The down-and-out magician Henry Clark transmigrated into a book.

He entered a horror infinite flow talent show novel, becoming the cannon fodder pretty face who died miserably in the first round of evaluations.

If it were someone else, they’d probably be scared to death on the spot.

Unexpectedly, Henry Clark not only wasn’t afraid, but swaggered his way through, pulling off wild stunts one after another.

After a series of maneuvers, he survived safe and sound, and also formed a grudge with the biggest villain in the whole story.

Today you scheme against me, tomorrow I’ll strike back—tit for tat, and it’s actually kind of fun.

But swaggering as he was, he really did crash and burn once by accident.

Facing his enemy pinning him to the ground, Henry Clark lazily lifted his eyes, “If you’re going to kill me, just do it. Don’t waste words.”

At a disadvantage, yet showing not a trace of fear, he continued to provoke recklessly.

That person’s cold fingers rubbed against his earlobe, the motion pressing toward his carotid artery suddenly pausing.

“What a pity. I’ve changed my mind.”

-

He once delighted in personally granting Henry Clark death.

Regretted day and night not having carved out his flesh, not having strangled his neck with his own hands.

But when he truly had this man pinned beneath him, another, more urgent desire grew wildly like weeds.

More than winning or losing, he wanted to see him crying, gasping, eyes red at the corners, begging for mercy.

Chapter One

The hour hand pointed steadily to seven o’clock.

A cold, piercing light lit up on the bed frame, shining precisely onto the face of every sleeping person.

[All thrilling trainees, please finish washing up within thirty minutes and gather in the third-floor studio.]

[All thrilling trainees, please finish washing up within thirty minutes and gather in the third-floor studio.]

[All thrilling trainees, please finish washing up within thirty minutes and gather in the third-floor studio.]

An emotionless voice suddenly rang out in the air, mechanically repeating the same command three times.

The person on the lower bunk woke up with a start, scrambling up from the bed and nearly falling to the floor.

Another person, also waking from a light sleep, looked terrified and uncertain. “Did you... did you hear that voice?”

The group exchanged glances, each seeing undisguised shock in the others’ eyes.

No wonder they looked like that.

Because in the past full twenty-four hours, they had already turned this cramped dormitory upside down.

The dorm was already shabby, with no windows, pale walls all around, four iron bunk beds inside, and even the bedding carried a musty, damp smell of age.

The washroom had only a mirror stuck to the wall, a dirty yellowed sink, and a single lonely roll of toilet paper hanging on the wall. There wasn’t even a squat toilet, and the corners of the walls were covered in dark green moss. An old, harsh white bulb hung from the ceiling, the space barely big enough for one person to enter—pitifully cramped.

There was no broadcast or communication equipment in this dorm, yet the mechanical voice just now had exploded in every person’s ear.

In the silence, someone trembled as they asked, “...What on earth is going on?”

It had been a full twenty-four hours since the last time the mechanical voice appeared.

During this day, nothing happened, everything was calm.

No one knew why they had ended up here.