Unlike the other buildings I've seen on this street, the mansion was bright and lively. Flocks of guests swarmed in and out in a never-ending cycle. The ones coming out did so unwillingly, escorted by bulky men. The ones coming in did so with triumphant expressions on their faces, eager to make the most of this opportunity.

  At least, it used to be like that. Now the entrance was as deserted as the rest of the buildings on this street, worried faces peering out through the windows.

  I strode up to the front door. Just looking at it made me sick.

  Venting my frustration, I shoved it open. Let the gauntlet begin.

  A gatekeeper nearby—though I didn’t know whether he really was one—turned his head to look at me, frowning.

  I looked back at him, a hint of disdain in my eyes. I shook my head and adjusted the antique watch on my wrist.

  The gatekeeper’s eyes snagged on the watch, then he turned away.

  Step one completed.

  After 132 runs, I’d advanced step by step—but the balcony remained out of reach. I strode deeper into the mansion, talking, tricking, and threatening my way through.

  There was a bloodless battle being fought here today, and I want no part of it. An old dying tycoon with no chosen heir had caused “friends”, “family”, and “acquaintances” to swarm the mansion like a committee of vultures. I would've watched on in amusement, but now they're in the way of me and my final target.

  I strode up the stairs to the fourth floor. A false rumor I started about cake had cleared most obstacles.

  Step number 65 completed.

  The people on this floor weren’t as easily bluffed. Fortunately, I didn't need to. They can talk and fight to their content, holding each other back from climbing the fifth floor where the old Tycoon was supposed to be resting in.

  My target was on the second-floor balcony, but this damned mansion had the most convoluted floor design I've had the displeasure of encountering. The balcony the old man would jump from could only be accessed through a stair starting from the fourth floor.

  Now that tidbit of information took dozens of runs to figure out, since I needed to explore without getting thrown out. When I get my hands on the architect of this mansion...

  I ran down said stairs but paused on the landing between the third and second floor. When I first got to this point five runs ago, I was too giddy and rushed. There was one last obstacle here.

  I peeked around the stair railing, watching an old man standing guard in front of the door at the end of a corridor. Despite appearances, that old man was a ruthless killer. I rubbed my chest, feeling a pang of pain.

  Seriously. Who shoots people without asking?

  I steeled myself, then turned the corner, walking down the stairs to the second floor in measured steps.

  The old man yawned, putting one of his hands inside his suit to scratch himself. Or so it appeared. I knew he was readying himself to draw a gun.

  I stopped in place, smiling at him. Peeling off my outer suit coat, I turned and threw it behind me. I didn't know why this lowered his guard, but it did.

  The old man took his hand out of his suit. "Who're you then?"

  "Nobody important. I have a message for the young master inside," I said. Indeed. This old man was the butler/bodyguard/employed assassin of the eldest son of the old Tycoon. I have no idea what the most likely heir was doing in this isolated room when everyone else was busy buttering up the old Tycoon on the fifth floor. Did he think his position was secure enough?

  I hated not having enough information, especially since this might be important. What caused the old man inside to jump off? Did the old man even jump off? Or was he pushed off? Is he silencing a witness to a crime?

  I had even entertained the thought that the old man was used to incite a stampede. It would clear out the crowd outside and cull the competition, after all. But surely, he wasn't insane enough to start a stampede just to get his way, right?

  "A message?" the scary elder asked with a raised eyebrow, breaking me away from my musings.

  I nodded. "It's important," I said.

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  I kept things vague this time. Four runs ago, I got myself in trouble by claiming that the old Tycoon was calling for his eldest son. I didn't know why the scary bodyguard was so suspicious of me, honestly.

  He eyed me for a moment, then knocked on the door behind him.

  A minute later, it opened to reveal a man in his 30s. Caspian was bedecked with luxury from the tip of his hair to the bottom of his shoes. "Yes?" he asked in an annoyed voice.

  "This one claim to have an important message for you sir," the old man said.

  I smiled meaningfully while packing as much bullshit as I could into my next sentences. "Yes, beg your pardon, sir Caspian. I was entrusted with a message from the eldest miss. She said it was for your ears only."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What is it then? You can deliver it now. Don't mind old Reginald, he's hard of hearing, right?" Caspian nudged Reginald with an elbow.

  I'd sooner believe I've never told a lie since I entered this mansion than that. I thought.

  But my reply was, "Of course," I cleared my throat. "Mandarins. Checkers. Sharp. Ivory. Crimson."

  Reginald looked at me as if I've gone mad, but Caspian looked intrigued. "Who did you say you were again?" he asked.

  I shrugged. The words were overheard nonsense, but if it worked it worked. "Nobody important. Sir."

  He nodded. "Yes, of course. I understand."

  I don't. You rich people and your games, I swear. Just leave already.

  Caspian turned to Reginald. "It seems my dearest sister is calling me?"

  The old man didn't give a reply.

  Caspian nodded. "I agree. Alright then," he turned towards me, "lead the way."

  This was as far as I got so far. Of course, I didn’t know where I was supposed to lead them. The message was bogus. No excuses worked, and I had grown tired of all the acting. I mutely shook my head, then leaned on the corridor wall, gazing out the window at the bright sky above.

  Minutes ticked by.

  I was surprised I was still alive. I had expected Reginald to shoot me for my impudence by now. I glanced at the pair and raised my eyebrows. "Well?"

  Caspian laughed. "Fair enough. Yes, you're right. Can't have that, can we? Very well, I'm going then."

  I struggled to keep a straight face. What the hell? That worked?

  Excitement rose in me, but I quickly calmed down. Accidental discoveries like this have been my primary way of progressing. As long as no two runs are exactly the same, I would learn something new. At worst, I'll die a gruesome death.

  Caspian strode up the stairs.

  Reginald hesitated, glancing between the door and stairs. He approached me instead.

  What?! Shoo! Go away!

  I maintained a relaxed posture as he raised a hand and patted my shoulders.

  He leaned in and whispered, "wash off the blood more thoroughly next time youngling. You're still too green." Then he followed the eldest son up the stairs.

  I watched them go in confusion. What?

  My heart burst with elation. Whatever. I did it! Finally! More than a hundred damned runs!

  Heart pounding, I strode to the door and entered. My eyes instantly locked on the old man sitting on an armchair by the balcony. I closed the door behind me before approaching.

  I sat across him in a straight-backed chair and studied him. He was surprisingly relaxed for someone that had been forced to suicide. He didn’t even show any alarm when a stranger joined him, smiling slightly in amusement as we gazed at each other.

  The old man only had a few wisps of white left to crown his head. He looked gaunt and fragile, but his eyes were sharp.

  I glanced down at my wrist—it was 11:48. All I needed to do was stay here and prevent him from dying in the next 12 minutes. Even if I failed, I would have more information and be a step closer to freedom.

  I took off the antique watch and swapped it with my old, battered, and now bloodstained digital watch. It suited me better.

  We stayed in silence until 11:50, then the old man spoke. "Where’s my cake?"

  "Huh?"

  The old man chuckled. "I saw you, on the footbridge. Inducing a stampede was brilliant."

  I jolted in surprise, confusion wiped by tension.

  The old man laughed. "It was entertaining. You even reached me all the way here. Tell me, how did you manage to send my son away?"

  Even off-balance, that still caught my attention. "Your son?"

  The old man laughed uproariously, and for a moment I was worried he would keel over and die right there and then. "Yes! My son! Hahahaha, look at your face! You don't know who I am!"

  The blood drained from my face. His earlier comment about cake clicked. "You're the old tycoon?! I thought you were on the fifth floor?"

  The old man—no, the Tycoon—slapped his thigh in amusement. "Marvelous. If you're acting, you're the best actor I've ever met. Yes, I'm the... old tycoon as you call me."

  Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "Why did you die then?"

  Damn! That just slipped out.

  The Tycoon straightened up, all traces of amusement fading from his eyes. He stared at me mutely for a moment. "How did you know?"

  I recognized something in his eyes. He wasn't pushed off after all. It was suicide.

  "Secret,” I smiled. “Still, why would you suicide?"

  The Tycoon was dumbfounded, but then he sighed. "Tycoon... yes I suppose you could call me that. A better title would be 'Phony' though."

  I titled my head, surprised he would actually tell me anything. I was just drawing out the time until noon.

  "Yes. I was a phony. In my youth, I took the business world by storm, gathering wealth into a mountain. I wanted for nothing. Nothing but genuine company," he gave a bitter smile. "I was never genuine myself, you see. How could you be in this world? So, I made phony friends, married a phony wife, and had phony children. They grew up to be phony people, then had phony children themselves. Now I look around and see nothing but phony people. You can call me Mr. Phony."

  I opened my mouth, but there was nothing to say to that. I had never thought of it like that before. I knew I had to say something though, so I said the first thing that came to mind, "I think I'd call you Mr. Typhoon instead." I cringed internally.

  The Tycoon leaned back in his chair. "Typhoon... heh. Sure, I like it."

  We sat there in companionable silence. Despite just meeting, I felt at ease in his presence—a kindred spirit.

  I mulled over his words, clenching and unclenching my hand on the handle of my briefcase. He had given me a lot to think about.

  A soft beep rudely interrupted my thoughts. I jolted upright. It was noon.

  Time slowed to a crawl. My heart leaped up to my throat.

  This was it. I've prevented all four deaths. There's nothing left to do. The time loop should be broken. I'm free.

  But it didn't break, and I wasn't free.