I Became a Monster in a T*ash Game

“There are three of them.”
Hearing the footsteps, Joo-o perked his ears and whispered. It never ceased to amaze him how a person’s ear could twitch like that.
Soon Muhae caught the faint murmur of voices. Before long—CLATTER—the firmly closed door burst open.
Two armed guards and a blue-haired man strode into the cramped waiting room.
“Blueberry cinnamon roll.”
Joo-o murmured. The round roots of the man’s hair were dyed an unmistakably artificial blue.
“Wow. I thought we’d have at least ten minutes of a fight to watch.”
“…”
“That was too quick. Didn’t even get to see the show.”
Contrasting his flashy appearance and cheerful tone, the man’s voice was calm and measured. His striking presence burned itself deep into Muhae’s mind—no pleasant feeling. Muhae re-buttoned his shirt one button at a time, silently appraising this sudden stranger.
…Somehow, he already knew who this was.
“Stalker?”
At Muhae’s question, the man’s eyebrow twitched.
“Your imagination is boring.”
“Every time you show up here, you leave someone on my tail. What else could you be but a rich stalker?”
A bad premonition crept in. No matter how famous, Sakdal was just an entertainment district outside the residential zone. Yet the sense of power this man exuded felt exceptional. He must be Sakdal’s authority—and his reach wouldn’t stop at a single slum gang. Muhae remembered that Cloud had sent him here. Clearly, this smuggling was tolerated—if not sanctioned—by Central. Outwardly illegal, but in reality a proper “transaction” serving mutual interests.
“Well, isn’t that my prerogative?”
The man chuckled and sat at the tea table. Facing the sofa-seated Muhae, his black eyes gleamed with pure curiosity. Muhae’s gut churned—this man’s power was greater and grander than he’d guessed.
“Who I watch in my district isn’t your business, it seems.”
In the narrow, dank depths of Sakdal, the “manager” who ruled and manipulated it now stood before him. Muhae’s ominous prediction had come true, and he swallowed a heavy sigh.
“…So. What’s your purpose?”
“Hm? Why should you ask? Aren’t you the one who caused this mess?”

Audacious—he clearly knew Muhae had planted his own tail. This was no one to expect a straight answer from. Muhae gave up on a reply and glared at the blue-haired man.
His mind raced: Why had this stranger, whom he’d never met, targeted him? Why focus on a lone mercenary in a pleasure district overflowing with distractions? To discern the man’s intent, only Muhae’s own weakness came to mind. Cast out by his father’s criminal record, he’d inherited that crime on his shoulders.
“Resentment? Is that it?”
The man’s voice cut the silence with a laugh so sharp it stung. He tapped the table, flicking the glass top with a finger, then leaned forward. The closeness of his face twisted Muhae’s expression. From him wafted a tang like fermented violets—if not an exotic perfume, then the residue of some drug.
“Jin Muhae. Twenty-four years old. Lives in the west slums outside the Janggae area. Seven years a mercenary. I did put tails on you, true.”
The same man who’d joked about “axe obsession” now brazenly recited Muhae’s personal data. But he immediately turned his gaze aside. Muhae followed the glance—his face froze as he met Joo-o’s.
“It’s because interesting things always stick to you.”
Next to the sofa sat Joo-o, grinning with jerky in his mouth—his uncanny knack for reading the room somehow vanished. As the blue-haired man’s eyes shifted precisely to Joo-o, Joo-o tilted his head one way, then whipped it back to Muhae, then to the man—wobble, wobble.
“Me?”
Joo-o, as if an eager spectator at a play, watched the scene and belatedly dropped his grin. His smile vanished so fast Muhae’s temple vein twitched.
With a swift motion, the man yanked down Joo-o’s hood. Muhae reached out, but one of the guards intercepted him. Though a few strands of Joo-o’s neat hair were mussed, he still looked immaculate.
Sizzle—psst.
The blue-haired man inhaled from a glass rod like a narrow vapor pipe, then smiled wide enough to show his canines. That was the source of the violet tang. The glass stick glowed green-blue as he tucked it away and rocked his seat closer to Joo-o.
“You look like this. I like it.”
“Me? Why me?”
Joo-o’s face shifted from confusion to panic. He reached toward Muhae as if for protection. The man’s red eyes flickered between Muhae and Joo-o, then tapped Muhae’s leg—an invitation to intervene.
“Joo-o, right? That’s what the files said.”
“Why me?”
The question sounded hollow—more like “Why focus on Joo-o instead of Muhae?” The man tapped Joo-o’s chin upward, inspecting every feature with brazen arrogance. He plucked the jerky from Joo-o’s hand and tossed it into his own mouth.
“Jin Muhae…”
His clear face twisted in bewilderment. Instinctively, Muhae lashed out with a kick. PAK! The guard holding him staggered under the painful blow.
“Oh. Of course, our Jin Muhae… also has questions, so wait a moment.”
As if trusting the other guard to restrain Muhae, the man mimicked Joo-o’s tone without flinching.
“You’re doing what your father did, right?”
At that, Muhae’s fist froze midair. He clenched his expression, but the chill racing through his veins gave him away.
“Ah. This is fun. Why did you only show up now, kids?”
He laughed again, tilting his mouth in that crazed grin, though his eyes stayed razor-sharp.
The narrow, moldy room soon filled with a crisp, sharp scent.
Clean cloth covered the torn sofas, and fragrant liquor sat on the tea table where someone had been seated. The blue-haired man crossed his legs on the silk-like fabric and brought the vapor rod to his lips. Inside, a colorless liquid fizzled with bubbles as he inhaled.
“I was really bored.”
“Then ask or answer directly.”
“You’d believe everything I say anyway, right?”
“My jerky.”
Motioning to catch his breath, the man nodded to the table. Realizing resistance here would be futile, Muhae glared fiercely and picked up the glass.
Clink. Ice cubes drifted slowly in the amber liquid. By custom, a sip was taken to let the drink mingle with one’s breath—rich peaty smoke in the nose. Even Muhae, who thought all liquor tasted the same, found it remarkably refined.
‘Found it. The smuggled goods.’
He felt hollow—and couldn't help but laugh. He wanted to fling the glass aside. Beside him, Joo-o sipped whiskey, scowled, set it down, and reached for more jerky. He only had one piece left but acted as if demanding the world over. Up close, his face looked dazed—like his mind was scrambled, blurting «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» out anything.
“When you work here, you hear everything. Mostly rubbish, but useful intel leaks too.”
The man untied his neat hair and re-wrapped it meticulously. Joo-o, muttering to himself, now searched for something else to snack on.
“Blueberry cinnamon roll.”
“No.”
“Cinnamon roll.”
“No.”
It seemed Joo-o was babbling nonsense based on the man’s hair, yet the man refuted every word—an absurd exchange.
“In any case, mercenaries never say good things about themselves—but talk nonstop about others. They’re damn chatty.”
“…”
“One day the same name kept popping up in the data. Jin Muhae hogged it all. He wiped out Thorn Wolves in a day.”
“…”
“Jin Muhae did this. Jin Muhae did that. Jin Muhae travels with someone. Ever since he teamed up with that someone, everything he touches is money.”
“So?”
“I got curious. I looked into it—and something really is weird.”
The man’s eyes slid over to Joo-o again. The intensity flashing there was so vivid Muhae thought he saw a hallucination.