This Life, I Will Be the Protagonist-Chapter 485 - 484: Divine Game – Chaotic Restaurant 5

Not only that—Pine Bloom had been poisoned!

Rita was stunned.

Black SpringMud Bears and Marmang-Crab instinctively turned to look at her.

Before Rita could explain, Pine Bloom waved her hand reassuringly.

"Don’t worry, it’s not your fault."

Her voice was still hoarse from the violent coughing fit, and right after she finished speaking, she started coughing again.

Rita, keeping her face expressionless, translated Pine Bloom’s words for the other two.

Then she ignored her completely and went back to preparing for opening.

She really did not want to deal with Pine Bloom anymore.

She had to admit—most people were visual creatures.

And since Owls and Humans were incredibly similar, apart from the extra pair of wings, their aesthetic sense was almost identical.

Rita didn’t find Marmang-Crab’s giant pincers or Black SpringMud Bears’ furry paws appealing.

But Pine Bloom’s beauty?

She could see it.

And worse—Pine Bloom’s beauty had a dangerous quality to it.

She evoked sympathy.

Despite having only spent less than thirty minutes together, alarm bells were already ringing in Rita’s head.

Pine Bloom had sat by the table the entire time, yet no one had accused her of slacking off.

Why?

Because not only had she buffed all three teammates with dozens of enhancements, she was actively transforming the restaurant with her skills.

She had adjusted the restaurant’s brightness, temperature, and humidity.

She had used green vines as walls, separating their restaurant from the neighboring two.

Above the entrance, she had even painted a magical mural:

A flying Owl, a human with a pot, a crab cleaning, and a small Autumn Bear carrying supplies.

She was too good at this.

Rita had to admit—Pine Bloom was a natural.

And she even made multiple versions of the mural, letting the team vote on the final one.

Whenever they gave feedback, she would genuinely smile, as if their opinions truly mattered.

But none of it felt forced or manipulative.

Because when Marmang-Crab pointed out a section he didn’t like, Pine Bloom didn’t just agree—

She frowned and asked Rita, "What did he say? I don’t understand."

Rita, in her broadcaster voice, translated, "He says he doesn’t like this part. He’s never seen a green Sky-Crab before."

Pine Bloom blinked. "What did he say? I don’t understand."

Rita: "…..."

Without hesitation, Rita turned and complained to Marmang-Crab in Sky-Crab language:

"She’s pretending not to understand. She just doesn’t want to change it."

Pine Bloom let out a silent laugh, then—without waiting for Marmang-Crab’s response—hummed a tune and hung up the mural anyway.

Marmang-Crab didn’t seem upset.

Maybe it was because of [Die-Hard], or maybe he was just a very chill crab.

Rita, on the other hand, had bigger things to worry about.

She didn’t care that Pine Bloom choked on her own food—she had enough of her own problems.

The game had been running for 20 minutes, and she had been violating rules for the past 10.

Because her Mischief Score had stayed at 0, she was getting hit by divine penalties every single minute.

Add that to all the broken kitchenware, and she had already racked up over a dozen violations.

And this game would last for three Starsea days.

Rita suddenly felt dizzy just thinking about it.

She was genuinely concerned that by the time she left this game, she’d be nothing but a White Dragon skeleton.

Marmang-Crab and Black SpringMud Bears had tried messing around, breaking things to see if that would increase the Mischief Score—but it didn’t work.

Black SpringMud Bears, being more aggressive, even sparred with Marmang-Crab for a bit, but their scores remained unchanged.

Rita, in the middle of kneading dough, was distracted.

Across the street, there was another row of restaurants, mirroring their own.

The restaurants on that side were also facing away from them, and despite the 100+ meter gap, Rita could clearly see players on the other side strategizing.

For a moment, she felt like she wasn’t on a battlefield.

For the first time, she felt like she was in an actual game.

Just as B80234615 was about to offer some generic words of comfort, Rita’s hands suddenly stopped moving.

She was staring at the job titles above the players in the opposite restaurant.

A theory struck her.

She walked to the corner of the restaurant, picked up a cleaning tool, and dumped a bowl of kitchen scraps onto the floor.

Then, she started cleaning it up.

The floating data above the kitchen changed instantly.

[Cleanliness]: 98%

[Mischief Score]:

Black SpringMud Bears - 0 Marmang-Crab - 0 BS Rita - 1 Lania Kaia Pine Bloom - 0

Her teammates all turned to look at her.

The four (or technically, three) of them exchanged glances.

They understood immediately.

Mischief Score increased when a player did another teammate’s job.

Her own rule only required her to keep her Mischief Score above 10, but Rita didn’t relax.

These two stats had to mean something bigger.

If it was just about punishing players for not following roles, the game could have simply forced them to walk on one leg or say a certain number of words per minute.

Rita kept cleaning, planning to raise her Mischief Score to 20 before going back to cooking.

Marmang-Crab, seemingly having a similar rule, looked around before walking to the prep table.

"This stuff needs kneading, right? I’ll help."

Then, he started kneading dough.

Now, the chef (Rita) was cleaning, and the cleaner (Marmang-Crab) was cooking.

But after a full minute, their Mischief Scores didn’t change at all.

Rita and Marmang-Crab exchanged a look.

Marmang-Crab stopped kneading, and Rita wiped another section of the floor.

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Her Mischief Score increased from 1 to 3.

She paused and looked at Marmang-Crab.

Marmang-Crab watched the floating data, then rubbed his pincers together a few times.

And then, in full view of all four players—

BS Rita’s Mischief Score dropped from 3 to 2.

The room fell into silence.

Everyone’s expressions grew grim.

To gain Mischief Score, they had to steal a teammate’s job.

But if someone else did their job, their own Mischief Score would decrease.

Everyone stole glances at each other.

The same realization hit them all at once.

It seemed everyone had a rule tied to Mischief Score.

This was going to be a problem.

And then, it got worse.

Pine Bloom suddenly flew up to the floating text and touched the words "Mischief Score."

A game notification popped up.

[The higher the restaurant’s total Mischief Score, the more customers it will attract.]

The room fell silent.

No tension. No hostility.

Because none of them were impulsive idiots.

If stealing jobs caused Mischief Score to drop, then a team that kept taking turns stealing would never reach a high total score.

The most efficient strategy was clear:

Eliminate one teammate.

Let the remaining three players split their tasks to farm Mischief Score.