Next, it was Halia’s turn. Beneath her feet, the words appeared in the constellation-like pattern:

  "Have you ever fabricated facts in your reports?"

  Halia froze, her eyes darting nervously between the others. A sharp breath escaped her lips, and for a moment, she seemed unsure whether to speak. But then, her hand instinctively reached for the press badge hanging around her neck. She closed her eyes briefly, a flood of memories rushing back, and whispered, "How should I answer? This has always been my secret pain."

  Her voice trembled as she spoke the truth she had long buried. “I have.”

  The room fell into an oppressive silence. Her admission hung in the air like a heavy fog. She remembered the report on industrial wastewater—how the factory owner had bribed her editor, and how she had been cornered into accepting fake test results. The lies in that report had led to tragedy. Residents fell ill. Some died. And she—she had been the cause.

  "I didn’t think... I didn’t realize how many people would suffer because of me," she muttered, her voice cracking with guilt.

  The silence deepened. No one dared to speak. Her confession seemed to have cast a shadow over the entire room.

  Next, Professor Elton stepped forward. His question appeared beneath him:

  "Have you ever betrayed your marriage?"

  His face turned beet red as the question pierced him like a blade. He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, the weight of his past threatening to consume him.

  "I was wrong," he whispered repeatedly, his voice barely audible. "As a professor, I was wrong."

  In his mind, he was back in the heat of a summer night eight years ago. She was a brilliant PhD student—shy, dedicated. They had spent long hours in the lab, working late into the night. One evening, as they finalized her thesis, their closeness escalated, and before he could stop himself, he kissed her. She didn’t pull away.

  "I betrayed my wife," he whispered, his voice heavy with shame. That moment had haunted him, a constant reminder of his weakness and moral failure.

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  The room's weight shifted again as Michael stepped forward. His question appeared:

  "Did you kill your own brother?"

  The room fell deathly still. Michael’s eyes were blank, his expression unreadable.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice low and detached. “When I was eighteen…”

  He didn’t elaborate. The air was thick with the unanswered question, the void left by his incomplete response hanging over them like a suffocating cloud.

  Finally, it was Orion's turn. He glanced at the others, noting the tension, the heavy silence that seemed to cling to them all. He felt it too, the strain of facing these impossible questions. His question appeared beneath him:

  "Will you stay here in this castle forever?"

  Orion raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. He had expected something more challenging, something that would force him to confront his true desires. This felt different, manipulative in its simplicity.

  “I refuse,” he said, his voice calm and steady. He met Granna’s gaze, who was lounging lazily on her throne, her posture relaxed, almost too relaxed.

  Michael, snapping out of his earlier gloom, smirked. “What, you haven’t figured it out yet?” He gestured toward Granna with a lewd grin. “She’s got her eye on you. Look at her! With a body like that, what’s to refuse? This place is a damn palace. She’s probably a rich widow.”

  Orion shot Michael a cold look. “I have my reasons,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the banter like a knife. “Reasons you wouldn’t understand.”

  Granna shifted in her seat, her expression one of amused boredom. She pulled her legs back and sat upright, her eyes gleaming with intrigue. "Such a dull answer," she sighed. "But no matter. That was just the warm-up. Now, let’s begin the real game."

  Orion’s gaze never wavered. “Granna,” he said, crossing his arms. “If we win this game, will you answer one of my questions?”

  Granna tilted her head, her interest piqued. "Oh? A bargain?" She chuckled softly. "How bold. But do you have anything of value to offer?"

  "I do," Orion replied smoothly, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Sleep with me."

  The room went silent. The women blushed, some looked away, while Granna remained unfazed, even intrigued. Her eyes gleamed with mischief as she leaned forward, her lips curling into a smirk. "Very well," she purred, her voice dripping with sensuality. "You have a deal."

  At that moment, the massive ruby at the center of the constellation disk began to glow, flooding the entire castle with a crimson light. The base of the ruby spun, setting the disk into motion. The participants staggered as the ground beneath them spun faster and faster, their surroundings a dizzying blur.

  When the spinning finally stopped, the ruby dimmed, revealing what lay beneath it: a book and eight masks, each matching the identities they had drawn earlier. The group hesitated before stepping forward, each selecting their respective mask. Michael grabbed one symbolizing power, the bold lines of the mask fitting his brash persona perfectly.

  Orion approached the book, his eyes narrowing. The cover was unmarked, void of any title. It exuded a weighty presence, as if it held everything they had endured so far.

  "This book..." Orion murmured, his voice steady, yet his conviction unwavering. "This is the key."