I scanned the faces around me.
A few others were glancing around too, just like me.
When our eyes met, a single look was all it took. I knew the answer.
We'd all had the same idea—identify the shape with our tongues, then swallow.
We sat there, stomachs churning, waiting for the broadcast to announce the results.
But the speaker seemed broken, remaining silent for ages.
I grew more anxious by the second, practically sitting on pins and needles.
After a long while, the surviving players from earlier rounds started murmuring among themselves.
The cafeteria grew increasingly noisy—until the broadcast crackled back to life.
First came static.
Then a woman's voice—different from the usual AI—spoke with unmistakable menace.
"Would the students from the final group who found gift packages please stand up. Don't waste everyone's time."
Clearly, it was a threat.
We sat frozen. No one said a word.
The woman repeated herself.
Still, nobody stood.
A cold laugh. "Since you won't cooperate, all students who've completed the game may return to their dorms. The final group will remain in the cafeteria. Nobody leaves until the students who swallowed their packages come forward."
Everyone except our group of eleven rose and left.
I instinctively looked toward Quinn and Harrison.
Quinn was watching me with barely concealed schadenfreude.
Harrison looked worried.
I watched them walk out with their item cards like victorious generals, green with envy and jealousy.
Meanwhile, I was stuck in the cafeteria like a kid kept after school.
Ironically, I'd always been a good student. I'd never been held back before.
This was a first.
A heavy metallic clang—the cafeteria doors sealed shut. Red lights flickered above the frames.
The broadcast resumed: "You have ten minutes to persuade each other. If someone voluntarily confesses, the innocent students may leave. But if ten minutes pass with no confession, all of you will share the punishment. Countdown starts now."
Red numbers began their merciless march across the screen.
The person on my left found a slot in his table. A blank sheet of A4 paper and a black pen emerged.
He grabbed them without hesitating and started writing furiously.
"To whoever swallowed the package—please turn yourself in. You can write your last wishes on this paper. If I survive, I swear on my life I'll fulfill them!"
He passed the pen and paper to his left.
The next person wrote quickly—just two or three characters.
And so it went, hand to hand, until the paper reached Vivian on my right.
I craned my neck to look—and my brain short-circuited.
After the first person's heartfelt plea, every single person after had written the same thing: "Me too."
I watched Vivian stare at the paper for a long moment.
Then, like a copy machine, she wrote: "Me too."
She handed me the pen and paper. As she did, her fingers tightened around my wrist.
Her eyes held a desperate plea.
She already knew I'd swallowed the package.
I couldn't meet her gaze—too guilty.
I stared at the blank paper for a while.
Then I looked up, scanning the room, and managed a weak smile. "I probably don't need to write those two words, do I?"
The guy on my left had seen the paper too.
He let out a despairing sigh, face etched with hopelessness.
Still, nobody stood up.
These final ten minutes were pointless mental torture.
With three minutes left, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline—the one I'd exchanged that telling glance with earlier—spoke up tentatively.
"We're all going to die anyway... why don't we just vote for someone?"
The room went silent.
It wasn't that nobody had thought of it.
But everyone was afraid of becoming the target by speaking first.
Now this guy had dragged everyone's darkest thought into the light.
I stared at him, fists clenching.
The man I'd exchanged glances with was him.
He knew I'd swallowed a package. I knew he'd swallowed one.
And he'd just made the first move.
Who would he pick?
Someone else asked the obvious: "So who should we pick?"
The balding man suddenly pointed at me, his voice wavering with guilt. "Him. He looks suspicious."
I slammed my fist on the table. "And you look perfectly normal?"
He flinched at my roar.
The others hesitated, caught between us.
I pressed my advantage, my voice cold. "Besides, why should we listen to you? What if we pick the wrong person and make things worse? Can you guarantee that?"
I held his gaze with the kind of look that promised violence.
He'd swallowed a package too—he was already operating on guilt and fear.
A few sharp words from me and he panicked. His eyes darted around until they landed on Vivian.
"Then... then let's pick her!"
So he'd realized I was too dangerous to target and pivoted to someone who looked meek and easy to bully.
I didn't defend Vivian. I'd achieved my goal.
His random finger-pointing had already turned the rest of the group against him.
When the countdown ended and the woman's voice asked again if anyone would confess—
Someone stood up.
But he pointed at the balding man. "It's him! I watched him swallow something!"
The balding man went berserk, lunging at his accuser.
But the moment he rose, his eyes bulged. His entire body started convulsing like he'd been electrocuted. He collapsed to the floor, thrashing wildly, legs kicking at nothing.
Then his body went rigid. He was dead.
The cafeteria was tomb-silent. Nobody moved.
Until the broadcast announced that the system had scanned his body and, via x-ray, confirmed a glowing triangle object in his stomach.
The man who'd pointed him out laughed hysterically, drenched in sweat.
He probably hadn't expected a lucky guess to actually be right.
After that, our final group was released from the cafeteria, told to wait for the next challenge.
On the way back, Vivian walked beside me.
She looked conflicted, like she wanted to say something.
I glanced around, purposely slowing my pace until the others pulled ahead, then whispered, "What do you want to say?"
Vivian leaned close to my ear. "I... I got a death package."
She looked uneasy.
I figured she was a sensitive person, probably haunted by guilt over the balding man's death.
I leaned in and murmured, "It's okay. I got one too. It's over—don't dwell on it. Go rest and prepare for the next round."
But Vivian shook her head. "I know you got one. But what I'm saying is—every single person in our final group got one."
I blinked. "You saw them?"
Vivian nodded. "While we were eating, I watched carefully. Every single person found something, then swallowed it. The triangle isn't small—when someone gets one, you can see the effort of swallowing it."
She even mimed the motion for me.
I doubted she'd lie about something like this at this point.
Vivian must have genuinely seen it—that's why she could describe it in such detail.
A cold dread settled in me. "The organizers probably knew all along."
Vivian nodded. "Exactly. They were playing us."
I thought about what Quinn had said yesterday.
They provide everything, charge nothing, and give us all this money—why?
Yes. They toy with our hearts and manipulate our humanity, over and over. What's the endgame?
I'd been on the fence about helping Quinn investigate.
Now I was curious myself.
If I became Night Scout tonight, I was absolutely going to check out that break room.
Vivian and I went our separate ways to our respective dorms.
The moment I walked in, I went straight to Quinn and held out my hand. "Give me the address."
Quinn was lounging in bed, scrolling his phone. He grinned. "You've decided?"
I nodded.
Quinn whooped, tossed his phone aside, and high-fived me. "Welcome to the Investigation Squad! I'm Captain Quinn, and you're my team member. Let's crack this mystery together!"
"Wait, what?" I was confused.
Quinn explained that he'd always suspected the game organizers. So he'd formed a five-person squad to uncover their ultimate secret—why they'd created a zero-profit game like Dare to Play.
With me, the squad went from five to six.
I asked who the other four were.
Quinn looked wistful. "No need. They're all dead. It's just the two of us now."
I gave him a skeptical look.
Some five-person squad. It had probably been just the two of us from the start.