The Conqueror's Game

Claude rode the elevator up to the second floor. The doors opened with a soft chime, revealing two administrators standing guard at the entrance to a grand space. The door before him was made of glass, giving Claude a clear view of what lay beyond. It resembled the lavish dining hall of a billionaire's mansion, adorned with intricate chandeliers, gilded columns, and walls lined with fine art. Every detail screamed luxury, a stark contrast to the chaos below.

"Show us your coins," one of the administrators said flatly.

Without a word, Claude revealed his collection of 55 coins. The administrators barely reacted, their stoic expressions unchanged.

"You may enter," they declared in unison after a cursory glance at his hoard.

Claude raised an eyebrow, surprised by their lack of surprise. He had 55 coins—a staggering amount compared to the blood-soaked battles for mere scraps happening on the first floor. Yet the administrators didn't seem to care. Another thing puzzled him: they didn't collect the coins. They only wanted to see them.

"So, I heard there's a prize for these coins? Money? Or maybe I can save someone's life? Where's your exchange center, bruh?" Claude asked, his tone half-joking but his face completely serious.

"Details will be provided to everyone once the game has concluded, or the five-hour mark is reached. For now, go inside and enjoy what you've earned," the administrator replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Ahh, is that right…" Claude muttered to himself, stepping inside. As he did, distant screams from the first floor echoed faintly, carried up through the building like ghostly whispers.

Down below, chaos had erupted. One of the remaining participants had entered the bathroom, only to stumble upon the blood-drenched remains of Kenneth's lower half.

"A DEAD BODY! THERE'S A DEAD BODY HERE! WHAT THE FUCK?!" the man's panicked screams reverberated through the hallway, drawing the attention of nearby participants. The scene—a floor slick with blood and a mangled corpse—sent waves of shock and fear rippling through the crowd.

Yet the administrators remained indifferent. The man stormed toward the nearest one, grabbing his shirt with both hands in desperation.

"What the fuck is this?! Someone DIED!" he shouted, his voice trembling with fury and terror.

The administrator moved with precision, disarming the man in one swift motion. A sharp kick to the leg sent him off balance, and a shove pushed him to the ground. The movements were clean, calculated, and professional, like those of a trained operative.

"No rules were broken. Continue the game as per usual," the administrator stated coldly.

"What… the fuck…?" the man stammered, his defiance faltering. "No rules were broken? SOMEONE DIED!"

But then his words trailed off as a chilling thought struck him. Though incorrect, the idea was enough to send a surge of panic through his veins.

"The executive must have killed Kenneth for running out of coins," he thought. His hand instinctively darted to his pocket, where he found only a single coin. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the horrifying realization sank in. He was almost out of time, and he feared that Kenneth's grisly fate would soon be his own.

Back on the second floor, Claude wandered through the opulent hall, scanning the faces of the other participants. He was searching for Don but found no trace of him. As he continued his search, his gaze landed on a familiar figure.

It was her—the beautiful woman with golden hair and piercing yellow eyes. She wore a tailored formal outfit that exuded confidence and authority.

"Well… shit," Claude thought, feeling a wave of awkwardness wash over him. He wasn't afraid, but there was an unease, a discomfort similar to an introvert spotting a familiar face at an inconvenient time.

As if sensing his gaze, the woman turned her head, her golden eyes locking directly onto his. Claude froze as a chill ran down his spine. He immediately turned away and began walking in the opposite direction, his pace quickening.

"Obviously, she made it too, huh?" Claude muttered under his breath. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice that sent shivers down his spine.

"What's the hurry?" she whispered into his ear, her tone laced with a seductive edge.

Claude's breath caught, and his heart skipped a beat, but he didn't jump or show overt surprise. Instead, he turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he processed the impossible. She had been kilometers away just seconds ago, and now she was right behind him, close enough for him to feel her breath on his neck.

"Is this your idea, Elaine?" Claude asked, his voice calm as he turned back slowly to face her. Her name, apparently, was Elaine.

"Of course not. This is nonsense," Elaine replied, her voice carrying a captivating blend of softness and authority. It was gentle and childlike, yet enigmatic and unsettling, a tone that seemed to linger in the air long after she spoke.

"What happened to the kids you were playing with?" Elaine continued, tilting her head slightly, her golden eyes narrowing with curiosity.

"One of them made it. The other is…" Claude's words trailed off, his sentence left unfinished as Elaine quickly interjected.

"Anyway, they have really nice food here. Let's sit at one of the tables. They will serve us," Elaine said with an air of nonchalance, turning gracefully toward a nearby dining table. Claude hesitated briefly but followed her reluctantly.

They settled at the table, the pristine white cloth and gleaming silverware adding to the atmosphere of luxury. A waiter approached almost immediately, standing attentively as they took their seats.

"You may order anything you wish," the waiter said, bowing slightly.

"Wagyu beef with foie gras and black truffles, paired with a Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Romanée-Conti Grand Cru," Elaine ordered smoothly, her words flowing like a practiced melody.

Claude blinked. He had no idea what she had just said. The dish sounded more like a riddle than a meal.

"Understood. And for you, sir?" the waiter asked, turning to Claude with a polite smile.

"Just give me… a plate of rice with truffle fries on the side… and grape juice," Claude replied, his tone nonchalant.

The waiter nodded without comment. "Understood," she said, before walking off.

Elaine's lips curved into a small, amused smile. "How very simplistic… and weird at the same time," she said, her soft and seductive voice dripping with playful mockery. "Rice… and fries?" She let out a light laugh, the sound musical but somehow unsettling.

"Well, I don't even know what you ordered," Claude replied flatly, his expression unchanged.

Elaine's laughter grew more genuine, a childlike giggle that seemed at odds with her otherwise mature demeanor. She leaned forward slightly, her golden eyes locking onto Claude's with an intensity that was both alluring and disarming. Her smile was seductive, but she said nothing, letting the silence stretch between them.

On the surface, Claude appeared calm and indifferent, but internally, he was grappling with the chaos of his own thoughts.

"This witch…" Claude thought, his mind racing. He knew exactly what Elaine was doing. Every movement, every look, every word was carefully calculated to toy with his emotions. But Claude also knew it wasn't entirely intentional. For Elaine, this was second nature, a behavior ingrained so deeply that it had become an unthinking habit. She didn't just manipulate—she embodied it. And while Claude prided himself on his composure, he couldn't deny the subtle effect she had on him. His heart skipped a beat, even as he silently cursed her for it.

"So, what's your plan for the games?" Elaine asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Claude glanced at her as the waiter returned, placing their dishes on the table with impeccable precision. "I'll just continue to play," he said simply.

"I see," Elaine replied, her tone light but thoughtful. "Guess I would too…" she added, almost as if her decision hinged on his.

The two began eating their meals in relative silence. Elaine's luxurious dish was served with meticulous presentation, while Claude's rice and fries looked almost comically plain by comparison. Yet neither seemed bothered by the contrast. As they dined, the mood between them remained strangely serene, though tension simmered beneath the surface.

Meanwhile, on the first floor, the timer continued to tick down. Only 30 minutes remained, and the hallways were filled with restless participants. Many had long since run out of coins, just like Clara. They wandered aimlessly, anxiety etched into their faces, unable to understand why they had not yet been killed. Those with a single coin clung to it desperately, too afraid to risk their last chance at survival. The atmosphere was heavy with dread and uncertainty.

A stalemate had taken hold. No one dared to play. Those with no coins could only wait for what seemed like an inevitable end, while those with one coin hesitated, paralyzed by the fear of losing everything.

But then, one man took action.

It was the same man who had discovered Kenneth's mangled body in the bathroom. His mind, overwhelmed by fear and desperation, was consumed by a single, overpowering desire: to survive at any cost.

"If I can't play… then… I'll kill the fuckers with coins…"

The man mumbled the sentence repeatedly, his eyes wild and unhinged. His first victims were already approaching, oblivious to the storm brewing in his mind. A woman and a man, both in their 30s, walked toward him cautiously. Desperation was evident in their movements. They needed a third player to begin a game, and their hopes rested on the disheveled man before them.

"Do you have a coin? If you do, we can play a game…" the woman asked, her voice trembling as she nervously extended her last remaining coin for him to see.

Her words acted as the trigger. Without hesitation, the man launched his fist forward, striking her with every ounce of strength he could muster. His intent was clear: to kill her. The force of the blow sent her sprawling to the ground, blood trickling from her nose.

The man accompanying her froze in shock, his face pale with fear. He didn't attempt to intervene. Instead, he turned and ran, his cowardice overpowering any notion of helping the woman.

The surrounding participants were equally stunned, their eyes locked on the horrific scene. But no one stepped forward to stop the assault. The man continued his attack, raining punches on the woman's face with relentless fury. Her screams faded quickly, her life extinguished as her face became unrecognizable. Five minutes passed before he finally stopped, his knuckles dripping with blood, his victim motionless on the floor.

With a deranged laugh, he bent down and pried the coin from her lifeless hand. As he stood, his maniacal laughter filled the hallway. It was then that one of the administrators broke the silence.

"No rules were broken," the administrator declared, his voice echoing through the hall.

The words sent a chilling realization through the crowd. Eyes darted around the hallway, suspicion and malice growing with every glance. Violence had just been sanctioned, and fear turned to hostility.

As the man's laughter subsided, he raised his bloodied hands and looked at the others with a twisted grin.

"Who else… has a coin?!" he shouted, his voice brimming with menace.

Before anyone could respond, a chair came crashing down on the back of his head. The impact sent him to the ground, blood pooling beneath him. Behind him stood another participant, wielding the chair like a weapon.

"That coin… is MINE!" the attacker snarled.

The hall erupted into chaos. Some participants fled, desperate to avoid the violence, while others threw themselves into the fray, their survival instincts driving them to fight. Blood splattered the walls, and the once orderly hallway descended into a battlefield.

As the violence raged on, the timer hit zero. A mechanical voice rang out, cutting through the chaos.

"Ding Ding Ding Dong. The timer has reached five hours. All game activities are suspended. Game 1, Conquering Poker, has ended."

The announcement brought an eerie stillness. Administrators stepped in, asserting control. In one room, Clara sat motionless, her body slumped in the chair she hadn't left for hours. Her mind had shut down, retreating into a world of nothingness. She hadn't heard the screams, hadn't registered the violence outside. It was ironic—her mental withdrawal had kept her alive.

An administrator entered the room, yanking Clara to her feet with a sharp pull. "Stand the fuck up and move," he barked, shoving her forward with a gun aimed at her back.

"Huh… what the fuck…?" Clara muttered weakly, her voice devoid of emotion. She stumbled forward, her body moving on instinct as the administrator guided her out into the hallway. She wasn't alone. A few others who had hidden in playrooms were also being escorted out. They had survived the violence, but none of them had enough coins to advance. Their faces mirrored Clara's blank expression, a mix of despair and resignation.

The administrators herded the survivors toward the center of the first-floor hallway.

Meanwhile, on the second floor, Claude and Elaine's meal was interrupted by the announcement.

"Hmm," Elaine mused, her tone rising with curiosity. "Let's see the results."

She stood abruptly, walking briskly toward the designated gathering point without waiting for Claude. The center of the second floor was marked by a large see-through window and a distinct red box painted on the floor.

Claude watched her leave, hesitating for a moment before heading toward the same location. However, he chose a different path, deliberately avoiding walking alongside her.

The gathering process was slow. The hallways on both floors stretched endlessly, and it took time for the participants to converge. But surprisingly, within half an hour, everyone had assembled. The length of the halls had been mitigated by the fact that no one had ventured all the way to the farthest corners, allowing the gathering to proceed faster than expected.

The air was thick with tension as the participants waited, their battered bodies and broken spirits a testament to the brutal first game.

A thought crossed Claude's mind as he walked toward the center of the second floor.

"Where the hell… is the kitchen, by the way?" It was a nonsensical thought to be having at that moment, but he couldn't help himself. He remembered the waiter serving his food earlier, approaching from the right side. Claude's path now led him from right to left.

"So if the kitchen was on the right, then if someone orders from the far left corner, doesn't that mean… the waiter… is about to break a leg?" He smirked faintly at the absurdity of his musings, but his train of thought was interrupted by a familiar voice.

The executive appeared behind the glass window on the second floor, his presence commanding instant attention.

"Greetings, participants," he began, his voice resonating effortlessly through the air. Despite the thick, soundproof glass that separated the two floors, everyone—from the winners on the second floor to the losers below—could hear him as if he stood right beside them.

The participants on the first floor looked up at the winners, their faces a mix of envy and despair. Meanwhile, the winners peered down at the carnage below. The setup was deliberate, designed to foster arrogance and guilty pleasure among those who had ascended.

"What the hell happened down there?" one of the winners on the second floor exclaimed, their voice trembling with shock. The scene below was chaotic and gruesome. The center of the first floor was crowded with the surviving losers, gathered in a circle under the watchful eyes of the administrators. Surrounding them, however, was a horrifying sight: pools of blood, scattered coins, and lifeless bodies strewn about.

While many winners had been oblivious to the violence of the last hour, it didn't take much to piece together what had transpired. Coins had become the catalyst for murder.

"As expected, huh…" Claude muttered, his voice tinged with disappointment.

The executive's voice rang out again, drawing everyone's attention.

"Winners on the second floor!" he announced. "I congratulate you for making it up here. Those with more than three coins, you now have choices to make! You may leave by going to the black door behind you and depositing all your coins into the machine. For every additional coin deposited, your net worth will increase by one million USD! Yes, a single coin is worth an entire million dollars!"

Cheers erupted from a few of the participants who held more than three coins. The prospect of wealth overshadowed any lingering thoughts of the bloodshed below. Their eyes gleamed with excitement, their minds fixated on their newfound fortune.

"What about me, bro? I only have three coins! Can I leave with some consolation prize? It wasn't easy to get three coins of different colors, you know!" a young boy's voice rang out, filled with desperation.

"Yeah, can we?"

"YEAH! WHAT ABOUT IT, EXECUTIVE?"

The crowd grew restless, their voices rising in a cacophony of demands. Most of them had just three coins, and the grisly scene on the first floor had left them eager to escape. But their hopes were met with a cruel reality.

"Those with three coins will not be allowed to leave… unless you can pay us one million USD!" the executive replied, his tone cold and dripping with mockery.

"What… what the fuck??"

The crowd's reaction was unanimous. Anger, disbelief, and panic rippled through the winners as they realized their predicament.

Claude remained silent, his expression unreadable as he processed the information.

"A million USD, huh…" he thought. "Is that the criteria to qualify as a participant? Do they kidnap broke people so they're forced to play? They can't leave because they're broke? No… that can't be right…"

His mind wandered to Elaine. "Then why did Elaine and I get kidnapped here?" he wondered, searching for a common thread among the participants. Was there a shared factor? Or was it all random? The questions gnawed at him, but deep down, he knew the answers might not matter in the grand scheme of things.

The crowd's roaring protests were abruptly silenced as the Executive's arm transformed into a sharp, diamond-like structure. The crystalline appendage gleamed ominously under the harsh lights, exuding an air of lethal precision.

"Would you like to test my patience and kindness further?" the Executive declared, his voice cold and brimming with menace. The icy tone sent shivers down the spines of everyone present. Almost instantly, silence enveloped the room, the atmosphere thick with tension.

Satisfied with the quiet, the Executive continued as though nothing had happened.

"Now, allow me to continue," he said smoothly, his tone returning to its usual calculated charisma. "Massive winners of the second floor, I speak to the few who have truly conquered the game. You, who hold many coins at your disposal. If you so wish, you may save any loser on the first floor! The condition to save them is simple: three coins of different colors—the same requirement you met to qualify as a winner. In return, the house will ensure that the loser you save will become your slave while in this area. Whatever you wish, we will enforce it. If you desire obedience, we will ensure they follow your every command.

"This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience the pleasure of owning a slave!" the Executive declared, his words dripping with mockery as though he took amusement in their moral degradation.

The announcement shocked the crowd, though not in the way the Executive might have hoped. Most participants didn't have enough coins to save anyone, and even those who did found little appeal in the offer.

"Hey, you could just grab one of the girls down there. The young one…" someone muttered to his companion.

"You crazy, bro? Three million for an ugly bitch? Fuck that. They said 'slave in this area only.' I'm getting the fuck outta here. There are tons of poor bitches out there who'd be your slave for way less money."

The sentiment was unanimous. No one saw value in spending three million USD for a temporary slave.

"Well then… first-floor losers… it seems your fate is sealed," the Executive announced, his voice dripping with sarcasm and cruelty. The mockery in his tone made the statement sting all the more for the desperate participants below.

But the losers on the first floor had no illusions. They hadn't expected salvation. Who would spend three million USD to save them? It was absurd.

"Participant 380, Clara Reed," Claude's voice rang out as he stepped forward toward the Executive. He held out his coins, ready for the exchange.

A ripple of surprise passed through the crowd.

"Oh… OH?!" The Executive's face lit up with a mix of genuine surprise and twisted delight. "Clara Reed. You are a lucky person. Administrators, bring Participant 380 to the second floor," he announced loudly, his voice echoing through the halls.

Clara, who had been sitting lifelessly among the losers, suddenly heard her name. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief. Through the window, she saw Claude standing before the Executive. It took a moment for the reality to sink in.

"I'm… I'm saved? I'm alive? Am I being saved?" she whispered, her voice trembling with hope. Her face, once etched with despair, lit up with a radiant, almost childlike joy. Relief coursed through her as she was escorted toward the second floor by the administrators.

As Clara walked toward salvation, the remaining losers erupted into a frenzy.

"Save me too! I'll be a useful slave!"

"I'll do anything you want! Please, pick me instead. I'll pleasure you better than that bitch!"

"Please, I'll do anything! I'll give you anything! Save me!!"

Their desperate pleas echoed through the first floor, rising in a chaotic cacophony. But the second floor remained eerily silent. The soundproofed glass and sealed doors ensured that Claude, Clara, and the others couldn't hear their cries. The brief moment when the door opened for Clara's entry allowed a faint echo of their screams to seep through, but it was fleeting.

As Clara entered, Claude tossed three coins onto the Executive's feet with casual precision. The coins clinked against the floor, a sound that seemed to punctuate the tension in the air.

Clara ran to Claude, throwing her arms around him in an emotional embrace.

"Thank you… thank you so much… I'm sorry I said all that to you," she sobbed. Her voice was soft but brimming with raw emotion. Happiness and sadness mingled within her, creating a bittersweet harmony. "I didn't think you would… I thought I was abandoned… betrayed… Claude… thank you…"

Her tears flowed freely as she clung to him. Overwhelmed by the surge of emotions, her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground. This time, the weight that drained her strength was not despair, but the sheer relief of being saved.

Claude caught her, grabbing her arm and draping it over his shoulder to support her. Without a word, he guided her to a nearby dining table and helped her into a chair. They sat in silence for a moment, Clara's sobs gradually subsiding as the reality of her salvation sank in.

"Would you like an administrator to follow you to ensure that she obeys you like the slave she is?" The Executive's voice cut through the air, stopping Claude and Clara in their tracks as they began to walk away.

Clara, still weak and emotionally drained, barely registered the question. She didn't have the energy to care. Her mind clung to the single fact that mattered: she was alive. Bad things might still happen, but at least it wasn't death. "What's the worst that can happen?" she thought to herself, trying to stave off the lingering anxiety and fear.

But then Claude's voice rang out, firm and resolute. "Unnecessary. She isn't a slave."

That simple statement—delivered without hesitation—became a lifeline for Clara. It pierced through the darkness that had consumed her mind and heart just hours ago. Emotionally, mentally, in every way that mattered, she felt free. The weight of despair that had shackled her soul vanished. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt whole.

As the two continued walking, another voice broke the silence.

"That young girl. Green hair, ponytail, school uniform," Elaine said softly, her tone as gentle and enigmatic as ever.

The Executive's announcement followed swiftly. "Move up, Participant 567! You too, have been granted a second life!"

On the first floor, the announcement caused an uproar. For the losers below, the sight of not one but two people being saved ignited a flicker of hope amid their despair. Desperation and depression turned into a fervent longing. Almost all of them believed that their survival on the first floor had earned them the right to live. Now, they waited, their eyes glued to the second-floor window, hopeful that their name might be called next.

Participant 567 was escorted up the same stairs Clara had taken earlier. The journey was a blur for her, her mind spinning with disbelief and relief. As soon as she entered the second floor, she was directed toward Elaine.

When their eyes met, the girl's emotions overwhelmed her. Tears streamed down her face as she rushed forward, throwing her arms around Elaine in an unrestrained hug.

"Thank you… Thank you…" she repeated over and over, her voice choked with sobs. Her body trembled, every ounce of fear and relief pouring out in those two words.

Elaine's voice was as soothing as ever, her tone a perfect blend of gentleness and authority. "Were you afraid, Jenn?" she asked, her words wrapping around the girl like a warm blanket.

Jenn froze for a moment, her teary eyes widening. "How did you know my na—" she began, but Elaine silenced her with a single motion, pressing a finger softly to her lips.

"It's alright now. Everything is fine. You have me, and I have you," Elaine said, her voice imbued with a kind of maternal reassurance. To Jenn, Elaine wasn't just her savior. She was the embodiment of everything Jenn had ever wished for in a protector, a guiding light in her darkest moment. Elaine's presence felt almost magical, like a princess stepping out of a fairytale.

"Mhm… thank you…" Jenn whispered, her voice barely audible. It carried the weight of someone who had faced death and emerged into the light. To her, this wasn't just survival. It was salvation. Hope radiated through her entire being, replacing the fear and hopelessness that had consumed her.

Jenn had been saved.

Participant 567, Jenn, was a 16-year-old high school student. Timid and introverted, she was transported to this nightmarish place alongside her boyfriend. But even before her arrival, Jenn's mental state was fragile, teetering on the edge of collapse. Her life had been a series of endless torment—bullied relentlessly at school because she never fought back, scorned by parents who saw her as a disappointment, and trapped in a toxic relationship with a boy who preyed on her vulnerability.

Her boyfriend had manipulated her from the start, orchestrating her bullying so he could swoop in and play the hero. Jenn knew the truth but couldn't defy him. The relationship became a brutal cycle of physical and emotional abuse, with her boyfriend venting his anger and frustrations on her fragile body. Beneath her clothes were scars—painful reminders of her suffering, both old and fresh. Each mark told a story of survival, though it was a survival that Jenn had long ceased to cherish.

When the games began, Jenn and her boyfriend played together, but their partnership ended as predictably as their relationship had functioned: in betrayal. Jenn had two coins, while her boyfriend had none. Out of a misguided sense of loyalty and generosity, she offered to secretly pass him one of her coins so they could each have a chance to play. She didn't have to. She could have walked away, leaving him to his fate. But Jenn's kind heart wouldn't let her abandon someone—even someone who had caused her so much pain.

The plan was to find a secluded area where they could exchange the coin without anyone noticing. They didn't realize that trading coins was entirely legal and wouldn't cause any issues. But when they reached a quiet spot, Jenn's boyfriend revealed his true colors. He snatched her coins, his face twisting into a mask of desperation and anger.

"I have to live!" he shouted, striking Jenn with brutal force.

Jenn crumpled to the ground, her body too weak and broken to resist. She watched him run, bloodied and beaten, unable to do anything but sit there. Physically, he was stronger and faster. Fighting back was never an option for her, and chasing him would only have ended in more pain. So she stayed, trembling and numb, thinking that perhaps she was finally free from his abuse.

To Jenn, death no longer seemed frightening. It felt almost welcoming, a release from the endless cruelty she had endured. But as she sat there, waiting for the inevitable, her fragile peace was shattered. A riot broke out, the violence exploding around her like a storm.

In the chaos, Jenn saw her boyfriend again. She watched in horror as a man—a towering, feral figure—smashed his head with his bare hands. Blood sprayed everywhere, and her boyfriend's screams were cut short. Jenn thought she was ready for death, but the sight of such a brutal, senseless killing terrified her to her core. Her body froze, paralyzed by fear, as tears streamed down her face. Despite everything he had done to her, she couldn't bear to watch him die. Her kind heart wouldn't let her.

"DO YOU HAVE COINS, BITCH?"

The shout pierced the air, loud and filled with venom. It came from a violent-looking man, his eyes wild and full of murderous intent.

"EEEK!" Jenn squealed, her entire body trembling. The sheer sound of his voice sent her into a panic. Her legs gave out, and she began crawling away, her movements frantic and uncoordinated. Her bladder betrayed her for a brief moment, a small wet patch forming as her fear reached its peak.

"WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?" the man bellowed, charging toward her.

Jenn turned her head, seeing him close the distance with terrifying speed. Her body acted on pure instinct, adrenaline flooding her system. Her brain calculated the best chance of survival: the playroom. The executive's rule echoed faintly in her mind: no violence was allowed inside the playroom. Somehow, despite her panic, her survival instincts kicked in, and she sprinted toward the room.

She barely made it, slamming the door shut behind her. Her chest heaved as she gasped for air, her entire body shaking. But the man wasn't deterred. He kicked the door open and stormed inside, grabbing her by the ponytail and yanking her off the ground.

"You fucking bitch! Running away like the stupid bitch you are, huh?!" he snarled, raising his fist to strike her.

"AHHHHH!" Jenn screamed, her voice raw with terror. She closed her eyes tightly, bracing for the blow.

BANG.

The sound of gunfire rang out, deafening in the confined space. Three shots in perfect unity and coordination by the three different administrators. One bullet pierced the man's brain, another his heart, and the last shattered his wrist joint, all of which fired at the same time. His grip on Jenn's hair loosened as he crumpled to the floor, dead before he hit the ground.

Jenn opened her eyes and screamed again at the sight before her. Blood pooled around her, splattered across the walls and floor. The man's lifeless body lay sprawled beside her, his blood staining her clothes. Her breathing was ragged, her chest tight with panic.

The administrator who fired the shots holstered their revolver and stood still without a word. Jenn, trembling and covered in blood, remained in the playroom. She didn't leave again, not even when the timer reached zero. For the remainder of the game, she stayed holed up in that room, her fragile mind unable to process the horror outside.

Back in the present, Elaine guided Jenn toward Clara and Claude. Clara was seated at a table, eating a steaming bowl of soup-based noodles, her hands trembling slightly as she lifted the spoon.

"How did you know this was my favorite?" Clara asked innocently, her voice soft and filled with genuine surprise.

"Just eat. You need to recover your strength. We can talk later," Claude replied, his tone steady. He vividly recalled telling the waiter, "Bring whatever you think is best; she needs some food." The fact that Clara didn't even hear him place the order—despite sitting right next to him—caught Claude off guard. It was a testament to just how overwhelmed and drained she was after the emotional roller coaster of the past five hours.

What truly puzzled Claude, however, was the eerie accuracy of the dish. The people running this twisted game seemed to know Clara's preferences. He couldn't help but wonder: "Do they know everything about us? Every single detail? Do they know me too?" His thoughts spiraled as he considered the lengths someone must have gone to gather such thorough profiles, select their participants, and bring them here.

Elaine's voice snapped him out of his reverie. "Got myself a very cute daughter, don't you think?" she said with a playful lilt, the rhetorical nature of her question apparent in her teasing smile.

Jenn's cheeks flushed as the words sunk in. Her heart swelled with warmth at being acknowledged so openly. Silently, she felt elated to be called Elaine's daughter, a title that made her feel wanted and cared for.

Claude's gaze shifted toward Elaine, his expression darkening. He stared at her as though she were the most diabolical, evil existence in the universe. Elaine, as always, met his glare with her usual air of unbothered amusement.

Their silent exchange was interrupted by the Executive's voice booming through the room, commanding attention.

"I guess that's it for you losers. It doesn't seem like any more of you are getting saved. Hahaha!" The Executive's mockery was laced with malice, and the second-floor crowd erupted into echoes of laughter and scorn.

"Who the fuck would waste three million on these worthless people?"

"I could buy a slave in a third-world country for like 100k. These people are crazy."

"Look at their faces. They think they deserve to be saved. How many of them down there are fucking murderers?"

The second-floor participants looked down at the losers below, their disdain and superiority palpable. It was ironic. If the roles were reversed, the first-floor crowd would likely feel the same way. Every human, when placed in a position of superiority, harbors some level of arrogance and ego. It was the guilty pleasure of being the one looking down.

"Take them away!" the Executive commanded.

Administrators began escorting the first-floor losers out of the hallway. Despite their defeat, many clung desperately to hope, shouting pleas for another chance or praying for a miracle that would never come. But their cries fell on deaf ears. The second floor was soundproofed, and their voices could not reach the winners above.

"Well then, it's time to wrap things up," the Executive continued. "Those with four coins or more may now exit through the black door, and those without will await further instructions."

With that, the game's conclusion was clear. Several participants on the second floor bolted toward the black door, eager to escape this surreal nightmare. Among them was Don, running frantically while glancing back at Claude and Clara. Their eyes met by coincidence, and Clara immediately jolted up from her chair.

"This motherfucker!" Clara hissed, her voice trembling with rage.

Don turned his attention back to the door, showing no sign of regret or remorse. He continued running, focused solely on his escape.

"I'll fucking kill you!" Clara growled, her hands clenched into fists as she prepared to chase after him.

Claude grabbed her arm firmly, stopping her in her tracks. "Let me go… Please," Clara pleaded, her voice desperate. "The fucking shit he did… Quite a few people are running toward the door. He can't get out so quickly! If he needs to queue up, I could catch up and punch him…"

Claude shook his head, his grip steady. "It's fine. Let the scum be. You need to focus on regaining your energy now. We might have a second game, so you need to eat."

Surprisingly, that single statement was enough to calm Clara down. She sat back down reluctantly, returning to her meal. What she didn't yet realize was how much she had come to rely on Claude. His words carried weight for her now—every word he spoke felt significant, almost sacred. In her heart, she had already recognized Claude as her savior, though her mind hadn't fully processed it yet.

"Alright…" Clara muttered, her voice soft as she resumed eating.

Claude watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Internally, a sarcastic thought crossed his mind. "I mean, even if you do catch up, he's a guy, and you're a girl. Just based on physique alone, you'd probably lose the fight…" He smirked faintly at the thought but kept it to himself, letting Clara eat in peace.

His attention then quickly shifted to Elaine.

"Elaine…" Claude began, his tone steady but laced with curiosity.

Elaine's response came swiftly, almost cutting him off. "Let's go to the washroom, Jenn. We need to clean up all this dried blood on your face," she said, her voice louder than usual. It was clear she was avoiding any interaction with Claude, her dismissal deliberate.

"Mhm… yeah," Jenn replied softly, her voice barely audible. She followed Elaine without hesitation, the two of them walking away in search of a bathroom.

Claude watched them leave, his thoughts lingering for a moment before Clara's voice brought him back.

"Do you… know them?" Clara's expression was a mixture of worry and nervousness, her eyes searching his face for an answer.

"No… not really. We only talked a bit about how we both wanted to save someone from the first floor," Claude replied, keeping his explanation simple and vague. The lie rolled off his tongue effortlessly, designed to put Clara at ease.

"Oh…" Clara's voice softened, and her heart stirred once again.

Her thoughts swirled with guilt and admiration. "To think he was already working to save me, even after all the horrible things I screamed at him before he left… I'm… horrible…" The memory of her earlier outburst replayed in her mind, weighing heavily on her conscience.

As Clara finished her meal, she glanced toward the black door. The once-crowded queue had disappeared; those who wanted to leave had already departed. The area now felt eerily empty.

"Can we go to the washroom together? I need to use the washroom…" Clara suggested hesitantly.

Claude nodded in agreement, standing up with her. But just as they prepared to leave, a familiar voice echoed through the hallway. The Executive's announcement boomed loud and clear, cutting through the silence.

"Winners of the first game! I congratulate you once again. Without further ado, I would like to bring you to the second game. Can't have your winning momentum interrupted for too long, can I? Hahaha! Gather around the red box again within 30 minutes. Failure to do so… would result in you joining the first-floor losers." The Executive's voice dripped with mockery.

"Now then, I eagerly await your arrival. Thirty minutes starts now."

The announcement left the hallway in an oppressive silence. No one dared to speak, the weight of the Executive's words sinking in. The participants had barely gotten any time to rest—not enough to recover from the trauma of the first game—and already the second game loomed ahead. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with dread and uncertainty. After witnessing the brutality of the first game, the question lingered in everyone's minds:

What horrors awaited them in the second game?