Chapter Text
Most of the VIPs were leaving already. Their fancy jets had arrived, each one of the masked guests still buzzing from watching the final round. Some complaining about the "horse" they betted on not making it. Others already chatting about next year's games.
Il-nam had left a bit too early. His health was deteriorating quickly, and it certainly didn't wait for the final round to come to an end. In-ho was left to entertain the remaining guests. It was good practice, he told himself. It'd be his job alone next year.
He didn't flinch when one of the VIPs approached.
"Another brilliant season! The Korean games never disappoint," the man drawled. His words were slurred, still soaked from whatever top-shelf liquor he'd demanded from the staff. "Shame I couldn't thank our host in person. You'll pass along my regards, won't you?"
In-ho didn't need to turn— the VIPs had a way of making themselves known, loudly, greedily, without shame— but he still did. Nodded in response to his compliments. Of course the games hadn't disappointed.
"Player 093 cost me a fortune. The winner always takes you by surprise, in here," he complained, tapping the edge of his gold mask, before waving a dismissive hand. "But that isn't what I came here for. I was hoping to discuss... a special request. For the next games."
In-ho's raised brow was concealed by his mask. A special request. It certainly wasn't unheard of, but the way in which the man had said it made him think he wasn't about to request a game.
The VIP pulled out a sleek black folder. Tossed it on the table like a napkin.
"Seo Haeun. Her father's an annoying lawyer. I figure he'll fold once he sees her start crying for daddy," he said with a grin forming on his face, as if he were imagining the situation already.
Alarm bells rung in In-ho's head. The games were voluntary. Yes, he had to admit, a lot of details were omitted when the players actually signed themselves up for the games— but they always did. They stepped into the van on their own accord. He would have to ask Il-nam if they could just force someone to participate.
As his eyes glazed over the file the VIP had provided, he instantly stilled. Fifteen. Seo Haeun was fifteen. He knew the viewers of the games certainly weren't the most morally correct or sane people out there, but he still had to do a double take. The man wanted a child to participate.
Another glance confirmed what he'd been dreading. No debt. Friends and family that would notice if she went missing.
In-ho almost found it in himself to point it all out. The embers of his past morals almost made a sound before he snuffed them out again. The games were equal. The games were fair. The games were voluntary. But who was he to deny a VIP?
"...We'll arrange it."
...
"Haeun-ah! Haeun!!" her friend shouted out between labored breaths, finally catching up to the girl in question and putting her hands on her knees in an attempt at rest. "God, you ran off so suddenly... I'm sorry for what Nari said, she was totally wrong to say that—"
Haeun cut her off with a shake of her head. "It's fine," she assured with a smile. And it really was. Her mind trailed off to what the girl had said. That she was too cold towards her dad. The topic had come about completely out of the blue, and it was... something. Did Nari have any need to comment on it? No, it was completely unnecessary. Was it true, though?
Maybe. Maybe Haeun was in the wrong. It didn't matter, though. She didn't care.
Her friend probably noticed the tense silence as she brought up what had happened, and scrambled to change the topic. "Ah, you walk so fast," she complained with a dramatic huff. "Do you really wanna get home that bad?"
That drew a small laugh out of Haeun. It worked as a reminder. A reminder that her lips could still genuinely curl up. That she may feel like a husk of a girl, but this was normal. Her face could still feel the cold, autumn wind. Her life was normal.
...
Everything about Seo Haeun appeared normal. The VIP had done a good amount of research on her. Good grades— In-ho would have never thought that mattered when looking at a potential player's file. Good friends. In terms of family, her parents were separated and she avoided all communication her father tried to initiate. Everything was average. Except for the 'personality' part.
It wasn't unusual for the games to hold their fair share of mentally unwell players. People who'd already gone off the deep end long before any recruiter went up to them. But to see it in a fifteen year old girl, a child, in every sense of the word, was a bit too jarring for his comfort. To read that she would be more than likely to agree to participate in the games— that, after thorough investigation, she displayed signs of numbness and possibly an apathetic episode, made his features slightly twist up under his geometric mask.
At least they wouldn't have to force her to participate. The file said it. She could be recruited through conventional means, which offered the tiniest bit of comfort to him. The games were voluntary. And the games were fair— what the girl lacked in strength she made up with her smarts. Intelligence that would most likely take her past the first round, at least, whether that be a blessing or not.
In-ho closed the file. It read too much like a school report. Grades, extracurriculars, social habits. There was even a counselor's note attached. Something about "emotional withdrawal". He had to stop himself from laughing.
He just hoped she'd panic at the first sound of a gunshot and get eliminated, quick and easy. Seeing her made a small part of him shift with something he didn't like.
The games were fair, and she was just the sole exception. A wrinkle in the equal world that the games held. One that would be ironed out soon enough.
...
"Miss, could I sit next to you?"
After a year and a half of the days smearing together like pencil lines under sweaty hands, this interruption was more than welcome. She looked up at the source of the question.
A man. Nicely dressed, briefcase in hand, tall enough for her neck to crane up considerably. He almost reminded her of her dad's lawyer friends. He sported a friendly smile, if you could call it that— there was a certain emptiness to it that had Haeun considering whether she should turn him down.
She probably should. This was a fully grown man, wanting to sit next to a teenage girl, when the station was nearly empty.
It didn't matter, she decided. Following a moment of hesitation, she nodded. Flashed him a polite smile. "Sure." She was used to this, anyways. Strangers had a penchant for talking to her— something about her appearance screamed "approachable", apparently.
The man sat, adjusted his tie. He looked like he belonged in a courtroom, really. Or a billboard. His face was the type that drew your eyes to it without you noticing. Perfect hair, with a small strand that separated itself from the others. A barely noticeable feature that cut through his polished look and made him seem human enough to have a conversation with.
"Rough day?" he asked, gaze set on her in a way that made her feel see-through. The question had her struggling more than any test ever did.
How had her day been?
Not bad, really. She’d laughed at school today, genuinely, or close enough. Her friends were loud, and funny, and pulled her into conversations that didn't require thinking too hard. They had her whispering dumb jokes across desks, holding in her laughter behind textbooks and math problems.
Whether the laughter had been real or just habit, she couldn't say. It didn’t matter much. In those moments, she felt normal. And being normal—pretending, if she had to—was something she’d learned to be good at.
Maybe that was what he’d seen. Or maybe he was just testing her. Waiting to see what cracked when he pressed a little.
She ended up shaking her head, answering with a simple, "Not really."
The man nodded, as if he knew already. Like he had her all figured out. A minute passed without either of them speaking up. Haeun figured the conversation had fizzled out. Good. Holding up small talk with a stranger was never something she'd been fond of.
Her hopes of being able to sit in silence were crushed when his voice snapped her out of her train of thoughts once again. "Miss, would you like to play a game?"
A game. The briefcase, the suit, his meticulously crafted appearance, and now his words all added up to him being some sort of salesman. She wasn't sure why he'd try to sell anything to her, but her priority now was ending the interaction. She gave him a polite shake of her head. "Sorry, I'm not..."
Her sentence trailed off as he opened his briefcase with a click, revealing a pair of brightly colored ddakji, one red, one blue, and several stacks of cash.
"You've played ddakji before, haven't you?" he asked, and her silence was enough of an answer. "Play with me. Each time you win, I'll give you 100,000 won."
That was enough to have her raise a brow. Strangers didn't just give that kind of money away without wanting something back. Strangers didn't ask to play ddakji with someone they just met at the station. Her eyes drifted to the briefcase, and then back up to his face. "What's the catch?"
"Each time I win, you have to give me 100,000 won," the man answered.
Ah. Not a game. More like gambling, in a way. Though, she supposed you couldn't exactly call it gambling when skill also played an important factor. Skill that she did not have. Ddakji was always a game she dreaded back in elementary school, her throws too weak to flip the tile, and her aim beyond terrible. In the end, none of it mattered— her pockets were completely empty. Did this man really think a teenage girl carried more than 100,000 won on her?
"Sorry," she started, with full intent to finish her sentence this time, "I don't really have any money on me."
"Just try. You may win a couple of times," he easily answered, the smile on his face remaining despite his insistent tone. "I'll let you go first. Now, which color would you like?" he asked before she could answer. Like he knew she would give in.
Haeun stared at the two ddakji tiles. One in both of his hands. The vibrant red and blue sliced through the monotone grays of the station. Red or blue. She wondered if there was a difference. Maybe it was some sort of mind game. Maybe he already knew her choice, judging by how his prying eyes ran over her, how they pulled out her insides and exposed them to the world. Her hand hesitated over the blue one, before confidently taking hold of the red ddakji.
A small part of her flared up with pride as she saw his eyes slightly widen at her choice. Ha. Of course, she could be misinterpreting the reaction, but she could be almost sure that he wasn't expecting her to choose that one. She couldn't dwell on it much, since he schooled his expression back to normal within a second, but an almost smug smile still fought its way onto her face over her small victory.
The smugness barely had time to settle in before it was yanked out under her. The man had set his briefcase aside and dropped his blue ddakji down to the station floor with practiced ease. She wondered if this was something he did on the regular. Maybe he got some sort of sick satisfaction from it. It'd certainly check out with the uneasiness that bubbled up in her stomach ever since he first directed his voice at her.
He stepped back, turning his head towards her with the polite smile that seemed to never leave his face. "Ready when you are."
She nodded, shaking the nervous feeling off her as she walked up to the blue ddakji. It was just a game. Yes, the red tile felt awkward in her hand, her arms had the strength of a toddler's, and she had managed to flip the tile just once in her entire life. But it was just ddakji. It could even be fun, to some degree. The whole interaction had served as a distraction. And that's what she needed. A distraction. Being alone with her thoughts was something she preferred to avoid most of the time.
She grounded her two feet into the floor, widening her stance and taking one deep breath. Raised her hand. Mustered up all the strength in her arm, just because of a muted desire to catch the man off guard again. She threw the tile.
The sound banged louder than she expected, resonating throughout the almost empty station. A small pang of disappointment washed over her when she squinted down at the blue ddakji. She didn't flip it. It had been foolish to expect anything more, she knew that, but her brows still furrowed with frustration.
The man took a step forward, picking up the blue tile she'd thrown her ddakji at in vain and extended an arm, demanding space for his turn. She took a step back and let him take up her field of vision. The way his shoulders strained against the fabric of his suit as they tensed. The way he lifted his arm up, as if ddakji was something he had played thousands of times before. The sound that followed his throw was easily twice as loud as hers had been, and a hesitant glance at the floor confirmed what she already knew. He'd flipped over her tile, and she now owed this man 100,000 won.
He stared at her for a few dreadful moments. Maybe if she could just win one round...
"If you don't have any money on you, you can pay me with your body."
It felt like an ice cold bucket of water dripped onto her head and seeped all the way down to her feet. So, that was what he wanted. That was the reason of the uneasiness in her gut. He was a creep. Or, at least, that was the conclusion she was beginning to draw at before he proved her wrong with his following words.
"Each slap is worth 100,000 won," he simply said, and, before she could finish processing the sentence, swung his palm at her cheek with such strength, her body jerked back and the sound echoed.
Standing there with her mouth agape and her hand on the left side of her face was all she could manage to do for a few seconds, her mind blanking before she forced it to start producing coherent thoughts again. What the hell. Pain didn't take long to start blooming on her cheek, burning hot as if she had been branded. She turned her head, eyes darting toward the far corners of the station. No one. No footsteps. Not even a janitor or a late commuter. No witnesses to what just happened. A grown man had just slapped her hard enough to make her vision tilt—and she’d let him. For what? A stupid game. 100,000 won she never needed to begin with.
She willed her eyes to land on his face again, meeting with that sickly polite smile and his waiting eyes as he digested her reaction. An unfamiliar resolve rose within her as she picked up her ddakji, determined to wipe the eerie expression off his perfect face.
She lost again. And again. Each time, his palm met her cheek with an identical, mechanical precision. Loud, sharp, impersonal. By the third slap, her skin stung so badly she could feel the heat radiating off it even without touching it. By the fifth, her eyes had started to water, not from the pain, but from the sheer force of each hit. She stopped flinching after the sixth.
Somewhere between one loss and the next, she actually managed to flip the blue ddakji. The man clapped, congratulating her in a way she couldn't decipher as condescending or not. She almost raised her hand in an attempt to slap him, before he handed her a crisp bill. 100,000 won. Right. The thought of swinging her palm across his face felt more satisfying, somehow.
By the time they were done, she’d racked up three wins and a cheek so red it looked painted on.
300,000 won. She clutched it in her hand like a trophy. A pathetic, stupid trophy.
Her eyes stayed fixed on him as he carefully placed the ddakji back into his suitcase, closing it with a click. "Miss," he piped up as he stood, dusting off his suit with a swipe of his hand. Brushing off the interaction, almost. "You could make a lot of money playing games like this for a few days."
Haeun stared at the several bills she held in hand. She could buy that new book she wanted. Go shopping with her friends. She could always ask her mom for money, but earning her own made a seed of pride swell in her. And the games... Her cheek still stung, and as soon as she got home she would have to figure out how to cover the bruise up with makeup, but she couldn't deny it. It got her heart pumping, her mind running faster than it had been in months and it didn't have anything to do with thoughts of school or questions of what was wrong with her, for once. Her friends had always called her an adrenaline junkie, and this had everything to do with it.
She felt alive.
So, when he offered her a card with figures on it and a number on the back, she wordlessly accepted it and stuffed it in her pockets.
So, when she was finally home, it took her less than a minute for her to dial the number. The phone rang out once before the man answered. "Do you wish to participate in the game? If you wish to participate, please state your name and birthdate." Or, maybe not the man. The voice sounded different from his.
"Seo Haeun. July 8th, 2004."