I picked up the next card with my fingers still shaking. The words swam for a second before settling into place, and the moment I understood them, something inside me sank. I didn't want this—not for her, not for me—but the memory of that shock was still ripping through my nerves, and I knew I couldn't take it again. So I read it.
"Blue to tell Red to… moan their name three times within the next ten seconds. Loud enough for Blue to hear. If done right, the timer will stop."
The box lit up, the timer already beginning its slow, merciless descent.
Catherine froze. Her hands clenched on her lap, her shoulders curling in as if she was trying to fold herself smaller. For a moment I thought she'd refuse, and a part of me almost hoped she would, even though I had no mercy left. She lifted her eyes to mine—wide, wounded, scared—and I felt something twist in my chest.
The timer hit eight seconds.
She swallowed, trembling and looked away.
Seven seconds.
Her voice came out soft at first, barely more than a whisper, like she was trying to hide from the sound of it.
"Erwin…"
Six seconds.
She tried again, louder this time, the sound tight and unsteady.
"Erwin…"
Five seconds.
The last one broke her a little. She forced the name out, her breath catching on it.
"Erwin…"
The timer stopped instantly, freezing at four.
I didn't breathe for a second. Hearing my own name like that—cracked, embarrassed, pushed out of her like it physically hurt—left me unsteady in a way I hadn't expected. Not aroused. Not proud. Just… messed up. Like I'd been handed something I had no business holding.
She kept her head down, shoulders shaking slightly. And I couldn't even comfort her, couldn't tell her it was fine, because none of this was fine. We were just playing along because the alternative was worse.
I barely had a moment to gather myself before the box lit up again, like it wanted to keep the momentum going. I reached in slowly, my fingers still unsteady from the shock and… everything else.
The words on this one made me blink.
Blue to tell Red to dance in a seductive pose for ten seconds. Must maintain eye contact the entire time.
I almost frowned at it. For a second I actually wondered if the system somehow knew I was male and she was female, but the tasks weren't gendered—they were just... twisted enough to land badly on anyone unlucky enough to pull them.
Still, I read it. I had no choice anymore.
The timer started again, that soft, cruel countdown lighting up above our heads.
Catherine's breath hitched. She didn't even hide it. She stared at the floor, then at the glass wall, anywhere but at me… until finally her shoulders sagged, like she'd accepted that this wasn't about dignity, it was about survival.
Ten seconds.
She stood up slowly, unsure on her feet, her hands brushing down her clothes in this nervous, shaky way that somehow made the whole thing feel even more real. She took one deep breath as if steadying herself, and then she started.
Her hips moved first—slow, unsteady, a single careful sway that shifted into something more deliberate. She turned slightly, bracing a hand on her knee as she bent just a little, and her ass lifted in a way that made it impossible not to look. My eyes went straight to it before I could stop myself, dragged there by the movement, by the humiliating intention the system had forced into every second.
She tried to keep it controlled, tried to keep it small, but the task didn't give her any room. She had to make it seductive. So she did.
Her hips rolled again—tight, awkward, trembling—but undeniably suggestive.
Her fingers traced the curve of her thigh, slow enough that the motion counted. Then she lowered herself another inch and gave a short, shaky twerk—nothing confident or practiced, just a broken little pulse of movement that made her whole body shiver.
And through all of it, she kept her eyes locked on mine.
A tear slid down her cheek as she moved, but she didn't wipe it away. Another followed, cutting a thin line down her face while she kept twerking in those small, humiliating bursts the system demanded. Her breath hitched, her legs shook, but her gaze never dropped, not even once.
Not even when her voice cracked in the back of her throat, not even when she blinked through tears to keep that awful, required eye contact alive.
I didn't look away also.
I couldn't.
The game wouldn't let me.
And God, the worst part was how much she tried, how much effort it took for her to keep going even though every inch of her posture screamed that she wanted to stop, that she wanted to disappear, that she didn't want me or anyone else to see her like this.
The timer finally froze at three, then it cut off completely.
She collapsed back into her seat like her legs had given out, wiping her face with the back of her hand, her breath shaking as she tried to recover even a scrap of dignity the game had just ripped out of her.
The box lit up again almost immediately, refusing to give us even a moment ti breathe.
My hand was still shaking as I reached inside, fingers brushing over a scattered mess of edges until one caught. I pulled it out, praying it wasn't another command designed to break her… or me.
Blue to ask Red: What's your favorite food?
For a moment, I almost laughed, not put of joy, the repressed kind. Of all things—after everything—it felt like the game was mocking us with something painfully mundane.
I read it out loud.
Catherine blinked, stunned, like she didn't quite believe the question was real. Then she whispered, almost too softly:
"B... beef Wellington."
The moment the words left her mouth, the booth lights cut out. The door behind us clicked open with a sharp metallic release.
That was it.
Ten cards.
Ten steps into a place that didn't care who we were, what we feared, or what we wanted to keep private.
Ten tiny, brutal instructions… and somehow they still felt enough to peel something raw out of both of us.
Catherine didn't look at me as she stepped out. She couldn't. No one would, not after what the system made her do, not after... what I made her do. I wanted to say something, anything to ease the weight sitting between us… but the words stuck. They didn't belong to me anymore.
I watched her walk toward a line forming for the Red players who had finished their round—CLEARANCE POINT: RED glowing above them in soft red letters.
My own sign was on the opposite side—CLEARANCE POINT: BLUE.
I forced myself toward it. As I approached, I froze.
Laura was walking out of her own booth at the same moment. She didn't look crushed or hollow or terrified the way I expected. She didn't shake. She didn't avoid eye contact.
She smirked—small, sharp, as if almost entertained.
It sent a cold ripple through me.
"You… good?" I asked, as she stepped closer.
She nodded once. "Mm."
Not scared. Not broken. Not even uneasy. Just… calm. Too calm.
"You sure?" I tried again, lowering my voice. "Your game was… okay?"
She glanced at me, and the look in her eyes wasn't exhaustion or trauma.
It wasn't relief.
It was interest.
Like she'd tasted something new and didn't entirely hate the flavor.
She tilted her head as if thinking then replied. "It was... fun," she murmured.
Fun?
I stared at her, unsure if I'd heard right, unsure if I wanted to hear right.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a truth slid in quietly and definitely unwelcomed:
Maybe I wasn't the only one changing.