling the bed frame.

"I thought you might need someone to talk to."

"If I did, that someone sure as hell won't be you," Iwaizumi said bluntly. "Full offense, but you're one of the dicks that put us in this situation."

"So is half of everyone else here," Matsukawa pointed out. "You don't seem to have a problem buddying up to them."

Without warning, Iwaizumi whirled around and grabbed Matsukawa by the collar of his shirt, shoving him back against one of the metal poles that kept the tower of beds upright. He grit his teeth as he looked into Matsukawa's eyes, using all the willpower he could mustre not to punch him right in the face.

"I don't owe you a fucking reason, Matsukawa," he spat, "but I'll give you one anyway. You're the reason Oikawa left Argentina. You're the reason he got so obsessed with the game and didn't look after himself. You're the reason he—"

He bit his tongue, but Matsukawa wasn't going to let him off that easy. The taller man stared down at him with that trademark emotionless expression on his face.

"Go ahead. Say it."

Iwaizumi tightened the fist grasping at his shirt and grit his teeth.

"You're the reason he lost that game," he growled lowly. "If he hadn't been so worked up, if he hadn't let himself get so exhausted, maybe he'd still be in Argentina and maybe he could have helped his family out of their debt. Maybe he wouldn't be dead."

Even as he said it, Iwaizumi felt guilty for putting his resentment into words. He knew that it wasn't fair to put all that on Matsukawa, that he couldn't possibly have known his actions would have led to this outcome. It was possible that Oikawa would have ended up here regardless. Iwaizumi just wanted someone to blame. He wanted Oikawa to be alive.

"Yeah. Maybe," Matsukawa said, voice soft. The shell of his expression had cracked just enough for Iwaizumi to see the water gathering in his eyes, but still he never let those tears fall. "I think about that all the time. The number of times I've asked myself if I made a mistake... I couldn't count them all. I tried to do the right thing."

Iwaizumi loosened his grip. His gaze fell as he halfheartedly slumped his lax fist against Matsukawa's chest. He knew Matsukawa was telling the truth. He knew that Matsukawa had broken Oikawa's heart because he had known, even back then, that Oikawa's heart never belonged to him. He had confided as much to Iwaizumi.

And even though he had had every opportunity to make things right, to open himself up to the possibility—still, he waited. He waited until it was too late.

Iwaizumi took a deep breath and let it out slowly, shakily.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually. "I didn't mean all that."

"You did." He looked up again to argue, but Matsukawa didn't give him the chance. "But that's okay. Sometimes you need to say it out loud before you can move on from it. At least, I hope we can move on from it."

Iwaizumi stared at him for a moment. It seemed pointless. One or both of them was going to die here in the next couple of days, so what difference did it make if Iwaizumi forgave him or not? Then, however, he recalled once more the last words he had spoken to Oikawa. He knew in an instant that he didn't want to let that happen again.

"...Yeah. Yeah, we can move on," he said.

Matsukawa let out a breath in front of him as if he'd been holding it for years. Before he could talk himself out of it, Iwaizumi pulled him into a tight embrace. Matsukawa hesitated for just a second before he returned it, wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi in turn. Even though this felt like making amends on his death bed only because he knew the end was near, he was glad. He had almost forgotten that he had once considered Matsukawa a friend.

Speaking of friends, he parted from Matsukawa then to look at him questioningly.

"I've been meaning to ask... Where is Hanamaki if you're here?"

Matsukawa pursed his lips and looked down at his feet.

"Still in Fuchū. I didn't tell him that I left," he said.

Iwaizumi swallowed.

"Is it bad?"

Matsukawa nodded.

"Life sentence. But one of the guards is a family friend. He said he could get Hana out of there and get us on a plane out of Japan for a price," he said.

Ah, so that was it. Iwaizumi had known about Hanamaki getting sent to prison, but he had been under the impression that there would be no bail and no trial because he had pled guilty. Now it made sense as to why Matsukawa was desperate for money. He was willing to do anything to free his partner. Iwaizumi was sure he would have felt the same if he were in Matsukawa's shoes.

Would it have been enough to change his vote? Hard to say. After what he had done—now that he knew what he was capable of—he couldn't say for certain that he would have still voted to stop the games. Love drove people to desperate measures, he supposed.

They spent the next hour putting together their fort with the others. The rations Oikawa had left behind were too meagre to split between all ten of them, so they came to the agreement to let Alisa and Akaashi share at the behest of Kuroo and Bokuto. It appeared that Kuroo and Alisa had decided to spend their last days in each other's company in spite of everything. Iwaizumi couldn't fault them for that.

The lights went out with a countdown and any calm, good-natured conversation came to an abrupt end across the room. Like flipping a switch, they had all entered a state of alertness not unlike cornered animals in an unfamiliar cage, ready to strike at the first sign of a threat. Most of them wielded metal bars salvaged from the bed frames as makeshift weapons, eyes peeled for any sign of movement coming their way in the pitch black darkness of the room.

They kept Alisa safely behind the barrier of their bodies, protected by the wall of the room and several pissed-off, walking stacks of testosterone ready to protect her. She made no pretense of being a fighter in any sense of the word; she had spent her life thinning her body to appease magazine publishers until they decided she wasn't worth the trouble and tossed her aside the moment her brother tried to come after them for the eating disorder she had developed. The lawyer they hired wasn't up to snuff to go up against her producers' monopoly on the modelling industry, and soon enough they were neck-deep in debt with lawyer fees and a lavish lifestyle they could no longer afford.

Ushijima was in a similar position as Iwaizumi, though his father was the one who had fallen ill. His mother was working herself to death to support them and they needed someone to stay and watch after his father, so Ushijima left the court to be there for his family. Medical bills began to pile up one after another, and then the utilities, and then the rent. He needed the money to keep a roof over their heads and continue his father's treatment, whereas Iwaizumi needed enough money to pay for any treatment for his mother at all.

Kyotani was blacklisted from volleyball entirely for starting fights and even getting arrested a couple of times. His family shunned him and kicked him out. No shelter would take him in and no job would hire him. He had been going through a cycle of couch surfing and getting kicked out for months, finding himself in and out of jail on a number of occasions, which had led to drugs, which had led to more jail time, which had led to a deeper and deeper hole of debt for fines and fees he could never afford to pay off.

Hinata, Bokuto, and Akaashi were all here for the same reason—the same reason as Atsumu, as well. After Iwaizumi's disgraceful departure from the MSBY Black Jackals, they had begun to go under. Whether it was from the anger, or the disruption of routine, or any other number of factors from their personal lives that had just added onto the heaping pile of bad luck, one by one they left the team. When Sakusa had gotten wrapped up in the Yakuza, Atsumu had tried to help and only made it worse by entangling himself in their webs.

Then they were both in the trenches of debt and threats on their lives. Hinata, Bokuto, and Akaashi had tried to lend their support, and that was when they were approached by the game recruiter. They had all made a unanimous decision to participate together, unwilling to abandon each other even though they weren't teammates anymore.

Maybe that domino effect was all Iwaizumi's fault. Maybe they wouldn't have felt the need to drop from the team if he had been a better trainer, if he had been there for them when they needed him. Instead, he had been too busy getting wasted and sleeping around and coming to work hungover because he couldn't think of a better way to handle what had happened to Oikawa after he moved to Argentina. After what Matsukawa had done to him. It was stupid and childish and he made so many mistakes. He let down his team and he embarrassed himself in front of all of them and his coach.

He self-destructed because Oikawa wasn't there to stop him and Iwaizumi never learned how to live without him.

And so here they all were, paying for the choices they had made. Trying not to get killed by a room full of people just like them. Knowing that, eventually, they would have to watch each other die.

The seconds ticked by in tense silence. It was so quiet that Iwaizumi could hear his own heartbeat. He could hear the bated breaths of those standing near him. He was straining so hard to listen for anyone coming after them that he nearly jumped out of his skin when a scream ripped through the darkness.

In the blink of an eye, chaos broke loose. People fighting, bed frames being toppled over, metal colliding with bodies and skulls and the sickening sound of someone's screams coming to a sudden stop.

The ten of them closed in together, wielding their metal bars or their fists. Iwaizumi, for one, chose his hands as his weapon. He preferred to have them free in the event that he did have to grapple with someone. It was then that the lights in the room began to flicker, flashing on every few seconds just to give them a glimpse of their surroundings before plunging them back into darkness. Iwaizumi clenched his jaw as he realised that Kuroo was right; this outcome had been planned from the beginning.

The flashes of light offered a horrific sight of the room around them. People were lying lifeless on the floor, others were caving in someone's head, a pair coming to bloody blows until one of them fell unconscious. And then, as if everyone in the room left standing had noticed their protected corner all at once, they were being charged.

The ones with the bars—Bokuto, Hinata, Kuroo, and Ushijima—sprung into action first, defending against their assailants with fearsome resolve. When others started taking apart their barricades and slipping through, Iwaizumi and Kyotani took either side to ward them off, leaving Akaashi and Matsukawa to shield Alisa.

They managed to hold their own for what felt like ages, some of their attackers beginning to lose interest in a battle of stamina and going for each other instead. All the while, Iwaizumi's mind had gone numb to the reality around him. They were killing each other. People were killing each other. Desperate people with families or loved ones were fighting for a chance to come back to victorious and they were fucking dying for it.

The doors to the room slid open and a series of gunfire put a swift end to the maiming. Staff members dressed in red with triangles on their masks marched in with their assault rifles, standing amidst the bloodshed. This time, the lights came on and stayed on, showering the results of the past—what? Ten minutes? Twenty?—in a lifeless, sterile glow. Iwaizumi felt as though he were standing inside of a morgue.

He wanted to throw up again.

The staff made everyone turn around so they could pat them down for any other hidden weapons. Meanwhile, others came in to start collecting the bodies in those morbid gift-wrapped coffins. As they did, they used some sort of scanner to record the player numbers of those who didn't make it through the fighting, and that gratingly polite voice came over the intercom to announce every number. Eliminated. Eliminated. Eliminated.

After they had cleared out all the bodies and closed the doors behind them once more without so much as a word of sorrow, the scoreboard on the wall at the front of the room updated to reflect the new totals. They were down to one hundred and fifty-six players, and the prize pot was up to 3.945 billion. They had lost over half of the people who had come here. Two hundred and sixty-three, to be exact.

Two hundred and sixty-three lives lost.

Two hundred and sixty-three reasons Iwaizumi was going to Hell.