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With a loud buzz, the large metal doors within the half-circle bolted open. Like machines, the pink guards marched out in perfect synchronization. The triangle-masked soldiers, guns in hand, parted to either side, leaving a clear path down the middle. Then, the square-masked man stepped forward.

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Panic set in as players scrambled to hide among the bunks.

Beside Yeon-Jin, Dae-Ho tensed. His body stiffened, his feet shifting back slightly. Fear was unmistakable in his eyes.

"You have successfully made it through the first game. Congratulations to you all."

Yeon-Jin wanted to throw up. Congratulations? What the hell was wrong with these people?

"Now, if I may have your attention, I will announce the results so far."

A melody played through the speakers. Yeon-Jin's gaze flickered to the board above. The number displayed was 456. Then, it began counting down—faster, and faster.

455... 430... 400... 380...

It kept going. The steady decline mimicked the spinning reels of a slot machine, ticking away at their lives.

91 players eliminated.

The number 365 flashed in stark contrast against the darkened screen.

"Out of 456 players, 91 have been eliminated," the square-masked man announced. "Which means 365 players have completed the first game."

The board stopped with a final click.

"Once again, congratulations to all of you for making it through the first game," he said, his voice dry, devoid of any real emotion.

For a moment, silence suffocated the room.

Then, from the crowd, a woman stepped forward. Yeon-Jin recognized her immediately—the older woman who had been screaming at her son earlier. Now, she clutched him tightly, one arm wrapped around his shoulders as she dragged him forward.

"Sir, listen to me! Let us go, please!" She dropped to her knees, her voice cracking. "Please don't kill us. I beg you! As for my son's debt, I will do whatever it takes to pay it back. Please, forgive us!"

She bowed, forehead pressing against the cold floor. Her shoulders trembled as she rocked back and forth, sobbing.

"Don't just stand there," she hissed suddenly at her son, sitting up to grip his arms with shaking fingers. "Beg for his forgiveness."

The man hesitated, his eyes darting between the masked figure and his mother. Then, reluctantly, he sank to his knees beside her.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me," he whispered, pressing his hands together in a desperate plea. "I promise I'll pay it back..."

Almost as if caught in a trance, one by one, people began dropping to their knees, crawling out from their hiding places to join in the desperate chorus of pleas for mercy. For a second, Yeon-Jin almost scoffed, but she stopped herself. In no way was she above them. The only thing separating her from them was that she refused to beg. Not begging for her life let her hold on to the one thing she thought she had—but ultimately knew she didn't, Dignity.

"You don't need to kill me!" a voice called out.

"I'll work to pay everything back!"

The pleading swelled, voices overlapping in frantic desperation. Yeon-Jin glanced beside her and saw Dae-Ho's fingers twitch, as if, for just a second, he was considering joining them.

Then, the square-masked man spoke, his voice calm, unshaken.

"We are not here to harm you or collect your debts. We are simply providing you with an opportunity."

A voice rang out, cutting through the air like a blade.

"Consent form, clause three!"

The pleas fell silent as all eyes turned toward the source—Player 456.

"If the majority of players agree to stop playing, the games will be terminated," he stated firmly. "Isn't that correct?"

The masked man was quiet for a moment before answering.

"That is correct."

"Then we'll do that," Player 456 continued. "We'll put it to a vote."

The masked man remained still before finally giving a small nod.

"If that is what you wish... During these games, we will always respect your right to freedom of choice."

A wave of collective gasps and relieved sighs rippled through the players. But Yeon-Jin couldn't share in it. She couldn't trust them.

Before she could dwell on that thought, the masked man raised his hand, revealing a small remote.

"But before we vote, we will reveal how much prize money has accumulated after the first game."

Beep.

A deep rumble shook the ceiling. The lights shifted to a golden hue. And then—

A familiar 8-bit melody began to play.

Yeon-Jin's stomach twisted as the piggy bank descended once more, suspended from the ceiling. A soft thud echoed as the first wads of cash dropped in. Then more. The melody sped up as the money piled higher.

Dae-Ho moved out from under the bunk bed, stepping closer, his eyes locked onto the prize.

Yeon-Jin didn't dare move.

Like moths to a flame, a crowd gathered beneath the glowing piggy bank, their heads tilted back, eyes wide with awe. But that wasn't all Yeon-Jin saw. That look—she knew it too well.

It was the look that had dragged them all here.

Greed.

"A total of 91 players were eliminated during the first game," the masked man announced. "Therefore, 9.1 billion won has accumulated so far. If you choose to leave now, the remaining 365 players will split the prize money equally. Meaning—"

A pause.

"Each of you will walk away with an equal share."

"How much is that?" someone called out.

"Each person's share would be 24,931,500 won."

Yeon-Jin swallowed thickly. Blood money.

Money she needed—desperately. But it wouldn't even cover half of her debt.

Murmurs spread through the crowd, a wave of disappointment and frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"Twenty million?" A sharp voice cut through the tension. "What happened to 45.6 billion!?"

The speaker was a young man with dyed purple hair, his face twisted in anger.

"The rule states that one hundred million won is added for each eliminated player," the masked man explained, unfazed. "If you choose to continue playing and more players are eliminated, the prize money will increase accordingly."

A heavy silence followed.

The meaning behind those words settled over them like a noose tightening around their throats.

If more players die, the reward gets bigger.

Yeon-Jin felt her stomach knot. She couldn't see Dae-Ho's face—he was ahead of her, standing just beyond her line of sight—but she could hear the shift of his feet, the slight inhale through his nose. Listening. Calculating.

Around the room, players were doing the same.

The tension had changed. It wasn't just fear anymore.

It was something darker.

Something that made Yeon-Jin's hands curl into fists.

"How much will it be if you survive until the end?" someone asked.

"As I already told you, the total prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. Those who make it through all six games will divide the prize equally."

"So if you're the only one left... you get all 45.6 billion?"

"That's correct."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Conversations broke out as players weighed their options—was the money really worth the risk?

Yeon-Jin thought about what was waiting for her outside, beyond these games.

Death.

Deep down, she knew it. If she left now, she'd end up just like Ji-Soo. Dead. Missing. Whatever you wanted to call it. Was that really any better than taking a chance?

Even though she knew she was being foolish—hypocritical even—she told herself...

Just one more game.

"So we can take a vote again after the next game?"

"As stated in the consent form, you may vote after each game to decide whether to continue or leave with the prize money accumulated so far," the masked man confirmed. "We will always prioritize your voluntary participation."

Yeon-Jin glanced at Dae-Ho. He was still standing, his shoulders rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. When she saw him wipe a hand across his face, his gaze locked onto the piggy bank, she knew.

He had already made his choice.

"Now," the masked man said, raising his hand. "Let's begin the vote."