We shrank into silence, holding our breaths—too afraid that a werewolf might emerge from the darkness and strike. I crouched, edging toward the crack in the door to peer out, but saw only blackness—no movement, no silhouettes.
Suddenly, Lucy's Skill Device vibrated. She picked it up and whispered, "Aaron, my device shows Player 12 has been killed. Should I use the antidote?"
I froze. So the Witch can actually see who's been attacked—and even save them? That's powerful.
"Use it. Definitely use it!" I replied, urgency in my voice.
"No," Kevin countered immediately. "Aaron, this is your first game—you don't know. The Witch can only use the antidote and the poison once each. We should save it for one of our own."
I frowned. "This is a team game. Losing anyone weakens us. What if that person was the Seer?"
Kevin fell silent—he hadn't thought of that.
Lucy glanced between us. "So… should I save them?"
"Save them," I decided.
Without hesitation, Lucy pressed the button on her device.
"Thank you," I said, looking to Kevin.
He murmured, "No, I should thank you—my selfish suggestion could've cost us."
I patted his shoulder. "Don't worry."
"So—we're safe now?" Minghao exhaled. "A werewolf can only kill one person per night, right?"
"Technically," I nodded. "But we can't just sit here hiding forever. We need to act."
Then—lights snapped on. The blinding white swept across the park, revealing everything like a stage. In that instant, we were all exposed.
Players froze.
Some shielded their eyes, others scanned the area in panic; a few were still visibly shaken, paralyzed with fear.
Minghao looked tense, his face as pale as death—still shaken from earlier. He glanced at us, seeking reassurance.
Peering through the crack, I saw the gangster boss Player "005" stand perfectly still, expressionless. His henchman "007" lowered his head, teeth clenched tight.
Meanwhile, Player "015" remained eerily calm, rifling through the shadows. He bent to pick up a gold coin, slipping it carefully into his pocket.
Then—a cold, metallic "clink… clink… clink…"
The intercom buzzed:
"Night One has ended. All players, return to the central hall. Dawn has come."
"Dawn…" Kevin repeated, his voice low.
We walked out.
The park was in disarray—players disheveled and sweaty, some crawling out of hiding places, others collapsed in a stunned heap.
In the central hall, tension hovered over everyone, as though we'd just emerged from a nightmare.
The system's voice rang out once more:
"Dawn has arrived. Last night was peaceful. Players, speak in numerical order."
Bodies straightened, and eyes flicked around.
Player 1, a middle-aged man, stuttered nervously, "I… I'm a villager. I'm not lying. Please don't vote without thinking—observe first."
He looked down, refusing to meet anyone's gaze.
Player 2, a calm young man, remarked, "Player 1 is vague, avoiding eye contact. No one has claimed a role yet, so we have to look for slip-ups."
He paused. "First day—most honest."
Player 3, Kevin, surveyed quietly: "I'll hear everyone out before deciding. But don't be too quick to trust."
Player 4, a long-haired girl tapping her fingers, said, "I won't reveal my role. This round, speak more. Not talking can be more dangerous than speaking."
Player 5, Shura, cool-toned: "Caution is good, but don't hide behind it. We're playing Werewolf, not a safe-acting contest."
He tapped the table lightly and smiled: "Watch who's first to cheer when someone says they were saved or tries to claim a role."
Player 6, a twitchy teenager: "I'm just civilian—please don't vote me. Mistakes on Day One can destroy the villagers."
He spoke with anxious sincerity, eyes darting.
Player 7, Ron (Shura's henchman), laid-back: "Waiting for someone to claim role feels staged. 'Oh, I was healed!'—it's probably a setup."
Player 8, Lucy, whispered: "I… I'm not sure what to say. Just hoping we all survive tonight."
She glanced at me for reassurance.
I leaned in and whispered, "Stay calm."
She nodded, silent.
I stood with a casual smile: "Everyone seems to claim they're good. I'll listen more before making a call."
Player 10, the silent tough guy, said only: "No claims—observe."
Player 11, twirling his chin, joked: "Whoever gives the best speech is the most suspicious."
Player 12 trembled, voice wavering: "I… I was attacked last night.I thought I was done for."
He paused, voice soft, "But I'm alive. The Witch… maybe she saved me. Thank you."
Everyone fell quiet—it felt like he'd walked back from the brink.
Player 13, cold: "Jumping 'saved' so early—doesn't that make you a target for wolves?"
Player 14, Minghao, low: "I… don't have much. It's early. I'm villager—listening."
Finally, Player 15 opened his eyes and said softly: "Player 12's emotion felt real. But villagers fear not the wolves—they fear those who mislead them."
The air thickened.
The system voice cut in:
"All players have spoken. Enter open discussion now."
The atmosphere in the hall was tense. The players sat around the round table as the television screen lit up: [Discussion Time Begins].
Player 4 frowned and spoke up, "Player 12 said he was saved last night. Then why doesn't the Witch step out and confirm it? If it's true, there's no need to be afraid of revealing yourself, right?"
Player 10 chuckled lightly, "You want the Witch to reveal herself on the first day? Isn't that a bit too rushed? Maybe Player 12 is just acting, trying to gain our trust."
Player 2 looked at Player 12 in confusion. "Yeah, your collar doesn't look damaged. How do you explain that?"
Player 12 replied nervously, "This one's new. They just gave it to me."
Player 1 said softly, "I think he's a good guy."
Player 11 scoffed, "That's all just what he says. No one saw the attack. No evidence, no witnesses. Who's to say it really happened?"
Lucy shifted in her seat, her expression changing as she opened her mouth. "Actually…"
I quickly reached out and gently pressed her arm. I whispered, "Don't be impulsive. Not yet."
Lucy paused, turned to look at me, her eyes full of confusion.
I understood their tension, their doubt, their unease. No one could be sure if Player 12 was telling the truth. If he was a werewolf, faking an attack to gain sympathy would be a clever move. After all, who would doubt someone who "barely escaped death"?
What they didn't know, however, was one critical fact—Player 12 was attacked by a werewolf. He couldn't possibly be one himself.
Lucy knew that better than anyone. She was the Witch. She knew exactly who had been saved with the antidote. She knew the truth.
Time ticked by. No one mentioned role-claiming again. Lucy fell silent, though her expression remained conflicted.
Voting time arrived. The hall went still. Eyes darted from face to face, no one willing to make the first move.
"If we vote out a good guy, we're just clearing the path for the wolves," someone murmured, voice tight with tension.
The system's mechanical voice rang out:
"Please cast your votes within ten seconds. Failure to vote will be considered an abstention."
In that moment, the air froze. Everyone was hesitating, calculating, guessing.
I looked down at my device—and decisively chose to abstain.
A series of beeps echoed as the votes were cast. The screen lit up:
Voting Results:
Player 12 — 5 votes
Player 1 — 3 votes
Player 6 — 2 votes
Remaining 5 players abstained.
The room collectively tensed. Player 12 had the most votes—but not enough for a majority. The system voice returned, cold and emotionless:
"Insufficient votes. No one will be eliminated this round."
"Night phase begins. All players, prepare for night actions."
The lights dimmed, shadows swallowed everyone's expressions.
No one was out.
The werewolves were still all alive.
The next round… would be even more dangerous.
I lowered my head, thinking:
"Five people voted for Player 12… all because he said he was attacked? Are they testing if he's lying?"
"Players 1 and 6 got votes too, but barely said anything. Probably just stray votes."
"Maybe the wolves were testing the waters… seeing how people react."
The door creaked open. The Ferris wheel began to turn. The carousel played a distorted, eerie melody. What was once a playground now felt like a twisted nightmare.
No one spoke.
Everyone stood, movements stiff, steps heavy—like marching toward an unknown battlefield.
I could feel it—everyone's heartbeat quickening.
Minghao walked beside me, hands in his pockets, face unreadable. Kevin kept his head down, fingers absentmindedly rubbing his name tag.
Lucy trailed a step behind me, still replaying the moment I stopped her from speaking. But she didn't press further. She chose to trust me.
Everyone else was wrapped in their own thoughts:
Shura led the group, looking like he couldn't care less about the game. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. His shadow-like companion, Ron, followed silently, ever alert and watchful.
Player 12 hung his head low, shoulders trembling slightly. He knew he had nearly been voted out. He'd survived—for now—but the suspicion was growing.
Player 1 muttered bitterly, "I didn't even say anything… Why'd they vote for me?"
The amusement park had lost all sense of fun. Danger hung thick in the air.
Every shadow could hide an attacker. Every silence could mask a kill.
And I knew—
The real hunt… had only just begun.