How to Read the Board

Han So-yul sank down onto the linoleum of the semi-basement.

One of her clicking heels slipped off and rolled away. She hadn't yet noticed that the hem of her designer dress was brushing the mold-stained floor.

"…What's wrong with me. Seriously, my legs."

Han So-yul looked down at her knees. The fog was coiled around her calves.

I looked at that number. It had been 88 when the first chapter began; now it was 68.

All I'd done was call her name a few times and recite a single line of the rules.

"Lee Seo-jun. Hey."

She lifted her head. There was still venom left in her eyes. That venom was, strangely, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠welcome.

"What the hell is this. Did you kidnap me?"

Kidnap.

The moment I heard those three syllables, I almost slipped back three months.

I'm sorry, it's a misunderstanding, it's not like that. I almost started apologizing. Twenty-five years of living that way made my body lean that direction first.

But this time, I held it in.

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

There was no reason to apologize. I hadn't done anything. The one who'd made this room, the one who'd summoned her—that wasn't me. It was the blue text on the ceiling.

"I didn't. Kidnap you."

I said it. Even I was surprised my voice didn't shake.

"You just came here. I don't know why either."

"Came here? Are you insane? Why would I walk into this dump of a semi-basement on my own two feet."

This dump of a semi-basement. Words like that would've made me shrink before.

But not now. Because this semi-basement was, for this moment at least, on my side.

The gauges floated before my eyes. I glanced at them.

Han So-yul couldn't see that window. Only I could. That was the first rule of this board.

I could see the board; the opponent couldn't. It was like playing poker with all the cards face up—for me alone.

In twenty-five years of living, I had never once held more cards than anyone else.

"Do you know who my boyfriend is?"

Han So-yul clenched her teeth.

"If this gets out, you're finished. My boyfriend is a chaebol. He's got twenty lawyers on retainer. Crushing a job-seeker like you is one phone call."

My boyfriend. Second-generation chaebol. Twenty lawyers.

Three months ago those words would have crushed me. I was a guy whose entire net worth was an 80,000-won bank account, never mind a lawyer.

But I laughed. Because it was genuinely funny.

"So-yul."

I bent my knees and met her eyes.

"Your boyfriend's phone doesn't work in here."

The system window floated up as if to prove my point.

I read it and felt a quiet rush of admiration. This dungeon was feeding me the rules one at a time, exactly when I needed them.

It was just like a game tutorial—leaking little hints about what waited in the next room.

Three years as a shut-in glued to games had finally earned its keep.

Let's sort this out. I walked through the windows in my head.

One. Three gauges. Favorability, Corruption, Resistance. Subjugation when Resistance hit 0%, or when the Corruption gauge filled.

Two. The Field. Just by being in this room, her Resistance drained on its own.

Three. Coins. They dropped on Subjugation, though I still didn't know what they were. The rules from chapter one had said they were for expanding the room or unlocking things.

That was pure game currency. Kill a mob, gold drops; spend the gold on gear and skills. I'd run that loop blindfolded for three years.

In reality I'd always been the character with no currency. A dirt-poor account that went bankrupt at character creation. A life that rolled nothing but trash no matter how many times you rerolled.

But this dungeon had, for the first time, handed me a board I could actually profit ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from. Coins for every Subjugation; coins into rooms and skills. Capital that bred capital.

Four. Real-world specs were zero in here. Chaebol, followers, lawyers—none of it counted.

So the one with capital on this board was me: the guy with an 80,000-won bank account.

It made no sense. The window said so anyway.

"What do you keep staring at. You've been doing it since earlier."

Han So-yul followed my eyes into empty air. Naturally there was nothing there. Not for her.

"Grinning at empty space. Did you take something?"

"I didn't."

I stood up.

"But you—you can't move right now."

Han So-yul's face went stiff.

She braced against the wall to stand, then sank back down.

"…What. Why won't my strength—"

It dropped again. The more she panicked, the more the Field seemed to drive into the cracks.

I didn't rush.

That was the new thing this board had taught me. That I didn't have to rush.

For twenty-five years I'd always been frantic. In interviews I had to spit out answers a second faster; at convenience stores I had to move before the customer got annoyed; even in front of So-yul I'd always been chased by the need to do something before she cooled off.

The world had always demanded faster from me. Slow ones got replaced.

But this board was the opposite.

The stiller I stayed, the more the gauges tilted my way. The longer time passed, the more her Resistance collapsed on its own.

The system window confirmed my thinking once more.

In proportion to time. So all I had to do was wait.

Leisure. A luxury I was tasting for the first time in my life. Leisure was something you needed capital to afford—and this dungeon had, for the first time, put that capital in my hand.

Looking back, urgency had always made me lose. Because I was desperate I sold myself cheap; because I was desperate I bowed first; because I was desperate I clung to So-yul. The one who clings always loses to the one being clung to.

But now I was standing on the other side. The side that waited at ease. The side that watched someone cling.

A board where rushing actually cost you. In twenty-five years, this was the first time I'd learned such a thing existed.

"So-yul. Aren't you thirsty."

I picked up the water bottle next to the ramyeon and gave it a little shake.

"…What?"

"No need to hurry. We've got plenty of time."

She glared at me. Glared—but those eyes were hazier than before.

"Are you really Lee Seo-jun? He was never this…"

The end of the sentence frayed. She couldn't find what came after this. She'd never seen a Lee Seo-jun who wasn't easy.

"He was never this what."

I asked back. She bit her lip.

"…He never smiled like this. He just watched my every mood."

That was true. I'd always watched her mood. Even going out to eat, the first thing I checked was what she wanted, whether she was angry or not.

People with nothing always start by reading the moods of people who have something. When you have no capital, reading the room is your capital.

"Not anymore."

I said it short.

"There's no reason to watch your mood. On this board, you're the one who has to watch mine."

Han So-yul's brow twitched. She opened her mouth to fire back—and in that instant her legs gave out again, and she had to brace against the wall. Whatever she'd meant to spit at me scattered without force.

Even Favorability had gone up. The more ease I showed, the stranger I must have looked in her eyes.

A strange man. An unreadable man. From the box she'd labeled the guy with nothing three months ago, I was slowly climbing out.

"Lee Seo-jun."

Han So-yul's voice had shifted a little. The edge was duller than before.

"…How do I get out of here."

Finally, that question. I smiled on the inside.

"Want me to tell you the rules."

I spoke slowly.

"You have to make me submit to leave. A Challenger has to bring down the Master. That's the rule of this room."

"Submit? You?"

She let out a hollow laugh. But at the end of that hollow laugh, her voice trembled—just a little.

"…How am I supposed to make you submit."

I didn't answer that question. There was no need.

Because the moment she asked it, the board had already tilted.

Anyone who has to ask the opponent how to bring them down is already losing.

Corruption rose quietly. The price of speaking the word submit with her own mouth.

That was when I understood. These gauges didn't climb on time alone.

Every word she spoke toward collapse, every inch she gave ground—the numbers answered.

The Field laid the bait. On top of it, I fished with words.

So there was nothing for me to rush. I just had to cast the lure well.

"But So-yul."

I crouched in front of her again. Closer this time.

Through the fog, I heard her breathing falter slightly. Her cheeks had flushed a faint pink. I hadn't even touched her.

She felt it too—she pressed the back of her hand to her cheek, her face saying why is this happening.

Her body was answering first. Her head still saw me as the guy with nothing—but her cheeks were already burning.

The woman who'd looked at me like an insect for three months was, alone in the fog of a semi-basement, flushing by herself.

I watched that gap for a long time.

Three hundred thousand followers and an 80,000-won bank account. Yachts and a semi-basement. A second-generation chaebol and a job-seeker.

By the numbers alone it was still a picture that made no sense.

But inside this room, the one flushing was her, and the one at ease was me.

"…Why are you looking at me like that. It's creepy."

She averted her eyes. Even as she looked away, her legs stayed trapped in the fog.

52.

It had started at 68. Now it was 52.

I swallowed, watching that number.

At this rate, it wouldn't be long. Exactly what wouldn't be long, I still didn't know.

A new window appeared. I read it twice.

The next stage. Meaning the Field had another layer.

Even now, without laying a finger on her, her Resistance had dropped sixteen points. What would the next stage even be.

Along with curiosity, a little fear crept in.

If this was real—I was, right now, slowly breaking a person down with a system.

The woman I'd loved until three months ago. The woman who'd dumped me and walked away.

A line you couldn't cross back over. The same sensation I'd felt in chapter one brushed the back of my neck again.

But I didn't stop at that line.

What had twenty-five years of living quietly inside the lines left me with. Nothing but form rejections and three syllables: you have nothing.

A man with nothing left to lose stays on the board even when he's afraid.

"Lee Seo-jun."

Han So-yul leaned against the wall and looked up at me. One heel still off, the hem of her designer dress still trailing across the moldy floor.

"…Can I really not get out of here?"

I glanced at the system window, then back at her.

Resistance 52. Still half remaining. Tonight would end here.

Because I'd decided not to rush.

"Yeah."

I sat back down beside the ramyeon bowl and said it.

"But I'm not in any hurry either. Time's on my side."

She started to snap something back—then felt her own thighs press together without meaning to, and shut her mouth. She flicked a glance at me with eyes that said why is this happening.

Those eyes no longer looked down on me the way they had before.

Right in front of me, Resistance swayed one more tick, very slowly.

The first night the dungeon opened was not over yet.