His shirt clung to his skin, soaked with sweat, his breaths still uneven as he slumped against the alley wall. The glowing text hung in the air, silent, unyielding, like a judge waiting for his plea.
Jin scrubbed his face with both hands, a hoarse laugh scraping out. "Establish a branch office. Yeah, sure. Because after nearly dying in a shitty alley, my first thought is to, what, call a real estate agent?"
The laugh broke into a rough cough, his throat raw, his chest aching where that invisible force had crushed him. He crouched, fingers digging into his temples, trying to force his brain to make sense of it.
"Okay, branch office," he muttered, as if saying it aloud would unravel the absurdity. "How the hell am I supposed to pull that off? I can't even afford a bus ticket. Spent my last coins on this damn bottle, and it's already gone."
He nudged the empty soju bottle with his shoe. It rolled, clinking softly against the cracked pavement, a pathetic little sound in the quiet.
He tipped his head back against the wall, mind racing like it used to when Director Kwon dumped impossible deadlines on his desk. Break it down. List the options. Cross out the pipe dreams.
Rent an office? No chance. Landlords wanted deposits, credit checks, money, none of which he had. His bank account was a graveyard, and his credit was a joke.
Use his apartment? He snorted, bitter. "Yeah, brilliant. I guess I should also invite the debt collectors over for tea and make them my first clients. Perfect business plan, Jin."
Ask family? His stomach twisted at the thought. His parents already carried enough shame, their only son grinding away at a dead-end job, now fired and blacklisted. Picturing their faces if he begged for cash to rent an "office" because a glowing screen told him to? Unbearable.
He dragged his hands down his face, a groan slipping out. "What kind of garbage system gives me a task like this but no help? No money, no tools, not even a damn hint of what "business" I should be starting."
His voice cracked, rough with desperation, but the moment the words left his mouth, the floating text flickered. Jin froze, eyes widening.
"Wait… what?"
The glowing words vanished. In their place, a map bloomed in the air, sharp and vivid.
Not some basic sketch. This was intricate, streets, intersections, subway lines, all woven together in glowing detail. He knew it instantly, it was Seoul, the city he'd trudged through every day.
He scrambled to his feet, squinting at the hovering image. "No way, this thing is accurate…"
The map stretched out, a miniature version of his world, tracing the jagged veins of roads and the Han River's curve. He leaned closer, almost forgetting the ache in his chest, scanning familiar districts, Gangnam's packed bars, Dongdaemun's sprawling markets, the quiet streets of his childhood.
But it wasn't showing him normal things.
No office listings, no neat pop-ups for commercial spaces. Instead, red and yellow markers pulsed across the map like open sores.
His stomach sank.
These weren't office parks or shiny corporate towers. They were the city's underbelly, run-down industrial zones, half-abandoned apartment blocks, warehouses everyone knew were fronts for smuggling, street corners owned by gangs the cops ignored.
Jin's mouth went dry. He whispered, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
He reached out, fingers brushing the glowing air as if he could wipe the markers away. They pulsed defiantly under his touch.
"This…" He swallowed, bile burning his throat. "This isn't about a business, is it?"
The map stayed silent, but its message was clear.
Jin let out a sharp, unhinged laugh. "So that's the deal. You want me to set up shop, but not with desks and coffee machines. No, you want me in a goddamn warzone."
The realization slithered down his spine, cold and heavy. Every marker screamed trouble. These weren't just rough neighborhoods, they were death traps. Places people like him, with their college degrees and cheap suits, avoided unless they were desperate.
Jin knew those streets too well. Growing up, he'd skirted them, his mother's warnings echoing: take the long way, don't look, don't stop. He'd heard the rumors, fights, stabbings, drug deals gone wrong. Places where people disappeared, and no one asked why.
Now this thing wanted him to pick one.
He laughed again, raking a hand through his damp hair. "What's the product, huh? Extortion? Protection rackets? Or am I selling knockoff sneakers out of a van?"
The map didn't answer, its red markers pulsing like heartbeats in the dark.
Jin's jaw tightened, his eyes darting over the glowing districts. Every instinct screamed to run, to smash the bottle and stumble out of the alley, to pretend this was just a bad drunk dream.
But the memory of his chest caving in, his lungs choking on nothing, was too raw. His body still felt the phantom grip.
He shivered, his voice barely a whisper. "There's no walking away, is there?"
The neon lights outside the alley flickered, cold and indifferent, while Jin stood frozen, staring at the map that could kill him.
The glowing map of Seoul stretched endlessly before Jin's eyes, a cold, unyielding puzzle. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling a shaky breath through gritted teeth. The red markers pulsed like heartbeats, each one a silent demand: choose, or else.
He clenched his jaw, stepping closer to the floating projection. If he was stuck in this insane game, he'd damn well play it smart.
"Alright," he muttered, voice rough, "let's do this right."
His fingers twitched, and the map responded, zooming into the northern edge of the city, a block he vaguely recognized. His eyes narrowed, gut twisting.
No way.
That marker sat dead center in a neighborhood ruled by the Jangsu Crew, a gang so brutal even delivery drivers steered clear. Setting up his so-called "branch office" in their turf? He'd be signing his own death warrant.
He flicked his hand, scrolling further. Another marker flared in the east. He squinted, leaning in. Not gang territory, but the building—an old factory, half-collapsed, wide open with crumbling walls—offered no cover. If trouble came, he'd be trapped, a rat in a cage with nowhere to run.
He clicked his tongue, frustration bubbling. "Too deep, too open, too damn obvious."
The more he searched, the uglier it got. Every marker was a knife to his throat—gang-infested streets or abandoned ruins even gangs wouldn't touch. This wasn't about building a business. It was about surviving a battlefield.
He paused, eyes darting across the map, mind racing. "Think, Jin. If this is about staying alive, I need two things: a way out, and a reason for people to leave me the hell alone."
His finger slid south, gliding over familiar districts, until the map settled on a cluster of alleys near a wet market. His brow furrowed. He knew this area, not well, but enough. Cramped buildings, half the shops shuttered, the air thick with the stench of spoiled fish and grease.
A marker glowed on a single structure: a storage building.
Jin tilted his head, heart thudding. "That one…"
It wasn't completely abandoned. He'd passed it once or twice—a grimy, forgotten place used to stash junk, its windows smashed, walls tagged with graffiti. But it had potential.
It wasn't deep in gang territory. Close, sure—those alleys had their share of sketchy types—but it wasn't claimed by any major crew. Fewer eyes watching, fewer reasons for someone to come knocking on day one.
And the best part: escape routes.
His gaze traced the maze of alleys snaking around the building. Two side exits, plus a rooftop access if he could pry it open. If things went south, he wouldn't be cornered.
For the first time since the map appeared, a flicker of relief eased the knot in his chest.
"Defensible," he murmured, as if testing the word. "Close enough to the market that no one asks questions. And I can bolt if I have to."
He hovered his hand over the marker. The glow intensified, cold light spilling across his palm, making his skin look ghostly.
He froze, breath catching.
Once he chose, there was no going back.
"Storage building by a fish market," he said, a bitter laugh bubbling up. "My big corporate headquarters. Look at me, climbing the ladder."
His hand lingered, trembling. He pictured the alternative: that crushing pain in his chest, his lungs collapsing, the world fading to black. The taste of death still lingered in his throat.
"Fuck it," he whispered, and pressed down.
The marker pulsed, then rippled into concentric circles of cold light. New text flared:
[Candidate Location Selected.]
[Proceed to location within 72 hours to finalize acquisition.]
Jin exhaled, a sharp, ragged sound, his shoulders slumping. His knees wobbled, threatening to give out. The knot in his chest loosened, but only slightly.
"That's it, then," he said to the empty alley, voice hollow. "My first office."
The map collapsed into itself, shrinking to a small panel of text floating before him, its glow sterile and unforgiving.
[Reminder: Deadline 72 Hours.]
He stared, throat tight, the words burning into his eyes.
Beyond the alley, Seoul's neon lights buzzed like insects, glittering in the distance. He could just make out the direction of the market, the faint outline of the block he'd chosen.
It felt like a fever dream. He'd just picked a battlefield—not a workplace, not a career, but a damn battlefield.
The weight settled on his shoulders, heavy enough to make him hunch. He forced himself to straighten, lips moving in a shaky whisper meant only for himself. "Guess I'm walking straight into criminal territory if I want to live."
The night stayed silent. Only the flickering neon, the cold glow of the system's screen, and the frantic pounding of his heart answered.