"However, if that is the case..."

Ming Po tapped his fingers lightly against the sofa's armrest, lost in thought. "Both of us are somewhat lacking in direct combat power. I do still have the Werewolf Title available, but it belongs to the Domain of Slaughter. Based on your experience in the last game, if you assist a Deceiver of the World from the Domain of Slaughter, you'll also be targeted. So, let's forget it."

He didn't mind being targeted himself.

But dragging his teammates down because of his own mistakes would make him irritable.

This was exactly why he disliked playing MMOs.

In MMO team raids, there was almost always a similar mechanic: one person makes a mistake, and the whole team is punished.

If he were the one making the mistake, Ming Po would probably be so irritated he'd want to slap himself hard across the face. But if the mistake came from a teammate, he would still feel a distinct sense of displeasure.

This was also why Ming Po preferred single-player games. In a single-player game, he wouldn't drag others down, nor would others drag him down. If he died, it just meant his skill wasn't sufficient—it was entirely his own responsibility.

"...Then let's do an Adventure game."

He could tell Ming Po was seriously considering the odds of their combat-deficient team running into a disadvantaged matchup in a Confrontation game, and how they could possibly compensate for it.

Even if it was just an "if," Ming Po would never admit, "I'm too weak."

Ming Po had always possessed a stubborn personality.

He refused to admit defeat, much less acknowledge his own weakness. This stubbornness only became more apparent when he was around friends.

Ai Shiping remembered how Ming Po acted when playing Devil May Cry 5. The game started with a scripted boss fight.

At that point in the story, Nero didn't have his mechanical arm, meaning no arm-related skills could be used, and he hadn't leveled up to learn new abilities. It was clearly designed as a mandatory defeat for the sake of the plot.

But because attacks could still chip away at the boss's health, and the boss's moves could technically be dodged—even though a single hit dealt unbearable damage—it was, in fact, possible to win.

Knowing full well it was a scripted death, Ming Po still refused to back down. He stubbornly spent over an hour beating the tutorial boss without taking a single hit.

And then the game immediately skipped to the ending cinematic.

He even finished it fast enough to still be eligible for a refund.

So, Ai Shiping gave Ming Po an easy out, telling him that he wanted to play an Adventure game instead.

"I'm too weak right now,"

Ai Shiping said with a smile. "I haven't really played Confrontation games much. At least let me swap to a more offensive Title first! What kind of game expects two supports to go looking for PVP? That's obviously unfair."

"...Fair enough."

Ming Po nodded gladly. "Adventure it is."

However, thinking of this, Ming Po suddenly remembered something.

He pointed at the flowing bloody countdown in the living room and asked Ai Shiping, "How much time is left on this, from what you can see?"

"...What?"

Ai Shiping froze for a moment. "What time?"

"The red countdown. Can't you see it?"

Ming Po asked in return.

Ai Shiping's expression turned serious. He leaned in and stared for a long time, but still couldn't see anything at all.

Seeing his confusion, Ming Po changed the subject. "Never mind, it's just a hallucination."

He walked over to the door and dropped a Day's False Gold into the "Adventure" slot.

A crisp clink echoed as the coin fell in, followed by black and red rose patterns spreading across the door like blooming rust.

Right in the center of the door, a golden sun emblem materialized.

Beneath the sun emblem, two buttons appeared.

One was a black skull that, upon touch, displayed the prompt "Phantom Specter".

The second button was a blank square tile that prompted "New Game".

Ming Po turned around and asked seriously, "Can you handle a supernatural scenario? Or should we start a new one?"

With that, he tossed another Day's False Gold to Ai Shiping.

Ai Shiping easily caught it in mid-air and praised, "Boss, so generous!

"A supernatural scenario... you mean a world with ghosts?"

"Yeah, real ghosts. Jump scares, puzzles, and chase sequences."

Ming Po explained simply, then asked, "I thought you were too scared to play horror games?"

"Hey... you don't get it. It's exactly those of us with fast reaction times who are the most terrified of horror games,"

Ai Shiping argued stubbornly.

He then mumbled some incomprehensible phrases like "my cabinet moved" and "I'm not playing anymore."

"So we're not playing it?"

Ming Po asked.

"We're playing it."

Ai Shiping admitted honestly.

He walked over and dropped his token in.

Under Ming Po's teasing gaze, he sighed and defended himself. "Fear comes from the unknown.

"If I play this supernatural scenario, I'll know going in that there are definitely ghosts in this world, and I'll know there will be jump scares and chases. It might actually be better that way...

"But if we queue into a new scenario, maybe it won't look scary at all at first, only for something terrifying to jump out later. That would scare me to death..."

Ming Po smiled and didn't say anything more.

After Ai Shiping inserted his token, Ming Po pressed the first button.

A message surfaced in his mind.

—World Setting: Phantom Specter has been unlocked.

He then pulled the door open.

Outside was a door of thick fog swirling together like a black vortex. Ming Po stepped through first.

Ai Shiping picked up his mask from the living room table. Looking at the broken glass on the floor, he smiled bitterly and grimaced. "Oh man... whose turn is it to sweep the floor? It better not be mine, right? I'm obviously not the one who broke it... sigh, I'll sweep it when we get back."

He sighed in frustration and put the mask on.

As he walked past the pristine living room wall, he fell into deep thought.

'...A red countdown?'

Beneath the mask, Ai Shiping frowned slightly. 'Just what... was Ah Po talking about?'

He clearly couldn't see a single thing.

Unfortunately, Ming Po evidently didn't want to explain it to him... so Ai Shiping opted not to ask.

Ming Po kept many secrets from Ai Shiping. For example, what his family actually did, why he was staying in the country by himself, why he had originally come traveling alone, and where he disappeared to from time to time...

But as long as Ming Po didn't say anything, Ai Shiping wouldn't ask.

Forcing someone to answer a question they didn't want to talk about... that would be far too impolite.

Yet, Ai Shiping still committed the matter firmly to memory.

A red countdown...

Just the sound of it made him somewhat uneasy.

Then, Ai Shiping also stepped into the swirling fog.

"Hehehehe..."

Just then, the crisp laughter of a little girl, carrying a hollow echo, rang out from within the fog. "I finally found you."

—126:45:08

126:45:07

The bloody countdown in the living room suddenly let out a harsh, wet tearing sound.

It sounded as if a wound were being slowly ripped open. A stream of fresh blood seeped down from the bloody text—the tail of the number "1" slowly stretched downwards for more than half a meter.

And within the living room, even though absolutely no one could be seen, the sound of footsteps could be heard walking around.

Then, the numbers above suddenly began changing at a rapid pace.

—122:23:43

—121:21:07

117:23:10

Every time a footstep echoed, the numbers on the wall instantly decreased by a chunk.

Suddenly, the footsteps stopped.

At that exact moment, the rapidly dropping countdown stabilized once more.

By this point, the numbers had skipped forward by over ten hours.

—113:59:59

113:59:58

Accompanied by a creak, the wide open door to the living room shut abruptly.

Downstairs, a middle-aged man sitting in a car monitoring the residential complex had just let out a yawn when he suddenly heard a voice right behind him.

—But he was already sitting in the back seat of the car!

In that split second, his entire body went rigid.

It sounded like the voice of a little girl, yet it was ethereal and soft.

She asked with great interest, "Mister, what are you looking at?"