I Became a Monster in a T*ash Game

“Did you order it?”
“Yeah. They said they’ll bring it one by one.”
By now, Sakdal’s eyes would have zeroed in on Jin Muhae’s appearance. Unlike last time, even if Jin Muhae melted into the crowd, they’d spot him and report it.
Not that that report would be anything grand—just word of mouth passed to a few insiders.
Eventually, it would reach whoever gave the orders. In other words, Sakdal’s overseer would hear about it.
[Quest]
Main Quest
Tutorial (Completed)
CHAPTER 1 (Completed)
CHAPTER 2
☞ Person Responsible for the Reforms That Drifted Away (In Progress)
- Scheduled Work √
- DIY 777
Joo-o had intuited from the quest status that trouble was about to show up. He didn’t know it would be today, but what’s a day or two? Things change.
Glancing at the system window, Joo-o took a step forward—only to be caught off guard when Muhae’s leg suddenly kicked him, and the man’s cold, fierce gaze snapped him back to attention.
“Does that hurt?”
In the game, Jin Muhae’s character never let even the slightest whimper escape his lips.
If you apologized or admitted a mistake, he’d lecture you—but if you asked like this, he’d just sneer and scowl at you.
“I’m not going to sit around as long as last time.”
Exactly. The more you watched him, the easier his actions became to predict.
Yet real Jin Muhae’s thoughts were surprisingly hard to read.
Why he’d snap at you for no reason, why something was okay one moment and unacceptable the next—Joo-o sometimes couldn’t make sense of it. Had he been living too far from real human life? Or was real Jin Muhae simply more complex and capricious than game data?
“The food you ordered is here. Where would you like the drinks?”
“You ordered a drink too?”
“Yeah. For Muhae.”
Unfortunately, Joo-o didn’t know Muhae’s drink preferences. In La Vida Blue, food and drink were purely cosmetic—no bonus effects, just a short eating animation. Joo-o had run the same game countless times, fed every consumable: beer, soju, whiskey, even dodgy slum snacks. Real Muhae would’ve rolled his eyes.
“That’s 13 dil. But why do they hide prices like this?”
“Even the same alcohol costs differently by type.”
“What’s more expensive?”
“Obviously luxury goods. Imports from outside the city. And alternatives are plentiful in Goryeo City.”

Realizing that cake smothered in cream and sugar was the cheapest option, Joo-o set his fork down and sat up straight.
“Oh. That’s why.”
Those bizarrely named drinks you saw in Central were so expensive for that reason. They cost ten times what they did in Sakdal or slum shops. Joo-o had assumed they tasted ten times better.
If alcohol even tasted good to begin with.
“...Does it not taste good?”
He must have tried it before, which is why the thought came to him. Even now, Muhae’s drink didn’t smell particularly sweet.
Picking at his cake again, Joo-o tried to absorb and remember every scrap of economic info Muhae had just explained about La Vida Blue.
He soon felt a sticky sensation—someone had started staring.
Human gazes leave traces. If you pay attention, you can pinpoint the spot at any moment.
“Muhae. Somebody’s watching us.”
This tail was trailing more slowly than last time. Back then, there hadn’t even been a reporting system for Muhae.
They’d just been slow to spot him. His plan to blend in during peak hours had worked, and even if it hadn’t, his outfit was completely different from usual.
Thick-rimmed glasses. A meticulously styled haircut. A crisp shirt. He looked like any ordinary customer strolling in from the production zone after clocking out.
His height still made him stand out, though, so he’d attracted surveillance anyway.
“Who is it?”
“Third from the left at the bottom. Pretty inconspicuous-looking.”
“If someone stuck that fast even looking like this...”
Seems like one hell of a pro’s been waiting for me. Muhae muttered as he stood up, drink in hand.
Joo-o followed, straw in mouth, trailing behind him.
Clatter—swoosh.
At Muhae’s feinted misstep, the tail spilled his half-finished drink all over his clothes.
“Oh dear… Sorry about that. It’s a bit dark in here.”
“Ah, hmph. It’s fine. Just be more careful next time.”
Up close, the man really did look strangely ordinary. He frowned as he dusted off his shirt.
Muhae watched for a moment, then grabbed the man’s shoulder as if to help him brush off the stain.
Bending in close, Muhae whispered in his ear.
“Don’t act like it’s nothing. That ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) shirt costs a damn fortune.”
“...”
“If you’re going to splurge on your best outfit just for a night out before the weekend, isn’t it natural to be a little pissed off? Next time, be more careful.”
Muhae’s grip was so strong the man’s shoulder had gone white. Only then did the man’s expression shift, and he glared back at Muhae.
“I want to go somewhere better. You can take me there, right?”
As someone within Sakdal’s system, he could lead Muhae to a slightly riskier service tier.
More shows, more food and drink—everything spicier.
If Muhae wanted to scope out smuggled goods, he’d be better off there than in this cozy café.
Muhae had chosen the right path! Since the guy recognized him, his offer was unlikely to be refused.
“You got it?”
Joo-o echoed Muhae’s words with a grin.
Under the hood, an excited expression emerged.
‘I don’t do drugs. I despise any nasty STDs.’
‘Then you gamble your money?’
Surprisingly, gambling in Sakdal wasn’t a serious affair. In the official gaming halls, as long as you kept a shred of restraint, you wouldn’t lose so much money that your life fell apart.
That said, you also couldn’t win much. For those who wanted more, Sakdal had darker betting dens.
The bold and reckless gathered inside. Like most bookies, these operators knew their clients were numb to ordinary thrills, addicted to dopamine, so simple roulette or slot machines didn’t cut it.
Past the seedy card rooms and makeshift tables, there was a fighting pit for insiders only.
That’s where Muhae would be led—the “money game” pit, a blood-soaked fight gambling ring.
‘Finally. The five-times-cash event.’
Throughout the game, Muhae’s funds were never plentiful.
The supposed 200,000 dil was parceled out in bits whenever the story demanded a lump sum.
Equipment repairs, consumables? The player had to earn that.
But La Vida Blue was a game where replaying side quests and slaughtering beasts made you notorious. Avoiding exposure meant your bank balance was always tight.
“You’re betting too, Muhae?”
The story offered a few big-money events. One was DIY 777—gambling.
Muhae had come here to find smuggling clues and catch the eye of a “big fish.” Why that guy was interested, or what his purpose was, Joo-o didn’t know—but trailing Muhae so blatantly meant he wasn’t planning to hide.
Even without guidance, Muhae found decent options on his own.
From below the stairs, the cheers grew louder as Joo-o clung to Muhae’s sturdy arm.
“Waaah!”
“Break him! Smash his skull!”
Sakdal’s fights were bare-knuckle. Dozens happened daily—if you brought a wooden stick, the corpses would pile up.
Still, after each brutal match, the wire-fenced ring was drenched in bright-red blood.
When they entered the pit, a man so slick with blood his face was unrecognizable was being dragged out.
“Money… right. I’ll bet.”
They’d get three fights. Each time, the fighters changed, so the outcomes varied wildly—but Joo-o, who had memorized every gambler, had no worries.
‘And the last match…’
Muhae would step in himself. Bet a full 1,000 dil on himself.
No need to worry he’d lose. To Joo-o, Muhae fought like a high-win-rate AI—smooth, precise.
‘And I’m here!’
If Muhae got cut or bruised, Joo-o’s heart would ache. He didn’t want to see Muhae taking punches, so he planned to discreetly tip him off to the opponent’s weak spots.