After resting through the afternoon, I waited for the next challenge. But the broadcast stayed silent. Just when Quinn and I thought we might get a reprieve, a knock came at the door.
Quinn answered. A Rabbit Overseer stood outside, holding two packets of black swim trunks.
She handed them over and said flatly, "Two PM at the indoor pool. Be there."
Then she turned and left.
Quinn checked the sizing and tossed me my pair. "Put them on. The afternoon challenge involves water."
I stared at the swim trunks with dread.
Because I couldn't swim.
I asked Quinn, "Can you swim?"
Quinn nodded. "Yeah, but..." He rolled up his sleeve, showing me the mechanical arm wrapped in tape.
His face was worried too. He grimaced. "This thing is basically useless in water."
Right—the game's rules required all participants to be healthy.
If Quinn's arm was exposed, would that put him in danger?
He was staring at his artificial limb.
I guessed he wasn't worried about the arm itself—he was worried about its secret being discovered.
The two of us were quite the pair. One couldn't swim; the other couldn't let his arm get wet. The game organizers had thought of everything.
Despite our worries, the rest period flew by.
Two PM approached.
Quinn and I changed into our swim trunks, threw on our jackets, and headed for the indoor pool.
Before leaving, I remembered the snow goggles in my locker.
I had no idea if they'd be useful, but I shoved them into my bag just in case.
At the pool, plenty of players had already arrived.
They stood in small clusters, staring at the massive pool beside them, murmuring to each other.
The pool area was divided by class into multiple lanes.
Each was a standard rectangular racing lane.
As usual, Quinn went to find his own class.
I joined my lane's group—Class 8—and crouched by the edge, staring into the black water.
I was studying it intently when someone shoved me from behind.
I had zero warning. I plunged straight into the pool with a splash.
I couldn't swim. I thrashed wildly, churning up white foam.
Someone grabbed my arm and hauled me onto the deck.
I coughed violently.
Harrison's voice came from beside me. "Hey, you okay?"
Then, with clear annoyance, he turned to the person behind us. "Apologize."
A voice that was somehow both unfamiliar and recognizable said, "Sorry about that. Just trying to be funny. Didn't mean to push you in."
I wiped water off my face and turned to look.
The guy who'd pushed me was a slightly chubby classmate from Class 8.
His name was Seth.
Seth had a boyish face—younger-looking than me.
Over the past few days, I'd observed that his personality matched his name—solid, straightforward. He was honest, without the usual scheming you'd see in others.
You could say he didn't have a cunning bone in his body.
The fact that he'd survived this long was pure luck.
Seth rubbed the back of his head, grinning apologetically.
I waved it off. "Forget it."
The challenge was about to start. Getting mad at him wouldn't help either of us.
Better to save my energy for the task ahead.
Harrison gazed at the pool with concern. "So it's a team challenge after all."
I asked him, "How many of us are left in our class?"
Harrison checked his phone. As class monitor, he always had our roster updated.
He looked up, his expression heavy. "Seven."
My stomach dropped. "We had twelve yesterday. What happened?"
Harrison said, "Two failed the patrol mission. One committed suicide during the music last night. The rest died in this morning's cafeteria challenge."
I glanced at his screen.
Every living member's photo was in color.
The dead ones had been grayed out, their faces stamped with a red box that read: DECEASED.
Below each photo was their cause of death and which round they'd died in.
I looked away. It hurt too much.
Harrison exhaled sharply and pocketed his phone. "Let the dead go. Let's focus on what's coming. First question—who can't swim? Raise your hand."
The moment he asked, Seth and I both raised our hands.
To my surprise, Harrison raised his too.
That meant three of our seven remaining members couldn't swim.
Nearly half.
Harrison lowered his hand with a sigh. "We'll ask the others when they get here."
Soon, the remaining four arrived.
Three were women.
The fourth was a seventy-something elderly man.
Thankfully, all four could swim.
The old man—his name was Yang Ziqiang—had once been a swimming coach.
Harrison immediately started strategizing.
If the challenge didn't require everyone to participate, the four swimmers would handle it.
If mandatory participation was required, he had a backup plan.
Harrison pulled out the item card he'd earned that morning. "If we can trade this for floatation devices, I'll do it. You two don't need to worry."
Seth and I nearly dropped to our knees in gratitude.
Harrison waved it off. "Team challenge. No room for selfishness. We survive together or not at all."
"All right, let's do this!"
The seven of us put our hands together, rallying each other.
Soon it was time.
The broadcast announced: "This event is a swimming competition. Before we explain the rules, any student who wishes to use this morning's reward may do so now. This is a one-time opportunity—choose wisely. Students who wish to redeem their rewards, please proceed to the southwest corner and register with the Rabbit Overseer to receive your item."
I looked toward the southwest corner.
A male and female staff member in rabbit masks stood there, waving us over.
Beside them, a massive black cloth curtain concealed whatever was behind it.
Only a small gap at the corner was visible—rows of objects inside, but too far and too dark to make out from where we stood.
Harrison didn't decide alone. He gathered our remaining seven.
He looked around. "What do we think? Should we trade the card or not?"
Two of the three women voted yes; one voted no.
Yang—the elderly man—voted no.
He even slapped his chest. "One old soldier is worth two young ones! This distance? I could swim it back and forth. Back in the day, I crossed the Yangtze..."
Yang started rambling about his glory days.
Harrison cut him off and asked Seth, "What about you?"
Seth shook his head. "Your call. You earned it."
Effectively a punt—Seth abstained.
Then they all looked at me.
I was pondering when I noticed Class 35's monitor heading toward the southwest corner.
He showed the stamp on his hand to the Rabbit Overseer, said a few words, and the female instructor started writing while the male one pulled back the curtain and led him inside.
A moment later, he emerged carrying a white board about the size of a computer monitor.
I'd never seen one before, so I pointed it out.
Harrison didn't recognize it either.
Yang identified it. "That's a water speeder."
What was that?
Yang explained, "It's like a floatation device. Whether you can swim or not, you lie on it and steer—it propels itself forward. Not very useful normally, but for timed or relay races? It's a game-changer. Seriously powerful."
I immediately told Harrison, "Use it. We need to clear each round as it comes. No telling what's next."
Harrison frowned, deep in thought.
The broadcast urged again: "Students who wish to redeem items, please hurry. This offer expires."
One of the women prodded him. "Hurry up and decide, monitor. They're going one at a time—look how many people are in line."
I glanced at the southwest corner.
A sizable queue had formed.
The curtain parted, and Quinn emerged.
He carried a cylindrical, foam-like object.
Before I could wonder what it was, the Rabbit Overseer fitted it over Quinn's mechanical arm.
The cylinder contracted automatically, sealing from shoulder to wrist, encasing the arm completely.
I understood instantly.
Quinn had traded his item card for arm protection.
This way, water couldn't seep into his arm.
And the foam material would help him float, saving energy.
Many players were staring at the redemption corner.
That massive black curtain was like a Pandora's box of mystery.
Everyone wanted to see what was inside.
More and more people lined up.
Harrison couldn't wait any longer. He gritted his teeth. "Fine—I'll go trade. Wait here."
He jogged to the southwest corner and took his place at the end of the line.