A figure emerged from the entrance of an alley on the west side of the Red Maple Theater.
Byrne narrowed his eyes. The person was none other than the man in the formal suit. Had Byrne not been hiding in such a specific spot that allowed him to see that exact alley mouth, he might not have noticed him at all.
The man wore his signature black formal attire and the silver-white mask, looking exactly as he did in the auditorium. However, to Byrne, the man currently showed none of the calm, eerie aura he projected on stage; instead, he seemed somewhat cramped and uneasy.
Standing in the shadows of the alley, the man scanned his surroundings for a moment. Once he was certain no one was around, he walked quickly toward the Red Maple Theater. Yet, he didn't head for the iron gate. Instead, he circled to the courtyard wall on the other side, raised his hand, and lightly tapped three times on an inconspicuous crack between the bricks.
A second later, the wall recessed inward, revealing a secret door just wide enough for one person. Once the man stepped inside, the wall quickly reset, blending perfectly back into the surrounding brickwork.
Had the man not demonstrated this right in front of him, Byrne would never have detected a secret door hidden there. Byrne stayed huddled in the shadows until the wall was fully restored before stepping out. After examining the surface for a few moments, he reached out and tapped three times in the same spot.
He waited for several seconds, but the wall did not react. It seemed this secret door only worked for the man in the suit. Realizing this, Byrne checked the time and didn't linger. Nine o'clock was fast approaching; he had to get to the gathering spot.
Byrne hurried back to the iron gate. There were only five minutes left until nine.
Just as before the rewind, the heavy iron gate swung open the moment he approached. Warm yellow light spilled from the depths of the corridor, sealing out the cold night. He adjusted his silver mask, suppressed the doubts in his heart, followed the familiar path through the corridor and carved wooden doors, and stepped into the auditorium once again.
The deep red velvet chairs were as new as ever, and the persistent scent of sandalwood lingered in the air. Everything was identical to the previous timeline. The other seventeen invitees were already seated, silent and stiff-statured, just as they had been before.
This time, he didn't choose a seat in the back. He walked directly to the front row and sat down. He wanted to be as close as possible to observe the man in the suit when he appeared.
Shortly after he sat down, the accompanying music stopped abruptly, and the hall fell into a deathly silence. Then, the curtains on the stage slowly pulled back.
The man in the suit made his entrance on schedule. The black suit made his figure look tall and straight, and the gold-patterned mask glinted coldly under the lights. He stood in the center of the stage, his voice filtered through the mask, still carrying that familiar gravelly tone.
"Welcome to the Red Maple Theater. The gathering is about to begin. Please wait patiently, and keep the attendance guidelines in mind. Those who violate the rules must bear the consequences."
Through the hollow eye sockets of his silver mask, Byrne quietly observed the man on stage. Because he was close enough, the details he had overlooked before the rewind now flooded into his vision with clarity.
While the man's posture remained upright, Byrne noticed that the index finger of his right hand, hanging at his side, was trembling uncontrollably. Byrne shifted his gaze to the man's feet. His black leather shoes were polished to a shine, but there were a few flecks of mud on the heels. The interior of the Red Maple Theater was spotless, and there were no traces of mud in the corridors or by the doors. This mud could only have been brought in from the outside.
These details, which had been invisible before, sent a jolt through Byrne's heart. No wonder both votes were wrong before the rewind; he couldn't have found the liar even if he had thought his head off.
As he continued to observe, Byrne became increasingly certain that this man was not a dominant master in control of the situation. His composure and eeriness were entirely a calculated performance. The supernatural powers he displayed were likely just "illusions" granted to him by the Rules to achieve a deceptive effect. In other words, he was the hidden nineteenth person—the only liar.
While Byrne was deep in thought, the man spoke again. "Time is up. The gathering officially begins."
He snapped his fingers. Byrne noticed that as he raised his hand, his left shoulder dipped slightly, as if he were enduring something or perhaps deliberately hiding something.
As the snap echoed, the chairs automatically rearranged themselves into a circle of eighteen. Byrne glanced at the seats on either side; perhaps because he had changed his starting position, things were different from the previous timeline. Now, his position in the circle was swapped with Number Three.
"Tonight's theme is the game of identity. We shall now enter the first segment—Q&A."
"I will randomly select invitees to answer three questions via a draw. The chosen person must answer truthfully. And, of course, do not forget: the Rules must not be violated."
Like a rewound tape, Byrne experienced the entire process of the first segment again. Lady Seven's trembling during her turn, Number Fourteen's steady but vague phrasing—everything repeated the previous trajectory.
During this time, Byrne brainstormed how to expose the man's identity. Direct exposure was out of the question because it would violate the rules. Most likely, the man would be fine while Byrne himself would be finished. Furthermore, the other invitees might not believe him; instead, they might vote for him out of suspicion, repeating the previous tragedy. He had to find a way to handle him without breaking the rules.
Just then, the turntable stopped on its third spin. Snap! The spotlight hit Byrne.
"Excellent. It seems Mr. Three is also full of confidence. Now, listen closely. First question: Does your job require frequent communication with others?"
Number Three?
Byrne was stunned for a split second by the number before realizing his position had changed. Afterward, he answered those same three questions once more.
The first segment proceeded systematically. The answers from the other invitees were no different from before—still a series of vague descriptions and lifestyle covers. Finally, all eighteen invitees completed their Q&A, and the gathering moved to the second segment.
Due to the change in seating, Byrne was now the third person to go on stage. Watching the man in the suit talk eloquently about the rules—especially when he mentioned the identity cards—Byrne felt the entire explanation was a total sham.
Soon, it was Byrne's turn. He walked onto the stage, drew a card from the man's hand, glanced at it quickly, and handed it back. Then, he turned to the lectern.
But this time, his words changed.
"Everyone, I already know who the liar is. But before I give the answer, I would like to ask Mr. Formal Suit a question."
At this point, Byrne turned his head to look at the man in the suit.
"Answer me. As the embodiment of the Rules, why are you wearing a mask just like the rest of us?"