If this was Son Geonwoo’s room, the door shouldn’t have been unlocked.

But luck wasn’t on Jiwon’s side.

He quickly retraced his memory.

By the time he ran into Son Geonwoo, he had already passed Son Geonwoo’s room—by quite a distance, at that.

Jiwon hurried off the bed and threw the blanket over Son Geonwoo’s entire body. Before covering him, he stacked two pillows on his stomach to make it look like there were still two people under the blanket. It wouldn’t fool anyone, but it was better than nothing.

Just like a typical hotel room, the door opened inward. That at least meant he could block it for a moment.

Unfortunately, the bed and table were bolted down, so the only usable furniture was the sofa. He rushed to drag the sofa in front of the door. It wasn’t light enough to lift easily, but not so heavy that two men couldn’t push it aside in seconds. Still, better than leaving it wide open.

Buying time was all that mattered.

As a last measure, he dashed into the bathroom, squeezed shampoo onto his palm, and rubbed it all over his sweat-drenched body—arms, thighs, neck, face, anywhere they might grab him.

They were already onto him.

This wasn’t Son Geonwoo’s room.

Jiwon wiped his slippery hands on a towel and hid behind the door.

Did Kang Jooyoung take a wet towel when he left?

Definitely.

Could Number 9, Kim Eunhyuk, be carrying a towel or bathrobe strap?

Easily.

Jiwon considered grabbing a towel himself, like Kang Jooyoung had, but dismissed the idea.

He had no intention of fighting those two. Honestly, he didn’t have the strength left to fight.

Dealing with Son Geonwoo had been pure luck, not because he was an easy opponent. Jiwon had used every last ounce of strength to overpower that stubborn bastard.

In his current state, if Kang Jooyoung or Kim Eunhyuk pinned him down and threw a towel over his face, it was game over.

All he had to do was get out into the hallway.

The moment he made it out, he’d scream. Run for the stairs, roll down if he had to. Worst case, hang from a balcony.

Being naked wasn’t an issue.

“Son Geonwoo, you bastard. What the hell are you doing in there? So turned on you can’t breathe?”

Kang Jooyoung.

The door creaked open as Kang Jooyoung peeked inside, catching onto the weird atmosphere.

Please, let Kang Jooyoung be a dumbass. Let Number 9 be just as oblivious—shove the sofa aside and charge in.

Then I only have to bolt through the open door.

“Oh, you sneaky little rat. Look at you hiding here.”

But Kang Jooyoung didn’t push the door open carelessly. He checked behind it first.

Smart bastard.

No choice left. Gotta kick.

Jiwon’s foot shot straight into Kang Jooyoung’s face, and as Kang Jooyoung stumbled backward, Jiwon yanked the door open.

The damn sofa blocked it more than expected, but luck finally kicked in. Number 9 had been standing right behind Kang Jooyoung. Instead of catching him, the coward sidestepped, letting Kang Jooyoung crash to the floor with a bloody nose.

Number 9 stared, dumbfounded.

The moment Jiwon stepped out, Number 9 finally registered what was happening.

But oddly, he didn’t look panicked. Instead, like a kid discovering a new toy, he smiled at Jiwon.

A chilling, amused grin.

Bastard, what a waste of a face.

He really saw Jiwon as a plaything.

Grinning, Number 9 spread his legs and arms in a sumo stance, blocking the hallway.

You fucking prick.

Jiwon didn’t hesitate—his foot slammed into Number 9’s groin.

All that practice kicking and twisting vital points, even blindfolded, paid off.

This time, Number 9 wasn’t smiling.

He crumpled to the ground, clutching himself.

Jiwon didn’t look back—he bolted down the hallway.

No need to scream.

Beeeep.

The announcement chime signaled the end of break time.

“All crew members...”

The hallways were deserted. Either everyone was still in their rooms or had already left.

Jiwon didn’t need to flee down the stairs or dangle from balconies. He sprinted straight to his room.

He didn’t pass a single crew member along the way.

Finally, he reached his door. His trembling hand fumbled with the handle, but thankfully, it opened right away.

Alone in his room, Jiwon collapsed to the floor.

His lungs burned as he gasped for air, nearly dry-heaving.

But he couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up—he’d survived his first real crisis here.

Fucking bastards!

He cursed out loud with satisfaction.

“All crew members, within five minutes...”

Jiwon dragged himself into the bathroom, washing the shampoo off his body.

As he quickly dried off, his eyes caught a bite mark trailing along his right areola.

Human teeth marks.

Whether it was a hallucination, delusion, or real, only one person had bit his chest—Number 3.

“Sailor 1 was alone.”

That’s what the Captain had said with a poker face.

They sent him to the clinic for examination.

Fucking hell. What the fuck is happening?

But no time to dwell.

Five minutes to get to the auditorium. Latecomers got five Penalty Points and were locked out.

Jiwon dressed quickly and dashed toward the auditorium.

He didn’t even notice he was barefoot.

Beeep.

The door shut behind him, and the alarm sounded.

Safe.

Relief lasted only a moment—everyone’s eyes were on him.

Water dripped from his soaked hair. His feet were bare.

Passing the murmuring crew members, he sat among Crew Zero.

“Where were you? What’s with your hair? Your shoes?”

Park Geonwoo fired off questions, his face full of concern.

“Well...”

Jiwon didn’t know where to start.

“No way.”

Park Geonwoo’s eyes widened.

“Did you already succeed?”

Park Geonwoo’s voice brimmed with expectation.

“You followed Number 9, right? Damn, proud of you.”

“Huh? N-no, that’s not...”

The state he was in made the misunderstanding inevitable.

While catching his breath, Jiwon scrambled for a believable excuse, then realized his fatal mistake.

Kim Jiwon wasn’t capable of applying a triangle choke—a jiu-jitsu technique.

If the administrators were watching that room via CCTV, they’d already be suspicious.

Kim Jiwon had dodged military service to pay off debt. He didn’t even have the basic martial arts certificate everyone gets after enlistment. Pulling off a technique only trained fighters could use was a dead giveaway.

Fuck. This is insane.

If not for that damn towel, he wouldn’t have fought so desperately.

But the wet towel triggered memories of Detective Kim Kyungseok—the suffocation drills—and the image of another detective lying vegetative in a hospital bed.

His survival instincts kicked in. Escape at all costs.

It’s not like getting gangbanged by three guys would’ve killed him, but he’d run like his life depended on it.

Talk a big game, but in reality, he couldn’t stomach the thought of sex with three men at once.

He’d voluntarily entered this twisted sex experiment, yet recoiled at the idea of sex with men.

How the hell was he supposed to get revenge like this?

Fucking lunatic.

He berated himself.

But why didn’t he hesitate with Number 3?

Only one reason—it had to be a hallucination.

Drugged out of his mind, thrashing around alone, convinced something happened.

The bite mark? Probably from his own nails.

Fuck. Jiwon buried his face in his hands.

If he could, he’d go back to that room, properly finish things with Son Geonwoo, maybe even ask Number 9 for a blowjob if there was time.

Great job, Jiwon. Fucking brilliant.

He was losing it, not knowing what to do next.

The moment they suspected him, everything would tighten around him. Forget being kicked out—if they found out he was a cop, he’d be killed, no question.

The thought made his mind go blank.

He hated himself for it, but his thoughts drifted to blaming Son Geonwoo’s crew for starting this whole mess. He shook off the negativity. Spilled water couldn’t be gathered.

Stop overthinking.

He forced the mantra.

Stop overthinking. Find a way to wriggle out.

Repeating it calmed him, even a little.

Worst-case, if the administrator saw the CCTV footage and dragged him away, there was no escape. He focused on other possibilities.

Meaning—the administrator hadn’t seen the footage.

If so, he needed to get Son Geonwoo on his side. The only one who knew what he did in that room.

But... did Son Geonwoo make it back in time?

With Kim Eunhyuk carrying ammonia, waking up wasn’t the problem—whether he could walk was the real issue.

Jiwon brushed his wet hair back with an irritated motion.

He cautiously turned toward Team 1.

They were probably ready to kill him. The moment their eyes met, they’d probably slit their throats with a gesture.

Bring it on. He braced himself and searched for them.

But contrary to expectations, none of them even glanced his way.

More shocking was their attitude.

Son Geonwoo sat next to Kang Jooyoung, looking totally relaxed, like nothing happened. Kang Jooyoung looked just as casual.

And as usual, Number 9 sat alone, away from the others.

Not a single one of them acknowledged him.

Confusion hit hard.

And unease followed.

Was all that just a fun little game to them?

Was I the only one taking it seriously?

Jiwon, who’d risked everything to escape, feeling like his cover was blown, was left disturbed.

“You succeeded, right?”

Park Geonwoo pressed.

Instead of answering, Jiwon glared at the back of Kim Yunho’s head.

At the same time, by pure coincidence, all the building's CCTV cameras went offline.

Even before anyone reported it, Gwak Tan already knew, thanks to the group chat exploding with messages.

Everyone had been glued to watching Number 9, Number 11, and Sailor 1. But right at the most critical moment—when all three entered the same room—the power cut out.

“Fucking idiots, making a scene over nothing.”

Gwak Tan, completely unaware of the situation because he’d been busy working, grumbled as he answered a call from Manager Kim.

“Not doing your job properly, huh?”

— I apologize, Executive Director.

“What is it this time? Say ‘system maintenance’ and see what happens.”

He warned in advance.

Gwak Tan already knew they didn’t lose track of the rat because of maintenance, but he was looking for a reason to rip into them anyway.

— That’s not it. Only the CCTV power shut off.

“Then why the hell did that happen?”

— They spilled coffee.

“Coffee?”

Apparently, one of the administrators had brought coffee and spilled it. To make it worse, it had caramel syrup in it, which made the mess extra sticky. While trying to clean it, they got nervous about damaging other equipment and shut down the power source.

“It’s been over fifteen minutes.”

Gwak Tan glanced at the clock as he spoke.

The CCTV was still dead.

— Truth is, some of the liquid got inside the hardware, so they’re dismantling the circuit boards and drying them.

Technically, drinks were banned inside the server room, but coffee and energy drinks were unofficially allowed. There was no surviving the two-shift rotations without caffeine.

Still.

Spilling coffee on that expensive equipment? That took a special kind of idiot. And spilling enough to keep it down for over fifteen minutes? That was beyond careless.

Even as someone terrible with machines, Gwak Tan could tell the excuse was full of holes.

He was about to explode—but paused.

What if the coffee spill was intentional? What if it wasn’t liquid damage, but someone sabotaged the circuit boards directly?

“Manager Kim, listen carefully. Was anyone acting suspicious ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) around the time the CCTV cut off?”

— Yes. There was.

Knew it.

“Bet there’s no evidence though, since the CCTV was out?”

— Correct. That’s why we’re handling it now.

Manager Kim was already suspicious too.

“Fucking hell. Knew it. The idiot who spilled the coffee and the rat are working together, right?”

— Yes.

“Is it a newbie?”

— No, sir.

Not a newbie, and they made that kind of mistake?

Hah! Sloppy beyond belief.

The cops must really think we’re small-time amateurs, Gwak Tan scoffed inwardly.

“You got the other one’s identity confirmed?”

— Still checking.

The vague response made it obvious—they lost track of the rat.

Whatever.

They caught an easier target anyway.

“We can’t enter today. Tomorrow it is. I wanna get a good look at that bastard’s face.”

— Yes, Executive Director.

Gwak Tan ended the call, feeling lighter.

It was like yanking out a rotten tooth—the relief was instant.

He’d been worried it might be an impacted wisdom tooth, but no, just a decaying, loose one ready to fall out.

Meanwhile, the group chat was still full of complaints about missing the good show.

Hurry up and fix it, extend break time, make them do it again like it’s their first time—all sorts of stupid suggestions flooded in.

Apparently, there hadn’t been any better entertainment lined up.

The ‘Manito Game’ had been his grandfather’s idea, but response was lukewarm at best. A game for twenty-somethings that old-school? No surprise. Plus, they’d removed the prize money.

Whatever it was, no one put real effort into the game. Most lounged in the lobby, blatantly announcing their Manito targets, chatting away. Others snuck off to bathrooms to suck each other off.

They were being treated like royalty, fed gourmet meals, and this was the result—acting like they owned the place, climbing right over the rules.

The discipline had completely gone to shit.

Gwak Tan clicked his tongue in disgust.

It was time for a decision.

End the game early.

Once they tasted proper punishment, they wouldn’t act so complacent again.

But honestly, games or punishments didn’t matter to Gwak Tan anymore.

Something far more entertaining had come up.

With a wicked grin, he called his grandfather.

Time to ask what the old man really had in mind with this little game of his.