Chapter Text
Jeongin had nothing but the clothes on his back and the ripped duffle bag slung over his shoulder.
So when he saw the suited man who looked like he had everything approaching the bus stop, Jeongin wanted to curl up into a smaller version of himself. He would fit, it wasn’t like he had anything to make him stand tall.
The man’s suit looked new and ironed. He held a briefcase that shined like gold. His hair was slicked back with a gel-like substance and he wore a smile as if he held the world's secrets and kept them like treasure. Jeongin could only frown and swipe his hand through his own hair.
It was wet with rain water. But it hadn’t rained today. Jeongin’s hair had a habit of doing that. It was as if it collected his tears and stored them in the follicles. Maybe that was why Jeongin couldn’t cry. Today had easily been the worst day of his life and he only had the wet hair to show for it.
Things only got worse when the man sat right next to him, flashing his knowing smile at Jeongin. What secrets did he hold this time? Jeongin felt a shiver up his spine, knowing he had a lot to hide, a lot for people to find out.
“Hello sir-”
“My bus arrives soon,” Jeongin interrupted, looking down to avoid eye contact. “I’m not interested.”
“Oh no, I’m not selling anything-”
“Then make this quick,” Jeongin said, swinging his feet impatiently. “My bus-”
“Waiting for a bus without the money to pay the fare? Impressive.”
Jeongin’s body froze. Slowly, he looked up at the man, unable to hide his frightened face. There was a reason this man held a smile of secrets. He knew many. “How-”
The man slammed his briefcase on the bench, undoing the clasps. He opened it.
Jeongin’s eyes became a black hole, taking in the sight, wanting to keep it there forever.
Money- stacks and stacks of bills sitting out in the open and it both stunned and disgusted him. His family could starve, labour, fade to dust, and they would still never be able to achieve those riches. Meanwhile, this man was displaying this money like a broken toy, not even batting an eyelid as a few bills flew away with the wind, lost down the dark road.
Jeongin pressed his hands to the bench, looking the man in the eye. “What- what do you want?”
“What do I want?” The man never lost his smile and Jeongin wanted to slap it off his face. There was power in knowing and he knew so little. “Yang Jeongin, I want you to play a game with me.”
“A… game?” Jeongin repeated, dumbfounded. He realized something and stifled a gasp. “How do you… know my name?”
“All in due time,” the man said with a small chuckle. “Do you agree to play?” His eyes went back to the money because he knew what Jeongin wanted. He knew his secrets.
“What’s the game?” Jeongin asked, knowing with a sinking heart that he had already agreed.
The man’s hand slipped into a pocket of the briefcase, pulling out objects. Two folded paper tiles. Red and blue.
Jeongin raised a brow, recognizing the tiles. “ Ddakji …?”
“I see you know the game,” the man said. “That will only make things easier. It’s simple. Pick between blue and red. We take turns trying to flip each other’s tiles over by throwing our tile on top of the other. Every time you flip mine over, I’ll give you $10.”
Jeongin wasn’t sure if he had heard properly. His jaws dropped. “E- every time I win… I get money?”
“That’s right.”
“No catch?”
“If I manage to flip your tile over, you need to give me $10.”
Jeongin gulped at that. But his mind was already set. Sketchy or not, he couldn’t walk away from this opportunity. He was in no place to. Everything he had been taught as a kid about strangers flew out the window, because those rules only existed for the fortunate. Desperation, on the other hand, spit at rules, clawing for every sliver of chance.
“I accept. I choose blue.”
Chan had nothing but the determination to make a deal with the devil.
On an old bench outside of the convenience store, that was when he saw the suited man with the briefcase. The street was crowded in the afternoon but the man’s smile called him close. His game promised rewards.
Chan didn’t trust him. But he knew that from now on, trust didn’t matter. That was what the devil was. They had everything you wanted. Everything but trust.
“I choose blue.”
And so the game began. Chan held up the blue tile, laser focusing on his opponent’s red tile on the ground. This game was a forgotten memory, one from a childhood where it wasn’t his job to worry about anything more than games. Now, he had to be the one to worry, so that others wouldn’t.
He threw the tile down. It hit the red tile and slid uselessly to the ground, the red tile unshaken. Chan remembered nothing about this game. He swore under his breath, looking longingly at the briefcase of money.
It was the man’s turn next. Statue-like smile still on his face, he calmly picked up his own tile. Then, with a ferocity that didn’t match that smile at all, he threw it down at Chan’s tile.
Chan’s tile flipped like a domino.
The man looked back at Chan. “Time to pay me.”
Chan tried so hard to keep a neutral expression. He was used to hiding worry but he couldn’t stop the wavering of his eyes, horror dawning on him. “ I don't have any money.”
The man’s smile didn’t change, as if he had expected that. “Then you’ll pay with your body.”
Chan could barely take that in. “What-”
He felt the cold and raw sting of a slap to his face before he could finish.
Felix had nothing but the sinking knowledge that he would be shielded from every burden in the world. A world that had too many burdens to hide.
So when Felix got approached by the suited man with the briefcase near the fountain of the crowded city, he decided not to hide. And he decided to accept the game. He felt all of his burdens pile down on him tenfold and desperately wanted to face them.
“I choose blue.”
He had been too naive. After feeling the first slap, he wanted to crumble to the ground. Maybe he liked being shielded. Maybe he liked never knowing pain like this.
But he knew that for every pain he didn’t suffer, others took it and suffered it worse. Felix knew that and he wanted to know it less. So he took action. He got to his feet and prepared for his next turn. He tried to mimic the ferocity of the man’s throw, his lighting strikes to the ground.
Still, the red tile did not budge. Another $10 down the drain.
And so, the game continued. It was worse in a crowded city. People watched curiously as the strange man continued to hit him for every game he won, continued to smirk for every game Felix lost. Felix stifled a cry from the pain, not just from the slaps, but the desperation. It grew like a monster every time he lost.
But the time his cheeks were red and numb to the touch, Felix felt so much desperation, his life was like brittle glass, breaking under a single step. He needed to win this. He needed that money-
So he held his blue square up, reading to throw it one more time…
Minho had nothing but he desperately needed something .
The absence of money in his pocket for even a small cup of beer was humiliating. The lit-up store promising escape and solitude mocked him.
But the suited man with a briefcase that approached him in front of that store was not the ‘something’ he needed. Especially not in the early hours of the morning.
“Screw off,” was all he said. “I’m not in the mood for people right now. You pretend to give so much yet find more joy in taking everything away.”
The man continued to smile and Minho clenched his fists. He couldn’t cry but that didn’t mean others could smile.
“How sorry, to find you in such a state of grief,” the man said, not sounding sorry at all. “There was a similar young man I met who was in the same state. Though he had significantly more tears on his face.”
Minho refused to react to that. He had nothing to say about another unfortunate soul, the only difference being that at least they had the tears to reflect their pain. Minho didn’t have even that to take some of it away.
But pained or not, Minho had nothing, not even his pride. He threw it away, because the man’s game promised money and he needed it. If he had nothing, that was the only thing that would at least keep him from wasting away until the morning.
“I choose blue.”
He was thankful that nobody bothered to harbour the tiny street at 3 in the morning. When the numerous slaps came his way, he gritted his teeth through the pain, countering back with twice the determination. He held his square up again, ready to win, because if he had nothing, maybe life would be kind enough to give him this.
The tile fell down and finally, finally , flipped over the red tile. Such a subtle motion but Minho felt his heart fly. Though he refused to show it to the suited man, who didn’t deserve his small pleasure.
“So, where’s my money?”
In four different places, at four different times, on the fateful day of August 1st, four people stood in front of a suited man with a briefcase. Each one of these people held a crisp $10 bill in their hands, refusing to crinkle it. Such a meagre offering but it meant too much.
For each of these people, the suited man gave a smile as he closed his briefcase. Then, he eyed them one last time. He pulled something out of his pocket. A tiny rectangular card in a gold colour. On the front was a neat line of shapes; circle, triangle and square. On the back was a simple phone number.
The man held the card out to each of the people and refused to let go until the latter had taken it. He uttered the words that would change their lives forever.
“There are more games you can play. There is more money you can win. If you are interested, call the number on this card by tomorrow night.”
Then, he walked away, off into the dark or the crowded city, blending in with the shadows or people. As if he were an illusion and his games were a dream.
But the money in four of these people’s hands was painfully real.