I stepped heavily toward the 93rd floor, where Victor stood waiting. His gaze was flat, unreadable. He took a step back, giving me space to receive the punishment that had already been decided.

  With trembling hands, I tried to use a support item-the Position Switcher-targeting Orian, the person who wanted to finish me off. But when my finger touched the command handle, there was no response. I tried again, over and over, but it still didn't work.

  My heart pounded violently. I turned my gaze toward Grumford, hoping he would offer an explanation. Instead, what I saw was a meaningful smile on his face-as if he had known all along that my command handle would fail.

  "What did I do wrong? Why does everyone want to get rid of me? Just for entertainment?" I thought in panic.

  Suddenly, thick glass emerged from the ground, trapping me in a transparent chamber with no way out. I turned to Victor, clinging to a sliver of hope, but he just stood there silently, his eyes locked on the audience. And outside, the spectators cheered even louder, excited to witness the punishment awaiting me.

  Among them, my friends shouted in desperation, urging me to use my support item. Some even covered their eyes, crying.

  "I know how to use it... but it's not working," I muttered, staring in disbelief at the unresponsive command handle in my hand.

  Grumford stepped forward, his voice booming with excitement.

  "Alright everyone, it's time for Frey's punishment! For losing all his HP!"

  The crowd roared.

  "And of course, he'll experience the flames of hell. Get ready for an unforgettable show!" he added enthusiastically.

  From the ceiling, a flamethrower-like device slowly descended, aimed directly at me-a source of fire ready to engulf me whole.

  I froze. Resigned to my fate.

  My eyes slowly closed.

  But just before the flames ignited, Victor's voice cut through the noise.

  "Are you sure he deserves punishment, Grumford? His HP isn't zero."

  My eyes snapped open.

  Grumford scoffed, irritation in his tone. "His HP went below zero! He stepped onto the Dog Head floor with only 1 HP left. That floor applies -2 HP penalty!"

  "But is his HP truly zero?" Victor's gaze locked onto the game screen. "You can see it clearly, can't you?"

  I turned to the massive screen hanging on the arena wall. Slowly, the numbers came into focus. My HP... wasn't zero.

  The arena erupted into chaos.

  Orian's eyes widened, disbelief flooding his face. "Impossible! He should be dead!"

  Grumford fell silent, and Victor offered a faint smile at the shift in both his and Orian's expressions.

  "The game screen never lies," he said calmly. "I used my Immunity Charm on this kid."

  The room fell into stunned silence before exploding with noise. The audience groaned in disappointment at the delay of my execution.

  Grumford clicked his tongue, annoyed. "The game will continue."

  The chaos only intensified. The audience screamed louder, unsatisfied but still thrilled by the unexpected drama.

  Orian glared at Victor, visibly furious. With a harsh motion, he threw his dice. The result: 5. He stepped onto 92nd floor.

  Victor, his expression still unreadable, rolled his dice and advanced one step to 94th floor. Before moving further, he patted my shoulder.

  "The gamble isn't over until you cross the finish line."

  I swallowed hard, gathering the scraps of courage I had left.

  "Round twenty-seven!"

  My hand shook as I pressed the dice button. The result: 4. I stepped onto 97th floor-the finish line was now within reach.

  I glanced at Victor, then bowed deeply. It wasn't just gratitude, but a relief I couldn't put into words.

  Meanwhile, Orian, face twisted in frustration, pressed his dice button. He rolled a 3 and stepped onto 95th floor, a chest floor. He obtained an Immunity Charm.

  Victor moved forward, rolling a 4. He reached 98th floor.

  "Round twenty-eight!"

  I took a deep breath. This was my last chance. I needed exactly a 3 to reach finish line. If I rolled anything higher, I would be sent back to the start of the game.

  Only two minutes remained.

  But for some reason, my hands wouldn't stop shaking. I couldn't press the button on the command handle. My body rejected the gamble altogether.

  Suddenly, a hand tapped my shoulder.

  Victor looked at me calmly. "Frey, your shaking is like a chicken before slaughter." A crooked smile tugged at his lips. "But do you know the difference between a chicken and a player?"

  I stared at him, still silent.

  "A chicken never gets a chance to gamble," he continued. "But you still have a choice, no matter how small. Use it before you become ashes."

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  I paused for a moment. His dark humor somehow calmed me, making me smile a little.

  Without hesitation, I pressed the dice button.

  The dice spun rapidly on the screen.

  The audience held their breath.

  And then... the loudest cheer of the night erupted.

  I turned to the screen. The number 3 glowed brightly.

  The finish line... was right in front of me.

  I stepped past Victor, walking toward the final floor. The moment my foot landed on the last square, the arena burst into celebration. The spectators cheered wildly, as if they were celebrating my survival alongside me.

  "I'm still alive..." I thought, barely believing it.

  "We have found one winner! Now, what about the other two contestants?" Grumford's voice echoed across the room.

  I snapped back to reality- Victor hadn't reached the finish line yet.

  Orian, seeing me reach the goal first, looked furious. Impatiently, he pressed the button on his command handle. The number two appeared on the screen, moving him to 97th floor.

  "Why not a five?! Damn it!" he cursed in frustration.

  Victor glanced at Orian briefly before giving a faint smile. "I used my Lucky Star and chose number two," he said calmly, stepping forward without hesitation.

  The audience grew even more excited, their cheers swelling as Victor crossed the finish line. Without thinking, I threw my arms around him. Relief flooded my chest-we made it out alive.

  "Two contestants have reached the finish line! Only one remains. Will they make it?" Grumford announced again, his voice full of anticipation.

  Orian's gaze darted to Grumford, then to the two guards standing above the spectator seats. His expression was tense. With trembling hands, he pressed his button.

  The number on the screen: four.

  The room fell silent for a moment. Then, Orian's breathing grew rapid, panicked. "N-No! This isn't what we agreed on!" he shouted hysterically.

  I froze. Agreement?

  Grumford's smile turned thin, his eyes narrowing. "You still have one minute left," he said flatly.

  But Orian wasn't listening. He kept screaming, repeating "no" like a desperate chant.

  Suddenly, a mechanical sound echoed from below. From the floor, a massive blade shot upward at impossible speed.

  Slash!

  Orian's body was sliced clean in half right before my eyes.

  I stood frozen. The world stopped spinning. My breath caught in my throat.

  Blood flooded the floor. The crowd erupted into deafening noise-a twisted mix of excitement and shock.

  Grumford looked at us, his expression unreadable. For a brief moment, his smile faded, only to return seconds later. "Let's give a round of applause for the two contestants who have won the Tiles of Fate game! Give them a big hand!"

  The cheers thundered. I still felt dizzy, but the happy voices of my surviving friends helped anchor me back to reality.

  However, before I could take a full breath of relief, Victor suddenly collapsed.

  "Victor!" I instinctively caught him before he hit the ground. His breathing was ragged, his face pale, and blood was seeping from his wounds.

  "Please save him! He won, didn't he?! Shouldn't he be treated immediately?!" I shouted desperately at Grumford and the two guards.

  Grumford glanced at me, then gave a small nod to the guards. Without delay, they moved swiftly, leading us out of the arena.

  ---

  We entered a brightly lit corridor, passing through a white door into an elevator. During the entire ride, I held onto Victor's hand, which was getting colder by the second.

  "We have to hurry! Or he's not going to make it!" I yelled, panicking.

  Shade, one of the guards, glanced at me briefly. "Don't worry. We're almost there."

  The elevator dinged softly as the doors slid open. What greeted us was a long, sterile hallway with shiny white walls. Rows of doors lined the corridor, each marked with codes I couldn't understand.

  We stopped at the first door on the left.

  “Doctor Marlowe, we have a patient in critical condition,” Shade said, knocking firmly.

  "Come in," a voice answered from within.

  I was startled. There's actually a doctor in a place like this? I thought.

  As the door opened, the sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air. The room was perfectly clean-white walls, gleaming ceramic floor, a neatly made examination bed with a pale blue curtain beside it. In the corner stood a tidy desk covered with documents, a stethoscope, and a computer. Bookshelves lined the walls, packed with medical books written in a language I couldn't read.

  Then, from the adjoining room, the doctor appeared.

  My eyes widened.

  The moment I saw him, I froze. The doctor standing before me wasn't human-he was a Canidra.

  Doctor Marlowe was a massive Saint Bernard, his fur a mix of white and deep brown patches. He wore a long white lab coat, with a stethoscope draped around his neck.

  Doctor Marlowe looked at me with calm, understanding eyes. In a gentle voice, he said, "Don't be afraid. Even though I look like a dog, to me, all patients are the same-whether they're Human, Canidra, or any other race."

  I swallowed hard, still trying to process his presence in this place. But before I could say anything, the doctor's gaze shifted to Victor.

  "This is bad," he muttered, his expression turning serious. "His condition is critical! Quickly, take him to the next room!"

  Without hesitation, Shade and the other guard lifted Victor and carried him away. Meanwhile, Dr. Marlowe rushed to prepare his medical equipment.

  "Sorry, but please wait here for a moment," he said briefly before disappearing behind the tightly shut door.

  All I could do was sit on the waiting chair, my fingers clenched on my lap. My heart kept pounding, hoping for the best for Victor.

  ---

  A few minutes passed.

  The door finally opened, and one of the guards stepped out. "Rest here for now," he said briefly before leaving the room.

  Shortly after, Shade and Dr. Marlowe appeared. I immediately stood up, waiting for any news they would give me.

  "Luckily, you brought him here just in time," said Dr. Marlowe as he removed his gloves. "If you were even a little late, he wouldn't have made it." He glanced at me for a moment before continuing, "After hearing your story, I'm impressed by his will to survive. Not everyone can endure that kind of game."

  I let out a deep breath of relief. At least Victor was still alive.

  Shade crossed his arms, eyeing me sharply. "Doctor, I'm leaving both of them in your care. Don't let them escape."

  Dr. Marlowe gave a small smile. "Of course. They are my patients. I won't let them leave until they're fully recovered."

  Shade gave a nod and turned to leave. But before he stepped out, he looked at me once more and said, "Don't even think about running away."

  After the door closed, I swallowed again. The atmosphere in the room felt heavier now.

  I was still a little nervous being near this doctor. Even though his words sounded kind, I couldn't shake the feeling that he might be hiding something.

  "Alright, now it's your turn," said Dr. Marlowe, looking at me gently. "May I know your name?"

  I hesitated a little before answering, "Freyric Ardentis. But you can just call me Frey, like my friends do."

  "Alright, Frey." He gestured toward the examination chair. "Have a seat here. Don't be too tense, I just want to make sure you're okay."

  I obeyed, though I still felt a bit awkward.

  As he began examining me, Dr. Marlowe suddenly spoke. "I used to have a human friend named Amara."

  I stayed silent, listening.

  "She was the daughter of a famous doctor, but ever since she was born, her body was frail due to a rare, fatal illness. Even so, she was always excited to play with me."

  His voice lowered, the tone carrying a slight weight. "But... in the end, she couldn't fight the disease any longer and left us."

  I could see the sadness in his eyes.

  "Her parents blamed themselves for not being able to save her. They were so devastated they fell into severe depression... and eventually, they took their own lives."

  I held my breath, not expecting the story to be this dark.

  "I was left alone in that house," he continued quietly. "Since then, I swore to become a doctor who would never let a patient die—not if there was still even the slightest hope of saving them."

  I looked at him, slowly understanding the depth of his resolve. "Why are you telling me this?" I asked softly.

  Dr. Marlowe turned to me with a small smile. "So you won't feel afraid or anxious around me," he answered, carefully tending to my wounds.

  I fell silent for a moment, then gave a small nod. For the first time, I felt a bit more at ease.

  "You can rest on that bed over there," he said, pointing to a simple examination bed in the corner of the room. "I promise you'll be safe here."

  I got up and walked to the bed. As soon as my body touched the mattress, all the exhaustion I had been holding back seemed to rush over me at once. My eyelids grew heavy, and before I realized it...

  I fell into a deep sleep.