As the familiar exercise music played, the big screen's image changed alongside it.
A cartoon figure appeared—a Rabbit Overseer in sportswear, back facing us.
The automated voice announced, "All students, follow along! High knees—get ready! One hundred fifty reps for the check-in challenge. Don't fall behind the Rabbit Overseer!"
The on-screen Rabbit Overseer began doing high knees in place.
All the contestants below, without time to think, started doing high knees too.
What was terrifying was that the black squares beneath our feet turned out to be count displays.
Every time we lifted a knee, the number below ticked up.
Any movement that wasn't up to standard was flagged immediately.
I pushed myself to match the Rabbit Overseer's pace while glancing down at the counter.
That moment of distraction threw off my rhythm entirely.
When I saw my count falling behind the number on screen, I forced myself to breathe steadily.
I willed myself to focus entirely on the movement.
Soon, I caught back up.
I don't know how long it took—only that by the time my legs had gone numb, the number on screen finally stopped at "150."
The voice announced, "Warm-up complete. Students, please look down and check whether you've passed."
I looked down—and my vision went black. Blood rushed to my head.
Damn it—149!
I was off by one!
Every time I tackled a challenge, I clung to the hope that somehow I'd be the lucky one—that death would pass me over.
But the number under my feet kept telling me:
I hadn't completed the task. I was about to die.
I'd be just another unlucky statistic.
The realization hit—my whole body went rigid, muscles trembling.
My eyes darted frantically.
What do I do? What do I do? Am I really going to die here?
My heart pounded, pupils constricting, ears ringing.
Whatever the screen was saying now, I couldn't hear a word.
The people who passed had green numbers under their feet.
Mine was red.
Clearly, I was in the elimination group.
But after several seconds, the mechanism under my feet stayed completely still.
I swallowed hard and slowly looked up at Harrison at the front of the line.
He was watching me with concern. "You okay?"
From where Harrison stood, he couldn't see the number under my feet.
I didn't know whether to nod or shake my head.
I just stood there, staring at him with a mix of terror and absurdity.
Then I finally heard the broadcast clearly.
"We apologize to all students. Due to a machine malfunction, automatic counting could not be completed accurately. Class monitors, please pick up the tablet beside your position and manually register each student's score."
Hope ignited in my chest.
Manual registration—not machine counting.
Which meant that as long as Harrison was willing to give me a chance, I might still survive.
I watched with complicated emotions as Harrison picked up the tablet from beside his feet and walked toward me.
His expression was serious.
When he reached my side, I discreetly gripped his wrist and shot him a look.
Harrison saw the number under my feet—just one short.
His expression grew strange, as if he was regretting it too.
Sweat rolled down my forehead as I pleaded with my eyes.
Right then, I really regretted punching him yesterday.
Impulsivity was the devil.
Harrison held my gaze for a few seconds, then looked down and began writing on the tablet.
When I saw him write "150" next to my name, I actually burst into tears.
Forget pride—if staying alive was on the line, what did face matter?
Harrison gave me an encouraging smile, patted my shoulder, and moved on to the next player.
But just as he was registering the next contestant, the broadcast crackled again.
"Warning: We have received a report that a class monitor is helping a student cheat—"
My legs gave out. I sat down hard on the ground.
It's over. They're talking about me, aren't they?
Thankfully, the very next sentence was:
"Previous violations can no longer be verified. From this point forward, anyone found with a mismatched count will be treated as cheating. All students, please abide by the rules—or face severe punishment."
I was so lucky.
I exhaled and lay flat on my back.
Staring up at the blue sky, I thought that choosing the second position had been the right call.
Being near the front meant either the best news or the worst news—you always got something.
All around, sobs and pleas echoed.
No surprise—they were from people who, like me, hadn't passed the assessment.
Except they weren't as lucky as I was.
The system had already issued its warning. Even if a monitor wanted to help, they wouldn't dare cheat anymore.
I glanced toward Harrison.
Gloria was on her knees, face streaming with tears and snot, clutching his pants, bowing and begging.
Harrison shook his head at her, looking guilty and helpless, then wrote something on the tablet.
Desperate, Gloria jumped up and tried to snatch the tablet from his hands.
Startled, Harrison instinctively raised it above his head.
That movement caught the Rabbit Examiner's attention.
No sound. No visible weapon.
One second, Gloria was pulling at Harrison's clothes.
The next, her eyes went wide and she toppled backward.
She lay on the ground, motionless.
Harrison looked down at her, frowning, visibly uncomfortable.
I figured he was suffering inside.
Last night, under the most intense pressure, he'd chosen to spare Gloria.
And now she was dead right in front of him.
I sighed.
Just yesterday I'd been angry at Harrison for not killing Gloria when he had the chance. Now the tables had turned.
And I was just grateful.
Thank God. If anyone else had been class monitor, I'd probably be dead today.
After Gloria's death, the other team members who'd failed didn't dare use violence either.
They sat on the ground, hands pressed together, as if praying.
I watched for a moment, then a question crossed my mind.
Gloria was older—her stamina falling short was understandable.
But I'd only managed 149 high knees.
Harrison looked even weaker than me—thin and bookish.
And he'd passed?
Curious, I made my way to the front while Harrison was tallying up the others and sneaked a glance at his counter.
At first, I thought I was hallucinating.
I rubbed my eyes and looked again.
No mistake—Harrison's counter clearly displayed the number "74" in red.
He'd only done seventy-four high knees?
Which meant Harrison hadn't passed either.
While I was still processing this, someone clapped me on the shoulder from behind.
I turned—Harrison had finished tallying and was back.
He saw that I'd seen his score, and gave me a little smile. "Keep it between us."
I nodded, starting to understand.
Now I knew why Harrison had volunteered to be class monitor.
This game seemed to have only one rule, but it was full of hidden conditions.
Like last night's patrol—the monitor had the privilege of learning the rules in advance and choosing whether to share them.
Like today—the monitor could alter his own score, while other members couldn't.
I even suspected the "counter malfunction" had been planned from the start.
If the whole thing were run by machines, there'd be no point.
The game organizers seemed far more interested in revealing human nature.
Lost in thought, I returned to my spot and stood still.
After all classes finished tallying, the system stayed silent for several long minutes.
The players who'd failed the assessment waited in dread.
Their faces were blank with despair.
Some stared at the sky. Others sat on the ground with unfocused eyes, as if they'd given up.
Then the broadcast came on.
"After deliberation among the Rabbit Overseers, it has been determined that this round's assessment suffered from unfair counting due to machine malfunction. The instructors have decided to give everyone a chance by proceeding directly to the fitness segment."
The players who'd failed jumped to their feet, elated.
Those who'd passed looked a bit resentful.
But here, the game organizers were the law. Even if players were unhappy, they'd endure it for the chance at the hundred-million grand prize.
Everyone stood, ready for the next test.
Suddenly, the ground began shaking violently.
My first thought was an earthquake.
I looked sideways and saw two large colored squares rising from the ground on either of me.
Their colors were slightly different from the black square I stood on.
From left to right: blue, black, red.
The spacing between each square was still about three meters.
Which meant to go from a blue square to a red one, you'd have to run six meters.
Just as the thought crossed my mind, the system's voice rang out.