The moment the fraudulent heiress kicked me out of the game’s safe zone, I collapsed outside, sobbing. That’s when the Boss happened to pass by. He must have mistaken my simple white dress for some kind of employee uniform, because he simply took me with him. “Done crying over there? Come cry over here.” Just when everyone thought I was dead, a monster was introducing me to my new colleagues. “This is our new hire.” “She’s an excellent crier. We’ll make her our new Atmosphere Engineer.” 1 This whole nightmare started the day I came home. I was dragged into a horror game—a twisted world blending Eastern mysticism with Western rules—by Claire, the girl who had stolen my life. It was a scenario straight out of the melodramatic dynastic dramas my adoptive mother used to watch, only this was real. I was the long-lost daughter, and Claire was the fraudulent heiress. In a corner where no one else could see, she smiled and winked at me. “Let’s make a little wager,” she whispered. “Blood ties are no match for eighteen years of shared history. They’ll never choose you.” She wanted me to understand my place. She was the meticulously groomed successor, a shareholder in the family company since she turned eighteen. Poised, confident, with a resume that shone like gold. I was timid, a shrinking violet who flinched at her own shadow. I would never be the one they chose. Even my return, in her eyes, was an act of audacious ingratitude. Claire turned to our parents, her voice dripping with practiced sweetness. “It’s just a game, Mom, Dad. You’re both so busy, it’s rare we get to do something fun together. Besides, it’s a great chance for my new sister to get to know us.” I was the “new sister” she spoke of. Our parents, utterly charmed by her, agreed without a second thought. I trailed behind them in silence as we walked into a forest shrouded in a black, clinging fog. Deep within the woods stood a dilapidated, ramshackle mansion. Claire pointed at it, her eyes alight with excitement. “There it is!” The starting point of the game. She gathered the hem of her dress and sprinted ahead. Only I noticed it. Peeking out from beneath the overgrown weeds was a rusty, bloodstained sign. 【YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE.】 Die in the game, and you die for real. 2 I was thrown out on the very first night. I had barely settled onto the sofa in our designated apartment when large, crimson letters began to bleed through the white paint of the wall. 【EACH APARTMENT CAN ONLY HOUSE THREE PEOPLE.】 “Those are the rules of the game,” Claire announced. “Break them, and you’re forcibly ejected.” She turned to me, a picture of feigned apology. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know the rules beforehand. I only booked one apartment.” My mother looked at her, a hint of chiding in her tone. “Why didn’t you book more? It’s not like we can’t afford it.” Claire’s lip trembled. “To make it feel real, you have to book the rooms with Grave Tokens. I just… found it too morbid.” It was a good excuse. “I suppose so,” my mother conceded. Her gaze then shifted to me, heavy with hesitation and a sliver of guilt. “Stella…” “It’s just a game. Please don’t blame your sister.” I choked back a sob and nodded. “Okay.” Without another word, I picked up my bag and turned the doorknob. No one tried to stop me. I only heard the collective sigh of relief from behind me. “We knew you’d be understanding.” They wanted me gone. They’d just found a polite way to say it. I pulled the door shut. The moment it clicked, I couldn't hold it in any longer. I leaned against the cold hallway wall and wept. 3 I could have had a good life. A wonderful one, even. It was my adoptive mother who had swapped me with Claire at birth. Karma came for her in the end; she was diagnosed with a terminal illness in her early forties. Only then, on her deathbed, did she finally confess the truth. I didn't have to start working grueling summer jobs in high school. I didn't have to endure my alcoholic adoptive father snatching my tuition money. All of it, just because of one woman’s selfish desire. And now, even after being reunited with my real parents, I was homeless once again. Dressed in a simple white dress, my hair unbound, I crouched outside their door and cried. When the grief hit, the world around me simply ceased to exist. In the dim hallway, the motion-activated light flickered on and off, on and off, a silent witness to my despair. My hands trembled as I messaged the game’s support line. 【Can I still book a room after the game has started?】 The reply was a stark, three-word sentence. 【No.】 Dusk was falling. A string of red exclamation points materialized on the corridor wall. 【PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR APARTMENT BEFORE NIGHTFALL.】 I pushed myself up and tried knocking on other doors. No one answered. Defeated, I stumbled back to my original spot and sank to the floor, my sobs escalating until I sounded like a teakettle at full boil. The sky bled from orange to deep violet. Footsteps echoed down the hall. Something was prowling nearby. I couldn't see it, but its massive, distorted shadow danced on the wall, growing closer and closer. A low, deep voice rumbled from directly above me. “Starting your shift this early?” 4 I froze. I’d been crying so hard my eyes were raw and swollen. My hair was a mess, damp strands stuck to my tear-streaked cheeks. I was still hiccupping, struggling to catch my breath, and couldn't manage a single word. An icy hand clamped onto the nape of my neck, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. My legs dangled in the air, kicking instinctively. “Don’t move,” the voice commanded, its tone chilling me to the bone. I went perfectly still. A moment later, it set me down. “Done crying over there? Come cry over here.” I found myself sitting at the far end of the hallway, utterly bewildered. The entity offered a helpful clarification. “Start from here.” Confused but compliant, I took a ragged breath and began to cry again, my wails echoing through the empty corridor as I started to wander like a lost spirit. My voice was raw from overuse, and I could no longer summon that initial, world-ending shriek. Suddenly, my phone screen lit up. A message from Claire. 【Are you okay?】 【It’s pretty intense out here. There’s some kind of ghost, just crying its head off.】 【Think you’ll run into her?】 The walls were thin. They could hear everything. My biological parents had listened to my heartbroken sobs all afternoon and had done nothing. The thought drained the energy from my weeping, but then a fresh wave of despair washed over me, and the tears came renewed, bitter and sharp. I didn’t reply to her. Instead, I drifted right up to her door and let out the most mournful, blood-curdling cry I could muster. Suddenly, I felt a tug on the hem of my dress. “Sister, it’s time to switch shifts.” My gaze traveled down. I shuddered. It was a baby, its skin a mottled canvas of blue and purple. It was standing, staring up at me with hollow, vacant eyes. “It’s my turn to cry now,” she said softly. The scene was profoundly bizarre. It was like going to a pediatrician and finding out your doctor was a toddler. I clapped a hand over my mouth. “Oh, right. You go ahead.” 5 The walking infant was surprisingly capable. She could cry and talk to me at the same time. “Aren’t you going back to rest, sister?” My own wretched situation flooded my mind again, and a fresh wave of tears streamed down my face. She jumped, startled. “Wow, you really can cry.” For them, it was a job. For me, it was my miserable life. “I have nowhere to go,” I sobbed. “I’ll just stay here and keep you company.” She clearly misinterpreted my meaning. “No dorm? Are you a new hire?” “I can be,” I whispered. I stayed with her for half an hour, until a zombie shambled up the stairs to take over her shift. She told me her name was Pip, she was thirteen months old, and had been working here for thirteen years. This game wasn't just inhumane; it was a violator of infant labor laws. The employee-monsters occupied the first four floors when they were off-duty. The human players lived on the floors above. Pip led me to her employee dorm. It was a nursery. I felt the tears welling up again. Even a strange, ghostly baby was kinder to me than my own parents. Pip stood on her tiptoes, offering me her baby bottle. “Don’t cry, sister. Have some milk-milk.” Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I took it and managed two small sips. Gag. It was coppery, metallic. Like blood. “Sorry, I really can’t… urgh…”
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