Chapter 2: The SAT Survival Game Begins

I turned my head, feeling the sticky heat of the room prickling at the back of my neck.

The guy next to me was propping up his chin, lazily watching me. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but here, yet somehow in total control.

Eliot—transfer student who joined sophomore year. Cold, withdrawn, hair so long it covered his eyes, always in a faded gray hoodie. Head down, only his pale, slender neck and sharp jawline visible. He wore the same battered Converse every day, their white soles now a muddy gray.

Just from the description, you could tell he was good-looking. The kind of mysterious that shows up in fanfiction, only this was real life—or close enough.

His grades were above average, but his attitude meant he had no friends. Teachers always marked him as "potential," but he never made any effort to stand out.

Is he really the survey controller, like the chat bubbles say? The big boss of this horror game? My mind raced through the possibilities, imagining what it would be like if the final villain sat just a foot away.

The chat bubbles said that in the original, he accidentally bumped into me and helped me choose ‘Agree.’

But now that I know the plot, just in case, I thought for a moment and still cautiously ticked ‘Agree’ on the survey. My finger hovered, then pressed—heart thumping.

The moment I did, the survey vanished, replaced by creepy, twisted questions. The screen flickered like a horror movie jump scare.

It really was a survey game.

And those classmates who said they’d refuse—

The instant they clicked, they all blinked out in a spray of red, like a glitch in a gory video game, leaving behind only the metallic tang of blood and a toppled chair. For a split second, I thought I’d imagined it. Then the empty chairs told me I hadn’t.

Instantly, panic erupted in the room. Someone knocked over a chair, and the scraping sound was like nails on a chalkboard.

"What the hell, what happened? Mark was just here, and now he’s gone!"

"Lindsey disappeared too! It only took a second!"

"Wait, look! There are new words on the survey!"

[Congrats on joining the pre-SAT survey.]

[Please read the questions carefully and answer. Every day you answer, you’ll earn SAT points.]

[The points are real and valid—guaranteed.]

[The survey will appear every day at 9 a.m. in the classroom for one round, and will disappear after 7 days.]

[Maximum score is 1600. If you reach 1600 early, you can clear the survey.]

[Before the survey ends, 100 SAT points will be deducted from everyone each day as a service charge. Be careful not to let the score above your head hit zero.]

[Otherwise, you’ll meet the same fate as those classmates—disappearing without a trace.]

The words vanished from the screen, but everyone shivered in unison, then looked at the numbers above their classmates’ heads. It was like something out of a Black Mirror episode, only way too close for comfort.

They discovered everyone had a number—500—floating above them.

A usually careless classmate blurted out, excited, "What’s this? Everyone’s got 500 above their head? Are they calling us dumb or something?"

Everyone fell silent. You could have heard a pencil drop.

About five or six minutes later, the class president stood up and analyzed seriously:

"This 500 must be the starting score for players in the game. Everyone has 500 points, and every day, 100 points are deducted as a service charge. The survey lasts seven days—that’s 7×100, so the total service charge is 700 points."

"If your score hits zero, you’ll end up like those classmates who just vanished. I suggest we don’t take risks."

"So, each of us needs to earn at least 200 points to survive to the last day. But to clear the game, you need to get at least 1700 points."

"We don’t know what kind of questions the survey will have. If they’re college-level or impossible, we might be toast."

As soon as the class president finished, someone objected.

"Don’t freak yourself out. If the system is tied to our class, it’s a reward for us. How could a reward be that brutal?"

"Whatever, my parents could buy me a spot at State if they wanted. This is just a dumb game."

The speaker was a rich kid—always arrogant, always with a group of followers. Now, he looked more excited than scared.

"It’s just a survey. What are you all afraid of? If you won’t do it, I will."

I glanced at him—and chat bubbles popped up.

[Heh, found the first goner. This rich kid probably won’t last a day. He started drawing hate right away. Wait till the question drops—he’s in for a rude awakening.]

[True, every class needs an idiot who stands out.]

[The kicker is, who’d have thought the survey would be so cruel? On day one, it makes everyone vote for the most hated person.]

The first question is to vote for the person you dislike most?

Weren’t we supposed to expose secrets and scandals?

No wonder he was picked. No surprise there.

The rich kid had always thrown his weight around, bullying classmates, forcing good students to let him copy homework, and using his money to humiliate others. There was a time he paid someone to carry his backpack for a week—just because he could.

As if to confirm the chat bubbles’ spoilers, the survey refreshed in the next second.

The first day’s question appeared:

"Please select the classmate you dislike the most. Response time: 60 minutes. This question: +20 points."

Below the question were the names of the 32 remaining students.

The chat bubbles were right.

But what should I do? If I don’t answer, I won’t get points. If I don’t have enough for the service charge, I’ll disappear. But if I answer, I’m playing along with this cruel game.

I glanced at my calm desk partner, then at my childhood friend Caleb, who was looking at me from a few seats away. His eyes were narrowed, calculating, but his smile was as easy as ever.

We’d grown up together, childhood sweethearts. I’d had a crush on him for years. Just last month, we promised to apply to the same college—right on the edge of a confession. I remembered the sunset that day, the smell of freshly cut grass, the shared earbuds between us as we walked home from school.

But the chat bubbles said he’d betray me for a poor student, even make up rumors about me. I remembered last summer, sharing ice cream on the curb, thinking he’d always have my back. Stupid.

I swallowed my anger, feeling a hard knot form in my chest.

Caleb, clueless, walked over and knocked on my desk.

"Just pick with me later. For the first round, let’s not fill it out. Wait and see if anyone disappears after others answer."

I’d always listened to Caleb. His tone wasn’t a discussion—it was an order. He wore the confidence of someone who’d never faced real consequences. He thought he was being clever.

At the same time, he comforted his desk partner, Aubrey, the poor student female lead mentioned in the chat bubbles. His tone was much softer with her. I caught the way he leaned in, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur.

I looked at him with a fake smile, the kind you give when someone asks if you studied for the test and you both know the answer is no.

The chat bubbles refreshed as expected:

[This schemer, telling the side character to follow his lead—he just wants to use her as a guinea pig to test the rules. Gross.]

[Exactly. The first person to answer gets a ‘bad luck’ title. No matter who the class votes for, that person gets targeted. If the side character gets it, she’s basically toast.]

[Now I see how he became the final winner in the original—always using the women around him as stepping stones. The side character liked him for years, but he ditched her without a thought.]

I looked at the comments about Caleb, startled. A ‘bad luck’ title that’s a death sentence?

So I deliberately said, "But what if the first person to answer gets a reward? Fortune favors the bold. You can’t win big without taking risks."

Caleb looked at me, surprised. "You’re usually so cautious. You really surprised me today."

But then he nodded. "You have a point."

He immediately turned to open his own screen. I saw his jaw tense, the way he always did when he was about to double down on a gamble.

After hesitating a moment, I pretended I wanted to be the first to click. He must have worried I’d get the bad luck title, so he rushed to answer first.

He clicked before me. I didn’t know whose name he chose—everyone’s screen was private. No one could see anyone else’s answers.

This survey system is truly twisted. It turned everyone into an island—no trust, no alliances. Just secrets.

Soon, a lazy robotic voice sounded in everyone’s ears:

"Congratulations, Homeroom 3B, Caleb is the first to answer the survey."

"New title unlocked: ‘Fearless Reckless One.’ The student with this title will have an extra 30% service charge deducted each day as a reward for being the first to try. This title may have other effects—please discover them on your own."

No one reacted at first, stunned by the title. When they came to, nearly everyone crowded around Caleb, teasing him. One guy nudged him with a grin, "Way to take one for the team, man."

Caleb’s face turned sour, and he glared at me. His confidence cracked, just a little.

I, unfazed, calmly and quickly chose Caleb’s name. It felt like the safest move.

Then chat bubbles appeared:

[Actually, there’s a bug on the first day that no one knows about. You can select multiple people for this question, and each name gives you points.]

[Also, the system never said being voted for equals death.]

My eyes lit up. I quickly selected every classmate’s name—including my own. My hands shook a little as I scrolled and tapped. If this worked, I’d be the only one to game the system back.

Chat bubbles:

[...Nice, I was just going to say pick three people you dislike.]

[Is this really the brainless goody-two-shoes side character? She’s actually pretty sharp—just didn’t expect her to pick everyone, even herself.]

[Lol, why didn’t I think of that.]

At that moment, Eliot, who had been silent, turned to look at me. His pupils dilated slightly.

Crap, did I overdo it? Did the big boss notice I was gaming the system?