Game 32: Wine, Warnings, and Wolves in Suits
Han Tae-yang sat hunched at the bar counter, one hand still resting on his empty beer glass, the other twirling the stem of a dusty wine bottle the bartender had begrudgingly placed in front of him. The world outside was neon, loud, frantic, taxi horns bleeding into the midnight air, footsteps clattering on wet pavement, the pulse of the city alive with a thousand unspoken secrets. But here, inside this small, dim-lit den, everything was locked into one thing only: the TV broadcast.
The air tasted of spilled soju and grilled squid from the kitchen, but Tae-yang hardly noticed. His mind gnawed at what he had just heard.
The Awakened Association, huh…?
He poured himself a glass of wine, the red liquid curling like blood inside the thin crystal. His movements were slow, deliberate. His reflection in the glass was warped, two-faced, half a drunk, half a strategist.
"The government's moving faster than I expected," he murmured, tapping his finger against the counter with each word. "Forming a new group, already filled with awakened folks… Hm. Not bad. Not bad at all."
The bartender, polishing a chipped glass, gave him a look. "You know, you sound like one of those conspiracy nuts on the internet."
"Correction," Tae-yang shot back, swirling his wine, "I'm a stylish conspiracy nut. Big difference."
The TV's glow washed across the bar, cutting through the smoke. The anchor's voice rang with urgency:
> "Next, we'll hear from a representative of the newly established organization. Please welcome Lee Ji-hoon, commander of the Awakened Association."
The camera cut to a tall man in a dark suit, hair combed neatly, jaw sharp enough to cut diamonds. His voice carried weight, not the shouting kind, but the kind that pressed down on you, steady and unshakable.
> "I am Lee Ji-hoon, commander of this Association. The reason I appear before you today is simple. We want to recruit more awakened members."
The bar went pin-drop silent. Even the ceiling fan seemed to hesitate mid-creak.
Tae-yang leaned forward, glass hovering near his lips. His eyes narrowed, tracking every micro-expression on the man's face.
So this is the wolf they've put in a suit…
Lee Ji-hoon continued, calm yet magnetic:
> "Each person's ability level may differ, but know this, we value every awakened one. We promise an annual salary of up to sixty million won, alongside an official position as a Level Seven government officer."
The bar collectively gasped. Sixty million. That was the kind of money that turned neighbors into spies, family into informants.
A man at the corner whistled low. "Sixty mil? I'd sell my own grandma for half of that."
Another snapped back, "Your grandma's been trying to sell you for years. Don't act surprised."
The laughter was strained, a nervous crack in the suffocating tension.
But Tae-yang's thoughts were not on the money. His humor drained as quickly as his wine. He set the glass down, the faint clink echoing like a gunshot in his ears.
Flexible response, quick setup, and now honeyed bait.
I thought it would take weeks. Maybe even months. But no, they're already shaping the battlefield. They're not stupid. They know the Tower isn't just some trial. It's a war. And they're building their army first.
The camera zoomed closer to Lee Ji-hoon. His gaze seemed to pierce right through the screen, right into the bar, right into Tae-yang's skull.
> "And for those who fear joining us, let me say this, we do not simply offer money. We offer stability, power, and recognition. The Association will stand as the shield of this nation. And we need you to hold it."
The bar erupted into chatter. People leaned toward each other, whispering, arguing, plotting. Someone's phone rang with a news alert, another dropped their chopsticks.
But Tae-yang only heard one thing.
The commander's final words.
> "Of course… this is different for the person in the video."
The atmosphere cracked.
Heads turned toward the screen, some already darting suspicious glances at each other. The man in the footage, the shadow fighter in the museum, the one already whispered about in forums.
The resemblance to Han Tae-yang was undeniable.
His chest tightened. His throat felt dry, the taste of wine turning metallic.
"Shit."
He muttered it low, so only the counter heard. His fingers drummed faster, his mind racing like a storm unraveling.
They're baiting me out. Clever bastards. Throw wealth at the masses, but sharpen the knife for me.
His inner voice, sarcastic, defensive, chimed in.
"Oh, don't worry Tae-yang, just relax! It's not like the entire country is watching the same TV, waiting for someone to match your face. Totally safe. Totally fine."
The bartender leaned closer. "You okay, buddy? You look like you just saw your ex walk in."
"Worse," Tae-yang muttered. "It's like watching my own funeral being broadcast live."
---
On the TV, Commander Lee Ji-hoon leaned closer to the microphone. His voice, now heavier, more deliberate, rolled through the bar like thunder crawling over the mountains.
> "As the commander, I make this clear. If you join us, we will give you anything you request."
The words hit like a hammer.
The chatter died instantly.
Promises like that were never thrown around lightly. Power, resources, immunity, anything.
The bait was too rich, too shiny.
And the trap underneath it was too sharp.
Tae-yang's pupils dilated. His heart thudded, but his mouth curved into a grin no one could quite read.
Inside, his thoughts screamed.
Anything, huh? Then what do you want in return, Lee Ji-hoon? My name? My freedom? My soul?
The glass of wine sat untouched beside him. His hand hovered over it but froze mid-air. His reflection wavered, his own face now a mask of calculation.