Erik's heart raced uncontrollably. The night stretched on without end, and the shadows beyond the window seemed to harbor eyes—eyes steeped in malice, watching her. Without a doubt, that hostility emanated from the players who had failed to secure an urn. Another brutal battle was inevitable. The driver, unmoved and silent, made no attempt to start the bus. Clearly, he was waiting for all passengers—dead or alive—to be aboard.
It didn't matter which faction boarded first. In the end, everyone would be on this bus.
She had long accepted there was no escaping the final confrontation. That was why she'd chosen to board early—better to seize the initiative than suffer a brutal ambush.
When the players inside the bus had grown restless, those lurking in the dark made their move.
They swarmed the vehicle, brandishing all manner of makeshift weapons, launching a frenzied assault on the seated players. Naturally, Erik and the others fought back, and chaos once more engulfed the bus.
It was then the driver, seemingly satisfied that all surviving passengers had boarded, shut the doors and slammed his foot on the accelerator.
The bus rumbled to life—and the bloodshed within its sealed metal walls began anew.
*
The violence had finally ended. Erik tied a final, unbreakable knot and dragged the last defeated player to the back of the bus.
There, bodies lay strewn across the aisle—some still breathing, though bound and motionless, others wide-eyed in death. Erik wiped the blood from her face—some of it her own, some from others.
Those who remained alive found seats wherever they could, resting amid the wreckage. The bus interior was in ruins, ravaged beyond recognition.
The neutral players wore grim expressions. They had tried to remain uninvolved, but the confined space left no room for neutrality—many had been injured in the crossfire. Julia and her companions sat off to one side, battered and scowling.
*Clang!*
The bus doors opened—the next stop had arrived.
The NPCs disembarked, and Erik rose to follow.
Shouts erupted from the rear of the bus, but Jax and his group, clutching their urns like sacred relics, ignored them and stepped off in silence.
To the victors, the spoils. Had the roles been reversed, the outcome would have been just the same.
Above the iron gates, Erik saw two characters etched in stone: "Cemetery."
Of course, she thought.
Inside the cemetery stood a small building. Erik followed the NPCs inside and was startled to see yet another NPC already present.
A young clerk with an icy expression swept a dispassionate gaze across the white-robed ghost and the others—until his eyes landed on Erik. Then something shifted. As though lifeless water had been stirred, his gaze came alive… with hunger.
Under that gaze, Erik silently stepped in line behind the mother and son.
"We'd like to purchase a grave for our old man."
The clerk tossed a brochure across the counter. "These are the available plots. Choose one."
The pair quickly selected a site and inquired about the price.
The son removed his backpack—Erik noted how it had deflated slightly since the morgue stop—and she watched with curiosity, wondering what currency they would use to purchase a grave.
He pulled out a thick stack of spirit money and handed it over. "We'd appreciate your help."
The clerk looked displeased—it wasn't enough—but nodded and completed the registration nonetheless.
"Done. The plot's yours. Go bury him yourself."
The old woman beamed. "Your father can finally rest in peace."
"Let's go, Ma." The son retrieved the grave token tossed onto the table.
And they left.
Next came the white-robed ghost. She had nothing left with which to purchase a plot.
The clerk stared at her throat in silence. She grinned and reached up, tugging at the thread wrapped around her neck.
How to describe that moment?
It reminded Erik of unsealing a rice bag—grasp the right thread and with a few deft pulls, the entire seam came undone.
Just like that, the ghost unwound the thread from her neck. She caught her own head as it fell into her arms and handed the blood-streaked string to the clerk, trading it for a grave.
Erik swallowed hard. Then it was her turn.
What could she offer in exchange?
The clerk's eyes lit up as she approached. "Buying a grave?"
"Yes." Erik kept her composure and asked politely, "What's the required payment?"
His gaze, sharp as a blade, raked over her from head to toe. She shivered, recalling the oppressive atmosphere in the incense shop when she knelt before the brazier to make a purchase.
"You have to offer something in exchange."
Under that covetous stare, a thought flashed through her mind: the paper money from earlier, the strange currency Jax and Alice had lost in the incense shop…
The currency this clerk sought was not unlike what the incense seller had demanded.
But she no longer had another fish-headed offering.
What remained in the supermarket that might please him?
Erik took out a necklace.
**\[Item: Miss Sweetie's Birthday Gift · Diamond Necklace]**
"Will this suffice?" she asked, placing it on the counter.
The clerk reluctantly tore his gaze away from her and turned to the necklace. He picked it up, examined it, and nodded. "It'll do."
He completed the registration and handed her a grave token.
"Go bury it yourself."
The tag was cold to the touch. Erik examined it carefully. Engraved on its surface was a number: **D687**.
"Thank you."
She turned and walked briskly in the direction the others had gone. As expected, she soon came upon rows of graves.
She didn't see the white-robed ghost, but she did spot the mother and son. They stood in Zone C, having already buried their urn. The two conversed quietly before the tombstone.
**D687…** Erik located Zone D, and after scanning the area, found the numbered grave halfway up the hill. It was already constructed, complete with a tombstone—she needed only to place the urn inside and lower the stone slab.
The moment she pressed the slab into place, a photograph and several characters materialized on the once-blank headstone.
Erik's face went pale. She lunged forward, staring at the image.
It was *Natalie*.
She stared, stunned, and read the inscription beneath it.
White letters carved into black stone: **Natalie.**
It was truly her.
Erik ran her hand over the engraving, unable to comprehend.
How could it be Natalie?
Why was it Natalie?
She had no answers.
The body had been retrieved from the morgue and kept in the supermarket. Erik had never opened the shroud, never even checked the gender—she had never imagined it would be Natalie.
Just that morning, she'd spoken with Nicole, the head of the Women's Mutual Aid Society, about team dungeons. If Natalie had already died, Nicole wouldn't have kept it from her.
But now, in the afternoon, Natalie was dead?
Yes, death had become routine in this endless escape game—but Erik couldn't accept that Natalie had died without a single sign, and that she had unknowingly cremated her.
Natalie was the first friend she had exchanged names with after entering the game.
She gazed at the stone. Through the slab, she felt as if she could see the urn resting below.
Natalie was here.
Could she simply… leave her behind?
Emotion surged within Erik. She felt hollow and numb.
Suddenly, she remembered something and bolted down the hill.
She ran so fast that Jax and the others saw only a blur.
"…Why is she running like that?"
"Is she going to the bus?"
"No need to rush—we haven't boarded yet. The driver won't leave without us."
On the bus, the white-robed ghost had returned, cradling her own head, facing the direction of the cemetery.
The mother and son sat beside each other, speaking in hushed tones.
"…You can rest easy now, Ma…"
"Your father came to me in a dream…"
A player boarded the bus, but the pair showed no interest, continuing their conversation.
Unexpectedly, the player stopped in front of them. The man looked up, confused.
Erik steadied her breathing. She knew she was taking a risk—but this was something she had to understand. Choosing her words carefully, she tried not to provoke the pair.
"Pardon me… Ma'am, your lips look pale and dry. You must be thirsty. I have a bottle of water—unopened. Would you like it?"
She sat in the seat ahead of them, turning to offer a label-less bottle of water.
The man's confusion deepened. Why would a player be so kind?
He glanced at his mother, hesitated, then accepted. He didn't fear the malice of players.
They would never harm first—but neither would they be afraid to retaliate.
Erik sighed with relief. Since they'd accepted the gesture, she could proceed.
"I wanted to ask… Was this journey made to lay your loved one to rest?"
The man opened the bottle and passed it to his mother, nodding. "My father."
Erik kept her voice steady. "I'm sorry for your loss. I hope I haven't offended."
"It's all right. What would you like to know?"
"I buried someone I once knew, but I can't understand how it came to be her. That's why I had to speak with you—I need to know the truth."
"We're… different from you. You know that, don't you?"
It felt surreal, speaking calmly with a ghost NPC in a horror dungeon. The man before her didn't feel like a ghost at all—yet he knew what he was. He knew *she* was a player.
Erik nodded slowly, heart pounding.
"This Bus 144… it's not easy to board," the man said. "My mother and I went through a lot to get here. Your friend… she was lucky. She might have many friends. You may not have been her closest. But among all the people she knew, you happened to be the one who made it onto this bus."
"You may have many friends—some closer than her—but in this time and place, *she* was the one here. That is a rare and precious fate. She would be grateful. You saved her."
His gaze met hers, unwavering.