I Became a Monster in a T*ash Game

A Handful of Kindness and a Bundle of ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) Malice
The capacity of the human brain is limited. Life is far too long and complicated to retain every bit of data that floods in each minute, each second.
So we live forgetting a great deal. Most meaningless memories slip beyond consciousness, but sometimes fragments remain, drifting around as scattered pieces.
At the moment Joo-o was rudely scooping up cereal—what he called livestock feed—a few spoonfuls at a time, Jin Muhae suddenly recalled a shard of memory from who knows where.
He was eating a cookie atop a black table. He carefully dunked the snack into pure white milk, then bit it so gently that the soggy fragment wouldn’t fall apart.
A drop of milk did land on his sleeve, but luckily it wasn’t noticeable. And that was the end of the memory.
He couldn’t recall the taste of the cookie or what the room looked like—only that single instant swirled in his mind.
“Jin Muhae. What are you looking at?”
“None of your business. Eat your food.”
He sensed instinctively that this was a memory from before he was five years old.
It was as blurry as a dream, but clearly something he’d experienced. Too mundane, too meaningless, so his mind filtered it out—yet it remained as a hidden file of debris.
“…When did I start eating snacks like that?”
“I’m twenty-two.”
“I didn’t ask your age.”
Muhae squinted thoughtfully and saw Joo-o before him, spooning up colorful cereal.
With a look that said just how precious his newfound fruit tornado was, Joo-o savored each piece of dye-packed cereal.
He ate so neatly that, even with a piled-high spoonful, not a single drop of milk fell. Glancing over the table, Muhae saw its edge was a faded beige.
…The same old corner of the house he’d lived in since childhood, unchanged except for the dusty study.
He didn’t know where in his memories he’d enjoyed a happy snack time, but it certainly wasn’t here on Starlight Avenue.
He wondered briefly if it had been at Boss Gil’s place or Professor Jeong’s home, but he’d never seen a black, massive table in either of those spaces.
It was truly strange.
“That stuff still tastes terrible.”
Ignoring Joo-o’s nod of smug agreement, Muhae resumed eating. These days Joo-o’s mouth wouldn’t stop running.
If he at least spoke nonsense, Muhae could dismiss it as idle chatter—but he paired the right words with the right moments and made Muhae self-conscious.
Muhae even worried he might start spouting oddities at the electronics shop. He tapped the table with his fingertips after swallowing roughly.
“Remember what I told you.”
“What?”
“To watch your mouth outside the house.”
“Sure thing.”
Joo-o bobbed his head as if it were the most obvious rule. Muhae was glad last night’s lecture had stuck.
“I won’t tell anyone what you touched. It’s a secret, right?”
“Don’t phrase it like that…Never mind. Just don’t mention it again.”

He had a knack for making ordinary facts sound grotesque, so Muhae felt compelled to warn him in advance.
Of course, no matter how scatterbrained Joo-o got, he wouldn’t announce in public that Muhae had been massaging his butt or rubbing something weird—but Muhae wanted zero chance of that ever happening. Just imagining it gave him chills.
“In exchange, you have to rub my hair right now.”
“I’m eating.”
“Fine. After we finish and watch TV.”
Joo-o’s gaze flicked to some distant point, then to the TV, then the sofa. Since he learned they’d be heading to the electronics shop in the afternoon, it seemed he’d been plotting something in that round head of his.
He’d undoubtedly pull Muhae onto the sofa and demand to be petted. Muhae watched the man laugh, forgetting his meal.
Against the darker, glossier memory of the table, Joo-o’s hair swung attractively. Muhae absentmindedly reached out to stroke it, then pushed his hand away and shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
Despite the intense lust squeezing inside him, nothing much changed between them after they ‘coupled.’ Muhae continued to look after him as usual, and Joo-o tagged along wherever he went.
They didn’t stick together all day. When Muhae holed up at home translating the documents he found in the shelter, Joo-o went on a few solo walks.
He returned having swapped four boxes of cereal for some meat skewers—an impressive trade for days-old food. While Boss Gil lay ill and their schedule slipped by a few days, Joo-o diligently gathered all the good stuff. He’d eat his fill and then snuggle up to Muhae at every opportunity.
Whether watching TV or reviewing the Return logs, he’d lean between Muhae’s legs and, if left unchecked, brush his face and suddenly press his lips to Muhae’s.
Had he learned it on his own, or did he think it was finally allowed? Joo-o frequently blurred the lines between work and personal life.
Damn. Still, Muhae often let it slide and caressed him through his clothes. His healthy, vibrant body wouldn’t obey reason.
Whether Muhae worried about him acting like that outside or not, Joo-o looked utterly content. Sometimes he’d bury his head in the sofa like an animal and purr with satisfaction.
“You said you were feeling better. You still look like a corpse.”
“Have you ever seen a walking corpse? Hurry and pack up and go inside. I’ve got work piled up too.”
When Muhae met Boss Gil four days after returning to Goryeo City, the man’s under-eyes were dark and hollow. His clothes hung loosely, as if he’d been gravely ill.
He’d never been in good health and fell sick hard every few years. Professor Jeong used to say that if he hadn’t submitted to periodic checkups, he’d have died alone long ago.
“Yeah… We found something again this time.”
“Sounds like a long story. Just promise you won’t faint before it’s over.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to?”
Was he joking or serious? Muhae sat down at the tea table.
Before anyone could tell him, Joo-o dashed over to his usual spot beside Muhae, looking as if it were a reserved seat.
“What is this hellish health juice?”
“It’s health juice all right. My fridge is full of it. Drink some and clear space.”
Boss Gil poured the grotesque dark-green liquid into a mug. It was obviously Professor Jeong’s handiwork they were clearing out.
Muhae ignored it, but Joo-o tasted it first.
“Ugh.”
He made a face but gulped down the entire drink.
“Is this serious?”
“Probably. We’ll have to hear some old stories.”
Boss Gil raised his hand to pause, then fished a cigarette from his pocket and put it between his lips.
Sss, whoosh. Once it lit, he exhaled a languid sigh. At last, he nodded—ready to tell whatever fucked-up tale lay ahead.
“The details are long, but we dug up more records. Not so much Return logs as the journals and research notes of Solar City researchers.”
“Solar… City, huh. We did exchange quite a bit of correspondence with them.”
“Lots I don’t understand—mechanical devices, the mechanics of the Crystal Blue…”
“Of course. When did you ever study that stuff? Even a trained researcher spends years learning the field.”
With a flick, Boss Gil tapped the ash off his cigarette. Despite his gruff manner, his eyes gleamed with interest.
“So, you want me to explain?”
He seemed ready to spread out the documents, but Muhae shook his head.
“I wouldn’t understand even if you told me here.”
“Still, you get the gist.”
Once Gil learned their Return administrator was a researcher by training, he’d given up any thought of expecting Muhae to grasp and adapt such technicalities.
What Muhae really wanted to ask Gil was not about the formulas, but the person Return had erased—the fourth member Gil had always avoided mentioning.
“Seopung.”
“…”
“Since you’ve dug this far, isn’t it about time you told me?”
Damn. Gil muttered faintly. His lips moved but what came out sounded like a curse, so Muhae didn’t press.
He silently inhaled smoke again. His already drawn-out face looked even more haggard.
When Gil finally stubbed out his cigarette and spoke, his voice was low.
“Why the hell did you come to me instead of Professor Jeong?”
Muhae didn’t know. He simply felt this question belonged to Gil. Every time Gil heard the topic, his expression soured.
“You’ve got a real knack for sniffing this stuff out.” He muttered, taking a long pull of the green liquid and frowning.
“If you’d gone to him, you wouldn’t have heard the real story.”
“He answers everything, though.”
“This is different. He still carries too much emotion about it.”
Gil twisted the corner of his mouth in some blend of laughter and lament. He glanced at Joo-o, locked eyes, then sighed in a way Muhae couldn’t decode.
Perhaps he judged it safe for the perpetual hanger-on to listen. Pressing a finger to his temple, Gil leaned forward.
“No, Muhae. When I joined, Return was like a small research club. We set themes like Blue Energy efficiency, but everyone poked into other things.”
Muhae nodded silently, wary that Gil might stop. Even Joo-o mirrored him without prompting.
“At first there were three of us: your father, Hanyeong, and me. Then one more guy joined—a friend of Sungjo’s. From that point the group grew, the name Return appeared, and we each picked code names.”
Gil’s eyes drifted off as he traced long-ago memories.
“And Seopung was good at organizing and managing that kind of thing. We each had our roles. Then friction started…”
Thud. Gil tapped the ashtray lightly. The small echo hinted at omitted turmoil.
A rift and the collapse of Return. Everyone avoided mentioning that one friend.
“Seopung betrayed you?”
“Let’s just say so, after skipping over a lot.”
“But he must have seemed trustworthy to let him in.”
“People can share goals, but their beliefs never fully align.”
Gil produced another cigarette, placed it in his mouth, and murmured calmly as he lit it:
“I was the first to get screwed. I pulled all-nighters researching, caught maybe four hours of sleep, then was dragged away by armed agents.”