"Huh? Blocked again?"
Wei Futong frowned as he swiped his phone furiously. The post had vanished—vanished like a whisper into a vacuum, with no trace left behind.
"Why'd you say again?" Chu Cheng asked.
"Because it's not the first time. I've seen people mention this on the forums—someone drowned in a room with no water, another got half-fused into a wall. Any post that talks about those kinds of glitches? Poof. Gone."
Chu Cheng's brows furrowed. "There've been posts like that before?"
In an age where everything starts with an image and a rumor, even fabricated stories get millions of clicks. But this wasn't just internet hysteria. Long before smartphones and TikTok edits, newspapers carried strange tales—ghost sightings, impossible coincidences, spontaneous combustions. But with the rise of camera phones and 24/7 surveillance, those stories started vanishing. Ghosts no longer roamed, UFOs kept to themselves, and lake monsters refused to bubble.
Sometimes, it felt like the more eyes there were on the world, the less sense it made.
"Yeah, sure." Wei Futong lowered his voice. "But they weren't blocked back then."
That part chilled Chu Cheng more than he wanted to admit. He remembered a time when forums were littered with absurdities—hauntings, conspiracies, floating monks. Nobody cared. But now that posts were being actively scrubbed, it felt… staged. Like someone was trying too hard to make sure you didn't look behind the curtain.
And this time, it hit closer to home.
Because the building in the image—the Klein Group skyscraper—was exactly the one he saw in the game. Every detail matched. The disappearing post wasn't a random urban legend; it was relevant. It was targeted. Coincidence? Not a chance.
Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
As soon as the bell rang, Chu Cheng didn't even hesitate. "Bro, cover for me next period. Sign the sheet. I gotta go."
Wei Futong gave him a puzzled look, but nodded.
Chu Cheng squeezed through the wave of students leaving the lecture hall. He had one goal—get home, get into that game, figure this out.
But he didn't even make it out of the courtyard before something else derailed him.
The square outside was swarming with people. At least three rings deep, students clustered like moths to a flame. Angry voices flared from the center.
Chu Cheng, standing nearly 1.8 meters, had the height advantage. He leaned in and scanned the chaos.
Two students—a guy and a girl—were the focal point. They were supposed to be teenagers, but their faces were twisted in something far darker than adolescent drama.
"I already told you! He's just a rideshare driver! I don't even know the guy! Are you deaf?" The girl's voice was sugar and venom.
"Cut the crap! So now rideshare drivers just swing by your dorm like old buddies?" The guy snarled.
"Don't gaslight me, you walking cliché! Hanging out with that sketchy crowd and calling me your girlfriend—who do you think you're fooling? I've been letting you save face, but I've got receipts. You? You're a two-minute wonder with the endurance of a soggy matchstick!"
"Oh yeah? That's rich coming from someone with more mileage than a rental sedan! You think acting cute makes you less expired?"
Their insults spun faster than a cyclone. Chu Cheng shook his head. A classic tale—Playboy meets heartbreak, ends in flame. He'd normally watch just for the drama, but not today.
He had things to check—real things.
But fate had other ideas.
SMACK.
The slap echoed through the crowd like the opening bell in a cage match. Chu Cheng flinched at the sound alone.
The girl had landed it hard. But the guy didn't flinch—he fired back a punch. Her hand snaked out, grabbing for his hair—but his week-old greasy scalp betrayed her grip.
Still, she recovered. A savage upward strike caught him dead-on. You could almost hear bones creak. Gasps should have erupted. But no one reacted.
The boy responded as if nothing happened. No recoil, no daze—just a counterpunch that made her bleed.
Chu Cheng's eyes narrowed.
This wasn't just a fight. Something was off.
That hit should've floored anyone. But both of them kept going, like pain had been written out of their code.
Blood flew. Her claws raked his cheek. His knuckles cracked her jaw.
It felt… choreographed. But with real consequences.
And all around them? Silence.
Nobody interfered. Nobody screamed. Nobody even raised a phone. The crowd stood like statues. Witnesses? No. More like judges at some ancient, cursed gladiator pit.
Their eyes didn't glint with fear or concern. They gleamed with dispassionate judgment.
Chu Cheng's stomach twisted. He'd seen those expressions before.
Last night. In the game. On the faces of those men in that corporate boardroom. The ones watching—blank, puppeteered, stripped of humanity.
The memory slammed into him like a brick wall.
Something in this crowd mirrored that same emptiness. As if they weren't in control anymore.
Chu Cheng's instincts screamed. Leave. Now.
He didn't wait. He broke away from the circle and turned, heart pounding.
He had to go. This wasn't just high school drama. This was the game bleeding into the real world. And he was one of the few who could feel the leak.
Call security? The sheriff? Someone?
But the thought barely formed when the hairs on his neck rose.
He stopped. Turned.
And froze.
The crowd. The fighters. Everything… had stopped.
Mid-motion. Mid-expression. Like a film reel snapped mid-frame.
Then, like marionettes on invisible strings, they all turned to face him.
Hundreds of eyes. Cold. Empty. Unified.
They were looking at him.