After a swift sweep of the room, there was still no sign of its elusive host, the NPC known as Miss Sweetie.
"What's going on? Are we locked in here just for her amusement?"
"We arrived at the instance around dusk yesterday. Maybe the NPC only appears in the afternoon?"
Steven strolled into a small adjoining room, casually opened a gift box, and retrieved a necklace. His expression shifted subtly. Without a word, he pocketed the necklace and returned the box to its place.
"Find anything?" Andrew entered, asking offhandedly.
"Nothing—just gifts. This instance feels oddly realistic, like a genuine birthday party, with so many presents," Steven replied while opening another box. His eyes betrayed a flicker of disbelief.
Another item? How could there be so many props? Are they meant to be this easy to find?
Steven's mind raced—perhaps there was no hiding it anymore. As expected, players scoured the third floor for clues, and every single one of them uncovered props.
It felt as though the entire third floor was a treasure trove—every casually unwrapped gift box yielded a prop.
The air among the players grew electric, their faces alight with thrill and excitement.
Unaware of the bounty above, Eric had enjoyed a solid nap. Awakening near noon and noticing Cynthia still hadn't returned, she seized the chance to eat before heading downstairs.
Once again, she combed through the villa, excluding the third floor.
Peering out through the window panes, a question lingered in her mind: why were the players forbidden from leaving the villa? Was there a hidden clue in this confinement?
Soon Amy and the others joined her. A brief exchange revealed something unsettling—the players who had gone upstairs seemed to have vanished.
"They're not in their rooms?"
"Not at all. Could they still be on the third floor?"
"That long? What could be keeping them?"
"Could something have happened to them?"
Donald's heart tensed at their words. Could there really be more props up there? He and Rebecca had acquired their props far too easily—surely the others would have done the same.
They had been on the third floor all morning—likely too enchanted by the treasure to leave.
A deep sense of regret twisted in Donald's chest, a suffocating feeling of having missed out on a gold mine.
Why couldn't he have just a few more points?
Taking a deep breath, he suddenly realized how absurd it was that he'd been hiding a single prop like a miser—there were probably dozens more upstairs.
"Let's try calling out," Eric suggested, tilting her head back and shouting for Cynthia.
Cynthia, still elated from her recent discovery, had acquired three props. She hadn't known such magical items existed, and though she only had enough points to bind one, the decision left her torn.
Hearing Eric's voice, she snapped out of her excitement. Noticing the flushed, gleaming expressions of those around her, she felt a flicker of unease. But it passed quickly—there was no time for doubt. She dashed off at once.
Steven, seeing her go, was about to stop her, then changed his mind. With the third floor littered with props, even if he spent every point he had, he couldn't bind them all. Letting others benefit didn't matter much.
Cynthia rushed downstairs, blurting out the news with breathless excitement.
Her words caused a storm to erupt.
"Seriously? You're not dreaming, are you?"
"Come on, let's check it out ourselves!"
Rebecca cast a glance at Donald.
"Let's go," Donald murmured. "Pretend we just found out."
"I know," Rebecca whispered. With the rest of the players upstairs, they were the last ones below. "Should we mention seeing Miss Sweetie's phantom yesterday?"
"…Yes. Just say we saw an apparition but didn't get the chance to investigate." Donald had made up his mind.
Rebecca nodded, pleased.
The players surged upstairs like mice let loose in a granary, so thrilled by the props that even hunger faded from their minds.
Eric, too, felt a pang of envy. She had never imagined props—so coveted and distant—could appear in such abundance.
Every trinket, ornament, every gift-boxed surprise—turned out to be a prop. It was as if they had stumbled into a nest of magical relics.
Unfortunately, she lacked the points to bind even one.
But she had a supermarket. On a whim, she tried placing a prop inside.
It worked—just as it had before. A surge of hope rose within her.
If the props were still there after they left the instance, she'd be overjoyed.
And if—if unbound props could still be used, she'd be ecstatic.
It wasn't a baseless fantasy; Eric knew props required point-binding because, without it, they couldn't be taken out—or used. But she could carry them out regardless.
"Take what you like now—bind them later when you have more points," she thought. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
After a day of excitement, fatigue set in by afternoon. One by one, players drifted down to the second floor to rest.
Donald returned as well, having picked out several props. He intended to choose the best to bind. Before leaving, he offered a reminder to those still upstairs: "Don't stay until dark."
"Thank you, Donald. We'll be careful," Eric replied. She'd always had a bad feeling about the third floor and remained on alert.
Only two others stayed behind—Chen Yucheng and Mark. The third floor was spacious; each kept to their own corner. Eric preferred not to interact, quietly smuggling props into her supermarket.
She knew others didn't have enough points to bind freely—leaving all those props untouched would be a terrible waste.
For the first time in any horror instance, Eric felt genuine joy.
But she didn't let it get to her head. Time remained her constant concern.
Donald had seen Miss Sweetie's apparition at the dressing table around 5:30 PM—most players had been dressing on the second floor then.
Eric didn't want to linger too long. Once she saw Chen Yucheng and Mark leave with their selections, she swiftly cleared out the remaining props.
The third floor's unnatural abundance was suspicious, but with her supermarket, Eric felt ready for any trap.
Loaded with loot, she descended, waiting quietly for sundown.
At precisely five o'clock, footsteps echoed through the silence. She and Cynthia locked eyes and fell silent.
The steps didn't sound like Miss Sweetie's.
It was the butler, climbing the stairs leisurely, knocking gently on each door. "The birthday banquet will begin promptly at six. You are all cordially invited."
No one responded. The knocking echoed through their nerves like a slow drumbeat.
Eric was stunned. "Another birthday banquet? Is this instance looping?"
"Seems so. I've been in similar time-loop instances," Cynthia exhaled. "Now that we know what's next, let's get dressed quickly."
After last night, no one dared be careless.
When Eric opened the door, she was greeted by a gathering of players dressed to the nines—Andrew had even powdered his face.
Noticing her gaze, Andrew touched his cheek sheepishly.
They descended together. The front doors were open—a jolt passed through the group. In unison, they stepped forward.
They could leave.
The villa's invisible shackles had vanished.
Eric paused, her thoughts drifting to Paul's gruesome fate—cast out by the butler, only to rot and die within his own room.
There wasn't much time left. After a brief stroll outside, everyone returned, making their way through the lounge to the dining hall. The butler was already serving dishes.
Eric scanned the table—familiar delicacies and that signature cake confirmed her suspicion: this was indeed a looping instance.
"Everything's exactly where it was yesterday," Cynthia murmured.
They took their seats as before. Two chairs remained empty, including the host's. Sharon sat stiffly in her spot, not daring to glance at the seat beside her—it conjured up Laura's tragic end too vividly.
The butler bowed after setting the last dish. "Please wait just a moment—our dear Miss Sweetie will be joining you shortly."
No one answered, but he remained unfazed, retreating to the doorway.
Clip-clop.
The familiar sound of heels echoed closer.
Eric turned toward the sound—Miss Sweetie appeared, elegant as ever, as if yesterday's horrors had never happened. The scene was identical.
She took her seat, smiling sweetly. "You've all come. I'm so happy."
But her eyes betrayed her disappointment as they swept over their outfits.
Foiled in her game of dress-up, Miss Sweetie seemed listless as she began slicing her steak, inviting everyone to eat.
The women pretended to nibble behind their voluminous sleeves. The men, constrained by their tailcoats, had no such luxury and were forced to eat small bites in earnest.
Steven made no trouble tonight—the thrill of finding props had put him in such good spirits that he'd gladly eat dirt if it meant more.
Then came the wish-making segment. Eric braced for another scare in the dark. But after the butler turned off the lights, Miss Sweetie did not make a wish.
Instead, standing behind the cake, she smiled eerily in the flickering candlelight.
"Let's play a game of hide-and-seek. That's my birthday wish. I'll be the seeker. You all go hide. When I blow out the candles, I'll come find you!"
Shock swept through the players—so the loop had changed!
Female players especially turned pale. Dressed in formal gowns and teetering on heels, how could they hide—let alone run?
This wasn't an innocent children's game. In a horror instance, being found could mean death.
Miss Sweetie, it seemed, relished tormenting them.
Though their minds reeled, the players' bodies sprang into action.
As soon as Sweetie finished speaking, the women kicked off their heels and tore off their accessories.
Eric shed her shoes first, shoved back her chair, and took off running. While fleeing, she ripped off her headband and earrings—and even began peeling off her gown.
Beneath it, she had worn her own clothes. Freed from the weight of the elaborate dress, she moved lightly, dashing toward the second floor.
The players scattered, each fleeing toward what they hoped would be safety.