In the copy of \[Miss Sweetie's Birthday Banquet], within the woods near the villa—
Six players hid among the trees, ready to retreat at a moment's notice. Their muscles were so taut with tension they ached, yet still, Miss Sweetie did not appear.
Could it be that fortune truly favored them this time? That such a sinister game of hide-and-seek had ended so simply?
Time stretched unbearably long—so long that Cynthia lost all sense of its passing.
It should be dawn by now, yet the night remained oppressively dark.
From the villa came only deathly silence. Gritting her teeth, Cynthia decided to investigate.
The sounds of movement behind her betrayed the restlessness of the other players—clearly, they too had run out of patience. Something was terribly wrong.
The six moved together, returning to the villa. What greeted them was complete and impenetrable darkness. Not a single light shone. Only after long observation did they dare to approach, climbing in through the windows.
They fumbled blindly for the light switches—none responded. The villa remained shrouded in pitch black.
"It's so dark... I'm so scared..." Sharon whispered, on the verge of hysteria.
Little did she know, that darkness would cling to her until her final breath.
Their desperate search yielded no light. Groping through the shadows, they scoured the villa from end to end. All they found were eight putrid, decapitated corpses. No sign of other living players, no trace of Miss Sweetie, and no sign of the butler.
And still—no light.
Cynthia found the wall clock. Her fingers met only rusted, motionless clock hands.
"These eight bodies must be the other players… But if we count the two who died earlier, and the six of us here, then where are the other two?"
A foreboding dread crept into their hearts. Could it be… that the missing two had already cleared the game? But where was the exit portal? Why hadn't they seen it?
Swallowing hard, Cynthia whispered, "L-let's… keep searching, alright?"
Encouraging one another, the six scoured the forsaken villa.
And slowly, they too were forgotten.
No one could say how much time had passed. One by one, the players succumbed to exhaustion and sleep. When the last had fallen unconscious, silence returned to the villa.
The darkness devoured them. Time showed no mercy. And soon, there were six more decaying bodies.
A long, long time later, light finally returned. Dawn crept slowly across the once-forgotten world of the copy.
The decrepit villa atop the mountain, draped in deep green ivy, basked once more in sunlight.
The vines receded. The crumbling structure began to regenerate, its facade renewing at a pace visible to the naked eye.
*Creak—*
The main doors swung open. Out stepped the elderly butler in a black tailcoat. He began to sweep the front steps. After tidying the entrance, he returned indoors to clean.
He gathered the scattered corpses into the kitchen.
With them, he prepared exquisite dishes, baked cakes, brewed wine. Severed heads became balloon decorations.
Not long after, the villa gleamed with new life.
At the door, a familiar figure appeared.
Miss Sweetie was ready to celebrate her birthday again.
---
In her room, Eric was organizing the spoils from her recent mission.
Just as she'd hoped, the props had followed her out of the instance.
She had a whole bucket of them—twenty-two in total—yet the joy she felt was faint.
After realizing that these props were bait, part of an elaborate trap, Eric had done much soul-searching. Not everyone had cheats like her. Though she cleared the instance and reaped a great haul, what about the others?
Those who had amassed the most experience should, in theory, have had higher chances of survival. Yet in this copy, it only made them more vulnerable.
She kept climbing, kept advancing, believing that one day she would become one of those veteran players she used to admire. But a single misstep in a place like this could end it all.
It was a lesson soaked in blood.
After packing up the bucket of props, Eric lay down to rest.
Upon waking, she had lunch alone in her suite.
Noticing that Sarah had left her notebook about the copy on the dining table before heading out, she flipped through it while eating.
That afternoon, Eric returned to the game hall for another instance.
As she entered, she found herself sitting in a dormitory. A message echoed in her mind:
*\[Let us play the Pen Spirit game. At midnight, speak your deepest wish aloud...]*
The Pen Spirit.
Eric's heart skipped a beat. She remembered her school days, when classmates would whisper about this game. Some had even tried it in the dorms, swearing it was fake and boring. Eric, who couldn't even watch horror films, would never have dared try it herself.
And yet, here it was—this time, she had no choice.
"The Pen Spirit Game... this could be dangerous."
Three more players appeared in the dorm. Four in total.
They introduced themselves. The others were Stephanie, Deborah, and Melissa. Stephanie was the same age as Eric. Deborah looked around twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and Melissa claimed to be in her forties, telling them to simply call her "Auntie."
Deborah stood. "We won't play the game until midnight. Let's explore first."
Eric stepped into the corridor and saw students hanging laundry outside the dorm.
The sun hung low—early evening. After dinner, students bathed, washed clothes, and prepared for evening study.
"Aren't you coming to study?" A girl NPC with a backpack passed by, puzzled.
"Coming now, wait for us!" Eric grabbed her bag and caught up.
The four followed the girl—likely a classmate—to the teaching building.
Eric noticed a name tag on the girl's neck: "Carol, Class 2, Grade 11." She rummaged in her bag and found her own—"Eric, Class 2, Grade 11."
Before she could ask Carol anything, the girl leaned in, whispering, "You're really going to play the Pen Spirit tonight?"
Eric nodded. "Yeah, we've all agreed."
"You really shouldn't. They say the Pen Spirit is real, but… I'm scared. Asking about grades or love—what's the point? If you don't work hard, answers won't help. And if you like someone, why not just ask them yourself?"
Eric silently agreed—but she wasn't here for teenage sentiments. This was a mission. If the copy said play, they would play.
In the classroom, Eric spotted four male players—just as out of place as herself among the students.
Though the NPCs didn't question the presence of these obviously older classmates, the players easily recognized one another.
Evening study hadn't begun yet. The eight players gathered at the far end of the corridor to share intel.
Their mission was the same: play the Pen Spirit game at midnight.
"You all know how it works, right?" Anthony asked.
The men introduced themselves: Anthony, Thomas, Richard, and Jasper. The others had already briefed Jasper, who was unfamiliar with the ritual.
Melissa chuckled. "Oh, we know. Deborah said she even tried it once with classmates."
Deborah nodded. "It was back in college. Didn't work, so I always thought it was fake." Never had she imagined that, after dying of overwork, she'd end up trapped in this strange game of survival.
"Good. Our dorms are next to each other. Let's help each other out when the time comes."
The bell rang, cutting off further conversation.
Half an hour into the evening session, the classroom was still half empty.
The teacher entered, glanced at the sparse students, and said nothing. Nor did he seem to notice the clearly out-of-place players. He took a seat and began grading papers.
Eric sat in the back, nervous at first, but gradually realized—many seats were unoccupied.
After class, she rose and approached the front.
Stephanie sat beside her. Carol sat just ahead. Eric smiled. "Want to go to the restroom together?"
Carol set down her pen. "Sure, I was just about to."
The two headed out hand-in-hand.
On the way, Eric casually asked, "Why didn't the teacher take attendance? If I'd known, I wouldn't have come."
Carol frowned. "We're all supposed to be diligent. Skipping study is wrong."
"But others are skipping. Look—half the class isn't here."
Carol looked puzzled. "What are you talking about? Everyone's present tonight."
A chill ran down Eric's spine.
"Haha… right," she laughed awkwardly.
At the restroom, Eric chose a stall.
But she couldn't bring herself to use it. The squat toilet, once porcelain white, was now soaked in crimson—as if someone had dumped a bucket of blood.
She sniffed. It *was* blood.
Breathing slowly, she flushed.
The red water drained away.
At the door, she waited for Carol. But the girl never emerged.
"Carol?"
No answer.
*Ding—* The second session began.
Still no sign of her.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
Eric rushed back in and knocked. "Carol?"
She looked up, jumped, and grabbed the top of the door, hoisting herself up.
Carol was gone. The stall was empty. No blood. No trace.
Chilled to the bone, Eric returned to class.
Stephanie was back too. They exchanged whispers.
Eric told her what had happened. Stephanie shared her findings.
"Everyone's talking about the Pen Spirit. They say it really works. But no one can explain how. And you said Carol claimed the class was full when it wasn't…"
Her expression darkened. "I think the ones we *can't* see… they're the ones who *played* the Pen Spirit."
This instance was a death trap.
Online rumors said the Pen Spirit must be summoned *before* midnight. After midnight, you invite only wandering ghosts.
Yet their instructions *explicitly* said to play *at* midnight.
It was a death sentence.
At 9:30 PM, evening study ended. The eight players gathered around a stone table downstairs.
They shared what they knew, then parted ways—to return to their dorms, and await the witching hour.