There was only one thing to do: survive.
The only difference was that everyone's countdown was different.
Was There Actually a Contraband Item?
"Only the countdowns are different..." Fujiwara Chika pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, striking Detective Conan's iconic pose as she pondered. "The countdowns must be the key."
Amamiya Natsuki was speechless.
"Listening to you is like listening to you."
In other words, she might as well have said nothing. Everyone knew the countdown ticking away second by second was important. The problem was that nobody knew what it meant.
"Could it be the time left in the game?" one of the players guessed. "If we just hold out until the countdown ends, maybe we can leave the game?"
"That's possible."
At those words, everyone looked toward a player standing in the corner.
The young man was thin, and he seemed to get very little sunlight. His skin was noticeably pale, and his hair was messy. He looked quiet and introverted, and he hadn't said much.
Of everyone there, his mission countdown was the shortest. He had only a little over two hours left.
They would find out whether he could leave the game when his countdown ended.
"By the way, we still don't know everyone's names." Fujiwara Chika's social butterfly instincts shone brightly. "I'm Fujiwara Chika. What's your name?"
The thin young man replied in silence, "...Just call me Izumi."
"Natsuki-classmate."
Mother Fujiwara gave Amamiya Natsuki a discreet look.
Amamiya Natsuki understood and spoke up. "Amamiya Natsuki."
"Shinomiya."
"Takanashi."
"Yukinoshita."
Humans were social creatures. Once someone started and established an order, the people who followed tended to stick to it.
By the time they had gone around the circle, they had learned the names of the other five unfamiliar players, and the team had