Chapter 025 - Moonlit Mirage 12

  The drumbeats came again, thunderous and relentless.

  The wooden structure shuddered, the tremors more violent than before. The entire building groaned as if on the verge of collapse, and the five of us were thrown to the floor. I barely managed to brace myself, reaching out to steady No. 9, who had toppled beside me. His frail frame felt weightless as I helped him up, his breath coming in shallow pants.

  Steadying myself against the wall, I lifted the binoculars, locking my gaze onto the luminous “moon” overhead.

  The sight that greeted me made my skin crawl.

  The edges of that eerie celestial body were shifting, convulsing. Fine, thread-like filaments wove and stitched, gradually sealing the crescent-shaped void as if an unseen hand were carefully mending a gaping wound.

  It was as though someone was trying to subdue a soul teetering on the brink of madness.

  A chill settled in my bones as the realization solidified in my mind.

  The sky above us was a seamless expanse of human skin—missing only its head.

  Then, the cacophonous rumbling faded, leaving only the distant echo of the last drumbeat reverberating in my skull. The silence didn’t last long. The rhythmic thudding of footsteps soon followed.

  Yangjin was climbing again, ascending from the first floor, collecting her “rent.” Another round of death was about to begin.

  The moment the others heard her approach, panic took hold. The crowd surged upward like a tide, scrambling for safety.

  By the time we reached the seventh floor, the space had become a tempest of frantic voices and desperation. Nearly a hundred people had packed into the vast attic-like expanse, their faces slick with sweat and eyes brimming with terror.

  Some were pleading, their voices raw with fear.

  Others turned away, indifferent.

  It only took a glance to understand why.

  A handful of people—perhaps a dozen or so—had failed to secure a leather item. And without one, they had no means of survival.

  I turned to No. 9, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He had always carried an air of gentle wisdom, his slow, measured speech making him seem more trustworthy than the rest of us. Compared to my casual demeanor or Elliot Vance’s striking presence, No. 9 was the kind of man people instinctively gravitated toward.

  Lowering my voice, I said, “Sir, I told you before—this isn’t a zero-sum game. Even with limited resources, it doesn’t have to be a fight for survival. We can’t turn on each other. As long as one of us clears the round, everyone has a chance. We need to help each other. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  A knowing smile creased No. 9’s face. “You want me to deliver the message?”

  I nodded. “Our group has extra supplies. We can share.”

  He tapped his cane lightly against the floor and raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen!”

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  The restless murmuring dulled as heads turned in his direction.

  His gaze swept over the crowd, voice steady and clear. “There’s no need to panic. I’ll keep this brief. We found a telescope on the ninth floor, and through it, we saw the truth. The sky above us is not what you think—it’s human skin. Most likely Yangjin’s.”

  Silence settled over the room, the weight of his words sinking in. People exchanged uneasy glances, their faces pale with uncertainty.

  No. 9 continued, his voice firm. “But that skin is far out of reach. Unless one of you has arms long enough to pluck the moon from the sky?” He let the rhetorical question linger. “Right now, we are trapped. The more of us who work together, the better our chances. If we let fear divide us, we will all die here, one by one.”

  He shot me a glance. I stepped forward, adding, “I have extra leather items—about twenty. If you don’t have one, come get it.”

  A dozen hands shot up instantly.

  “Me! Over here!”

  “I don’t have one!”

  Without hesitation, I handed out the extras. Gratitude flashed in their eyes as they clutched the life-saving pieces of leather.

  A dry chuckle came from No. 137, who muttered under his breath, “Damn… When did you stockpile so much? Thinking of opening a general store?”

  I shot him a flat look. “……”

  Elliot sighed. “……”

  No. 25 rubbed his temples. “……”

  As the last of the items were distributed, a skeptical voice cut through the hushed room.

  “So you say the sky is made of human skin, and we’re just supposed to believe it? You wanna play hero, fine. But don’t drag the rest of us into your delusions.”

  I met his gaze, my tone even. “You can see for yourself. If someone finds Yangjin’s skin this round, then I’m wrong. But tell me—where do you think her skin is now? We’ve already taken most of the leather goods from this attic. The only ones left are downstairs.”

  I let the implication settle. “And Yangjin is coming up from the first floor. What do you think the chances are that her skin is still down there?”

  The man fell silent, his jaw tightening.

  I continued, “We’re all in this together. Even if I hoarded leather for myself, at best, I’d survive one more round. But with fewer of us left, our odds of figuring this place out drop. I have no reason to lie to you.”

  He hesitated, wrestling with the logic. Finally, he exhaled sharply. “You make a good point.”

  He stood, running a hand through his unkempt beard. “I have ten extras. Anyone who needs one next round, come find me.”

  One by one, others followed.

  “I have seven.”

  “I’ve got four.”

  “There are five more here…”

  No. 137 let out a low whistle. “Well, damn. Guess I’m the only one who’s been freeloading off you guys.”

  I gave him a pointed look. “……”

  Then, the moment of reckoning arrived.

  Yangjin’s footsteps echoed up the stairwell. The room went still, the air thick with anticipation. She appeared, her twisted smile stretching unnaturally wide as she posed her usual question.

  And for the first time since we arrived—

  No one had to die.

  Everyone made it through the round.