Then again, Harrison and I had just been planning to kill them too.
Now that the immediate threat from the game was over, the conflict between us naturally became the top priority.
Fight, or not fight.
The two men exchanged glances. Harrison quietly slipped something into my hand.
I glanced down—a metal club.
About the length of an arm. Perfect for a sneak attack.
Outside, the killing machines rumbled on. Inside, though silent, the air was thick with tension.
The two men started to move.
Harrison and I moved in sync, ready to strike first.
We lunged forward—but before our weapons could even swing down, a chime rang through the broadcast.
"Five minutes until lights out. All students must go to bed immediately. Repeating: five minutes until lights out. All students must go to bed immediately."
Then a five-minute countdown began.
The killing machines outside were growing fainter.
The two men stared at us, apparently calculating whether they could finish a fight in five minutes.
The bearded, square-faced one pulled the skinny guy next to him.
"Forget it. Fall back. We'll find another chance to kill them."
The skinny guy pointed at me and snarled, "You just wait."
They yanked the door open and bolted.
Harrison and I exhaled.
If it had actually come to blows, we might not have beaten them.
Both men were half a head taller than us.
From their height, they were either from Class 9 or Class 10.
In any case, close to our Class 8. If there were future inter-class competitions, we might cross paths again.
Then it would be old grudges plus new ones.
Harrison stood in the doorway, glanced around, then turned back. "They're gone. You should head back too."
I brandished the metal club. "Can I keep this?"
Harrison hesitated. "It's from the dorm drawer. I'm not sure you're allowed to take it out."
Right—I'd forgotten. My drawer had a weapon too: that plastic scimitar.
The one I'd used against the 3D tiger.
If every dorm had unique equipment, you probably couldn't remove them.
Not wanting to risk it, I gave the club back to Harrison and left, somewhat reluctantly.
By the time I walked out of Harrison's room, only two minutes remained.
The corridor was splattered with blood everywhere.
Two long trails of red had been dragged by the wheels of the killing machines.
The hallway was empty except for me.
The scene was like something out of a horror movie—absolutely chilling.
I counted the room numbers on the doors, hurrying toward my own dorm.
I made it back with barely thirty seconds to spare. The moment I closed and locked my door, my heart finally settled.
Then another thought struck me.
I didn't think I'd seen Harrison's roommate.
Probably dead already.
That realization led my thoughts straight to Quinn. How had his mission gone?
"Quinn, are you back?"
No response. I called toward the bathroom.
Quinn didn't answer, but I could hear running water inside.
He must be in the shower and hadn't heard me.
Then I noticed a bloodstained academy uniform lying on the floor outside the bathroom door.
I picked it up—it was Quinn's.
Blood wasn't unusual. My own clothes were stained too.
I'd just tossed the uniform aside when a flash of white crossed my mind—something felt wrong.
My clothes were bloodied because I'd been stuck in the corridor at the very end, during the chaos.
But Quinn was already showering, which meant he'd gotten back before me.
If he'd come back earlier, he definitely hadn't encountered the killing machines.
And if he hadn't encountered the killing machines, then—on just a patrol mission—how would he, a "Cat," have gotten blood on his clothes?
I worked out the timeline.
Quinn had returned before me, but not by much.
If he'd been back much earlier, he would have finished showering by now.
Which meant Quinn, like me, had also completed a side quest.
So what kind of side quest would leave his clothes soaked in that much blood?
I noticed Quinn's phone lying at the foot of his bed.
I swallowed hard, confirming the sound of running water was still going.
I picked up his phone, covered the speaker, and opened his photo album.
Only one photo.
It was deeply unsettling—no color, just black and white.
Quinn must have used the night flash when taking it.
It made the woman's face appear ghostly pale.
White as a corpse, you could say.
Her eyes were shut tight. Her entire body was wrapped tightly in black plastic bags. Her hair was tied into two pigtails that stuck up like a little girl's horns.
Her lips were parted slightly, unnaturally, revealing teeth with a faint yellow tint.
Her arms were twisted behind her back at an unnatural angle.
In the photo, she looked perfectly serene and still.
The only things in motion were the droplets of water sliding off her body.
Water droplets?
I seized on that detail.
This photo was clearly imitating one of the world's ten most terrifying paintings—"Woman in the Rain."
The water was still running in the bathroom.
What made my blood run cold was this.
From the moment I'd entered until now, I'd only heard the water flowing—its rhythm had never changed.
As if someone had turned on the faucet, but wasn't standing beneath it.