Gazing at the dead fish staring back at him from an expensive porcelain plate surrounded by a delicate nest of steamed vegetables, He Zhihan didn’t blink. Neither did the fish.
They remained locked in a staring contest across the white tablecloth until Zhihan’s eyes began to sting.
"You win." He cursed under his breath, rubbing both eyes with the back of his hand.
They were sitting inside a high-end restaurant built into the ground floor of the motel. Soft yellow chandeliers glowed overhead, casting a warmth over the polished oak tables.
Every Player was seated, and for the moment, the scene looked... normal.
Some Players were actually eating. Others were whispering, while a few even managed dry, nervous laughs.
He Zhihan couldn’t tell whether they were genuinely relaxed or simply pretending they weren’t sitting in a potential slaughterhouse.
He locked eyes with the fish once more, picked up his fork and knife, sliced into the grey, rubbery flesh, and brought a small piece to his mouth.
His face twisted as it tasted like mud and copper.
How does this taste worse than prison slop?
He Zhihan chewed twice, froze, and forced himself to swallow with great difficulty.
Clink.
He dropped his fork onto the porcelain.
"No. I’m not doing this." He pushed himself out of his chair, determined to find a kitchen but the second he took two steps forward, a waiter approached him.
The man was unnaturally pale with the exact same ghastly corpse-shade as the woman at the reception desk.
Under the harsh restaurant lights, his skin caught the reflection with a bizarre, wet sheen.
He looked like a vampire from a low budget film. Like he’d start glittering if someone shoved him into the sunlight.
He Zhihan stopped, dark eyes fixing on him with an icy glare.
The waiter bowed politely, his smile entirely too smooth. "Is there something wrong with your meal, sir?"
"I want a simple meal," He Zhihan gestured back at his plate. "Tofu. Steak. Something that didn’t die staring at me."
The waiter’s smile didn’t flinch. "I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience, sir." He bowed deeper, his voice dripping with rehearsed courtesy. "However, our menu is strictly vegetarian."
"Fine." He hissed. "Just give me something that isn’t looking back at me."
"Right away, sir." The waiter bowed once more and turned on his heel.
He Zhihan retreated to his seat and sank into the chair, leaning his head back against the cushion. He slouched, crossing his arms as his cold gaze tracked the uniformed staff moving between the tables.
"System," He Zhihan questioned silently, his posture relaxed. "Are the staff here monsters? They look like walking corpses with their sanity intact."
[Analysis complete. The staff of the Dark Forest Motel are not living humans. They are Class-E Marionettes, corpses animated by the forest’s residual malice. They lack free will, but will strictly enforce motel policies.]
"Ah... I was right." A ruthless smirk curled the corner of his lips as dark strands of hair fell over his eyes.
"Class-E marionettes," he rested his chin on his palm. "No wonder they have shit taste in culinary arts.."
[Warning: Attacking anyone before the start of the official tour will trigger an early scenario wipeout.]
He Zhihan pushed himself upright, looking mildly offended. "Why the sudden lack of faith? I thought we were finally getting to know each other."
Within minutes, the pale waiter returned with his replacement meal. A simple bowl of steamed vegetables and a serving of clear fish broth.
He Zhihan examined it with sharp suspicion before taking a small bite. It wasn’t good, but it was infinitely better than chewing on mud.
As he ate, his attention drifted far beyond the food.
He was counting.
Players. NPCs.
His mind calculated silently, separating the living from the doomed by their micro-expressions, posture, and trembling hands.
Thirty Players. Plus himself made thirty-one.
If Mission one demanded their survival through the night, whatever was designed to wipe them out was already inside these walls. He intended to find it before it found him.
After finishing, He Zhihan quietly left the restaurant for the residential wing. He didn’t bother approaching Elder Bo; the old man had already claimed another old man around his age as a roommate.
He reached Room 001 and swiped his key card.
Beep.
The lock disengaged. He stepped inside, flicked the lights on, and confirmed the room was empty. His assigned roommate hadn’t arrived yet.
Flicking the light switch back off, he crossed the room and dropped heavily onto the soft mattress. He stretched his arms wide, letting his heavy boots hang over the edge as he stared at the dark wooden ceiling.
Hm.... There was a high probability the marionettes were former Players who had failed their own Scenarios.
The thought flickered like a dying flame before he dragged a hand over his face. He needed rest. He would sleep for an hour, then wake up to clear his head.
His eyelids grew heavy, lowering into darkness.
And the moment they closed, He Zhihan plunged into a deep, dreamless sleep.
~°~
The moment consciousness returned, every instinct in He Zhihan’s body screamed danger.
He couldn’t move.
His spine was pressed flat against a hard wooden surface. The air around him was stagnant, cramped, and suffocatingly tight.
His muscles locked as his eyes snapped open.
A face was mere inches from his own.
He Zhihan’s pupils narrowed into to pinpricks.
Directly in front of him was a man of absurd, ethereal beauty. Cascades of long, silver-gold hair fell past his waist, the lowest strands gradually darkening into an inky, pitch-black tone.
They were trapped together inside the room’s narrow wardrobe, pressed so tightly against each other that there was barely enough space between their chests to draw a breath.
He Zhihan stared. The stranger stared back.
His eyes were like nothing He Zhihan had ever encountered. One was a clear, luminous amber, the other an exquisite jade green.
Both gleamed like polished gemstones in the suffocating dark.
He Zhihan parted his lips. "Who are—"
A pale palm instantly clamped over his mouth, smothering the words.
He Zhihan’s body went taut, his dark eyes filling with lethal intent.
The gorgeous stranger’s mismatched eyes narrowed slightly, meeting the cold rage in his gaze without a single flinch.
"Do not make a sound," he whispered, his voice a deep, smooth velvet.
He Zhihan’s pupils narrowed even further. "Get off me."
The man leaned closer until his lips nearly brushed He Zhihan’s ear, bringing with him the faint scent of crushed pine and winter frost. "I said, don’t. Make. A. Sound."