The screen flashed
"Player Count: 267 remaining "
Silence.
The kind that doesn't feel peaceful — but haunted.
The chairs finally released their grip, and Lyra stumbled forward, her wrists aching from the metal cuffs. Her legs trembled, not from exhaustion, but from knowing she'd stolen time — taken life — just to survive.
The arena doors slid open.
No more commands. No voice. Just the cold echo of 267 footfalls as players stepped out into the corridor, leaving behind the 33 empty chairs.
Some refused to look back. Some couldn't stop staring.
Rhea walked beside Lyra in silence, her eyes hollow. Ahead of them, the silver-eyed boy didn't falter. Not once. His hands were shoved into his pockets, like he hadn't just outwit death by the second.
They were guided into a large chamber — dimly lit, concrete walls, lined with thin mattresses and energy bars stacked on metal trays. Bottled water. Bandages. Warm towels.
REST ZONE – 12 HOURS UNTIL NEXT GAME
Finally… time.
Some collapsed the moment they found a place.
Lyra sat cross-legged, unwrapping a bar, hands shaking.
"You were good in there," said a voice.
She looked up.
Him.
The silver-eyed boy.
Kyro.
He didn't sit. He just leaned against the pillar beside her bed.
"You stole four minutes," he said quietly.
"Fast hands. Fast brain. You'll last."
Lyra narrowed her eyes. "And you're the system's poster child?"
He smirked — not cruel, but unreadable.
"No. Just good at survival."
She didn't respond.
After a moment, he straightened. "Don't fall asleep too deep. They like surprises."
And he walked away.
Across the room, screens flashed muted footage from previous games — not for entertainment, but as a reminder. Every death. Every scream. Every wrong answer.
"THE NUMBER TABLE "
She remembered that game.
Game 1.
Her first death.
Not her own — someone else's.
Now she was on Game 5.
She drifted into sleep as the lights dimmed, the sound of breathing — 267 survivors breathing the same broken air — surrounding her.
And deep in the system, someone watched the footage again.
Paused on her face.
Zoomed in.
"Player 109: Stability = 82%" "Emotion Index: Guilt, Alertness, Strategic Drift"
A click.
Save.