The director of Angel Orphanage stood before the group of ten players, her posture elegant but commanding. Her long black dress swayed slightly as she moved her hands gracefully, elaborating on every detail of the daily responsibilities.
> "Now, the next part I'm about to explain is the most important task in our orphanage."
At that moment, Lucas perked up in his seat. Her previously pleasant smile faded, giving way to a solemn expression.
> "To ensure the children in our orphanage have a chance to be adopted quickly and placed into loving homes, we enforce one fundamental rule."
Her voice dropped lower, more serious.
> "Each child is tested every day... and they must smile. At all times."
> "No matter what. A gloomy child stands no chance with an adopter."
The room fell into stunned silence.
The players looked at one another. Some frowned, others seemed confused. Surely they had misheard?
> "What kind of rule is that?" one whispered.
> "You mean… smiling is more important than survival in here?"
Lucas rubbed his chin, eyes narrowing. Something was deeply wrong here.
The director glanced at her slim silver watch.
> "The daily testing session is about to begin. I will guide you through the procedure—watch carefully. This will become your job soon enough."
...
The group followed her through a long corridor. Wooden floors creaked beneath their feet. The windows revealed a gray sky outside, drizzles of rain trailing down the glass like tears.
Lucas passed one window and paused for half a second, glancing into the forest that surrounded the orphanage. Everything about this place felt isolated. Trapped in time.
> "Right this way," the director said, halting in front of a door.
She opened it slowly.
The room beyond was dimly lit, with only a single incandescent bulb dangling from the ceiling. The shadows on the wall stretched longer than they should've.
Inside sat an older woman—a staff member of the orphanage, known simply as Aunt May.
The director motioned for the players to follow her through a hidden partition within the testing room—a secret viewing chamber behind a one-way mirror.
> "From here, you'll observe everything."
The players sat down one by one. Lucas remained silent, his gaze sharp.
Click.
The door to the testing room opened.
A little girl stepped in.
She wore a simple white dress, neatly ironed. Her hair was combed into twin braids, and she had a bright smile that seemed almost too perfect for a place like this.
> "Good evening, Aunt May," she said sweetly.
The old woman smiled kindly.
> "Good evening, darling."
They chatted briefly—Aunt May asked about her day, her meals, her favorite toys. Then she said:
> "Let's begin the test."
The girl nodded, still smiling.
Aunt May flicked on the projector.
A video began to play on the wall beside the child.
...
From behind the glass, one of the female players gasped. Lucas heard her breath catch in her throat.
The director didn't turn to address the outburst.
> "Yes," she said coldly, "no matter what they're shown… the children must never stop smiling."
The video was gruesome.
So horrifying, in fact, that even the live broadcast system pixelated it with a mosaic filter.
When the blur finally faded—
The screen was a sea of red.
Blood.
Screams.
A child, roughly the same age as the girl watching, was the focus of the footage.
Lucas's hand slowly slid toward his waist, feeling the handle of the kitchen knife hidden in his belt.
> "It really is a thriller game…" he muttered quietly to himself.
Ding.
> [System modeling in progress...]
[Threat analysis based on host's stats…]
[Angel Orphanage – Director: Low Threat Level]
[Angel Orphanage – Aunt May: Low Threat Level]
[Angel Orphanage – Room 203: Low Threat Level]
[...]
He kept reading as more names popped up on the threat register—all categorized as low threat.
But Lucas wasn't fooled.
Threats in this game rarely appeared as monsters. Sometimes, they smiled and wore lipstick.
...
Back in the viewing room, the girl never stopped smiling, not once during the entire horrific video.
When it ended, Aunt May scribbled notes onto a clipboard, satisfied.
> "Well done, darling. You may go and claim your cake."
> "Thank you, Aunt May!" the girl said cheerfully, skipping out of the room.
As the door shut behind her, Aunt May looked at the others in the room and chuckled.
> "Such a polite little angel. Always smiling. Adopters love her."
The director nodded and turned to the group of players.
> "That little girl is among our most beloved. She's already scheduled for a visitation with a potential family."
Some players clapped politely. But the air had grown heavy.
Lucas's eyes remained locked on the mirror.
One by one, more children were brought into the room. The process repeated—gruesome footage, forced smiles, quiet endurance. Some kids faltered but made it through.
Until the door opened again.
This time, a frail little boy stepped inside.
He was so thin his clothes hung off him. His bangs drooped so far down that they almost completely covered his eyes.
The air changed.
Even Aunt May's tone shifted.
> "You again? This is your fifth failed test this month!"
The boy shivered but said nothing. He walked to the chair and sat down, forcing a crooked smile.
There was no projector this time.
Instead, a staff member passed through the door and handed Aunt May a small cardboard box.
From inside, a frightened kitten mewed softly.
She placed the kitten and a rusty knife in front of the child.
> "Cut off all four of its legs," she said, her voice devoid of warmth.
The boy's hands shook as he picked up the knife.
His smile began to tremble.
...
The director, standing at the back of the room, offered an explanation.
> "The test changes daily. We don't want the children to become bored or desensitized."
The female player from earlier couldn't stay quiet this time.
> "Bored?" she hissed. "This is just… torture!"
Lucas glanced at her and gave a small nod.
> "Teammates with a conscience are always reliable."
...
The boy had managed to cut off two legs before the kitten began squirming violently.
The squelching sounds, the screams—it was too much.
His smile faltered.
And then broke.
> "I… I can't do it," he sobbed. "I'm sorry, Aunt May…"
He dropped the knife, and the kitten tumbled off his lap.
Aunt May slammed her clipboard on the table.
> "Enough! You've failed again! Get to the dark room—no food, no water, no sleep for 24 hours!"
The boy kept his head low and left silently.
No one could see his expression as he disappeared behind the door.
When Aunt May returned to her desk, she still looked irritated.
Without hesitation, she picked up the bloodied knife—and finished what the boy had refused to do.
The players behind the mirror sat in stunned silence.
...
> The director sighed.
> "What else can we do? No family is willing to adopt a child who can't smile properly."
Lucas didn't say a word.
But he could hear his teammates behind him grinding their teeth. Rage simmered just under the surface. No one spoke. Not yet.
They were still trying to understand what kind of twisted nightmare they had walked into.
...
Aunt May tossed the kitten's body into a black trash bag. She wiped her hands and scanned her list.
Then she called out the next name.
> "Next… Lucas."
Lucas's brows arched slightly.
> "Of course..."
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