I’m the main character of a steamy romance novel. My specialty? Taking anything—black, white, you name it—and turning it fifty shades of scandalous. So, on my first day in a horror game… When the final boss told everyone to choose their own death… The words just tumbled out of my mouth: “I choose to die breathless, legs trembling, eyes losing focus, heart pounding… until the very end.” The Boss: “?” ****** [Welcome to the SSS-Rank Instance: ‘The Wish’] [Please choose your method of death!] The moment I was pulled into the horror game and met up with my teammates, a strange man materialized before us. His head was a swirling vortex of black mist, his face completely obscured. An aura of unspeakable dread bled from him, chilling the air. “Shit!” a guy with bleached-blond hair swore under his breath. “Are you kidding me? Do they think a few cheap special effects are gonna make me fall for this crap?” Blondie had been complaining nonstop since we arrived. No matter how the veteran players tried to explain the situation, he was convinced we were all in on some elaborate prank to screw with him. He stomped forward, shoving a hand toward the mysterious man. “I’m warning you! Let me the hell out of here, or I’ll—What the—!” His hand passed right through the man’s form as if through smoke. Horrified, he snatched his hand back. But as he stared at it, his fingers began to dissolve, disintegrating into a fine, crimson mist. “What… What’s happening to me? Help… Somebody help me!” Tears and snot streamed down Blondie’s face as he scrambled back toward us. But it was too late. In a matter of seconds, his body abruptly burst, splattering gore and viscera across the floor. The system’s voice echoed, cold and impersonal. [Deaths: 1] [Survivors: 7] [Keep up the good work, players!] The man in front of us hadn’t moved a muscle. He simply repeated his earlier statement, his voice a low, empty drone. “Welcome to the SSS-Rank Instance: ‘The Wish.’ Please choose your method of death.” We were all frozen, paralyzed by a mixture of shock and terror. Suddenly, lines of text began to scroll across my vision, like comments in a livestream. [Damn, this group is unlucky. ‘The Wish’ has a 0% clear rate. It’s the toughest instance known to exist.] [The Boss grants every player’s wish, but always in the most twisted, horrifying way possible.] [As soon as you enter, you face him. He forces everyone to wish for their own death, then ‘mercifully’ grants it.] [To survive, you have to find the one single, correct wish.] [Tons of top-tier players have wiped here. This bunch looks pretty average. How long do you think they’ll last?] After witnessing Blondie’s gruesome end, nobody dared to be the next guinea pig. The dead silence stretched on, thick and heavy. Finally, the Boss’s patience wore thin. His voice turned sharp as ice. “Since none of you have a wish… I’ll just start reaping at random.” A colossal scythe materialized from the black mist behind him, its blade gleaming menacingly. “Wait, wait!” a middle-aged man cried out, his voice trembling. “I have one! I’ve thought of how I want to die!” Every eye in the room snapped to him. The man swallowed hard, then said timidly, “I choose to die of old age, peacefully, with no illness or accident.” A wave of relief washed over the group. Someone gave him a thumbs-up, praising his quick thinking. The Boss retracted the giant scythe. “As you wish.” The middle-aged man let out a shaky breath, a grin of pure relief spreading across his face. The others quickly jumped in. “I want the same as him!” “Me too! To die peacefully of old age!” The Boss’s voice remained flat and cold, his reply concise. “As you wish.” Everyone started to relax, their nervous chatter filling the silence. “Thank God for Mike. Thinking of old age was brilliant.” “Nice! Now the Boss can’t touch us. This is gonna be an easy win!” “Is this seriously the easiest SSS-rank instance ever?” Only I remained silent, my gaze fixed on the sky above, where the livestream comments were mocking them mercilessly. [Old age. Again. So boring.] [What number group is this? Every single new batch of players makes the same damn wish. A bunch of clever-ass pigs.] [They’ll learn soon enough why they call this an SSS-rank instance.] Just then, the Boss drifted silently until he was standing directly in front of me. “Only you are left,” he said. “How do you wish to die?” Well, crap. Guess this is it for me.
Before being dragged into this nightmare, I was the protagonist of a steamy romance novel. My days consisted of waking up and getting tangled up with one hottie after another. I was, in a word, useless. Expecting me to have a sudden stroke of genius and figure a way out of this was a lost cause. So, I did what I do best: I gave up and prepared to die. If I was going to bite it in this instance anyway, I might as well go out fulfilling my greatest desire— I was going to turn this whole damn world into my personal playground. Black, white, horror, whatever—I was going to make it all filthy. Besides, while the Boss’s face was hidden by that swirling mist, I could still make out his frame. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, long legs… and that deep, magnetic voice. My expert eyes told me he was premium-grade material. And lust, as they say, makes you brave. The words just tumbled out of my mouth: “I choose to die breathless, legs trembling, eyes losing focus, heart pounding… until the very end.” The Boss: “?” I added with a wink, “Oh, and you have to be the one to do it.” He froze. It was as if he couldn’t process what he’d just heard. I saw the black mist coiling around him stop moving entirely. The air grew still. After a long moment, he slowly, deliberately, took a step back. I waited and waited, but the Boss never said his usual “As you wish.” Instead, a system notification popped up. [Prerequisite Mission: ‘The Wish’ is complete.] [Please follow the Boss into the villa.] [Main Mission: Survive in the villa for 3 days.] [Side missions will be issued randomly over the next 3 days.] [Each completed mission grants an opportunity to make a new wish to the Boss.] [Only the one who makes the correct wish will survive until the end!] It was nighttime by the time we reached the villa. The moment we stepped into the grand living room, my eyes were drawn to a row of memorial portraits hanging neatly on the wall. The photos in the frames were of us—every player here. And beneath each portrait was their wish. [To die of old age, peacefully, with no illness or accident.] Except for mine. The text beneath my photo had been aggressively blacked out with a Mikeer. Instantly, all eyes were on me. Mike, the middle-aged man, was the first to speak. “Come to think of it, you didn’t make your wish with the rest of us. You were hiding in the corner. What did you choose, young lady?” Before I could answer, the Boss cut in sharply. “You are forbidden from asking about other players’ wishes.” For some reason, I detected a hint of anxiety in his tone. The other players backed off, but their looks were laced with schadenfreude. “Her wish is blacked out. That’s a clear sign she’s been Mikeed by the Boss. I bet the little brat won’t even last the night.” “Is she an idiot? We gave her the perfect answer to copy, and she chose to be a contrarian.” “Good. Better to get rid of the dead weight early.” Just like that, I was ostracized. When it came time to pick rooms, they all banded together, claiming the best ones and leaving me with the smallest, filthiest maid’s quarters. “You’re not gonna survive the night anyway,” Mike sneered before shutting his door. “Doesn’t matter where you sleep.” Soon, the vast living room was empty except for me and the Boss. Seeing him about to drift away, I quickly called out. “Wait! I’m not staying in the maid’s room!” I hurried after him, plastering a playful grin on my face. “You must have your own room in this mansion, right? How about we share?” The Boss said nothing, only quickening his pace. I was getting desperate. “Hey, didn’t you promise to grant my wish? Breathless, legs trembling, heart pounding…” “I never agreed to that,” he interrupted, his voice a low murmur. That pissed me off. “Isn’t this instance called ‘The Wish’? Aren’t you supposed to grant all the players’ wishes? Why the double standard for me? I’m filing a complaint with corporate! I’m taking this to the highest authority!” He seemed utterly exasperated. After a moment, a sigh tinged with resignation escaped him. “…Fine. Follow me.” He led me through a maze of corridors to a lavish, oversized bedroom. I immediately dove onto the plush king-sized bed in the center of the room and stretched out with a groan. “So tired,” I purred, kicking my legs playfully. “Give me a leg rub.” The Boss shot me a cool glance and ignored me. I wasn’t giving up. “So, what’s your name? Calling you ‘Boss’ all the time is so impersonal.” He was a master of evasion. “That doesn’t concern you. You are a player. Your only focus should be on clearing this instance.” I rattled off a list. “Sweetheart? Honey? Hubby? Master? Daddy?” As my suggestions got more and more outrageous, he finally snapped. “Owen,” he bit out. “My name is Owen.” Despite his monotone delivery, I could have sworn I heard the sound of him grinding his teeth. “Well then—” I started, ready to tease him more. “That’s enough. You need to sleep,” he said hastily. With a flick of his wrist, a wisp of black mist drifted toward me. Before I knew it, it was like someone had flipped my off-switch. I was out cold.
The next morning, I was jolted awake by a piercing scream. When I opened my eyes, Owen was gone. I quickly freshened up and rushed to the living room to find a strange corpse lying on the floor. The body was unnaturally old. The hair and beard were stark white, the face a roadmap of deep wrinkles. It looked at least eighty years old, and for some reason, vaguely familiar. I scanned the room. All the players were there except for Mike. Their faces were grim. A woman with fiery red hair, who looked to be in her thirties, finally broke the silence. “I just checked. This body… it’s Mike.” “That’s impossible,” someone immediately argued. “Mike was in his forties. This guy looks ancient. The age doesn’t match up at all.” The redhead let out a long sigh. “Do you remember the wish we made yesterday? To die peacefully of old age. Doesn’t Mike’s current state fit that perfectly? We underestimated this instance. We thought a little cleverness would see us through. An SSS-rank instance… it’s a whole different level of cruel.” The livestream comments reappeared. [Heh, my favorite part: overconfident players getting a reality check. Let the whole herd of pigs die, I don’t care.] [Wait, I thought not everyone wished for old age. What did that girl in the corner wish for? My stream went black yesterday right after she stepped up. Can someone fill me in?] [+1, my screen went black too.] [+2] [+10086] … [Why did so many people’s streams go dark? I thought it was just my connection.] [Could it be? Did she make the one correct wish, so the system censored it? Holy crap! Is someone finally going to beat this legendary SSS-rank instance???] [You guys have wild imaginations. I looked her up, she’s a total newbie. A fragile little flower like her? I could snap her in half. Expecting her to clear a top-tier instance is a joke.] A young girl in our group started to sob. “What are we going to do? We all made the same wish as Mike. Does that mean… we’re all going to die like that?” The same thought had clearly crossed everyone’s mind. The mood in the room grew even heavier. The red-haired woman lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly. “Not necessarily. Remember what the system said? There will be side missions. Each time we complete one, we get to make a new wish. We still have a chance, as long as we make the right wish this time.” Her calm demeanor was a balm on everyone’s frayed nerves. She continued, “My name’s Alexia. I was an executive at a multinational before this. I’d like to think I have decent judgment. If you trust me, I will lead you all to victory.” When people are terrified, they instinctively look for a leader. Alexia, with her sharp mind and commanding presence, naturally became our anchor. After securing her leadership, she offered a few more words of encouragement. Just then, a system notification chimed. [Side Mission: ‘The Boss’s Dinner Party’ has been issued.] [All players are invited to share a feast with Him!] [Time: Tonight at 8:00 PM] [Participants: All surviving players] [Note: A variety of dishes will be served. Each player must select one dish to present to the Boss.] [Note: Dish selections cannot be repeated.] [Note: The player who presents the Boss’s favorite food will earn His favor and another chance to make a wish.] [Note: The player who presents the Boss’s most hated food will die!] A confident smile touched Alexia’s lips. “See? Our chance is here already.” We had most of the day before the dinner party. Under Alexia’s direction, we fanned out across the villa, searching for any clue about the Boss’s preferences. An hour before the event, we gathered to share our findings. Alexia spoke first. “I found tonight’s menu in the kitchen. There are only six dishes, one for each of us. They are: escargots, Caesar salad, roasted lamb chops, pan-seared cod, creamed vegetables, and fruitcake. Any thoughts?” A tall, skinny guy spoke up excitedly. “I found a notebook in the maid’s room. There was an entry complaining that the ‘young master’ always ate his vegetables but barely touched meat. I’m guessing that ‘young master’ is our Boss.” Another girl’s eyes lit up. “And I saw a ton of milk and dairy products in the fridge! He must like creamy things. Milk plus vegetables… that has to be the creamed vegetables, right?” We were all encouraged. We’d figured out his favorite food so easily. Alexia tapped a long, manicured nail on the table. “Excellent work, everyone. So we know his favorite dish. The question now is, who gets to present it?” The system had been clear: no repeats. Only one person could present the correct dish and earn the Boss’s favor. Alexia cleared her throat. “Actually, I believe I’ve already figured out what the correct final wish is. If things go smoothly, I can get all of us out of here safely. So, if you all trust my judgment… I’ll be the one to present the creamed vegetables to the Boss.” The group exchanged hesitant glances. After a moment of deliberation, they all nodded in agreement. The girl who’d figured out the dish spoke up again, her voice small. “We know what he likes, but what about what he hates? If someone picks the wrong thing, they’ll die.” I quietly raised my hand. “I found a photo album in the library. It’s full of pictures of a little boy’s birthdays, from one year old to his early twenties. I noticed that in every single picture, the birthday cake is completely untouched. I think the food he hates is the fruitcake.” With the death option identified, a more brutal question arose. If everyone had to present a dish, who would be forced to serve the fatal fruitcake? In the end, we drew lots. A guy with a buzz cut drew the short straw. His eyes flickered nervously, darting toward me for a split second.
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