Dinner

Thud-thud-thud—

A line of helicopters touched down one after another across the broad open lot by the harbor.

The sight alone was something of a spectacle. The aircraft had not carried survivors only; including the staff and the eliminated teams that had departed that morning, more than twenty machines had come in.

You could not simply scramble a helicopter mid-match to extract every player who went out, so the eliminated contestants had been guided by staff to a single gathering point on the island and held there until the match ended, then flown back to the mainland together.

Cutting through the roar of the rotors, the players stepped out onto the wide lot. Among those who walked with their heads down and their hands raised against the wash of wind were Yeon-woo and his teammates.

"Is gukbap out of the question?"

Park Jung-hyeon asked the question through the battering wind. Yeon-woo and Kim Su-hyeok both shook their heads.

"The game's already underway. I doubt they'd let us leave the hotel grounds."

At Yeon-woo's words, the other two nodded. Still, after the brutal day they had put in, it was not only Park Jung-hyeon who was craving a hot bowl of gukbap—Yeon-woo and Kim Su-hyeok felt the same pull.

Having spent the past few days together since leaving the country and then fighting side by side through today's match, Yeon-woo and his two teammates had grown markedly closer. They stood trading idle talk while they waited for the production staff.

Then someone came striding straight toward the Korean team's waiting area without the slightest hesitation.

Hm?

Protective gear covered him from head to toe, so his face was hidden, but the build was familiar—someone they had definitely seen before.

"Ah. The Canadian team we ran into in front of the concrete warehouse."

At Kim Su-hyeok's remark, Yeon-woo nodded. Of everyone they had faced that day, this was the only player who had managed to land three hits on Park Jung-hyeon and burn through one of the Korean team's lives.

The man closed the distance at a quick clip. A safety officer who had been corralling other players a short way off heard the sudden stir of voices, spotted the approach, and came running in a hurry—worried, no doubt, that the heat of a match spent trying to eliminate one another might boil over into actual violence.

Park Jung-hyeon shared the same thought. Just in case, he stepped out in front of Yeon-woo and blocked the path.

The Canadian specialist walked right up, pulled off his protective helmet, and broke into a broad grin. Then, as if someone had taught him the Korean greeting somewhere along the way, he dipped his head in an awkward little bow and spoke.

"Annyeonghaseyo!"

The mangled pronunciation somehow carried the energy of a variety-show host about to shout a program title and throw up finger hearts. Kim Su-hyeok, who nearly lost the fight against a laugh, quietly turned his head and stared off into the middle distance.

Yeon-woo answered the clumsy greeting with a smile.

"Good to meet you. You're with the Canadian team, right?"

Yeon-woo stepped out from behind Park Jung-hyeon's protective bulk and offered his hand. The Canadian man beamed and took it firmly.

"Myles Kroeger, Canadian JTF-2. I've been a fan since before I even signed on for this show—any chance we could grab a photo a little later? I don't have my phone on me right now…"

His face was rough-hewn and tattoos climbed high enough to nearly cover his neck, giving him the look of someone dangerous at a glance. But Myles Kroeger asked the question with the most guileless expression in the world.

Yeon-woo grinned and nodded.

"Of course."

Once they reached the hotel, they scrubbed away the sweat and grime of a full day spent rolling through harsh terrain. After personal cleanup, they gathered again for the evening meal—and from the moment they stepped into the dining hall entrance, they could feel the heat of every stare in the room.

"That's the Korean team."

"Word is those are the lunatics who made straight for the center of the island right from the start."

"Kill logs kept popping up all through the match. Somehow they even wiped three teams in a single engagement."

"They don't even look tired. Monsters."

Feeling the mix of wariness and curiosity from every direction, Yeon-woo kept a perfect poker face. Park Jung-hyeon wore the expression of a man whose only real complaint was the absence of gukbap on the menu, no matter what anyone around him was saying. Kim Su-hyeok, for his part, had the faintest lift at the corner of his mouth—clearly listening to every scrap of talk with both ears pricked.

"Looks like the scrutiny aimed our way is only going to get heavier."

He did not sound worried so much as quietly pleased. Yeon-woo nodded at Kim Su-hyeok's words.

"Does it matter? Once they're in helmets and full kit, everyone looks the same to them anyway."

Kim Su-hyeok and Park Jung-hyeon both agreed. Even if someone wanted to single them out for targeted pressure, once they were back on the island it was nearly impossible to identify anyone by appearance alone. Each team had chosen different gear, so a careful look could still tell one group from another—the way Yeon-woo had recognized the Canadians at the harbor—but in the middle of a firefight it was all but impossible.

Trying to copy the alliances from the previous season of Survival Island was no easier. That had been an individual free-for-all; if people agreed, they could at least climb into the same boat, even if it was already taking on water. This time every unit was a three-person team, which made forging any real consensus far harder than before.

Hmm. Those special items still bother me, though.

Unlike real combat, Global Match borrowed game systems for entertainment value, and it seemed the production had prepared an even wider range of items than the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠previous show.

It's only day one, so we haven't seen much variety yet.

Opportunities to claim special weapons. Radar equipment vouchers that were radar in name only. Plenty of items beyond the basic lives and ammunition.

And game items came with buffs that helped you—and their opposite, debuffs.

If any team picks up a debuff item that can slap a penalty on another team, the target is almost certainly going to be us.

He doubted anything existed that could instantly force a team out of the game. That would draw too much viewer outrage.

Still, if debuff items are in play, they'll be a nuisance.

Yeon-woo picked at his food more than he ate it, sorting his thoughts through the meal.

Then the dining hall doors opened and staff wheeled in a serving cart. On it sat something roughly the height of a person, draped in white cloth. Every eye in the room snapped toward it at once.

Right behind the cart, show host Tony Williams appeared, waving both hands high over his head with theatrical flair.

"Hey, everyone. Good to see you. We met this morning, but after a trip to that island it already feels like days ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠have gone by, doesn't it?"

He grabbed the cloth covering the object on the cart and pulled it free.

"All right—enjoy your meals and take this easy. I've got a few announcements, so I came to find you."

Tony Williams let the pause hang, swept his gaze across the teams still eating, then continued.

"First: the teams that were unfortunately eliminated today will join the gallery starting tomorrow and watch the rest of the game with us. Today is also the last day surviving teams and eliminated teams can freely meet. From tomorrow on, the two groups will be completely separated."

Until now, survivors and eliminated players alike had gone onto the island and come back out, so there had been no real information gap. But once the gallery could study the island through every camera angle, someone might try to pass what they learned to a remaining team. That was why Manager Kim Min-su was dining in a separate location as well. The rule had been in the original briefing packet sent to LN Entertainment, so Yeon-woo simply nodded.

What Tony said next, however, was a genuine surprise.

"And—through a separate mini-game, exactly one team will earn a second chance via a losers' revival match. So the eliminated teams don't need to hang their heads just yet. That said, only one person revives: the team leader."

A murmur ran through the players. Reviving a single team leader made a real shot at the championship unlikely—but zero was still worse than a slim chance.

Someone from the British team raised a hand.

"When does the revival happen? Tomorrow?"

Tony Williams wagged a finger side to side.

"No. You'll serve faithfully in the gallery first. The revival triggers when only four teams remain on the island."

Eight teams were left now. When half of them fell, the revival would fire—and the returning player would land immediately inside the top five.

Even as a solo, there are advantages.

Watching from the gallery meant entering the field loaded with information: where the remaining teams had been operating, what strategies they favored, how many were left, what weapons they carried. How that variable would play out was still unclear, but the fresh fire already burning in the eyes of the eliminated players suggested that if production's goal had been to tighten a sagging atmosphere, they had succeeded.

"And now—based on performance so far, a sixteen-member external panel that includes military specialists has projected each team's odds of winning."

As Tony finished, the monitor that had been hidden under the white cloth lit up.

Hmm…

Thirty-two percent was an extremely high projected win rate. Even perennial World Cup powerhouses like Brazil or France rarely cracked twenty percent in pre-tournament odds.

He had been fretting about possible debuff-item targeting. This ranking had just settled that worry for good.

If those items exist, they're coming for us. No point worrying about it anymore.

Yeon-woo scanned the teams listed below Korea.

Italy—that's the team with that greasy-looking guy. Twenty-one percent… that's high.

Korea and Italy together already cleared fifty percent. Factoring in the remaining six teams splitting the rest of the pie, the panel was essentially saying one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of those two would take the win at a very high probability.

The Italian team hasn't even posted that many kill logs compared to us, and they're still sitting that high…

Which almost ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠certainly meant they had pulled off some distinctive play and been rewarded with a strong item for it.

News of the losers' revival match sent a fresh wave of heat through the eliminated players. Yeon-woo and his companions returned to their rooms to rest.

About two hours later, someone came looking for Yeon-woo.

Knock-knock—

"Coming."

Yeon-woo opened the door to find a hotel employee waiting with a serving cart.

"Room service. And this is a note from the sender."

Yeon-woo unfolded the note the staffer handed him and let out a short laugh.

The dishes on the cart were covered with stainless-steel food domes, but the smell slipping out between the lids was more than enough to identify what waited underneath.

They had already finished a light hotel-style dinner, yet the aroma alone was enough to wake a second appetite. He could easily eat more.

"The other bowls went to the next room over, right?"

"That's correct."

"Then I'll head next door and eat with them. Come with me."

Seeing the food that would supercharge Park Jung-hyeon's combat power had arrived, Yeon-woo smiled.