Soon, the people in the first round had finished drawing lots in an orderly fashion, roughly 40 individuals. Their expressions varied, but none were overly exaggerated. Several people, with notably fewer writings on their papers, picked up their pens intending to make corrections.
However, at this moment, the head chef spoke up. He said, "If a paper has two types of handwriting, I will treat it as cheating, like someone trying to escape, and execute them directly."
No sooner had he finished speaking than a man was pinned down on the table. Clearly quick with his pen, he had already written additional answers on his paper. His spine was removed, and the others shakily set down their pens.
As the second round of drawing was underway, a woman suddenly let out a sharp scream, her body trembling as she stared at the paper in her hand, which had nothing written on it, just a smiley face.
"Someone wrote nothing!!!"
This scream seemed to completely ignite the atmosphere in the room, darkening everyone's expression.
There was indeed a problem with this plan. Someone was using this opportunity to eliminate rivals, but weren't they afraid of drawing their own blank paper?
Wait, saying no to two handwriting styles meant that if they drew their own paper, there was a chance to rectify it, but this poor woman, having drawn the smiley face, was doomed to die.
All present realized the sinister intent of this individual—he was out to kill someone.
Immediately, someone stood up, pointing at the previous speaker, the elegant woman, and said, "It must be you, this is your trap! You bitch!!!"
"It's not me, I didn't mean to..." the elegant woman tried to defend herself, but the accuser had already rushed to her side and choked her fiercely.
The woman struggled desperately, but couldn't escape the grip of a strong man and slowly breathed her last, her body falling to the ground and quickly disappearing.
The dining room fell silent again. No one had anticipated such a turn of events, as it was harming others without benefiting oneself. No, perhaps it wasn't completely without self-benefit—he had secured one of the twenty spots using this method.
Meanwhile, the woman who had received the smiley face had gone mad. She laughed hysterically, weaving between the dining tables like she was dancing a dance of death. She pointed at everyone and then started to write something on the paper.
"Have you gone mad?" someone looked at her.
"As long as I'm eliminated early, I won't be counted among the twenty," she screamed hysterically, "even in death I won't die for you, twenty of you will still die, not one less!!!"
When her spine was extracted, everyone's face looked terrible. The woman was right, a person eliminated beforehand wouldn't count among the twenty, and she chose to die taking another spot with her, leaving the death quota unchanged.
"There, all right now," a mustachioed man stroked his beard, a wry smile on his face, "that guy didn't harm anyone but completely ruined this plan."
Indeed, following this incident, no one would participate in this plan anymore. If that lunatic slipped another smiley face in, whoever drew it would die. If there were more than one lunatic, then everyone might as well give up on living.
The others who hadn't yet drawn hesitated, but remembering that no one had yet drawn the Immunity Right, they bravely reached into the hole.
Suddenly, a young man shouted, "I've drawn it, I've got the Immunity Right!!!"
He raised his arms high, waving the paper in his hand like a victorious king, adjusted his suit collar, and made his way back to his seat, clearly ready to tackle the next question.
He seemed caught up in his excitement and didn't notice the malicious eyes around him. When he realized someone was approaching him, he quickly dodged to the side, but another man pushed him to the ground.
The mustachioed man forcefully snatched the paper from his hand, clutching it tightly, and then sliced open his throat with a shard of a broken plate. Others tried to snatch it from his hand, but time had run out.
Everyone had finished drawing, and the head chef went back to the kitchen. Some began whispering about killing the head chef, but most weren't as foolish as him and quietly waited where they were.
The chef came out soon, and this time he seemed to have no mood to read those things again, but directly announced the death list.
Those whose names were read turned pale, some tried to struggle, but were quickly subdued, while others numbly accepted their fate.
However, after one name was read, a person suddenly stood up, it was the man with the goatee, who said, "How could my name be on there? I have an immunity right! I grabbed an immunity right!"
"That's not an immunity right." the chef said, "Just because someone wrote the word 'immunity right' on a piece of paper, doesn't make it one."
The goatee was stunned, then realizing, he incredulously looked around and said, "Did any of you not write an answer, but wrote the words 'immunity right' on paper?! Why would you do that?!"
"You might have to ask Doctor Sophocles about that." The chef, with his hands behind his back, looked in Shiller's direction, and after such a long build-up, he finally showed his fangs as he spoke.
"This doctor put two pieces of paper in the box, but neither was an actual immunity right. One had the useless word 'immunity right' written on it, and the other had a smiley face drawn on it."
Suddenly, everyone's gaze turned towards Shiller.
"Excuse me, I did not know that writing 'immunity right' on a paper was useless," Shiller retorted as he glared at the chef, "you agreed to my request to transfer the immunity right."
"I only agreed for you to transfer the immunity right to that woman," the chef revealed a wicked smile and said, "I never agreed for you to write it on a piece of paper and hand it over to just anyone."
"That's because you didn't explain the rules clearly."
"That's because you didn't ask, Doctor. If you had asked, I would naturally have told you the correct way to transfer it. Why wouldn't you ask more in a life-or-death situation?"
Shiller did not answer, he said, "The smiley face wasn't drawn by me."
"I have a way to see what you all wrote." Suddenly, the chef lifted his hand, and the previously calm surface of the dining table began to ripple, and numerous eyes opened up on its surface, causing everyone to scream in fright.
But after the initial panic, they looked at Shiller with eyes filled with both shock and anger, clearly believing what the chef had said.
Shiller sighed and said while sitting still, "Alright, I admit, I knew the written immunity right wouldn't work, and yes, I drew the smiley face, it was all just to doom you all."
The chef paused, not expecting Shiller to confess so readily; he stared intently at Shiller to see if he was angling to plead differently.
Shiller nonchalantly placed his briefcase in front of him, opened it, and took out a red candle and a match.
Then he stood up, looked around and said, "I believe, any intelligent person can see that this is just a plot by the Devils, they did all this and framed me, only to make you attack me."
Shiller lowered his head, struck the match, and placed the flame on the candle's wick, then said, "I hope you believe me, this is your last chance."
Including the chef, the others were somewhat baffled by his words; wait, what did he say, this is our last chance?
The chef's gaze, however, shifted to the candle. As the candle was lit, he distinctly felt something was changing.
Shiller gently blew out the match and looked up at the chef saying, "Didn't you want to know why the me in the dish looked different?"
"You said that was dissociative identity disorder."
"No longer dissociative... Excuse me, is there food?"