In a room painted in soft pink tones, resembling a princess’s dream, a little girl dressed in a frilly pink gown sat idly at her desk, resting her chin on her palms.
“System, when is the player going to arrive?” she asked.
Despite the childlike setting, dark circles peeked through the concealer under her eyes, and a weary maturity glinted in her gaze—an aura far too jarring for a child.
Everything about her screamed contradiction.
Floating beside her was a giant eyeball about the size of a human head.
The bloodshot eye hovered in midair and responded in a childish voice, “Matching in progress, please be patient.”
Then it added with curiosity, “Most dungeon architects are usually nervous when their first dungeon goes live. But you’re so calm. Are you that confident you’ll achieve a 50% player death rate?”
The eyeball was part of the “Thriller Survival Game”, a game that absorbed the souls of the dead and gave them a second chance at life as players.
Only a rare few with special traits could be selected as dungeon architects.
But even being chosen didn’t guarantee success. One still had to pass a design test—achieve a death toll of at least half the players in your first dungeon.
This was the girl’s trial.
“Maybe it’s because I was a horror film screenwriter when I was alive?” the little girl replied with a flat expression, sparing it only a cold glance. “And stop calling me ‘Master.’ Call me Su Shisan or just Shisan.”
Being addressed as “Master” by such a childish voice made her feel like some sort of pervert.
The eyeball blinked, sounding disappointed.
“Aww, I thought you’d like that kind of title. Fine, Shisan it is.”
But the disappointment was feigned. In the next second, it perked up with renewed energy.
“Still, your dungeon design is fascinating. It’s unlike anything I’ve seen before.”
Though it was merely a sub-system assigned by the central system, it had seen countless dungeon blueprints and could be considered fairly knowledgeable.
“That’s because the style hadn’t caught on before I died—but I know it’s bound to trend!” Su Shisan’s face remained emotionless, but her eyes sparkled with passion for this new form of horror.
As a horror screenwriter, she had spent years browsing obscure horror forums and had a sharp sense for emerging trends.
That was why she had high hopes—a new gameplay style built on interlocking elements would give every player an unforgettable experience in this twisted new world.
Whether they wanted it or not.
Just as she was about to say more, the eyeball’s pupil turned red.
Ding—Player matched. Dungeon initializing.
Upon hearing that alert, Su Shisan finally showed some expression. Her lips curved into a subtle smile.
She picked up a puff and touched up the dark circles under her eyes one last time before standing up slowly.
“Let’s go,” she said. “It’s our turn to appear.”
She waited briefly in the living room. Soon, the doorbell rang.
Thanks to a temporary “Acting Enhancement Tool” loaned by the system for two points, Su Shisan’s face now held a flawless, innocent smile.
She skipped to the door and opened it.
“Hello big brothers and sisters! Are you the new playmates Mommy hired for me?”
***
Outside the door, the veteran player known as [Flying Soda Can] had just been transported into the newbie dungeon.
He carefully surveyed his surroundings. Although there wasn’t any danger at the dungeon’s entrance, there might be clues lying around.
He had fought hard to grab this “newbie escort” mission and planned to squeeze every point out of it.
Once he confirmed that this was just a short corridor and the real dungeon lay behind the door ahead, [Flying Soda Can] turned to examine the other five players.
Newbie dungeons always had six players: one experienced player to guide the team—him—and five newcomers who had just signed on with the system.
“You’ve all been briefed by your respective systems, right? If anyone still thinks this is a dream, feel free to knock yourself on the head.”
“You’re the veteran leading this group?” a short-haired girl among them asked bravely.
Before entering their first dungeon, the system had told them there would be one experienced player to lead the team.
All of them had recently died, and their souls were pulled in and bound to the game.
Even though these dungeons were full of danger and the risk of dying again was real, who wouldn’t grasp at another shot at life?
Though terrified of the unknown, she still chose to play the game with determination.
[Flying Soda Can] nodded.
“This is my fifth dungeon. You can call me Soda. The win condition for this dungeon should’ve been sent to you: survive for five hours as a ‘babysitter,’ and you’ll clear the game.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than a skinny man stepped forward eagerly.
“I’m Wang Yaozu, but please call me Xiaozu! I’ll follow your every word—you say east, I won’t even look west!”
But his flattery didn’t earn him any favor. Soda turned to him with a half-smile.
“Oh, I forgot to mention—don’t use your real names here. A name is the shortest spell. It can be used to pinpoint your exact location… or curse you.”
At those words, Wang Yaozu’s face went pale instantly.
The others mentally noted that tip, their respect for this veteran growing. Anyone who knew things like that was clearly on a different level.
Satisfied that he had established authority, Soda continued, “The dungeon lies behind this door. Newbie dungeons usually have only one lethal rule. Never split up. If your death helps reveal the fatal rule and allows the rest to survive, you’ll still be rewarded.”
Players only died when their points ran out. Each newcomer started with enough for two revives.
If more than half cleared the dungeon, everyone got bonus points—so players were usually cooperative.
He added, “I’ll be the one testing the death conditions. If I die, analyze what killed me and find the rule.”
For every new player who survived, the veteran earned 50 points. With three newbies surviving and a half-team clear bonus of 50 points each, that made 300 points total.
Even if he died once (which cost 100 points to revive), he’d still net 200 points. A good deal for an E-rank player.
Time was almost up. Without delay, he pressed the doorbell.
The door opened quickly. Standing there was a little girl in a pink princess dress.
Her smile was flawlessly sweet, her eyes wide and black, unnervingly devoid of light—like a finely crafted doll.
Despite the group’s alert stares, the girl greeted them kindly and handed over a piece of paper.
“Here’s the schedule Mommy made for each of you. Just follow what it says, okay?”
Soda took the paper with forced friendliness and read aloud:
Babysitter Guidelines
Since I’m at work, I’ll be counting on you to take care of Shisan. A qualified babysitter must be rational and cold-blooded.
Ensure her health while helping her stay on top of her studies. She must grow into a proper child. The following tasks must be completed before I return.
- English is essential for good children. Every morning, spend one hour in her room reading English aloud with her.
- Lunch must be nutritionally balanced—a mix of meat and vegetables.
- After lunch, immediately return to her room and supervise her as she completes ten pages of math workbook. Take photos as proof.
- Good handwriting is a must. Have her practice ten pages of calligraphy.
- Review her Chinese essays. Ensure no typos. Strange sentences are fine—she has a wild imagination.
- Good children do not rest. If Shisan asks to rest, firmly refuse.
Soda’s expression shifted. These six rules…
On the surface, they seemed too easy. Most dungeons had nearly impossible objectives. But this? Too simple. That in itself was unsettling.
“Wait—what time is it?” he suddenly asked. He looked up at the wall clock—11:30 a.m.
According to the rules, they needed to complete one hour of English reading before lunch. That didn’t leave much time.
Realizing this, he snapped into action.
“Let’s split into two groups. Someone good at English will help me with Shisan. The others, go to the kitchen and start lunch. No one splits off alone! Even to use the toilet, go in threes—understood?”
Though interacting with NPCs was dangerous, the presence of a veteran made the group more confident.
Two stepped up: a girl with glasses and a man in a suit—both decent at English.
But the man frowned.
“These rules feel like they’re forcing a kid to overwork. Are we sure this is okay?”
“Who knows? But we’ll stick to the rules for now. Only one lethal rule, right? The rest might just be punishments. We’ll figure it out as we go.” Soda stayed calm.
He turned to Su Shisan. “Let’s read English, alright?”
Shisan nodded sweetly, leading them to her princess room. She took an English book from her desk and looked up innocently.
“There are so many words I can’t read. Can we take turns—you read one sentence, then I’ll read one?”
“Of course—” the suited man began.
“No.” the glasses girl interrupted coldly.
“Sorry, but your guardian said you have to read for a full hour. If we read, who’s time does it count for?”
The man immediately realized his mistake. Taking turns would mean Shisan only read half an hour’s worth—not enough.
Soda broke into a cold sweat. He hadn’t noticed this either!
How could he forget that the NPC—no matter how harmless—was part of the dungeon? Full of malicious intent.
But a veteran couldn’t lose face. He cleared his throat.
“I knew that. I was just testing the punishment for failure.”
The others gave him skeptical looks but said nothing.
“Anyway, now that you caught that, we’ll stick to the proper method,” he said quickly.
“The rest of you, help me check this room for anything dangerous to the child.”
NPC rooms often had clues. Might as well use the time.
Su Shisan showed no sign of concern at being refused. The trap had already been laid.
Is it babysitting or tutoring?
That… was the real question.
Suddenly, the door burst open and Wang Yaozu stumbled in, panicked.
“The fridge is empty—no meat! How do we make a balanced meal?!”
“No meat?” Soda frowned. “Did you check everywhere?”
“Everywhere,” the short-haired girl said, shaking her head.
The girl with glasses cautiously asked, “Your house really doesn’t have any meat?”
Shisan smiled.
“Looks like we ran out. But you can go buy some.”
Buy? This wasn’t the real world. They were locked inside the dungeon. They couldn’t leave. The NPC’s malice was clear.
Soda didn’t hesitate.
“You three stay here. The rest of you, come with me—we’re searching that kitchen again.”
They searched again. No meat.
Finally, Soda made his decision. He took a deep breath, grabbed a knife, shut his eyes, and slashed.
He carved a piece of flesh from his own arm.
Wrapping the wound tightly, sweating from the pain, he forced the words out to the stunned Wang Yaozu and red-haired man: “Use this. Go.”
But he didn’t see the black, veined cracks spreading under the bandage.
Back in the room, the faint scent of blood drifted in.
Su Shisan’s eyes lit up.
Someone had broken the rules again.
The guideline said “ensure health”—and it didn’t only mean her health.