“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience the pleasure of owning a slave!” the Executive declared, his words dripping with mockery as though he took amusement in their moral degradation.

The announcement shocked the crowd, though not in the way the Executive might have hoped. Most participants didn’t have enough coins to save anyone, and even those who did found little appeal in the offer.

“Hey, you could just grab one of the girls down there. The young one…” someone muttered to his companion.

“You crazy, bro? Three million for an ugly bitch? Fuck that. They said ‘slave in this area only.’ I’m getting the fuck outta here. There are tons of poor bitches out there who’d be your slave for way less money.”

The sentiment was unanimous. No one saw value in spending three million USD for a temporary slave.

“Well then… first-floor losers… it seems your fate is sealed,” the Executive announced, his voice dripping with sarcasm and cruelty. The mockery in his tone made the statement sting all the more for the desperate participants below.

But the losers on the first floor had no illusions. They hadn’t expected salvation. Who would spend three million USD to save them? It was absurd.

“Participant 380, Clara Reed,” Claude’s voice rang out as he stepped forward toward the Executive. He held out his coins, ready for the exchange.

A ripple of surprise passed through the crowd.

“Oh… OH?!” The Executive’s face lit up with a mix of genuine surprise and twisted delight. “Clara Reed. You are a lucky person. Administrators, bring Participant 380 to the second floor,” he announced loudly, his voice echoing through the halls.

Clara, who had been sitting lifelessly among the losers, suddenly heard her name. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief. Through the window, she saw Claude standing before the Executive. It took a moment for the reality to sink in.

“I’m… I’m saved? I’m alive? Am I being saved?” she whispered, her voice trembling with hope. Her face, once etched with despair, lit up with a radiant, almost childlike joy. Relief coursed through her as she was escorted toward the second floor by the administrators.

As Clara walked toward salvation, the remaining losers erupted into a frenzy.

“Save me too! I’ll be a useful slave!”

“I’ll do anything you want! Please, pick me instead. I’ll pleasure you better than that bitch!”

“Please, I’ll do anything! I’ll give you anything! Save me!!”

Their desperate pleas echoed through the first floor, rising in a chaotic cacophony. But the second floor remained eerily silent. The soundproofed glass and sealed doors ensured that Claude, Clara, and the others couldn’t hear their cries. The brief moment when the door opened for Clara’s entry allowed a faint echo of their screams to seep through, but it was fleeting.

As Clara entered, Claude tossed three coins onto the Executive’s feet with casual precision. The coins clinked against the floor, a sound that seemed to punctuate the tension in the air.

Clara ran to Claude, throwing her arms around him in an emotional embrace.

“Thank you… thank you so much… I’m sorry I said all that to you,” she sobbed. Her voice was soft but brimming with raw emotion. Happiness and sadness mingled within her, creating a bittersweet harmony. “I didn’t think you would… I thought I was abandoned… betrayed… Claude… thank you…”

Her tears flowed freely as she clung to him. Overwhelmed by the surge of emotions, her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground. This time, the weight that drained her strength was not despair, but the sheer relief of being saved.

Claude caught her, grabbing her arm and draping it over his shoulder to support her. Without a word, he guided her to a nearby dining table and helped her into a chair. They sat in silence for a moment, Clara’s sobs gradually subsiding as the reality of her salvation sank in.

“Would you like an administrator to follow you to ensure that she obeys you like the slave she is?” The Executive’s voice cut through the air, stopping Claude and Clara in their tracks as they began to walk away.

Clara, still weak and emotionally drained, barely registered the question. She didn’t have the energy to care. Her mind clung to the single fact that mattered: she was alive. Bad things might still happen, but at least it wasn’t death. “What’s the worst that can happen?” she thought to herself, trying to stave off the lingering anxiety and fear.

But then Claude’s voice rang out, firm and resolute. “Unnecessary. She isn’t a slave.”

That simple statement—delivered without hesitation—became a lifeline for Clara. It pierced through the darkness that had consumed her mind and heart just hours ago. Emotionally, mentally, in every way that mattered, she felt free. The weight of despair that had shackled her soul vanished. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt whole.

As the two continued walking, another voice broke the silence.

“That young girl. Green hair, ponytail, school uniform,” Elaine said softly, her tone as gentle and enigmatic as ever.

The Executive’s announcement followed swiftly. “Move up, Participant 567! You too, have been granted a second life!”

On the first floor, the announcement caused an uproar. For the losers below, the sight of not one but two people being saved ignited a flicker of hope amid their despair. Desperation and depression turned into a fervent longing. Almost all of them believed that their survival on the first floor had earned them the right to live. Now, they waited, their eyes glued to the second-floor window, hopeful that their name might be called next.