The recruiter
The icy wind outside Club Pentagon bit through Sooyoung’s thin jacket as she shuffled down the alley. Her shift had ended an hour ago, but Nam-Gyu’s parting words still clung to her like cigarette smoke.
“Don’t think you’re better than me, Sooyoung,” he’d sneered as she clocked out. “We’re all just rats in a maze. Some of us know how to play the game better than others.”
She didn’t respond then, but now the echo of his voice irritated her more than the blistering cold.
The street was nearly empty save for a few drunks stumbling home, but it didn’t take long before she heard the sound of hurried footsteps behind her. Her stomach sank.
“Sooyoung!”
She turned, her fists clenched. There he was, Nam-Gyu, his greasy bob framing his gaunt face. He was jittery, either from the cold or whatever cocktail of drugs he’d taken tonight.
“What do you want now?” she snapped.
“Relax, bartender,” he said, spreading his arms as if offering peace. “Just thought I’d walk you home. Y’know, protect you from the big, bad world out here.”
“I don’t need your protection,” she hissed, quickening her pace.
Nam-Gyu easily kept up, his laughter cutting through the silence of the empty street. “You’re really no fun. But hey, you’re lucky, you know? Some of us have to scrape by just to survive. You’ve got the bar, your debt, your sad little life. And yet, here I am, still offering to help you out.”
She whipped around to face him. “Help me? You’re the reason my life is hell!”
His grin widened. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not that special.”
Before she could retort, she spotted a figure standing under a flickering streetlamp in the park ahead. The man was dressed sharply in a suit, his hands behind his back as if waiting for someone.
Nam-Gyu’s voice faded into the background as Sooyoung’s curiosity pulled her toward the stranger.
“Miss Kim Sooyoung?” the man asked as she approached, his voice calm and professional.
She nodded cautiously. “Who’s asking?”
“I couldn’t help but notice your… predicament,” he said, glancing briefly at Nam-Gyu, who was watching from a distance. “I have an opportunity for you. A game. If you win, you’ll earn enough money to clear your debts and then some.”
Sooyoung frowned. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch. Just a simple game of Ddakji,” the man said, pulling out two folded paper tiles. He smiled faintly. “You know how to play, don’t you?”
It had been years since Sooyoung had played Ddakji as a child, but the rules were simple: flip your opponent’s tile with yours.
“And if I lose?” she asked.
He shrugged. “You lose nothing. But if you win, you walk away with 100,000 won.”
The money was tempting—almost suspiciously so—but desperation outweighed caution. “Fine,” she said, taking the red tile from his hand.
The first round was a humiliating loss, the man’s tile flipping hers with a single strike. He smirked as she handed over 10,000 won from her meager earnings.
“Care to try again?”
This time, she focused, pouring all her frustration into the throw. The impact echoed in the stillness, and his tile flipped cleanly.
“Well done,” the man said, handing her an envelope. Inside was 100,000 won and a business card with a phone number printed in bold black ink.
“What’s this for?” she asked.
“Call the number if you’d like to play more games. Bigger stakes. Bigger rewards.”
Before she could question him further, the man disappeared into the night.