Divya's irritation reached a peak as she flung the last bit of grass off the wooden bed. Insects scurried everywhere, and she instinctively took a step back, wrinkling her nose in disgust. The sight of creepy crawlies spreading across the room like they were fleeing a sinking ship almost made her gag. She looked back at the bed, expecting some grand reveal.
But no.
It was just a regular, battered, wooden bed. The surface was scratched and dull, and one of the legs looked like it had been gnawed on by rats. Her brows furrowed, and then a sharp wave of irritation washed over her.
All this drama for nothing? Really? She scoffed at herself. Too much Netflix, clearly. First, she finds some gold coins, and now she thinks she's in some kind of treasure-hunting mystery. Get a grip.
But just as she turned to leave, her gaze snagged on something—a faint crack running along the side of the wooden frame. It wasn't much, just a barely visible line, but something about it made her pause. Against all logic, her body moved on its own, her hand reaching out to trace the crack.
The wood felt rough under her fingers as she followed the line across the bed's surface. A strange feeling crawled up her spine, like an instinct she couldn't ignore. She leaned in closer, pushing against the bed. At first, nothing happened, but she kept applying pressure.
Why isn't it moving?
This rickety piece of junk looked like it would collapse under a toddler's weight, let alone hers. Yet it stayed firm, almost unnaturally so. Her confusion deepened, and she pressed harder.
Then, she felt it—a subtle give under her hand. The wood shifted, just a little. A faint clicking sound echoed in the quiet room, and Divya's eyes widened as a thin crack appeared down the middle of the bed. Her breath hitched.
What the hell is this?
Her curiosity burned, but there was no obvious way to open it further. No handle, no hinge, nothing. She crouched to peer inside, squinting into the narrow gap, but it was too dark to see anything. And she wasn't about to stick her hand in blindly. No thanks. I'm not about to lose a hand to some trap door of doom.
She looked around the room for something—anything—that might help. Her eyes landed on a wooden hairpin lying on the floor beside the bed. Perfect. She grabbed it, tested its sturdiness for a moment, then slid it into the crack.
With a firm push, the pin caught on something. She twisted it carefully, and with another sharp click, the crack widened. The wood creaked ominously, and then, like a door on hidden hinges, the panel swung open.
Divya blinked in disbelief as she stared at the hidden compartment that had just revealed itself. She hadn't expected much—a broken pin, maybe, or for the bed to finally collapse—but this?
She couldn't help but grin. So, it wasn't just her imagination after all.
As she opened the hidden compartment, her eyes landed on a small box tucked neatly inside. It wasn't anything fancy—about 30 to 35 cm wide—but the first thing she noticed was the lock. A heavy, old-fashioned lock stared back at her, almost mocking her.
Irritation instantly flickered across her face. Seriously?
First, she didn't have a key. Second, who locks a box like this? Was she living in a high-security bank vault? First, the gold coins. Then the suspicious bed. And now this box with its stupid, smug little lock. This room was starting to feel like an escape room gone wrong.
Divya groaned and grabbed the box, shaking it slightly. She thought for a second and then remembered something important—her strength wasn't average. Oh, right. Duh. She smirked, confidence building. If she didn't have the key, fine. She'd just make it open.
With both hands gripping the box, she braced herself and began to apply pressure. Her arms tensed, veins slightly visible as she pushed with all her might.
Nothing.
Her smirk faltered. What? She pressed harder, her teeth clenched, palms sweating slightly. She could feel her muscles straining, but the box didn't budge. Not even a creak.
Her mouth twitched in disbelief. Are you kidding me?
Now more annoyed than anything else, she adjusted her grip, pressing her full weight into the box. "Come on," she muttered under her breath. Her hands dug into the edges, her arms trembling with effort. She pushed harder, her frustration building into sheer determination.
Still nothing.
She stared at the box, dumbfounded. It sat there, perfectly intact, as if mocking her once again. What the hell is this thing made of? Tungsten? Vibranium?
Divya let out a long, dramatic sigh, glaring at the box as though it had personally wronged her. She had no idea what kind of demonic wood this thing was made of. It looked like ordinary wood—cheap and flimsy at that—but it felt like she was dealing with some magical artifact straight out of a fantasy novel.
She picked the box up to eye level, turning it this way and that while using her phone's flashlight liie eyes to examine it like a wannabe detective. No secret compartments, no hidden triggers. Just the obnoxiously sturdy lock staring back at her, challenging her patience.
Determined, she grabbed the lock and tried smashing it with her fist. Because why not? Clenching her teeth, she gave it everything she had.
...Nothing. Not even a dent.
Her jaw tightened as she clenched her fist again, giving it one more shot. Surely it just needed a little more effort, right? Wrong. The lock remained as pristine as ever.
Frustration bubbled up inside her, but beneath it, there was a growing sense of unease. Pang Pang, as far as Divya knew from the novel, was no mastermind. She was a pushover. A nobody. Garbage, Divya thought bluntly, cringing a little at how harsh it sounded but knowing it was true. The girl had been used, discarded, and forgotten. So how in the world had she hidden away something with such a ridiculous level of security?