In front of Su Huainan loomed countless twisted shadows—the very creatures he had encountered not long ago.

From their hollow sockets oozed a murky liquid, half tears, half filthy blood. It dripped down their blurred faces, making their shapes all the more terrifying. Amidst the grotesque figures, a few still bore human appearances. Like Su Huainan, they retained their forms—but trembled uncontrollably, as if a single breath more would shatter them.

Only three were exceptions. Strangely, all three were girls. Narrowing his eyes, Su Huainan glanced at the name tags pinned to their chests: Chu Wankhan, Zhao Qingyu, and Zhang Ziyu. The last one seemed somehow different from the other two.

Chu Wankhan and Zhao Qingyu sat side by side, whispering and giggling, as though the horde of shadows pressing against them were nothing unusual. To them, this horror was just daily life. In contrast, Zhang Ziyu remained silent, her cold gaze sweeping across the room before finally locking onto Su Huainan.

The instant their eyes met, Su Huainan’s heart jolted. His whole body froze, and he nearly bit his tongue.

“You there, why aren’t you in your seat yet?”

The voice came from the classroom door. Relief washed over him—he thought a teacher had come to save him. Without that, the suffocating stares of the shadows would surely devour him. But the next second, his body went rigid again.

The teacher’s face had no eyes, no nose—only a gaping mouth, slit all the way to her ears.

“Sit down. Now.”

A chill shot down his spine. Su Huainan swallowed hard and scrambled into the empty seat beside Zhang Ziyu. Facing that teacher was even more terrifying than sitting among the monsters.

Even seated, he could feel icy fingers creeping down his neck. Lowering his head, he pretended to open his notebook, scratching a few lines with his pen, but his eyes darted warily around the room.

Those shadows… what exactly were they? Outwardly, they resembled people, but their sockets were voids, leaking sludge-like tears, so foul it made him nauseous just to look. Yet they chatted and laughed like ordinary students. They were like NPCs in a game—but somehow, more sinister.

Only a few didn’t resemble them. Most notably: Chu Wankhan, Zhao Qingyu, and Zhang Ziyu.

The contrast was stark. On one side: puppets yanked by invisible strings. On the other: real, breathing, trembling humans.

But the most terrifying part was remembering the game’s storyline. Nothing matched. In the original script, Chu Wankhan was a ghost—the one who slaughtered the entire dorm floor. Yet before him now was only a pale, trembling schoolgirl. So then… which was real?

Su Huainan lowered his gaze, fingers unconsciously tapping the desk. If the dungeon had changed, then anyone could become the “next monster.” Even those who seemed harmless.

The thought chilled him to the bone.

“Today,” the teacher’s metallic voice rasped, each word grating like steel on glass, “we will study The Record of the Judge of Mount Tản Viên by Nguyễn Dữ.”

Her tone deepened, lingering on every syllable:

“Have you ever wondered… if the Judge of Mount Tản Viên were standing here in this classroom… who would he condemn first?”

As soon as the words fell, the shadows erupted in low mutters, their guttural laughter slithering across the room. Then, in unison, all their hollow gazes pierced straight into Chu Wankhan.

She shook violently, knuckles bone-white as she clenched her fists. Her lips quivered, barely forming two faint words:

“…Everyone.”

Zhao Qingyu tilted her head. “What was that, Wankhan? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Nothing… it’s just been so cold lately. Even with a coat, I can’t stop shivering.”

“Then I’ll ask the teacher to turn off a fan.”

Zhao Qingyu rose and walked to the podium. The teacher didn’t stop her, only stood still—her gaping mouth twitching as if in a smile. Qingyu switched off one fan, and the air in the classroom immediately grew heavy, suffocating.

From his seat, Su Huainan shivered. To him, Zhao Qingyu looked like someone courting death, daring to approach that monstrosity. And Chu Wankhan—so faint, so fragile—hardly resembled the ghost who massacred an entire dorm in the original game.

…

Break time came, and whispers filled the room. The shadows jeered in unison, their voices hissing like mud squelching through teeth, aimed straight at the bond between Chu Wankhan and Zhao Qingyu.

“Disgusting… lesbians…”
“Just the kind of delusion born from exam stress and fantasies…”

Zhao Qingyu stayed calm, but Chu Wankhan’s face turned ashen. Suddenly, the chair beneath her snapped with a loud crack. She fell back, her head slamming against the desk, blood blooming scarlet across the wood.

“Haha…”
“Hahaha…”
“Serves her right…”

Mocking laughter filled the classroom. A shadow patted Mei Ni, the girl sitting closest to Chu Wankhan. Fear lingered on Mei Ni’s face, but her lips still curled into a forced grin with the rest of the monsters.

Soon after, a few other “students” stood, their words sharp and venomous, each sentence a blade stabbing straight into Wankhan’s chest. She hadn’t cried when injured—but now, tears poured down uncontrollably.

“And what about you two?” The shadows twisted their heads toward Su Huainan and Zhang Ziyu.

“Don’t you feel disgusted? Why don’t you say something?”

“…Annoying. A waste of time.”

Zhang Ziyu, who had been silent all along, finally spoke. Her voice was indifferent, icy enough to freeze the room. Even the shadows faltered.

“Oh? You find it annoying too?” one of them sneered. “So do I. That ugly little dyke clinging to the class monitor is unbearable, isn’t she?”

They snickered, ready to pile on. But Zhang Ziyu suddenly turned, her eyes darkening.

“No.”

“…?”

“You’re the annoying one.”

The classroom fell silent. Every laugh choked out.