Messiah's own strength is unfathomable, and he has a good personality, so there are always plenty of people flocking around him. Even those who don't like him and secretly think he's hypocritical remain silent under the weight of his and his followers' power.

For example, right now, those newcomers are practically one step away from building a shrine to Messiah on the spot. The way they look at him is as if they've seen the Virgin Mary descend to earth, wishing they could stick by his side for three days and nights without leaving.

Brian Cooper sighed inwardly at their shortsightedness and then withdrew his gaze.

Sticking close to Messiah is certainly not a bad idea—maybe it could save your life. But these newcomers probably won't get high ratings in their individual shows; Messiah can protect them for a while, but not forever. When it's time to die, they'll still die.

Every newcomer who enters the infinite loop must walk the line between life and death to develop the will to fight for themselves. If you hide like a turtle or rely on others, the only outcome is death.

As he withdrew his gaze, Brian Cooper's peripheral vision accidentally swept over a corner of the dining hall, and he unconsciously paused for a moment.

That stunningly beautiful white-haired young man was quietly sitting in the corner, mechanically lifting and lowering his spoon.

His head was half-lowered, and from this angle, only a beautifully shaped jawline could be seen.

This newcomer is rather interesting.

Brian Cooper narrowed his eyes.

Almost all the newcomers in the hall—not just the newcomers, even a few C-ranks—were gathering around Messiah seeking protection. Everyone was thinking, "If there's a free benefit, only a fool wouldn't take it."

In this kind of environment, that white-haired guy could still sit there calmly, neither humble nor arrogant, not even glancing back once. Clearly, he was very unusual.

"Old Foster, what do you think about that random mission?"

Edward Foster replied impatiently, "If you have something to say, just spit it out. Don't beat around the bush with me."

He hated people who made talking a chore, but unfortunately, his partner was exactly that kind of person who liked to speak in riddles.

Brian Cooper was a B-rank, but because he possessed a special item, quite a few A-ranks were wary of him. Especially after he teamed up with Edward Foster, it was like adding wings to a tiger—their combat power practically doubled. This time, they were lucky enough to be assigned to the same venue, and many veterans in the dining hall were gnashing their teeth in envy.

"I'm telling you, stop glancing over at Adam Grant every time you get suspicious. If he notices, you won't even know when he drags you into his calculations." Brian Cooper said helplessly. "Think about what Adam Grant did in the 'Cursed Mask' incident. Don't step onto his chessboard without knowing what's going on."

Sure enough, these words worked. Edward Foster immediately withdrew his gaze with a scowl.

Brian Cooper was speechless. He also silently bumped that white-haired newcomer up a few levels on his suspicion list.

Just then, Henry Clark finished his meal.

He seemed not to notice the scrutinizing gazes coming from all directions. Instead, he quietly set down his chopsticks and lowered his head, lost in thought.

Logically, a beauty always draws attention. But the aura and sense of distance around the white-haired youth were so strong that, for a moment, no one dared to approach him.

A boy who had been watching from afar for a long time finally mustered up the courage to sit across from him with his tray.

Henry Clark closed his livestream and looked up calmly.

In just the time it took to eat a meal, the number of people in his livestream had jumped from zero to several thousand. Maybe that's the privilege of being good-looking.

The one who sat down was a very shy teenager. Both his face and demeanor were still tinged with youthful awkwardness; he looked about sixteen or seventeen, and his gaze toward Henry Clark was full of gratitude and nervousness.

"I—I—I'm Matthew Green."

Seeing the white-haired youth look over, Matthew Green even started to stutter. "Th-thank you for earlier."

As if afraid Henry Clark wouldn't remember, the high schooler quickly added in a low voice, "Back in the dorm, it was thanks to your warning."

With Matthew Green's reminder, Henry Clark recalled the memory.

The other was also a member of the E-rank eight-person dorm.

The young man quietly looked at him, staring until Matthew Green felt his skin crawl, before finally nodding indifferently. "It was your own choice that saved you."

That wasn't wrong. Didn't Charles Bennett refuse to believe him?

If Matthew Green hadn't believed, he would have ended up just like Charles Bennett.

Matthew Green wanted to say more, but the noisy dining hall suddenly fell silent, as if someone had pressed the pause button.

"Click, click, click."

The crisp sound of high heels striking the tiles rang out.

Nurses in uniforms walked in. Their expressions were cold, and the one in front was carrying a swaying oil lamp—the very same nurse who had opened the door for Henry Clark earlier.

All the nurses' faces were very pale—not the normal kind of pale or the pallor of anemia, but a strange, ghastly white.

The experienced veterans instinctively looked behind them.

Unexpectedly, under the bright lights of the dining hall, black shadows floated quietly on the clean tiles, proving that they were indeed human.

"You are all patients newly admitted this morning. The hospital's daily activity schedule is posted on the wall over there. Besides that, I have just a few reminders for everyone."