“I’m looking at the live comments right now, and... well, the elimination of two players this early in the game seems to have shocked not just us here in the studio, but everyone following the broadcast. What’s your take?”

  “An unexpected start indeed,” said the second commentator. “Of course, since the encounter took place in pitch darkness, it was difficult to see exactly what happened to Number 15 and Number 16. But judging by the sounds alone, we can safely say it wasn't a pleasant experience.”

  “It is worth reminding our viewers: our players are participating mentally within this created ‘pocket universe.’ Therefore, it is impossible for them to suffer physical harm. However, due to the immense psychological pressure they experience, they are constantly monitored by our medical staff.”

  “Personally, I’d say psychological trauma is all but guaranteed for Numbers 15 and 16.”

  “That is precisely the risk of ‘The Six Hours of God.’”

  ***

  “If this is the situation at the very start, I dread to think what things will look like by the end of the six hours. What is the status of players 15 and 16?”

  “Their vitals have started to return to normal since we sedated them, Ma’am.”

  Relieved by her assistant's report, the woman eased into her chair and pulled herself closer to the desk. She opened the spectacle case on the table, took out the cloth, and removed her glasses to clean them.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Feeling the assistant's gaze lingering on her, the doctor turned, her eyes narrowing slightly without the lenses.

  “Was there something you wanted to say?”

  “Ma’am... even though we couldn't see it clearly, the player who attacked 15 and 16 must have been Number 99. Isn't it unfair for him to defeat two players with such an overwhelming difference in power?”

  “No. On the contrary, that is the entire point of The Six Hours of God. Players with high intelligence and imagination establish an overwhelming superiority over those who don't. This power gap makes itself known cruelly, especially in the first game.”

  The doctor put her clean glasses back on and continued.

  “My colleague, who was on duty for the German games, told me that many players who were overly confident had that confidence shattered after being eliminated in the first session. Some even required psychological support.”

  The assistant smiled involuntarily at the doctor's words, then fell silent. She understood what her superior was saying; Number 99's power—and the inadequacy of 15 and 16 against it—was perfectly natural. Like a big fish eating the small ones.

  But the disturbing thoughts in her head wouldn't go away. Number 99 was justified in retaliating against the two who attacked him, of course. But did he need to be so ruthless? When the gap was already so large, couldn't he have stopped them in a more peaceful way?

  Noticing her assistant was drowning in thought, the doctor cleared her throat to get her attention.

  “Your thoughts are written all over your face, so I understand. But don't forget, we are part of the unit that monitors the players' medical condition. We must never pick sides. Understood?”

  The assistant's face flushed with shame. She gave a bashful nod, acknowledging her superior's point.

  To break the tense atmosphere, the doctor offered a gentle smile, winked, and added quietly:

  “Though, between you and me... I agree. Number 99 is a total bastard.”

  The assistant, trying hard not to laugh, looked visibly relieved.

  “Alright!” the doctor said, clapping her hands together. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

  “Understood, Ma'am!”