The camera shifted back to the sterile gray room—Vayunesh's room.
For a moment, the coldness of the room was broken. A smile tugged at Vayunesh's lips—not a wide one, but sharp, amused. His eyes, narrowed and calculating, focused on the digital painting still softly glowing on the wall.
In his mind, he murmured silently:
"No way… You messed up your voice changer, didn't you, 'Game Master'?"
There was a flicker of familiarity in the mechanical voice that others might have missed—but not Vayunesh. Not someone who had trained his ears to decode deception.
The smile faded.
He turned toward the square hole and spoke in a friendly, composed tone.
"Friend, what do you think the next game will be?"
There was a pause from the other side—a hesitant rustle, as if the speaker was fidgeting or adjusting how they sat.
"W-Well, uhmm… I really don't have any idea…"
The voice was shy, light, unsteady. Vayunesh tilted his head slightly and continued, his voice warm but probing.
"What's your name then?"
Another moment of silence.
Then, a soft response—almost as if it was being given reluctantly.
"Uhm… my name is… Jaya Widagdo. What is yours?"
Vayunesh's eyes lit up, and he let out a low, thoughtful hum.
"Vayunesh Athisay."
Then his voice took a sharp turn, laced with recognition—almost testing.
"Wait… aren't you the guy who killed a murderer? The one who had slaughtered six civilians… and even hurt your mother?"
The other side went completely silent. Vayunesh leaned in closer to the hole.
"You were branded a murderer after killing him. Even though everyone knew you did it in self-defense… they still punished you, didn't they?"
A pause.
Then—softly, brokenly:
"Uhm… y-yes…"
Vayunesh smiled again, but this time it was sincere, almost reassuring.
"Well, don't worry, my friend. From where my point of view is… I believe you're innocent."
There was silence from the other side.
But not the awkward kind.
It was the silence of someone not used to being believed. A silence filled with disbelief… and perhaps hope.
Vayunesh leaned back in his chair, glancing once more around the room. Something caught his attention—the small desk to his left. On a hunch, he stepped forward and tried to open one of the drawers.
Click.Click-click.Locked.
He stared at the slot. A small smirk crept across his face—cold, analytical.
"So… we're playing it like that, huh?"
He traced his fingers across the edges of the drawer, noting the slight indentations. There were no visible keys. Not yet.
But the pieces were starting to form in his mind.
And if this was still just the introduction, then Speechlock was merely a test.
A test to see who would speak, who would trust… and who would observe.