Family squinted.
Dathweet remained seated, arms limp, as if he had nothing left to lose.
His calmness didn't seem like an act.
It resembled… someone who had seen the ending long before it arrived.
Family felt a chill creep down his spine.
Just a slight shiver.
But enough to force him to speak.
Family (gritting his teeth, as if reminding himself of the rules):
"I'm the one who holds authority here…
And because of that — I have one extra health point.
Which means… I still have three left."
Dathweet didn't react.
He simply tilted his head slightly.
A smile — not warm, not toothy —
Just a faint curve at the corner of his mouth.
Dathweet (soft as wind):
"Alright then.
Either way… I know I'm going to win."
Family held his breath.
He hadn't misheard.
A man with just 1 HP, holding 2 cards, who just got countered — saying he's sure to win?
It didn't make sense.
It was… terrifying.
Family tried to mask the flicker in his eyes.
He stared directly at Dathweet — hunting for the slightest tremor.
A twitching brow, a swallow, a flickering gaze.
But there was nothing.
Dathweet looked as if he were playing a game he'd already won long before the cards were dealt.
It was Dathweet's turn.
He reached for one of the two remaining cards.
Light. Firm.
No shaking. No hesitation.
He placed it face-down on the table.
Didn't look at Family.
Didn't need to.
His voice rang out like nails driven into cold wood:
"Jack."
Just one word.
Not a number.
Not a threat.
But a sound that made Family's ears ring — like claws scraping steel.
Family stared at the card.
He knew that Face cards — J, Q, K — didn't deal damage.
But they couldn't be countered either.
They were masks, smoke, tools for misdirection.
Which made them dangerous.
Because if the user knew how to act, the opponent would die in the fog of uncertainty.
Family swallowed.
Dathweet still didn't look at him.
Didn't look at anything.
Just rested his hand on the edge of the table and exhaled — softly.
Not a tired sigh.
But the breath of someone sitting still in a storm, knowing it will pass, and he'll still be standing.
Family (gritting):
"…Why Jack?"
Dathweet didn't reply.
As if the question wasn't worth answering.
Or as if… even he didn't know why.
And didn't need to.
Family (leaning forward, chair creaking across the floor):
"You think I won't call your bluff?"
Dathweet (flatly):
"I think… you're asking yourself how much health you'll have left if you're wrong.
And if you don't call it… you're being led into a game where you no longer hold the threat."
He paused.
Then finished:
"The real question isn't 'should you call the bluff' — it's 'do you even know what game you're playing anymore?'"
Family froze.
A simple sentence — but it cut like a dull blade splitting his skull.
He did the math: Dathweet had 1 HP, he had 3.
Why not finish him now?
But if this was a real Jack — then calling it did nothing.
And if it was a bluff… what if Dathweet held an Ace?
What if this was just bait before the real kill?
Family reached for the card.
Stopped.
Withdrew.
He couldn't read Dathweet.
Those eyes looked exactly like a child staring at a ceiling for 10 hours straight, just to avoid talking to anyone in the house.
Cold.
Silent.
Empty.
Dathweet (whispering):
"Not calling?"
Family didn't answer.
He straightened in his chair.
He understood.
If he kept looking too long — he'd be dragged into Dathweet's tempo.
One glance — could be a fatal move.
Dathweet exhaled.
This time, a genuine release.
He'd just discarded a card.
No damage.
No counter.
No reveal.
And… one step closer to the final two.
The room remained white.
The light — shadowless.
But Family… had begun to sweat.
Family drew his final card.
Didn't think.
Didn't hesitate.
Just placed it face-down — neat and firm.
Family:
"Nine."
No more riddles.
No more memories.
No more tricks.
A number.
A straightforward call.
Dathweet looked up.
Not at the card —
But directly at the man across the table.
Dathweet (calmly):
"Interesting.
Now you're playing honestly?"
Family didn't reply.
Just curled a side of his mouth — a challenge.
Dathweet was quiet.
He wasn't looking at the card.
He was listening to the silence between words.
To the absence of drama.
To the bluntness.
Dathweet:
"When a man's winning…
He keeps bluffing.
Sets traps.
Digs into your past.
Calls risky numbers to break your spirit.
But when a man starts losing…
He changes how he plays.
He plays it straight.
Not to win — but to stop losing more."
He leaned forward, hand resting on the table.
Didn't look at the card.
Didn't calculate.
Only needed one thing — certainty.
Dathweet:
"Which is why…
The card you just played — is real."
Family flinched — for just a split second.
His pupils trembled.
Not from surprise.
But because — even he hadn't realized he was "playing straight" out of instinct.
Dathweet:
"I call."
The air shrank.
Even the white light stood still.
Family bit his lip.
Didn't move.
Didn't stop him.
The card flipped.
A 9.
A real one.
Dathweet collapsed — light as a missed heartbeat.
Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth — no longer in drips,
But a long, steady trail.
He didn't fall off the chair — but his whole body slumped, like gravity had doubled.
His spine wanted to snap.
Ears ringing.
Vision dimming.
But he held himself upright — hand on the table, head off the floor.
–2 HP.
But he only had 1 HP left.
That was enough… to take him down.
Family exhaled.
No smile.
No arrogance.
Just the gaze of a man who had barely survived a car crash.
Dathweet's turn.
He picked up the last of his three starting cards.
A 3.
Quiet. Blank-faced. Without intent.
Placed it face-down.
Dathweet:
"Ace."
Family twitched slightly.
That look in his eyes — no longer confident.
But he forced himself to stay composed.
Dathweet — down to his last HP — had just called the most dangerous card.
One that dealt 3 HP if true.
And if false?
The perfect chance to finish him.
Family leaned in — not to flip the card —
But to open his own two remaining cards.
The ones he'd placed before the game began.
Two Aces.
Side by side, like white eyes staring back at him.
Family held his breath.
He shivered.
Not in shock.
But because — the cheating plan… was his own design.
Family (thinking):
(I dealt the cards.
And to keep it fair, each player only gets at most 1 special card in the first 3.
The rest? Up to the draw.
I kept both Aces for myself in the final two.
He can't possibly have one.
He already used a Face card — which counts as his "special"…)
He chuckled.
A nervous laugh —
But he twisted it into confidence.
His voice came out like a death sentence:
"I call.
You can't possibly have another Ace."
Dathweet said nothing.
Just gave a slight nod.
Then flipped the card.
A faint swish—like a blade brushing across glass.
K.
A face card.
Silence.
Family didn't react right away.
Then—like a slap across the face.
He clenched his fists—but couldn't scream.
Because he'd just… accused a harmless card.
Cut his own blood, believing in the very cheating he'd orchestrated.
Dathweet smirked.
No loud laugh. No gloating.
Just the expression of someone who had waited for the exact moment to place the final piece on the board.
Dathweet:
"You thought… I didn't know you rigged the deal?
You put the pair of Aces at the bottom of your hand—and made a silent rule that there could only be one face card in the first three.
So you figured… I couldn't possibly have an Ace."
Family gritted his teeth.
His eyes widened—not in anger, but in shock.
Exposed—by the very logic he once believed to be flawless.
Dathweet (softly):
"You know why I knew?
I haven't even flipped my last two cards.
And still… I knew you had the pair of Aces."
Family froze.
A chill crept from the back of his neck down his spine.
Every word Dathweet spoke wasn't a threat.
It was a sentence. A verdict for a liar.
Dathweet exhaled.
The K was played. No damage. No accusation.
But he had gained something greater:
His opponent's entire rhythm. And even more… his fear.
Family trembled.
His hands—the ones that once shuffled, cheated, controlled—now shook slightly, unable to bear the feeling of being outplayed.
His body went cold in an instant.
He clenched his jaw.
Family:
"So from the start… you were acting?
Just one health left, and you had the balls to bluff? That's insane!"
Dathweet didn't react strongly.
He simply raised his head, calm—like it had all been part of the plan.
Dathweet:
"You're just a fragment of my psyche inside this house.
You couldn't possibly know who I am… out there in the real world."
He paused, then smirked again.
Dathweet:
"I'm a gambler.
And… a pretty damn good one."
Family:
"…What?"
He hadn't expected that.
From beginning to end, he had always looked down on Dathweet—seeing only weakness, trembling, loneliness.
But all he ever saw… was the underside of a man.
Dathweet:
"I've always been lucky in flipping the game at the last second.
Only lost once."
His eyes darkened, voice slowed—as if recalling an old scar.
Dathweet:
"And that loss cost me everything—my money, my trust."
He stepped forward, voice deeper now.
Dathweet:
"Now then… let's keep going."
Family truly trembled.
He stood there, unable to draw a card or make a move.
After a pause, he lowered his shoulders, let his arms fall, and spoke.
Family:
"Here's the key.
You can go."
Click.
Lyun's restraints unlocked. Dathweet's chair popped free.
Family stood there—no longer the dominant figure.
Dathweet walked forward, picked up the key.
Then his hand brushed past a dinner knife on the table.
He said nothing.
His arm moved.
The knife plunged straight into Family's chest.
"!!"
Family collapsed—no time to scream.
Blood gushed, but it had no smell.
Dathweet slammed him onto the table.
His hands moved fast, disassembling joints—
Family's body wasn't flesh.
It was cloth. Straw. Fake bones.
Each joint broke apart like a dismantled toy.
Inside the hollow chest—
Another key.
Dathweet:
"This whole game…
was a lie to begin with."
All the puppets surrounding the room collapsed at once.
No scream. No resistance.
Just… down.
Dathweet turned back.
Lyun was still shaking.
Then she lunged forward—hugging him tightly, refusing to let go.
Dathweet:
"Let's go."
A new door appeared at the far end of the room.
He unlocked it with the silver key.
Inside: a narrow, cold, dark space—like the throat of a sewer.
The two stepped in together.
The door closed.
Then slowly… vanished.
Darkness.
A tight corridor.
Their footsteps echoed on cold tiles.
No light. No direction.
Just the two of them—
And their quiet breathing.
Lyun (softly, a bit surprised):
"I didn't think you'd win…
and survive with just one health."
Dathweet (walking, glancing sideways):
"Happens.
The closer to death, the sharper I think."
Lyun:
"I never imagined… you could act that well."
Dathweet:
"You play enough… you get used to it."
A faint light suddenly flickered at the end of the hall—
Small, like a pin-sized flame.
They approached.
The light flared—consuming them—
And the scene shifted.
⸻
Scene: In Front of the School
Before them stood a large, rundown school.
Walls peeling.
Windows cracked like spiderwebs.
Weeds overrunning the courtyard.
The school's name was gone—only broken letters dangled from rusted hooks.
But that wasn't the strange part.
Behind them stood a figure—nearly two meters tall.
Its form resembled a giant child.
Sagging flesh.
Limbs stitched together with wire.
No face.
It didn't move.
Didn't make a sound.
But its presence thickened the air like heavy smoke.
Lyun (whispering, pale):
"…That's the Chaser.
It's been following you from the start.
Good thing we reached the next zone in time… or else…"
The monster slowly turned, walked away, fading into the mist.
No explanation.
Dathweet (frowning):
"Why is it following me?"
Lyun (still staring after it):
"You'll find out soon enough…"
⸻
Scene: Entering the School
The iron gate creaked shut behind them.
The clack sounded like a verdict.
Inside was a hallway—mossy walls, flickering lights, the air pressed tight with mold and dead memories.
Suddenly, three figures appeared.
Identical faces. Identical voices.
Only the eyes were different—one red, one purple, one blue.
Dathweet:
"Cut to the rules already."
Gub (red eyes, smirking):
"What's the rush? Don't you wanna explore your old school?"
Dathweet (coldly):
"No time for games."
Gub:
"Fine.
This game's 1 versus 3."
Dathweet (dry chuckle):
"Sounds… totally fair."
Gub (shrugs):
"Didn't hear you complain when you ganged up with your friends earlier…"
Dathweet:
"The rules."
Gub (slower now, clearer—but still venomous):
"Listen closely.
This game lasts exactly two days.
Somewhere among the students and teachers… there's one person you have to protect.
Us?
We'll be mingling among the crowd—no names, no clear faces.
Our goal?
Find and kill that target.
You've got two paths:
One—find and kill all three of us before the target dies.
Two—keep the target alive for five full hours."
Dathweet (calmly):
"Sounds… easy enough."
Gub (glancing, smirking):
"Confident, huh?
I'll give you a few minutes to prepare."
The two walked slowly down the hallway of the old school.
Nothing had changed—
Cracked walls, shattered windows,
and that faint, musty scent of rotting wood clinging to the ceiling.
Dathweet (glancing at Lyun, voice low):
"The game's begun… I guess you're not allowed in, right?"
Lyun (smiling, walking beside him):
"That's right. I'm just a temporary companion… I have no role in this round."
Dathweet:
"I see.
So from here on out, I'm alone."
Lyun:
"Not quite…
There are more voices inside you than you think."
As soon as her words ended, the space shuddered slightly—
Like a gust of wind rushing through the mind.
The school began to transform.
Rotted walls were filled in, freshly painted.
Shattered windows mended in a blink.
The floor gleamed. Desks straightened.
Light poured from the ceiling—cold and lifeless.
The world had been reset.
Suddenly, Dathweet was pulled forward—
His entire body sliding out of reality, transported instantly.
He opened his eyes.
In front of him was a spacious classroom, bathed in soft yellow light.
About fifteen people filled the room—
All ages, all styles, no two alike.
In Dathweet's hand, a thin slip of paper—
As if someone had just slipped it in.
He opened it.
And read slowly, line by line:
"In the photo on the desk,
Blonde hair drifting down, hiding the arm.
A faint trace of blue at the wrist—like an old chain's mark."
Dathweet (muttering):
"Blonde hair?"
He looked around.
At least ten people in the room had blonde hair.
One of them approached.
Light curls, dark golden hair.
Sleeves long—but as he lifted one slightly,
Dathweet spotted a faint mark on his wrist.
Could've been a scar…
Or exactly what the clue described.
??? (soft chuckle):
"Hey there. Mind if I say hi?"
Dathweet (coldly, eyes sharp):
"I'm not interested in men."
The man (raising hands, laughing nervously):
"No no—I just thought you looked a little… out of place.
Thought I'd say hi. I'm Hua."
Dathweet:
"Mm."
He said no more.
Let Hua trail behind him—
While keeping a wary eye on the others with blonde hair…
And especially him.
As they walked down the hallway outside the classroom—
Hua:
"It's kinda boring out here. Wanna go back inside?"
Dathweet (without turning):
"Go if you want.
You follow me, don't complain when things get messy."
Right at that moment—
A scream tore through the air.
A sharp, shrill scream, echoing from the restroom at the end of the hall.
Students began to gather—
But none dared go in.
They formed a circle, whispering, hesitant.
Dathweet was the first to step forward and push the door open.
The air was damp.
The light flickered.
In the third stall—
A body lay crumpled in a pool of blood.
Multiple stab wounds across the chest—
Likely from a knife.
His hair: bright blonde.
Dathweet stood there.
Staring at the lifeless body.
And then, just faintly—
He smiled.
"Looks like…
They've got the same intel I do."
— End of Chapter —