"Fuck, thought I was gonna die without a smoke."
Han Seoho accepted the e-cigarette Manager Kim handed him.
"Thanks, Manager Kim."
Manager Kim sat across from him, like a caretaker watching over someone.
It wasn’t the first or second time something had happened, but every time he was treated this way, Seoho’s pride took a hit.
This was why he hated straights.
He consoled himself, telling himself Manager Kim only disdained him because he was straight. He stuck his lips out sulkily, then drew on the cigarette.
Haa. Fuck. This was it.
His first smoke in nearly three days. The hit made him a little lightheaded.
Slurp, smack. He sucked greedily and exhaled the vapor.
"But why’s smoking banned anyway? E-cigs are fine."
"E-cigs are still cigarettes."
"Come on, these don’t even cause fires."
"You know it’s not about fire safety."
That damned respectful tone of his—Seoho found it turned him on.
And it frustrated him all over again that he hadn’t managed to seduce this middle-aged suit.
Seoho’s tastes had always been firm, from childhood.
Middle-aged to elderly men—used-up men.
He had never failed in that age bracket.
Failure? No—men in that bracket treasured him, worshipped him like an emperor, thankful he would even give himself to them. They gave everything for him, their liver, their gall.
Of course, Seoho was popular with peers his own age too—but those brats were infected with the plague of splitting the bill.
Dutch pay. Fucking disease.
Anyway, the only old man in his life who hadn’t fallen for him was the Chairman. And even then, it wasn’t that he had been mistreated, just that he hadn’t been favored.
The conditions had been bad to start with. The Chairman already had Cha Jongsoo, who was like a wife, and Jade and Amber, who fit his tastes better than anyone. Back then, Seoho had only been twenty, nothing more than a rookie. It was natural he couldn’t compete with them.
But Manager Kim treated him like a mere commodity. From the very first day, his worth was measured solely against whether or not he resembled Cha Jongsoo.
That was what Manager Kim had called him.
"There are grades, even for whores," he had said.
"Han Seoho’s looks and body are Grade A. Age, Grade S. Overall, excellent. Not the very best, but still."
All in that cold, professional tone.
Seoho hated himself for wanting to win over even a bastard like that—but that was who he was. He was greedy enough to need even the men no one else would touch.
"What did Choi Minjae say?"
Seoho asked after savoring another drag.
Manager Kim only raised a brow, not answering.
The gesture said: What business is it of yours? Just do as you’re told.
Seoho, sharp as ever, noticed instantly—but pretended to be an idiot.
"That fucker must’ve been trembling, right? Didn’t even have to see it. He’s got the guts of a pea. Waste of a big body."
He rambled cheerfully, filling the silence.
Manager Kim just listened without cutting him off. Surprisingly patient man.
"But isn’t this counseling thing kind of random?"
Seoho asked between drags.
Everyone had been grumbling about how strange it was. He had cursed too, not knowing what kind of session it was supposed to be.
As soon as Minjae had come out of counseling, he had run to Seoho and spilled everything word-for-word. Loyal little dog.
Seoho had laughed at the counseling at first—but the second he heard Minjae describe the man he met, he straightened up.
The Maybach. Kim Hansoo.
The real manager and host of the project, showing himself openly.
Seoho had assumed, as always, that Hansoo would only appear once the Party began. His appearance shocked him. And it stung a little.
Because Hansoo had met Minjae but hadn’t even bothered to see him.
Shouldn’t it have been me?
Still, he wondered why Director Kim Hansoo had shown up now.
Something must have happened.
Seoho’s instincts were sharp as well as quick. He could feel a strange current running through this place. The sudden counseling. The way Minjae had been grilled.
Could that bastard Minjae be a cop’s mole?
Honestly, if he were a cop, he would never use someone like Minjae as a mole. The kid wasn’t capable. He had no awareness, and he loved sex too much. He wasn’t just grateful to be here—he was ready to bury his bones in this project.
With that level of sincerity, could he really be a mole?
Besides, Seoho hadn’t heard anything from the detective.
If he were outside, he’d just ask directly. But he couldn’t. Not here, where showing any closeness to the detective would blow his cover.
Being trapped was the worst. Nothing he wanted to do was possible.
This place was basically a prison. People could die here and no one would even know.
They could kill, sure.
Cha Jongsoo had killed more than a few out of jealousy, and Seoho himself had personally done in five men at Jongsoo’s order.
Through it all, Seoho had survived, without a scratch.
Even if someone died here, it wouldn’t concern him. He was sure of that.
Most of the crew deserved to die anyway. Empty-headed peacocks stuffed with shit. Hosts for cocks, blinded by lust.
Seoho barely held back a laugh.
But why was this man so quiet?
Lost in thought, Seoho glanced at Manager Kim.
That middle-aged mask of a man was bent over his tablet screen.
So what, he’d just been called here to smoke?
To enjoy some freedom in secret?
Seoho hated silence more than anything.
So he opened his mouth.
"Why didn’t I place in the rankings? Honestly, wasn’t I amazing? Normally I wouldn’t brag but—"
Manager Kim looked up, cutting him off.
Seoho pursed his lips, asking coyly, "What?"
"Was this the real reason Kim Jiwon visited Choi Minjae’s room last night?"
On Seoho’s tablet was a messenger app for one-on-one reports to the manager.
Every night, he had to report the day’s events. What he had seen, heard, felt among the crew.
Of course, he had reported Jiwon’s sudden visit last night.
"That’s what Minjae said."
"And what do you think?"
"I don’t buy it. They hardly ever interacted, and suddenly Jiwon bursts in out of jealousy? There’s something between them, but the ‘flirting’ story is bullshit."
If he pressed , Seoho could only answer, "Not sure."
It wasn’t like they had no connection.
Minjae always hung with Gwak Chan, and naturally with Chan’s friend Kim Yunho. Jiwon was there too. So those five—Jiwon, Yunho, Chan, Minjae, and Jiwon’s other buddy—were always together during breaks. Maybe Jiwon and Minjae had something on the side, where he hadn’t seen.
Jiwon wasn’t the clueless fool he seemed. Personality-wise, yes, but he was just as obsessed with sex as Minjae.
Everyone knew about him doing a fist fuck with Gwak Chan. If that’s what had won him first place, then his tastes couldn’t be all that different from Minjae’s.
He had gotten both Number 3 and Son Geonwoo’s picks, sure—so Minjae might not have been satisfied. But taste-wise? Very possible.
"Not certain. But if he fist-fucked Chan, what couldn’t he do?"
Seoho clicked his tongue.
Manager Kim frowned, jotting something down with his stylus.
"Keep an eye on the two of them. Especially around Choi Minjae."
So there was something with Minjae, clearly.
"Fine. But why am I not excused from the games? Yesterday Jiwon saved me from the penalty, but today? I’m never—ever—taking that punishment again."
Even thinking about it made his knees shake. He knew it had all been a hallucination, but he was convinced there was some device behind it. Otherwise, why would he have seen that hallucination?
"There are no exceptions."
Manager Kim’s voice was firm.
"Why not? I risk my life giving you information. I deserve that much."
"You get ten million won every day, don’t you?"
Haa. Fuck. So that’s how it was.
Seoho was paid ten million won daily for his information.
And with the ten billion they had promised him just for joining, that meant over eleven billion in total. Not quite enough to make him filthy rich, but more than enough to erase any worry about his future.
Honestly, it was a sweet deal.
But the penalty—that, he couldn’t stand. He still felt like he could smell burning flesh.
Unconsciously, he rubbed his left cheek and scalp with his palm.
"Manager Kim, please. At least put in a word with the director. I’m really scared."
He whined, trying to act cute.
"There are no exceptions. Win the game."
Manager Kim didn’t so much as blink at the act.
"Like I don’t know that. But why didn’t I place yesterday? I swear I did great."
"It was too obvious."
"You know very well what."
He set the tablet down.
"Next time, hold back on the acting."
Seoho was anorgasmic. The signs had started just before he came in here.
It wasn’t the size of the cocks going in. No matter how big, he rarely climaxed. Even peeing felt off—his prostate must have been broken. But he hated doctors more than death itself.
He had considered a clinic once, after finding out some guys were on ED meds—but if they found out he was anorgasmic, they wouldn’t leave him be.
And unlike a hard-on from pills, a prostate issue couldn’t be fixed in a day or two. He knew that from experience. So he gave up on the clinic.
He was going to walk out with the ten billion no matter what. With the bonuses, over eleven billion. It was money he’d never see again in his life. He had no intention of letting anyone discover his condition before the final day.
And so far, no one had. None of his partners had realized. They all believed he had been crazy about them, that he had really climaxed.
But apparently it had shown yesterday.
He had gotten careless.
It didn’t seem like they had figured out he was anorgasmic, but still—he needed to be careful.
Luckily, a lifeline had appeared.
Developer Class. That instructor was practically his savior. He had climaxed during those sessions.
"Honestly, I tend to overdo it sometimes. You know that, don’t you, Manager?"
Seoho «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» pouted, setting the e-cigarette down.
"My partners love it. You’re the only one who doesn’t."
Manager Kim ignored him, turning the tablet screen toward him.
Was it a picture? It looked like a photograph redrawn as an illustration.
Seoho leaned in close to study it.
A little boy slumped over a table. On the table was a plate.
There was a sheet of paper lying on it.
"A mission," Manager Kim said.
"Go down to the dressing room on Basement 3."
"The game’s started?"
"Yes. In the dressing room, you’ll transform into the figure in the picture."
Seoho couldn’t make sense of it.
He looked at the drawing again.
Manager Kim thought a moment, then said,
"Try bringing up your nephew in conversation."
"My nephew? I don’t have one." Google seaʀᴄh 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡•𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚•𝙣𝙚𝙩
"Then say you do. A five-year-old nephew. A boy, preferably."
Seoho pointed at the picture. Manager Kim nodded.
"Fine. I’ll just do what you say."
Seoho left the counseling room still not understanding.
A five-year-old nephew? And a boy?
He was the eldest of two brothers and one sister. His younger siblings were only twenty and nineteen. There was no way he had a nephew that old.
So he’d just make it a cousin’s kid.
Surname Kim, Lee, or Park would do. What should he name him?
What names were popular these days?
Seoho walked the corridor, smiling brightly.