Chapter 5: Drawing Lots, Drawing Lines

"What? We still have to go to the heir’s mansion?"

"The class queen died after one day. I’m not going."

The PE officer, always hot-headed, exploded.

"Go if you want. Or just stay here and wait to die."

Everyone fell silent.

Right then, the system chimed in:

[Reminder: The young heir likes people with gentle personalities.]

The class officer adjusted his glasses:

"That’s it—the class queen was arrogant, maybe she ticked him off and got killed."

"If we just blend in at the mansion and don’t draw attention, we get 5 points every time we see the heir. That’s another way to survive."

"Getting close is risky. I won’t force anyone."

But I couldn’t shake a bad feeling. The system never said this was a team game.

What if only one of us can win in the end?

If that’s true, those who stay behind are just waiting for death.

A chill ran through me. It was like those late-night thrillers—alliances always break, and you never know who’s on your side. Suspicion hung heavy in the air.

Next, we drew lots. The heir’s mansion wanted 12 maids and 10 guards.

After confirming the picks, the plan was to pool our money and buy the system’s hypnosis function to ensure we’d be chosen.

Everyone was tense as they drew, hands sweaty. The slips of paper were folded tight, greasy from nervous fingers. When it was my turn, my hand shook so bad I almost dropped it.

I was last. I slowly opened my slip:

[Go to the heir’s mansion.]

Around me, classmates’ faces flickered—some relieved, some disappointed.

The class officer came up behind me:

"Jamie, what’d you get?"

I jumped, then answered:

"Go to the heir’s mansion."

He gave a thoughtful look, then smiled weirdly.

"…Hope we all make it out together."

A few minutes later, someone started counting.

There should’ve been 12 girls and 10 boys.

But there was one extra girl.

The air turned tense.

"Someone’s lying."

The class officer said,

"Everyone who drew mansion, show your slips."

I opened mine.

It read: [Stay in the abandoned church.]

For a second, I felt like I’d been hit over the head.

My slip had been switched by someone.

My mouth went dry. I wanted to scream, but the words stuck—like gum on the bottom of a desk, impossible to scrape off.