Urban District · Twelfth Block · Apartment
When the first piercing siren blared, the black man leaning against the wall to rest slowly opened his eyes. Only then did he realize the once-brilliant sunlight had vanished unnoticed. Thick, gloomy clouds had silently blanketed the sky, casting a vast shadow over the entire city block.
He tried to move, but aside from his right hand, which still responded, his torso, legs, and left arm had gone completely numb and refused to obey.
(Still okay.)
(Right hand still works.)
As that thought crossed his mind, he heard deliberately muffled footsteps drawing steadily closer.
(Someone's coming.)
His heart tightened. The black man silently slid his right hand behind his lower back and closed his fingers around the dagger hidden there.
The footsteps approached. He closed his eyes and counted the shrinking distance.
(Five meters—)
(Three meters—)
He held his breath, grip tightening on the hilt.
(Two meters—)
(One meter—)
He snapped his eyes open and struck without hesitation—only to see that the newcomer was a seven-year-old girl. He froze mid-motion; the force in his hand shifted at the last instant. The dagger spun away from his palm, grazing the girl's golden hair before slamming into the wall beside her.
The little girl screamed. The white box in her hands clattered to the ground.
"P-please… don't… don't kill me…" Her voice cracked with sobs; she could barely form a full sentence.
The black man's gaze flicked to the white box at her feet. It was a medical kit—bandages, gauze, alcohol swabs, and red antiseptic scattered across the ground. The little girl huddled beside it, shaking like a leaf.
A mix of confusion and relief washed over him. He looked away.
Good. Not one of the faces he despised.
(But…)
He glanced up at the sky.
(The second siren could sound any second.)
(And whoever shows up then might be an "old friend.")
"U-um…"
A timid voice broke the silence beside him. The black man turned and met a pair of wide, startled fawn-like eyes.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you."
"I saw blood on you, so…" Oujar glanced at the fallen medical kit. "I should have said something first, but you hadn't moved and I thought you were resting, so I tried to stay quiet… I scared you. I'm sorry."
Who exactly had scared whom?
The black man stared silently at the blonde girl, noticing her trembling calves, and found it almost amusing.
"…Not necessary," he rumbled. The mask covering his entire lower jaw shifted with every word.
"But you're bleeding a lot. If you don't bandage it soon…"
"That's not my blood," he cut her off bluntly.
"Eh?"
(Not his blood…)
(Someone else's blood?)
Fear surged through Oujar.
(…Did he kill someone?)
"Correct." As if reading her mind, the black man added calmly, "That blood came from three different people. You guessed right—I'm a bona fide murderer."
…"
The air turned ice-cold.
His stare was like a lone wolf lurking in the jungle at midnight. Pinched by that gaze, Oujar shivered violently.
"Alright, little thing. You can scram now." The black man coldly looked away and leaned back against the wall, eyes closing once more.
But the little girl stayed silent.
A moment later came a soft *clack*. The black man opened his eyes and saw the dagger he had thrown now resting beside his hand. He looked up—straight into Oujar's clear, water-like eyes.
"I thought you might need it," she said, gathering her courage. "You seem really on guard, like you're scared of something. I hope holding it makes you feel a little safer."
(Scared?)
The black man narrowed his eyes, a sharp glint flashing in them.
This was the first time anyone had ever called him scared.
The word grated on him.
He hated anyone using it to describe him.
"…I'm not scared." His voice dropped, thick with hostility. "Little thing, before I lose my patience, you'd better get lost. Otherwise I'll kill you right here, right now. I mean it."
"I'm not leaving," Oujar said firmly.
…
Oujar looked straight into the black man's eyes. "I don't know why you kill people, but you're clearly hiding from enemies. You're in trouble. I should do something to help—keep watch, call the police, get help, anything. I know I can't do much, but I'll try my best."
"…Has no one ever taught you not to meddle in other people's business?"
"Not really. But someone taught me to help people who are in trouble with whatever strength I have." The little girl spoke with absolute conviction.
The black man's brows knitted tightly.
"…The idiot who told you that probably got himself killed by his own stupidity."
Oujar blinked. She had never considered that.
"The person who told me…? I can't remember who it was… That's weird. I keep feeling like I've forgotten a lot of things, but I can't remember exactly what…"
The black man narrowed his eyes, studying Oujar as if trying to pierce through her secrets.
After a long pause, his low voice asked—
"…Little thing, what's your name?"
"Oujar."
"Last name."
"Eh? That…"
She had never thought about it. Oujar's mind went blank. Her mouth opened, her face flushed red, but no word came out.
"…So you're a new player," the black man muttered to himself, puzzled. "But what serious crime could a six- or seven-year-old girl possibly have committed?"
(Still, better not jump to conclusions.)
(After all, this game already has another little girl who's practically terrifying.)
Thinking that, his gaze toward Oujar grew a little more cautious.
The girl in front of him was tiny—no more than 120 cm tall—with a white whistle hanging on her chest and two neat pigtails. The light braids swayed gently with her movements, her soft golden hair like the warm sunlight that had once touched him. At first glance she looked no different from any street kid begging her mom for candy, and from their conversation she really didn't seem like a killer.
(But then why was someone like her sent into the Minghe System…?)
The black man sank into confusion.
"What about you?" Oujar asked, tilting her head at the silent man. "What's your name?"
"I don't have a name. Only a codename."
"Codename?"
"Just like your codename is [Oujar], I have mine."
"Your codename?"
Oujar blinked in confusion.
The black man opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment a woman's sultry voice drifted from behind Oujar, answering for him.
"His codename is [Black Blade], little cutie."
Both of them turned toward the voice. At the alley entrance stood a woman in a low-cut narrow skirt, a brown apron loosely draped over her figure. Her right hand was hidden behind her back. The corners of her mouth curved upward as she stared at the black man and the golden-haired girl with unmistakable excitement, like a leopard that had just spotted its prey.
(She's here.)
Black Blade's eyes flashed with cold light.
"[Beauty]. It's you."
"I've been looking for you for a long time," the woman codenamed [Beauty]—the cake-shop owner—said unhurriedly as she walked closer. Her gaze slid to Oujar. "Didn't expect the little cutie to be here too. And I certainly didn't expect her to be a player. Poor thing… so young, and she has to… die here."
(Die here?)
Oujar didn't understand their exchange. She glanced back at Black Blade, then at Beauty, completely lost.
Black Blade pressed his lips together, face dark, fingers tightening around the dagger at his side.
"Aiya, aiya, Black Blade. Even for you, do you still have the strength to use that knife?"
"Try me. Your handgun behind your back is already loaded, isn't it?" Black Blade crouched like a wolf ready to spring.
Beauty smiled seductively and raised the gun in her hand.
The dark muzzle pointed straight at Black Blade.
"You can try too… It's just a shame that before the second siren sounds, neither of us can kill the other. But I can torture you slowly, can't I?"
"What a coincidence. I was thinking exactly the same thing."
Urban District · Hospital
Colin stood by the window, staring at the devastated street. Several blocks away, thick black smoke rolled into the sky. A violent explosion had just echoed from what sounded like the police station.
He had refused to believe Icarus's talk about the Minghe System and the Three Laws, but the real siren and the chaos outside had proven the man right. This was no hallucination.
"Looks like something serious is happening outside."
Behind him came Icarus's calm voice. Colin turned and met a pair of sharp golden eyes.
"So according to you… the nurse codenamed [Duke] really came here to kill you?"
"Correct." Icarus lazily shifted in bed. "You'll protect me, right, Officer Colin?"
"I…" Colin was momentarily speechless.
"Come on, four-eyes. Push the wheelchair by the window over here. That woman could be back any second. Right now I can only move my upper body. Judging by your build and personality, your combat ability is roughly one-third that of a normal adult male—you're no match for her. So we need to get out of this damn place immediately."
The logic was so airtight that Colin found himself without a comeback.
He sighed, pushed the wheelchair over, bent down, and with some effort helped Icarus into the seat.
"What do you want me to do?"
"This is a hospital. There are wheelchair-accessible elevators at both ends of the corridor. Cover me to the elevator lobby and get us down to the first floor first." His tone was commanding, brooking no argument.
"Zzzzt—"
Before Icarus could finish, a harsh static burst from the TV on the wall.
No one had turned it on, yet the screen flickered to life by itself.
Both men looked over—one wearing an expression that screamed "Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on," the other simply "As expected."
After the static cleared, a man in black medieval-style clothing and a black hat appeared on screen. A white feather adorned the hat, whose wide brim hid most of his face, revealing only a sharp, lean jawline.
At the same time, every signal relay in the city activated. TVs, computers, phones, and car radios across the entire urban area began broadcasting the same feed—including Arthur's ambulance, Lorraine's police car, the one-eyed man's black sedan, the street-corner speakers in the apartment district, and Icarus's hospital room. The distorted, voice-changer-processed voice echoed over the city:
[Dear players, welcome to the Minghe System.]
[This system is a humane consciousness extraction system developed for heavy criminals from various countries. In reality, every one of you has committed serious crimes and, after a fair trial, has been sentenced to leave your consciousness inside the Minghe System. Whether you become the victor or a walking corpse in the game depends entirely on your own choices.]
[Remember: every scene and identity you encounter in the game is virtual, but all pain, near-death sensations, and fear are completely real.]
[This is Round 13 · Game 1.]
[Game Name: Upper Circle Hunt Battle]
[Game Rules: Hunt and kill the three giants on the Blood List's upper circle. Doing so will let you replace their rankings. For fairness, before the game began, the top three players on the Blood List were injected with nerve-blocking agents to give other players a hunting chance.]
[Game Endpoint: All three giants dead, or all other players dead.]
[Number of Players: 12]
[Game Format: Single Phase]
[This round will feature no Hunters.]
[Hint: After the third siren, aggressive unknown biological entities will appear—highest threat level A-.]
[Good luck to all players.]
"Zzzzt—" The image glitched once, then the screen went black again.
An awkward silence filled the hospital room.
Icarus in the wheelchair looked at Colin, who stood frozen in shock. Icarus waited patiently for the inevitable question.
"Who was that?"
"The Judge," Icarus answered, then added helpfully, "As you know, a game needs more than just players. It needs rules—and someone to enforce them. His job is to announce the rules and eliminate anyone who breaks them."
Before he could finish, the door swung open. Standing there was the female nurse codenamed [Duke]. At this moment, "game player" or "female assassin" seemed far more fitting.
"The game has officially started," Duke said, leaning against the doorframe and smiling faintly at Icarus in the wheelchair. "Planning to run?"
"Where's Doctor Tom?" Icarus's eyes flicked to the bloodstains on her skirt hem; he already knew the answer.
"Dead. One clean stab. Shame it ruined the skirt—I really liked this one."
"Nice. I liked it too," Icarus added.
Duke shot him a glare and closed the door behind her.
"Goldfinch… are you here to kill me?" Icarus leaned back in the wheelchair, asking as casually as if discussing the weather.
Colin, standing behind the chair, tensed up completely. One wrong move and the nurse might throw a scalpel or simply shoot him. In this situation, crime carried no consequences.
"I want to kill you. Isn't that obvious?" The nurse strolled lazily to the medical cart, glanced at the blond man's perfectly calm, handsome face, and felt a surge of irritation. "You're my prey. I'm going to slit your throat and watch you die slowly."
She picked up a scalpel and lightly ran it across the back of her hand.
"A good death. Just a little familiar… almost like the way I killed you last round?" Icarus raised an eyebrow.
"…You remember. Good." Her voice grew colder.
"Of course, Goldfinch. I remember everything about you perfectly."
"I don't go by Goldfinch." She corrected him icily. "My codename is [Duke]."
[The next second, outside the window, the second siren wailed—]
[Warning: The players' killing game has officially begun.]