Turning the Tables

The sixth night.

At the edge of a snowy mountain, far from the Red Team Base.

Only because of the direction of the wind and snow had they found a place temporarily sheltered from the wind. They used an extra blanket from the vehicle to light a bonfire.

The firelight flickered across Unlucky Salted Fish's face.

Bright, then dim.

Just like his complicated, conflicted feelings, which were wavering too.

The night before, when that high-precision sniper rifle, the AWP, had been aimed at him, he'd been utterly despairing.

"Tell me your identity."

The cold, menacing tone had made every hair on his body stand on end.

He knew full well that if he said even one word wrong, the other person would fire without hesitation. Just as he'd blown Waltz's head apart, he'd blow Unlucky Salted Fish's head apart too.

Avenge Waltz?

For an instant, he had felt that impulse.

But when he realized he was at the other person's mercy too, the impulse vanished at once, replaced by an overwhelming will to survive.

"I'm the Traitor! I'm the Traitor at the Red Team Base!!!"

That was what Unlucky Salted Fish had shouted at the first opportunity.

This fully armed person had to be a player!

And a player from the opposing base.

As for their identity, Unlucky Salted Fish had no idea.

They might be the opposing side's Traitor, or they might be a Good Person from the opposing base.

Unlucky Salted Fish couldn't tell.

He could only rely on instinct and shout out his true identity.

Waiting was agonizing.

At that moment, his life could be taken at any time. It wasn't just that every day felt like a year—it was as if every second lasted a year!

"Good. I'm your teammate."

When the other person said that,