Chapter Text
The evening chill gnawed at Jun-ho’s skin as he walked briskly away from the hospital, his hands shoved deep into the worn pockets of his jacket. The ache in his feet from hours of standing and pacing in his mother’s room didn’t compare to the deeper, gnawing pain of his thoughts.
150 million Won.
That number had burned itself into his mind like a brand. His debt had spiraled out of control, swelling with each passing month, each new bill for his mother’s endless treatments. No matter how many corners he cut or loans he took, it was never enough. The hospital’s antiseptic-scented halls, the mechanical beeps of life-support machines, and Dr. Min-Soo’s neutral, measured tones had become his second reality.
He adjusted his pace as he neared the subway station. The faint rumble of passing a car echoing through the streets, and Jun-ho glanced at his phone. 7:47 p.m. He was late—again. The chief had already been on his case about his recent absences, and Jun-ho knew he couldn’t afford to push his luck any further. He quickened his steps, ignoring the hollow ache in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but hunger felt like a luxury he didn’t have time for.
As Jun-ho approached the subway entrance, a figure seated on a nearby bench caught his eye. At first, he barely noticed the man—just another commuter, clean-cut and dressed sharply in a tailored suit. His polished leather shoes gleamed even under the dull glow of the streetlights, and a sleek briefcase rested at his side. But something about him didn’t fit.
The man’s posture was too relaxed, his head tilted slightly as though he were watching the world with amusement. And his eyes—dark and sharp, almost predatory—tracked Jun-ho with a disconcerting precision. When their gazes met, the man smiled.
Not a polite smile. Not a casual, passing smile. It was something else entirely: too wide, too knowing, as if he’d been waiting specifically for Jun-ho.
“Rough day?” the man asked casually, as if they were old friends.
Jun-ho slowed, frowning. His eyes darted over the man, searching for any sign of recognition. Did he know him? No, he was sure he’d never seen this man before. The man’s smile widened, showing teeth that were white and unnervingly even.
Jun-ho glanced over his shoulder, his instincts flaring. The street behind him was mostly empty save for a few hurried pedestrians and a couple of food delivery scooters zipping by. He looked back at the man. “Do I know you?”
The man chuckled softly, a rich, almost musical sound. “Not yet,” he said, his tone casual, as though they were old acquaintances catching up after years apart. “You look like someone carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.”
Jun-ho’s frown deepened. What was this guy’s angle? He looked like a typical businessman, but there was something off about him, like the slight tilt of his head or the way his gaze never seemed to waver.
“I’m fine,” Jun-ho said curtly, brushing past him. He didn’t have time for cryptic strangers, not when his mind was already drowning in worry.
“I can help, you know,” the man called after him.
Jun-ho froze. The man’s words sliced through the noise in his head like a knife. Slowly, he turned back, narrowing his eyes. “What did you just say?”
The man stood, moving with an unsettling grace. He brushed invisible lint from his suit before picking up his briefcase. “I said I can help,” he repeated, his smile never wavering.
Jun-ho’s stomach churned with suspicion. “Help with what?”
The man didn’t answer immediately, standing up and brushing invisible dust from his suit. He reached down for his briefcase and with deliberate care, he opened it to reveal two brightly folded squares of paper, one blue and one red, and stacks of cash.
“Ddakji,” the man said, holding up the squares for Jun-ho to see.
Jun-ho blinked, his brow furrowing. “You’re kidding.”
The man’s smile seemed to grow.
“Not at all,” the man said smoothly. “One round. If you win, you get 100,000 Won.”
Jun-ho almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Almost. But something about the man’s unflinching gaze stopped him.
“And if I lose?” Jun-ho asked, his voice edged with skepticism.
“You pay me 100,000 won,” the man replied, his smile sharpening.
Jun-ho scoffed. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
The man’s expression didn’t falter. In fact, his smile seemed to deepen, as though he’d been expecting that response. “Then you pay with your body.”
Jun-ho’s stomach twisted at the words. His mind immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion, and his disgust must have shown because the man let out a soft chuckle. “Not like that,” he said, shaking his head. “If you lose, I slap you. Simple as that.”
The sheer absurdity of the offer almost made Jun-ho walk away. But then his phone buzzed in his pocket, the familiar notification sound that always heralded another reminder of his debts. His mind flashed to his mother’s hospital room, to the stack of unpaid bills sitting on his desk.
One round.
“What’s the catch?” Jun-ho asked, narrowing his eyes.
“No catch,” the man replied, holding out the squares. “Blue or red?”
Jun-ho stared at the squares, then back at the man’s face. Something about his calm demeanor, his too-perfect smile, made Jun-ho’s skin crawl. But 100,000 won … Jun-ho needed that money.
He clenched his jaw. “Blue,” he said, snatching the square from the man’s hand.
The man stepped back, gesturing to the ground. “You first.”
Jun-ho crouched down, gripping the paper tightly. He felt the weight of the man’s gaze as he lined up his strike. With a sharp motion, he slammed his square against the red one. It stayed on the ground, unmoving.
The man smiled, kneeling to retrieve a square. His movements were practiced. In one swift motion, he flipped Jun-ho’s square.
“Well,” the man said, rising to his feet, “a deal’s a deal.”
Before Jun-ho could react, the man’s hand came down hard across his cheek. The slap was sharp, ringing in his ears and stinging his skin. He stumbled back, clutching his face, his heart pounding with humiliation and anger.
“Care for another round?” the man asked lightly, as though this were all a friendly game.
Jun-ho glared at him, anger bubbling in his chest. Every fiber of his being told him to walk away, to leave this strange man and his ridiculous game behind. But the thought of 100,000 won—of the medication it could buy—kept him rooted in place. He clenched his fists.
“Fine. One more.”
–
The game dragged on, each slap burning hotter than the last, until finally, miraculously, Jun-ho’s square flipped. The man clapped his hands together in mock celebration, holding a crisp 100,000 bill out for Jun-ho to take.
“You’ve earned it,” the man said, handing it over.
Jun-ho stared at the money, his hands trembling. “Is this some kind of scam?”
“Not at all,” the man replied, reaching into his pocket. He produced a small brown card, printed with a triangle, circle, and square, and a number on the back.
“If you’re interested in earning more,” the man said, handing Jun-ho the card, “call this number.”
Jun-ho hesitated before taking the card. Something about all of this felt wrong, but the money in his hand told a different story.
The man tipped his head in farewell, his smile lingering as he walked away, leaving Jun-ho alone. Cars roared in the distance, and the cold wind bit at his skin, but he barely noticed.
For a long time, Jun-ho didn’t move. Finally, he slipped the card into his pocket and headed down into the station, the idea of the games burrowing into his mind like a splinter.