First Round

Six.

The number continued echoing inside Liam’s head.

Six Marked.

Six participants were chosen by a Selector.

Six people connected to the same unseen individual.

Then suddenly— Liam froze.

His eye twitched.

A memory surfaced—not complete, but sharp enough: just a single sentence Vera had spoken during their orientation.

[Every participant chosen for Veritas receives a Mark. The letter identifies the category assigned by your Selector, while the symbol on your hand identifies the one who chose you.]

Liam stared blankly into space.

Then—

SMACK.

His palm collided hard with his own face. The sound was loud enough that several people nearby turned their heads.

Kesha blinked. “…What was that?”

Liam slowly lowered his hand, his expression one of pure self-disappointment. “Why didn’t I remember that part? You idiot.”

Kesha looked even more confused. “Should I be concerned?”

“No.”

“You hit yourself.”

“I deserved it.”

Kesha fell silent. Experience had taught her that sometimes Liam simply had strange moments—and it was better not to question them.

Three years earlier.

Long before Veritas Island. Long before Selectors. Long before death games.

Back when life had still been normal. At least… normal enough.

The first thing Kesha Ester noticed about Gianna wasn’t her intelligence, her appearance, or even her personality.

It was her eyes.

Seventh grade, their first week of classes. Kesha still remembered it clearly. Most students entered the room nervously—some searching for friends, others sitting quietly, a few already trying to claim attention as the loudest voices in the room.

Gianna did none of those things. She simply sat near the window: silent, watching, listening, observing.

At first glance, she seemed entirely ordinary. Average grades, average participation, average behavior—nothing remarkable. That was what everyone thought.

Everyone except Kesha.

Because Kesha noticed something strange: Gianna paid attention to everything. Not in an obvious way, but in the kind of quiet, intense way people only recognized once it was already too late. Kesha couldn’t explain it at first—only that whenever Gianna looked at something, it felt like she was seeing far more than everyone else.

The realization truly settled several months later, because of a group of bullies.

There were four of them—neither smart nor strong, just the type who enjoyed making others miserable. For weeks, they harassed a quiet younger student from another class. Nothing severe enough for teachers to step in, but enough to make his life unbearable.

Then, everything fell apart in the span of a single week.

The leader was suspended after being caught cheating. Another was blamed for vandalism. A third lost his position in the student council. The fourth accumulated a string of disciplinary reports. One after another, like dominoes tipping over.

No one connected the incidents. No one, except Kesha.

Because she had seen Gianna—not acting, not threatening, not confronting them directly. Just… moving pieces. Small conversations, casual remarks, tiny suggestions placed in exactly the right ears. A comment here, a question there, information gently redirected, attention subtly shifted.

By the time anyone realized what was happening, the bullies had effectively destroyed themselves. The younger student was left alone. Teachers called it a coincidence. Students called it karma.

Only Kesha understood: it had been planned—carefully, patiently, strategically. And that thought frightened her. Not because Gianna had been cruel, but because she had done it without anyone noticing. Not even the teachers. Especially not the teachers.

The next day, Kesha confronted her. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

Gianna looked up from her book. “Hm?”

“The bullies.”

“Oh.” A short pause, then she returned to reading. It was an admission in itself.

Kesha stared. “You’re not even denying it.”

Gianna turned a page calmly. “No one would believe you anyway.”

Kesha hated how right she was.

That was how their friendship began—oddly enough. Over the years, it only grew stronger.

Eighth grade, ninth grade, tenth grade. They weren’t always classmates, sometimes in different sections or schedules, but they stayed close. Gianna rarely spoke to anyone else, yet she talked freely with Kesha. Kesha, for her part, talked enough for both of them.

Their personalities could not have been more different: Kesha was outgoing and quick to trust; Gianna was reserved and trusted almost no one. Kesha spoke whatever came to mind; Gianna filtered every word before it left her mouth. Yet somehow, it worked—perhaps because neither ever asked the other to change.

Then came tenth grade, the year Kesha met Liam Bexley. They became classmates. Liam was quiet, observant, preferring to listen rather than speak. Looking back now, Kesha realized he and Gianna had actually been somewhat alike—though Liam was significantly less intimidating. At least, most of the time.

Eleventh grade arrived, and everything shifted. Different schools, different cities, different lives. Daily conversations faded, casual meetings stopped, and slowly, the distance grew—not because they stopped caring, but simply because life moved forward.

Months turned into years. Three whole years, until Kesha assumed that chapter of her life had closed for good.

Then one day, her phone rang. The number was unfamiliar. She almost let it go to voicemail—almost.

“Hello?”

Silence for a moment, then a voice she knew better than her own. “You’re still using the same ringtone.”

Kesha froze. “…Gianna?”

A quiet laugh came through the line—not loud, not mocking, just amused. “As expected.”

Three years apart, yet Kesha recognized her instantly.

And that was the beginning—the start of the chain of events that would eventually bring her here: to Veritas Island, to the Mark etched on her hand, and to the terrifying realization that long before she ever set foot on the island… someone had already chosen her.

The lounge lights suddenly dimmed.

Every conversation stopped.

The room fell silent.

A familiar chime echoed throughout the building.

Ding.

Several Marked participants immediately looked up. Others reached instinctively for their phones.

Liam’s device vibrated inside his pocket. At the exact same moment, Kesha’s phone buzzed too. Across every screen in the room, a notification appeared.

FIRST ROUND INITIATING

Game Title: The Trust Dilemma

Participants: All Marked

Objective: Accumulate the highest number of Trust Points.

Failure Condition: Possessing zero Trust Points when the round concludes.

Time Limit: 72 Hours

Important Notice:

Trust Points cannot be earned alone.

The lounge immediately erupted into noise.

“What does that even mean?”

“Trust Points? Is that a real thing?”

“So zero means you get eliminated?”

“This has to be some kind of sick joke.”

Liam ignored the rising panic. His eyes remained fixed on the screen as more text scrolled into view.

RULES

- Each participant begins with 3 Trust Points.

- Participants may voluntarily transfer points to other participants.

- At the conclusion of the round:

• 0 Trust Points \= Failure

• 1–2 Trust Points \= Survive

• 3 or more Trust Points \= Receive rewards

Additional rules are hidden.

Good luck.

The message faded, leaving the room in complete silence for several long seconds.

Then a young man stood up, raising his voice to be heard. “That’s easy! We just share points with each other—no one has to lose.”

Several people nodded in quick agreement. Another laughed nervously. “Right! Everyone just gives one point to someone else. Problem solved. Simple, fair, and no one gets left behind.”

It sounded reasonable. It sounded safe.

Kesha frowned.

Liam frowned even harder.

Neither of them believed it—not for a single second.

“This is Veritas Island,” Liam said quietly, his voice cutting through the growing chatter.

Kesha nodded firmly. “They wouldn’t make the first round that simple. There’s always a catch.”

Around them, dozens of participants were already exchanging contact details, forming groups, and striking informal agreements. The lounge transformed in minutes into a chaotic marketplace of promises and alliances—exactly as the game had intended.

Liam watched carefully, scanning every line of text again, until his gaze caught something small and easy to miss. In the bottom corner of the interface, written in faint, almost invisible print, was more text.

“Kesha.”

“What?”

“Look here.”

She leaned in closer, and her breath caught.

Hidden Rule Revealed Upon Observation

Each participant may receive a maximum of 10 Trust Points.

Any points exceeding this limit are permanently destroyed.

Kesha slowly lifted her head. “That’s bad.”

Liam nodded. “Very bad.”

Everything changed now.

If everyone followed the first idea—giving points to the most “reliable” people—those people would quickly hit the cap. The extra points wouldn’t help anyone; they would just vanish. And while some gathered safety, others would inevitably be left with fewer and fewer points, until someone was left with nothing.

Once people realized that, panic would set in. They would stop sharing, start hoarding, lie, manipulate, and turn on one another. This wasn’t a test of generosity—it was a test of human nature: trust, greed, and fear. The moment survival felt uncertain, trust itself would become the rarest and most valuable resource on the island.

Before anyone could speak again, a second notification flashed across every screen.

Special Announcement

At the end of every 24 hours, participants must publicly reveal the exact number of Trust Points they currently possess.

False declarations are strictly prohibited.

The room erupted again, louder and more frantic than before.

Liam leaned back in his chair, his expression growing sharp. “Now I understand.”

Kesha turned to him. “The game isn’t really about points, is it?”

“It’s about information,” Liam replied, his gaze sweeping over the crowd—people already arguing, negotiating, and making promises, some sincere but most already laced with doubt. “Who can be trusted, who is lying, who is desperate, and who is dangerous. Over seventy-two hours, everyone here will show their true colors—not because they want to, but because the game will force them to.”

A slow, determined smile spread across Kesha’s face.

Liam immediately narrowed his eyes. “What are you thinking?”

“You know what this means?” She crossed her arms, her confidence returning. “We have an advantage.”

“How?”

She gestured between the two of them. “We actually know each other. Most of these people are surrounded by strangers—they have no history, no way to tell the truth from lies. But we already have something they don’t: a foundation. Not perfect trust, maybe, but enough to start.”

For the first time since the announcement, Liam realized she was right. In a game built on uncertainty, familiarity was power.

Far away, in a different tower overlooking the island, a pair of golden eyes watched the same feed.

Gianna sat before a wall of monitors, each showing a different group of participants as they began to plan, bargain, and doubt. A slow, cold smile curved her lips—the kind that never meant anything good.

“The Trust Dilemma?” she murmured, then chuckled softly. “How nostalgic.”

Her gaze drifted until it locked onto the screen showing Liam and Kesha. The smile widened.

“Let’s see who breaks first. And who lies first.”

Somewhere across Veritas Island, the clock began to tick.

The first round had officially begun.

Gianna’s smile remained fixed as she watched the feed of Liam and Kesha. The light from the monitor reflected in her golden eyes, turning them bright and sharp.

After a moment, she tapped a button on the console. The single screen split—first into two, then three, then six separate displays. Each showed a different building, a different part of the island, and a different participant.

All six carried the same mark: G.07. The same category, the same Selector, bound by a connection none of them yet understood.

Liam. Kesha. And four others.

Her gaze drifted to one specific monitor.

Building 5.

A faint, amused hum escaped her. “Oh?”

The smile returned, deeper and more knowing. “Those two ended up together too.”

Building 5

Unlike Building 11, where Liam and Kesha had started, there was no comfortable lounge here. No time to sit and talk, no chance to plan slowly.

The moment participants stepped out of their rooms, alarms began wailing through every corridor. Red warning lights flashed in steady, rhythmic pulses, and a cold mechanical voice echoed from hidden speakers.

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