The Price of Happiness

A dud? What dud? There wasn't even a buzzer. I was transcribing it into the diary and nearly dropped my pen out of sheer disbelief.

Zzzt.

Suddenly my phone vibrated, the screen flickering on and off.

The pixel-graphic 'trash' was warped out of all recognition. At one angle it looked like a long-haired girl in a red dress; at another, tomato spaghetti with burnt noodles; at another, fingers with balsam-dyed nails gone bruise-dark.

So who exactly was 'you' supposed to be here? The monster I was playing as?

"Throw it away!"

If eating it made me sick, that would be my loss, not the game's.

That trash. Ah. So that was the setup, then. Some kind of... fellow species?

"Ah... so I shouldn't have thrown it away."

"Why not?"

Hwang Juyeon, who had overheard my muttering, asked.

"If the Cast studies the guests, they might use it against us later."

Since, as far as the game was concerned, we were the guests. Her expression turned strange at that, so I added hastily, "Hmm, wait—but it also said eating it could make you sick. So throwing it away was the right call, wasn't it?"

Only then did Hwang Juyeon nod, seemingly convinced.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

At times like this, the right move is not to overthink it—just take the top option, if only to keep my head from spinning.

"Become happy!"

An illustration of the Viking ride popped up, and music began to pour out. There were no lyrics, but I recognized the melody at once—it was a song by the idol group that had been trapped in here. Not exactly the kind of music you'd play over the speakers during a Viking ride at an amusement park.

Zzzt. Zzzt. Zzzt. Zzzt. Zzzt.

The phone vibrated like it had gone mad, the screen strobing on and off without pause.

Zzzt. Zzzt. Zzzt.

The vibrations came in little pulses, exactly as if my health were draining drop by drop.

The screen, which had been flickering all this while, went completely dark.

I died. Killed by a dead idol's song.

Beside me, Hwang Juyeon sucked in a startled breath and shot me a look full of unease. Choi Jaeha and Yu Hyeonjae, too, seemed unable to find a single word; they just watched me in silence.

Which meant that if I pressed 'EXIT' here and quit—

I jotted down a condensed version of the script and the choices in the Jaerae Diary, using it to sort out my thoughts. Honestly, I wanted to quit. Of course I did. But if I quit here?

Hwang Juyeon, who was probably next in line, would want to quit the moment her turn came. And then Yu Hyeonjae after her, and then Choi Jaeha after him. And when it finally reached Jeong Jiho, the last in order?

I glanced at the boy sitting in a chair taller than he was. His eyes were half-closed, drained, probably, from throwing up earlier. A child who couldn't even fully read the alphabet of his own language, and who had sealed his own mouth shut besides—him?

"For now... I'm going to keep going. As far as I can."

That meant someone had to go ahead and push through, gathering the records first. Even if the turn did inevitably fall to Jeong Jiho. If the data we'd collected by then was thorough enough—if we were lucky—

Then this kid might be able to clear it too.

"Mr. Seon Yuhan..."

The emotion carried in Hwang Juyeon's trembling voice reached me whole and unfiltered, as if it were my own. Worry over the body part I was about to lose. Relief that her turn hadn't come yet. The guilt and self-loathing she felt toward herself for feeling that relief. And finally, gratitude—toward me.

The instant I felt it, I covered my mouth.

I chose to continue, biting back the laughter that threatened to burst out of me like a fit. There wouldn't be any pain, after all. No matter what I lost.

Everyone held their breath and watched the screen.

"Haah..."

"Ugh... thank god—no, not thank god, but anyway, at least you're alive..."

I slowly lowered my head and looked down at my shoes. Sitting still with my feet flat on the floor, I could barely feel any difference, but when I carefully tried moving them, the two sides were unmistakably, glaringly different.

"Mm..."

My right ankle gave a sudden, sickening lurch, like something had given way beneath it.

Tap.

The moment I took the shoe off, I could see exactly which part had vanished.

"Your heel?"

"Yes."

The heel portion of my sock hung loose and empty. The top of my foot, the ankle, the toes—all perfectly intact. Only the heel was simply, cleanly gone. I considered peeling off the sock to check the cross-section, then gave up on the idea. Not something you do with an audience.

"Guild Director."

"Yes?"

"Does this qualify for workers' compensation?"

I knew the answer, and so did the Ministry of Employment and Labor. I only said it because the mood had gotten too grim.

"I could push your official hire date forward a bit. That much is within my power."

Fortunately, the co-CEO of Yuwi Guild took the joke in stride, amusement threaded through his voice.

"Making the impossible possible. That's what I do best."

I believe him. This isn't a world where you can rise to a seat like that on ability alone, without wealthy parents behind you. Much less at his age.

"I remember!"

And who the hell was Kim Jinwoo?

I caught myself staring at Yu Hyeonjae just in case, but he shrugged as if he hadn't the faintest idea.

"There aren't... any other people in here besides the seven of us, right?"

Choi Jaeha murmured it with the grim foreboding of the accountant who dies first in a horror film.

"I don't think so... but this person could well be a NeoSoft employee."

And if that were true—

"Wait, then where is this person?"

Everyone who had vanished when the Jaerae ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Building turned into a labyrinth—the interviewer, the daycare children—was probably...

"Here. In a labyrinth identical to this one."

Existing in a separate spacetime—identical to this place, yet apart from it.

"Ah. Plausible."

Yu Hyeonjae nodded.

"It would make sense if they divided the people to adjust the difficulty. Labyrinths are, as a rule, easier to solve the more people there are working at it."

Most problems in this world can be solved by sheer numbers. Labyrinths were probably not a great exception to that law—only the resources burned along the way were excessive. Human lives included.

An invasive labyrinth is a place where, even if you pour in every resource you have—time, money, personnel—one single survivor coming out counts as a miracle. To put it bluntly, how do you justify grinding resources into a 'cost-inefficient' hole like that? Whether it's Red Weavers or government-salaried special agents, nobody wants to see them charging into an invasive labyrinth en masse just to die, and nobody wants their taxes hemorrhaging endlessly into a lost cause.

That's the average citizen's sentiment.

Of course, the average citizen doesn't count the people trapped inside the labyrinth.

And truthfully, I don't wish for rescue all that much either. Whatever rescue crews came in, all they'd add is a few more body bags. The kind, thoughtful labyrinth already has everything prepared—new rules, new phenomena, ready and waiting—so that no one who enters later gets left out of the experience.

That's precisely why the Labyrinth Management Bureau makes the entry procedures for invasive labyrinths so convoluted, and why, the moment an invasive labyrinth is confirmed, no one—no one at all—is allowed inside.

In principle, anyway.

A ghost house of chasing and being chased. It sounded like the player's side would have a rough time of it too. Still, once we got through this, it would presumably be afternoon—one step closer to Happy Land's closing time.

"Become happy!"

An illustration of the haunted house bloomed across the screen, rendered in dark teal, violet, and black.

When you know nothing, you take the top option. "Kitchen!"

Pit-a-pat...!

The sound of something sprinting toward me.

Kyaaaah!

Blood spattered with a scream that curdled the blood.

Crunch, crack.

Step. Clack-clack.

What kind of sound effect was that supposed to be? I almost recognized it and almost didn't.

Creeeak. Thud...

That one I knew. Someone was creeping around on the second floor.

"Living room!"

THOOM—! Rat-tat-tat-tat!

"Ha—!"

"What is this? Why is it making that noise?"

KWAANG! Rat-tat-tat—!

The report of gunfire slammed against my eardrums, one blast after another.

Zzzt. Zzzt. Zzzt. Zzzt. Zzzt.

The screen strobed at a furious pace.

Rat-tat-tat-tat, THOOM! KWAANG—!

That clack-clack sound I'd heard from the living room earlier.

It had been the sound of a machine gun being chambered.