The trio passed through the Gate of Echoes.
On the other side, they emerged into what looked like an abandoned theater—collapsed balconies, shattered chandeliers, and a stage lit by a single spotlight. Rows of wooden seats stretched into infinite blackness.
A message blinked to life above them:
GAME: MARIONETTE SYMMETRY
PLAYERS: 4 (CALIBRATING)
RULES:
Find the real among the mirrored. Mismatched behavior triggers punishment. Trust no reflection.
REWARD: Truth fragment and access to next level.
Sora stepped forward.
"There's only three of us," she said flatly.
That's when the copy entered.
Same face as Rin.
Same walk.
Same memories.
But none of the hesitation. None of the pain.
It smiled.
"Ready to play?" it asked sweetly.
CALIBRATION COMPLETE. BEGIN ROUND ONE.
Without warning, four curtains dropped onto the stage—one for each player. They were pulled behind individual partitions.
Each player was alone.
A voice—calm, sterile—whispered in Matthew's ear:
"Watch the performance. Identify the liar. Get it wrong, and someone bleeds."
Round One: The Dance
All four curtains rose.
Behind each: a version of Rin performing a synchronized dance.
Sora and Matthew stood silent, forced to observe.
Only one moved a beat too early.
Only one was the copy.
They had ten seconds to decide.
Sora narrowed her eyes. "Stage right. Her pivot was too clean."
Matthew hesitated. "Left center. Her posture felt… wrong."
Rin stepped forward.
"Let me choose," she said.
They agreed.
Rin pointed to the one at far right.
"Not me."
RESULT: CORRECT
The copy grinned.
And snapped her own neck—then stood up again, bones rewinding, eyes darker.
"Good," she purred. "Let's go deeper."
Round Two: The Accusation
This time, the lights flickered and re-lit.
The Rins stood in a circle—each accusing one of the others of being fake.
Each had a different argument.
Each drew on a real memory.
"You said you forgave me," one hissed at Matthew.
"You never forgave yourself," another told Sora.
"You hesitate," one snarled at the real Rin. "I don't."
Ten seconds again.
Rin was silent this time.
Matthew pointed to the accuser that referenced a moment none of them had ever spoken aloud.
"Back-left. She's too intimate."
RESULT: INCORRECT
The room shuddered.
Matthew screamed—blood dripping from his eyes. A memory forcibly torn from him.
PENALTY: COGNITIVE STRIP – 1 MINUTE LOST
Sora held him up.
"We're running out of margin."
The system buzzed.
FINAL ROUND
RULE: Only the copy may speak. Choose whether to believe her.
Failure ends the game permanently.
The curtains fell.
When they rose again, the copy Rin stood alone.
The real Rin was nowhere in sight.
And the copy spoke in a voice so calm it nearly passed as human:
"I am the only version that ever wanted to live."
"The others? They hesitate. They doubt. They second-guess. That makes me more real."
"Pick me. Or lose everything."
Ten seconds.
Matthew's hand hovered.
Sora closed her eyes.
"She's right," Sora whispered. "But only about herself."
Then she turned to the empty stage—and shouted:
"We reject the choice."
"None of these are real."
Silence.
Then:
RESULT: RULES BROKEN. SOLUTION: ACCEPTED.
The copy flickered.
Screamed once—and imploded in a burst of glass and echo.
The curtains turned to ash.
And the theater began to collapse.
But in the rubble, something glittered.
A shard of truth.
Labeled: "THE FIRST PLAYER NEVER DIED."