"Boom—"

A deep, resonant bell tolled beside Lin Yu's ears.

To his surprise, he found himself no longer in that void-like darkness. Instead, he was now in a spacious, dimly lit chamber.

The room was decorated in a Baroque medieval style—opulent yet decayed.

A thick carpet, exquisite oil paintings, a crystal chandelier, wrought-iron candelabras…

Every object was covered in layers of dust and cobwebs, and upon closer inspection, each bore dark reddish stains resembling dried blood.

One side of the room featured a massive floor-to-ceiling window, its wooden frame adorned with carvings of lunar phases.

Moonlight streamed in through the glass, casting a faint glow over the space.

From these details, Lin Yu deduced that this was likely a room in some long-abandoned Western-style castle.

At the center of the room stood a long wooden table.

Lin Yu now sat at its head.

And around the table—six others.

Six people…

Including himself, that made seven.

Exactly the number of "players."

So, these six must be the other participants in this game!

Lin Yu quickly steadied himself, his gaze sweeping discreetly over the group.

Four men and two women, with no obvious similarities in age or demeanor.

The only thing they shared was the faint traces of bewilderment and unease on their faces.

"It seems we're all 'players' here—and equally clueless about this game."

As a method actor, Lin Yu had delved into psychology to better understand his roles. While he couldn’t read minds at a glance, interpreting basic emotional states from facial expressions came easily to him.

He also noted a telling detail:

Before each person at the table—himself included—lay a brown envelope.

Yet Lin Yu stayed silent.

With the game’s rules still unclear, drawing attention now would be unwise. Especially since his assigned role was "The Trickster"—a class reliant on deception to thrive.

Within seconds, someone broke the silence.

"Everyone… did you, like me, die and then wake up in a dark space with some… bizarre text about a game?"

A bespectacled middle-aged woman spoke cautiously. "What does any of this mean?"

Lin Yu inwardly nodded.

Though he’d pieced things together quickly, he knew it wasn’t just due to composure.

As a chronically online Gen-Z college student, he’d consumed plenty of battle royale and death-game fiction.

But among the seven present, some looked like they’d never touched such media.

Still, Lin Yu kept quiet.

Someone else would play the guide.

At the opposite end of the table, a chubby boy in a white graphic tee and thick glasses couldn’t resist responding to the middle-aged woman’s question:

"I think... this is just like those anime and novels I’ve seen! A bunch of people die by accident but get chosen by some 'god' to play a brutal game—using their abilities to survive. It’s cruel, but it’s also a chance to change our fate!"

"BANG!"

A sharp crack echoed as a lean, scar-faced man with a vicious glare slammed his fist onto the table.

"Bullshit! What kind of goddamn 'god' would do this? I died like a fucking joke, and now I’m stuck in this psycho place after death?!"

The scarred man’s face twisted as if reliving his final moments.

"I... I don’t think it’s entirely bad," a soft-spoken young woman murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with trembling fingers. "Like the glasses-wearing boy said, at least we have a game to play instead of being truly dead..."

"Oh, so you’ll just believe whatever this fat kid says?" The scarred man sneered at her. "What if that so-called 'god' is just fucking with us?"

The young woman pressed her lips together, clearly too intimidated to argue.

With just these few exchanges, Lin Yu had already pieced together their personalities:

• The bespectacled boy: Naïve, likely a sheltered high schooler.
• The scarred man: Aggressive, volatile, desperate to assert dominance.
• The two women: The middle-aged one stern and pragmatic; the younger one timid.

Lin Yu analyzed them not out of curiosity, but necessity. Whatever this game entailed, these six would be his allies—or enemies. Understanding them meant survival.

As for the remaining two who hadn’t spoken...

His gaze flicked to them.

One sat directly across—a wiry, rat-faced young man around his age, his beady eyes darting between the others. He licked his lips nervously, exuding skittish energy.

The other was the towering, square-jawed man beside Lin Yu. Built like a soldier, he’d listened intently to every word.

Now, he rapped his knuckles on the table.

"Enough arguing. Whatever this 'god' wants, we’re all in the same boat now—"

Lin Yu mentally rejected the statement.

Same boat? Hardly.

As if to confirm his skepticism, a grotesque scritching noise crawled from the walls.

They turned—and gasped.

Glistening crimson letters began carving themselves across the stone:

"AMONG THE SEVEN OF YOU, TWO ARE IMPOSTORS."
"FIND THEM."
"DRIVE THEM OUT."

The message repeated, bleeding down the wall like a macabre chant.