CHAPTER 2

Rules of the Game

Akane made her way downstairs, the game hugged tightly against her chest. Earlier, she’d been practically skipping with excitement but now every step felt heavier than the last.

The blue-eyed boy’s smile lingered stubbornly in the back of her mind, refusing to fade no matter how many times she reminded herself it had to be a coincidence. She must have seen that face somewhere before. On a billboard. In a magazine. Reflected in a storefront window downtown.

Her subconscious had simply borrowed it for her dream. There was nothing sinister or strange going on.

To think otherwise was ridiculous.

Before she could dwell on it any longer, the unmistakable sound of Ukyo and Shampoo arguing drifted up from below.

Akane stopped halfway down the stairs and let out a weary sigh.

“…What are they doing here?”

So much for a fun, relaxing game night. For one brief moment, she considered turning around and going back upstairs.

Then Ranma groaned loud enough to shake the ceiling. “Seriously? I already told you guys, we’re playing Akane’s game!”

Despite herself, the corner of Akane’s mouth twitched.

Well, if Ranma was already losing his patience, somebody had to rescue him. Hugging the game a little tighter, she continued down the stairs.

The voices grew louder with every step. By the time she reached the tatami room, Shampoo and Ukyo were already facing off across the low table, each having claimed a spot conspicuously close to Ranma.

“Shampoo come by invitation,” Shampoo declared, glaring daggers at her rival. “Shampoo even bring fun game! Ancient Chinese Amazon treasure.”

With unmistakable pride, she held up a battered wooden box bound with faded red string.

“An ancient treasure, huh?” Ukyo scoffed, idly twirling her own brightly colored box. “That means someone’s gonna end up cursed, engaged, or dead by the end of it. I’ll pass, Sugar. Let’s play my game instead.”

“WHAT YOU SAY?!”

Ranma pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Seriously…” He jerked a thumb toward the unopened box in Akane’s hands. “Like I’ve been telling you guys, we already have a game to play. If you wanna play one of those, go home and do it there.” He nodded toward Ryoga. “We’ll even throw in an escort.”

“Hey!” Ryoga snapped. “Why am I the escort?!”

“Isn’t it obvious, P-chan?”

Ryoga’s eye twitched. “Why, you…!”

Ryoga lunged, and Ranma met him halfway. The two immediately fell into their usual exchange of half-hearted punches and effortless blocks, more out of habit than genuine anger.

Nabiki, lounging comfortably against the wall and enjoying the unfolding disaster far too much, noticed Akane lingering in the doorway.

Akane slowly turned her head and leveled a glare at her sister.

Nabiki blinked innocently. “What?”

“You invited them?”

“Well, yeah,” Nabiki replied, looking baffled that this required explanation. “You said you wanted a game night. I improved the guest list.”

“Improved?” Akane echoed weakly.

“I’m sure Akane appreciates it,” Kasumi chimed in cheerfully from the tea tray she was arranging nearby. “The more players there are, the more exciting it’ll be.”

Akane stared at the room.

Shampoo and Ukyo were still trying to kill each other with eye contact, Ranma and Ryoga had devolved into trading childish blows, and Nabiki looked unbearably pleased with herself, like she’d just cashed in on a huge bet.

Honestly, expecting this group to have a quiet game night had been her first mistake. “I guess it’s fine,” she muttered as she set her game on the table with much less enthusiasm than before.

She resigned herself to a long, uncomfortable evening. Then again, it could always be worse. At least Nabiki hadn’t invited Kuno, Kodachi, and the rest of Nerima over to play.

She hadn’t… had she?

Praying they’d have no more unexpected guests, Akane slid off the box’s lid and began unpacking everything inside.

The “house” turned out to be anything but small.

Folded flat into neat sections, it slowly expanded beneath her hands into an enormous three-story Victorian mansion—part game board, part elaborate dollhouse. Delicate walls unfolded outward. Staircases slotted into place. Tiny paper doors, windows, and balconies emerged one careful piece at a time.

It was absurdly detailed.

And huge.

By the time Akane and Kasumi finished snapping together the first floor and started on the upper levels, the sprawling cardboard mansion was taking up most of the table.

How the thing had fit inside such a normal-sized box, she had no idea.

As she carefully removed the final cardboard piece—a large removable roof—Shampoo leaned forward with a smug look.

“Game no fun without stakes. Shampoo play for Ranma anytime.”

Ukyo slapped both palms against the table. “No fair! If we’re playing for Ran-chan, I want in!”

Ranma’s eyebrows twitched. “Oi!”

Already feeling a headache coming on, Akane snapped the removable roof onto the house perhaps harder than necessary.

“We’re not playing for anybody,” she said firmly. “We’re just going to sit down, play a friendly game, and try to have a peaceful evening for once. If that sounds impossible, you know where the door is.”

Shampoo folded her arms and leaned back, making no move toward the door.

While Akane and Kasumi continued assembling the sprawling cardboard mansion, Nabiki had claimed the instruction booklet for herself, idly sorting cards, paper dolls, and tiny game pieces into neat little piles.

“Where’s Mousse, anyway?” she asked without looking up. “When I stopped by earlier, he said he was coming too.”

“Great-grandmother no let him leave,” Shampoo replied with a sniff. “Food not cook self.”

Akane frowned. Poor Mousse. Honestly, if anyone deserved a relaxing day away from his responsibilities, it was him.

“So what game are we even playing, Akane?” Ukyo asked as she eyed the steadily expanding structure taking over the table. “Because right now, it just looks like you’re building a giant dollhouse.”

“I didn’t agree to play with no dolls,” Ranma complained.

“I will gladly play with dolls, Akane,” Ryoga rushed to assure her.

Ranma shot him a look of disgust.

Around the room, curious eyes turned toward Akane.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” she said quickly, waving her hands. “The house is the board. We have to make our way to the attic while avoiding the Shadow Prince and everything he’s hidden inside.”

Nabiki lowered the instruction booklet, looking mildly impressed. “Huh. Sounds kinda dark, actually. Facing your fears and nightmares in a haunted mansion… I wasn’t expecting this much effort.”

“Oh my,” Kasumi said, looking suddenly uncertain. “If it’s going to be frightening, perhaps I should just watch.”

Akane laughed. “Don’t be silly, Kasumi. The nightmares are only as scary as you make them.” She stuck her tongue out at Ranma. “Like somebody and cats.”

Ranma immediately bristled. “Hey! That’s different!”

Nabiki sighed dramatically. “I already know what my nightmare is,” she lamented. “A game night with no banker and zero profit margins.”

She shuddered for effect as a collective breath of relief swept through the room.

Only Kasumi looked sympathetic. “Don’t worry, Nabiki,” she reassured her warmly. “Next time, you can choose the game.”

Akane wasn’t sure anyone would survive her sister’s version of game night. Financially or mentally.

“Let’s just try to get through this one first,” she said with a forced laugh, passing around blank paper dolls and pencils. “First, we need to create our characters. You can draw them however you want.”

At this, she had expected some resistance or sly remark, but to her surprise, nobody complained.

Not even Ranma.

Everyone accepted their little paper people and set to work, though with varying degrees of artistic commitment.

Shampoo and Ukyo were both hunched over their dolls, sneaking suspicious glances at each other between furious pencil strokes, as though superior paper-craft might somehow win them Ranma by default.

Akane quickly sketched a crude face onto her own doll, neatly printed her name in the bottom box, and called it good.

Then she waited for the others to catch up.

“Okay,” she said once everyone had set down their pencils. “Next, we draw our nightmares.”

She handed out the blank paper squares.

“It can be anything, serious or silly. Then we scatter them face-down throughout the house. It doesn’t matter where. If someone lands on a nightmare, they’re trapped there until they roll a one or an eight. But the nightmare doesn’t get revealed until after they’ve escaped it.”

Ranma frowned. “That’s dumb. How are we supposed to face our fears if we don’t know what they are?”

Honestly, Akane had been wondering the same thing.

Nabiki shrugged. “Dramatic irony?”

Ukyo snorted. “Feels more like it’s messing with us.”

“Dumb game design. Shampoo’s game better.”

Akane rolled her eyes and retrieved the eight-sided die from the table. “Anyway,” she continued, holding it up for everyone to see, “if you fail to roll a one or an eight, you have to draw a penalty card instead.”

To demonstrate, Akane held up the black-and-gold deck. On the front, three interlocking triangles rested inside a ring of strange runes. One symbol repeated more than the others.

For some reason, it felt familiar.

Ignoring the odd flicker of recognition, Akane flipped over a card.

“This one says skip a turn. This one says confess your darkest secret. They’re all different, but some are worse than others.”

“Oh my,” Kasumi murmured. “Our deepest secrets?”

Ukyo and Shampoo both turned toward Ranma with identical, thoughtful expressions, like wolves sizing up the same meal.

Ranma shifted uneasily. “…Hey, now.”

Ukyo raised an eyebrow. “That seems awfully subjective,” she mused. “What if someone lies?”

Ryoga visibly stiffened.

“What’s the matter, P-chan?” Ranma teased. “Got a secret you don’t want exposed?”

If looks could kill, Ranma would’ve died on the spot.

“Stop teasing him, Ranma,” Akane admonished.

“Actually,” Nabiki said, consulting the booklet, “the rules cover that.”

She read aloud: “If a player lies, the Shadow Prince will force the truth from them… whatever that means.”

At the mention of the Shadow Card, Akane tried to shake off the prickling unease crawling up her spine. The memory of finding that card—and the blue-eyed boy staring back at her—was still far too fresh.

Across the table, Shampoo had begun idly flipping through the deck. “Penalty cards boring,” she declared, and then paused as her eyes widened. “Oh. This, Shadow Prince card, yes? Handsome boy.”

The Amazon held up a black-and-gold card between two fingers and flipped it around so they could all admire the unearthly face staring back.

Nabiki was the first to let out a low whistle. “Wow. He can shadow me any day. Right, Kasumi?”

Kasumi studied the card thoughtfully, fingertips resting against her cheeks. “Well… he certainly is striking,” she admitted.

“He ain’t all that,” Ranma muttered, crossing his arms. Ryoga nodded sagely across from him.

At least those two had finally agreed on something.

“I don’t see the appeal,” Ukyo declared, scrunching up her nose. “Ran-chan’s way better looking.” Before Ranma could escape, she latched onto his arm and flashed Shampoo a triumphant grin.

Shampoo narrowed her eyes, then promptly wrapped herself around Ranma’s other free arm in retaliation. “Spatula-Girl, no grab Airen!”

Akane’s eyebrow twitched. For one brief, ridiculous moment, she had the urge to pry them both off him herself.

“Would you BOTH quit grabbing me?” Ranma snapped.

Ryoga took another calming sip of tea. “So,” he said, looking to Nabiki. “Shall we continue?”

“Right.” Nabiki retrieved the penalty deck from where Shampoo had abandoned it and slipped the Shadow Prince card back into the pile. “Any questions before we begin?”

“I have one,” Kasumi said unexpectedly.

Everyone looked over.

She was holding her paper doll carefully between both hands. Unlike Akane’s hastily scribbled effort, Kasumi’s had clearly received actual time and attention—neat handwriting, carefully drawn clothes, even a tiny apron.

“What role does this Shadow Prince play?” she asked. “If he’s already a penalty card… what happens to our characters if we draw him?”

Her fingers tightened protectively around the little paper person, as though the Shadow Prince might appear at any moment and snatch it away.

Again, all eyes turned to look at Akane. “I-I don’t actually know,” she admitted. She remembered reading about the card’s existence, but not what the card actually did.

Apparently, neither did Nabiki. Her sister snatched up the booklet and flipped through it at alarming speed. “Huh.”

“What?” Ukyo asked.

Nabiki scanned the page again. “Aside from what I mentioned before, it just says: The Shadow Prince plays for keeps. Pray he never joins the game.”

Silence.

“…Well,” Nabiki said at last. “That’s ominous.”

Kasumi tightened her protective hold on her paper doll. “Oh, dear.”

Ukyo tapped her pencil thoughtfully against the table. “Maybe it means the nightmare wins? There’s only one Shadow Prince card, right? So if he catches you… maybe your character gets eliminated and he’s shuffled back into the deck.”

Akane considered it.

Honestly, that sounded far more reasonable than anything her imagination had come up with.

“Or,” Nabiki said innocently, “we could make our own rule.”

Ranma narrowed his eyes at her. “Whatever you’re about to say, the answer’s no.”

Akane didn’t blame him. She imagined drawing the Shadow Prince card and suddenly finding herself five thousand yen in debt.

She shuddered.

Before she could voice her agreement, Shampoo brightened. “Grant wish?”

“Whoa! Hold it!” Ranma protested, hands in the air.

Ryoga nodded thoughtfully. “Actually… that seems fair.”

Every head at the table slowly turned toward him.

“What?!” Ranma exclaimed as Shampoo beamed.

Ryoga folded his arms, completely unfazed. “It’s a penalty card. It’s supposed to be bad.”

“Yeah, but not that bad!” Ranma shot back.

“Besides,” Ryoga continued, “it wouldn’t have to be Shampoo. Whoever drew the card would get the wish.” A slow grin spread across his face. “You’d be dust.”

Silence.

Akane felt a chill run down her spine. “I like Ukyo’s theory,” she said quickly.

“Me too,” Ranma agreed without hesitation.

Ukyo raised a hand. “Can I switch my vote?”

“NO!” Akane and Ranma shouted in unison.

Nabiki sighed dramatically. “You people have no imagination.”

“Your imagination is the problem here,” Akane reminded her.

“Fine,” Nabiki said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Now that we’ve tragically abandoned all the interesting options, let’s move on. Draw your nightmares, turn them face-down, and hide them anywhere in the house.”

She gestured toward the sprawling paper mansion. Kasumi quietly added a pile of crayons to the table, and before long the room filled with the quiet scratch of pencils and the gentle whisper of crayons across paper.

Akane glanced around the table.

To her surprise, everyone had thrown themselves into the task with alarming sincerity.

Even Ranma. He was glaring down at his paper like defeating it was a matter of personal honor.

Although everyone already knew what he’d draw.

Beside him, Shampoo was sketching enthusiastically, attacking the page with the same competitive intensity she brought to martial arts, romance, and apparently arts and crafts. Ukyo had nearly finished already, and looked to be adding the finishing touch with a smug little smile that suggested she considered this yet another contest she intended to win.

Nabiki looked disturbingly inspired.

Akane suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to know what her sister considered nightmare material.

Instead, she looked down at her own blank square.

She had no idea what to draw.

Which was silly. She was scared of plenty of things—ghosts, haunted houses, never learning how to swim, losing people she loved. But every time she considered putting one to paper, her mind snagged on the game’s warning.

If a player lied, the Shadow Prince will force the truth from them.

And Akane did have a nightmare that nobody knew about. Not her father or her sisters or Ranma. All she had was a faint, jumbled memory that she could never fully piece together.

…Of her mother and her grandfather’s basement.

She never remembered the details after waking. They vanished the moment she opened her eyes, leaving behind only a vague impression of terror tangled with devastation, and a crushing, inexplicable guilt.

Her stomach tightened at the memory.

There was no way she could ever draw that.

Nervously chewing her lip, Akane searched for a quick alternative, and her gaze drifted to Ranma across the table before she could stop it.

He was watching her too.

Caught, Ranma went red instantly. “All done!” he blurted. He sprang to his feet, snatched up his nightmare square, and shoved it as close to the attic as he could get it.

“First one to the top,” he declared smugly. “Called it!”

Akane watched him sit back down, still looking entirely too pleased with himself.

And just like that, another answer surfaced.

Not from her dreams this time, but from somewhere far more inconvenient.

Jusendo.

She still remembered the terror in his voice when he’d thought she’d died. Her eyes may have been closed, but she remembered everything else: his shaking hands, the tears she’d felt against her face, the desperate way he clung to her as though sheer determination alone could keep her from slipping away.

It had shaken her far more than she’d ever admit because if their places had been reversed… if she’d been the one standing by helplessly, believing Ranma had been lost forever…

…She would’ve fallen apart, too.

The realization settled over her with quiet, uncomfortable certainty.

She wasn’t just afraid of basements and ghosts.

She was afraid of losing Ranma.

Heat flooded her cheeks. But no, absolutely not. There was no way she was ever putting that on paper either! If the jerk still couldn’t summon the courage to tell her he loved her, she certainly wasn’t going to make it easy for him! Especially not over a silly board game.

Akane frowned at the paper and lowered her pencil over the blank square, determined to lie anyway. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to draw a single line.

She glared at the blank square as though it were winning.

“…That’s a wrap!” Ukyo announced as she placed her nightmare face-down on the first floor. Soon everyone followed suit, scattering their nightmares throughout the paper mansion.

Finally, only Akane remained.

“Jeez, slowpoke,” Ranma teased, leaning on his hand. “You gonna take all night or what?”

This time, it was Akane’s turn to blush.

“Of course not. I’m all done,” she lied. Akane flipped her blank paper over and placed it face-down on the second floor, more interested in shutting up Ranma than admitting the truth.

Maybe no one would land on it. And if they did… she could always fix it later. As casually as she could, Akane slipped one of the crayons into the pocket of her dress, just in case she needed to improvise.

A moment later, Kasumi began gathering up the remaining crayons, pencils, and extra squares of paper.

Akane tried not to look relieved.

“Great,” said Nabiki, checking the rulebook. “Now, we place all our characters on the first floor. Right in the foyer.”

Everyone slid their paper people into little cardboard stands and arranged them inside the miniature entrance hall.

“And now,” she announced, a wicked grin spreading across her face, “for the best part.”

Shampoo folded her arms. “When actual game start?”

“Geez,” Ukyo muttered. “Don’t they have a little thing called anticipation in China?”

“China also have word for loudmouth,” she said, fixing Ukyo with a flat stare.

“Soon,” Nabiki promised before they could come to blows. Actually, she was more invested in this game now than Akane ever was. It wasn’t hard to see why. It had hidden secrets, nightmares, hot guys in leather.

Perfect blackmail material.

It was no wonder she had gone all-in.

“Somebody dim the lights,” Nabiki said, glancing around the room expectantly. “We need atmosphere.”

If Kasumi had been hesitant before, this certainly wasn’t helping. She frowned, but stood up and did what was asked.

Darkness settled gradually over the room.

The only illumination left came from the hallway beyond and the small stone garden lamp glowing through the open shoji. Soft amber light spilled across the table, catching on glossy cards and throwing long shadows over the cardboard mansion and its tiny paper inhabitants.

The little house suddenly looked less like a toy… and more like someplace waiting to be entered.

“Kinda… creepy, huh?” said Ukyo, glancing around.

Akane couldn’t agree more. Back in the safety of her bedroom, with the lights on and the game spread out before her, it hadn’t seemed nearly so menacing.

Nabiki rubbed her hands together. “Perfect. Now, for the vow.”

Akane groaned. “We really don’t need to do this part,” she told her sister.

Nabiki merely laughed. “I heartily disagree.”

“What kind of vow are we talking about?” Kasumi finally asked, sounding uncertain.

“Nothing major,” Nabiki continued. “Just standard legal jargon. I agree to play, surrender my soul, and hand over my firstborn child in the event of catastrophic defeat.”

Kasumi immediately started to rise. “Perhaps I should supervise snacks instead—”

Nabiki grabbed Kasumi’s sleeve and tugged her back down. “I’m kidding, sis. Relax. I’ll explain everything.”

Turning to a page near the back of the manual, Nabiki cleared her throat.

“According to this, another realm exists alongside our own, unseen but ever present. Some call it the realm of dreams and nightmares, of shadows and darkness. Yet it is no less real than the waking world.”

She flipped the page.

“Crossing into it can be… risky.” A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth as her eyes skimmed several dense paragraphs. “Play at your own risk, acknowledge the consequences… blah, blah, blah.”

She skipped ahead again.

“Here’s one in bold, though.” She cleared her throat. “The game is not complete until every player has faced what awaits them.”

Ukyo arched an eyebrow. “They really laid it on thick, huh?”

Nabiki shrugged. “It’s a horror game. They’ve gotta sell the atmosphere somehow.”

Akane frowned. “Nabiki… you skipped half the page.”

“I skipped the boring half.”

Akane leaned over her sister’s shoulder and skimmed over it, trying to refresh her memory. Instead, her attention drifted to the symbol printed beneath the paragraph. It was the same sharp, angular rune she’d noticed on the back of the cards, nestled around the three interlocking triangles. It looked almost like an inverted blood-red M.

Her brow furrowed.

Why did it look so familiar?

“Look, I’ll even go first,” Nabiki said, sitting up straighter. She cleared her throat dramatically. “I, Nabiki Tendo, swear that I understand the oath, accept the terms, and reserve the right to exploit every loophole available.”

Akane blinked, certain she’d just seen the blood-red rune glow. But when she looked again, it was nothing more than faded ink on the page. She leaned back in her seat, strangely unsettled.

“Your turn, Kasumi.”

Kasumi hesitated. “I don’t know…”

“It’s just a game,” Nabiki said with a laugh. “Live a little.”

Kasumi sighed softly. “…Alright. I agree.”

Every paper figure on the board quivered almost imperceptibly.

Akane frowned. Had someone bumped the table?

“Me too!” Ukyo declared instantly.

“Shampoo agree more!”

The two rivals immediately turned to glare at one another, but as they did, no one else seemed to notice the garden lamp outside begin to flicker wildly. Strange shadows slid across the hallway wall behind them, stretching and twisting for the briefest instant before melting away.

Akane’s stomach tightened.

“Wait a minute…” she said, her instincts suddenly screaming that something was wrong.

No one heard her.

Ranma and Ryoga were already trying to outdo each other as they hurried to make their oaths next.

“I vow to beat this Shadow guy senseless,” Ranma bragged. “That dumb pretty-boy won’t know what hit him.”

“Not if I get there first!” Ryoga shot back. “I vow times infinity!”

Every card in the deck lifted a fraction of an inch, then settled again. As though something underneath had exhaled. Then, Akane watched as two tiny doors in the paper house swung open, as if inviting them in.

There was no wind. No reason for them to do that.

Now, her instincts were screaming.

Akane shot to her feet. “Will you idiots shut up for two seconds?!”

Everyone jumped.

She slapped both hands onto the table. “Every time somebody makes a stupid vow, something weird happens!”

Ryoga frowned. “Weird how?”

“The rune glowed! The paper people moved, shadows were crawling along the walls, the lamp started flickering outside… and just now the penalty cards lifted! Then one of the little doors in the house opened all by itself!”

Kasumi pressed a hand to her cheek. “Oh, dear. I really have been meaning to get that lamp looked at.”

Nabiki spread her hands triumphantly. “There you go. Mystery solved.”

Akane shook her head. “That doesn’t explain all the rest of it!”

“Static electricity. A draft. An old house. Your imagination. Pick one.” Nabiki shrugged. “Either way, there are plenty of perfectly reasonable explanations. Relax, Akane.”

That was easy for her to say.

“So, what?” Ranma teased. “You think the shadows are out to get you or something?”

Akane’s eye twitched. Before she could stop herself, she snatched a loose cardboard chimney off the house and whipped it at his head.

Ranma caught it without looking.

“Missed me,” he said, sticking out his tongue.

The smug grin vanished two seconds later when Ryoga planted a fist squarely in his face.

“Don’t worry, Akane,” Ryoga said as Ranma rubbed his nose with an offended scowl. “I won’t let the shadows mess with you.”

Despite everything, she let out a weak laugh. “Thanks, Ryoga.”

But her smile faded as her gaze settled back on the paper house. Somehow, it didn’t look nearly as harmless as it had under the light.

“There is something else,” she admitted at last. Uneasy, Akane rested a hand on the penalty deck, where the Shadow Prince card lay hidden among them.

“The Shadow Prince…” She hesitated. “I’ve seen him before.”

Every eye at the table turned toward her.

Ranma frowned immediately. “What?”

“In a dream,” Akane clarified quickly. “Last night. Before I even opened the game.”

Nabiki raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Ukyo tilted her head. “You dreamed about him?”

“Not like that!” Akane snapped, heat rushing into her face.

Kasumi looked concerned. “Akane… are you sure?”

“I know how it sounds,” she said defensively. “But when I found that card earlier, I recognized him. It’s the same boy.”

Several pairs of eyes settled on her, and all at once the attention felt suffocating. Once again, Akane began to doubt herself. Maybe she had seen his face somewhere before, and now she just sounded crazy.

Nabiki folded her arms. “So let me get this straight. You had a weird dream, noticed a flickering lamp, and now you think the board game is haunted?”

Akane opened her mouth… and closed it again.

Hearing it out loud, it did sound ridiculous.

“Oh, come on,” Ranma said. “You’re really freaking yourself out over this?”

Akane bristled. “I am not freaking out!”

“Prove it,” the Amazon huffed. Of everyone in the room, Shampoo always knew the quickest way to get under her skin.

Akane looked around the table. Every eye was on her now, waiting for her to admit she’d been overreacting. She wanted to keep arguing, but it wasn’t fair to ruin everyone’s evening because she had started to have second thoughts.

Maybe she really was letting one strange dream get to her. Besides, what was the worst that could happen?

“Fine,” she muttered at last. “I agree too.”

At the center of the table, the paper mansion suddenly glowed from within.

Every tiny window lit up.

The foyer. The parlor. The upstairs bedrooms. One by one, warm golden light bloomed behind the paper windows until the entire little house looked lived in.

No one spoke.

“…How?” Ukyo asked at last.

Ryoga leaned over the table, squinting at the mansion. “There aren’t any lights in there.”

Nabiki frowned, then carefully lifted one side of the house to peer underneath. “Reflective foil, maybe? Or glow-in-the-dark paint? It could’ve been charging under the lights.”

Now, even Ranma looked unconvinced. “Since when does glow-in-the-dark paint turn itself on?”

Nabiki didn’t answer. After a long moment, she carefully set the mansion back down on the board.

“…Neat trick,” she said, though she sounded far less certain than before.

“Would anyone like some water?” Kasumi asked, looking around at their guests, hoping to lighten the atmosphere.

“Maybe after the first round,” Nabiki replied, forcing a smile. “At least now we can finally start. Highest roll goes first.”

Without waiting for anyone to respond, Nabiki snatched up the die and gave it a quick toss. The familiar clatter as it bounced across the table seemed to break the spell hanging over the room.

One by one, the others followed until finally, it was Akane’s turn.

She picked up the die and gave it a half-hearted roll. She wasn’t surprised in the least when she was the only one to land on an eight.

“Great,” she muttered. She’d been hoping to ease herself into the game, not lead the charge.

“Akane, you’re up first,” Nabiki announced. “Then we continue clockwise.”

Akane picked up the die and turned it between her fingers.

The first nightmare was four spaces away. If she remembered correctly, it was Shampoo’s.

Well. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it right. And hopefully crush Ranma and the others while she was at it.

“Here goes.”

The eight-sided die bounced across the tabletop and settled on five.

Relief loosened slightly in her chest. She had avoided one nightmare… only six more to go.

“Good roll, Akane,” Kasumi said warmly.

“Thanks.”

Akane picked up her little paper figure and moved it from the foyer to the square outside the parlor.

Ryoga rolled next. Then Kasumi. Then Ukyo.

Every one of them managed to avoid landing on a four.

Then it was Ranma’s turn.

“Alright,” he declared, cracking his knuckles. “Stand back and witness greatness.”

He flicked the die across the table. It bounced once, then twice, before settling neatly on four.

Akane burst out laughing.

Ranma stared at the result like it had personally betrayed him.

“Tough luck, Saotome,” Ryoga replied smugly.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Okay,” Akane said, handing him back the die. “Now you need to roll a one or an eight.”

“And if you don’t,” Ukyo supplied cheerfully, “you draw a penalty card and the real fun begins!”

“Fun for who,” he muttered.

He rolled. The die landed on three.

Shampoo and Ukyo cheered.

Ranma dropped his forehead into his hand. “I hate this game.”

Nabiki’s hand shot out before he could even reach for the penalty card.“You know,” she said smoothly, “I could offer professional assistance. For the right fee, of course.”

He brushed her hand aside.

“Yeah, right. You’re not getting five yen outta me.”

Unable to help herself, Akane smiled far too innocently. “Is this what you meant when you said we’d ‘witness greatness’?”

Ranma shot her a look, then leaned across the table, his blue eyes bright with challenge. “Who says you’re not?” he replied just as sweetly. “You know the comeback’s where I shine.”

The smug confidence in his voice sent an unwelcome warmth creeping into her cheeks.

Idiot.

Still grinning, Ranma drew a card from the deck and flipped it over.

“You and your friends are playing a game when you hear footsteps coming from upstairs,” he read aloud. “Once you hear them, draw another card.”

He lowered the card. “Huh. That’s weird.”

Akane frowned. She didn’t remember seeing a card like that in the deck.

Around the table, everyone exchanged mildly puzzled looks.

“Well,” Nabiki said at last, “considering nobody’s upstairs, I’d call that a free pass. You might as well—”

THUD!

A sound came from directly above them.

Everyone froze as a set of heavy footsteps crossed the second-floor landing. Slow and measured. Back and forth.

“…Alright,” Ukyo said at last, hand settling onto the handle of her spatula. “Please tell me somebody’s pulling a prank.”

“Probably just the old freak getting home early,” Ranma muttered.

But even he sounded distracted.

The footsteps continued overhead, back and forth.

Akane’s skin prickled in warning. “Ranma—”

He reached for another card anyway, as if refusing to acknowledge what everyone else was hearing.

“You don’t realize it yet,” he read loudly, “but you’re all trapped in this house. After failing to escape, draw another card.”

Silence settled over the room.

Then Ranma snorted. “Okay, that one’s not so bad.”

The shoji doors stood open before them, the garden just beyond.

“Couple steps and my turn’s over,” he declared, pushing himself to his feet.

Akane’s stomach tightened as an inexplicable heaviness settled over the room. Something felt… off. She glanced around the table, wondering if anyone else felt it too.

Before she could voice it, Ryoga sprang up. “Quit hogging all the fun, Ranma,” he grumbled. “Leave something for the rest of us.”

“Hey—!”

Too late, Ryoga had already beaten him to the doorway.

The instant he crossed the threshold—

THOOM!

He slammed face-first into absolutely nothing.

The impact cracked through the room, and Ryoga dropped hard onto the engawa, clutching his nose.

Akane recoiled. “Ryoga!”

Nabiki let out a sharp curse beside her. “No way.”

“What the hell?!” Ranma barked, fully on his feet now.

Ryoga groaned and sat up slowly. “I—I guess…” He pressed a hand to his nose. “We’re not getting out this way.”

Nabiki wordlessly shook her head, then scrambled toward the doorway. With a trembling hand, she reached out.

Her palm stopped inches from open air, pressed flat against something invisible. She pressed harder against it, but the invisible barrier held firm.

Nabiki’s expression drained of color. “We’re trapped…”

“This side blocked too,” Shampoo announced sharply from the hall entrance. She stood with both hands braced against empty space.

Another barrier.

The room fell deathly quiet. Everyone was on their feet now, eyes darting between the doors, the hall, the darkened corners of the tatami room—as though danger might lunge at them from any direction.

Akane’s mouth had gone dry.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

Nabiki recovered first. Or at least, she pretended to…

“I’ll draw this time,” she said, reaching for the deck. “Maybe the cards only react to Ranma.”

“Nabiki, don’t—!”

Again, she was too late.

Nabiki had already flipped one over.

“Somewhere,” she read, her voice noticeably thinner now, “an unseen clock strikes twelve… setting the real game in motion.”

“But we don’t own a grandfather clock,” Kasumi said.

“That didn’t matter with the footsteps,” Ukyo pointed out grimly.

Akane closed her eyes for one brief, desperate second.

Maybe this was it.

The reveal.

Their fathers would leap out from hiding, dangling some stupid Chinese talisman responsible for the barrier. They’d admit this whole thing was an elaborate, juvenile prank, confess to leaving the game on her bed…

Then she and Ranma could beat them senseless together.

Please. Let it be something stupid like that.

A bell tolled somewhere deep within the house.

BONG.

A clock began striking midnight.

No one at the table said a word.

By the third chime, cold wind had slipped into the room, as though winter itself had crossed the threshold. It lifted the cards first, then their nightmares, then sent the scattered paper dolls skittering wildly across the tatami.

Four. Five. Six.

With every tolling chime, the wind grew stronger.

Kasumi grabbed at her skirt. “I don’t think I want to play anymore.”

“Join the club, sugar,” Ukyo muttered, spatula raised.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

Akane suddenly found herself spun around by both shoulders.

Ranma.

His hands were tight, and his expression had changed—gone was the easy smugness, the teasing looks. His eyes were sharp and serious.

“I need you to tell me where you got this game.”

The wind shoved hard against them. Akane grabbed his forearms just to stay upright.

“I—I don’t know!” Blinding fear was building inside her now—cold and relentless. “Last night… it was just there.”

“Where?”

“On my bed!”

What little light remained sputtered and died, then complete darkness crashed down over the room as the tolling chimes continued.

Ten. Eleven.

The final toll shook through the house.

Twelve.

The wind exploded outward.

The table flipped. Cards and paper nightmares tore through the darkness, and something struck Akane hard enough to send her crashing to the floor.

Ranma caught her.

They hit the floor together, hard, his arms wrapped around her shoulders to shield her from the worst of it. The wind screamed around them, cold enough to burn, but Ranma only tightened his hold, hauling her closer against him like sheer stubbornness could anchor them to the room.

“Akane!”

“Ranma!”

His hand found hers in the chaos and locked tight.

Too tight.

Painfully tight.

But he never let go.

For one wild heartbeat, that grip was the only solid thing left in a world coming apart.

Then, through the screaming wind, the impossible cold, and the blind animal panic clawing through her chest, the memory of the blue-eyed boy from her dream returned with terrible clarity.

See you soon, Akane.

Not a dream. Not a warning.

A promise.

Cold dread dropped through her stomach as shadows flooded the room. They rode the screaming wind—writhing and groaning and calling out to her, like in her dream.

And still Ranma held on.

His arm tightened around her. His fingers dug into hers with desperate, protective force, as though he could physically keep the darkness away by refusing to let her go.

But it was impossible.

The darkness claimed them both.

END OF CHAPTER 2