The Erotica Heroine Trapped in a Horror Game novel Chapter 5

“We’ve figured out what the Boss prefers,” the girl whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “But what about what he absolutely despises? Because if someone chooses the wrong dish, it’s not just a loss—it’s death.”

I raised my hand, breaking the tense silence.

“I found something in the library,” I explained, my voice steady. “A photo album filled with snapshots of a little boy’s birthday celebrations. Year after year, from his childhood all the way into his twenties. In every single picture, the cake remained untouched. That tells me the Boss hates fruit cake.”

With that deadly detail uncovered, a darker question settled over us.

If every person was required to bring a dish, who would be foolish—or cruel—enough to offer the one that meant certain death?

After a long, uneasy discussion, we resolved to draw lots.

The guy with the buzz cut drew the shortest stick. His eyes darted nervously, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, he looked straight at me.

When the banquet finally began, Cheryl was the first to step forward. She presented a creamy stew with a practiced grace that suggested she’d done this many times before.

The system’s voice rang out, clear and cheerful:

[Congratulations. You have presented the Boss’s favorite dish.]

[You have earned the Boss’s favor. You may now make a new wish.]

[Please state your chosen cause of death.]

Cheryl’s breath hitched, her eyes shining with excitement and relief.

“I choose to die outside the dungeon’s boundaries,” she declared quickly. “No Boss, curse, disaster, or accident within this dungeon will touch me. Even if I break the world’s rules, I will remain unharmed!”

The room went silent, everyone frozen in shock. Then, anger spread like wildfire across their faces.

She was supposed to be the leader, the one guiding us all safely out. That was why we’d agreed to give her the wish.

But it was all a lie. She had used us to save herself.

The Boss gave a slight nod.

“As you wish.”

Under the weight of furious, accusing stares, Cheryl only sneered.

“Please. It’s every man for himself, isn’t it? This is a horror game. If you’re dumb enough to trust others and hand over your clues, that’s your problem, not mine.”

The banquet wasn’t over yet, but no one dared speak. One by one, the others stepped forward to place their dishes on the table.

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