"Senior Lin Yu... I like you!"

Midnight.

On the stage of the Drama Club at Jiangcheng Media University.

A shy underclassman, dressed in a pretty sailor-style uniform skirt, her square-toe leather shoes reflecting the dazzling stage lights. Her makeup was flawless, her hair tied into playful twin tails, and in her hands, a vibrant bouquet of champagne roses.

Lin Yu stared blankly at the adorable underclassman who had suddenly appeared before him.

At that moment, Lin Yu was dressed in British-style theatrical attire—a deerstalker cap, a double-breasted suit, white gloves... the stereotypical image of a "detective." After all, for tomorrow's official performance, he was set to play the role of an elegant and astute detective.

This was Lin Yu’s usual habit. The day before a performance, he would don his costume and come alone to the Drama Club’s stage to "find his character."

Lin Yu was, after all, a quintessential method actor.

And as the current "star performer" of Jiangcheng Media’s Drama Club, Lin Yu enjoyed this privilege—a special allowance granted by both the club president and the faculty advisor.

Logically, no one should have disturbed him at this hour.

So...

Faced with the beautiful underclassman confessing her feelings so fervently, Lin Yu frowned slightly.

"Right now is my rehearsal time. I’m sorry."

"My personal time is entirely devoted to studying and practicing acting. I have no plans for romance at the moment. My apologies."

His tone was stiff, almost cold.

Yet, the underclassman’s bright smile didn’t waver.

"Senior, don’t misunderstand—I’m not asking you out!"

"My ‘like’ is that of a fan for their idol. I’m your devoted fan!"

Lin Yu’s brow furrowed deeper. "A fan? If you’re here for gifts, photos, or autographs, there’ll be an interactive segment after tomorrow’s performance."

Though he disliked such interactions, the club president insisted they were necessary to attract audiences.

But the girl in the sailor uniform shook her head again.

"No, Senior, you’ve misunderstood. I’m not the kind of fan who’s satisfied with photos or autographs. I’m more like... Mark David Chapman. A devoted fan."

Lin Yu paused.

"Mark David Chapman?"

He searched his memory briefly before recalling.

"The murderer who shot John Lennon... also his obsessive fan."

The girl beamed.

"Correct, Senior Lin Yu! I knew you weren’t just a great actor—you’re also so knowledgeable!"

With her cheerful laughter, the bouquet of champagne roses in her hands burst open.

Rustle—

The girl tore apart and discarded the flowers.

Pale orange petals scattered like splattered blood under the stage lights.

From the ruined bouquet, she retrieved an object that epitomized violence—as unmistakable as roses symbolize love.

Cold, heavy metal replaced the soft, bright blossoms, now gripped in her slender, pale hand.

It was...

A gun.

"Beretta M9."

Lin Yu’s body turned ice-cold, his mind blank as he stared down the barrel. Instinctively, he identified the model.

A prop? A prank?

In China, the odds of a real gun were slim...

But Lin Yu wasn’t optimistic.

Not just because the gun looked too real.

But because of her gaze—sharp, steady, unflinching as it locked onto him.

A gaze Lin Yu recognized all too well, one he’d studied extensively for a role about serial killers...

The look of a predator fixated on its prey.

Pure killing intent.

BANG!

The muzzle flashed. A bullet pierced through a falling petal before striking Lin Yu’s beating heart with equal precision.

Iron and fire, blood and death—proof that the Beretta M9 in her hand and the murderous intent in her eyes were very real.

Agony and coldness spread rapidly from the bullet wound. Lin Yu’s strength drained away as he collapsed onto the stage.

Above him, the girl’s voice rang out again—no longer playful or teasing, but deadly serious.

"...Almost... reverent."

The girl’s voice faded, and Lin Yu felt his consciousness slipping away.

"What kind of joke is this... how absurd..."

His initial confusion twisted into searing resentment as he realized death was imminent.

How could he die here—so pointlessly, to some deranged stranger’s bullet?!

"I don’t want to die!"

There was still tomorrow’s performance...

Next week, next month, a lifetime of stages yet to stand on!

His acting still needed refinement.

To this day, he had never delivered a single performance that truly satisfied him!

How could it end like this—so meaninglessly?!

Yet no matter how fiercely Lin Yu raged against his fate...

Everything still dissolved into eternal silence.

......

Time blurred. Then—Lin Yu opened his eyes again.

The phantom pain of the gunshot lingered in his chest, now more illusion than wound.

His hand flew to his heart. No injury.

As he surveyed his surroundings, he found only an abyss of darkness and void.

"Is this hell? The underworld? Or am I not dead—just a vegetable trapped in my own mind?"

Lin Yu’s thoughts spiraled as he stared into the nothingness.

Then, as if answering his silent questions...

Crimson words materialized in the void before him:

[Welcome to the Death Game!]

[Here, we grant the dearly departed—those with an unyielding will to live—one chance to rewrite their fate.]

[Play the game, and reclaim your life.]

[Do you choose to participate?]

The blood-red text snapped Lin Yu into focus.