The Ultimate Proctor

3

From his position, the leader was clearly Invigilator 001.

He seemed like a traveler seeking shelter from the snow, glancing around the room as he pulled off his black leather gloves. He smiled slightly and said, "Not bad. Knew to light a fire. The snow's heavy outside. Quite cold coming over."

No one smiled back.

Most of the people inside shrank back.

As if oblivious to this reaction, he walked over to the stove and warmed his hands by the fire. The hint of a smile still lingered at the corner of his lips, carrying a lazy sense of mockery.

The snow on his shoulders and collar slowly melted, leaving damp patches, which then slowly dried under the heat.

Everyone watched him, but no one dared speak.

The tin can thrown out had turned to dust, yet they'd trekked here without a scratch.

Oliver hid behind Arthur, trembling, causing Arthur to vibrate along with him.

The coward breathed out, "Are they even human?"

Invigilator 001 seemed to hear. He turned his head and looked at Arthur.

His pupils were extremely dark, hidden in the shadow of the backlight. Occasionally, the glow of the lamp reflected in them, fleeting. But the sense of mockery remained.

Arthur watched him expressionlessly, pressed down the trembling spirit clinging to his back, and asked calmly, "Can you shut up?"

Oliver froze.

...

Only after Invigilator 001 finished warming his hands and put his gloves back on did the invigilator left at the door speak in an official tone: "We are the invigilators for this exam. I am 154. We've just received a report that two of you failed to answer according to regulations."

Eleanor Farrell's face went deathly pale. Barely able to stand, she now looked ready to faint.

She was like a faucet, tears gushing out.

As for the balding man tied to the sofa... he'd stopped breathing.

"But..."

Someone suddenly spoke up.

Invigilator 154 stopped talking and looked towards the speaker.

Oliver poked his head out from behind Arthur.

Surprisingly, the fearless questioner was his drunken father, Benjamin Yu.

"At... at the very start, you didn't specify what we were supposed to use to write!" Benjamin was intimidated by the gaze, stammering.

"All regulations have prompts," 154 stated.

"Where's the prompt?"

Invigilator 154 looked at him impassively. "I am not a candidate."

"B-but... we didn't know! Ignorance shouldn't be a crime..." Benjamin's voice grew fainter until it was a mosquito buzz.

154: "That is irrelevant to us."

154 maintained his coffin face, continuing officiously: "We will only penalize the individuals involved in the violation. The others may continue the exam."

He took out a stark white slip of paper and read the messy handwriting on it.

"According to the information received, the violators are one middle-aged man and one young lady—"

He glanced at Invigilator 001, then back at the paper. After a pause, he repeated stiffly: "One middle-aged man and one lady. The two violators will come with us."

While he was speaking, the other invigilator, 922, had already hoisted the balding man off the sofa and dragged him like a dead dog towards the door.

The door opened, and cold wind howled in.

Snow pellets pelted faces. People in the room screamed and huddled near the stove, as if being touched by a snowflake would turn them to ash.

Everyone watched as Invigilator 922 led the balding man across the threshold and vanished into the snowstorm.

Leaving only the balding man's terrified wail and a puddle on the floor.

154 continued with his coffin face. "There is still one young... ahem, one lady..."

He lifted his eyes, frowning as he scanned the room.

Benjamin and two kind-hearted old ladies had used the chaos to shield Eleanor behind them, trembling like sieves.

154's gaze was just about to settle on them when Invigilator 001 tilted his chin towards Arthur. "The other one is him. Take him away."

"Who?"

154 looked down at the paper.

The bold, scrawled handwriting clearly read: Young Lady.

154 stared blankly at Arthur.

Arthur, who was being stared at, was glaring at Invigilator 001, his expression icy.

154 had no doubt that if this cold-faced handsome man had a knife, their boss's head would already be severed.

"This—"

He was about to speak when the commanding Invigilator 001 flipped up his coat collar and walked into the snowstorm.

...

...

"s**t! Bro!!"

"Damn it!! You lot are unreasonable!" Benjamin Yu jumped up.

"Not him! It's me! Not him—" Eleanor Farrell looked dazed for two seconds, then frantically pushed through the crowd to get out.

Only to see the door wide open, gritty snow swirling in the wind, pouring in by the handful.

There was no one at the door.

The three invigilators, with the balding man and the wrongly detained Arthur, had already disappeared without a sound.

"Stop yelling! They're gone, got the guts to chase 'em?" Dominic Taylor spat, strode over, and slammed the door shut, bolting it twice.

The room fell silent instantly. Benjamin, eyes bloodshot, slapped his thigh angrily and slumped heavily to the floor.

Eleanor collapsed back into her chair, crying even harder.

She hadn't stopped since entering this cabin, crying enough tears for a lifetime.

Oliver stood pale and rigid by the door for a long moment, then turned and hauled his father up, frowning as he whispered, "Bro left me a message."

"What?" Benjamin was shocked.

Those invigilators moved inhumanly fast. Arthur had time to leave a message?

"Told me to find a knife," Oliver said.

"What knife?"

Oliver slowly shook his head, not answering. Instead, he looked towards the answer wall.

Benjamin followed his gaze.

He scanned aimlessly at first, but finally his eyes settled on one spot.

There were several thin knife marks.

"Who made those?" Benjamin asked, puzzled.

Oliver: "They were there before the question appeared. I saw them."

He mulled it over and finally understood his brother's earlier actions.

"I get it."

Benjamin was utterly confused. "Get what now?"

"Bro kept saying he was looking for a pen, but what he was actually handling were axes and hunting tools." Oliver looked at the knife marks on the wall. "Didn't the invigilator say just now? All the rules have prompts. Those knife marks are it."

Ink couldn't leave marks on it, but that knife could.

So it was the designated pen.

Benjamin's eyes lit up. He muttered, "Still capable after all."

Oliver: "Huh?"

"Then let's find the knife! We can help a bit."

Benjamin was about to turn and announce this grandly when Oliver clamped a hand over his mouth.

"No, no, no! Don't!"

Oliver pretended to be comforting Benjamin, slapping his back vigorously while saying loudly, "Relax, relax, my brother will be fine!"

Benjamin nearly coughed up blood from the pounding.

In an extremely low voice, he added, "Bro said... the knife was hidden."

...

The snow fell heavier.

The wind blew erratically from all directions. Everything was shrouded in mist, obscuring the outlines of mountains and trees, but there were lights in the distance.

Arthur walked through the snow, his face cold.

The moment he was pushed out the door, the cabin behind him vanished. There was no going back.

One thing, however, was confirmed: accompanied by an invigilator, they wouldn't be pulverized in the snow.

But compared to the snow, the invigilators annoyed him more.

The balding man was still wailing like a mourner, making Arthur feel like he was attending a funeral. Fortunately, the path wasn't too long. Before freezing to death, he finally saw a building.

It was a small Western-style house, isolated and surrounded by woods.

Generally, ghost stories loved such houses.

"Here." 154 gave Arthur a shove into the house.

Under the lamplight, Arthur's handsome face might have frozen stiff – thin lips pressed tight, skin pale and cold, an air of cold indifference washing over you.

The decor of this little house was the work of some genius. The ground floor was filled with murals and sculptures, large and small, crammed into every corner. Just turning your head, you'd see a stiff, pale human face.

The balding man slumped to the floor as soon as he entered.

Seeing he was about to leave another wet patch, 922 unhesitatingly dragged him down the corridor.

The balding man's cries came from that direction: "What? I was wrong! I was wrong— I won't act recklessly again! What are you doing?"

"Afraid?"

A low voice suddenly sounded by his ear.

Invigilator 001 was standing beside Arthur, taking off his gloves, and asked casually.

Arthur glanced at him, walked straight past him, and went inside.

154 looked at Arthur, then at 001.

"Looking at me?" Invigilator 001 tilted his chin towards the corridor, lazily saying, "Hurry up. Someone's eager."

...

The Western house looked small, but that corridor was long.

So long it made you suspect a ghost was playing tricks, trapping you in an endless loop.

Fortunately, it wasn't truly endless.

A few minutes later, 922 stopped ahead, opened a door, shoved the balding man in, and locked it.

Arthur finally spoke coldly, "What's the penalty?"

154 paused, then said, "Detention."

Arthur: "..."

He thought these people might be addicted to playing house.

He looked at 154.

154: "Not lying, it really is detention."

For some reason, his voice, usually steady, held a trace of tension when he said this.

"You're afraid," Arthur said. "You've been detained before?"

154 frowned: "Why should I be afraid? You should be the one afraid."

As soon as he said this, he felt something strange underfoot. The texture under his soles felt different... sticky.

Then, he heard a faint trickling sound.

He looked down to see thick, dark liquid seeping from under a door.

That door held the balding man.

After a stunned second, he realized it was blood.

Less than two seconds later, the balding man's cries came muffled through the door. The soundproofing was good, making it distant, but even so, the anguish and despair were clear.

"Don't worry, he won't die," 154 said, opening another door opposite. Taking advantage of Arthur's distraction, he pushed him inside. "Make the most of your time."

With that, he slammed the door shut and locked it with a click-click.

Arthur heard his voice muffled through the door c***k: "Just using the wrong stationery, nothing that harsh. Detention just makes you relive your worst fear repeatedly. I'll come get you in 3 hours."

...

In a room on the second floor of the small house, Invigilator 001 sat in an armchair, chin propped on one hand.

A metal bird stand sat on the table, a pitch-black bird perched atop it.

His gaze rested on the snowy woods outside the window, fingers idly stroking the bird's head. His face was expressionless, seeming utterly bored.

Invigilator 922 was complaining furiously: "Pissed on me four times on the way! I say one thing, he pisses himself in fright! Say another, he pisses again!"

154 came in, the slip of paper rustling in his hand: "Young lady! You wrote 'young lady'!"

His coffin face finally cracked. If he'd had a hundred times the courage, he would have shoved that little slip in 001's face.

Sadly, he didn't.

But after grumbling for a while, they realized the man in the armchair wasn't responding, his gaze still fixed heavily outside.

"Boss? Boss?" 922 tried calling twice, finally having to raise his voice: "Victor!"

The Invigilator 001 finally snapped out of it.

922 shoved 154 forward a step and retreated eight feet away.

154: "..."

Damn it.

Victor Clarke's gaze swept between them. "Zoned out, didn't catch that. Complain again?"

154 shook his head. "Forget it, forget it."

922 stepped forward sheepishly. "Boss... what were you doing?"

Victor raised an eyebrow. "What kind of nonsense question is that?"

"Nothing... I just felt like you seemed... a bit down," 922 said.

"Did I?"

"A... little," 922 hedged. "Because you got dragged here to invigilate?"

"No."

"Then why..." 154 muttered under his breath.

"Speak up, didn't catch the last part," Victor Clarke glanced at him.

His pitch-black eyes made people uneasy when he looked at them. Even after nearly three years, 154 and 922 weren't used to it.

154 shrank back another half-step, cleared his throat, and said, "I said... you seemed to be in a good mood, so why drag someone who didn't violate the rules here? It's a bit against regulations."

Victor said, "I am following regulations. Didn't you see that 'ink' on his hands?"

154 paused. "Oh, I didn't look closely..."

Victor stroked the black bird's head, saying, "Besides..."

922 and 154 pricked up their ears.

However, their boss 'besides'-ed for about ten minutes without producing a follow-up.

After another long while, he finally said, "Never mind. Nothing."

"..."

The two subordinates nearly choked on their breath, not daring to rebel, and slunk off.

...

The third floor of the little house had a small attic. One wall was covered in white screens, each corresponding to a detention room.

The scenes experienced by those in detention would be projected here. In a way, this room held many secrets.

However, at this moment, the room was heavily locked. No one came to peek.

Two screens were lit: one for the balding man's room, one for Arthur's.

The screen showing the balding man was a b****y blur. Through the red haze, you could vaguely make out a figure with sagging shoulders and a cluster of pale faces.

Arthur's screen, however, was blank.

It showed the room in its original state: three mirrors, a wall clock, a wooden table, and a wooden stool. Nothing more.

...

Three hours later, 154 came to unlock the detention room door, keys in hand.

He braced himself for limbs flying in his face, but the lock clicked open, and he froze.

Because the detention room was empty. The cold-faced handsome guy who'd been detained was already slumped over the table, fast asleep.

His elbow covered his face, like he'd dozed off in an actual high school classroom.

The sound of 154 entering finally woke him.

He frowned, half-opened his eyes, glanced at 154, then closed them again. He sat there radiating sleepiness and irritation for a moment before finally straightening up and leaning back in the chair. "Time's up?"

154: "…………………………………………………………………………"

Perhaps... sleep a little longer?