I woke up suddenly. Short of breath, my heart pounding as if it had been running in my place.
I jerked upright, finding myself seated on a futon laid out on tatami mats.
This wasn't my room.
I fumbled for the switch of a lamp beside me, an old andon with rice paper panels, and turned it on. The warm light revealed a room in unmistakably traditional style: dark wooden walls, shoji screens, a small tokonoma alcove with a hanging scroll and an ikebana vase. Everything was orderly, perfectly still... yet unsettling, as if no human touch had disturbed it for years.
I stood slowly, my bare feet sinking slightly into the tatami. I slid open the door and found myself facing a long wooden hallway. Silent. Motionless.
Ten doors lined it, nine identical, the tenth slightly different... marked with a small engraved symbol: the bathroom.
Each door had a golden nameplate. I approached the one I'd just stepped through.
My name was written on it:
«田中 愛子 - Aiko Tanaka»
Nausea rolled through me.
Two doors slid open almost simultaneously. A guy and a girl stepped out, equally disoriented. The guy had messy hair, glasses, sharp-eyed but confused. The girl was more composed, but her gaze darted around, searching for anchors.
We stared at each other.
«...The hell's going on?» the guy said first, scratching his head. «Where are we?»
«I dont know...by the way I'm Tanaka Aiko,» I replied, my voice frayed.
«Oh, Hi Tanaka, I'm Aoki Kenta,» he said, then turned to the girl. «You?»
«Hi guys, I'm Inoue Sakura,» she answered cautiously.
«Well...anyone remember how we got here?» I asked.
They both shook their heads.
«Uhmm.. the last thing I remember... my bed. I was home, texting my boyfriend.» Sakura spoke slowly, weighing each word.
«I was on my bike,» Kenta said, brow furrowed. «Then... blackout.»
«Me too... I don't remember anything. I was walking down the street,» I muttered, lowering my gaze. «It's like... someone drugged us. My head's spinning.»
We all returned to the hallway. It was strange... what was happening?
«See?! I told You! They've locked us in here!» Takeshi shouted.
A sudden noise made us jump: heavy, angry footsteps on the stairs, stumbling upward. Then a tall guy appeared at the top.
«The fuck are you all standing around for?» he yelled. «Can't you see we're locked in here? I tried the front door and that shit's fake! And the windows too! This whole house is a goddamn prison!»
Kenta stiffened. «Hey, wait. Who the hell are you?»
«Nakamura. Takeshi Nakamura,» he snapped, jaw clenched. His hands trembled, but he hid it poorly.
We all went to check our windows, and it was true! That guy was right... they were fake, bricked up.
A tense silence followed. Then Kenta spoke: «What if this is like... a social experiment?»
«An experiment?» Sakura frowned.
«Yeah. One of those fucked-up shows where they lock you in a place, watch you, and see how you react. Maybe we're being filmed.»
Sakura gave a nervous half-smile. «Like some twisted reality TV?»
«Maybe it's all fake. Some psychological test, like Stanford, or worse...» I added softly.
Takeshi scoffed. «Oh, give me a break. That's bullshit. Nobody asked for our consent, and I was in my damn room HELLO?! I'LL SUE YOUR ASSES! This is kidnapping.»
«Chill, man. You checked all the exits?» Kenta asked, trying to sound calmer than he was.
«The front door's a fake wall. Windows too. Fake. No handles. No locks. We're bricked inside this fucking house.»
We exchanged loaded glances. Then we checked our own room windows. It was true. Takeshi was right. The windows were fake.
«Okay,» I said. «But... maybe there's a game rule. Maybe they'll tell us what to do soon.»
«Right,» Kenta agreed. «As long as no one gets hurt, it's just a room. A house. We could be watched. Recorded. They want reactions.»
«Yeah... there's gotta be a rational explanation,» Sakura murmured, more to herself than us.
«You're insane,» Takeshi spat. «I'm breaking shit if I don't find a way out by tonight.»
I didn't reply. Part of me wanted to believe it—that this was just a cruel prank, a TV show, an experiment. Something with a script.
Something with an end.
But another part... a whisper coiled behind my heart, insisting something was wrong. Deeper. Darker.
Something they weren't telling us.
Takeshi kept ranting, eyes wild, fists clenched at his sides. Every few seconds, he'd whirl toward the walls or ceiling and shout:
«You're bastards! Watching us, aren't you?! Think this is funny?! Huh?!»
We let him vent. I stood frozen, half-afraid he'd snap and do something stupid. Kenta watched from a distance, silent and cold-eyed.
Then we heard footsteps ascending from the lower floor. A figure materialized at the edge of our vision—a guy.
Blond. A face straight out of a movie, with a disturbingly calm smile.
He stopped right in front of us like we'd known him forever.
«Hey guys! I'm Yamamoto Haruto,» he introduced himself, voice smooth. «Woke up first. Took a look around... the kitchen's stocked. So I figured, why not make breakfast for everyone?»
He said it like it was nothing, like we were guests at some wellness retreat instead of trapped in a windowless house.
Takeshi whirled on him.
«You're seriously thinking about food? What's wrong with you?!»
Haruto smiled, unshaken. «Hey, not my fault. I think better on a full stomach.»
«I'm starving too,» Sakura cut in, hand on her belly. «Haven't eaten since yesterday...»
«Unbelievable,» Takeshi snarled. «You've all lost it...worrying about food when we're probably lab rats!»
A door slammed.
A girl with short hair and glass-clear eyes stepped into the hallway. She stopped a few feet away, gaze bored, almost apathetic. She looked Takeshi up and down, then spoke.
«I've been listening to you yell. Shut the fuck up.»
Silence dropped like a curtain.
Takeshi stepped toward her, face red. «The hell? Who the fuck do you think you are—»
She didn't answer. Just turned to her door, raised a hand, and pointed at the nameplate.
"Yuki Fujimoto"
That single gesture said everything.
Almost like a signal, the last three doors slid open simultaneously.
From the first emerged a tall guy with messy black hair. He widened his eyes and looked at all of us.
From the second, a girl with wild red hair. She stretched and sighed. «Morning to you too.»
From the third, a delicate figure—a girl with long black hair and a doll-like face. Her voice was soft.
«What's happening here?» the redhead asked.
Kenta spoke for us. «We don't know yet. But it might be an experiment... or something. No windows, no exits. Just these rooms.»
Haruto stepped forward, the only one who seemed unbothered.
«Okay, super interesting. But I'm hungry. Breakfast?»
No one answered at first.
We all went downstairs together. The steps creaked underfoot, but the lower floor's warmth felt almost surreal after the tension upstairs.
The ground floor had a large traditional living room—dark wood walls, tatami mats, an old pendulum clock with the wrong time. Next to it was a dining area with a long lacquered table and neatly arranged floor cushions. The open kitchen looked modern but out of place, like an afterthought. No windows, just warm ceiling lamps casting an unreal glow.
Breakfast was already laid out. Haruto *had* prepared it for all of us.
Cups arranged carefully, a steaming teapot beside a poured coffee carafe, plates of cookies, pastries, and toast. Nothing elaborate, but enough to feel welcoming. As if someone had planned this moment.
Yuki sat last, arms crossed, shooting Haruto a sidelong glare.
«Wow. You really set the table for everyone. How'd you know how many of us there were?»
Haruto sipped his tea, unfazed.
«Counted the doors. Set a place for each.»
A brief, almost respectful silence fell. Then, one by one, we sat. No one spoke at first. This was the first time we were all together, and the food felt like the only real thing in the room.
We ate quietly. Sips, crumbs, sideways glances. For a moment, it almost felt... normal.
Kenta broke the quiet. He set down his cup, folded his hands, and looked around.
«Since we're stuck here, might as well get to know each other. I'll start.»
He cleared his throat.
«Aoki Kenta. Twenty-eight. Freelance software dev. I invent jobs so no one exploits me.»
A few smiles, some neutral stares.
Sakura went next.
«Inoue Sakura. Twenty-two. Graphic design student. Been drawing since I was a kid.»
Takeshi leaned in, cocky.
«Takeshi Nakamura. Twenty-five. Ex-military. Tactical training and security. If shit goes down, you know who to trust.»
Yuki rolled her eyes but didn't comment. Then it was her turn.
«Yuki Fujimoto. Twenty-seven. Lab technician. And I hate small talk.» She shot Takeshi a glare.
Haruto smiled, as always.
«Yamamoto Haruto. Twenty-four. Work at a café in Osaka. Dream's to open a bakery.»
«Saito Rin,» said the redhead, stretching. «Twenty-three. Acting student. Maybe you'll see me on TV someday.»
Mei spoke softly.
«Kobayashi Mei. Twenty. Work at a bookstore. Love reading.»
«Mori Daiki,» said the tall guy. «Twenty-six. Med student.»
Then, throat tight, it was my turn. Everyone looked at me like they expected something important.
«Tanaka Aiko,» I said. «Twenty-one. Psychology student. Or... I was.»
Silence lingered, as if our words had left marks on the table.
After breakfast, almost wordlessly, we cleaned up. A simple act, but for a moment, it made us feel alike. Not prisoners. Not strangers. Just... people.
Then, together, we moved to the living room.
We settled around a low wooden table, cushions arranged neatly on the tatami. The mats smelled clean, the dark wood and paper walls absorbing the tense silence.
We glanced at each other, unsure what to say. Finally, Kenta broke it.
«Well,» he said, stretching his arms behind his head, «since we're stuck here, might as well explore. Maybe we'll find something useful.»
Nods all around. We split into small groups.
Kenta, Takeshi, and Haruto headed left, finding a storage room packed with shelves of food—rice, miso, canned fish, water, snacks, even military rations. Nothing was missing.
Meanwhile, Mei and I checked the bathrooms. The first door on the right revealed a traditional Japanese bath—sink, toilet, and tub separated. I turned the faucet. After a few seconds, hot water flowed.
«There's hot water...» I muttered, more to myself.
Mei nodded, just as unsettled.
Despite the eerie comfort, every exterior window was bricked over, sealed with fake rice paper. The doors led nowhere—opening onto blank walls or simply locked.
No phones. No TV. No computers. No way to contact the outside. We were starting to realize it, slowly. We were completely cut off.
The rest of the day passed uselessly. In a closet near the living room, we found a box of old board games: shogi, cards, a Monopoly-like game, even a worn Jenga set. We played half-heartedly, more to distract ourselves than for fun.
We laughed a little, teased each other, and for a few hours, pretended things were normal.
Then night fell.
Mei, Rin, Haruto, and I volunteered to cook. Using ingredients from the pantry, we threw together a simple meal—rice bowls, miso soup, stir-fried veggies, eggs. We set the table together, chopsticks neatly arranged.
When it was ready, we sat side by side, silent at first, then slowly talking, sharing more about ourselves, if only to ease the tension.
After dinner, we cleaned up and returned to the living room, gathering around the low table again. No one knew the time, but we all felt the day ending.
And something else beginning.