Hugo Spencer’s lips moved rapidly, opening and closing as he repeatedly described how he felt about being beaten, taking the opportunity to show the homeroom teacher the swollen red wound on his forehead.

Perhaps it was because The Vault’s silence was too abrupt at a time like this. After Hugo Spencer’s voice stopped, the sudden gap that appeared filled the air with an unmistakable awkwardness.

The homeroom teacher and Hugo Spencer both looked over and asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

The Vault opened her mouth and calmly uttered three words: “It was accidental.”

The homeroom teacher tapped the desk with her finger. “You call that an accident?”

The Vault frowned. “He hit my head with a ball—that was an accident. Why is it that when I hit his head with my hand, it can’t be an accident?”

The homeroom teacher said angrily, “Don’t try to twist words and force logic!”

She looked at The Vault with deep disappointment in her eyes. “What exactly do you want? Wendy Ward, haven’t you caused enough trouble?”

The Vault: “You’re very disappointed in me?”

Homeroom teacher: “What do you think?”

The Vault asked, “Why?”

The homeroom teacher, agitated, said, “What do you think?!”

No plot information was given.

The Vault paused, but still said, “He started the fight.”

The homeroom teacher said sternly, “His ball accidentally hit you, but you deliberately hit his head—those are two completely different things! Look at how you’ve scared your classmates!”

“Whether it was an accident or not, everyone knows in their hearts. The standard for judging an accident is hard to define, but,” The Vault said, “playing ball in the classroom is already a confirmed mistake, right?”

The homeroom teacher was so angry she was speechless, because, indeed, it seemed irrefutable.

“You two going back and forth like this is called mutual fighting—neither of you is getting away with it!” the homeroom teacher said. “You’re both in charge of cleaning the bathrooms this month. If you keep fighting, you’ll be cleaning all the bathrooms upstairs and downstairs! I think your juniors will be very happy!”

Seeing that there was no useful information to be gained from the homeroom teacher, The Vault replied casually, “Oh.”

Hugo Spencer was not very happy—after all, everyone knew the boys’ bathroom was much dirtier than the girls’—but he didn’t dare say anything.

By the time the two were allowed back to the classroom, class had already started. The Vault quietly sat down, organizing the mountain of test papers and books piled on the desk. Then, in a small arched gap, she found a small pack of orange-flavored hard candy.

The Vault tilted her head back slightly, scanning the surroundings. She paused when her gaze reached the window seat. There sat a girl with striking and distinctive features—someone you wouldn’t forget after seeing her once. Among a group of high schoolers who didn’t care about their appearance and looked perpetually tired, her beauty stood out, as if Trident had automatically applied a premium beauty filter to her.

The Vault only glanced for a moment before looking away, pulling out her phone from her pocket to sneak a look under the desk.

There was a new message on the home screen.

[12:30, waiting for you at the supermarket on the left side of the school field. — Justice partner Officer Sanders.]

The Vault: “……”

What’s wrong with him.

She exited the main screen and checked the saved messages on her phone.

·

Netizens who witnessed this scene howled in the comments section. It was like watching a hardworking underachiever gallop down the wrong path—heartbreaking.

“The first day after loading into the game is basically safe, but after that, who knows. This young lady is just wasting time—I think she’s about to unlock the [Died Without Knowing Why] achievement.”

“You can’t do it like this. [Kind Advice]. There won’t be much direct evidence left on the phone—it’s not that simple!”

“If the player doesn’t build good relationships with NPCs, how are you going to get information?”

“Are you really not going to talk to trigger the plot? She’s tough, but way too new.”

“Feels like she managed to offend every NPC in five minutes. [Crying with laughter]”

“Countless lessons tell us that social awkwardness means you can’t progress in this game—she won’t get any evidence to advance the plot.”

“A score of 92? For this? For this??”

“Massive ego show in the comments section.”

Quinn Foster scrolled through the comments, letting out a low chuckle.

His happiness was just that simple.

·

Next to the school supermarket was a dim corridor, lit only by a few old incandescent bulbs. The air was damp, but it was cooler than elsewhere. When it was hot, many students liked to hang out there to eat.

During lunch break, The Vault held spicy sticks in one hand, yogurt in the other, a bag of chips tucked under her arm, leaning against the wall waiting for her justice partner.

It was the busiest time of day, with students coming and going in a constant stream.

The Vault was happily eating when a shadow fell over her. Hugo Spencer and a few of his buddies stopped in front of her, glaring at her with complicated expressions, perhaps trying to intimidate her with their presence.

Their eyes showed undisguised anger, disdain, disgust, and even sympathy.

She… she was making things up.

A bunch of third-year students who’d been buried in their studies for so long usually had either dead-fish eyes or blank stares—if they could show such a range of emotions, they might as well go do something big.

The Vault chewed her food, meeting his gaze with a half-smile.

Hugo Spencer wanted to say something, but faced with her strange reaction, his words caught in his throat. In the end, he only managed to spit out a line that was both inexplicable and, somehow, essential.

“Wendy Ward, just you wait!”

The Vault was amused by his cowardice. “Then you’d better hurry—I don’t like waiting.”

Hugo Spencer and his group left angrily. Not long after, her justice partner finally arrived.

Julian Grant had actually been watching her from the sidelines the whole time, observing her from the moment she appeared until Hugo Spencer and his group left, only then stepping out from the shadows.

Compared to The Vault’s real appearance, the in-game “Wendy Ward” looked much more ordinary. This confirmed for him that the aura The Vault exuded wasn’t because of her looks.

“Hello,” Julian Grant greeted with a friendly smile. “Have you been waiting long?”

The Vault glanced at him—the look swept past quickly, without any pause, as if she were looking at the inanimate objects around her. It was so fast that Julian Grant wondered if she’d even looked at him at all.

That extremely distant, yet extremely calm gaze made Julian Grant feel nervous for the first time.

He suddenly understood why his friend was so secretive about The Vault. Of course, people are wary of those they can’t understand.

Her tone was equally flat, like a flatline on a heart monitor.

“Player?”

“To be precise, I’m a staff member of Trident, and a free companion player. Of course, I don’t know anything I’m not supposed to know—I’m a fair player.” Julian Grant showed her his in-game work ID, telling her his current identity, “Quinn Sanders. Police officer.”

The Vault said, “So you’re the one who was late today?”—leaving her hanging in the simulator for half an hour.

“Sorry, a little accident.” Julian Grant said, though he didn’t look very apologetic. He smiled and said, “Didn’t expect you to be having so much fun when the scenario’s just started.”

The Vault replied with the same words: “A little accident.”

Julian Grant pointed in a direction, and the two walked toward a quieter area.

Once he was sure no one nearby could hear them, Julian Grant asked, “So, does Wendy Ward’s suicide have anything to do with those people just now?”

The Vault: “No.”

“So sure?” Julian Grant asked. “Is it no relation, or just not the main reason?”

“No relation,” The Vault said. “Whether he hit me or I hit him, whether the teacher questioned me or I talked back, the character’s suicide tendency value didn’t change at all. That means Wendy Ward’s desire to commit suicide has nothing to do with these trivial things. Also, I don’t have any obvious injuries, which proves that at most these people just mess around a bit—violence doesn’t happen often.”

Julian Grant nodded.

He realized, just as Quinn Foster had said, that this person was even calmer than he’d expected, and standing with her made him feel at peace.

Someone like this could make you feel safe—or terrified.

“Just to discuss, what possible reasons could there be for this kind of group suicide?” Julian Grant mused aloud. “Religious brainwashing.”

The Vault added, “Violent oppression.”

Julian Grant: “Chain reactions caused by excessive environmental pressure.”

The Vault: “Brain disorders caused by parasites or drugs.”

Julian Grant: “Or maybe it’s all just murder.”

“That’s a good guess,” The Vault nodded, rare approval in her tone. “It’s best to approach the problem with that kind of curiosity.”

Julian Grant was caught off guard by the praise. “...Thank you.”

He asked, “So, do you have any clues to share with me?”

“Not at the moment.” The Vault went to the side to throw away her trash, then asked, “I want to know about the first two students who committed suicide.”

Julian Grant: “Where do you want me to start?”

The Vault: “From the very beginning of time.”