Kai followed closely behind Player 001, moving with slow, cautious steps. He'd already covered about seventy meters without incident. Only thirty more to go before the finish line.
Behind him, the situation was far bloodier. Each gunshot signaled another life lost. Kai didn't dare look back—he knew that one glance at the carnage might be enough to make his legs give out completely.
Not everyone was as lucky. Player 67, a woman with sharp eyes and a cold face, grabbed the hair of Player 101, the tattooed man in front of her.
"Do you want me to betray you again?"
Player 101's cocky grin vanished, replaced by panic.
"Wait, no, please—"
Meanwhile, Player 456, a middle-aged man, tripped over a corpse's arm. He nearly fell just as the doll's head began to turn. His heart slammed in his chest—he was finished.
But then, a strong hand grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upright. It was Player 199, a foreigner with kind eyes.
Thanks to him, 456 survived that round.
By the time the game ended, almost half the players were dead. Kai, along with 201 others, managed to reach the finish line alive.
Back in the player dormitory, chaos broke loose.
Dozens of survivors broke down crying, kneeling on the cold floor and begging the Guards for mercy.
"Please! We'll pay back the money! Just let us go!"
Among them, Player 212, an older woman, screamed the loudest.
"I have a child! I can't die here!"
But the Guard in red, standing at the door, didn't even flinch.
"All players signed a consent form. Withdrawal from the game is considered elimination."
Despair filled the room—until Player 218, a calm man wearing glasses, suddenly shouted:
"Wait! The last clause in the consent form says that if a majority agrees, the game can be stopped!"
The Guard paused for a moment. Then, in a cold, mechanical tone, he replied:
"Correct. We will now prepare to vote on whether to continue."
Kai said nothing.
He didn't believe for a second that an organization capable of creating a game like this would simply let people go. If they had the resources and manpower to abduct hundreds of people and build a killing field, then they had power far beyond the law.
Still, the Guard continued.
He raised a remote and pressed a button.
From above, a massive glass piggy bank descended, glowing under the lights. Bundles of cash poured into it like a waterfall.
"Two hundred fifty-four players were eliminated in the first game. That's 25.4 billion won added to the prize pool," the Guard announced.
The room fell silent. The players watched in awe as the mountain of money kept piling up.
Player 101's greedy eyes practically lit up.
Even Player 212, who had been sobbing moments ago, now asked hesitantly,
"E-excuse me… how much is the total prize?"
"A total of four hundred fifty-six players entered the game," the Guard replied flatly, "If all six games are completed, the grand prize will be 45.6 billion won."
The sound of gasps echoed through the dorm.
Forty-five billion. Enough to change anyone's life.
The vote began.
Each player was called forward one by one, pressing either a green circle (to continue) or a red cross (to end the game).
The scoreboard slowly filled up.
The votes were almost equal—green, red, green, red—until the tension became unbearable.
Player 119, a scruffy middle-aged man, suddenly yelled:
"Are you people insane?! Who the hell would want to play this kind of game?!"
But his voice was drowned out by angry shouts.
"Why not play? Our lives out there are already worse than death!"
"If you want to die, die alone! Don't drag us down!"
"Cowards!"
Kai watched the chaos with mild amusement.
"Typical," he thought. "Some people cling to safety, others gamble everything the first chance they get."
He had intended to vote no, but then a thought struck him.
If he died here, maybe—just maybe—he'd return to his original world. And if he survived and won… he'd walk away with a fortune.
Either way, he'd escape this meaningless life of debt and isolation.
Kai smirked. "Looks like either outcome's a win for me."
When it was his turn, he walked up to the board and pressed the green circle without hesitation.
The final count came to 101 for continuing, 100 for stopping—with only Player 001 left to vote.
All eyes turned to the old man. He shuffled slowly to the screen, hesitated for a few seconds, and then pressed the red cross.
The scoreboard flashed: 101 to 101.
A tie.
"What happens now?" Player 218 asked.
The Guard's voice remained flat and emotionless.
"If the vote is tied, the game will end. Players will be released. A new vote may be held if they return."
With that, he turned and left with six armed Guards.
As soon as they were gone, the room erupted again.
"You maniacs! You still wanted to play?!"
"You think life out there's any better?!"
"If you're so eager to die, jump off a bridge!"
Kai ignored them. He climbed back onto his bunk, stretched out, and stared at the ceiling.
"Pointless noise," he muttered. "Might as well rest and save energy for whatever comes next."
Gradually, the shouting died down. Exhausted, most players returned to their bunks.
Kai had almost drifted off to sleep when someone nudged him awake.
"Hey, Player 250. You were amazing out there—second to cross the finish line. Want to be friends?"
Kai opened one eye and frowned. It was Player 456, the guy who'd nearly been killed if not for Ali's help.
He sighed. This guy? Really?
But then he thought about it. The original host of this body had been weak, thin, and far from athletic. If the next games required strength or teamwork, having allies wouldn't hurt.
So Kai nodded. "Sure."
456 smiled brightly.
"Great! I'm Seong Gi-hun. Let me introduce my friends."
He pulled Kai toward a small group.
"This is Cho Sang-woo—Player 218. That's Abdul Ali, Player 199. And this gentleman here—Player 001—well, he's got Alzheimer's and doesn't remember his name."
Kai gave them a brief nod.
"I'm Kai. Player 250."