The Minimum Number of Players Is Seven

"...So they've passed on, then. Both of them."

Yu Hyeonjae lowered his eyes. He didn't seem to spare much thought for his right cheek, still faintly flushed where the child had struck him.

"Jiho."

And then he gently folded both of Jeong Jiho's hands in his own and met his eyes.

"Because of my stubbornness... I couldn't help the two of them."

There was no way to know what had actually happened over there. We hadn't been present, and Jeong Jiho couldn't speak. Even if all of us had gone into the same article together, those two might well have died anyway. Whether they truly died because we weren't there — I had no way of knowing.

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

Even so, Yu Hyeonjae did nothing but apologize to the grieving child.

"Hk, ugh..."

The boy who had been glaring at Yu Hyeonjae with eyes full of blame finally squeezed them shut and broke into sobs. Even that he did with his mouth forced firmly shut.

"Let's head over there."

Only after considerable effort soothing Jeong Jiho did Yu Hyeonjae tilt his chin to the left. That side was lined with one franchise restaurant after another — it looked like a zone where outside vendors had been allowed to set up shop.

"Still, it seems the layout of this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fifth floor hasn't changed much from the original."

The fifth floor. Come to think of it — the fifth floor, of course...

'Oh, I'll be waiting for you on the floor matching the number of these eyes.'

I found myself remembering the gamble I'd played with Do-ssi — the first and last of its kind — in the merged Future Strategy and Budget Planning Team under the eleventh floor's Strategic Planning Department. That wager, where I threw away Jeong Jiho's chance to escape so that I could learn the truth.

'I've prepared all sorts of games to keep you entertained. But the final game has a minimum headcount, you see, because it's meant to be enjoyed together. It's simply that it grieves me less when a quarter of the friends playing my games dies than when half of them do.'

Among the testimonies I had judged to be true back then had been information about the fifth floor. After all, the top face of the die had shown five at the time.

'So if you want to play all the way to the end, you'll have to bring more friends with you. That way you can lower the odds that the friends you cherish a little more will die during the games. Of course, I'm sure you think none of that matters so long as you're the one who walks out alive — and yet, even so, I'm just as sure you think it would be nice to save someone if you could.'

I couldn't say what it truly was, but the voice had been closer to a man's than a woman's, gentle in every inflection.

"CEO, what's across the corridor there?"

"A lounge and an arcade."

An arcade? Ominous already. I didn't know the exact number, but one thing was certain: it had to be more than the five there had been back then.

"Hah..."

Forget five — right now we had barely three. My head throbbed. Nothing was coming together. How many of us would die, and in what way, before we escaped this fifth floor.

Ting-a-ling―.

The three of us filed carefully into the convenience store. Nobody inside, as expected.

"Thank goodness, they sell bandages too. I was just thinking your bandage was due for a change anyway, Mr. Seon Yuhan."

We swept up energy bars and water, easy to eat on the move, along with a generous haul of medication and over-the-counter remedies. Given that the register was ringing up sales perfectly fine despite the blackout, it was a safe bet that dine-and-dashing here would be fatal as well. And since a certain bourgeois overlord apparently carried neither cash nor cards on his person, ever, I ended up paying in his stead with my own card.

I stared down at my nine fingers — nine, and to be precise, a half of a half of one more — straining not to think of a certain blood-red set of scales.

No more fingers would be lost here. I had no debts left to pay.

"Have a seat, Mr. Seon Yuhan. Bite down on this. Jiho, would you look over that way for a moment?"

Apparently the knot of resentment hadn't fully come undone yet, because the eyes of the boy sulkily gnawing his energy bar were anything but sweet. Even so, he turned himself around in due earnest, sat, and plugged his ears — as though he remembered only too well how much noise I'd made hamming up my agony back at NeoSoft.

"Ngh, mm..."

"It looks like the bleeding has stopped, at least. Bear with me just a little. This will be over shortly."

"Agh— nngh...!"

Why did wounds need disinfecting, of all things. If anything, by my body's own reckoning, getting a limb severed had honestly hurt less.

"There. All wrapped up. You bore it very well."

I'd come this close to decking Yu Hyeonjae with my fist just now. Yes — well borne indeed.

I spat out the gauze I'd been clenching and shook painkillers onto my tongue.

"H-hey, Jiho. You can draw it, or write it out — either's fine."

The moment the pain had dulled to something manageable, I bought an extra notebook, handed it to Jeong Jiho, and asked him to tell us what had happened to Choi Jaeha and Hwang Juyeon. You never knew — I wanted as much information as I could get.

"Mm."

Scribble. Scribble-scribble.

That red blotch — kimchi stew, was it? Stir-fried pork? Spicy jjamppong noodles? Between handwriting that wobbled every which way, as wobbly and lawless as if two grown adults had scrawled it between them, and the rather abstract pictures tacked alongside, I had my work cut out piecing the message together. Then again, there was a green clump that looked like lettuce, so maybe it was the stir-fried pork.

"So — going by the article, you found the restaurant with the two customers, and Uncle Jaeha and Ms. Hwang told the owner he wasn't allowed to smoke in there. And then he got angry and attacked... the two of them? The restaurant owner did?"

Hiccuping, the boy shook his head — then wrote one more curt word and added to the picture.

"The customers... were the ones who did it."

Jeong Jiho wrote only that much. He could write no further.

I quietly studied the figures of the customers drawn in the notebook. Horns jutted up from two heads painted pitch-black; in the hand of the long-haired one was clutched a fork like a trident, and in the hand of the short-haired one, a knife like a greatsword.

"...I'm sorry, Jiho. Just one more question."

Somehow, looking at that drawing, a strange premonition had taken hold of me.

"These two — did they seem like a big brother and big sister, or like an older mister and missus?"

Every major figure from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the articles I'd lived through so far. Miss B of the basement. The male subway terrorist. That schoolgirl-and-schoolboy pair. The male and female customers at the restaurant. Weren't they all far too alike? Every last one of them so very much at home with killing?

...As if they were the same people, every time.

"CEO. You remember the kids we saw at that school."

"I do."

"It appears those kids and these two customers are one and the same."

"Ah. Now that you mention it."

The Yuwi Guild CEO nodded. "If we take those two to be the monsters presiding over the labyrinths within the Divine Realm Daily's articles, then regarding them as identical beings actually makes more sense."

Like that urban legend about people who'd had lucid ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dreams all seeing the same figure in their sleep — even if, in that case, it turned out to be fabricated. That deranged girl and boy seemed to surface as hostile entities in article after article.

...If, by some chance, we ran into them again, I hoped this information would help. Not that I wanted to run into them again.

"I believe it's all right to get moving again."

After a decent rest, we rose to our feet. Back out in the corridor we made a slow pass by the remaining restaurants, but nothing in particular caught the eye.

"Shall we start with the lounge, then?"

"Yes. Though — is a lounge something like a break room?"

"Roughly. It's a space set aside so employees can eat however they please."

From what I gathered, people usually gathered there over takeout from the restaurants right next door, delivery orders, or lunchboxes packed from home. We rounded a corner, and there was the lounge, its interior laid bare through a broad pane of glass.

"...Someone's in there."

Beyond the glass stood something that looked like a man. I was certain it wasn't one, because no ordinary person stands in the middle of a labyrinth with a smile settled on their face, calmly watching other people. Nor, come to that, does anyone offer such an easy, unhurried bow of welcome, as if genuinely pleased to see you.

"I'll go in first."

Shff.

The door slid open, and the eerie not-quite-human thing resolved into sharp detail.

"It's good to see you, Seon Yuhan."

It was the very same soft, unhurried male voice Do-ssi had mimicked.

"I've been waiting for you."

Deep black hair tied loosely back from his neck. Bold, heavy-cut features. Dark skin. The look of a man from Latin America or the Middle East, near enough. Of course, quibbling over the ethnicity of a being with horizontal rectangular pupils was absurd on its face. Still, everything but those goat's eyes was ordinary. Mostly.

A loose shirt worn through with holes at the cuffs, a white T-shirt beneath it, jeans scuffed at the hems, sturdy sneakers. The outfit was unremarkable — what stood out was the staff in his hand. A wooden staff longer than a man's leg, its top bent like a hook.

"I am the Master of Ceremonies, you see. Please, call me 'Hosu.'"

Hosu. At least it sounded like a name someone had actually put thought into — more than could be said for 'Do-ssi.'

In any case, this self-styled Master of Ceremonies showed no sign of hostility, so I waved Yu Hyeonjae and Jeong Jiho, who were holding position at the door, inside.

"And to you as well, Yu Hyeonjae, and Jeong Jiho — it's good to see you. I am the Master of Ceremonies. Please, call me 'Hosu.'"

"And what is it you preside over?" Yu Hyeonjae asked.

"Games, of course."

"What games."

At that, the host's uncanny horizontal pupils came to rest, dead-on, on me.

"I preside over every game that calls for a host."

"Don't tell me we have to play every single one. What do we have to do to get out of this place?"

"You can't enjoy the final game yet, you see. If it's the final game you'd like to enjoy, you'll simply have to bring more friends along — that's just how it is, I'm afraid."

Ah. That final game. Which meant that getting out of this place meant playing it.

"How many, then? What's the minimum headcount?"

Hosu smiled, warm and benevolent. "Still, I should think it takes at least seven to be any fun."

"Ha."

Yu Hyeonjae let out a hollow laugh. "Are there any other people on this floor besides us?"

"No. For now, you are all there is."

"'For now'?"

"Yes."

It came across loud and clear: there had been others once, and now they were dead and gone.

"Then if we cannot play the final game, we cannot leave this place."

"That's right. It is the most important of all, you see — the final game."

Hosu gave Yu Hyeonjae a small nod. The Yuwi Guild CEO passed a hand down his face and exhaled.

"A disaster, then. There's no telling when anyone else will come."

All the while, I was counting in my head, tallying the human beings I'd met floor by floor on my way down through this building. Third floor — Choi Jaeha: one. Second floor — Hwang Juyeon and Jeong Jiho: two. Basement five — Yu Hyeonjae: one; the escort knight I'd never met alive, so excluded. Fourteenth floor — Lee Jinsu: one. Eleventh floor — none. Fifteenth floor — Lee Nahyeon: one; Kim Youngho, never met alive, likewise out. Add me to the tally last of all, and it came to exactly seven. In other words, every human being I'd crossed paths with so far had to be kept alive and brought here.

"Hah..."

"And yet if you go deciding it's hopeless this early, I will be ever so sad."

With a faintly mournful look, the Master of Ceremonies let his gaze pass over each of us in turn. The tone couldn't have been more docile — and it landed like the most terrible warning imaginable.

"Until your friends arrive, please pass the time enjoying the other games I have prepared."

Hosu extended the hand that wasn't gripping the staff toward the wall. The direction of the arcade.

"The more of my games you win, the happier things will become. That, I do promise."

"And if we lose?"

At that, the Master of Ceremonies stretched his jaws wide — upper teeth, lower teeth, the dark hollow of his throat all bared at once — and his shoulders began to bob and heave, for all the world like a clown performing the most ridiculous act in the world.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah.

Not a sound.

My feet carried me a step backward before I knew it. I could have sworn I'd heard laughter — but the Master of Ceremonies hadn't made so much as the faintest breath.

At length, as though nothing whatsoever had occurred, he drew his brows together and said precisely one thing.

"Then sad things will happen, won't they."