A young woman burst into tears.

“What do we do now? We made the same wish as Pete. That means we’re all going to die too!”

The room went dead silent. Everyone clearly had the same thought and none of their faces looked good.

The red-haired woman lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled slowly.

“Not necessarily,” she said. “Remember what the system said? During these three days, it’ll issue random side quests. Each time we complete one, we get to make another wish. As long as someone figures out the right one, they’ll live. We still have a chance.”

Her calm tone worked like a shot of adrenaline for the group.

“I’m Cheryl,” she went on. “Before I ended up in this game, I was an executive at a multinational company. I know how to make decisions and handle pressure. If you trust me, I can lead us to victory.”

When people are terrified, they’ll always look for someone to rely on.

With her confidence and authority, Cheryl naturally became the group’s anchor.

After claiming leadership, she gave a few motivational lines—standard pep-talk stuff.

Then, the system’s cold voice echoed through the air again:

[Side Quest: “The Boss’s Banquet” has been issued.]

[All players are invited to join the feast!]

[Quest time: Tonight, 8:00 PM.]

[Participants: All surviving players.]

[Hint: The banquet offers a wide variety of dishes. Each player must choose one dish to present to the Boss.]

[Hint: No dish can be chosen twice.]

[Hint: The player who offers the Boss’s favorite dish will earn His favor and receive another wish.]

[Hint: The player who offers His least favorite dish… dies.]

Cheryl’s lips curved into a confident smile.

“Well,” she said, “looks like our chance just showed up.”

There were still more than half a day left before the banquet.

Under Cheryl’s direction, everyone split up to explore the mansion, hoping to uncover clues about the Boss’s preferences.

An hour before dinner, the group gathered in the living room to share what they’d found.

Cheryl spoke first.

“I found tonight’s menu in the kitchen. There are six dishes total, one for each of us.”

She unfolded the paper and read aloud,

“Baked escargot, Caesar salad, grilled lamb chops, seared cod, creamy vegetable stew, and fruit cake. Any of these ring a bell?”

A tall, thin guy raised his hand immediately.

“I found a notebook in the maid’s room,” he said. “It mentioned something like, ‘The young master only eats vegetables and barely touches meat. His diet’s a mess.’ I’m guessing that ‘young master’ refers to the Boss.”

A girl’s eyes lit up.

“I saw the fridge, it’s full of milk and dairy stuff. So the Boss must really like creamy food. Milk and vegetables… that has to be the creamy stew!”

Everyone’s faces brightened. The discovery seemed almost too easy, and for the first time, hope flickered.

Cheryl tapped her long, polished nails lightly on the table.

“Good work, everyone. We’ve figured out what the Boss likes. Now the question is… Who should be the one to offer the dish?”

The system had made it clear: no dish could be chosen twice. Which meant only one person could win the Boss’s favor.

Cheryl cleared her throat delicately.

“I actually think I’ve already guessed the correct wish. If things go well, I might be able to get us all out of this dungeon alive. So, if you trust me, I’ll be the one to present the creamy stew.”

The group exchanged uncertain glances. After a long hesitation, they eventually nodded in agreement.

Then the girl who had first guessed the dish spoke up in a small voice…

“We’ve figured out what the Boss likes,” the girl said quietly. “But what about what he hates? If someone picks the wrong dish, they’ll die.”

I raised my hand.

“I found a photo album in the library,” I said. “It’s full of pictures of a little boy’s birthday parties. Year after year, all the way into his twenties. And in every single photo, the cake was untouched. So I think the food the Boss hates… is fruit cake.”

Once we’d identified the deadly option, an even harsher question followed.

If everyone had to present a dish, who would offer the one that guaranteed death?

In the end, we decided to draw lots.

A buzz-cut guy pulled the short stick. His eyes flickered nervously—and for some reason, he glanced at me.

---

When the banquet began, Cheryl was the first to step forward. She presented the creamy stew with practiced elegance.

The system’s clear, cheerful voice rang out:

[Congratulations. You’ve presented the Boss’s favorite dish.]

[You have earned the Boss’s favor. You get an opportunity to make a new wish.]

[Please state your chosen cause of death.]

Cheryl’s breathing quickened, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

“I choose to die outside the dungeon’s limits,” she said quickly. “No Boss, curse, disaster, or accident within this dungeon may harm me. Even if I break the rules of this world, I will remain unharmed!”

Everyone froze. Then anger rippled across their faces.

She was the one who’d promised to lead everyone out safely. That’s why they’d agreed to give her the wish.

But it had all been a lie. She’d used them to save herself.

The Boss inclined his head slightly.

“As you wish.”

Under the weight of their furious stares, Cheryl just sneered.

“Please. Every man for himself, right? This is a horror game—if you’re stupid enough to trust people and hand over your clues, that’s on you, not me.”

The banquet wasn’t over, but no one dared to speak. One by one, the rest stepped forward to present their dishes.

Baked escargot. Caesar salad. Grilled lamb chops.

All neutral choices—no rewards, no punishments.

When my turn came, someone suddenly shoved me hard to the floor.

The buzz-cut guy dashed past and placed the seared cod on the table before I could move. He sneered down at me.

“Cheryl was right! Every man for himself. Why the hell should I follow the draw and die quietly? If you’re too useless to protect your dish, that’s on you.”

No one stepped in. They just watched me like I was already dead.

[Ah, here we go—the classic player-versus-player meltdown. Happens every run.]

[Can’t say they’re wrong. Survival of the fittest. Trash doesn’t deserve to live in this game.]

[Told you that weak little newbie wouldn’t last. Where are all the people who bet on her now? Say something!]

[Fun fact: the last guy who offered the Boss a cake became one. Any guesses what’ll happen to her?]

The system’s voice cut through the noise:

[Player Linda Woods, it’s your turn to present a dish to the Boss.]

I got to my feet, staring at Luther who’d been sitting there the whole time, calm as ever.

For some reason, that look of his lit a spark of pure irritation in my chest.

Whatever.

If I’m dying anyway, I might as well enjoy it.

If I’m doomed to die, I’ll make sure it’s a satisfying one.

Time to find out just how “sweet” this Boss really is.

I plucked a cherry off the cake and popped it into my mouth, then slid my fingers into the frosting, coating my entire hand in sticky white cream.

Step by step, I walked toward him.

“So,” I murmured, my lips curling into a grin,

“do you want the cream first, the cherry,

“… or me?”