Chapter Text
It was the first time you saw death in person.
it was Ji-yeon. on the floor near the doorway with two bullets buried deep in her flesh.
Her blood oozing out in thin rivulets across the cracked tiles under your feet. Her eyes were wide, unfocused, her lips trembling as if she tried to say something... but no words ever came.
You were paralyzed. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. All you could do was watch her life slip away from her face.
Some people barely remembered. You remembered everything… and blamed yourself most of all.
The rain poured down in gentle sheets, making the city lights blur into the grey, misty air. Your shoes clung to the wet concrete beneath you as you stood at the edge of the bridge. The water churned beneath, causing endless ripples on its surface.
The cold bit into your skin but you didn’t care. Your thoughts were louder than the storm around you, the distant hum of traffic barely audible.
Every rejection letter felt like a slap in the face. The looks of sympathy stinging like knives twisting in your gut.
“We’re sorry, but we’re unable to offer you a position at this time…”
Each rejection stringing together, the words repeating in your mind. You tried to do right this time, to escape the life that had ruined you. But the world didn’t forget.
And neither did you.
Maybe this is how it’s supposed to end. Not like anyone is waiting for me out here anyway.
Ji-yeon’s gone. Your parents’ gone. And you? You felt like a ghost.
You gripped the railing with your fingers. The coolness of the metal bit into your palms, anchoring you for a split second. The images of the prison cell came buzzed to the back of your mind. the suffocating walls, the echo of your own screams as nightmares dragged your under.
It had been two years since you'd been released. Two years of being a nobody.
No job. No purpose. No future.
And yet you still felt stuck. All trapped by your past, your record, your name. Trapped by the very first decisions you made at fourteen years old when—
“Hey! Hey, wait!”
A voice snapped you out of your daze. You looked over to see a woman running toward you through the rain, her jacket pulled tight against the weather.
“What the hell are you doing?! ” the woman yelled, her voice trembling but steady. She came to a halt several feet away, her hands up in surrender. “You don’t have to do this! Just- just come sit down, okay?!” ”
You looked at her, your heart racing. She didn’t look much older than you, her face pale and slick from the rain.
You thought about ignoring her. About looking back and watching the water under the Han River bridge take you.
But something in her eyes stopped you.
Without a word you let her lead you away from the edge, your legs shaking as you sank onto a nearby bench. The woman stood next to you, her breath heavy and sharp.
“There’s a lot of rain,” she said, brushing raindrops from her cheeks. “Okay, listen. I’m gonna get my phone. It’s in my car, right over there. I’ll be right back I promise. Don’t move, okay?”
You didn’t answer. You just looked at the ground, your hands slightly fidgeting in your lap.
The woman stalled a bit, afraid that you’d run away the instant she turned her back. But eventually she jogged off toward the parking lot, her boots splashing through the puddles.
The silence that followed afterward was resounding. The rain felt quieter now, the storm receding into the background. You just sat there alone, freezing on the bench outside as cool evening air enveloped you like a cold blanket.
Then there was the sound of footsteps. Sharp and deliberate. Not the same hurried footsteps like the woman before you. But these footsteps was slow and calculated, as if they had all the time in the world.
Your head shot up, heart racing.
He lingered just a few feet away silhouetted by the pale glow of a distant streetlamp.
The black umbrella protectively shielding him from the rain.
The man was tall, his posture unnervingly perfect. All his limbs held at the same angle. He wore a grey suit on his body, tighter than his frame and perfectly tailored. The kind of fabric that didn’t dare wrinkle. Even in the rain.
But it was his face that made your stomach turn.
He had a smile that was out of place. Not here, not now. It spread across his face as though it was rehearsed in front of a mirror a thousand times. His dark eyes were set under his neatly combed black hair.
“Rough day?”
The words were casual, but his delivery wasn’t. They felt too polished, the words pouring from his mouth like he had asked the same question to hundreds of others before. Hi voice was soft and polite, but there was something under it … a faint glimmer of amusement, as though this whole situation was some kind of joke he was in on and you weren’t.
“Who the hell are you?”
The man tilted his head, his smile never leaving. He approached, the stride of his polished shoes on the wet pavement shattering the silence. The umbrella held in his hand shifted whenever he moved.
“It’s not important who I am,” he said, his tone light. “What matters to me is what I can give.”
“I have no interest in whatever you’re selling.”
He chuckled quietly, the sound a bit too measured. “Oh, I think you do.” There was something in the way he carried himself. Relaxed but poised.
He looked into the empty bench next to you and slowly sat down on it, folding the umbrella in one movement.
The rain splattered against his shoulders, but he didn’t seem to notice or mind.
“You’ve been running for a long time,” he said, voice low and steady. “Running from your past. From your mistakes. From the debts that just keep piling up no matter how fast you go.”
“You don’t know shit about me.”
His smile stretched just a bit. “I know the jobs you’ve applied for. The form letters that said ‘no.’ The nights you’ve spent wondering if you should even bother getting up the next day.”
Your chest felt heavy, fingers nearly balled into fists.
He tugged at something in his pocket, slowly. and took out a small, clean card. The sight of it twisted something in your gut, it was a reaction you couldn't explain.
“This,” he said, raising the card to between his fingers, “is your way out. Your chance to start over. All you have to do call the number.”
You looked at the card and scoffed, “I bet there’s a catch.”
The man leaned back just a little, crossing one leg over the other with the same poised and casual gesture. “No catch,” he said smoothly. “Just a game. One where the rules are easy, and the prize is … everything you’ve ever wanted.”
The manner in which he said it gave you goosebumps.
He held the card out longer, the hand steady, the smile as unshakeable as it was unsettling.
You still refused. Although your rejection came out a bit more uncertain, rather than negative. “I’m not interested.”
“Oh, I think you will be. When you get ready to stop pretending you have other choices.”
For a moment you wanted to toss the card away and erase that ridiculous smile off his face. However, your hand moved by itself, it trembled when it extended to grab the card.
His smile broadened, dark eyes glinting. He stood up from the bench with an accurate similarity to how he arrived, flipping his umbrella back open in one motion. "Good luck."
And then then he was gone, disappearing into the rain like nothing happened.
A week later…
The card lay frozen on the table, staring up at you like it was a living being. You were pacing around your tiny apartment. The man’s phone burned into your mind, replaying over and over.
For hours you stared at it, wondering if you should call or not.
You held the card yourself, your fingers shaking as you finally dialed the number.
Please don’t answer. Please don't answer…
But it rang once.
And there was the voice you recognized, smooth as ever. “Hello.”
You froze. You didn't expected to hear from him so soon.
“Uh…hello? I’m calling about the—”
“I’ll be there shortly,” said the voice. And the line went dead before you could respond.
The knock came quicker than expected. Twenty minutes, maybe less. Your stomach twisted as you approached the door. A sense of regret almost pooled in the back of your mind before you took a deep breath, pushing the negative thoughts away instantly.
You were hesitant to open the door, but did so regardless.
And there he was again, the same eerie grin that never appeared to falter, his grey suit as fresh as the day he met you, not a single hair out of place.
He then walked past you right into your apartment without waiting for an invitation.
“I trust you’ve made up your mind,” his voice was like butter.
You swallowed, shutting the door closed. “Not like I have much choice, do I?”
“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” He moved to the small table in the center, placing down a mini envelope on its surface.
Somehow the air in the room felt denser, as some nonexistent atmosphere was heavy with unwritten laws. He gently tapped on the envelope with his index finger, “This envelope has what you're looking for. But to receive it, there’s one last step.”
“What step?”
He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue tile. The vibrant color stood out against his bare hand, placing it onto the table and leaned back. “A game. Win, and the envelope is yours.”
“What kind of game?”
“Ddakji. Surely you’ve played it before?”
Seriously?
“You’re joking.”
“Far from it,” he retrieved another tile from his other picket, it was red this time, and held it up between his fingers. “The mechanics are pretty straightforward. You make a move using your tile, and if you flip mine, you win.”
“And if I lose?” you asked cautiously.
“You’ll try again. And again. Until you succeed.”
It had taken what felt like hours. The recruiter had been merciless, watching each failed attempt with the same detached amusement, occasionally retrieving the tile and resetting it in front of you. He never flinched, never reacted, even when the sound of the slap echoed sharply in the small apartment.
Finally, after what felt like eternity, you managed to flip the red tile. It had been a clumsy move.
more luck than skill, actually.
but the recruiter accepted it without question. “Congratulations,” he said now, sliding the red envelope across the table toward you. “You’ve earned it.”
Your hands hovered over the mini envelope. “What’s in it?”
“Your next step,” the recruiter said simply, standing and smoothing the front of his suit. “You’ll find the details inside. The games begins soon.”
He turned to leave, his movements as perfect and deliberate as always.
At the door, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Pack lightly,” he said, his voice almost cheerful. “You won’t be needing much where you’re going.”
And then the door clicked shut behind him.