Chapter 4: Panic in the Church

The class officer typed fast:

[What happened?]

But the class queen never replied.

Someone, still jealous, said,

"She’s got the most points now. We’re good."

"We just need to stick with her and ride this out. But some people? They’re screwed."

The last line was aimed at me.

I just kept my head down, chewing on the meager food in my hand.

The system only gave us a single baked potato per meal—barely edible.

The skin was leathery, every bite like chewing cardboard. Still, I ate, just to anchor myself.

A cold wind rattled the stained glass. We shivered through the night, hungry and scared.

Next morning, the system’s electronic voice jolted us awake:

[There are currently 29 surviving strategy players. The bonus pool is $20 million.]

"Wait, why is there one less?"

Someone’s voice trembled.

I checked the group chat. It was flooded with the class queen’s desperate messages:

[Save me—it hurts—]

[The guy’s a psycho. We just hooked up, and he chopped off my arms and legs and stuffed me in a vase.]

[Help—help—. Come save me, ah ah ah—.]

The final image:

The class queen, limbs gone, blood and tears on her face, the beauty mark gouged out, flies buzzing, her eyes wild with rage.

Someone dropped their phone. No one moved to pick it up. The silence felt radioactive.

When the horror sank in, I felt like I was being strangled. My hands and feet went numb with cold.

I remembered those true crime podcasts I binged—stories about girls who vanished, and the friends who never really believed it until the body turned up. Now it was us, and there was no one coming to save us.

By the time I snapped back, someone had already started screaming.

"Ah—"

Panic exploded.

"The guy’s a monster!"

"Wasn’t this supposed to be easy? System! Let me out! I want to go home! I’m not doing this!"

The system’s voice was ice:

[All strategy players, life countdown has begun. Please begin your raid as soon as possible.]

In the chaos, the class officer climbed onto the altar, shouting over the noise:

"Everybody, calm down!"

He sounded like a varsity coach at halftime, trying to hold the locker room together when everyone knows they’re losing.

"We still have 29 people. Even if the guy’s a psycho, we’ve got a chance."

Slowly, the hysteria faded.

"Did you notice? The bonus pool went up."

The class president analyzed:

"Yesterday it was $10 million, now it’s $20 million. Does it go up every time someone dies?"

The class officer nodded:

"Exactly. We have to stick together and not freak out."

"That’s $680,000 each if we all make it out. Doesn’t everyone want that?"

A girl asked,

"So... what now?"

The class officer replied:

"The class queen proved you can earn points by getting close to the heir."

"Yesterday, I checked out the heir’s mansion—they’re hiring maids and guards."

"Spots are limited. To be fair, we’ll draw lots."

A nervous ripple went through the group—like waiting for a pop quiz, only your life’s on the line.