Time Until Death

It started the day before yesterday.

That was when this absurd message first appeared.

He had no idea what caused it. He suspected it might be some kind of hallucination, but he couldn't even go to a hospital. Was he afraid of being locked up in a psych ward? Far from it. It was simply physically impossible.

Clang, clang! Claaang, clang...

"Ugh, pant!"

Baek Si-woo swung his pickaxe with limp, sluggish movements.

Beneath his feet was the sensation of dry, crumbly earth. With every breath, a damp, foul stench filled his nostrils. The sharp, deafening ring of pickaxes striking ore threatened to tear his eardrums.

Beneath flickering lightbulbs, upon rusted and warped rails.

Dozens of men and women, caked in dust and grime, swung their pickaxes.

Baek Si-woo was right there among those sweat-drenched laborers.

His limbs trembled, but he strained his ears, pretending to focus on his work.

"...Please, just this once, help me out. I might have been rough on others, but I was never mean to you. Think of it as a favor I'll owe you. Can't you do something, just this once?"

"Cut the crap and get back to work. Who knows? Maybe you'll barely scrape by and hit your quota."

Valuable information was hidden within the laborers' chatter. He couldn't afford to miss even the smallest detail. After all, Baek Si-woo was an outsider who had suddenly dropped into this place just two days ago.

His sudden "drift."

Truly, there was no other word to describe it but sudden.

When he finally came to, he was trapped in an unfamiliar mine.

Was I kidnapped in my sleep?

But how could that be?

At this point, nothing was clear. All he knew was that it was far too long and vivid to be a dream. He desperately needed clues to understand the absurd situation he had been thrown into.

"Don't give me that bullshit! The 'collection' is less than ten minutes away! How the hell am I supposed to fill my quota now..."

"Talk about bad luck. He slacked off on his own work, so why is he taking it out on everyone else..."

There it was again. That damn "collection."

On his first day, he hadn't understood it at all. Even now, he didn't know the full truth. The only thing he could immediately deduce was that something sinister was happening in this mine.

And that man was the culprit.

"—Work is over!"

A man walked out from the depths of the mine. Perhaps because of the dark charcoal robe draped over him, it felt as if the shadows of the mine itself were spawning him. His heavily shadowed face was chilling.

"You, you, and you over there."

Scanning the workshop, the man pointed at a few laborers.

"As you know, it is time for the 'collection.' Follow me. And don't try anything foolish."

As the man turned his back after saying his piece, Baek Si-woo felt only an icy chill, devoid of any dignity or weight of authority.

He was someone who did not view humans as human.

Two of the designated three followed the man with tense faces. The remaining one hesitated—it was the man who had been making a fuss earlier, begging for help.

"Number 15, Hunchback. Did you not hear me?"

"N-no! It's just... I was hoping you could give me a little more time..."

"Hmm."

Glancing back at Number 15, nicknamed "Hunchback," the man gave a nod to the other laborers. It was a silent reprimand, asking why they were just standing there staring. Sure enough, the laborers quickly pushed Number 15 forward.

"Time, my ass. Just go, you bastard!"

"Aaargh! N-no! Please!"

Someone even kicked him in the back. Despite his desperate struggles, Number 15 was dragged into the darkness of the mine, completely helpless. Once the commotion died down, sighs erupted here and there.

A short while later, two people returned.

Only the two who had willingly followed the man.

The resisting man was nowhere to be seen.

Today as well.

Yesterday had been fine. All three laborers who were called returned safely. However, on the first day Baek Si-woo opened his eyes in this ominous mine, the exact same thing had happened.

It was an event more than enough to rouse his vigilance.

By now, that vigilance had morphed into a sense of crisis. He had a strong feeling that if things continued like this, he would be in deep trouble. He quietly approached the two returned laborers.

"Excuse me."

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

"Huh?"

"What was that just now? Why did only the two of you return? What about the other guy who went with you?"

His abrupt questions were met with cold, piercing glares.

"Did you get heatstroke? What kind of bullshit are you spouting?"

"What? No, I was just curious."

"If you have time to stick your nose in other people's business, go inside and sleep."

He hadn't expected a warm response, but this was sharper than he had imagined. While he was debating whether to back off or push further, the laborer clicked his tongue.

What followed was a deeply unsettling remark.

"Your own 'collection' is tomorrow, yet you're worrying about a dead guy. Do you really think hitting your quota today means you're safe? You clueless idiot."

A dead guy?

He's dead?

How?

It was hard to believe. To speak of a human life so lightly. Though he initially found it absurd, the thought that it might actually be true slowly began to take root.

The pieces of information he had unconsciously gathered began to fall into place.

A laborer dragged away by force, never to return. The keywords "collection" and "quota." Crucially, before being dragged away, Number 15's cart had been relatively empty compared to those of the two who survived.

The conclusion presented itself naturally.

If you don't fill your quota, you don't come back alive.

And my collection is tomorrow.

Along with the message saying I have 24 hours left until death.

"……Son of a bitch."

Since things had come to this, there was only one option.

He had to keep mining tomorrow, no matter what.

On his first day of being drifted, he had been utterly bewildered.

It had been his first day off in a long time. Even though it was a holiday, as an office worker living far from home, he hadn't felt like going out. He had simply lain down to rest, only to open his eyes in some godforsaken mine.

Fortunately, the survival instincts he had honed from years of reading the room in the corporate world finally paid off.

Once the work shift ended, he did exactly what the others did and transported his own cart. The cart was piled high with a nameless grey ore.

After loading his cart onto the mine car, he headed to the barracks. Calling it a "barracks" was generous; it felt more like a pigsty. Men and women alike were crammed into the suffocatingly cramped space without any distinction.

As he choked down the rationed slop, he thought:

What the hell happened to me?

A mine he had never visited in his life. A foreign language he could speak and understand without any trouble. A subtly different height, and a strange voice coming from his own mouth.

There was not a single trace of "Baek Si-woo" left.

Should I run?

Looking back, it was a foolish thought.

"……."

"……."

The barracks were dead silent.

Though a few people occasionally chatted, the conversations never lasted long. As everyone killed time in their own way, they only exchanged wary, probing glances.

Every single one of them was a watchdog.

These were people who would drive their peers to their deaths at a single nod from a superior. Perhaps they didn't even view each other as peers in the first place. It was safe to assume that any shred of warm humanity had long been thrown to the dogs.

What if he made a reckless escape attempt and got caught?

That would truly be the end of his chances of survival.

Rather than moving rashly, first...

I need to figure out what to do about this first.

The hallucination that had greeted Baek Si-woo in this wretched mine. The message had gradually faded until it vanished, but the moment his thoughts drifted to it, it popped right back up before his eyes.

Roughly twenty hours left.

Baek Si-woo would die.

……Probably.

It's ridiculous to take it at face value, but...

At the very least, he was certain this mine was no honest workplace. The timing aligned perfectly with the "collection" scheduled for tomorrow. That alone was reason enough to take the message's warning seriously.

Since he couldn't just run away like a madman, his options were limited.

There was only so much he could do.

Just one day. Just get through tomorrow.

He had to survive tomorrow first.

The next day.

When the work shift began, Baek Si-woo couldn't believe his eyes.

"W-where did it all go?"

The cart he had left yesterday was completely empty. He immediately checked the other carts, but they were all untouched. Though the amounts varied, almost everyone else's carts were still piled high with ore.

The words he had heard yesterday echoed in his mind.

Do you really think hitting your quota today means you're safe?

It wasn't the end.

"...So, before he could beat him to death, he got caught..."

"Always with the exaggerations. Alright, alright. How many times are you going to repeat the same story..."

The laborers' steps as they followed the overseer to the work site were perfectly natural. It was as if they had no idea what had happened during the night—or perhaps they simply didn't care.

As they passed by, Baek Si-woo read a clear intent in their profiles.

Ridicule.

Which bastard was it?

He knew someone had stolen his ore.

But who?

He didn't even know their names. If he blindly confronted someone, wouldn't he just end up getting beaten to a pulp? Even if he found the thief, would they return it willingly?

What should I do...

His thoughts ground to a halt.

In the first place, nothing had been clearly explained. Where was this place, and had the man who was dragged away actually died? Wasn't the hypothesis that one would die if they failed to meet their quota a bit of a leap?

"Ha."

He was starting to feel like giving up entirely.

Yeah, thinking about it, it makes no sense.

There was no way they would bury a person just because they couldn't mine some rocks. His previous workplace hadn't been this terrible. Sure, it was a family-owned small business with frequent overtime and mandatory drinking sessions, but even they had limits.

The tension he had desperately maintained began to crumble.

Just as he was about to sink into despair—

"Hey."

Startled by a tap on his shoulder, Baek Si-woo whipped around.

It was a woman he had seen a few times. She had a tall, slender build with long limbs, dirty beige hair, and skin that would have been fair if not for the layers of grime.

He had never spoken to her before, but she had left an impression. Unlike the others, she possessed a strangely relaxed air. She was like a haughty stray cat.

Before he could say anything, she gestured with her chin in a certain direction.

"It's him."

"What?"

"Number 19. What did they call him, Leech? He took it."

A man walking ahead was stealing glances back at him.

The nickname the overseer had arbitrarily given him was Leech.

A crooked smirk was plastered across his face.

A smirk that openly looked down on others.

"...Did you see him do it?"

"Nope. But he was the only one who snuck out last night."

It was a solid testimony.

Assuming she wasn't lying.

"Believe it or not, it's up to you. But yeah, I doubt I'm the only one who saw him. Remember how much we suffered because of that bastard who got caught trying to escape before? We have to look out for each other so we don't get dragged into trouble."

His chest felt tight, as if a foreign object were wedged inside.

"Well, at least he wasn't stupid enough to get caught red-handed."

The woman giggled, her lips curling upward.

"I wonder what you'll do."

……He understood now.

He had no choice but to accept it. This place was different in every way from the world he had lived in. "Collections," "quotas," "thieving bastards"—all sorts of dark, twisted malice ran rampant here.

It was still a question, though.

Would he really die if he failed to meet the quota?

Common sense says it's impossible, but...

Let's look at the circumstances.

Two people had already vanished. The first laborer to disappear still hadn't returned. Their survival was uncertain. The other laborers feared disappearance, yet accepted it as a matter of course.

In short, that "Leech" had made his own move.

Because he didn't want to be the next to vanish.

And Baek Si-woo had been designated as the "next."

"Hey, by the way."

"Shoot."

"What happens to me if things stay like this?"

"Huh? What an obvious question."

The woman made a throat-slitting gesture.

"You'll be taking a one-way trip to the afterlife, obviously."

His stomach churned.

Baek Si-woo clamped his mouth shut. He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw muscles tensed. The suffocating sensation that had filled his body earlier was transforming into a boiling heat.

In that moment, he realized that something within "Baek Si-woo" had snapped.

Gripping his pickaxe, he marched toward Number 19.

It was the first step he had taken solely for the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sake of survival.

"Hey."

"Huh? Wh—"

Before Number 19 could fully turn around, Baek Si-woo kicked him in the back with all his might.

As the man lost his balance and collapsed, Baek Si-woo pinned him down, straddling his back.

"Ugh! What the—what are you doing?! What's your problem?!"

Thud!

He slammed the pickaxe into the dirt floor. Seeing the pickaxe embedded right next to his ear, cold sweat broke out on Number 19's forehead. The eyes looking up at Baek Si-woo trembled violently.

"Y-you... What are you taking your anger out on me for?"

Though terrified by the sudden threat, his eyes were still filled with spite.

"You should've guarded your own shit! You're the fucking dumbass who got robbed, so why are you taking it out on me?! You must've heard something from that bitch, Number 18. Do you have proof? Huh?!"

The shouting briefly drew the attention of those nearby.

However, no one made any move to intervene. Even the overseer walking at the front merely glanced back before ignoring them. Everyone maintained their stance as bystanders.

It meant that such squabbles were a daily occurrence.

With this, his final lingering doubt was resolved.

It was time to wake up.

"Proof, my ass. I don't give a shit about that anymore."

This had been his strength since long ago. He was quick to adapt.

He had always been in situations where he had to get used to things fast.

He knew how to change "himself" to fit his environment.

To put it a bit dramatically, he knew how to survive.

Adaptation was survival.

"My cart is empty."

"So what?! Why does that—!"

"You smirked at me, and it just so happens your cart is full of ore."

That was reason enough.

Thud!

He repeatedly bashed Number 19's face. He made sure to keep it within a reasonable limit—just enough so that no one would intervene, and the other man wouldn't be able to fight back.

After beating Number 19 into submission, Baek Si-woo quickly transferred the ore to his own cart. While the other laborers snickered as if they had just watched an entertaining show, the overseer remained completely indifferent.

"It is work time."

Since he didn't know the exact quota, he had to swing his pickaxe for hours on end. Throughout the shift, he kept a close eye on Number 19, wary that the man might try to retaliate out of spite.

Before long, the dreaded moment arrived.

"Work is over. Number 17, Number 18, Number 19. Termite, Scrap, Leech!"

The three called this time were, in order, Baek Si-woo, the woman from earlier, and the man he had beaten up. Only then did Baek Si-woo realize that his designated number was "Number 17."

Along with the bizarre nickname, "Termite."

Just like yesterday, the three followed the overseer.

Passing through the tunnels, they arrived at a wooden building constructed deep inside.

Number 17 was called first, and Baek Si-woo stepped inside.

The moment he saw the interior, he flinched instinctively.

It looked exactly like a cult ritual commonly depicted in movies or dramas. Blood dripped steadily from the carcass of a beast placed upon an altar. A faint glow emanated from a grotesque drawing painted in blood.

What is this crap? Fluorescent paint?

He knew he was in a den of lunatics, but he hadn't expected them to be this far gone.

"Offer your blood to the Lord."

"Uh, what?"

"Do not make me repeat myself. Present your hand."

Baek Si-woo had no other choice. As he hesitantly extended his hand, the overseer sliced his skin with a dagger. While he frowned at the stinging pain, droplets of his blood seeped into the drawing.

Ssssshh—!

A damp, dark red mist began to consume the room.

"...*Gasp*!"

Baek Si-woo instinctively ducked his head. He didn't even have time to wonder what kind of mechanism this was. No, there was no need to think—this was undoubtedly some form of the supernatural.

He could feel the presence of something right before him with his very skin. Something foul and ominous, something he dared not look upon. An indescribable terror made his jaw tremble violently.

It was no illusion.

This was the truth behind the "collection."

The laborers were all slaves to the overseer. Claude Regan was exploiting these slaves to gather the price he owed to Harmensales. And Baek Si-woo was now in a position where his labor would be exploited until the day he died.

A tempest of emotions swirled in his gut.

It was the sheer futility of having all the ore he had mined through agonizing muscle aches snatched away. It was the injustice of having to suffer a fate he had never asked for, and the doubt and fear that blossomed from facing an unrealistic, supernatural entity.

But there was something far more violent than that.

"Number 17, 'Muzark Bespard,' is bound to Claude Regan as his disciple. As Harmensales understands human laws, the harvest of Number 17 belongs to his master, Claude Regan."

Don't give me that bullshit.

He wasn't Number 17, and he had never heard the name Muzark in his life. There was no reason for him to be sold to a mine like this, and he had absolutely no memory of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠becoming the disciple of some crazy cultist named Claude.

Yet, deep down, he had suspected it.

His stride, the physical build he looked down upon, and even the tone of his voice whenever he spoke—everything was completely foreign. He couldn't feel a single trace of "Baek Si-woo" within himself, which was why he had clutched his head in agony, wondering what kind of nightmare this was.

These motherfuckers.

Now that the truth was shoved in his face, a sudden, intense fury flared within him.

Anger at all the absurdity rose like a raging wildfire.

He lifted his head.

Just as he thought, a hideous monster stood before him. Its massive body crouched low, as if suffocated by the cramped room. Its flesh was made of dark red smoke, and its ribcage hung wide open.

But that wasn't the only thing he saw.

About "himself." And...

About this godforsaken world.

Before he knew it, his trembling had completely stopped.