Transmigrated to Another World, Starting with a Game of Werewolf

This story is guaranteed to be thrilling, so please, dear readers, come on in. I've lost my memory. I only remember my name. When I woke up, I was lying in a wooden cabin deep in the mountains. A note was pinned beneath something on the table. The handwriting was messy, as if someone had written it in utter terror: “Trust no one. Don't open the door at night.” I didn't listen. The door opened. Standing in the moonlight was a... werewolf, wearing a shabby gray-blue shirt. By sheer luck, I escaped and made it to a small town at the foot of the mountain. I joined a group of hunters and went back into the mountains. We successfully killed the monster, stuffed it into a sack, and carried it to the police station to claim the reward. The sack was opened. Inside lay a living person: the herb gatherer I'd met in the mountains that day. He was wearing that same shabby gray-blue shirt. There was a hole in the knee. A stain on the left shoulder. Exactly the same. I was handcuffed. The charge: murder. But I know I killed a wolf. That herb gatherer... was human by day, a wolf by night. And how many other things in this town are human by day and wolves by night? I trust no one. Because anyone could turn into a monster after dark.