The moment Borislav stepped back, the hall reacted.
Doors slid open along the walls—silent and sudden. One after another. Perfectly identical. Same height. Same color. Same empty frame.
No signs.
No numbers.
No guidance.
Just choices.
For half a second, no one moved.
Then panic dressed itself up as confidence.
People rushed forward like it was a race, boots slamming against the black floor, voices colliding into noise. Some laughed too loud. Some shouted warnings that helped no one. Others ran without looking back, as if hesitation itself would disqualify them.
A marathon without knowing the finish line.
Junseo and I stayed where we were.
I watched bodies disappear through different doors, the hall thinning too fast, like it was eager to empty itself. That alone told me enough.
"This isn't speed," I muttered.
Junseo exhaled slowly. "Then what is it?"
"A filter."
Orina hadn't moved either. Neither had Peter. Gu Wen stood off to the side, tablet glowing faintly in his hands. His eyes flicked from door to door, not reading—calculating.
Junseo tilted his head toward him.
"What's that tablet boy gonna do now?"
Gu Wen looked at him.
Didn't answer.
Instead, he tapped the screen once and walked toward a door on the far right. No pause. No explanation.
Orina followed after a brief hesitation. Peter went next, loose but alert, hands already flexing like he was warming up.
One by one, people vanished.
Miran stayed where he was, arms crossed, watching them leave like pieces sliding off a board. His gaze shifted briefly to me.
Not impatient.
Curious.
Junseo looked at me.
I nodded.
We moved.
Not fast. Not slow.
Together.
The door sealed behind us the moment we crossed the threshold.
The corridor beyond was narrow, walls pressed close, lit in sterile white. The floor hummed faintly under our boots—low, steady, like something alive beneath it.
We stayed shoulder to shoulder. No words.
The first mistake happened ahead of us.
A man reached the end of the corridor—
And the floor vanished.
No warning. No sound. No scream.
Just absence.
The gap sealed itself instantly, smooth and perfect, as if the man had never existed.
Junseo's fingers twitched.
"Don't rush," I said quietly. "Watch."
Further down, another group reached a door that didn't open. No handle. No panel. They tried force.
The walls answered.
A sharp crack of electricity.
Bodies dropped.
The corridor shifted again—lights dimming, paths narrowing, angles changing. The place reacted, adapting to movement, fear, timing.
This wasn't difficult.
It was unforgiving.
Junseo noticed it too. "It's reacting to us."
"Yeah," I replied. "And it hates panic."
We moved when the lights softened. Stopped when the hum sharpened. Chose paths that felt wrong but weren't screaming danger.
Once, Junseo stepped half a second too early.
The floor beneath him flickered.
I grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
The tile vanished where his foot would've landed.
He swallowed hard. "Got it."
By the time we reached the final chamber, sweat clung to my neck despite the cold air biting at my skin.
The door opened.
Inside, people stood scattered—leaning, breathing hard, staring at nothing. Faces pale. Hands shaking.
Fewer than before.
Much fewer.
The doors sealed behind the last arrival.
A screen ignited overhead.
20 REMAINING
No applause.
No acknowledgment.
Just numbers.
I scanned the room.
Orina.
Peter.
Gu Wen—tablet dark now, expression unreadable.
Junseo stood beside me.
Alive. Whole.
That mattered more than the count.
Footsteps echoed behind us.
Miran entered last.
He looked around once.
Smiled faintly.
"Good," he said. "We're not wasting time."
For the first time since we landed—
I felt steady.
This wasn't chaos anymore.
It was movement.
And I was done reacting.
The room didn't erupt into noise.
It didn't need to.
People caught their breath in silence, shoulders rising and falling unevenly. Some leaned against the walls. Some sank to the floor, legs finally remembering their weight.
I rolled my shoulders once.
It wasn't that difficult.
Not easy.
But not impossible.
Junseo glanced at me—and smirked.
Not relief.
Enjoyment.
Like he'd just finished a game he didn't know he missed.
"You're smiling," I said.
He shrugged. "Felt… alive."
I understood that feeling more than I wanted to admit.
Seeing familiar faces helped. Orina stood a few meters away, arms crossed, calm as ever. Peter stretched his neck like he'd just finished a long flight. Gu Wen was already scrolling again, like the chaos had only fed his curiosity.
Normal.
Strange word to use here—but it fit.
Footsteps approached.
Two men entered. Not Borislav.
Administrative.
One stopped in front of us, hands clasped behind his back.
"Congratulations," he said evenly. "You have passed the basic test requirements."
No smiles. No ceremony.
Just facts.
A low murmur rippled through the room.
"From this point forward," he continued, "your professional training will begin."
Junseo blinked. "That was just… basic?"
Someone nearby let out a hollow laugh.
"All questions will be answered in time," the man said. "For now—rest. Recovery is part of evaluation."
Silence.
"You'll return to your rooms. Dinner will be served in the cafeteria."
A pause.
"Be on time."
The doors opened again.
This time, no one ran.
Back in my room, I dropped onto the bed.
The light hummed overhead, steady and indifferent. My muscles ached—not from strain, but from restraint.
Junseo passed my door.
"You alive?" he asked.
"Unfortunately."
He laughed softly and moved on.
The cafeteria smelled like warmth. Protein. Salt. Real food.
My stomach reacted immediately.
"Yeah," Junseo muttered, grabbing a tray. "We earned this."
I sat down, shoulders heavy.
Energy.
That's what this place took first.
And now it gave just enough back to keep us moving.
As I took my first bite, one thought settled deep and clear—
If this was only the beginning…
Then whatever came next wouldn't care if we were ready.
Only whether we survived.