Number Seventeen cleared his throat and introduced himself:
"My name is Larry Shrike. I'm forty-eight years old, and I work as an accountant. I did visit this theater before the accident, but on the day it happened, I was traveling out of town with my wife."
After saying this, Larry sat back down, his gaze sweeping over the others present.
After a brief silence, Number Eight, who was the first to speak earlier, stood up:
"My name is Georgia Harris. I'm twenty-four years old. I only moved to the city last year and work as a planner for an advertising agency. Three years ago, I was a junior at a university in my hometown; I spent almost every day in the library. I can show you photos."
However, before Georgia could pull her phone out of her bag, the man in seat number nine spoke up to stop her:
"Forget it, don't bother. When we first entered the auditorium, I tried it. These phones won't open at all, except for the initial lock screen."
Georgia didn't believe him. She pulled out her phone and tried to unlock it, only to find the screen went black immediately. Pressing the power button repeatedly did nothing. She remembered clearly that she had fully charged it before leaving home; evidently, this eerie black screen had nothing to do with battery life.
"How could this be..."
Georgia stared blankly at her dead phone. She had hoped to rely on campus photos and attendance records to prove her innocence, but the Rules had blocked that path.
The man in seat number nine pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose:
"It's not just phones; smartwatches and cameras are the same. It seems that here, the Rules only recognize verbal statements. Any external evidence is futile."
He paused and slowly rose:
"My name is Tyrone Parks. I'm thirty-four years old and a programmer. I've been in the city for seven years, living a routine life between my company and my rented apartment. I've never been near the Red Maple Theater before."
Following Tyrone's introduction, the man in seat number four spoke immediately:
"I'm Alex Zhang, twenty-six years old. I'm a real estate agent. I've been in the city for nearly four years, mainly handling second-hand housing transactions in the Old District."
As soon as Alex said this, the atmosphere at the table turned subtle. Several gazes immediately fixed on him.
Georgia was the first to question him: "Since you deal with second-hand houses in the Old District, wouldn't you be very familiar with the area around the Red Maple Theater?"
Alex's expression darkened, and he shot back:
"So what if I'm familiar? I'm just a salesman. I've run through basically every street and alley in the Old District. You're not suspecting me of being the arsonist just because of that, are you?"
Georgia crossed her arms and let out a cold snort. "Heh. According to your story, you hadn't been in the city for long when the fire happened three years ago. Who knows if you used 'running business' as an excuse to set the theater on fire?"
"Bullshit!"
Hearing this, Alex's face turned bright red. He slammed his hand on the table.
"On the day of the fire three years ago, I happened to be back in my hometown handling some business. I wasn't even in the city! If I'm lying, may lightning strike me dead!"
Alex spoke with such vehemence that the suspicious glares around him softened slightly. Georgia, not to be outdone, raised her chin and looked him in the eye, her suspicion not diminishing in the slightest.
"I'm just raising a reasonable doubt. You're the one avoiding the point in your words."
"Enough."
Larry's gravelly voice rang out. He pressed his hand to his brow and said deeply:
"There are twenty-eight minutes left. Instead of biting at each other, you two should let everyone finish clarifying their identities. Until useful clues come out, any amount of speculation is a waste of effort."
Larry's words were like a bucket of cold water, dousing the argument. Georgia snorted and sat back down. Alex also took his seat, breathing heavily, his eyes still filled with resentment as he glanced at her from time to time.
Once the scene settled, Number Thirteen, who had been silent all along, slowly rose.
"My name is Lei Watani, twenty-seven years old. I'm a web novel writer. Usually, I stay in my rented room coding chapters. Aside from picking up packages, I almost never go out. I've definitely never been to this part of the Red Maple Theater."
Lei's voice was soft and his speech was slow. After finishing, he pulled his jacket tighter around himself and sat back down.
Next was Number Sixteen, a woman wearing a simple and elegant cotton-linen dress. Like Lei, she didn't speak much, sitting there quietly with a very low presence.
"My name is Juan Carlos, thirty-three years old. I run a convenience store. Regarding the fire three years ago, like Georgia, I only found out through the news."
After Juan finished, all eyes turned toward Byrne. He was the only one left who hadn't spoken. Seeing everyone looking at him, Byrne slowly stood up and introduced himself:
"My name is David Byrne. I'm twenty-eight years old and an interior designer. I've been in the city for five years. My workplace is in the city center. I occasionally take on design cases in the Old District, but never in the area around the Red Maple Theater."
With just this simple sentence, Byrne stated his identity and profession while subtly responding to potential doubts, handling the nuances perfectly.
At this point, the identities of all seven were out in the open: Accountant Larry, Ad Planner Georgia, Programmer Tyrone, Real Estate Agent Alex, Web Novel Writer Lei, Convenience Store Owner Juan, and Interior Designer David Byrne.
After Byrne finished, the atmosphere at the table relaxed slightly, though it remained shrouded in heavy suspicion. Every person was repeatedly weighing the others' information in their minds, trying to find flaws in their brief words. However, based solely on these simple introductions, it was impossible to judge who the arsonist from three years ago was.
Georgia rested her cheek on her hand and sighed helplessly. "Alas, even though we've given our names and professions, it feels useless. There's no way to tell what's true or false anyway."
Tyrone pushed his glasses up. "That may be so, but it's better than calling each other by seat numbers. At least we know the basic information. Once the five minutes are up and we get the clue from the Baron, it will be easier to narrow it down."
Alex nodded. "Tyrone is right. Instead of making pointless arguments now, we should wait for the Baron's first clue."
Byrne leaned back in his chair, his gaze seemingly casual as it swept over the other six, silently committing every expression and word to memory. Back at the head of the table, Baron Blackmist had been silently watching their words and deeds. He hadn't said a word during this time, and no one knew what he was calculating.
At that moment, the five minutes were up.
Baron Blackmist slowly raised his eyes and tapped his cane against the floor tile, producing a dull thud that broke the silence of the hall.
"Time is up. According to the rules, I shall reveal the first clue. Listen well."
The Baron paused for a moment, his flickering eyes scanning the circle.
"The arsonist's age does not exceed thirty."