Hana took a small step closer to him.

"Deon..."

He didn’t reply yet, eyes moving across the hall, already counting faces. A man with the torn hoodie had already backed himself against the wall while a woman near the suits of armor clutched something hidden inside her sleeve.

Two contestants beside the right hallway exchanged a glance that lasted a little too long before immediately looking away from each other.

Everyone was thinking the same thing.

Who would be first? Definitely not me!

Mimi stared at the sight, clearly satisfied before bringing the golden microphone to its mouth. "Please remember! Room-specific rules may appear upon entry. Contestants are encouraged to read carefully and think creatively..."

"Good luck!"

And just like always, the mascot had disappeared in a burst of confetti. The entrance hall was quiet again, but this time laced with tension.

All it took for someone to sob before the entrance hall broke again.

"Stay away from me!"

"Nobody move!"

"We need to talk! Everyone calm down!"

"Calm down?! Did you not hear what that thing said?!"

"You think I’m dying so you can get a hint?!"

A man near the door shoved another contestant away from him. The other stumbled, panicked, and immediately pulled out a Card. Gray light flashed in his palm, forming a short spear.

Three more contestants backed away. Another summoned a hatchet, backing a few steps.

"Put it away!"

"You put yours away first!"

"Don’t point that thing at me!"

"Everyone!"

The sheer volume of the shout seemed to catch everyone off guard. A man stood near the right side of the hall with one hand raised.

Deon recognized him immediately from all the campaign posters and charity broadcasts he’d seen.

Soft brown hair framed his face in a middle part. Together with his calm brown eyes, it gave him the kind of face that made people believe nothing could shake him.

The unnatural calm had lingered in Deon’s mind, mostly because he already disliked the man on TV, and even now in person...it was the same.

Joshua Birkin—the charity darling. "For the people," was his motto, if interviews and billboards were to be believed.

Joshua lifted both hands slowly, palms open. "Everyone, please listen to me."

"I know you’re scared. We all are. What Mimi just told us was horrible. But if we start pointing weapons at each other now, we’re doing exactly what that thing wants."

"We survived the First Game," he continued. "That means everyone here is capable. Everyone here fought, ran, protected someone, or made a choice that brought them this far."

His gaze moved across the hall, catching people one by one. "Do not let them reduce you to animals just because they opened the cage!"

Several contestants went still at his words. Even the woman who had been sobbing near the staircase lifted her head.

Joshua turned toward the center of the entrance hall. "We have forty-eight hours. We have twenty-one contestants—"

"Twenty..." someone whispered.

Joshua’s expression shifted, just enough to look like he was in pain.

"Twenty," he corrected. "We have twenty contestants remaining in this hall. We have a clear objective. As Mimi said, we can all solve this normally if we work together! Why is it that we have to kill each other?!"

Hana, standing behind Deon, whispered, "He sounds pretty reasonable."

"He is," Deon replied. "But did you catch what he avoided saying? It’s pretty obvious."

"I don’t know?" she answered after a moment of hesitation.

But before Deon could even open his mouth, Vivian had already answered for him.

"The people who survive the first game...are all those who have used others to their advantage somehow," she said softly. "And those who didn’t...are already six-feet under."

"That would mean..." Hana brought a finger to her chin.

"Yeah," Deon nodded, gaze drifting back to Joshua. "Everyone here is a hypocrite. They just haven’t been forced to admit it yet."

Vivian let out a soft laugh. "All of these people, huh? That’s pretty self-aware of you to say, Little Day."

"Tch, don’t start," Deon clicked his tongue. "Can both of you go look after the kids. They don’t look too hot."

Behind them, Mina and Nami stood close together near the wall, both still looking like they might fall apart.

Vivian hummed, folding her arms. "And where are you going?"

"Nowhere far." Deon looked back toward the center of the entrance hall. Joshua was still speaking, slowly pulling the room back together one sentence at a time. "I need information."

Hana frowned. "From them?"

"About them."

He let his gaze drift across the hall, clocking everyone individually.

The man with the spear. The hatchet user. The woman in the tracksuit. The quiet woman by the suits of armor. The hoodie man who kept his back against the wall. The pair that whispered near the left hallway and many others—

All orbiting around Joshua like he was their sun.

"Alright," Hana nodded. "Stay safe."

"Mm, I will."

Deon kept his hands visible as he moved. Not because he wanted to look harmless but because if he looked too prepared, people would assume he had something to hide.

And, well, he did.

Deon slowed near the edge of the group, trying to lay low as much as possible.

"—no one will be forced to reveal their Cards," Joshua said. "But anyone willing to share information voluntarily will help us make better decisions!"

A woman near him asked, "And who decides the search groups?"

"No one person should," Joshua answered smoothly. "We decide together."

Several people nodded, but it almost made Deon laugh.

Together, huh? Seems like they’re already under his finger, and no one’s got a clue.

But while this was happening, his eyes scanned the room one more time, counting out twenty people just like someone said.

Levi’s not here...Wasn’t there around 42 survivors before the games started? If Ryker died and the idiot who tried to attack Mimi kicked the bucket as well.

Deon turned to look at the corpse.

Then there should be 40 people. If this mansion has 20...it’s safe to assume we’ve been divided into two groups, with the other being somewhere else.

That was both good and bad at the same time. Good, because Levi wasn’t here to hoard everything. But bad, because Levi’s knowledge would be extremely freaking valuable in a game such as this.

A few of the contestants had started moving closer to the center, drawn in by Joshua’s calm like moths to a lamp. Deon’s gaze passed them, but landed near Joshua’s right shoulder.

There, hiding like a rat in its hole, stood an older man with a bruised cheek and split lip. For a second, Deon thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

Maybe every pathetic old man would look familiar in a place like this. But the chandelier light caught his face, telling Deon everything he needed to know.

Martin Wells.

The old fox had somehow survived. His shirt was torn, and one sleeve hung by the threads. One of his eyes was swollen enough to make him look even more pitiful than before. He looked like he had crawled through hell on his belly alone.

Their eyes met, and all the blood drained from Martin’s face.

For one small moment, he looked exactly like he had back in District 4. Ready to beg, lie, or bite depending on which option seemed safest.

But he didn’t choose any of those options, deciding to choose the one that would give Deon the most headache.

"That’s him, everyone! That’s the murderer!"