Chapter 78: “I Was Just Asking—Why the Big Outburst?”
In the final stage of the horror scenario, the chosen participants employed a variety of strategies.
The veteran from the Eagle Country took a steady approach. After the janitors cleared the nearby operating tables, he detoxified, changed his mask, and then ambushed individual doctors and nurses. Once he’d taken down enough targets, he hid near the reception area, waiting until it was time to follow the bloated nurse with the blue mask as she left for the day.
Interestingly, everyone seemed to share the same unspoken rule: no one dared attack that bloated, blue-masked nurse. Her presence alone was overwhelming.
The Kangaroo Country participant, Jones, played it even safer—some might say cunningly. Thanks to his reward item (the director’s coat), he had a disguised monster pose as the director, summoning doctors and nurses to the office in small groups. Meanwhile, a group of fierce ghostly travelers ambushed them near the elevator. Jones avoided direct combat entirely, minimizing his risk. Even if he or the veteran lost a few allies, it was a manageable sacrifice.
Mitarai Saburō, on the other hand, couldn’t win a one-on-one fight against the doctors or nurses. Instead, he exploited their duty to treat patients—using his own illness to lure a doctor out. At just the right moment, when a monster guard was patrolling nearby, he rushed into the examination room and locked the door. The doctor was then taken away for “treatment” (execution), allowing Mitarai to claim the coat.
His plan required flawless timing. One miscalculation, and he wouldn’t get a second chance. Few participants could pull this off. He only needed two coats, so his plan wasn’t overly complicated.
Zhang Yangqing’s approach was even simpler. Though he had many allies (despite having already eliminated quite a few), he just stormed into crowded examination rooms and wiped out everyone inside. He was like death knocking on the door—no one survived his entry. Room by room, he moved systematically. With his gas mask, he didn’t worry about accidentally killing a doctor who could detoxify him. Others had to be cautious, but he didn’t care. Those unfortunate enough to face him were simply out of luck.
As time passed, those who hadn’t secured a staff coat grew desperate, while those who had couldn’t wait for it all to end. Many were already hiding near the reception area.
At exactly 8:00 PM (as shown on their phones), medical staff began descending. The participants blended in. Without a staff coat, anyone would be surrounded and killed. Only staff members could leave the hospital.
The doctors and nurses moved silently toward a foggy path—visible only to those with the right clearance. The participants followed, soon recognizing the route as the one they’d taken earlier. They’d bypassed the broken bridge and reached the mountain side.
But while the medical staff headed in one direction (toward their dormitory), the participants quietly slipped away toward the station.
Here, a minor complication arose: a doctor stopped them, asking why they weren’t returning to the dormitory. Terrified (who’d dare go to a horror-world dormitory?), the participants scrambled for excuses. With enough politeness and convincing acting, the doctor usually let them go. No one wanted a last-minute disaster.
When Zhang Yangqing was questioned, he slapped the doctor across the face and snapped, “Don’t ask questions you don’t need the answers to.”
You think I’m scared of you now that I’m out? I only played nice inside because I had to. Try me again—see what happens.
The slapped doctor, sensing he’d picked the wrong guy to mess with, muttered, “I was just asking—why the big outburst?” before rubbing his cheek and walking away.
As the participants left the medical team, the surroundings grew more familiar—the station, the bus, and the sleeping driver (who’d sleep indefinitely unless woken). Boarding the bus, they finally exhaled in relief. This had been a nightmare. Many would likely develop hospital-related trauma.
Out of the original group, 27 made it back—a relatively high survival rate. Those who hadn’t challenged the Smiling Hospital didn’t survive at all.
Many silently thanked the Chinese participant. Without his lessons in ruthlessness and strategy, their survival odds would’ve been much lower. In this scenario, hesitation meant death. Watching Zhang Yangqing on screen, some had thought him too brutal—but once inside, they wished they could be even more brutal. They just lacked his skills.
But the ordeal wasn’t over yet. Just before reaching the starting station, a major disaster struck—one that spelled certain death.
When Sakura Country’s participant, Mitarai Saburō, finally reached the bus, the nation cheered:
“This is legendary! No one else could’ve pulled this off!”
“A textbook-perfect strategy—unmatched worldwide!”
“After surviving hell itself, Mitarai Saburō has proven who the real top contender is!”
“No one else could’ve done this!”
“All his critics—apologize now!”
Celebrations erupted nationwide. But just as Mitarai stepped onto the bus—
A shadow lunged. A searing pain pierced his chest. He’d been impaled.
So close to survival—only to be snatched away at the last second.
Slamming against the station wall, he saw a face twisted with vengeance—his once-innocent assistant, now a vengeful specter.
“Long time no see, senpai,” she said sweetly, her voice icy.
She’d survived. After Mitarai kicked her off the elevator, she’d knelt and begged the butcher for mercy. Since she wasn’t “livestock,” he’d spared her. She hitched a ride with the slaughterhouse truck, then doubled back to the station to ambush Mitarai.
She knew his plan. She could’ve killed him earlier—but she waited until he was this close to escaping. Just as he’d made her suffer, she returned the favor.
Rules bound the travelers, not her.
As Mitarai collapsed, his vision fading, the bus drove off without him. The driver didn’t care what happened outside—if someone woke him, he drove.
Sakura Country’s victory banquet had just turned into a funeral feast.
