Death Game: Starting as a Trickster, Pretending to Be a God

Beneath the vast, uninhabited desolation of the northwest, where thousands of miles of gobi desert stretched across the land, an old bomb shelter converted into a refuge-style structure sat underground. Inside this subterranean space, row upon row of silvery-white, coffin-like pods, clearly not belonging to this world, were arranged in sequence.

A man with a mustache sat on an iron table amid the collection of metallic pods, his head and limbs wrapped in bandages, looking utterly battered.

The refuge door opened, and in rolled Potassium Chloride in his wheelchair alongside Lacan, whose neck was secured in a cervical collar.

"Oh ho, looks like you haven't had it easy either, Teacher Wundt," Potassium Chloride remarked as he took in Wundt's appearance. "I thought Order blowing up our place was a joke... You got beaten up way too badly."

Wundt sighed. "I'm managing. Jung and Bandura have already been put into healing pods. The fact that I can still sit here and watch over things means I'm doing alright."

Lacan glanced around. "Where's Adler? Did he really die?"

Wundt nodded. "He really died. He should be in Pure Abyss now... Hopefully the Chairman can intercept him."

"How about you two? And Dolantine?"

Wundt looked at them and asked.

"Dolantine went back to her own home. We got schemed against by a guy called 'Schreiber.' Didn't get the inheritance, and got beaten up by the Lord of the Sixth Island," Potassium Chloride sighed. "And what's worse... that guy claims to be the successor of 'Freud.'"

Wundt took a moment to process, then spoke. "The first-generation Chairman?"

"Yes, the first-generation Chairman. He even looks a lot like him."

Lacan said, then lowered his voice and added, "His temperament and style are also very similar... It's almost like the man himself came back to life."

"Aha!"

A light, cheerful laugh suddenly rang out in the room, a jubilant female voice following. "So there really is a successor to the first-generation Chairman? How utterly fascinating!"

The voice reverberated through the room. The several dust-covered Psychological Society members looked around.

The sound seemed to come from every direction.

"Fluoxetine, where are you?"

Potassium Chloride asked.

"Why don't you look behind you?"

Fluoxetine's voice rang out again.

Potassium Chloride didn't turn around. "I don't believe you. You're definitely tricking me."

"Oh my, you caught me."

Fluoxetine leaped out from under the table in front of Wundt like a frog, hugging her knees. She wore a dress that seemed themed after some kind of European military uniform style, the iron-gray tones paired with a small military cap worn at an angle, giving her a look that was both dashing and slightly playful.

She straightened up, her tall military boots accentuating the beautiful, straight lines of her calves.

Wundt was thoroughly astonished. "Fluoxetine, when did you hide in here?"

"Last night, when I saw the message requesting support because you were under attack, I came here. There's no way you could beat Order, and once you got seriously injured, you'd definitely need to recover here. So I came ahead of time to camp out and wait for you."

"Pretty surprising, right!"

Fluoxetine said with a grin. Wundt was shocked.

"You knew we were being surrounded, and instead of coming to help, you rushed over here overnight to squat under a table?"

Fluoxetine wagged her finger. "Wrong, dear Mr. Wundt. At first I found a hibernation pod and slept for a while. Only when I estimated the timing was about right did I hide under the table."

"This is also a little reminder for you. Next time, even if a base seems safe, you should search it. What if the one hiding wasn't me?"

Fluoxetine said with a grin. Wundt fell silent for a long while before sighing.

"Fine, you have a point."

Lacan raised another question. "Why do you sound like you already knew about that 'Schreiber'? We only learned about this person yesterday, but what you said just now was... 'really.'"

That wording made it clear to anyone listening that Fluoxetine at the very least knew the first-generation 'Freud' had a successor.

"Of course I have my own information channels. I'm very good at making friends. I know lots of people. I'm not like you lot, hated by everyone wherever you go," Fluoxetine said, one hand resting on the table, her gaze sweeping over Lacan, Wundt, and Potassium Chloride. "So naturally, someone would tell me that the first-generation 'Freud' has an inheritor."

Potassium Chloride looked at Fluoxetine and said without mercy, "Liar. You don't have any friends either... Or rather, the people you consider friends absolutely cannot be counted as friends in the traditional sense."

Fluoxetine was utterly unbothered. "So, how was that 'Schreiber'? You said he looks a lot like the first-generation Chairman, and his temperament is similar too... Could it be that the first-generation Chairman came back to life, deliberately disguised himself as someone else, took back his own inheritance, and messed with you? I feel like he'd totally do something like that!"

As Fluoxetine spoke, Lacan instinctively denied it. "No, it should be... uh..."

He furrowed his brow. "There is a certain possibility... but it's very small, because that guy still feels different. Compared to the original 'Freud,' he's... more flamboyant and confident."

"After all, he directly left a video tape provoking us, said he was going to reclaim the name of 'Freud,' and said our current Chairman doesn't deserve the name 'Freud,'" Lacan said slowly. "These don't really seem like things the first generation would do..."

Fluoxetine raised an eyebrow. "That does sound unlike him. That guy really wasn't that flamboyant and reckless... Hmm, if he really is a successor, then he really found himself a fantastic guy. One who has his advantages of being insidious, cunning, dark and twisted, devoid of empathy, utterly shameless, and an opportunistic weathervane, but without his nauseating flaws of being steady, calm, cautious, and methodical."

"And... he actually found you on his own before I could find him, and even issued a declaration of provocation? That's really great!"

"And his target is even our current Chairman, Your Excellency. Don't you all think this guy is super, super interesting?"

Clearly, the other three didn't quite agree with Fluoxetine's viewpoint.

But...

Another voice rang out once more.

"He certainly is an interesting fellow."

Inside the underground refuge, a buzzing hum sounded. Before everyone's eyes, a conglomeration of static and noise appeared out of thin air.

Like the kind that appears on old-fashioned televisions when the signal is disrupted. As this conglomeration expanded, the buzzing sound transformed into a crackling, rustling noise.

Then...

A young woman wearing narrow gold-rimmed glasses, with a neat hime cut, dressed in a white shirt that gave her a crisp, capable appearance, and with three connected teardrop moles beneath the outer corner of her left eye, stepped out from the static.

"'Schreiber'... I've memorized him. I will treat him as my next trial."

"Since he thinks I don't deserve to inherit the name 'Freud,' then I look forward to his challenge. I will let him know that I am indeed the one most qualified to inherit the name of that bastard Zheng Jianshen, and the one most qualified to lead this organization he founded."

And upon seeing her appear, Wundt, Lacan, and Potassium Chloride all breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're finally back."

Lacan muttered.

Fluoxetine also looked at her, her eyes curved in a smile. "Oh my, it's our dearest Chairman."

This person who had suddenly appeared...

Was naturally the current Council member of the Psychological Society, the acknowledged Chairman, the Player with the code name 'Freud'!

At the same time...

She was also ranked fifth on the leaderboard, standing at the very top, the undoubted 'Fourth Tier' powerhouse!