The Real Gambling Den
Kangwon Land.
A place every Korean has heard of at least once.
"It's where you go to completely ruin yourself."
"Exactly."
To stock investors, it was even more familiar—a blue-chip dividend stock listed on the KOSPI that paid out reliably, quarter after quarter.
And no competitors to speak of.
Casinos were illegal for Koreans. In principle, you weren't even supposed to gamble at one overseas. Kangwon Land was the sole exception—the only place a Korean citizen could legally place a bet.
"A lot of people don't know this, but it's a public corporation."
"Oh~."
"Music, stocks, and this—the only drugs the state actually permits. So of course they keep it under management."
"Why music?"
That made it remarkably stable. It made money hand over fist and held a complete monopoly.
Kid's never even used Cyworld. What a baby.
Even an immature girl like Sora needed to experience this place at least once—needed to understand just how terrifying it really was.
"So why did we come here?"
"To ruin ourselves."
"You fucking bastard."
Plenty of people actually did. What made the news was a drop in the ocean.
Well, we'll get to that later.
The main event. Having come all the way to Kangwon Land, it would be a waste not to gamble.
"I'm a little excited."
"Because you're on a date with oppa?"
"I've always wanted to try a casino. They look so cool in the movies."
"Bullshit."
Sora's eyes sparkled. In films, casinos were always symbols of wealth and glamour.
But this is Joseon soil.
She needed to understand that a Joseon casino looked very different from the Hollywood version.
"You have a High1 Resort membership?"
"Of course not."
"How the hell do you show up at Kangwon Land without one…?"
"Do you have one, senior?"
"Nope."
Entry required a High1 Resort membership card. Kangwon Land itself was part of the resort complex.
I used to have one.
Going back decades had wiped it out. So he bought a fresh gambling membership and an entry ticket, went through the tedious process, and finally stepped inside—where something was waiting to greet them.
Kangwon Land Addiction Management Center
Public corporation or not, they at least made a surface-level effort to curb gambling addiction.
"You sure you don't need to stop by?"
"Why would I?"
"You're a gambling addict. KOSPI."
"Want me to hold your hand and walk you in?"
People who claimed they would never fall for that sort of thing still fell for it. Sora had already become a proper gambling addict herself.
Compared to the KOSPI, the stakes here are tiny.
This was the real thing—physical, not online. You could see, hear, and experience so much more.
They stepped into the casino proper. The first thing that hit them was a wall of slot machines.
"I know those! You pull and get 777, right?"
"Not you, though."
"Hey!"
And then the people. Sora still hadn't noticed the true face of Kangwon Land.
Doesn't something feel off?
The place was packed. Being a resort with a hotel attached, maybe that was only natural.
"Tables take forever to free up, so let's start light with the slots."
"I'm gonna hit the jackpot."
If you didn't look at the bare faces of the individuals, it was easy not to notice. After all, the slot machines straight out of the movies were right in front of her.
In Japan this stuff is everywhere.
Pachinko. What even was that place? An arcade where people spun these exact machines all day long. There were the mechanical ones that chased 777, just like Sora said. But modern ones were electronic.
Ding-a-ling~♪
Screens floated up like the old game machines outside stationery shops. The infamous "Sea Story" machines that once convulsed Korean society had the same structure.
From the operator's side, they're easy to rig.
Mechanical machines were honest—they moved according to the parts inside. Electronic ones weren't. Tweak the program settings a little and you got:
Failed!
You're fucked!
Yeah, your mom!
The same kind of dirty tricks that made the KOSPI look tame. Korea's gambling-hall operators had nothing to do with conscience.
Stock investors are used to it.
But ordinary people? This was the first time they learned what it meant to get their nose cut off while their eyes were wide open. The process that made people's eyes spin. Just like the guy sitting next to him.
"I'm gonna go exchange money! Hold my seat till I get back!"
"Sure."
"Damn it! I'm definitely gonna win!"
She was getting played like an idiot. Sora was offering tribute to the house.
Excellent liquidity provider.
Kids like Sora were the reason Kangwon Land raked in hundreds of billions every year and remained a blue-chip that paid fat dividends to its shareholders.
"They rig the odds?!"
"Keep it down."
"You could've told me earlier… No, of course this bastard wouldn't tell me."
"You already knew."
There was something called the return rate—the measured probability of how much money, on average, you would lose when you bet on a game.
Usually the baseline is around 96%.
Kangwon Land sat at about 85%. A rate at which winning was basically impossible. They were abusing the system hard.
"There's an even more vicious place called Kangwon Gi-Land."
"What kind of place is that?"
"Odds rigging is the bare minimum. They've got places that wipe out everything you've won so far with a single software patch."
"No way! That's insane."
Still, Kangwon Land at least had a few scraps of conscience left. Some overseas casinos went further.
They set different odds by bet size.
Let you win on small bets so you get excited, then clean you out when you go big. They could even rig it outright—trigger a jackpot at the perfect moment just to hype the room.
"So neither Kangwon Land nor Kangwon Gi-Land is a normal place."
"They're perfect demonstrations that escape is ranked by intelligence."
A gambling hall was a place where the house was guaranteed to win. Stocks or casinos—it wasn't that different.
You have to know that and still enjoy it.
A casino was somewhere you came to throw money around once. Kept in moderation, it was fun entertainment. Almost nobody came for that reason. At least, not at this Kangwon Land—it had long since become something else.
"Senior."
"Yeah?"
"The people here… they seem a little weird."
Sora had finally noticed. Finished with the slots, she now had the leisure to look around.
This is a real gambling den.
People called the KOSPI a casino, but it was still a stock market of sorts. The water here was different.
"Please, please, please, please. Ah…"
"This seat's unlucky."
"Haah~ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!"
The caliber of the clientele. The degree to which it ate away at the mind was incomparable. You could see people going completely insane.
"Their eyes…"
"Hollow, right?"
"They look like their souls left their bodies. Now I get what people mean by rotten pollack eyes."
"Apt metaphor."
Their clothes were shabby too—people who didn't belong in a glittering casino. Yet these were Kangwon Land's primary customers. That was the reality.
Gulp! Gulp!
The free drink corner. Orange, mango, tomato—every kind of juice, plus sodas and coffee.
The intention is good.
The service was excellent. Even decent buffets didn't stock this many varieties.
"They're drinking like they're in combat…"
"It's instead of a meal."
"Isn't that a nuisance?!"
"No."
Those people weren't drinking because they wanted to. They had no money.
And the casino is the one making that money.
No matter how much they drank, the house didn't lose—it gained. You could finally understand why casinos were so glamorous.
"Ah! I wanted mango juice."
"Out already?"
"Yeah… People must really like mango. Maybe because it tastes good."
"No. Because it's yellow."
"??"
You could observe human nature here too. Plenty of people claimed they didn't believe in superstition.
But would they still say that with a bomb collar around their neck?
Kangwon Land's highest chip denomination. Colors were set by amount:
1,000 won — light green
5,000 won — pink
10,000 won — black
100,000 won — yellow
"They drink mango because it's yellow?"
"Yeah."
"That feels like a stretch…"
"When it's the last moment of your life, people want to lean on superstition."
Clutching at straws. No—for gamblers, it actually mattered.
BAM!
At a baccarat table, a customer slammed his fist down hard on the innocent surface.
"Bring me a different bitch, not this one!"
"Do you feel there's a problem with the game, sir?"
"This bitch's energy is too strong—she's sucking all my money! Call another one!!"
Attention focused for a single moment. Then the other guests went back to their own gambling as if nothing had happened. Only Sora fidgeted like a pure virgin, wondering what on earth had just occurred.
"Do the dealers cheat too?"
"No."
"Then why…"
"Her energy's too strong."
"???"
Table games. A dealer ran the action. Because you sat face-to-face with a person,
it turned into a kind of energy contest.
Some people tangled it up with the "ki" that shamans talked about. And of course there was pure frustration from losing money.
"There are all kinds of crazy people here."
"No. Being here is what makes you crazy."
"Ah…"
"Our turn just came up. Go get some experience."
"Ah!"
The reserved table had opened—because the customer who'd just thrown a fit had been dragged out. He gave Sora a push in the back, forcing her into her first baccarat experience.
Time for me to go do the real thing.
The brutal reality of Kangwon Land. For ordinary people, it was a place best avoided. But if you knew how to enjoy it properly, it was entertaining—a playground for the rich.
"Kyaa!"
"Got a second?"
A dealer walking past—the prettiest face and best body of the lot. He gave her ass a light caress.
There are pleasures only possible here, too.
Obviously something you should never do. Like the earlier asshole, you'd get hauled out by the big security brothers. No—it was a crime. It could escalate into something serious. If this weren't a casino, that is.
"You can't do that. I'll call security."
"You want the popcorn fee, don't you?"
"?!"
"I'd like to be shown to the VIP room."
There existed a hidden room only VIPs could enter.
Popcorn Fee: A term for tips that pile up like popcorn—often exceeding the actual salary.