All crews except the Sailors were mobilized to restore the Studio. Number 3, who’d been sprawled asleep with Jiwon on the cramped cot, got dragged off too. “Wait for me. Whether it’s here or the room, I’ll go wherever the Sailor is.” Half-lidded with sleep, Number 3 said this and slid his arms back into the wet work suit. As if they were lovers, Jiwon even waved as he saw Number 3 off. He lay back down and only afterward got seen by the medical staff. Since there were no signs of abdominal pain, shortness of breath, or vomiting, the doctor said they would monitor. He added that the mud Jiwon swallowed was very clean, so it probably wouldn’t be a big problem. Before showering, they drew blood and took a urine sample in case of infection. He hadn’t realized how happy he’d be to finally wash his body. Jiwon scrubbed the mud clean from his eyes, nose, mouth, and even ears, then returned to the Clinic for additional tests. It was an exam to find wounds hidden by mud, but just as Number 3 had said, he was spotless—no scratches at all. Even while examining Jiwon, the doctor and nurse kept stepping away—checking on the injured staff and host, and prepping them to be moved outside. It was so chaotic he didn’t even have time to feel embarrassed about his areolas and nipples, which had become hot pink from the retouch that morning. Anyway, the follow-up results were also clear. His nose had bled when it got mashed, but because he jerked his head fast, aside from a slight scrape on the right cheekbone there was no damage to the nasal bone. And the reason his right arm hurt like hell was a sudden, strong force had been applied; it wasn’t because bone, ligament, or muscle had been injured. Jiwon’s arm was basically the same as it had been right before intake. In the end, the visit wrapped with an additional painkiller prescription. For someone who’d just come back from the brink of death, he was awfully fine. Ah. He did lose some hair. Jiwon stroked his scalp, still tender, and snorted a laugh. The doctor seemed more concerned with his chest than the fact he’d swallowed mud. Like he was fretting that there’d be a defect in the merchandise. Just as Han Seoho had said, if they’d only added color, then sure enough there were no wounds on the nipples or areolas, and there was no stinging or scabbing. Even so, the nurse, in latex gloves, applied ointment with meticulous care. Huh? It’s fine this time? Unlike last time, when even a brush of air made him aroused, he felt nothing even with ointment being rubbed directly on his chest. Did the development fail? With that flat thought, he looked down at his chest ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) vanishing under the bandage. Having barely done anything yet nearly collapsing, Jiwon drifted in and out as he received fluids. While he was on the drip, the other Sailors were seen one by one as well. The new guy had the sole of his foot pricked by a sharp rock and got a cut, and Lee Hajun had his back scraped by a falling ceiling panel, but it didn’t seem like anyone was seriously hurt. Like Jiwon, they all had their chests examined. After the nurse’s ointment treatment, they got fresh bandages and were sent back to their rooms instead of to a ward. Dinner should, of course, have been provided, but it wasn’t. Instead, they ran psychotherapy as trauma care. That psychotherapy—Jiwon got it later too—was nothing but watching a boring video of peaceful landscapes and nature sounds. He kept yawning and forcing himself to look, and it did calm him down. It was no different from what you’d see if you stepped outside the building, and yet it helped stabilize him psychologically. Foolishly, Jiwon cried while looking at the scenery. He didn’t know what to do. He’d think about escaping, then the last image of his little brother shivering in fear grabbed his ankle. And what about himself, who had been put through something close to torture. Why did they do that? His younger brother had just been crazy about sex, that was all. So why was that such a great crime that he had to meet such a vicious end? Setting aside what had been done to him, Jiwon felt so wretched and wronged that his father, right on the brink of retirement, couldn’t live out the rest of his life because of what happened to his sons, and passed away. A man more diligent and hardworking than anyone.... The moment he thought of family, he couldn’t forgive them. He felt like he couldn’t stand it without revenge. Why did my little brother, our father, and I have to be the victims? Would knowing the reason change anything? He was going in circles. Live, he decided—then shook his head hard. Die, he decided—then let his head droop. What do I even want to do? He couldn’t make a decision. Jiwon cried through the whole therapy session and went back to his room. He gauged the time by the sun’s position through the floor-to-ceiling window. Six in the afternoon, 6:00 p.m. Still bright as midday, but definitely evening. Yet there was still no word about dinner. Before therapy he hadn’t felt hungry at all because his belly felt weirdly full of air, but once he got back, he started getting hungry. The moment he felt the hunger, his stomach siren blared. Why aren’t they feeding us. He was grumbling to himself when an alert popped up on the tablet. Jiwon opened the notice in relief and cursed. A mission had been issued. “To Crew Zero Team. Since the game has been halted, a play equivalent to it will be given as a mission. When you hear the knock shortly, open your door and receive the box, and play according to the item inside the box and the rules written on the note. Today’s winner will be decided by this game, so please participate actively.” Someone had nearly died and they were running another game; Jiwon was sick to death of their relentless appetites. He already knew they didn’t see them as people, but still, this wasn’t it. So we have to do this kind of shit for nearly two more weeks—for what? Revenge? What revenge? For those who died and turned to powder? He was so angry he’d just called his brother and father “powder.” The guilt was brief; Jiwon realized to the bone how absurd his plan to grind himself up for revenge had been. He got as far as thinking, Something’s really gotten into me, that Detective Kim Gyeongseok’s visit was hardly a coincidence. Did he really visit with no agenda? Sure, the hospital was the first time he saw Jiwon—but he couldn’t shake the impression that the man had done thorough background work before coming. Maybe, like his mother said, Detective Kim Gyeongseok was the reaper after all. Then he shook his head. He was the one who had gone to Detective Kim Gyeongseok first, and he was the one who begged to be given undercover work while the man coaxed him to think it over again and again. In the end, he blocked his own way forward. It was his own fault, no one else’s. Maybe Jiwon had been drunk on himself for deciding to take revenge. Maybe, not for his father or brother, but to get back the confidence that had vanished with his genitals, he’d been lured by the mission called undercover. So fuck—what am I supposed to do. Jiwon grabbed his head. A careful knock sounded. The mission box had arrived. Jiwon let out a long sigh and opened the door. A black box sat at the threshold—light enough to lift with one hand. He closed the door, brought the box to the bed, and checked the contents. Inside was a dildo in a clear case. Next to the dildo was an envelope with a ribbon on it. Jiwon opened the envelope, checked the contents, cursed, and practically flung it. It wasn’t an ordinary dildo. It only looked that way because of added pigment; in truth it was rock-solid frozen—an ice dildo. The mission was to put that ice dildo into his mouth and then his hole in turn, and masturbate while melting it with his body heat. A mission that was basically torture. Jiwon started to give the CCTV somewhere up on the ceiling the finger—and stopped. Kim Jiwon wasn’t the kind of guy who could pull that off. He still had to stick to his role. He hadn’t reached a conclusion yet, but he could still choose to achieve the purpose he’d come here for, so he didn’t act rashly. If he had to do it anyway, better to finish fast. Then maybe they’d at least feed him. Jiwon went to lift the case with the ice dildo and, seeing what was under the case, his eyes flew wide. Working hard not to look startled, he kept his head down and checked the item. A palm-sized, folding pocketknife. His chest pounded like crazy. So they wouldn’t catch the pocketknife, Jiwon didn’t take out the case. Instead he reached both hands into the box and took only the dildo and the envelope. Then, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of it, as if it disgusted him, he shut the box with an exaggerated motion and slid it right under the bed. Absorbed entirely by the knife, Jiwon was yanked back to reality by the chill of the ice dildo. He’d only been holding it a moment and his palm already ached with cold. Left alone, it would easily last an hour; it was frozen that hard. And they wanted him to suck it and put it in his hole. Shuddering at the trouble they’d gone to—using even an ice mold shaped like a dildo—Jiwon set the dildo on the duvet. Then he opened the wardrobe drawer, took out oil, and condoms. There was no warning not to use tools, so he worked his own angle. Even with a condom on it would still be cold, but at least he could avoid the disaster of ice sticking and tearing at his mouth or hole. After several failed tries, Jiwon finally got a condom on the ice dildo. And he began the mission. Winning, money—none of it mattered. The crews, every last one of them, spooned down thin rice porridge just to fill their bellies. “Why so little. Fuck.” Kim Yunho emptied his bowl in one go and flashed his eyes. “We’re not fasting, and it’s not like we’re getting a colonoscopy, so why aren’t they feeding us rice.” Jeong Hamin was angry. Jiwon wondered the same thing. Yesterday they’d served a lavish spread; tonight it was only porridge. There wasn’t even pudding. No one here needed to diet. If anything, after starving yesterday and today and draining their stamina, even the muscle they’d barely built over the last week was about to drop off. Jiwon was so hungry he barely had the strength to hold his spoon. “You call this food for people.” He grumbled, but he still shoveled the porridge gratefully. He was so focused on the porridge he barely even remembered that moments ago he’d done oral and insertion masturbation with an ice dildo. He only noticed Park Geonwoo wasn’t there after he’d finished his bowl. Because the blackout hit at the perfect moment, no one but Number 3 saw Park Geonwoo trying to kill Jiwon. Honestly, even in Number 3’s eyes it might not have looked like murder; just two men with hurt feelings scuffling. That’s probably why he didn’t snitch to management. But since the scene of Park Geonwoo assaulting Jiwon during the game, before the Studio got wrecked, went out exactly as-is on the broadcast, management and medical isolated him. The doctor who’d done his counseling advised that, for some reason, Park Geonwoo seemed to be in psychological collapse and would need about a day to stabilize. He was probably calming himself now, watching natural scenery like they had. “Fuck. ‘Psychological collapse,’ my ass. Doesn’t Geonwoo hyung have this too?” Kim Yunho twirled an index finger around his temple. “Didn’t Son Geonwoo take meds for bipolar? Maybe Geonwoo hyung has the same thing. Hell, who knows—maybe they weren’t next-door neighbors, maybe they were wardmates in a psych hospital.” Jiwon cut off Kim Yunho’s wild speculation. “Drop it? You almost got eaten alive.” Kim Yunho even jabbed a finger as he got worked up. “God, you’ve got some nerve.” Kim Yunho stuck out his lip and said, “That’s why you even talk to me.” He pretended to be snide, but he was genuinely thankful. “But are the other teams still on restoration duty?” Jiwon changed the subject. It was already past ten, and not a single one of the other crews had shown their faces. “I was hoping to get something hot put in me, but I’ve got no husband around to put it in.” At Kim Yunho’s filthy joke, everyone laughed. For once, Han Seoho didn’t join in. He’d shown up late at the Clinic, puffed up like he’d been given special treatment. Now he sat scowling, barely touching his porridge. Everyone was eyeing the porridge he’d left, but the mood was so cold no one dared ask. Once his hunger was blunted, Jiwon’s mind went back to the item in his room. He’d put on quite a show so that, if they came to collect the box, he could get the knife under the mattress, but he was still jumpy it would be found. He sincerely wondered how that thing had ended up in his hands. With what intent did they put it in? The source of this content ɪs 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭⟡𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦⟡𝘯𝘦𝘵 Who gave it to him, and why? These days he was mostly walking around in only a bathrobe, so he had nowhere to hide a blade. Even if he put clothes on and could hide it—where would he even use it? The Party hadn’t started yet, so if he wanted to use it for revenge, he’d have to wait at least about a week. If Kim Yunho or Han Seoho had received the same thing and reported it to management without delay, what would happen to him? Every kind of thought ran through his head. But there was no answer, so it was just frustrating. While he was off in his head, their only meal of the day ended.