Harrison and I followed the tracks forward.
A fork in the path appeared ahead, forcing us to stop.
To the left, more bushes.
A clear set of footprints leading straight forward.
To the right, the trail left the bushes and headed toward the entrance of the indoor basketball court.
The problem was, Harrison and I were assigned to patrol the garden-to-basketball-court zone.
If we followed the tracks through the bushes, we'd step into another class's patrol territory.
At that point, Harrison and I would go from patrol to violators.
Easy pickings for whatever team caught us.
But if we didn't give chase, we'd be left relying on that drawing.
What clues could we possibly get from a drawing?
If we guessed wrong, it could cost us our lives.
I asked Harrison for his opinion. "What do you think—chase or not?"
Harrison checked his phone. "We still have time. I think we can take the gamble. If anything seems off, we just retreat."
We decided to press on.
Following the trail through the bushes, we hadn't gone far when I noticed something wrong with one of the footprints.
"Wait." I stopped Harrison.
I crouched down and shone my flashlight on the footprint in the mud.
Something was definitely off.
I examined the other prints as well.
Harrison didn't understand what I was doing. "What's the problem?"
I nodded. "These prints have been tampered with. Look—when you step in mud, you leave a clear sole pattern, but these are all smudged. You know what that means."
"What?"
"The person deliberately left these tracks to throw us off, to lure us into another zone."
Harrison frowned. "What's your evidence?"
"They probably ran forward a few steps, then stepped back into their own prints to retrace their path. That's why the sole patterns overlap and look blurred. Most likely, the person already ran in the other direction."
Harrison figured it out. "That's right. Their task card showed the same route as ours, so they could only have gone to the basketball court."
We immediately turned and ran back.
But on the open ground outside the basketball court, there wasn't a single trace of mud.
Logically, the person's shoes would be covered in mud from the garden.
In such a short time, there was no way they could have cleaned them off.
Harrison looked uneasy, starting to doubt our theory. "Did we get it wrong?"
I didn't give up. "It might just be too dark. Let's search inside."
With that, I sprinted toward the basketball court entrance.
Harrison had no choice but to follow.
The moment we both stepped inside the indoor basketball court, the main doors slammed shut behind us with a loud bang and locked.
Harrison tried the door. He threw his entire weight against it, but it wouldn't budge.
He shook his head with a wry smile. "So much for turning back now."
I patted his shoulder. "Don't worry. That person is definitely in here."
Because I could already see the muddy footprints they'd left.
Compared to the pitch-black outdoors, the basketball court's overhead lights were blazing.
No flashlight needed—the mud-smeared prints were immediately visible.
Harrison followed my pointing finger and let out a long breath.
I scanned the court.
Two baskets of basketballs sat at each half-court, and the bleachers were empty.
The indoor basketball court had two doors—an entrance and an exit.
Both were shut tight.
Harrison and I went to the exit door and yanked the handle. Still locked.
Which meant the "mouse" had either already left and locked us inside—or, like us, hadn't found a way out and was now trapped in the court.
Just as I thought that, the lights in the equipment room beneath the stands suddenly went dark.
A shadow flickered past.
Harrison and I exchanged a glance.
We approached the equipment room on quiet feet.
The door wasn't closed. I pushed it open carefully and stepped inside.
Worried about an ambush, Harrison stayed close behind me.
The equipment room was full of sports gear, all covered with white dust cloths.
At a glance, it was impossible to tell what was a person and what was a fixture.
To trap whoever was inside, Harrison locked the door behind us when he came in.
We searched every corner, top to bottom.
Nothing.
Harrison muttered, "That's weird. Did we both hallucinate? What ran in here—a mouse?"
"How could a mouse be that big? The person has to be here."
As I said this, my eyes landed on a corner of the equipment room.
A human-shaped object, draped in white cloth from head to toe, stood there. My height.
I nudged Harrison with my elbow and pointed.
Harrison squinted, then pointed at the figure's feet.
I looked down and felt my heart settle.
The person was too tall, and the white cloth wasn't long enough.
In standing upright, the hem had ridden up, revealing the soles of their shoes.
And those soles were caked in thick mud.
This was our mouse.
Harrison and I surrounded the figure, then lunged.
My arms closed around something rock-hard.
I yanked the white cloth off—it was a punching dummy, the kind used for boxing.
And beneath the dummy sat a pair of small sneakers.
"Damn it! We've been had." I swore in frustration.
Just then, I heard movement behind me. I spun around.
A thin figure in a hoodie was clumsily scrambling out through the equipment room window.
The "mouse" was a woman!
Her escape through the window was clumsy, but she shut it with surprising agility.
Backlit, and with dust coating the glass, neither Harrison nor I could make out her face. We could only watch her silhouette move away from the window.
We rushed forward.
But the equipment room window had locked automatically—just like the basketball court doors.
We tried the main doors. The woman had padlocked them from the outside.
We'd set a trap, only to end up as the trapped.
Harrison and I both looked grim.
Two grown men, outsmarted by a woman.
Harrison patted my shoulder with a bitter laugh. "Looks like gender has nothing to do with brains."
"Get out of here," I snapped, shoving his hand away. "You're the one who locked the door. I'm way smarter than you."
"You didn't stop me either," Harrison shot back. "Which means we're equally dumb."
"Enough. Stop wasting time and help me figure out how to get out of here."
Getting out shouldn't be too hard.
The padlock on the door was thin. With a pair of pliers, we could cut through it.
Fortunately, we were in an equipment room—it had everything.
We searched for a while. No pliers, but we found a pair of large rusty shears.
Harrison and I didn't waste another second. We took them straight to the door.
Pushing the door with all our might, we barely managed to pry open a crack.
Harrison and I divided the work.
I held the door; he cut the lock.
As Harrison crouched down, he glimpsed something through the gap and muttered, "That woman's silhouette looks kind of familiar."
I urged him on. "Stop guessing. Let's get out, catch her, and we'll see who it is."
Harrison got to work.
Faintly, the rhythmic thud of a basketball and an automated countdown filtered through the door.
I found it bizarre. "She's shooting baskets?"
Harrison peered out and thought for a moment. "Must have a reason. She got here before us and still hasn't left. We saw the exit was locked earlier, so there's probably a test we need to pass to open it."
That sent a jolt of urgency through me. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's get out and grab her before she finishes!"
"Got it."
Harrison cut for a while. The lock was nearly through, but he'd run out of strength.
We swapped positions instantly. I gathered every ounce of power and squeezed.
With a sharp crack, the padlock snapped and clattered to the floor.
Harrison and I burst through.
The basketball court was empty. The woman was gone.
Just a few solitary basketballs lay on the floor.
We tried the exit door. Still locked.
Harrison shook his head. "She beat us again."
No choice—we had to go back to the court and figure out how to unlock the exit.
When we'd been locked inside earlier, the woman had been shooting baskets.
Clearly, the key to opening the exit had something to do with basketball.
Harrison and I searched the court for clues.
Finally, I found a black button on the basketball hoop's main post, along with a small sticker.
The sticker read: "Press the button to start the countdown. Shoot from the three-point line. Make five shots in thirty seconds to pass."
I noticed red footprints on the three-point line.
Obviously, you had to shoot from the designated spot.
I couldn't play basketball, so I asked Harrison, "Can you do it?"
He shook his head. "At my best, I can make maybe two in thirty seconds—and one of those is basically luck."
I read the rule again carefully. "There's no limit on attempts. Let's just try."
True—if we wanted out, we had to make it work.
I'd feed him the balls. Harrison would shoot.
I pressed the button. "Go."
The big screen in the gym flashed two glaring red numbers.
"29, 28..."
The screen faced Harrison, and a mechanical voice counted down alongside the display.
Another test of nerve and stamina.
I watched Harrison anxiously.
Fortunately, he remained unfazed by the pressure.
Catching the ball, raising his arms, aiming, shooting.
Swish—nothing but net.
"Nice! Keep going!"
I cheered him on and passed the second ball.
Harrison held his breath and took his second shot.
Just like the first—perfect arc, clean basket.
I wasn't wrong about him. Harrison's mental toughness was exceptional.
Under this kind of pressure, he was actually performing above his usual level.
By the time he reached the final shot, only ten seconds remained.
Sweat dripped from Harrison's forehead. His glasses slid down his nose.
I held my breath as the ball left his hands and dropped through the hoop.
"We did it!" I slapped his palm in celebration.
The countdown ended just as the automated voice announced, "Congratulations, student! You have passed!"
A click echoed through the gym—the rear door unlocked.
Harrison wiped the sweat from his face with the hem of his shirt. "Let's go."
We headed toward the rear exit.
Suddenly, a small figure rose from the corner of the bleachers.
Barefoot, she sprinted for the exit!
I reacted instantly—the woman hadn't left!
Of course. This shooting challenge wasn't easy.
Harrison had only managed it through extraordinary focus. How could the woman have completed it on her first try?
Harrison and I gave chase, but we were too late again.
She slammed the door shut behind her. Click—it locked.
We pounded on the door frantically.
Same situation as before—no amount of hitting would open it.
Harrison and I looked at each other, both seeing the same helplessness in the other's eyes.
"Now what?" Harrison asked.
I shrugged. "Do it again."
No helping it. The people here might be alive, but the rules were set in stone.
No matter how furious we were, we had to follow the game's rules.
Harrison and I went back to the court for round two.
With only twenty minutes left, Harrison was clearly feeling the pressure.
He made mistake after mistake, not succeeding until his sixth attempt.
The rear door finally opened. Harrison was half-dead from exhaustion.
But he still pushed himself. "Let's go catch her. If we can't, we'll have to complete the side quest."
My heart sank. "Yeah. There's no other way. And if we fail the side quest too..."
We both knew what the outcome would be.
From the basketball court's rear exit, Harrison and I practically sprinted the whole way.
I was still okay; Harrison was struggling to keep up.
The shooting had drained his energy. Now his face was beet red.
Not wanting to slow me down, he leaned against a wall, gasping. "Go... you first."
"Right."
I didn't hesitate. I ran flat out toward the dormitory check-in station.
From a distance, I spotted a woman in a hoodie, barefoot, carrying a basket full of rocks.
She stood motionless before the Rabbit Hall Warden.
My heart sank—she was about to check in.
I broke into a run while pulling out my phone and opening the camera.
I reached her side, but before I could block the Rabbit Hall Warden's camera, a white flash bleached my vision.
An artificial voice from the Rabbit Hall Warden announced, "Congratulations, Night Scout 1881, check-in successful."
Number 1881. That ABBA-style number—I was sure I'd seen it somewhere.
The woman yanked down the mask covering her face and laughed. "Sorry about that, kid."
That voice was even more familiar.
I turned to stare at her. "It's you?!"
The woman standing before me was, like me, a member of Class 8.
Her name was Gloria.
She was the older woman who had opposed Harrison and me being on patrol duty together during the class meeting at the cafeteria.
Her hair was streaked with gray. Underneath the hoodie, she wore the standard academy uniform.
The hoodie was what had thrown us off.
Even when we saw her, we hadn't been able to recognize her.
Gloria told me she hadn't found out until she returned to her room that afternoon.
Tonight there was a solo mission in addition to patrol duty.
Looking rather smug, Gloria said, "Everyone in the class has to do the solo mission. I've already finished mine. Now I just need to complete one patrol mission. If you survive this, I'll share my solo mission clues with you—as thanks for letting me go."
I didn't quite follow. "Who let you go?"
She was the one who'd played us, obviously.
But I kept that thought to myself.
Gloria blinked, confused at my protest. "What? The class monitor saw me enter the basketball court. Didn't he tell you?"
"Enter the basketball court?" I thought about it, then remembered.
When we'd reached the fork in the path, I had asked Harrison whether we should keep chasing.
Which meant Harrison had seen Gloria run into the basketball court but hadn't told me.
Instead, he'd steered me in the wrong direction, wasting precious time.
"So he watched me analyze the footprints when he already knew the answer?"
I went blank for a moment, then fury rose in my chest.
I turned around and found Harrison making his way toward us, walking slowly.
He looked at me nervously. "How'd it go? Did you stop her?"
I grabbed his collar without a word and dragged him to a corner where there were no cameras.
Then I punched him hard in the face.
Harrison slammed into the wall, let out a muffled groan, and crumpled to the ground.
I hauled him up, ready to hit him again.
Harrison raised his hands to shield his face. "Wait! Hold on—even if we failed the main mission, we can still do the side quest!"
"Bullshit!"
I was grinding my teeth. "First, tell me—you already knew who that woman was, didn't you? You let her go on purpose! Didn't you?! Tell me!"
Harrison finally understood where my rage came from.
He swallowed hard. "I did recognize her. But hear me out—I let her go for a reason. I wanted to keep her alive."
"Are you out of your damn mind?"
I was livid.
Harrison was playing the saint, right in the middle of a death game?
I clenched my fist and drove it into his gut.
No bones to cushion the blow—it hurt far worse than a punch to the face.
Harrison swore from the pain, clutching his stomach, face contorted.
Seeing I was truly furious, he forced himself to explain. "Listen... we just got sorted into classes today, right? Inter-class battles haven't started yet. If we'd caught her on the main mission, she'd be dead, wouldn't she? Our class is down to twenty people. If we kill her, isn't that like cutting off our own arm? We have two missions. There's a chance for both sides to win. Why not take it?"
I shot him a cold look. "That sounds reasonable enough. But that's Gloria—an older woman. How can you be sure she won't be a burden in the later rounds?"
Harrison replied, "It doesn't matter. If she drags us down later, I won't save her again."
Then, as if remembering something, he chuckled. "She may not match us physically, but she's got brains. Don't you think so?"
I thought about it.
He was right—Harrison had let her go once.
But throughout the entire chase.
From her dropping the task card to draw our attention, to setting the footprint trap, to locking us in the equipment room...
She was older, at a clear physical disadvantage.
Yet under that kind of pressure, she'd improvised so many countermeasures.
This woman named Gloria really did have extraordinary mental toughness.
"So that's why you let her go—you saw that quality in her?"
Harrison straightened his glasses. His face was pale, but he nodded. "Yes."
Harrison and I were teammates now. In this game, that meant we lived or died together.