Substitute-Chapter 117

Former cop Jeong Yuchan, who had entered the Paradise Project under the name Gwak Chan, changed into a prepped Security uniform and slipped inside.

Since Hide-and-Seek started, Security had been a madhouse.

Get the Crew outside as fast as possible.

That was the order Security received.

At first, they only dragged the drugged Crew off the rooftop, but because the Crew couldn’t even find their own rooms, much less change clothes, all the rest of the cleanup fell to Security too. So everyone strained to shove each body out that much faster.

No matter how tight-knit the team, in a moment like this no one had the spare mind—or time—to verify who was who. And they were all wearing the cheat key: black hoods.

“Hey, shithead—this look like a time to be taking a piss? Get your ass upstairs and check!”

Someone barked as Jeong Yuchan stepped out of the bathroom.

It was one of Choi Sucheol’s five prized elites. Their hoods had a green diagonal slash so you could pick them out at a distance.

Whenever something “important” came up, the elites took point and “led”—which mostly meant flapping their mouths. Naturally, the rank-and-file in 1st and 2nd Platoons were fed up. They did the hard labor, took the abuse, and unlike the 3rd Platoon stuck outside the fence, they were drilled to death.

They swallowed it for the money, but more and more said they’d never work with Captain Choi again.

Only Captain Choi didn’t know. As a soldier he might be top-tier, but he was tone-deaf to people. He only listened to the sugar-fed elites and didn’t even realize it.

“Sorry, sir!”

Jeong Yuchan answered crisply and sprinted for the lobby.

“You too—move!”

“Yep!”

The guy who’d been pissing followed on his heels.

“Fuck’s sake. Can’t even take a piss.”

A black uniform, thinking Yuchan was his buddy, grumbled.

“My point. When’s that fucker gonna drop dead?”

It was a throwaway line, but the black-uniform agreed fervently.

Same shit here as at the precinct—people are people.

Yuchan laughed to himself.

Right after the siren, every hand was mobilized. The instant the count dropped under a thousand, half were yanked for other tasks, and the rest were left to sweep for Crew. Normally Security moved in pairs, each with a role, but they couldn’t stick to rules this time.

Getting the remaining Crew out took priority, so they paired up however they could—and if they couldn’t, they moved solo.

[932, 931, 930, 929....]

Yuchan partnered with the guy from the bathroom and started checks from Room 201. Across the hall, other pairs went in and out of rooms.

To keep the sweep smooth, every door was forced open so anyone could go in.

At first it went smoothly: one checked the bathroom while the other checked the bedroom—quick if the room was empty.

When they’d carried Kim Jiwon down earlier, most Crew had changed into wetsuits and made it to the lobby. But the ones left were puking in the bathrooms or sprawled asleep on beds. Most were out of their minds—still naked because they didn’t have the wherewithal to dress.

“Fuck, the shit we deal with.”

Loud enough for his partner to hear, Yuchan cursed and grabbed a Crew member slicked with oil.

“What?”

“I said the shit we deal with!!”

When Yuchan shouted, his partner agreed viciously.

“Cunt-faced bastards like this ought to burn in hell.”

He chattered his teeth and ground them.

They were already slippery with oil—impossible to hold—and on top of that the guy fought, so they had to wrestle him down.

They shoved clothes onto the man, practically bulldozed him out the door, then rushed to the next room, then the next.

Two Sailors were light enough to manage, but once they crossed over to the 1st and 2nd Teams’ lodging, the workload changed.

“Those fuckers dumped them on us and ran.”

Yuchan’s partner blew up.

Another unit had clearly passed through, then pretended not to see the big guys and kept going, leaving three heavy Crew for the two of them. Yuchan joined in with “motherfucker,” “cocksucker,” and every curse he had.

Just three, but they were taller and bigger than the Sailors—damn hard work.

Of course Yuchan knew all three faces. He deliberately avoided eye contact.

“Hey! Help, will you!”

At his limit, Yuchan’s partner stuck his head into the hall and shouted to their colleagues.

“What’s he on about.”

“Hey, fuckhead, come help!”

“You think we’re chilling? Quit acting like you’re the only busy one. Fuck.”

Brotherhood was strong as hell.

While Yuchan and three other guards swept the second floor, other floors also had four to a team combing for any Crew hiding inside.

Even excluding the unopened Basement 1 and the third floor, the building itself was huge. If you meant to hide, there were a million places, and everyone had a headache.

The control room fed them CCTV info on who was where, but it wasn’t enough.

The managers, counting the Crew exiting in real time, complained nonstop too. “Thought they went out but they came back in,” or “came in and flopped on some bed that wasn’t even theirs”—chaos.

So Yuchan’s job, which he had thought done, looped right back.

When his partner got a radio ordering them to re-check rooms, the man spewed every kind of gripe.

Back in 201, they found a Crew openly puking. Yuchan tensed, thinking maybe Kim Jiwon had returned—but it was someone else.

Fortunately, when the speaker count hit 600, they decided to seal the entrances, and this idiocy finally calmed. Exits allowed; reentry blocked.

“This one’s the last, right?”

“Probably.”

Panting, they dragged the last Crew out of ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ the room and into the garden.

The speaker count fell under 100.

The radio crackled.

“Evacuation complete. Evacuation complete. Return to posts. Repeating: evacuation complete. Evacuation complete. Return to posts.”

Finally!

Yuchan smiled.

“Let’s go.”

“I’m headed that way.”

When Yuchan pointed toward the Big Hall, his partner sneered, “Must be nice, asshole.”

“Rake in the cash.”

His partner headed for the door without a shadow of doubt. He fully believed Yuchan had been selected to serve as a seeker’s bodyguard.

Out of thirty-five in 1st and 2nd Platoons, twenty-two had been drafted for the game. With two-thirds pulled by lottery, the ones who weren’t were furious.

Who wouldn’t be? Trail those guys for twenty-four hours and you pocket fifty million won.

Yuchan strode for the Big Hall, where the seekers were gathering. Some guards would be late returning because of the fresh radio order, so he planned to loiter nearby until then.

In the Big Hall, serving as the seekers’ ready room, men in red wetsuits clustered together. Five staff attended them, and twelve guards stood by close at hand. The rest, who hadn’t yet been assigned to a “master,” loitered by the rear entry wall.

Fifteen black uniforms. Sixteen with him. He could make a play.

Yuchan slipped in through the rear door, took in the interior, then drifted near the entry.

“Fuck, it’s hot.”

He fanned himself on purpose and grumbled.

A guard at his side flicked a glance and let it go.

“We’ve been busting our asses out there. What the hell are you doing?”

He picked a fight for nothing.

“Shithead. You the only one hustling? We just got here too.”

“Got any water? I’m dying.” 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

At Yuchan’s question, everyone shook their head.

“Motherfuckers. Won’t even give us water while they chug it.”

The exalted Guests were being pampered by staff and snapping selfies.

Yuchan counted the red suits.

Six.

He’d heard each Guest got two guards, but he saw only six Guests.

Don’t tell me the Chairman plans to take the rest of the guards?

Well... he would.

Yuchan carefully checked the Guests’ faces. He knew them all.

Huh? That guy?

One stood out even from a distance.

Number 3. Definitely Number 3.

Why is a Crew over there? And in a Guest’s suit?

Fuck. A twin?

Or is he so favored they let him in?

He was thrown.

When Number 3 turned his head in this direction, Yuchan quickly looked away. It was unlikely, but on the off chance the guy recognized him—

“Don’t react to anything you see or hear. Focus on your job.”

He remembered the advice and ignored Number 3’s presence.

And contrary to expectations, the Guests seemed set to wear goggles instead of masks or hoods. The goggles were clear, so you could see their faces; with helmets maybe they’d get some cover. Maybe.

Yuchan avoided Number 3 and watched Director Kim Hansoo and Kim Taehyun. He couldn’t take his eyes off them.

I will handle you both with my own hands.

Especially Kim Taehyun—no matter what.

Kim Taehyun was the root cause of Yuchan quitting the force—and the target of his revenge. A bastard that could make a beast weep.

Naturally, the ultimate target was old man Gwak Hoon, who let Kim Taehyun run wild.

So why isn’t the old man here?

Because he’s the “main character”?

[9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1]

The siren sounded.

Even with that chill-inducing tone, Yuchan’s blood boiled with excitement.

Hide-and-Seek at last.

“Hey, you lot—move this.”

An elite popped up and called the group standing behind Yuchan.

No one wanted to go, so Yuchan put on a show of reluctance and then moved.

A massive triangular wooden frame had been set up in the lobby that had been empty moments before. Five men, comically draped in white cloth with only eye holes, stood nearby.

Big airs for basic grunt work—ridiculous.

Not just Yuchan; the other guards also looked baffled as they walked to the wooden structure.

“See that pissing statue? Take it right in front of that.”

Deputy Lee Daeseong, monkey-faced, barked orders like he owned them.

“Why are we moving this?”

When a guard complained, Lee glared.

“What, you little shit? Do what you’re told. We’re the ones paying you.”

He condescended openly.

Lee’s extra edge came from a sense of crisis.

Security and the management team had gotten along, but ever since Chairman Gwak Hoon and Captain Choi Sucheol’s secret huddle yesterday, the vibe was off. When word spread that Captain Choi—not Manager Kim Woojin, the project’s power broker—would be running today’s game, management went on red alert. They fretted that Security might seize control.

Yuchan and another guard stopped the man about to mouth off at Lee.

The three each grabbed a triangular leg and rolled the wheels.

At the main doors, the posted guards turned and asked, “What’s that?”

“Open your eyes.”

“All kinds of stupid shit. Fuck.”

Everyone muttered.

“Hey, rookie—what happened to your boots?”

Then the guy gripping the structure next to Yuchan snapped at one of the four door guards. When Yuchan looked, one of the four was in socks.

“I... they were taken.”

“By who?”

“A Crew took them.”

The rookie’s voice shrank as he answered.

Thinking of how Kim Jiwon had clocked their bare feet earlier, Yuchan felt a jolt of “No way?”

“And you just let him?”

“Captain said don’t lay hands on the Crew....”

The rookie trailed off.

“Christ. Brilliant.”

Yuchan deliberately cut in.

“You’ll get docked at best, disciplined at worst.”

He spooked the rookie for fun.

“Shut the fuck up and go already.”

Another one snapped, so the three moved again.

Past the marble, onto the lawn—the preposterously manicured green seized the eye. Statues and fountains dotted the grounds like artworks; the glasshouse, even the canopy beds, looked picture-perfect.

But the sky was choked with dark clouds, foreshadowing a coming blood revenge.

More than ten Crew shuffled around the garden like zombies, still drugged and dazed.

Hoping Kim Jiwon wasn’t among them, Yuchan set the triangular structure in front of the pissing statue.

What the hell is this for?

A campfire?

He didn’t know everything, so he could only make silly guesses.

The three finished moving the triangles and headed back to the main doors. Yuchan slowed deliberately, then instead of following the others in, he walked to the rookie in socks.

“Rookie, go put your boots on.”

He tossed it out.

“Sir?”

“I said go get your boots.”

“They told us not to leave our posts.”

The rookie, tightly drilled, didn’t bite easily.

“That’s why I’m here. I’ll stand for you. Go.”

He played the good senior.

“I’m fine.”

“Right, and the Captain will love that. Not scared of demerits?”

At the mention of demerits, the rookie hesitated and glanced at the guard beside him. The others looked like they couldn’t give a shit whether he’d lost his boots.

“Go. Now.”

When Yuchan ordered with irritation, the rookie snapped, “Yes, sir. Thank you,” and hurried off.

“Fuck. Some of us make fifty million in a night while some of us play doorman. World’s real fair.”

Yuchan groused openly, but no one bit.

Thank God, the other guards weren’t curious about him.

That didn’t mean he could relax. He’d been sly, scoping inside and out, but the real thing started now.

People were too busy to care, but give it a little time and it’d all change. Hoods or not, they could tell each other apart. Getting caught was only a matter of time.

A round trip to the Security dorm behind the building would take the rookie at least fifteen minutes. Yuchan planned to hold the rookie’s empty spot and watch the outside until then.

He glanced at his digital watch—already twenty minutes since the siren.

Plenty of Crew still wandered around, chuckling. Hiding under the glasshouse or the canopy beds was the most “cautious” any of them got.

If the true objective of Hide-and-Seek was what he’d been told, the Crew wouldn’t be in real trouble even if caught, so Yuchan let it go. Fresh air might clear their heads. He was complacent.

When are the seekers coming out?

If they didn’t show before the rookie returned, he’d run out of excuses to stand here.

Please, hurry up.

He prayed inwardly.

Luckily, ten minutes after the rookie disappeared, the seekers finally appeared.

But there were more of them.

He’d figured eight including the Chairman. There were eleven.

On top of that, Captain Choi Sucheol, who was supposed to run the board from the control room, stood right at the Chairman’s side. Unlike the other seekers, who each had two guards, the Chairman had three. One was Captain Choi; the other two were his right and left arms—the elite duo.

And who the hell are those four?

He had to know those faces, but at this distance, with goggles and helmets, he couldn’t make them out.

There were only seven original Guests selected for the project. These had to be special Guests added for Hide-and-Seek. Number 3 being mixed in had already stunk; the old man, who never brought outsiders in lightly, had taken a gamble.

Why?

Yuchan was thrown.

With Choi in the mix and special Guests added, the scenarios multiplied. So did the danger.

Fuck me.

He swore inside.

Wearing the same red wetsuit as the other Guests, the Chairman flaunted a robust old-man body.

For an eighty-year-old, his build and shape were something. Yuchan rebuked himself for having written him off as a toothless tiger.

Never let your guard down. He’s got eyes in the back of his head. Think of him as a ghost, not a man.

A ghost.

Yuchan shivered.

Guards moved with the eleven seekers. The five ridiculous white-draped figures moved with them, too.

Two eager seekers found runners in no time. Found was the wrong word—the runners walked right into view.

Not one Sailor among the caught. Yuchan exhaled—Kim Jiwon must have hidden well.

Finding runners that easily took the wind out of the seekers a little. A few looked disappointed seeing how drugged the Crew were.

But two horned-up seekers chirped about the rule “you can do whatever you want with the ones you catch” and declared the runners in front of them theirs.

Two to ten—just right for a group fuck.

The Chairman’s gestures accepting their request were absurdly grave and theatrical, like a king dispatching vassals to war. For a mere game of Hide-and-Seek, he laid it on thick.

Security herded the ten captured Crew like prisoners, and the two seekers who’d snared ten at once stood proudly beside them—whips in hand.

To an SM player like Yuchan, whips weren’t unfamiliar, but why the hell bring them into Hide-and-Seek?

Don’t tell me they’re going to whip them.

He snorted.

The first runner was called and soon tied to the triangular structure. One of the white-draped “executioners” opened the suit’s zipper and bared the Crew’s buttocks and thighs.

Everyone laughed at the sudden bare ass. The Crew tied to the frame shook with laughter too.

Even though the speakers had said “whipping sentence,” everyone laughed it off.

They thought it was a gag.

But “no way” kills people.

The triangular structure was an actual frame for punishment. No wonder it looked familiar—it was similar to what they used for corporal punishment.

Seeing a frame that blatant with the old Chairman’s desire, Yuchan gave a hollow laugh.

Grow old with grace, will you. Tsk.

If he were that type, he wouldn’t be running this project at his age.

Honestly, it was creepy enough to raise goosebumps.

The whipping sentence went out live over the speakers. Shadows scrambled under the canopy bed frames and inside the glasshouse—the ones who’d treated the game like a joke and half-assed their hiding were spooked and relocating.

If he had to guess, the gag-team guys on his side would be buzzing with excitement. Dying to get caught.

A small uproar kicked up.

Who expected real whips mid-game?

Crew from 1st Team among the ten pushed back hard, demanding to know why they were being hit.

Normally Security would have put them down. Instead, the executioners stepped in.

They swung telescopic batons without mercy. Thuds. Blood flew. Full-force strikes.

To think they’d swing batons just because a Crew resisted a little.

Yuchan couldn’t believe his eyes.

And the Chairman sat there and let it happen.

No—he’d permitted it from the start.

Why the sudden change?

Questions stacked up.

Yuchan couldn’t make sense of it.

Disgusting degenerate he might be, the old man babied his partners more than anyone. He never marked the bodies of his sex partners. He liked them pristine enough to sour at the faintest bruise.

Yet before the main Party even began, he’d authorized batons.

When a bleeding Crew collapsed, the mood iced over in a breath.

The seekers didn’t like it either. Nobody had tipped them off; they jumped at the executioners’ actions and protested. But when the Chairman—their boss and the project’s true power—told them to stand down, they had to.

The Chairman’s conduct, utterly different from what he’d heard, shook Yuchan, but there was no one to ask—and no guarantee he’d get a chance.

Either way, even if the situation flipped 180 degrees, he had to push the plan.

If things had gone “to plan,” the old man wouldn’t be standing here right now.

All in.

Yuchan steadied himself.

“Sir!”

The call behind him made him flinch and turn.

The rookie who’d lost his boots had returned.

“Thank you.”

Boots on, the rookie bowed.

Yuchan smacked his lips. “Eh, it’s nothing.”

He wanted to see what came after the whipping sentence, but it looked like he’d have to pull out now.

He’d only managed to watch this much by sheer luck.

“Good work, everyone.”

Playing it brazenly cool, Yuchan strolled toward the dorm block where the platoon bunked. In truth his heart was going berserk, his legs buckling so often he nearly ate it.

Don’t be scared. It’s all set. Just go.

He decided to lean on that man’s word completely.

Of the thirteen not participating in the game, four guards manned the main gate; two watched CCTV in the control room with the managers (Captain Choi should have been there normally); two guarded the power distribution room. Five excess hands stayed in the dorm until shift change.

Yuchan would stay at the dorm block, act like one of the excess, until the power cut.

The dorms were single rooms. Everyone had their assignment. No one would go counting whether five or six stayed back.

Disguising himself as Security was to exploit exactly that hole.

If his only goal had been escape, he could have hidden anywhere. But he had another objective, so he needed real rest, to bank strength, and wait.

The moment he rounded the back of the building, he sagged down.

“Fuck. Thought I was gonna black out.”

He’d been so tense his sweat poured like rain.

He wanted to beat up his past self for calling this a “good idea.”

Crouched, he looked up at the big steel door blocking his way.

The last gate.

No way his Crew bracelet would get him through.

The man who’d set up his Security disguise had also provided a guard’s bracelet. He even wrapped the Crew bracelet in a rubber band so it wouldn’t scan by accident.

Grunting, Yuchan stood and faced the door.

He took a deep breath and laid his left hand on it with fake confidence. He expected it to open, but his hand still shook. There’s always that one-in-a-thousand.

And just like that, he stepped into the unknown.

The dorm facilities were much shabbier than in the photos. “Dorm” was generous—it was just stacked containers, vines from the mountain covering the building so completely it looked abandoned.

Still, it had everything.

The main block, five large containers, held the ops room and meeting room, a lounge-cafeteria, a training room, an AV room, a game room, and even a PC room.

At the very back was Captain Choi Sucheol’s quarters. Unlike the regular guards, he lived alone in the main block. Since anyone in the platoon could enter the main block, there was another flimsy-looking door like a “spirit gate” right in front of the Captain’s room. It looked flimsy, but a touch set off a loud alarm, so no one laid a hand on it even as a prank.

Yuchan gave the surprisingly janky “spirit gate” a glance, then went back outside and headed to the dorm block.

The dorm block stacked thirty small containers three floors high. There were stairs and corridors of a sort, but the iron stairs up to the second and third floors were rusted for lack of maintenance, and the railings and walkways were flaking paint—pathetic.

Set at the back of the building, it never got sun, and pressed up against the forest, it crawled with bugs.

Yuchan crushed a bug under his boot, then opened the container marked 2-9—his room.

Finally, alone.

Only then did he pull off the hood and throw himself on the bed.

He barely restrained the urge to yell.

“Fuck. Revenge or not, I nearly died of a heart attack.”

He stroked his chest and smirked.

He buried his face in the freshly changed sheets, then sat up.

The inside, about sixteen square meters, was bare. A super single bed, a single-person desk and chair, and a small wardrobe with loungewear hung inside—that was it.

A desk calendar sat on the desk—every day from August 1 to today crossed with an X. The guards, who’d started bunking in ten days before the Crew, had circled D-Day in red.

“Sorry, but today is your D-Day.”

Murmuring that, Yuchan sprawled out on the bed.

Like that, he raised his wrist, set his digital watch alarm for 23:30, and closed his eyes. He wasn’t without anxiety, but he’d been assured this was safe, and he chose to trust that man.

Fatigue was a drug. Sleep hit instantly.

He slept like the dead.

“Argh!!”

A death scream snapped him awake.

“L... let go—let go of that?”

With a crash and racket from the floor below came at least three voices.

“What... are... you...”

“Hold... fuck... kyaa—”

“Rat... bas... tard.”

“You... ... did... it?”

“Let go of—!!!”

That was the last of the voices.

Then a metallic bang like someone kicking a door, and bootsteps. Between the many footsteps, a “scrape-scrape” of something dragging needled his attention. They were hauling someone.

Rigid, Yuchan lifted his wrist.

21 : 23 : 54.

The digits glowed bright.

He only realized it was pouring rain when the second hand hit 00.