You’re Telling Me This Is a Slice-of-Life?

Wooo—wooo—

The shrill sound of police sirens echoed overhead, making people glance outside every few seconds, their expressions tense.

It felt like being a piece of meat thrown into a den of wolves—every slight movement sent shivers down their spines.

This was the underground pipeline beneath the port district. Yuuki had already thought of a way to avoid detection: as long as they kept moving, it didn’t matter whether they were above or below ground. The downside was having to crawl hunched over through this cramped, foul-smelling tunnel.

It was safe, but it was also incredibly unpleasant.

“Yuuki, you’re saying those pursuers are essentially the ghouls?” Li Dan, a veteran player, seemed unfazed by the discomfort, his expression unchanged.

“Yeah, Brother Li. These people may be wearing uniforms, but their actions make no sense. If they were really police, their priority should be protecting civilians.” Yuuki followed behind him, face full of sincerity, though inwardly, he was cursing his own bad luck.

He had already built up the perfect persona of untapped potential, but now he was being forced into the spotlight. If he’d known this would happen, he would’ve let Hayasaka Ai take the lead. Who the hell wanted to stare at a man’s ass?

“Speaking of which, Brother Li, didn’t you notice anything strange?”

“I had my suspicions, but they were chasing us too aggressively for me to hold back.” Li Dan, having crawled far enough, raised a hand to signal the group to stop. He curled up against the tunnel wall, casting an approving glance at Yuuki.

“You’ve got sharp observation skills. Don’t worry, I’m not doubting you. Intelligence and perception aren’t things that improve dramatically in Reincarnation Games unless you’re using specific innate traits or chaos artifacts. Old players and new players are usually about the same in that regard.”

 This Reincarnation Game didn’t have an attribute system—there was no way to suddenly get smarter.

“When people are desperate, they tap into potential they never knew they had. I didn’t even realize I had a working brain until now,” Yuuki said, forcing a bitter smile.

“Don’t sell yourself short. Anyone who can study medicine isn’t an idiot. Me? I barely scraped through a third-rate college. The fact that I’m still alive is pure luck.” Li Dan chuckled self-deprecatingly, then pulled some stolen compressed biscuits from his inventory and handed them around.

“It’s only six-thirty in the evening, and it’s already unbearable. The port district isn’t that big—sooner or later, they’ll track us down.” He sounded fatigued as he glanced at the other four, deep in thought.

Everyone had already shared their cards—especially their core skills, their so-called ‘innate traits.’

Yuuki had been truthful. The concept-extraction skill sounded impressive. The blonde girl had some kind of hacking skill, probably from spending too much time on her phone. Mai had invisibility, which was particularly useful in this scenario.

[But it’s not enough. Their innate traits alone wouldn’t be enough to break through the encirclement. Someone wasn’t telling the whole truth.]

His gaze landed on Yuuki. Out of everyone, this newcomer was the hardest to read—familiar, yet unfamiliar.

Familiar, because he resembled those desperate new players who, when backed into a corner, suddenly became the key to breaking through a crisis. At first glance, they seemed unremarkable, but in some way, they were inherently compatible with the Reincarnation Games.

Unfamiliar, because he was too much like them. His progression—from panic to calm—was too stark, his breakthroughs filled with too many coincidences.

For a moment, Li Dan thought of a previous scenario and another short-haired boy just like this.

His fingers twitched slightly as unwelcome memories surfaced. His gaze sharpened.

“Brother Li?” Yuuki had been chatting idly with the rich guy but turned his head, eyes clear with the naivety of a student untainted by the world.

“Sorry, I’m just exhausted from all the back-to-back fighting.” Li Dan looked away, nodding approvingly. “Yuuki, you really are a genius. Maybe it’ll be you who leads everyone to survival—not me.”

“You’re joking. And I definitely don’t want to be some genius. I should be lying in bed playing video games right now, not crammed inside this stinking tunnel.”

Yuuki started complaining, and his grievances resonated with the others. Soon, everyone was gritting their teeth.

Who the hell wants supernatural powers? Give me back my peaceful everyday life!

That was just how it was for new players—they hadn’t yet experienced the exhilarating high of surpassing human limits, of doing whatever they pleased.

A fleeting smirk of disdain crossed Li Dan’s face, but he quickly returned to his composed, mature self.

“Like I said, we don’t get a choice in this. By the way, what was that about breaking through? You mentioned your innate trait?”

“Oh yeah! I got something called ‘Akina Speed Star.’ The moment I grabbed the steering wheel and floored the gas, my body just knew what to do!” Yuuki’s eyes sparkled as he gestured animatedly, nearly spitting in excitement. The rich guy beside him looked envious.

Guns, cars, and sports—the three great passions of men. Who wouldn’t want to be this cool?

Li Dan nodded in satisfaction but internally, he was skeptical.

Good thing that ability only works once per day and isn’t permanent.

That was typical of the Reincarnation Games’ balancing—otherwise, it would be ridiculously overpowered. But still, something wasn’t right. Why did things keep lining up so perfectly? There wasn’t even an opening for him to test the kid.

His gaze drifted toward the sultry girl absentmindedly admiring her nails, her chest deliberately unbuttoned.

She’s no different from the two ‘companions’ Thomas keeps around. Most female new players traded their bodies for safety—it was normal.

Then there was the Mai, wary of everyone, but with a newfound air of pride—like a crow that had turned into a phoenix.

It made sense. That “unobservable” innate trait was invaluable.

But neither of them could escape the encirclement. Only Yuuki could—it had to be Yuuki.

“Brother Li, by the way, Thomas hasn’t been messing around, huh? He hasn’t pushed tech advancements in hours.”

“He’s a veteran, not an idiot. If you can tell something’s off, so can he. Why? You think something’s wrong?” Li Dan’s gaze was calm.

“No no, just curious. Thomas seems to have a personal grudge against me,” Yuuki said with an awkward laugh, curling up in the tunnel. “Anyway, let’s all get some rest. We’ll have to crawl again in an hour.”

A round of groans and sighs, then soon, snoring filled the tunnel. They were exhausted.

Li Dan watched Yuuki’s back for several long seconds before finally lying down.

Yuuki could feel the gaze withdraw. He faked a snore, but his eyes remained wide open—meeting Hayasaka Ai’s equally alert blue ones.

He’s lying.

Yuuki mouthed the words silently.

The tunnel was deathly quiet. Apart from the occasional cough from the rich guy, even the sound of dripping water was absent. It was the stifling heat of a summer night.

But if one listened closely, they could hear the rustling of fabric, the faint brush of fingers against skin—muffled laughter held to the lowest whisper.

Li Dan was listening. Even the rich guy had his ears perked. But no one stopped it. In the Reincarnation Game, where death loomed constantly, interrupting others’ indulgences was a sure way to earn resentment.

As long as they didn’t go too far, who cared?

A cool, silk-like sensation trailed across Yuuki’s stomach. A leg pressed against his waist, pants lightly grazing against his own.

The air grew heavier with heat, but Yuuki and Hayasaka Ai’s eyes remained devoid of desire—only the cold, calculated gaze of experts remained.

“He’s lying.”

“Mm. Five minutes after I sent him that message, a swarm of blue dots dispersed. That means they’ve already surrounded Thomas, yet he chose to run. It doesn’t match what we heard on the radio earlier.”

A pause. Then, with slow, deliberate strokes, Hayasaka Ai wrote on his chest:

“Mai told me something. When we revealed our abilities, Li Dan had a certain look in his eyes. A look she knows all too well.”

“What kind of look?”

Hayasaka Ai thought for a moment, then mimicked Mai’s tone as she wrote:

“Like the kind of gaze some people have at a fan meeting—politely greeting you on the surface while indulging in deranged fantasies in their heads.”