Chapter 004: Talent Middle School

In the live broadcasting plaza, shortcuts to various live broadcast halls were arranged from top to bottom based on their viewing value.

Perhaps due to an influx of newcomers, the broadcast halls opened were mostly below grade C, with B and A grade halls being a rarity. This caused the vast majority of the audience to flock to those few high-grade halls.

After all, the higher the difficulty, the better the show.

Suddenly, someone near the middle spotted a familiar newbie-level dungeon.

**Talent Middle School**…?

Wasn't it a D-grade dungeon? Why was it listed here?

— Could it be a system sorting error?

The audience was perplexed.

Curious viewers couldn't wait to click in, eager to see what was happening.

After all, if it wasn't a mistake in the system's sorting...

Then there must have been some variables in this D-grade dungeon that caused the system to suddenly elevate its viewing value estimation.

Such occurrences were not an everyday spectacle!

*

Terrified broadcasters were crammed into the narrow corridor, like sardines stuffed into a can, and the moment the old witch's voice fell, all eyes simultaneously zeroed in on the young man at the end of the hallway.

They held their breath, hearts in their throths, waiting.

Under the dim lights, the corridor was narrow, the green wallpaper flaking off to reveal dark, grimy stains.

Silence pervaded the air.

While the streaming room 789326qwk was boiling with excitement, contrary to the outside world.

As viewers from other channels flooded in, the live viewer count in the room soared.

**Ding! Viewer count exceeds 1000**

**Ding! Viewer count exceeds 2000**

**Congratulations to the host for achieving the milestone: Fresh Face!**

Woah, your channel's popularity is skyrocketing, drawing more viewers with your high-quality content!

**Ding! Gift count exceeds 50!**

**Congratulations to the host for achieving the milestone: A Little Earning!**

Woah, more and more loyal fans are swooning over your charm. Keep it up and make them willingly open their wallets for you!

"Coming over from the neighbor, never thought this intern teacher was also a streamer, mind-blown."

"Neighbor +1"

"Ah! How did the host blend in with the NPC crowd? I'm dying of curiosity, fill me in!"

"Where can I find the newbie's playback? Can't find it on the homepage, anyone kind enough to guide?"

"No need to bother, don't waste your time, the host is probably gonna be exposed soon LOL!"

"?"

"??? What happened?"

Laughter and Schadenfreude scrolled across the screen.

Although the newcomers were clueless, most of the audience had been watching from the beginning.

The dean never sent anyone for the list; it was all Grace's fabrication, that crumpled booklet was still in Grace's pocket.

And such a thing as "a copied backup list" was completely non-existent.

But now, the responsibility of calling the roll fell on Grace—he had to either admit he never copied, or pull the booklet out of his pocket.

However, either choice contradicted his initial lie, bound to raise suspicion.

And "suspicion," like water poured on a sandcastle, can break the already fragile lies apart.

Reality is thus; not to mention, they were within a dungeon now.

With the old witch's temperament, she certainly wouldn't miss such an opportunity.

Once exposed, this lie-filled broadcaster's fate was sealed.

It seemed that the short yet splendid career of the broadcaster was drawing to an end. Though mouths expressed pity, the majority of the audience was even more excited.

The corridor was engulfed in an almost suffocating silence.

Everyone's gaze fell upon Grace.

A tall figure, with a beefy face, slightly turned, those wolf-like, sinister, and gloomy small eyes peeking through the sides of the glasses, shimmering with a sharp gleam, akin to a guillotine blade a second before falling.

The dim light flickered overhead, its beams refracting off the askew glasses, hiding the youth's eyes.

His complexion under the light looked pale and frail, his lips pursed, then slowly and calmly, he dug into his pocket.

The audience instinctively held their breath, greedily watching the host's every move.

Grace's fingers soon pulled out of his pocket.

In his hand was a folded piece of white paper, seemingly torn from a notebook, crumpled, with irregular edges, and sloppy handwriting barely visible on the side.

Grace unfolded the paper.

The rustling of the paper in the deathly silent corridor made one's heart race.

"Brianna."

The young man's voice filled the corridor, warm and clear.

The audience in the streaming room was dumbfounded.

"?? How did he start calling the roll?"

"What's going on? Is the host trying to bluff his way through?"

Then, a weak voice responded from the end of the corridor:

"…Present."

"Zoe."

"Present."

Grace continued to call out names, and with each name, there was a response, high or low, from the crowd.

This was definitely not made up on the spot.

What was happening? Did he actually make a copy when the audience wasn't paying attention?

When did that happen? No memory of it!

As if answering the audience's confusion, the camera zoomed in on the piece of paper in Grace's hands.

The crumpled paper, still bearing the folds, was covered in extremely sloppy handwriting:

**Onions, Cabbage, Garlic, Pork, Chili Peppers

Remember to buy toothpaste and detergent**

"…"

"…"

A wave of "???" floated across the streaming room.

This, this was...

A shopping list???

Grace, with his head bowed, stared at the short list on the shopping list, continued to confidently proceed down the list.

"Alexa."

"Present."

"Makayla."

"Present."

Upon realization, the chat was astounded.

"??? The host memorized the entire roll call!!"

"Dude, what kind of memory is this! Photographic memory?"

"Not necessarily, right? Maybe he anticipated this and secretly memorized it, it's just a dozen names after all."

"Are you not using your brain before speaking? Wouldn't that be even harder? What level of anticipation is this?!"

Quickly, except for Tyler, who "hadn't enrolled", everyone else was called.

The old witch stood still, slowly scanning them with narrowed eyes, uttering a cold snort without revealing whether she was satisfied or disappointed.

She turned: "Let's go."

Grace took a deep breath, folding the piece of paper and slipping it back into his pocket.

Meanwhile, he discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.

That was close.

Luckily, due to his risky profession, he had developed a habit of instinctively memorizing all important information in sight - first, to prevent his lies from being exposed, and second, to improvise in emergencies.

After all, the essence of lies is in the details.

Even the most trivial aspects, once overlooked, could be lethal.

He inhaled deeply, turning to the other broadcasters behind him, lifting his chin:

"Didn't you hear Teacher Aaliyah's instructions? Follow up."

The chat, which was just marveling at the broadcaster's memory and predictive prowess, quieted down, instantly changing their tune:

"damn, smug villain."

"Shameless!!!"

The rest of the broadcasters looked at each other, stepping forward apprehensively to follow Grace.

The old witch descended the stairs, heading outside the dormitory building.

The sky was dim.

The small campus was immersed in a fiery dusk, like a tiny paper box about to be crushed.

Few meters beside the dorm building stood a one-story building with its doors wide open, revealing the moist, dark gray cement floor.

It resembled a canteen.

Inside, rows of drab yellow tables were aligned, their lacquer peeling off, presenting a greasy appearance under the dim light, as if they hadn't been cleaned thoroughly for ages.

At the end of the canteen were two school desks pushed together.

Huge white iron food basins were placed side by side on top, steaming hot.

The old witch paused at the canteen entrance, turning to glance back at the boarding students with a cold voice:

"Here we are."

The tall figure of the woman cast a terrifying pressuring aura.

The broadcasters huddled together quietly, waiting for her to speak.

The old witch raised her stubby finger, pointing at a cabinet nearby: "Your lunch boxes are there. After eating, wash them and put them back. Remember, losing them will cost you."

She pointed to a clock hanging on the canteen wall:

"After eating and washing your dishes, return to your dorm. The dormitory gates close at 9:30 PM."

She smirked, the malice in her expression almost blatant: "If you're not back by then, don't expect the door to be open."

"Alright, free time now."

Turning away, she hummed a tune, moving towards the dorm building.

Being close, Grace caught the last few words:

"...fulfilling both heart and mind..."

Humming the nonsensical tune, her large and bulky figure soon disappeared into the darkening night.

Grace paused for a moment, then quickly snapped to attention.

He stepped forward, clapping his hands, and announced:

"Did everyone hear what Teacher Aaliyah said? New students with your lunch boxes, come here and line up in two rows to get your food."

As a skilled trickster, he had seamlessly integrated into the role of an "intern teacher."

In just a few words, not only had Grace managed to transfer the residual authority of the old witch onto himself, but he also naturally assumed control of the situation.

The broadcasters instinctively followed the authoritative instruction.

After a brief moment of chaos, everyone, holding their lunch boxes, duly lined up in two rows at the canteen entrance.

Grace nodded approvingly, directing:

"Proceed."

Thus, the counterfeit teacher confidently led the double rows of boarding students into the canteen, masterfully directing them to queue for food.

The task of serving food fell to an old, stooping crone, her eyes murky and fingers gnarled like tree bark, shakily gripping the ladle, the metallic clang against the bottom of the basin grating.

Dinner consisted of some form of porridge.

The murky yellow-white surface was topped with a layer of oil, the thick semi-fluid filled with white chunks of fat, sparse grains of rice, and limp noodles, emanating an appetite-suppressing fragrance.

She robotically ladled out servings for each student.

Every broadcaster's face revealed an indescribably complex expression upon seeing their bowl's contents.

With grim faces, they carried their plates and took their seats at the long tables.

Once everyone was served, the old woman, with trembling effort, moved to lift the near-empty giant iron basin.

Grace quickly stepped forward, taking the basin from her hands:

"Let me handle this, you rest."

His demeanor was gentle and considerate, looking at the old woman with deep concern.

Whether she was barking orders at the entrance or organizing everyone into a line to enter the cafeteria, Grace had already been preparing for this moment's chat.

"Which direction are we moving in?" he inquired.

The old lady lifted a finger, coarse as tree bark, and pointed towards the back of the cafeteria.

Grace slowed his pace to walk shoulder to shoulder with her in that direction.

The old woman raised her murky eyes to look at the young man beside her and asked with an aged voice, "Young man, you look new here, what's your name?"

Grace shyly pressed his lips together: "I just arrived today, you can call me Audrey. I'm the nephew of the headmaster, just graduated not long ago, so I thought I'd come to see if my uncle could help me find a job."

"Oh..."

"My uncle asked me to find Teacher Aaliyah, to have her show me around the school, but..."

"But?"

Grace shook his head, quickly flashing a cover-up smile: "Also, nothing much, just, Teacher Aaliyah seems to be busy with something, and... asked me to stay here to help organize a bit of discipline, then she hurried off."

He hesitated for a moment, his lips pursed, and asked uncertainly, "Did I... do something wrong?"

[Live Chat in Room 789326qwk]

"..."

"...He's really good at pretending."

"...He's really good at lying."

"Just now he was an intern teacher, now he's suddenly the headmaster's nephew, I'm curious to see how many more identities he can come up with."

"...Keep it simple, the way you live."

This evasive manner of speaking immediately let the other party catch on to something.

The old lady sighed, a trace of gloom crossing her face, and said kindly while patting Grace's shoulder: "Don't take it too hard, Teacher Aaliyah, she... ah, she's always like this, it's not intentional against you."

"It's okay, if you have any questions in the future, you can ask me."

"Eh, really? Thank you."

Grace revealed a smile, flattered and grateful.

A glimmer of amusement reached deep into his eyes.

Indeed, facing such elders, leveraging a beneficial background combined with a touch of vulnerability proved to be the fastest method to extract information.

As they walked and talked, Grace subtly extracted all the information he could from the woman, committing it firmly to memory.

Unintentionally, Grace had arrived at the kitchen.

Compared to the dining area in front, the kitchen was narrower and dirtier, with a mixed smell of sour and rotten in the air. The blue slop bucket placed aside was half-full, its outer and inner walls covered with thick scum, with garbage scattered everywhere on the ground.

Under the old lady's direction, Grace poured the remaining soup from the food basin into the slop bucket, then placed the empty basin next to the cutting board.

Just as he was about to turn around to leave, his gaze momentarily stalled.

Not far from the cutting board was a sink.

A shallow layer of greyish-yellow water stagnated there, accumulating in the sink, with several strands of oily black hair floating slowly, entwining around the drain as if alive.

Grace instinctively glanced towards the old lady's head.

Short hair, grey and withered.

Then, from the direction of the cafeteria, a shrill scream pierced the night as if cleaving it with a blade, utterly alarming.

"!"

Grace was startled.

In the next second, he quickly recovered, hurriedly bid farewell to the lady, and then turned towards the source of the sound.

But before he could take a few steps, that tremulous old voice called out from behind:

"Remember... stay away from the fourth floor of the dormitory."

Grace's pupils constricted.

Before he could ask anything, the old lady turned around, her shaky steps disappearing into the depths of the cafeteria.

*

In the cafeteria, tables and chairs were chaotically knocked over, and the urgent footsteps and panicked screams merged into a noisy tumult, pure chaos ruling the space.

A broadcaster sat disheveled next to the sink, a knocked-over dining basin by his feet spilling yellowish liquid and long, black strands of hair mixed with saliva forming a sticky lump on the ground.

Yet, he continued to vomit violently, fingering his throat as if something was staunchly stuck there.

"What happened?"

"What's going on here?"

A few broadcasters huddled together, asking in dismay.

"Broke the rules, obviously."

A cool voice came from not far away.

The new broadcasters turned towards the voice. They recognized him - Peyton, a seasoned broadcaster.

Peyton, with his arms folded and wearing an aloof expression, said, "These Level D copies usually aren't too difficult. The key is to follow instructions. As long as you act within the rules, stream, complete the main and side tasks given by the system, surviving should be easy enough—provided, of course, you don't break any rules."

The newcomers felt a chill down their spines:

"Broken, broken the rules?"

"It'd be better for you to look around and find out why exactly this poor soul broke the rules so you can avoid the same fate."

Madelyn, standing by, had heard their entire conversation.

Swallowing hard, he spoke with difficulty: "I… I think I might know."

Attention turned to him.

"He was saying, who knows if there's anything wrong with the meal, whether it would cause trouble if someone ate it, so he wanted to dispose of it into the sink while the NPC wasn't looking…"

This speculation seemed plausible.

Moreover, with the meals looking as vile as slop, disposing of them seemed reasonable, which won him the agreement of several broadcasters, who joined him by the sink with their bowls.

But the moment the soup was poured away, the leading man's expression turned to agony.

The dining basin clattered to the floor, unspoiled broth soaking the ground.

The other broadcasters, startled, backed away, none daring to approach the sink again.

Then, black hair began to emerge from the broadcaster's mouth.

Madelyn described softly, his voice wobbling, cold sweat breaking on his brow.

The listeners were taken aback.

They immediately realized something, turning their heads towards the wall —

Where faded, flaking letters read, "Frugality is Honorable, Waste is Shameful."

Peyton narrowed his eyes, "So, that's one of the rules."

After his comment, the other broadcasters glanced at their almost untouched meals in the dining basins, faces turning pale.

It seemed... they had no choice but to eat.

Not just eat, but ensure nothing was left, not even a single grain of rice.

Outside, Grace stood with his arms crossed, a contemplative look on his face.

—"Rules."

That seemed to be the key word.

The overall game didn't deviate much from his expectations, which relieved Grace.

After all, dealing with creatures following rules was much easier than facing indiscriminate killers.

As long as there were rules, loopholes could be found.

And by finding loopholes, the rules could be exploited.

Perhaps because of the low difficulty level of the instance, the rules weren't strictly enforced, allowing Grace to sneak in successfully as part of the teaching staff.

Just then, the vomiting broadcaster clenched his back and let out a heart-wrenching retch—

"!"

A crisp sound of something hitting the floor echoed.

Several white molars, mixed with blood and saliva, dropped to the ground. Small, the size of a nail cap, they rolled on the floor until one stopped right in front of Grace.

The blood-stained white tooth on the edge of his line of sight seemed eerily bizarre.

Grace watched it, a chill running down his spine.

The small red cloth bag, forgotten in his pocket, suddenly felt heavy, pressing into his thigh, making that patch of skin unbearably hot.

...A molar?

Could this have something to do with the "hidden item" he found earlier?

At that moment, a familiar mechanical voice rang in Grace's ear:

"Ding! Condition met, hidden sideline mission initiating—"

Wait, wait?

Grace panicked.

Before he could react, strands of pitch-black hair wrapped around his wrists and ankles out of nowhere, cold and slimy, tightening like living things.

"Hidden sideline mission initiated!"

As the voice faded, Grace's vision plunged into darkness.

This feeling was all too familiar.

It was exactly like the moment he entered the instance.

In the fleeting moments before losing consciousness, only one thought remained in Grace's mind—

I hate you, crappy live stream!