Illusion Report

Under the deathly silent gazes, Mai Mingle walked step by step into the dining area.

All eyes were fixed on her, turning the air viscous. The atmosphere felt heavy and stagnant, as if she had to break through immense pressure just to take a single step forward.

But this frozen silence didn’t last. Though it felt like an eternity, it was probably less than a minute before the restaurant suddenly, without any warning, erupted in a clamor of chatter and laughter. It was like a sound bomb had detonated, making Mai Mingle’s heart shudder.

’...Bombs. Right. Starting this half-hour, the diners can set "bombs" and "dead ends" for me.’

’Dead ends have warnings, so I can put them out of my mind for now. But to avoid the "bombs," there’s only one way: find all the rules. I only have four rules on hand. Is that enough to avoid the bombs completely?’

’Are there other, deeply hidden rules waiting to get me killed, just like Xia Tian?’

But she didn’t have unlimited time. Once the third half-hour passed, her risk of death would skyrocket again. Mai Mingle now had to choose between finding the face and finding the rules.

The answer was obvious.

"Never done anything so intense in my life," she grumbled. Standing beside the table of the couple with bowed heads, she continued muttering to herself, "Making people risk their lives to find something... I wonder who came up with this..."

The couple looked up at her and exchanged a glance.

"You’re looking for the face, aren’t you?" the wife asked out of the blue.

If their previous conversation had felt more like the couple reciting lines to Mai Mingle, the wife’s tone now sounded as if she were having a real, autonomous conversation.

Mai Mingle studied her for a second or two without replying.

"I know where the face is hidden. All of us do." This part wasn’t surprising. What the wife said next was. "I want to make a deal with you."

’Just talking to the diners isn’t against the rules.’

The key was to avoid saying something she shouldn’t. Since the four rules she had might not be complete, Mai Mingle didn’t know what was forbidden. All she could do was respond with the shortest, most ambiguous syllable possible: "...Hmm?"

"The two face pieces you just found were the easiest and safest," the wife said, glancing toward the restrooms with a smile. "As for the rest... if you rush to get them without knowing what you’re doing, you’ll die on the spot."

"I still don’t think making a deal with her is a good idea," the husband suddenly interjected, shooting Mai Mingle a sidelong glance. "We don’t know what the others will think. What if they try to stop you? And when you cause trouble, won’t I be the one who has to clean up the mess?"

The wife patted his hand reassuringly. "Just let me talk to her. Besides, if the deal succeeds, everyone gets a piece of the pie. They’ll have no reason to stop us."

Although she had no idea what they were really talking about, Mai Mingle glanced around.

On the surface, at least, the other diners didn’t seem to have heard their table’s conversation. They were still eating, drinking, chatting, and laughing, like a group of dutiful background extras.

’...Is she lying to me?’

’But "verbal traps" were a tactic from the previous half-hour. In this half-hour, the diners can use far more direct and lethal methods.’

Unsure of the woman’s motive, Mai Mingle tentatively made another sound: "Oh?"

’Not even God Himself could accuse her of "saying something forbidden" for making that little sound, right?’

"I can do my best to protect you, warn you about the various risks—including the traps set by other diners—and help you survive," the wife said. "I’ll also tell you where the face is hidden, allowing you to leave the restaurant successfully in the end."

’What’s the catch?’

This time, Mai Mingle didn’t even dare to make a sound. She could only look at the woman and tilt her head, hoping her expression would convey her question.

"You must be wondering why I’m helping you and what’s in it for me, right?" The wife was surprisingly perceptive. "I just need you to buy time."

’Why?’

"The woman who sent you to find the face—did she tell you that this restaurant was originally her domain? Her face is actually the tool she uses to maintain this place.

"When the restaurant’s rules aren’t active, she can repeatedly reinforce her control over it through the act of ’eating.’ Only when the rules are in effect is she forced into a corner, waiting for you to either die or find all her tools and bring them back to her."

This explanation supplemented the information revealed by the woman who was applying makeup, but it was largely consistent and didn’t contradict anything.

"So, what about us diners? We’d also like a piece of the ’restaurant’ pie. When the woman looking for her face temporarily loses control, we have a chance to consume parts of the ’restaurant’ itself... Oh, no, I don’t mean these few dishes on the table. Normally, you can’t see what we eat. There are, however, a few things on other tables that are what we usually eat, just manifested into the shape of food."

The wife waved her hand over the table. The dishes on their table looked normal and smelled fragrant; they certainly didn’t seem like the things the residents enjoyed eating.

Mai Mingle recalled another female diner mentioning a "bedroom smell."

"Do you understand what I’m saying? As long as you’re alive but haven’t found all the face pieces, it’s the ideal situation for us. Because this is our chance, while the woman looking for her face is away, to devour as much of her domain as we can. By the time she returns, the Black Heart Restaurant might have vanished entirely. These periods when the rules are active are rare. If we were to let you die for nothing, or let you find the face and complete your mission too soon, wouldn’t that be a waste of a golden opportunity?"