I'm no doctor, but I'd heard about this before.
When a person dies normally, their body doesn't show purple patch-like hemorrhaging.
So based on the body's condition—this was poisoning.
Not a fast-acting poison, but a slow one.
Like rodenticide. It had a long incubation period—as short as three or four days, or as long as two weeks before symptoms appeared.
The victim's posture—collapsed by the bedroom door—showed she'd struggled, trying to call for help.
But her body had grown too weak, and she could only lie on the floor.
The ex-husband, C, must have discovered her when he came to find her, saw the neck wound, and immediately realized someone else was also trying to kill her.
He'd wanted to frame the other person and clear his own name, so he called the police right away.
Working through all this, I cracked the first question.
I looked up at the clock on the podium—nine minutes had already passed.
I quickly moved on to the remaining two questions.
They were similar in format to the first—analytical, but not excessively brain-burning.
I finished all three questions with three minutes to spare.
Right as I was about to write down my answers—
I caught, in my peripheral vision, the square-jawed bearded man from Class 10 staring at my paper.
My heart rate spiked. I glanced at the Rabbit Overseer on the podium.
She wasn't even monitoring—she was holding a tablet with earbuds in, chuckling at whatever was on the screen.
No wonder the bearded guy dared to copy so brazenly.
I thought for a moment, then deliberately wrote the wrong order on the answer sheet—A, B, C.
After writing it, I even put on a show of being nervous.
I acted like I didn't want him to see, covering the paper awkwardly.
But I purposely left a gap just wide enough for him to read the answers.
Maybe my acting was too lousy.
The bearded man stared at me with some suspicion and didn't copy right away.
After a while, with only one minute left—
He couldn't hold out anymore.
He hastily scrawled "A, B, C" on his answer sheet.
I exhaled, waiting for the test to end.
In the final three seconds, while the bearded man wasn't looking—
I quickly added a few strokes to my paper.
Adding question numbers in front of the letters.
Where there had only been A, B, and C—
Now it read:
3, A.
2, B.
1, C.
The answers were still correct—only the numbering had changed.
When the bell rang, the Rabbit Overseer told us to stay seated—there would be a second exam.
Then she got up and collected all the papers.
Once she had them all, she returned to the podium, opened a cabinet underneath, and placed the stack of papers inside.
Next, the projector on the ceiling turned on automatically.
A simple line-drawing classroom layout appeared on the board, showing each student's desk.
Starting from the first student, desks lit up green—passing.
Almost one result per second.
Some desks turned red, some green.
Every time a desk on the screen went red, I heard a muffled bang from behind me.
We all knew what that sound meant.
No one screamed.
It wasn't so much bravery as numbness.
The scan reached the desk behind the bearded man—the student on his other side.
Suddenly, the bearded man lunged at me without any struggle.
His hands clamped around my throat.
He was strong—his arms thicker than my thighs.
The moment his powerful grip landed on my neck—
I felt he could snap it clean.
I went rigid with terror.
His action made one thing obvious: he'd already seen his result.
If his desk had turned red, he was going to take me down with him.
But what surprised everyone in the room—
On the screen, his desk lit up black.
Strange. Green was pass, red was fail—what did black mean?
The bearded man tensed up too.
When the red dot passed over him and moved on—
He exhaled, sneered at me, and let go. "Smart move."
He sat back down, visibly relaxing.
But I was confused.
He'd clearly written the wrong answers, so how had he passed?
Could it be that I was wrong, and A-B-C was correct?
The red dot was sweeping toward me. The thought nearly killed me.
But the next second, my desk lit up green.
I let out a breath, just like the bearded man had.
But he was suddenly nervous again.
We had the exact same answers—so why had his desk been black?
That couldn't be for no reason.
Once the results for the entire classroom were displayed, the meaning of the black light became clear.
The Rabbit Overseer stood up, first congratulating all of us who had passed.
Then, pointing at the bearded man beside me, she trilled, "Except for this student. Everyone else did very well. Before the test, your teacher reminded you not to cheat. But this student flagrantly violated the rule. So before punishment is carried out, the teacher would like to announce exactly why this student will be eliminated."
The bearded man slammed his desk and roared, "I didn't cheat! Show me the evidence! If you don't have evidence, then you die! Why is it always us players losing our lives while you game organizers get to brush off your mistakes with a single sentence? That's not fair!"
I glanced around—the entire classroom had no surveillance cameras. No wonder he was so bold.
This situation worked in my favor.
I didn't want extra trouble, so I didn't kick him while he was down.
I sat quietly and watched the Rabbit Overseer flip over the tablet she'd been holding.
"Ta-da! Look here!"
She said playfully, "This is the evidence. Know your mistake now?"
I was in the front row—I could see clearly. The screen was playing footage from our exam.
So the Rabbit Overseer hadn't been watching videos the whole time.
She'd been using the tablet to record us.
And not just video—every player's progress, accuracy, and timing were tracked and displayed on that screen.
The game designers had anticipated every loophole and prepared accordingly.
Leaving the players zero room for rebuttal or excuse.
As for why they hadn't installed cameras and instead had the proctor use a tablet—
That was probably another mind game from the designers.
If players had known they were being watched from the start—
Would they have dared cheat? Would they have revealed their true natures?
Of course not. They'd have been more careful—restraining themselves.
By letting them commit every misdeed first, then laying it all out in front of them—
That scene would be spectacular.
Just like the expression on the bearded man's face right now.
His face darkened as he glared murderously at the Rabbit Overseer.
I thought he'd go after her—since he was dead anyway, he might as well take her down with him.
I was wrong.
He turned and lunged at me again, aiming all his fury my way.
"You set me up! I'll kill you!"
A gunshot rang out.
Before he could touch me, an invisible weapon blew his head apart.
Looking at the bearded man's corpse, I felt zero guilt.
I kicked him aside. He had it coming.
Even at the very end, he hadn't dared attack the powerful side.
He'd only dared to go after the person next to him.
The Rabbit Overseer seemed entirely unsurprised by the chaos.
She clapped her hands and said, "Alright, let's continue. Next test is a hands-on challenge. Use your imagination and the materials your teacher provides to design and build a robot within the shortest time possible. A basically complete form passes. But—the most creative and unique design will win a lifesaving card, usable once in any upcoming challenge, one time only."
She added with emphasis, "No copying or imitation. Otherwise, you'll be punished just like that student. Ten-minute break. The second exam begins shortly."
During the break, we were told we could move freely.
But only within the classroom and the restroom.
Staff came in to remove the bodies—those on the floor or slumped over desks—carrying them away two at a time.
I was watching them work when I felt a burning gaze from beside me.
I turned—it was the skinny guy from Class 10.
He was staring at me.
I asked coldly, "What are you looking at? Want to avenge your buddy?"