Chapter 3
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Addiction
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Kim Jin-seong was gradually sinking deeper into the swamp of gambling.
At some point, he began spending the entire day watching ladder picks,
analyzing why the master agents were pushing certain picks.
It wasn't just about blindly following and winning; he studied the ladder patterns obsessively.
22-box patterns,
line patterns,
3121 patterns,
1212 patterns,
2121 patterns—he memorized and analyzed dozens of them.
Lines were often followed by pond drops,
3121 was frequently followed by 123 patterns,
and 2121 often led to 22-boxes.
He ingrained these stats and patterns into his mind.
For several days, Jin-seong didn't place any bets,
focusing solely on analyzing picks.
Then one day, on a whim, he cautiously asked the master agents in the Family Room.
"Can I share the patterns I see in the Family Room too?"
The master agents gladly accepted when he offered to share picks for free.
"Go ahead! It's a shared room anyway lololol."
From that day on, Jin-seong started firing off picks alone in the Family Room for over ten hours a day.
At first, the members didn't pay much attention to his picks and stuck to the existing master agents'.
But after a few days, the atmosphere shifted.
Jin-seong's picks were hitting more often than the master agents', with longer win streaks,
and the Family Room members began going wild for his picks.
"Jin-seong's picks are legendary! Success spam!!!"
"This guy's section reading is insane lololololol."
The members cheered him on fervently,
and before long, the Family Room revolved around Jin-seong.
In truth, it was a sweet deal for the master agents.
Jin-seong was handling the daily grind of churning out picks for free,
so they could relax without a care.
The members happily followed along without complaints,
making it pure 'honey' for the master agents.
Meanwhile, Jin-seong steadily placed sports bets once a day,
managing them meticulously according to his studies
and slowly growing his money.
Finally, after two months, he recovered every penny he'd lost.
Jin-seong had recovered all his money, but
he couldn't easily escape the thrilling rush gambling gave him
or the sweet allure of making money so effortlessly.
Unlike his initial resolve,
even after getting back every cent, he didn't stop gambling.
Before he knew it, throwing picks and betting felt like a full-time job.
Days with over 2 million won in profit became common, and his spending habits changed rapidly.
'If I can make money this easily, who needs a job for life?'
One day, Jin-seong went shopping with his girlfriend Hyo-jin for a date.
He picked out a designer bag for her with a smile.
"You've been through a lot because of me, haven't you?"
That evening, they enjoyed a luxurious dinner at a fancy restaurant,
followed by a special night at a hotel with a stunning city view.
Hyo-jin's gaze toward Jin-seong, whose spending had suddenly ballooned, began to change.
He wasn't working, yet he was dropping tens or hundreds of thousands of won daily.
Eventually, Hyo-jin cautiously pressed him.
"Honey, why are you suddenly spending so much?
You're not working—where's all this money coming from?"
Jin-seong hesitated for a moment, gauging her reaction, then spoke slowly.
"Honestly... I've been doing sports betting as a side gig,
and turns out I'm pretty good at it, so I've made a decent amount."
Hyo-jin knew little about gambling or sports betting.
It was a world not easily grasped by ordinary people.
So she took it as just a side hustle and didn't think much of it.
Her boyfriend had talent, was making money,
and showering her with generous gifts and dates—she was thrilled.
For a while, the two basked in sweet happiness, forgetting reality.
Jin-seong's closet filled with designer clothes
and expensive accessories.
As Family Room members often advised,
on big win days, you had to buy something no matter what.
That way, even if you lost later, the items remained—no real loss.
Especially designer goods held value and could be resold with minimal loss.
Jin-seong's life simplified.
He didn't sweat the ladder bets anymore.
He'd watch patterns and only jump in on clear odds/evens or line sections,
grabbing 4-5 rounds cleanly before cashing out.
It was a smart betting method.
But with it, his bet sizes grew.
Starting with 30,000 or 50,000 won bets, he'd become
a high-roller staking at least 1 million won per round.
Small bets gave no thrill anymore;
anything less than 1-million-won units didn't feel like a real win.
After wins, he'd unwind with tea time at a quiet café,
then dine at upscale spots.
Each time, he'd sigh playfully and grin.
"Ah~ this is the life."
Jin-seong's days were peaceful and leisurely.
By nature, he loved people and was generous with money, so he treated friends and acquaintances often.
With plenty of cash and time, they loved hanging with him.
No money worries—just eat, drink, and play freely. What wasn't to like?
Jin-seong and his friends dove headfirst into that lifestyle.
His life brimmed with daily pleasure and ease.
Jin-seong's dreamlike stint of seeming eternal wealth didn't last even a month.
He'd overlooked that ladder patterns shifted completely every few weeks—or a month at most.
One morning, he sat confidently at his computer as usual to bet.
But strangely, sections he'd normally nail
all broke the opposite way.
In minutes, 3 million won vanished.
He'd won nearly 50 million won total so far, but after lavish spending, only about 25 million remained.
This was the moment to stop and return to normal life.
As gambling lore went, cash out on wins—that makes it truly yours.
But Jin-seong missed the timing.
Always praised in the Family Room, he left a message.
"Pattern's dirty today.
Gonna stop picks and focus up."
Members consoled him.
"Rest on days like this.
Just not your section today! Hang in there."
But Jin-seong felt compelled to prove his expertise on tough days.
Without telling anyone, he quietly bet solo.
His stakes were already huge—1 million won base.
He topped up 5 million won and thought,
'Two 1-mil bets, then all-in double on the third for a big one.
If not, two all-ins quick and done.'
Just then, a 2121 pattern appeared.
Odd twice, even once, odd again.
One more odd would perfect it.
Confidently, 1 million on odd.
Result: odd. Balance: 5.95 million won.
Next, 1.95 million on even—hit.
Now 7.8 million won.
One final all-in left.
3.8 million on odd.
Hit this, over 11.4 million.
Jin-seong chain-smoked, shaking his jittery legs.
Those 5 minutes felt eternal.
Result: even. Pattern broke.
Instant rage surged.
"No way, why not follow the flow!"
Unable to hold back, convinced it was pond-drop territory, odd again—even.
Thinking reverse-copy now, all-in 3 million on even.
But odd.
In 20 minutes, 5 million gone.
Jin-seong's mind blanked.
'I'm the pro... why this?
Not my section today.'
Calming down, he topped up another 5 million.
No more fixed bets—meaningless.
Plan: ride a master agent's pick for two wins and bail.
One was on a two-win streak—perfect.
5 million on their four-line pick.
Right as he rode it, three lines popped. Wrong.
Fuming, topped up 10 million, rode another on a one-win streak.
'At least two wins.' All in—wrong again.
Meanwhile, the previous agent hit, spamming
"success spam!!!"
"Shoulda stuck with the original..."
Jin-seong tore at his hair in regret.
In one hour, 25 million dwindled to 5 million.
With swollen stakes, he mindlessly topped up the rest.
'This time, ultra-careful—only line sections.'
Two hours later, three lines four times straight.
Prime line-section signal.
Next three lines? At least three more.
Result: three lines.
All 5 million boldly on three lines.
Pattern broke again—four lines.
Jin-seong collapsed on the bed, clutching his head.
All money gone.
He'd paid dearly for breaking excited-betting rules.
Arrogant and foolish.
Ignored every rule he'd set. Harsh price.
Months of scrimping, gone in hours.
Even now, stopping would've let him write it off as fun with his original savings.
Breakeven—no loss.
But a gambler's mind isn't rational.
Won money feels like it was always yours.
This was his last chance to escape gambling for normal life.
He didn't know.
Instead, he rationalized.
"Just a bad-section day. Can win tomorrow."
Baseless confidence.
Truth: Jin-seong had stellar credit.
Young, he'd built a card with never a late payment,
paying over 2 million won monthly—top-tier rating.
No job meant tough bank loans, but
card companies offered instant 25-million-won card loans on request.
He knew little of loans, blind to card loan interest horrors.
'Pay back next month, interest minimal.'
Too naive.
That afternoon, 25 million won from card loan hit his account.
Unknowingly, Jin-seong stepped deeper into irreversible hell.