# CHAPTER 2:- ROUND 1: AN ORDINARY ROLL
Nivana had always been the kind of boy who preferred silence over noise. An introvert to the core, he rarely cared about what happened around him and never bothered to blend into the crowd. Back in school, he didn't have a single friend. His sharp mind and top grades only made things worse: some classmates grew jealous, while others felt too intimidated to approach him.
He never took the first step either. Nivana simply wasn't the type to reach out. Even during his school's farewell party, when everyone else was celebrating, he stayed at home, passing the time with video games, anime, and comics.
But college was different. Thousands of faces filled the campus, and even in his own class, there were nearly a hundred students. Among them was one boy who broke through his walls: Rara. Unlike Nivana, he was playful, outspoken, and carefree, almost his complete opposite. And yet, somehow, their vibes matched perfectly.
From that chance meeting, their bond grew stronger, until the two became inseparable best friends.
And now here they were: seated side by side, out of nowhere, in a place they didn't recognize, with no clue how or why they had arrived.
A fist smashed the table two rows ahead. A short, broad-shouldered boy stood, voice raw. "What's this about? I'm not playing this damn game—fuck off!"
He strained against the chair's arms, hands gripping its arms with white-knuckled force, trying to lift himself. But no matter how much he struggled, he couldn't move even an inch.
His rebellion sparked the others. Murmurs spread like fire, swelling into shouts.
"We all don't want to play this shit game!"
"Yeah, me neither!"
"Let us out!"
Hands shot up, voices ricocheting off the white walls.
Then, with a soft hiss, the glowing die-screens hovering at each table slid upward and vanished. A much larger screen lit up in front of everyone. The same grinning die appeared, its smile stretched cruelly as a low, mocking voice slithered across the room.
"Ohhh? So you're saying you won't play… my lovely game? Calling it dumb? Who was the first one to criticize, hmm?"
All eyes turned to the boy. He raised his hand again without hesitation.
A door creaked open on the far-left wall.
"You can leave," the voice said sweetly. "Take your friend with you."
Nivana and Rara sat frozen, watching in silence as the boy smirked. He stood with ease this time, no restraints holding him back. "Shaurya, let's go!" he barked.
His friend hesitated, eyes darting nervously. "But Sunny… is this really okay?"
"Don't be stupid." Sunny grabbed his hand, pulling him forward. "We're out of here."
The two walked toward the open door. The room fell into dead silence. Everyone's eyes followed their steps, breath held, waiting to see what would happen.
The door closed behind them.
BANG! BANG!
Two gunshots rang out, deafening in the room. Gasps erupted, faces turned pale. Just before the door sealed shut, both Sunny and Shaurya's bodies collapsed lifelessly to the floor, blood pooling beneath them.
And then… silence.
The host's smirking voice slithered through the room, soft and poisonous. "Does anyone else want to leave this game and call it dumb?"
A heavy silence fell; heads bowed, breaths held. Everyone looked small and exposed.
Except Nivana. He sat motionless, unblinking, chin propped on his left hand, elbow on the table— calm to the point of boredom. No panic flickered in his eyes. He pushed a strand of brown hair back with his right hand as if he were merely adjusting his fringe.
The host's laugh broke out: high, cruel, delighted. "HAHAHA! I'll tell you this only once: follow my orders. One disobeys, and the example outside the exit door will remind you why." And then, the host lowered his voice. A thin stream of blood trickled down the giant die on the screen, painting its edges from top to bottom.
"Now… shall we begin my lovely game? Round One."
A ripple of whispers swept through the room.
"What could Round One be?" "Is this some kind of death game?"
The anxious chatter grew louder, echoing off the walls.
Rara glanced nervously at Nivana. In return, Nivana offered a faint smile, as if to ease his friend's tension. But behind that calm exterior, his mind was turning sharply.
'If I look at it from one angle, the host's actions clearly show this isn't a joke. He's deadly serious. But then… why pairs of best friends? Is "NICEY DICEY" connected to friendship somehow?'
His gaze darkened as the memory of the gunshots flickered back. 'No doubt about it: those two are dead. But who fired the shots? The host never moved…'
Nivana's eyes darted across the room, studying every detail. 'If we want to survive, the only option is to clear this game. From what I can see, there are maybe fifty people here: give or take.'
Finally, his eyes settled on the glowing dice on the screen. 'What's his motive? Why force us into this deadly game? Whatever it is… one thing's certain. If we fail, our lives are already hanging by a thread.'
Rara was also trying to grasp the situation, his sharp eyes scanning the room just like Nivana's. That's when he noticed a girl two rows ahead on his right. She was trembling, her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking with muffled sobs. She rubbed at her eyes so hard they were turning red.
Rara's expression softened. His lips pressed together, a faint pity showing in his eyes. Then, as if refusing to let the despair consume her, he leaned forward a little. He waved, catching her attention, and with his free hand made a playful gesture: drawing a cheerful smile across his lips with his fingers.
The girl blinked through her tears, caught off guard. For a moment, the corners of her mouth twitched, and a small, shaky smile escaped her. The tears stopped flowing.
In the midst of restless whispers, the host's voice suddenly echoed, silencing the entire room in an instant.
"Now… it's time to test your friendship, to see how much you trust your friend… and how much your friend trusts you." His tone sharpened, rising into a chilling roar:
"Round 1 of NICEY DICEY begins now— AN ORDINARY ROLL!"
An ordinary die appeared on the giant screen. Six faces, six dots—just like any normal die. But this one was not normal. One face bore a question mark, and instead of cold indifference, its lips curved as if smirking.
The screen shifted, revealing a pair of pale hands, palms open, the die floating weightlessly between them.
The host's voice slithered back into the silence:
"Firstly… every team shall have four players: two pairs of friends. Let's begin the pairing."
Before anyone could react, the chairs beneath them screeched and shifted on their own, rearranging the participants into groups. Nivana and Rara's seats stopped beside two strangers.
One was a girl, her short pink hair framing sharp eyes. She wore a white shirt with brown stripes tucked into neat black pants. Her name flickered above her table—ROSNA.
The other was a boy with messy black hair falling over his forehead, wearing a bold red t-shirt patterned with colorful dice and loose white pajama bottoms. His name blinked into existence as well—VICY.
Together, the four of them were now bound — one team, one fate.
Rara leaned closer to Nivana, covering his mouth with his hand as if sharing a secret. "Bro… look at his shirt. Color dice print. How ironic, we were just talking about color die while playing Ludo."
Nivana chuckled faintly and nodded. "Yeah… true. I didn't even notice."
Everyone settled around the table, one person to each side.
Rara broke the silence first, scratching the back of his head with an easy grin. "Well… looks like we're a team now. Pleasure to meet you all!"
Rosna managed a small, hesitant smile. "N-Nice to meet you too."
Vicy leaned back with little interest. "Yeah."
Nivana didn't bother with words—just gave a brief nod. "Hmm."
Rara sighed, lowering his head and muttering under his breath, "This is already going to be tough…"
No one dared to speak. They simply followed whatever the host ordered. The room had grown heavy: faces pale, sweat dripping from foreheads. The unspoken fear was clear: none of them knew if they would ever leave this place alive.
Then, with a sharp *scritch* from above, something descended from the ceiling on a rope.
A small figure dropped onto the floor with a light thud. Its body was humanoid, but its square face looked eerily like a die—uncanny, mechanical, almost robotic, yet it moved with the gestures of a person.
The tone suddenly twisted, dripping with menace: "He will be your referee. The one who starts the match… and explains the rules. As for me: I'll be watching from off-screen."
"Don't do anything funny. I'm watching you…"
The little thing waved cheerfully, raising its hand with a wide grin plastered across its die-like face. "Hey, everyone! I'm Nepho. Nice to meet ya!" It tilted its head, smile widening unnaturally. "Now then… shall we begin?"
Nivana glanced askance at Nepho, his eyes slowly tracing him from head to toe. 'Something felt off. He didn't look entirely human, nor fully robotic—perhaps a cyborg, something in between.'
Just then, a stage rose smoothly from the floor, right in front of each player. Nepho hopped onto his platform, the massive screen behind him lighting up in dazzling patterns. He spread both arms wide, his cheerful smile almost unnatural, and shouted: "Round One:- AN ORDINARY ROLL, officially begins! I am your guide, your referee, and I'll explain how you will play and what rules bind this game!"
"Firstly," Nepho began, "you all have an ordinary die inside the box placed in front of you on the table. You must roll it inside the box, and your number will appear beside it on the table. Every player begins with 20 Life Points. These points are where your life is bound. And when they reach zero…"
Nepho lowered his head. His eyes turned pitch-black.
"…you will be eliminated. Or maybe I should say, you will die."
The room froze. Eyes darted side to side, fear creeping in as everyone realized their survival was tied to glowing numbers above their heads. A small screen appeared beside each player, displaying 20 in bold.
Nepho raised his steel pointer and faced the massive screen. With a swift motion, a page appeared, its title flashing in bold, blood-red letters:
"ROUND ONE: AN ORDINARY ROLL" Rules
He began striking each rule with his stick, his cheerful tone twisted into something more menacing:
Rule 1. "All four players in a team must roll the die at once. This is mandatory. If anyone delays the roll… immediate elimination."
Rule 2. "If you roll a 2, 3, 4, or 5—nothing happens. No gain, no loss. But if you roll a 6, six of your life points will be deducted."
Nepho smirked as he tapped the third rule. His voice dropped low.
Rule 3. "To win this round, your team must roll the number '1' exactly six times in total. Only then will you advance to the next round."
The players sat stiff, listening silently, every muscle tense. Then Nepho's smile grew wider, sharper.
Rule 4. "Anyone who rolls a '1'… must reveal a bad habit, a dark truth, or a shameful secret from their past. And it must be true."
Faces turned pale. Rara glanced nervously at Nivana, who remained calm, listening with unsettling stillness.
Nepho continued, slamming his stick onto the screen.
Rule 5. Transfer Rule. "If a player is eliminated, their remaining Life Points are transferred to their partner: as a penalty (they subtract from the partner's current total).
If that partner later dies as well, whatever points remain are then converted into bonus points and given to the surviving pair on the team."
This last rule stirred a wave of whispers and gasps across the room. The cruel choice was clear: play together as a team and survive, or sacrifice your own pair to strengthen the others.
Nivana touched the box in front of him, but it was firmly fixed to the table. He tried pulling it with a little force, nothing. With a click, the lid opened, and inside sat a simple die. He lifted it between his fingers, turning it under the light."Hmm… just an ordinary die," he muttered.
But his thoughts dug deeper.'Why must we roll inside the box? Is it linked to some kind of mechanism—tracking our rolls, updating life points automatically?'
His eyes scanned the room. Fear clung to every face. Pale skin, trembling hands, beads of sweat rolling down foreheads. 'No one wants to die here. And yet… with the transfer rule, betrayal is inevitable. Friends may turn into executioners before long.'
He rolled the die lightly in his palm, eyes narrowing. He ran the numbers quickly in his head 'Twenty-four pairs, twelve teams. Fear would cull most of them fast. In his head: maybe more than half would be gone by the end of this round.'
Across from him, Rara's worried eyes met his, trembling just slightly. Nivana only spun the die again, calm as ever.
All around, the sound of dice being picked up echoed in uneven rhythm—click, clack, click. Some players whispered hurried prayers. Some bit their lips till they bled. One boy laughed nervously, forcing a grin. "It's just dice… can't be that bad, right?" Nobody answered. They only stared.
Nepho hopped back into the center of the stage, his square face gleaming under the light. His wide smile cut across the silence like a knife.
"Now the stage is set, rules are set, players are wet with sweat: let's begin the master's lovely game… NICEY DICEY!"
He stretched his arms high. "Round One—An Ordinary Roll! First throw… begins now"