Soomin's eyes fluttered open, the faint haze of sleep still lingering. The soft strains of classical music filled the room. She turned her head, taking in her surroundings, there were bunk beds stacked high, stretching endlessly across the room. Slowly, she sat up, noticing there were hundreds of people in this mysterious room. Some remained unconscious in their beds, while others wandered, confusion etched across their faces.

It was then she noticed her clothes were different from the outfit she was last wearing. Soomin was now wearing a green tracksuit, identical to everyone else's, each with a unique number. Glancing down, she saw hers—417. A chill ran through her as she looked down at the number. She climbed down from her bunk, making her way towards the center where there was already a crowd of people.

Anxiety gripped her chest. The sheer number of people overwhelmed her—it had been years since she'd been surrounded by so many. The hum of conversation and murmured confusion swirled around her, broken suddenly by a loud buzz as the large doors at the far end of the room swung open.

All eyes turned toward the source of the sound. Figures dressed in red uniforms and featureless masks entered, their presence both commanding and unsettling. Shapes adorned their masks—circles, triangles, and squares—though their meaning was unclear.

One of the masked figures stepped forward. "I would like to extend a hearty welcome to you all," a cold, monotone voice echoed. "Each of you will participate in six games over the next six days."

Soomin's gaze darted to the faces around her, scanning for any semblance of calm or understanding. Most seemed as anxious as she felt, though some appeared eerily composed. Her stomach turned. She'd signed up for this, hadn't she? Why couldn't she remember the details?

"Those who successfully complete all six games," the guard continued, "will receive a cash prize."

A voice cut through the crowd. "Excuse me," someone said. Heads turned toward a woman with short black hair stepping forward. "You said I'd be playing games, but you practically kidnapped me. So how can I believe that?"

The room fell silent, all attention returning to the guards. The speaker paused before replying, "I apologize. Please understand that the measures taken were necessary to ensure the game's security."

The explanation did little to quell the growing unrest. Voices rose in frustration and confusion as questions flew from every direction: "Why are you wearing these mask?" "Where's my stuff?" "What is this place?"

Amid the commotion, a woman loudly complained about the ill fit and unattractive color of the uniforms, while a man with dyed purple hair kept asking where his limited-edition sneakers were. The guards remained stoic, offering little beyond vague reassurances, but the tension in the room continued to rise.

Soomin stood silently at the back of the crowd, her mind racing as she tried to process the scene unfolding before her. A young man pushed his way to the front, his voice sharp with frustration.

"At least give me my phone! I need to check the crypto market," he demanded, his tone growing more desperate. "If I lose money, will you compensate me?"

A masked guard responded with calm indifference. "You will get it back once the games are over."

"I need to monitor real-time prices! Do you have any idea how much I've invested?" The man's irritation was palpable, his voice rising with each word.

"Player 333, Lee Myunggi," a disembodied voice announced as a screen lit up. A video began to play, showing Myunggi being slapped across the face.

"Age 30, former operator of the YouTube channel MG Coin," the guard continued, their monotone voice echoing in the room. "After convincing subscribers to invest in a cryptocurrency called Dalmatian, you caused collective losses of approximately 15.2 billion won. You then shut down your channel and disappeared. Currently wanted for fraud and violations of telecom and financial investment laws. Total debt: 1.8 billion won."

The accusations hung heavy in the air. Myunggi, visibly agitated, didn't respond. Instead, the guard began listing others' debts, one after another.

"Player 120, Cho Hyunju: 330 million won.
Player 230, Choi Subong: 1.19 billion won.
Player 198, Jang Doyeong: 1.4 billion won.
Player 226, Kim Yeongsam: 1.9 billion won."

The numbers kept climbing, each more staggering than the last. Gasps rippled through the crowd when the debt of one player exceeded 10 billion won.

"All of you here carry crippling debts," the guard declared, his voice cold and authoritative. "When we first approached you, you didn't trust us. But as you know, we played a game and rewarded you as promised. That's why you are here now—because you chose this,  out of your own free will."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "You have one last chance to decide, will you continue living as trash, running from creditors? Or will you seize this opportunity to change your life?"

Soomin glanced around, seeing the same expressions of desperation etched on every face. The room was silent now, the chatter replaced by heavy contemplation. She knew the answer everyone was arriving at—because it was her answer, too. They had nothing left to lose.

Suddenly, a massive piggy bank descended from the ceiling, its glass surface gleaming under the harsh lights.

"This is the piggy bank," the guard announced, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Here, your prize money will accumulate after each of the six games you play. The more you advance, the more the prize grows."

All eyes locked onto the piggy bank, including Soomin's. The sight of it stirred something in her—a flicker of hope. Just imagining the weight of her debts lifting, even a little, was enough to make her shoulders feel lighter. People often said money can't solve everything, but in Soomin's case, it might. She needed this. She needed to win. Only then could she finally feel at peace.

"How much is the prize money?" a voice called out, cutting through the tension. 

"The prize money for the games is 45.6 billion won in total," the masked guard replied. 

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the room. Even Soomin felt her breath catch. The number was staggering—life-changing. For a moment, the weight of their debts seemed to lift, replaced by a glimmer of hope. 

"And... one of us will win it all?" the same voice asked, its tone laced with disbelief. 

The guard's expression remained unreadable behind the mask. "We will provide details about the prize money and its distribution after the first game. However, for these games, you will be granted a special advantage." 

Advantage? Soomin's brow furrowed. What kind of advantage could they possibly mean in a situation like this? 

The guard continued, their tone calm yet ominous. "After each game, you will be given the opportunity to vote on whether to continue or stop. If the majority votes to end the games, you may leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point." 

A wave of chatter erupted among the players, the words "vote," "money," and "stop" echoing across the room. 

"Are you saying we'll still get some money even after the first game?" another player blurted out, his voice tinged with skepticism. 

The guard gave a measured nod. "That is correct." 

Soomin's gaze swept over the crowd, eventually landing on the man who had spoken. His shoulders were tense, his hands clenched at his sides. He seemed straightforward yet anxious, a mix that piqued her curiosity. 

Her eyes drifted to his player number: 456. 

Suddenly, Player 456 turned his head sharply toward one of the cameras. Soomin's curiosity deepened. Why was his first instinct to look there? Did he know something the rest of them didn't? Or was he just another desperate soul, like her, grasping at any thread of control in this surreal nightmare? 

For a brief moment, their eyes met. His expression was hard to read—a flicker of fear, determination, or maybe both. Soomin quickly averted her gaze, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

Soomin's head was swarming with endless thoughts  of regret and confusion. The weight of the situation pressed down on her—games, prize money, masked guards. It all felt off, wrong even. Her chest tightened as a single thought consumed her: I shouldn't have called that number. All she wanted now was to go home, but that option was no longer on the table. 

The murmurs and conversations of the other players filled the room, buzzing like static in her ears. Finally, the guard spoke, cutting through the noise. "All players must sign a consent form before the games begin." 

A line began to form as players approached the table. Some reading the form carefully, their eyes scanning every word. Others bombarded the guards with questions, trying to make sense of the rules. And then there were those who signed without hesitation, their desperation evident in the speed of their scrawls. 

Soomin hesitated, letting the line thin out before joining the end. Her eyes wandered over the crowd as she shuffled forward, taking in the faces of her fellow players. And then she saw him.

Her breath caught. It couldn't be. 

Her heart hammered in her chest as she locked eyes on a face she'd tried so hard to erase from her memory. Kang Dae-ho. Player 388. The one person she never wanted to see again, the one name she thought she'd buried for good. 

Soomin's throat tightened, and she rubbed her eyes, hoping it was just a trick of her imagination. But it wasn't. He was here, just as real and out of place as she was. 

She quickly looked away, her stomach knotting. Making eye contact felt dangerous—like it might drag her back into memories she'd fought so hard to suppress.  As her turn approached, she focused on the form, forcing herself to read it. 

1. A player is not allowed to voluntarily quit the games. 
2. A player who refuses to play will be eliminated. 
3. The games may be terminated upon a majority vote; in the case of a tie, players will vote again. 
4. If the games are terminated, players will divide the prize equally. 

The words blurred as she read them over and over. Each rule felt like a trap, a point of no return. 

"Those who do not wish to participate, please speak up now," the guard's voice rang out, cold and commanding.  The room fell silent, but to Soomin, the words felt like a direct target. Her grip tightened on the pen, the weight of the decision crushing her. 

She hesitated for just a moment longer before signing her name. There was no turning back now. 

As she set the pen down, her chest felt heavier, her stomach churned with unease. She wondered if she was making the right decision and to tell you the truth, she wasn't so sure that she was. But one way or another, she was about to find out.

nik speaks !
hi guys i know this chapter is super duper short im so sorry i promise im going to write more for the next chapter !! i just wanted to post something quick, i've been working every day so i haven't had much time to write :( hopefully you enjoyed this chapter and stick around for more !!

love nik !