Volume 3: High School Arc - Mirror Game
Sitting in the car, I began to outline in my mind the series of game experiences I had encountered.
First was the bus.
That face on the bus—at least it didn’t seem to have a direct connection with the bus itself.
That could count as one type.
In the hospital, there was that goat-headed monster.
It wore a white lab coat.
Its head was a goat’s.
Its arms were covered in black fur like those of a gorilla.
On its feet were human shoes.
That suggested its feet were also human.
It also emitted the scent of formalin, and left bloody footprints that would faintly linger for a few seconds before disappearing.
At school, the students and teachers were transformed into the Inner World’s monsters.
But they were forcefully constrained by strange rules into being “students” and “teachers.”
Then there was the old lady who ran absurdly fast to stage a scam.
Although I didn’t experience that last one completely, most of the other incidents could be summarized into two patterns.
First: the monster and the horror event had no direct correlation.
The ghostly face on the bus and the scammy old lady were like that.
Still, I felt they might resonate in some way.
For example… the bus driver might be required to smile at passengers.
Or… scammers were usually old men and women.
Second: the monster and the horror event had a certain degree of direct correlation.
The goat-headed monster in the hospital and the students and teachers in the school had direct links to reality.
However… this kind of connection seemed different from the first “concept.”
Strictly speaking, it felt more like “resentment.”
The grotesquely pieced-together body of the goat-headed monster, with a torso devoid of internal organs and a whole body reeking of formalin—these all vaguely leaned toward the kind of terrifying yet necessary science called “medicine.”
There might not be a direct connection, but there was clearly something there.
Only a mad scientist could stitch together such a body.
Only hospitals would remove internal organs.
Only medicine-related fields would soak organs in formalin.
Could these be the souls of those bodies forming some kind of fixed concept over time, something like “resentment,” eventually generating the goat-headed monster?
The same applied to the school.
The twisted smiles of the students, the distorted faces of the eerie teachers—did they represent some kind of conflict and tension between students and teachers?
The forced body movements—could they symbolize the “must study” concept becoming “resentment,” which then attracted monsters?
Eventually forming the criteria for missions issued by the APP?
The first type, with no apparent connection, was harder to guess.
With no trace to follow, it was the most dangerous and terrifying.
But the second type made me think deeply.
Could there be special cases under the second category?
No conclusions yet, but… perhaps this mission would give me a chance to test my theory.
All science was confirmed only after “hypothesis” and “verification.”
One must first hypothesize before verifying.
So… if I assume resentment can, to some extent, attach to physical objects, does that mean shattering that object would destroy the condensed resentment?
I didn’t have any evidence to prove this yet, but I vaguely felt there was a connection.
Maybe this was the advantage of having a high IQ?
As I thought about these things, the scenery outside the window quickly receded.
Faintly, it seemed I saw that malicious grin reflected on the car window again.
As the game’s start time drew near, the reflection became clearer and lingered longer.
“Mirror… what does this game have to do with mirrors?”
My low murmur was heard by the driver uncle.
He suddenly paused and asked, “What did you just say? Mirror?”
“…Nothing, I was talking to myself.”
This habit of mine—talking to myself—was probably caused by my long-term homebound life as a writer.
Humans were like that.
If you didn’t talk to others for a long time, your language ability would decline.
If you couldn’t communicate with anyone for decades, your linguistic skills might degrade to the point where normal communication was nearly impossible.
So, as a self-protective mechanism, humans would start talking to themselves.
Of course, this conclusion came from what I’d gathered based on some doctors’ experiences in my mind.
“Mirror, huh… I wouldn’t have remembered if you hadn’t brought it up. My father once told me, back then… a village chief from the neighboring village invited a Taoist over. Supposedly, that Taoist was somewhat capable. From Longhu Mountain, or maybe some other mountain? It’s been too long—I can’t recall. But I still remember something my father said… it seemed to be what the Taoist said…”
“What did he say?”
Hearing the driver uncle say that, I suddenly became interested and turned to look at him.
The driver uncle, however, frowned slightly, a trace of distant memory flashing through his eyes.
“Don’t look at reflections.”
The driver uncle pulled himself out of his daze, continued watching the road ahead, and said as he drove,
“That’s what my father said. According to him, during that time, many parents wouldn’t let their children go outside. No one in the house dared to look at mirrors, or even water vats…”
“What happened after that?”
“After that? I heard the Taoist did something… and then… things gradually calmed down.”
“What did he do?”
I couldn’t help but press on.
After all, this concerned my life and death!
“I don’t know… That village chief never said, and no one else knew what the Taoist did. But I heard that the Taoist’s hair turned completely white overnight. Now that I think about it, maybe it was something like… his life essence was exhausted or something?”
“Heh~ I didn’t expect you to know about things like that, uncle.”
Hearing him say that, I couldn’t help but smile.
“Of course. Don’t let my old face fool you. I’m only thirty-three this year… Tsk tsk, time shows no mercy. In the blink of an eye, I’m already being called ‘uncle’…”
What the hell!
Thirty-three?
He’s only three years older than me?
Oh my god, how did this guy’s face get so many wrinkles?
While casually chatting with the driver uncle, thirty minutes later, the surroundings started to become… how should I put it?
So… desolate.