ITB Chapter 13 New Area (Patreon)

Once again, as the group of four continued walking, every direction offered the same miserable view: faded yellow wallpaper, water-stained corners, damp carpet, fluorescent lights, and corridors that seemed to continue until reality itself became bored of drawing them. The stark contrast made their return from the quiet sanctuary of the forest feel almost cruel. Even the buzzing seemed louder than Issei remembered, vibrating inside his skull with a low, electric screech.

Their footsteps were the only other consistent sound, four different rhythms overlapping as they moved through one doorway, crossed another empty room, turned a corner, and discovered absolutely nothing new. It did not take long before Yuuka’s shoulders began to slump, Weiss’s expression hardened into visible irritation, and even Azula began staring at the walls as though contemplating whether burning them all to ash would improve the scenery.

Issei was quick to notice. He had gotten surprisingly good at picking up on things like that when it involved the three girls he traveled with. He might have been reckless, loud, shameless, and possessed of absolutely no sense of self-preservation for when he should keep certain thoughts inside his head, but Issei had always been attentive when it came to people.

Especially girls.

And there was one method he knew worked remarkably well whenever the silence became too heavy.

“Have I ever told you guys about the first time Matsuda, Motohama, and I almost got murdered by the kendo club?” He asked, his voice cutting through the oppressive drone.

The three girls paused mid-stride. Weiss’s head slowly turned toward him with a look of extreme skepticism, Yuuka immediately started smiling, and Azula looked almost offended that he had interrupted her dark thoughts with something so trivial.

“Almost?” Weiss asked, raising an eyebrow. “Considering what you have told us about your behavior, I am surprised they stopped short.”

Issei placed a hand over his heart, gasping as though she had wounded him. “Weiss! Your lack of faith in me surviving is heartbreaking.”

“My faith in you is perfectly intact,” Weiss replied smoothly, crossing her arms. “I have complete faith that you deserved whatever happened.”

This caused Yuuka to snort, while Azula’s sharp lips twitched upward against her will.

Issei pointed an accusing finger at all three of them. “See? This is why men need male friends. Matsuda and Motohama would understand.”

“That may actually be the strongest argument against male friendship I have ever heard,” Azula said dryly, her golden eyes glinting.

Yuuka laughed louder, and that was all the encouragement Issei needed.

“Well, anyway,” He continued, turning around to walk backward for several steps so he could face them, “the kendo club at Kuoh Academy has some of the prettiest girls in the entire school.”

Weiss immediately narrowed her eyes. “I already dislike where this story is going.”

“You dislike most of my stories before I finish them!”

“Because most of your stories begin with you describing girls.”

“And they usually end with him being hit by those girls,” Yuuka added cheerfully, adjusting her grip on her iron pipe.

Azula considered that for a moment, resting her chin on her hand. “Then perhaps we should allow him to continue.”

Issei stared at her. “You just want to hear about me suffering.”

“Correct. Now please continue.”

Issei sighed dramatically before resuming his pace. “The three of us had this brilliant plan—”

“If Matsuda and Motohama were involved,” Weiss interrupted smoothly, “then statistically it was not brilliant.”

“Okay, fine. We had a plan.”

“Better.”

Issei pointed at her again. “Stop ruining my storytelling!”

Yuuka was already laughing again, and even Azula had developed the faintest smirk. That had been Issei’s intention from the beginning, so he leaned into it, waving his hands animatedly as he described how Matsuda had spent several days learning the kendo club’s practice schedule, how Motohama had somehow memorized the exact times when the changing rooms were least supervised, and how Issei himself had been placed in charge of lookout duty.

Weiss stared at him incredulously. “They trusted you as the lookout?”

“I was very responsible!”

Yuuka gave him an exaggerated look of disbelief. "Issei, you get distracted by a soft breeze if it smells like perfume!"

“I was responsible!” he insisted.

Azula tilted her head, her tone dripping with mock curiosity. “You were spying on people while they changed.”

“…Responsible within the context of the mission.”

“That sentence does not improve your position,” Weiss said coldly.

But Issei ignored her, diving deeper into the memory. He began describing the kendo club members, not in the crude, mindless manner the girls initially expected, but with a surprising amount of genuine detail about each individual.

He spoke about one girl who was extraordinarily serious during practice, her wooden sword a total blur, but who became unbelievably shy whenever someone complimented her form. He described another who seemed terrifying because she was tall and rarely smiled, but Issei had noticed her secretly feeding stray cats behind the athletic building every Tuesday. He spoke about a third who had an explosive temper and could somehow sense Matsuda’s presence before the trio even approached the changing rooms.

He went on a complete tirade, listing their quirks, their habits, and how they interacted with each other when they thought no one was watching.

“You actually remember all of that?” Yuuka asked, stopping in her tracks. “From their personalities to how they behave?”

“Yep.” Issei nodded proudly, puffing his chest out.

Weiss blinked in surprise, while Azula’s expression became far more contemplative, studying the boy with a renewed sense of calculation.

He remembered their hairstyles, their expressions, their favorite accessories, the different ways they carried themselves during high-stress training, who tended to encourage the nervous first-years, who got overly competitive during matches, and who was always the first person to realize the Perverted Trio was somewhere they absolutely should not have been.

Yuuka stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. “…You pay an alarming amount of attention to people.”

Issei tilted his head, looking genuinely confused. “Is that weird?”

“When you phrase it like that?” Weiss said. “Extremely.”

“Hey!”

“But,” Weiss admitted reluctantly, her posture softening just a fraction, “I expected your description to be considerably more… vulgar.”

Issei grinned, tapping his nose. “I have standards.”

“You spy through changing-room windows.”

“…Low standards.”

Azula released a small, sudden laugh before immediately disguising it as a faint cough, turning her head away. But Issei caught it, and he wisely said nothing, maintaining a triumphant smirk as he continued the story.

"So, we made it to the peep hole Motohama found, while he was giving this completely necessary commentary while Matsuda was practically hyperventilating next to him. I then started to fight them as they wouldn’t give me the chance to look but then..." Issei paused for dramatic effect. "Someone tapped me on the shoulder."

Yuuka immediately covered her mouth, her eyes wide as she realized where this was going.

Issei slowly turned his head, reliving the sheer terror of the moment with a horrified expression. "The captain of the kendo club was standing directly behind us, in full gear."

Weiss smiled, a cold, sharp expression. “A happy ending.”

“You don’t even know what happened yet!”

“I can infer.”

“The three of us ran!”

Azula raised an eyebrow, her lips curling. “You fled?”

“Strategically withdrew!”

“You ran away,” She corrected mercilessly.

“We ran for our lives!” Issei yelled, taking a couple of quick, theatrical paces backward.

Yuuka burst out laughing, the sound ringing through the empty yellow corridors. Issei became increasingly animated, demonstrating the entire chaotic escape with broad, frantic hand gestures.

“Matsuda went left! Motohama went right! I jumped over a park bench, scrambled across the grass, and thought I was completely home free—”

“You weren’t,” Weiss supplied.

“I WAS NOT.”

Yuuka doubled over, her hands on her knees as Issei dramatically clutched his back.

“I heard this whoosh behind me, and then—WHACK! Right across the shoulders! It hurt so much!”

Azula blinked, unimpressed. “Don’t be so dramatic. It was just a wooden practice sword!”

“A shinai hurts like a nightmare especially when a black-belt hits you with it!” Issei shot back, looking deeply betrayed. But Azula simply smiled innocently in response.

“Then another one got my leg,” Issei continued, limping dramatically for a few steps. “Matsuda got cornered by three of them near the gym, Motohama tried hiding inside a plastic trash bin, and somehow they found him anyway!”

Yuuka was practically crying from laughter now. “How? How did they find him?!”

“I HAVE NO IDEA!”

Weiss gave a delicate shrug, adjusting her rapier at her hip. “Perhaps they followed the smell.”

Issei gasped in horror. “Weiss!”

Even Azula broke down and laughed at that one, a bright, clear sound that traveled far down the endless yellow hall.

For several glorious minutes, none of them remembered where they were. There was no "Yellow Hell," no terrifying entities lurking in the dark, and no uncertainty about whether they would ever see their homes again. There was simply Issei complaining about bruises from wooden swords while three lethal, powerful girls enjoyed hearing that his terrible life decisions had painful consequences.

Eventually, Yuuka wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, letting out a lingering giggle. “So, let me get this straight,” she said, catching her breath. “You repeatedly tried spying on them… They repeatedly discovered you. They repeatedly beat you to a pulp. And you kept doing it?”

Issei crossed his arms proudly, chin raised to the flickering ceiling lights. “Perseverance is an important quality for a man.”

The three girls simply stared at him in complete, deadpan silence, clearly wondering if he possessed some sort of latent masochistic tendency.

“…What?” Issei asked, shifting uncomfortably under their united gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Weiss finally shook her head, a small, genuine smile lingering on her face despite her stern tone. “You deserved every single bruise.”

“Loggerheads and idiots,” Azula agreed smoothly. “In my nation, you would have been executed, but a beating seems fitting.”

Yuuka nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely deserved it.”

Issei dropped his head into his hands, groaning softly. “Why am I friends with you people?”

“I ask myself the exact same question every single day,” Weiss reminded him, stepping past him with a lighter stride as they continued their march.

The conversation gradually settled again, but the oppressive silence did not return immediately. Something lighter lingered between them now, a small warmth that stubbornly resisted the Backrooms’ attempt to crush their spirits.

Yuuka glanced toward Issei as they walked. Something had begun bothering her or rather, intriguing her. Perhaps it was because of his story. Perhaps it was because of how carefully he had described those kendo girls: not merely whether he found them attractive, but their expressions, their habits, and their little quirks. Or perhaps she was simply bored enough to make a terrible conversational decision.

Either way, she blurted it out. “Hey, Issei?”

“Hmm?”

Yuuka smiled mischievously, tilting her head. “What do you think about us?”

The heavy rhythm of Issei’s sneakers came to a dead halt. Weiss and Azula stopped right beside him, turning around in synchronized confusion.

Yuuka’s playful smile slowly vanished. A wave of instant, horrific realization washed over her. ‘Wait. Didn't that just sound like I'm blatantly fishing for compliments from the boy I like?!’

“...Wait, no—I didn't mean—” Yuuka stammered, raising her hands in panic.

But Issei had already turned fully toward her. His usual goofy expression melted into something surprisingly thoughtful. “I think all three of you are beautiful.”

Yuuka’s entire face instantly flushed a vibrant, brilliant red. Weiss’s icy blue eyes widened in shock, while Azula simply blinked, caught completely unawares.

Issei, possessing absolutely none of the basic survival instincts required for a conversation like this, pressed onward. “Yuuka, you’ve got a really nice pair of oppai, obviously,” Issei said candidly, gesturing vaguely. “But not just that. You’ve also got really pretty blue eyes.”

Yuuka stiffened into a statuesque block of ice.

“And your hair is nice, too,” Issei continued, totally oblivious to the landmines he was casually strolling through. “It always looks really smooth, even though we’ve been walking through this gross, humid place forever.”

“W-Wait—Issei—!”Sshe stuttered, her voice squeaking wildly.

“You smile a lot more now, too.” Issei raised a hand, scratching his cheek as he recalled their earlier days. “When we first met, you looked terrified all the time. Makes sense, considering what was hunting you. But now? You laugh more.”

Yuuka stared at him, her heart thumping against her ribs. “That’s… something you actually noticed?”

“Well, yeah. Obviously.”

Her blush deepened, extending all the way down to her neck.

Issei didn't even give her a second to recover. “And you’re really kind, Yuuka. You worry about everyone even when you’re scared out of your mind. You helped Weiss when we first found her lying in the dark, you helped Azula understand her Aura, and you’re always checking whether I’m injured even when I tell you I’m totally fine.”

“Because you’re always lying when you say you’re fine!” Yuuka blurted out, her hands flying to her chest.

“That too,” Issei said, breaking into a bright, easy smile.

Yuuka folded her arms with lightning speed, whipping her head away so he couldn't see her expression. “…Idiot,” She muttered into her collar. But there was absolutely zero bite behind it.

Issei turned his gaze toward Weiss next.

The heiress’s posture snapped straight as a board. She immediately held up a gloved hand, trying to cut him off before he could lay bare her own budding feelings. “No. Stop right there. Whatever you are about to say, Hyoudou, reconsider it.”

“But Yuuka asked!”

“And Yuuka has very clearly learned from her grave mistake!” Yuuka nodded frantically in agreement from the side.

Issei completely ignored both warnings. “Weiss, you’re just really pretty and elegant.”

Weiss blinked, her defensive wall wavering.

“You always stand up straight, even when you’re dead tired,” Issei explained softly. “And even when everything in this crazy maze goes completely wrong, you still try to act poised and composed.”

Her sharp expression shifted, a flicker of vulnerability showing before she quickly tried to smooth it over. “That is simply called discipline.”

“I know,” he smiled. “But I think sometimes you’re trying way too hard.”

Weiss’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “Explain.”

Issei suddenly reconsidered his bold confidence, taking a half-step back, but he powered through anyway. “You act like you’re supposed to have an answer for everything.”

Weiss went completely quiet, her breath catching.

“When we don’t know where we’re going, you force yourself to make plans,” Issei pointed out gently. “When something attacks us, you immediately try figuring out weaknesses. When everybody starts panicking, you start giving orders so nobody breaks down.”

“That is simply being practical,” She muttered, her voice losing its icy edge.

“Yeah. But you don't always have to be the person holding everything together, Weiss. You can rely on us, too.”

The harshness in Weiss’s posture melted despite herself. Her chest felt strange and heavy, yet remarkably light.

Then Issei’s goofy grin returned. “Plus, your hair is really pretty.”

Her hard-won composure fractured into a thousand pieces. “W-What?!”

“That white-silver color is super unique. Especially when the lights hit it. Your eyes are just as pretty as Yuuka’s, too. But yours are a lighter ice-blue, while hers are deep like the ocean.”

Weiss suddenly found a specific water stain on the yellow wallpaper to be the most fascinating object in the universe, refusing to meet his gaze.

“And you already know you move like a dancer when you fight,” Issei added, his eyes lighting up. “It’s honestly amazing. Whenever you’re twirling around with your rapier, I can never look away. Watching you dance is awesome... especially whenever I watch your legs in those thigh-highs.”

“That,” Weiss snapped stiffly, her face burning as she continued staring at the wall, “is because I possess actual combat training! And proper discipline!”

“Sure.”

“And high-class refinement!” It is then that Weiss finally chanced a glance back toward him.

Issei was smiling sincerely. There was no sleazy mockery, no hidden ulterior motive, no perverted smirk. Just pure, unadulterated honesty.

Her cheeks warmed even further, a fierce heat spreading to her ears. ‘Are these... things all boys actually notice?’

She had spent her entire life hyper-aware of her appearance, because appearances were everything to the Schnee family. Clothing, posture, etiquette, combat style, vocal cadence—everything existed under constant, harsh scrutiny. But that scrutiny had always been cold, measured, and weighed against impossible expectations.

Issei’s attention was completely different. It was messy, embarrassingly straightforward, totally unrefined, but undeniably genuine.

She suddenly found herself wondering whether any of the boys back at Beacon Academy would have ever noticed those exact same details. Would they have thought her hair was pretty? Would they have seen how hard she tried to hold everything together? Or was this just... Issei being Issei?

The thought made her heart flutter uncomfortably.

“Stop staring at me, it’s making me feel weird,” She muttered, her classic tsundere defenses kicking in to save her from total embarrassment.

“But I’m not staring!”

“Yes, you are!”

“Okay, maybe a little bit.”

“Hyoudou!”

“Stopping! Moving on!” Issei spun around on his heel, fixing his sights directly on Azula.

The Fire Nation princess immediately stiffened, her golden eyes narrowing as a sudden, unfamiliar fidgetiness took hold of her. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest armor. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re next.”

“I did not ask the question, nor did I participate in Yuuka’s foolish query.”

Yuuka, her face still flushed, immediately pointed a finger at her. “Too late! You don't get to escape!”

Azula glared daggers at her. “You started this catastrophe.”

“I know! And I regret everything!”

Issei simply laughed, genuinely happy that the three of them were talking and getting along so well.

Azula’s chin went up, her posture defensive. “Well? Out with it.”

Issei studied her for a long, quiet moment. That alone made her deeply uncomfortable.

Being watched was nothing new to Azula. People had watched her for her entire life. Servants watched for lethal commands. Soldiers watched for harsh approval. Tutors watched for flaws. Her father watched for absolute perfection. Her mother—

Azula ruthlessly crushed the thought before it could form. Point was, people rarely looked at her simply because they found something about her worth noticing as a person.

Issei tilted his head. “You have really intense golden eyes, Azula.”

Azula frowned, her golden gaze piercing into him. “Intense?”

“Yeah.” He nodded firmly.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“I think so!”

“Your lack of certainty does not inspire confidence.”

Issei continued, unfazed. “Your hair looks really cool, too. Especially when you have it tied back like that. It makes you look so mature even though our much younger than me.”

Azula froze, her breath hitching for a fraction of a second.

“And you always walk like you own the entire room,” Issei said.

“That is because I usually do own the room,” She countered smoothly, though her pulse was beginning to race.

Weiss rolled her eyes loudly from the background, but Azula completely ignored her.

Issei smiled warm and wide. “Exactly.”

Her amber eyes locked onto his face, tracking every twitch.

“You’re just so confident,” Issei said.

Azula’s subtle smugness returned, her lips curving upward. “Obviously.”

“You’re incredibly strong, too.”

“Also obvious.”

“And you’re crazy smart.”

Azula tilted her head back, preening under the praise like a cat in the sun. “Please, do continue.”

Weiss gave her a totally flat, unimpressed look, but Azula’s posture grew prouder by the second.

Issei laughed, then his tone softened. “But... you also pretend things don’t bother you when they obviously do.”

Azula’s smug smile vanished instantly. Yuuka’s playful giggling went completely quiet. Weiss looked toward Issei sharply, her eyes widening.

For perhaps the first time in the entire conversation, Issei realized he had just stepped onto a very thin, very dangerous layer of ice.

Azula’s amber eyes hardened into molten gold, lethal fire flickering just beneath the surface. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Issei raised both hands defensively. “Hey, nothing bad! I swear!”

“Then explain yourself.”

He hesitated, looking at the formidable princess with genuine empathy. “You’re always trying so hard to look strong, Azula.”

“I am strong.”

“I know you are,” Issei answered immediately. The total lack of hesitation in his voice caught her completely off-guard. “But strong people are still allowed to be scared sometimes.”

Azula said nothing. The air around her grew suffocatingly quiet.

Issei rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. “And besides... you’re actually really fun to talk to and be around.”

Azula stared at him in utter disbelief. “What?”

“You’re sarcastic as hell.”

“So is Weiss and Yuuka” Azula shot back reflexively.

“True!”

“Hey!” Weiss and Yuuka protested from behind them.

“And you always say exactly what you’re thinking,” Issei added with a grin.

Azula narrowed her eyes. “So do you.”

“Exactly! See?”

“That is not necessarily praise!”

“It is coming from me!”

Azula opened her mouth to deliver a razor-sharp retribution, but no words came out. No one had ever spoken to her like this before. There was no careful obedience, no calculating fear, no political maneuvering, no hidden agenda. Just some ridiculous, brown-haired boy from another world describing the things he liked about her, as casually and warmly as if they were talking about the weather.

A sudden, traitorous heat rushed into her cheeks. Azula hated it. She hated the warmth, and more than anything, she hated that Weiss and Yuuka were standing right there to witness it.

Yuuka’s eyes went wide. “Azula...”

“Say one word and I will singe your eyebrows off,” Azula warned, her voice tight.

“You’re blushing!”

“I am not blushing! It is the light!”

“You definitely are!”

“Yuuka!”

Weiss covered her mouth with a gloved hand, completely failing to hide a delighted smile.

Azula snapped her head toward her. “You as well, Schnee?!”

“I said nothing at all,” Weiss replied innocently.

“You were thinking it!” Azula’s eye twitched with rare, unadulterated frustration.

Issei, meanwhile, looked extraordinarily confused as he watched the three girls interact. “Wait... did I say something wrong?”

Three distinct voices answered him in total unison: “YES!”

Issei recoiled violently. “WHAT?!”

Yuuka buried her glowing face in her hands. Weiss pressed her fingers tightly to her temples, taking deep breaths. And Azula simply stared straight ahead into the yellow void, desperately willing the heat in her face to vanish before her honor was destroyed forever.

Yuuka groaned aloud. “I cannot believe I asked that stupid question...”

“You asked!” Issei protested, throwing his arms up. “I just answered honestly!”

“I expected something simple! Like 'you're cool'!”

“That was simple!”

“You literally analyzed our entire personalities!” Yuuka shrieked softly.

“I didn’t analyze anybody!”

Weiss turned toward him, her blush finally subsiding into exasperation. “Hyoudou, you just listed deeply specific behavioral characteristics that none of us realized you were even observing!”

Issei blinked, tilting his head like a confused puppy. “…Is that a bad thing?”

Weiss hesitated, looking at his entirely innocent, earnest face. “…That is not the point.”

“Then what’s the point?!”

It started with Yuuka. A small, smothered squeak escaped her lips, which immediately snowballed into a wave of uncontrollable laughter. A moment later, Weiss gave up her stern composure, letting out a sharp chuckle that she attempted—and failed—to disguise behind her hand. Azula resisted longer than either of them, her jaw set tight, her golden eyes glaring at the floorboards. 

But as Issei stood there looking profoundly offended and bewildered by their sudden amusement, a short, sharp laugh burst past her lips. Then another. It was quieter than Yuuka’s, far more controlled than Weiss’s, but unmistakably genuine.

Issei stared at the three laughing girls for a moment. Then, a massive, triumphant grin broke across his face. “There,” Issei declared proudly, crossing his arms. “Totally worth it.”

The laughter gradually faded, but the shift in their dynamic remained.

Yuuka still felt a strange, fluttering conflict whenever she glanced toward Issei. She had always known he paid attention to girls, that was perhaps the most blindingly obvious fact about his entire personality as he would stare at them whenever he thought none of them notice. But she had never realized how much he actually noticed, or the depth of detail he observed about them. Somehow, that made his straightforward compliments simultaneously far more embarrassing and infinitely more meaningful.

Weiss was navigating a very similar brand of confusion. She had originally dismissed Issei’s antics as crude, adolescent foolishness. Perhaps, on some level, they still were. Yet beneath all that noisy enthusiasm was a quiet attentiveness she had entirely underestimated. He saw when she was pushed to her limit. He recognized when she was forcing composure to keep everyone else steady. He remembered every movement of how she fought. It bothered her, mostly because it made her heart flutter in a way she couldn't control, and because it made her feel strangely, deeply seen.

Azula walked a few paces quieter than usual. Praise was certainly nothing new to her; she had spent her whole life surrounded by courtly sycophants declaring her gifted, powerful, brilliant, and destined for absolute greatness. Yet Issei’s words had landed entirely differently.

He hadn't praised Princess Azula, the ruthless prodigy of the Fire Nation. He had simply praised Azula. He genuinely enjoyed her company, and unlike her "friends" or her family, he actually meant every word without a shred of deceit or fear. She didn't quite know what to do with a realization like that. So, she did what she always did when confronted with something emotionally inconvenient.

She buried it deep beneath her pride and pretended nothing had happened. “Enough of this absurd conversation,” she declared, lifting her chin.

Yuuka peeked at her with a mischievous smile. “Embarrassed?”

“I am a princess of the Fire Nation. I do not get 'embarrassed.'”

“Definitely embarrassed,” Yuuka chirped softly.

Azula’s gaze snapped over, a tiny, crackling spark of blue fire dancing casually between her fingers.

Yuuka immediately squeaked and darted behind Issei, gripping his jacket. “Meatshield, activate!”

“Hey! Why am I the shield?!” Issei yelled, trying to look over his shoulder at her.

“Because you’re the one who started this!”

“I was answering your question!”

Weiss let out a long sigh, rubbing her temples. “All of you are acting like children.”

Azula and Yuuka both turned toward her instantly, speaking in perfect unison: “So do you.”

Weiss froze, her mouth slightly open, the pale blue of her eyes widening in pure betrayal.

Issei burst into a loud, boisterous laugh at her reaction, causing Weiss’s face to flush a brilliant rose color. “Shut up, Hyoudou!” she snapped, crossing her arms tightly and quickening her pace.

Their bickering and laughter continued to echo down the corridor, breathing warmth into the stale air of the Backrooms.

Then, as they rounded yet another identical corner, the endless plane of yellow carpet came to a sudden, unexpected stop.

Directly ahead of them, embedded in the floor, was a narrow concrete staircase leading downward into dark, heavy shadows. The damp smell of water grew stronger, mixed with the faint, chilled draft rising from below.

The four of them paused at the threshold, the banter dying down as they stared into the descent.

"A staircase?" Issei muttered, leaning over the handrail to peer into the gloom. "Well... it's not a yellow hallway."

"Descending further into an unknown floor is risky," Weiss noted, her hand instinctively coming to rest on Myrtenaster's hilt. "But staying on a single looping plane hasn't brought us any closer to a real exit."

Azula stared down into the dark with a calm, dangerous glint in her eyes. "Forward or downward, it doesn’t really matter. Standing here accomplishes nothing."

Yuuka tightened her grip on her pipe, falling in close behind Issei. "Right... down we go."

—--------------------------------------

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the endless maze, the buzzing fluorescent lights continued their tireless assault on the senses as Guts, Nezuko, and Sakura moved through yet another stretch of yellow corridors that seemed determined to outlast them.

The carpet remained damp beneath their feet, squelching softly with every step. The wallpaper was stained and peeling in patches, and the stale, stagnant air carried that same faint odor of mold and something metallic that Sakura had long since stopped trying to identify.

By now, however, something about the little group had fundamentally changed. Sakura no longer trailed several nervous steps behind Guts like someone expecting him to suddenly whirl around and cut her in half. She had, somehow, integrated herself into their strange partnership with surprising speed.

Guts still intimidated her, of course, that massive sword alone, wrapped in worn leather and resting against his back, was enough to make anyone’s heart hammer. His single eye carried the kind of hard, exhausted intensity that suggested he had seen horrors far worse than anything this place could throw at them. But he had not tried to kill her. He had protected both her and Nezuko whenever danger appeared, and beneath all the gruff silence, she had begun to recognize something deeply reliable in him.

Nezuko, meanwhile, had attached herself to Sakura with an ease that still surprised her. The demon girl walked beside her, listening intently whenever she talked, occasionally giving small nods or soft sounds. With both of her companions naturally inclined toward silence, Sakura had quickly taken on the monumental responsibility of filling the oppressive emptiness for all three of them.

And Sakura Minamoto, once given permission to talk, was very difficult to stop.

“So, like I was saying,” Sakura continued enthusiastically, walking beside Nezuko while gesturing animatedly with her free hand, “my dream was to become an idol! A real one! Singing onstage, performing in front of tons of screaming fans, wearing cute outfits, making everyone smile... It has been my ultimate dream!”

Guts continued walking several steps ahead, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards, not bothering to turn around. “You’ve said that word five times in two minutes.”

Sakura’s expression dropped instantly. “Because you keep looking confused every time I explain it!”

Guts grunted. “I’m not confused.”

“Your eyebrow twitches! That means you’re confused!”

Nezuko glanced between them, her bright pink eyes shining with curiosity. She tilted her head slightly, as she then slowly attempted the unfamiliar word. “I…dol…”

Sakura’s face lit up as if a spotlight had hit her. “Yes! Idol! Exactly, Nezuko!”

Nezuko smiled faintly, her eyes crinkling, clearly pleased with herself for managing the pronunciation.

Guts glanced over his shoulder, his single eye narrowing. “Still don’t know what it means.”

Sakura stared at the back of his massive head in total disbelief. “Okay, okay, let me try this again from the top. An idol is someone who performs on stage for people. You sing songs, you dance, you act, you appear on television, you do handshakes with fans—”

Guts slowed his pace slightly. “Television?”

Sakura stopped mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open as she prepared to ask how on earth he didn’t know what a TV was. Then she looked at his iron armor, his broadsword, and his rugged demeanor, and the realization hit her like a runaway truck.

“…Right,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. “You don’t know what a television is either.”

“No, I do not,” Guts said, raising a grey eyebrow slightly as he kept moving forward.

Sakura sighed loudly and rubbed her forehead. “Okay. Forget television. Imagine a huge stage.”

Guts offered no response, his gaze sweeping the empty hallways ahead.

“Lots of people watching, music blasting through huge speakers, and you’re dressed in a really cute, sparkly outfit!”

Guts finally stopped and looked back at her, deadpan. “Why?”

Sakura made an offended, high-pitched noise. “Because that’s part of the performance!”

“Seems entirely unnecessary.”

“It is not unnecessary! It’s for aesthetics!”

Nezuko giggled softly, her chest rising and falling.

Sakura pointed dramatically at the mercenary. “You’re making this way harder than it needs to be, Guts!”

The corner of Guts’s mouth twitched faintly, though he turned back around before Sakura could accuse him of cracking a smile.

She huffed, smoothing down her skirt, then tried a softer approach. “Look, being an idol isn’t just about singing and dancing for attention. It’s about making people happy. You perform, they cheer for you, and for a little while, everyone forgets whatever awful problems they’re dealing with.”

That made Guts pause his footsteps once more. He didn't turn, but his posture shifted, listening.

Sakura noticed and lowered her tone, her voice carrying a genuine warmth that cut through the low drone of the lights. “You know… people work hard all day. They get tired. They get sad. Sometimes life just... really sucks.” She rubbed her arm awkwardly, staring down at the damp carpet. “An idol gives people something fun to look forward to. A song they love. A performance that makes them smile. Even if it’s only for a few minutes, it gives them hope.”

Guts was quiet for several heavy seconds. Then, in his rough, gravelly voice, he said, “So you dance around so strangers feel better.”

Sakura brightened instantly, her eyes shining. “Exactly!”

Guts shook his head, resuming his walk. “Don’t see the appeal.”

Sakura’s face went completely flat. “You are absolutely impossible.”

Nezuko looked thoughtful, tapping her fingers against her chin. She glanced down at her kimono, then up toward Sakura. “Dance…?”

Sakura turned toward her instantly, her mood doing a complete 180. “Yeah! Dancing!”

Nezuko tilted her head again, taking a tiny step forward.

Sakura’s eyes widened with sudden, blinding excitement. “Wait... do you want to see a step? Do you want me to show you?!”

Nezuko nodded enthusiastically, her long hair bouncing.

“Oh! Okay, okay, um—there’s not much room here, but I can show you a quick routine!”

Guts came to a complete halt this time. He slowly turned around, as Sakura stepped into a slightly wider junction of the yellow hallway. “What are you doing?” He asked, exasperated.

“A live demonstration!”

Before Guts could voice a single objection, Sakura clasped her hands tightly in front of her chest and attempted a short idol step. Her movements were slightly awkward at first, partly because the damp carpet was terrible footing for energetic choreography, and partly because she was performing in an endless, haunted nightmare maze while an enormous, terrifying swordsman watched her with the exact expression of a man deeply questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment.

Still, Sakura quickly found her rhythm. She stepped lightly to the side, spun on her heel, lifted her arms into a cheerful heart pose, then mimed holding an imaginary microphone before finishing with an enthusiastic, theatrical spin. “Ta-da!” she beamed, flashing a double peace sign.

Nezuko’s pink eyes widened in sheer delight. Then, she began to clap her hands together rapidly, producing soft, sounds of approval.

Sakura’s entire face lit up. “See?! Nezuko gets the vision!”

Nezuko immediately attempted to imitate her. She lifted both hands into the air, took a quick step to the side and completely lost her footing on the slick, moldy carpet.

“Whoa! Careful!” Sakura lunged forward with frantic speed, catching Nezuko by the arms before she could hit the ground.

Nezuko blinked up at her, recovered her balance, and let out a bright, bubbling giggle.

Guts let out a long, heavy sigh that sounded like grinding stones. “Are you two done?”

Sakura straightened up and glared at him. “You didn’t like it even a little bit?”

“No.”

“That was a lie! You watched the entire thing without looking away!”

“Because I was waiting for one of you to fall over,” Guts said plainly.

Sakura narrowed her eyes, stepping up to him and jabbing a finger in his direction. “You are emotionally constipated, Guts!”

Guts stopped. Slowly, terrifyingly, his single eye lowered down to look directly at her.

The sudden weight of his presence hit Sakura like a sack of bricks. Her brave confidence vanished into thin air. “…I mean that with the utmost respect,” she squeaked, taking a half-step back.

Behind her, Nezuko made a strange, wheezing, choking sound.

Sakura spun around, only to see the demon girl desperately covering her mouth with both hands, her shoulders shaking violently. “Are you... are you laughing at me?!” Sakura gasped.

Nezuko nodded rapidly, making no effort to lie.

Sakura clutched her chest dramatically. “Betrayal! Pure betrayal from my main fan!”

For a few fleeting moments, standing in the middle of the yellow hell, even Guts looked mildly, unmistakably amused.

The three then continued walking down the damp, yellow corridor.

Sakura’s curiosity, naturally, lasted less than a minute before she found another topic to breach the heavy silence. “So what about you, Guts?”

Guts grunted softly. “About what?”

“What was your job?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Before this place?” His expression remained unreadable, but a solemn, darker look crossed his remaining eye as memories of a vastly different time and a vastly different life, flittered through his mind.

Sakura waved her hands in frantic, small circles. “You don’t have to tell me anything personal! I just mean, well, I told you I wanted to be an idol, so what did you do for a living?”

Guts stared straight ahead. Then, without saying a word, he reached one heavy, armored hand back and tapped the iron pommel of the massive Dragonslayer resting across his back.

Clang.

Sakura blinked, waiting for an elaboration. “…That?” she questioned. “…That’s your answer?”

Guts didn't offer a dramatic speech. “Yeah.”

“You hit things with a giant sword?”

“Pretty much.”

Sakura stared at him, her mouth slightly agape.

Guts then continued, his voice flat, gravelly, and entirely matter-of-fact. “I’m a mercenary.”

Sakura tilted her head, processing the term. “A mercenary…”

“I get paid to fight. Monsters. Soldiers. Bandits. Whoever stands in the way.”

Sakura’s expression gradually lost its bright enthusiasm, a shadow of unease creeping into her eyes. “So… people, too?”

“Yes.” His answer came without a single second of hesitation.

Sakura swallowed hard, her throat feeling suddenly dry.

Guts caught the subtle shift in her posture and glanced back at her briefly, his single eye glinting in the dim fluorescent light. “Don’t ask questions if you don’t want the answers.”

“I-I wasn’t judging!” She squeaked, defensively holding her chest.

“It looked like it to me.”

“I just… I guess I wasn’t expecting you to say it that casually.”

Guts gave a faint shrug, his heavy pauldrons shifting. “Been doing it all of my life.”

That shut Sakura up completely for several seconds. She walked in silence, studying his broad, battle-worn silhouette from behind. Suddenly, the deep jagged scars, the missing eye, the battered black armor, and the hyper-vigilant way he carried himself, like lethal danger might erupt from any doorway, made considerably more sense.

His life hadn't been anything like hers. No normal school days, no career aspirations, no simple dreams. Just endless, brutal fighting.

When Sakura spoke again, her voice was much quieter. “Doesn’t that get lonely?”

Guts did not answer immediately. The heavy, steady rhythm of his iron boots echoed off the peeling wallpaper. Heavy. Unyielding. Finally, he spoke. “Sometimes. But there was a time... when I was with friends.”

For a fleeting second, his mind drifted back to a happier era, to the Band of the Hawk, to shared campfires, to laughter beneath a night sky before everything was torn apart.

Sakura blinked. That was far more honest and vulnerable than she had ever expected from the brooding swordsman. A faint, soft smile touched her lips. “Well… you’ve also got us now.”

Guts’s stride faltered for less than a fraction of a second, his heavy boots making a slight scraping sound on the carpet before he regained his rhythm. “Hnh.”

Sakura grinned to herself. She was quickly beginning to understand that particular grunt. It wasn't an explicit agreement, but it certainly wasn't a rejection either.

Nezuko, meanwhile, had been following the entire exchange closely. Hearing the talk of past lives, she gently raised one hand from her side. “Mm-mm.”

Sakura turned her attention toward the demon girl. “You want to say something, Nezuko?”

Nezuko nodded, her brows furrowing tight in deep concentration as she tried to force her vocal cords to cooperate. “Fa…”

Sakura immediately slowed her pace to match the girl.

Nezuko tried again, her chest heaving slightly with the effort. “Fam…” Her lips struggled frantically around the unfamiliar sounds.

“Family?” Sakura guessed gently, her tone encouraging.

Nezuko nodded quickly, her pink eyes lighting up. “Fa…mi…” Frustration began to show on her small face as the words caught in her throat.

Sakura smiled warmly, placing a reassuring hand near her shoulder. “Take your time. No rush.”

Nezuko pointed a tiny finger toward herself. Then, she brought both hands together, miming the motion of swinging something heavy downward in front of her.

Guts’s single eye cut over toward them, watching silently.

Sakura blinked, puzzled. “Swinging? Like... a sword?”

Nezuko shook her head vigorously. She tried again, forcing air past her lips. “Wood…” The word came out raspy and slow, but distinctly clearer than before.

Sakura’s eyes widened. “Wood?”

Nezuko nodded eagerly. She then mimed carrying a heavy bundle balanced over her shoulders and back. “Fire…wood.”

Sakura’s face lit up in realization. “Oh! Firewood!”

Nezuko brightened instantly, nodding rapidly as she tried to push further into the memory. “Fam…ily… sell…” Her voice strained against the physical limitation of her situation.

Before she could push herself too hard, Sakura reached out and gently squeezed her hand. “Hey, hey, you don’t have to force it all out right now.”

Nezuko frowned stubbornly, wanting to tell her story.

“You’re doing so good,” Sakura assured her softly, giving her hand a tender squeeze. “Seriously. You only just started talking again properly. You can explain it to us slowly, step by step.”

Nezuko looked slightly disappointed with herself, her shoulders slumping just a bit.

Sakura smiled warmly at her. “So your family sold firewood?”

Nezuko gave a small nod.

“And you helped them out?”

Another gentle nod.

“That sounds really nice, Nezuko,” Sakura said softly.

Nezuko’s expression softened. For a second, her bright pink eyes grew distant, wandering back to a place far away from these ugly yellow walls. She remembered a snowy mountain. Cold, crisp morning air. The sweet smell of burning charcoal. The absolute warmth of a loving family and a humble home...

Then, the memory began to dim, threatening to shift into the bloody, nightmare-filled night that had ended it all. Nezuko’s eyes flickered with a sudden, faint trace of grief.

Guts noticed the subtle shift in her expression immediately. He didn't offer empty words of comfort, but his heavy gaze lingered on the small demon girl for a second longer before turning back to scan the empty corridor ahead. He understood that look all too well, the ghost of a stolen home. In a way, they were far more alike than he had originally thought.

Sakura glanced between the two quiet figures, sensing the deep, unspoken weight settling between them. She opened her mouth, almost asking another question to lighten the mood

But then Guts abruptly stopped.

Sakura walked directly into his broad, armored back with a dull thud. “Ow!” She staggered backward, rubbing her forehead even though she was technically an undead and couldn't feel physical pain in the traditional sense. “What was that for?! A little warning next time?!”

Guts raised one heavy, gloved hand, his posture going utterly motionless. “Quiet.” The sudden, razor-sharp edge in his voice killed her complaint instantly.

Nezuko’s posture shifted as well, dropping into a low, cat-like crouch, her pink eyes instantly turning alert as her fingers twitched into claws.

Guts’s single eye narrowed, staring down the corridor. Directly ahead stood something they had not seen in several hours of walking: a stark, heavy metal door embedded seamlessly into the damp yellow wall.

Sakura peeked out from behind Guts's shoulder, her eyes wide. “…Well, that’s new.”

Guts approached cautiously, his heavy boots making no sound on the wet carpet. Beside him, Nezuko raised her small nose, sniffing the stagnant air.

Sakura nervously reached out and held onto Nezuko’s hand again. “Do you smell anything, Nezuko? Like... blood or monsters?”

Nezuko frowned, her brows knitting together as she took a deep breath. Then, she slowly shook her head.

Guts placed his hand on the wrapped hilt of the Dragonslayer, muscles tensing along his arm.

Sakura looked nervously at the plain metal door, her stomach doing cartwheels. “So… what do we do now?”

“We open it.”

Sakura’s head snapped toward him in disbelief. “That’s it?! Just open it?!”

“Yeah.”

“What if there’s a giant monster behind it?!”

“Then I kill it.”

“What if there are a hundred monsters behind it?!”

Guts’s hard expression didn't flicker for a single second. “Then I kill a hundred.”

Sakura stared at him, realizing with absolute, terrifying clarity that he was completely serious. “…You are absurdly terrifying, you know that?”

“So I’ve heard.”

Nezuko, standing beside him, nodded her head proudly, puffing her small chest out.

Sakura looked down at her in despair. “Nezuko, please don’t encourage him!”

Guts reached for the heavy iron handle, the metal creaking loudly beneath his iron grip. He paused for a fraction of a second and looked back over his shoulder. “Stay behind me.”

Sakura’s nervous, frantic expression softened slightly. There it was again. That strange, baffling contradiction she was slowly beginning to associate with him. He talked like he didn’t care about anyone. He acted like he had zero patience for anything she said. Yet every single time real danger appeared, he positioned his massive body between it and them without a second thought.

Guts turned the handle.

Click.

The door swung inward with a heavy screech, and a sharp blast of freezing cold air washed over them, carrying a faint, industrial smell of wet concrete, motor oil, and old rubber.

Beyond the doorway lay vast darkness, broken only by long, distant rows of pale overhead lights flickering in the gloom.

Guts stepped through the threshold first, the Dragonslayer remaining within easy reach over his shoulder. Nezuko darted through right behind him, and Sakura hesitated for just one second before hurriedly scrambling after them, terrified of being left behind.

The moment she stepped through, her loafers struck solid, unyielding concrete.

Clack.

She froze, blinking hard as her eyes adjusted.

The suffocating yellow wallpaper was gone. The damp, squelching carpet was gone. Instead, an enormous, cavernous concrete space stretched out endlessly before them.

Rows upon rows of massive, square support pillars disappeared into the dark distance. Faded white lines were painted across the smooth gray floor in repeating rectangular patterns. Overhead, fluorescent fixtures buzzed faintly, but their light was colder here—harsher, clinical, and industrial. The concrete ceiling was low, with long runs of rusted iron pipes and metal ventilation ducts winding between the heavy beams.

There were no vehicles. No signs of movement. No sound except the distant hum of electricity. Just empty, endless painted spaces stretching further than Sakura’s eyes could see.

“…Oh,” Sakura breathed out, her breath forming a faint mist in the chilly air.

Guts systematically scanned the shadows, his hand never leaving his weapon, while Nezuko tilted her head in utter confusion at the vast, artificial cave.

Sakura looked around, blinked twice, and then her jaw dropped. “Wait.” She recognized this structure instantly. “Is this a parking garage?”

Guts turned his single eye toward her, his brow furrowed. “A what?”

Sakura suddenly remembered that she was quite literally the only person in this trio who hailed from a society with electricity, plumbing, and modern infrastructure. “Oh, right,” She muttered, facepalming. “Um… this is a parking lot. Well, an underground parking garage.”

Guts stared at the white lines painted on the floor beneath his boots, utterly uncomprehending. “What’s it for?”

“Cars.”

A long, heavy silence stretched between them as Guts stared at her, expecting a real word.

Sakura let out a defeated sigh. “Of course. You don't know what that is either.”

Nezuko tilted her head to the side, pointing at the ground. “Car…?”

Sakura stepped up to an empty space and gestured wide with both hands. “Okay! Cars are like… huge metal machines that people ride inside of to travel really long distances super fast.”

Guts’s frown deepened. “Like a wagon?”

“I... guess? A mechanical, metal wagon that runs on fuel instead of horses.”

Guts looked out across the vast, empty concrete wasteland, taking in the sheer scale of the place. “So this whole underground cave is where people leave their wagons.”

“Cars,” Sakura corrected automatically.

“Same thing.”

“They are not the same thing!” Sakura shrieked defensively. “A wagon doesn't have an engine!”

Guts gave a low grunt and resumed walking into the cold gloom.

Sakura threw her hands up at the ceiling, thoroughly exasperated. “You can’t just reduce hundreds of years of human engineering to 'just a simple wagon'! You haven't even seen one!”

“Then your explanation’s bad,” Guts tossed back casually over his shoulder.

Sakura stared after his broad back, deeply, profoundly offended as an aspiring modern idol.

Beside her, Nezuko tugged gently on Sakura’s sleeve.

Sakura looked down, still fuming. “What is it, Nezuko?”

Nezuko’s lips moved carefully around the new words, her eyes shining with innocence. “Met…al… wag…on?”

Sakura’s soul practically left her body. “No! Nezuko, no! Don’t learn terminology from him! He's a medieval barbarian!”

Nezuko giggled softly as her shoulders shook with delight at Sakura's reaction.

Guts continued deeper into the cold darkness without waiting for them to finish their debate. “Keep up and stay alert.”

Sakura sighed heavily, smoothing down her skirt, then hurried after him with Nezuko trotting faithfully by her side.

Their footsteps echoed entirely differently here than in the yellow rooms. Every step bounced sharply off the concrete pillars, echoing back from the vast distance a second later. And together—the hardened mercenary, the demon girl, and the zombie idol—pushed deeper into the endless, dark parking garage, blissfully unaware of what might be lurking just beyond the next row of shadow-draped pillars.

Done. Tell me what you think and if I made any mistakes? If you have any suggestions don’t be afraid to tell me.