Brian Baker lazily said with his hands in his pockets, "Waiting for you. I have no interest in turning into ashes."

922: "154?"

Brian Baker: "No idea."

"That damn fake goody-two-shoes is slacking off again?"

922 muttered under his breath.

He tugged up his gradually slipping bald head, but didn't have time to argue. Tilting his head toward the door, he said, "Let's go, I'll take you back to the exam room."

……

Second floor of the villa.

James Carter stood with his arms crossed, leaning lazily by the window, his gaze lowered.

The light from the room cast into the woods, and 922 led two examinees through the shadows, soon swallowed up by the snowy mist.

James Carter squinted, staring absentmindedly at that spot.

The black bird suddenly let out two low, hoarse calls.

After a while, James Carter clicked his tongue and straightened up.

He walked back to the table, fiddled with the black bird's sharp beak, and casually fed it a seed, saying, "Doesn't it feel like something's missing?"

The black bird let out a lifelike mocking sound: "Heh."

James Carter: "An invigilator?"

Black bird: "Heh."

James Carter tapped the bird's beak and went downstairs.

He hadn't gone far when the black bird flapped its wings and followed.

He glanced around the hall, then turned into the corridor. From one of the confinement rooms came the faint sound of a chair being dragged—the very room where Brian Baker had just been locked up.

James Carter raised his eyebrows and leisurely knocked on the door three times: "Anyone in there?"

Inside, the chair banged heavily a few times.

James Carter: "Mind if I come in?"

The chair was about to smash a hole in the floor.

James Carter unlocked the door.

As the door opened, the missing invigilator 154 was revealed.

He was slumped in the chair, hands tied behind it, ropes around his body, and a huge wad of paper stuffed in his mouth.

On the paper wad, someone had calmly written a few words with a marker:

Fuck off, little girl.

James Carter suddenly laughed.

154 was about to bounce in the chair to remind James Carter to untie him first.

But seeing him laugh, he got a little intimidated and gently set the chair down.

Luckily, James Carter didn't linger on the insult for long.

A moment later, 154 finally shook off the ropes and regained his freedom.

He rubbed his wrists, red from the binding, and complained, "I've been an invigilator for three years, and I've never seen a candidate like that! Others cry and wail, but he sleeps? Others are terrified of the invigilator, but he just tied me up right away?"

James Carter leaned on the table and listened, then lazily said, "Pretty rhythmic cursing, keep going."

154: "…"

If he could, he'd show the "fuck off" on the paper wad to the boss.

"As an invigilator, getting tied up by a candidate in the confinement room—isn't that humiliating?" James Carter squinted and asked.

154 kept a straight face: "It is. Good thing 922 didn't see it, or he'd laugh for two years."

Everyone familiar with this system knew that invigilators were all selected from past candidates. Only the very best could make that transition.

These people were ranked by their execution and toughness—that's how the invigilator numbers were assigned.

Single-digit numbers were the top of the top, untouchable.

Like 001.

"You just said, that…" James Carter paused, as if searching for a word, but finally just raised his eyebrows and said, "candidate was sleeping in the confinement room?"

"Yeah. When I went in, his nose was still his nose, his eyes were still his eyes, the confinement room was exactly as it should be, nothing had changed. He wasn't afraid of anything at all."

154 thought for a moment, then wondered, "But is that even possible? Who's like that? I've only ever seen one in my life."

James Carter squinted, his fingers playing with the black bird's neck on his shoulder.

"Maybe his life has been too smooth, never encountered anything scary?" 154 guessed. "But that so-called smoothness ends today. This group of candidates is ridiculously lucky—they actually drew the toothpaste question first."

James Carter glanced at him.

"The question's like squeezing toothpaste—every squeeze, a sentence pops out. I don't even know if that's a bug."

James Carter: "Who came up with that nickname?"

"922 the idiot did, nothing to do with me," 154 said with a straight face, "But it's pretty accurate. When I took the exam, this was the type I feared most! Not because it was that hard, but because the initial information was basically zero, no way to score points. So the first round was always a wash, and someone was bound to be sacrificed."

154 recalled for a moment, then muttered with lingering fear, "Good thing I only encountered it once, and luckily wasn't picked… Wonder who'll be the sacrifice in today's group?"

He glanced at the time. "Only a few seconds left."

……

In front of the mountain cabin.

922, exhausted like a dead dog but keeping a straight face out of pride, called out to Brian Baker before leaving.

"Something else?" Brian Baker looked impatient.

The first collection time was almost up. Even through the howling wind and snow, he could feel the panic inside the cabin.

Not a second could be wasted.

922 said, "One more rule: since you two were in confinement, you can't answer questions in this round."

Brian Baker's face grew even colder.