The room hung in stunned silence.Li Shangwu flipped over his card—Liar gred back.“One by one, you all lied,” Qi Xia said ftly. “The truth? We’re already dead.”“How?” Zhang Chenze asked.“The room’s volume.” Qi Xia pointed to his calcutions.Human oxygen consumption: 0.007m3/min per person.Ten people × 13 hours (12 asleep + 1 game) = 54.6m3.But the room’s volume?“The grid on the walls and floor—each square is 1m2. This room is 4m × 4m × 3m = 48m3.”“Impossible.” Zhao Haibo frowned.“Exactly.” Qi Xia circled 49.14m3—the oxygen needed for nine people.“Unless the Man-Goat isn’t human.”The doctor’s eyes widened.“And his strength?” Qi Xia gestured to the shattered skull. “A human can’t crush a skull with one hand.”The room’s tension spiked.“One answer,” Qi Xia said, sliding his ballot forward. “The real liar is him.”One by one, they wrote.All ballots read Man-Goat.The clock struck 1:00.The Man-Goat approached, his voice hollow. “The loser… me.”He pulled a gun, aimed it at his chest, and fired.A deafening crack.He colpsed, cwing at his wound, a guttural scream tearing from his throat.“Is he…?” Qiao Jiajing whispered.The room stayed silent.The Man-Goat was dead.Li Shangwu picked up the gun—empty.Ugly thoughts surfaced.“Can we leave?” Zhao Haibo demanded.No doors. No exits.Tian Tian spped herself. “Still hurts. Why?”“Maybe we’re ghosts?” Han Yimo suggested.The room’s walls, the corpse’s stench, the air…They were alive.But dead.Trapped.