Moths to the Deadly Neon Light
Reunions are boring. Even in this dim, gloomy world, if there's a place shining brightly, that doesn't mean it's always a beautiful, warm light. Like how something can be a tragedy up close but a comedy from afar, the light that draws in moths looks entirely different depending on the distance. But humans, with their intense cravings for recognition, vanity, and greed—more than any other creature—are far weaker to such lights. Because there's no limit to what they want, what they aim to achieve, what they dream of becoming.
A status window awakener who's a super handsome guy with women flocking to him on their own, but he doesn't give his heart recklessly, knows how to keep his chastity, and still ends up doing everything he wants to build a harem kingdom like some light novel munchkin protagonist. That's the kind of endless desire people harbor in this overflowing world.
Unlike a lighthouse guiding humans on the right path or the safe glow of streetlamps easing their anxieties, a toxic light flickers like Seoul's neon signs at night—a whole different level. Spiders weaving webs near where the moths swarm are everywhere by nature, and the poor moths gather around that meaningless glow without a clue. Just like Lee Sang-ho right in front of me.
"Don't you think it's weird? Everyone's doing so well."
"They could... be doing well, right?"
"Sure, they could be. With talent, effort, luck, and will, there's nothing you can't do in this world. You might not even die, or you could send people to heaven. But not everyone's like that. Most people just live ordinarily."
Talent might rot unused, effort might not pay off without luck, or someone might have everything but lack the will to act on it, settling for ordinary. In other words, not everyone is born with SSS-grade stats, and you can't make it happen. If you could, the world would already be a fair place where everyone was a munchkin.
Humans face constraints in all sorts of ways—environment, health, opportunities, and so on. But what about our proud Hanseong University Class of XX alumni gathered here? They're enjoying the reunion with an air of leisure, as if they've seized everything and shattered every constraint.
In reality, they probably have considerable wealth, high social status, and maybe even fame or honors that ordinary folks couldn't earn in a lifetime of striving. Not just a tiny few, but most of the people here.
"Look back at your life. You went to the army, graduated college, built up specs to get a job, scraped by without asking your parents for money, and made it right up to marriage. If you'd gone through with it, you'd have reached the peak of what an ordinary person can achieve."
"Yeah, that's true."
"Now look at your peers. Are these the same classmates you remember from college? The ones always too busy chugging booze, tanking their GPAs, but somehow scraping by with a diploma and some minor certifications?"
Lee Sang-ho slowly shook his head. Unlike me, he'd hung out with people back then, so in his memory, most of them were the type who "struggled to succeed." Not landing cushy jobs everyone envies, not striking it rich with a sudden business, not excelling in some field—they were far from that.
Only then did Lee Sang-ho realize he should be comparing himself not to me, but to the other alumni decked out head to toe in luxury brands. And suddenly, the thought hits him.
How the hell did they all achieve such dazzling success?
Lee Sang-ho looked like he was dying to figure out that final puzzle piece his brain couldn't grasp, so I grabbed a fresh glass of champagne from a passing server. Downed it in one go. To anyone watching, it might look like chugging cheap draft beer, but the pricier the food or drink, the more intensely you savor it to get the full flavor.
With my throat lightly quenched by the champagne, I pointed at Kim Jun-gong—the star and host of this reunion.
"Kim Jun-gong started his company last year and built a solid IT firm this year. Real time invested? About two years. And including this one, the Hanseong University Class of XX reunion has happened four times total. So who hosted before Kim Jun-gong?"
I subtly let Lee Sang-ho know that Kim Jun-gong was also a beneficiary of this reunion, nudging him to think of the person beyond Kim Jun-gong. Because back in college, I didn't hang out with anyone—I don't even know my classmates' faces or names. So someone else had to remember.
"I think I know."
"Yeah?"
"Like how Choi Ho-ban's playing lackey to Kim Jun-gong now, Kim Jun-gong was the student council president's lackey back then. That got him into student council activities later. And he was buddy-buddy with all the department heads."
"Those guys have a rep for being dirty."
Of course, not as bad as pre-2010s, but their image in college is still shitty. Like a mini society—even among the same students, they snag good info or personal perks first and hoard it among themselves. When scandals break, anonymous tips explode on places like the bamboo grove forums or EtaLand.
Most are petty graft, but every now and then, some crazy bastards go big, keeping the issue alive.
"The ones leading reunions before Kim Jun-gong were probably department heads tight with student council."
"They're not here, so they must've gorged two years ago and bailed."
As I added that, Lee Sang-ho ground his teeth.
"But how? They didn't do shit—just hosted reunions. How do you scam people like that?"
"That's what we're gonna find out now."
Because even at this moment, a bit of luck was draining from Lee Sang-ho and a few others, flowing straight into their bellies.
To lump it as "luck" is vague; strictly speaking, it's a kind of "possibility." The potential earnings I'd make working my whole life in this body, the achievements I could attain. Occult-wise, people call it "fate" or "destiny."
The kind of fate where you could become that, could achieve that. Hearing "You'll suffer young!" doesn't mean you'll die young.
But without fate, the main ingredients of your life are gone—you can't fill the massive canvas of existence. No paint, no finished masterpiece; you're out. That's the fate of the fate-less, or those robbed of it.
How many classmates had vanished quietly like that? It makes Korea's No. 1 suicide rate all the more meaningful. Most suicides come from lives not panning out, sudden disasters, or feeling unable to recover—like someone's stolen their "fate." And we're the country with the world's highest college enrollment rate. Meaning alumni reunions are fucking everywhere.
"What do we do? Confront them now? Ask what the hell they're doing?"
"You think that'll work? You'd get called crazy and politely kicked out."
"Tsk, yeah... you're right."
Lee Sang-ho tilted his glass like his throat was parched. Truth is inconvenient by nature. Maybe that's why everyone lies with a straight face—pretending to be considerate.
Unlike Lee Sang-ho, I knew where to find the clue to solve it. Golden smoke-like wisps leaking from him and a few alumni were condensing in one spot.
One of the reunion's little events: the raffle prizes.
They draw a random number ticket: "Congratulations to number XXX! You've won a top-tier coffee machine!" That one. We'd gotten digital numbers on our smartphones upon arrival, and being digital made rigging easy.
A way to siphon fate as "luck" from others without suspicion: claim the prize it's infused into. The winners are probably pre-decided internally. Big prizes like luxury appliances, electronics, designer goods. Small ones like cute trinkets or tickets.
To them, the prize itself probably doesn't matter. It's the total "blessing" quantity embedded in it. Snag 20% of a guy's lifetime potential to earn 5 billion won, and that's 1 billion for you. No legal proof, no evidence, just show up to the reunion for easy gains. Who knows how many are in on it.
"Sorry, but you can't enter until the raffle drawing starts."
The server blocking the side room where prizes were stored stopped me cold. I stared at him blankly.
"You're a Hanseong University alum, huh?"
He was three years my senior.