(No harem, no formulaic plot, no invincible protagonist, no System, no mindless writing, no power fantasy. Enter at your own discretion.)
When I inherited this dilapidated apartment building, I thought I had become the master of my own fate. I installed pinhole cameras in every room to spy on my tenants' most private moments: a woman ironing a bloodstained suit in the dead of night, a doctor keeping a strange liquid in the refrigerator, and a streamer who broadcasts to the wall at precisely the same time every morning.
Then, on a rainy night, I saw all my tenants gather in Room 204 on the surveillance feed. They raised their glasses toward the hidden camera. "Thank you, landlord, for helping us pull off the perfect crime."
Only then did I realize that I'd already become the most important supporting character in their script. The real show was only just beginning.
When peering into the abyss becomes a trap, who is the real hunter?
