"Who are you?" Ian asked firmly, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the absolute, unhinged pressure radiating from the man's aura.
What Roe said is true, Ian realized instantly.
This person is categorically not like Bartwin. He's far too orderly, too dignified. If Bartwin's henchmen are easily distinguishable by their rough, street-raised aesthetics, this man sits at the exact opposite end of the spectrum.
Ian could tell just by looking at the flawless tailoring of the suit—how perfectly the colors matched without appearing tacky or overdone.
It was a stark contrast to the Bartwin syndicate, whose members desperately clawed at the appearance of wealth without possessing a single ounce of actual taste.
"Just call me Magenta."
The man smoothly took a seat directly across from Ian, occupying the exact spot where Josh had been sitting just seconds prior. The sheer authority of the movement forced Josh to reflexively slide over to the adjacent cushion without a word.
"How can I assist you?" Ian asked directly, cutting through any potential platitudes.
"Hahaha... I like it. No need for hollow small talk," Magenta chuckled, his eyes crinkling with deceptive warmth. "Then I'll jump straight to business. I want you to help my men escape the game."
Ian's eyes narrowed. "Wouldn't an arranged escape make the match significantly less interesting for the audience? And what makes you think Bartwin won't find out about it?"
The man weighed his options for a brief, calculated moment before continuing, "You're a sharp one, Ian. Valid points. To ensure the telemetry looks entirely organic and less suspicious to the bookies, I only require your assistance for half of the game."
"And after that?"
"After that, you're free to navigate the arena as you see fit. The rest of the clock is entirely up to you."
"Why?" Ian pressed.
"Let's skip the philosophy for now," Magenta smiled, tapping a manicured finger against the table. "Shouldn't a boy in your position be asking 'how much' instead?"
This time, Ian fell completely silent, his analytical mind rapidly calculating the structural risks. Beside him, Roe and Josh sat frozen like statues, the reality of Ian's wild sci-fi story finally locking into place with terrifying clarity.
"I happen to know for a fact that Bartwin gave you a laughably small cut of the ledger," Magenta continued, his voice dropping to a smooth purr. "That cunning, parasitic old man. And in case you were unaware of the system's structural mechanics, the final reward isn't actually divided based on the number of survivors. Instead, every single player who successfully breaches the time limit receives the exact same baseline amount. So, what I am offering is to personally supplement your earnings with my own private share."
Ian let out a sharp, cynical breath. "Tsk! You came a bit too late, Mr. Magenta. Your offer is incredibly tempting, I'll admit, but accepting it would completely corrupt my credibility as an active player. What you don't understand is that I am trying to build a legitimate career out of this system. The money can wait; the reputation cannot."
"An astute consideration," Magenta replied, his smile remaining perfectly intact. "Your long-term foresight really can't be underestimated. So, to conclude... this is how you officially reject my proposition? Strangely enough, this is the first time in a very long time that I am not actively offended by a refusal. But you must remember one fundamental truth, Ian: inside the arena, there are absolutely no system rules prohibiting players from hunting and murdering one another."
The final sentence was delivered with a sudden, bone-chilling drop in temperature.
"I already assumed as much," Ian shot back, matching his icy tone.
"Well then... take exceptional care of yourself in there."
"Thank you for your profound concern, Mr. Magenta," Ian smiled tightly. "I can only hope your personal players manage to survive in there for as long as you wish."
This time, Magenta offered no verbal response. He rose from the booth with fluid elegance, casually tossing a minimalist business card onto the wooden table.
"Contact me the moment you change your mind."
"Of course, sir."
Ian kept his eyes locked on the man's retreating figure until the silhouette completely vanished through the front door of the restaurant. The second the glass door clicked shut, Ian exhaled a massive, ragged sigh of relief.
"Phew... Jesus Christ. Finally, I can actually breathe again," Ian muttered, wiping a bead of cold sweat from his forehead.
Beside him, his friends looked visibly shaken, their skin pale under the restaurant's flickering fluorescent lights.
"For real!" Roe gasped, clutching his chest. "It literally felt like the entire oxygen supply in this room was being vacuumed away by his presence. I was too terrified to make a single sound—I didn't even dare to breathe!"
"Mr. Cheng seems to have stayed in the kitchen for an unusual amount of time," Josh noted, his heavy brow furrowing with sudden concern. "He should have been out with the noodles by now. Should we check on him?"
"Yeah... I'm thinking the exact same thing," Ian chimed in, a sickening knot forming in his stomach.
The trio rose and walked toward the kitchen at the far back of the dining room. The entrance was obstructed by a swinging wooden door, fitted with a small, round glass viewport near the top for peering inside.
Josh, being the largest of the three, naturally navigated to the front of the line. But the moment his eyes leveled with the glass window, he froze instantly, his massive frame completely blocking the doorway.
"What's the matter, Josh? Move aside," Ian ordered, trying to peer around him.
"Yeah, stop hogging the view, you giant grizzly bear!" Roe added, trying to lighten the mood.
Josh didn't laugh. He turned around slowly, his face completely blank. "Mr. Cheng is dead. You don't want to look at this."
"Stop joking around, Josh. Move out of the way! I want to see," Roe demanded, jumping up and down in a futile attempt to peek over the older man's broad shoulders.
"Josh... I need to verify this with my own eyes," Ian requested calmly, his voice dropping.
Recognizing the gravity in Ian's tone, Josh silently stepped to the side, complying with the request. Roe immediately seized the opportunity and lunged forward to push the swinging door open, but Ian's arm flashed out, catching him firmly by the chest.
"Do you honestly want your fingerprints permanently fused to a homicide scene?" Ian hissed.
That was all it took. Roe's protests died in his throat, and he reflexively yanked both of his hands behind his back, his eyes widening in terror.
Ian stepped up to the glass and looked inside. A massive, spreading pool of dark blood completely flooded the kitchen floor, originating from a horrific, jagged laceration across Mr. Cheng's nearly severed neck.
The sudden, violent contrast between Mr. Cheng's life-long kindness and this grotesque butchery caused Ian's stomach to violently churn. He spun away from the door, collapsed against the wall, and vomited acid onto the floor.
Even when Ted—his own biological father—had died in the arena, Ian hadn't experienced a physical reaction like this.
"Is it really that bad?" Roe asked, his voice trembling as he watched Ian dry-heave. He completely abandoned any desire to look inside.
"Yes," Josh advised, his voice heavy as he guided Roe back toward the main dining area. "Just remember the man's kindness. We have absolutely no need to archive his tragic final moments in our heads."
Roe collapsed back into his chair, staring blankly at the table in a state of profound, hollow grief. Josh then turned his attention back to Ian, who was wiping his mouth, his internal organs aching from expelling stomach acid on a completely empty stomach.
"Ian... you are playing a game with an incredibly dangerous tier of people," Josh whispered, his tone thick with a panic he was desperately trying to keep hidden from Roe.
Although their entire lives had been structurally intertwined with petty crime and street violence, the sheer, casual ease with which a good man could be slaughtered for entirely unclear reasons was a terrifying new concept.
It was a level of cold-blooded reality that was deeply difficult for them to process—especially since they knew Mr. Cheng was simply an honest soul trying to secure a better life for his family far away in mainland China.
Just yesterday, the elderly chef had enthusiastically shared his joy regarding his young daughter, who was finalized to join him in the city to continue her university studies. He had proudly brandished a crinkled photograph of his baby girl, and the boys had responded with genuine, happy laughter. Now, he was just meat on a kitchen floor.
"This wasn't my intention, Josh," Ian whispered back, his voice cracking. "Do you honestly think I'd be better off dead right now?"
"It's not about that," Josh muttered, his eyes darting toward the youngest of their trio. "But... what about Roe? He is far too young and fragile to be dragged into a meat grinder situation like this."
"I don't know, Josh," Ian groaned, rubbing his temples. "My brain is completely short-circuiting from hunger. I can't think straight."
"Okay. We need to vacate this perimeter immediately."
With practiced efficiency, Josh used one hand to steady Ian's swaying posture, while his other hand clamped onto the heavy black garbage bag containing their entire lives.
The three of them walked out into the cool evening air in absolute, suffocating silence. They stopped by a generic street food truck a few blocks away to buy a handful of basic hot dogs, carrying the wrapped food back to their new residence without exchanging a single word.
Upstairs, above the dusty relics of Ted's old antique shop, they officially mapped out the living space.
The flat contained two distinct bedrooms.
The smaller of the two stood in stark, sterile contrast to the rest of the cluttered apartment; it was entirely empty, meticulously clean, and featured nothing but a single-sized mattress resting squarely on the hardwood floor.
"I'll occupy this one. You two can take the larger suite," Ian said, pointing toward the messy bedroom he had woken up in earlier that afternoon.
Josh and Roe nodded, carrying the garbage bag into the designated room. However, the moment they crossed the threshold, the rancid stench of the moldy food wrappers hit their noses like a physical wall.
"Let's eat on the balcony instead, how about that?" Josh suggested, sticking his head back out into the hall. "It seems like a massive upgrade to eat in the open air while actually gazing at the sky."
Ian and Roe silently agreed, following him out through the small glass door.
The balcony was narrow, overlooking a bleak, dead-end alleyway below. Yet, to three boys who had spent the better part of their youth breathing in the damp, putrid air of the city storm drains, the cool evening breeze made the concrete ledge feel like absolute luxury.
Starting tonight, they were no longer sewer rats. They were finally leaving behind the subterranean life that had constantly constrained their potential due to a total lack of capital.
They finally possessed a life that closely resembled that of ordinary people. But as Ian stared out into the dark city skyline, he realized the structural price of entry was catastrophic. His life was hanging by a razor-thin thread at every single moment.
"Do you think normal people out here face the exact same struggles we do?" Roe murmured between bites of his hot dog, his eyes tracing the distant high-rises. "Is that why they go to work every day and put on those fake, plastic smiles? Because their lives are constantly at stake too?"
Ian swallowed hard, the dry bread suddenly feeling like ash in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to answer.
"Hey! Why the hell are you getting all philosophical on us, Roe?" Josh chided gently, attempting to inject some warmth into the air. "Come on, lighten up a bit. Let's just cherish the fact that we're out of the dirt. I'm genuinely happy to be here right now, with you guys." Josh tried to flash a wide, reassuring grin, but ended up inhaling a piece of sausage the wrong way.
He let out a massive, violent choke, coughing so forcefully that the entire balcony seemed to vibrate. The sheer, absurd volume of the noise sounded exactly like a raging, startled bear, causing Ian and Roe to burst into sudden, cathartic laughter.
Beneath the laughter, however, Ian's mind remained completely locked on Magenta's parting words.
Help my subordinates survive until halfway through the match.
There was a massive piece of the puzzle he was missing. There had to be an undocumented mechanic hidden within the system parameters—something far more valuable than a mere million-pound cash reward. But what could it possibly be?
Regardless of the potential payout, accepting Magenta's terms right now would be tantamount to courting an immediate execution from Bartwin. They had just legally pawned their bodies as the loan shark's exclusive property. There would be absolutely no mercy on the ledger if Bartwin discovered his golden goose was conducting black-market trades with an outside high-roller.
The sudden, violent screech of high-performance tires echoing from the dead-end street below instantly shattered the peace.
All three of them leaned over the concrete railing. A sleek, unmarked black transport vehicle had parked erratically right in front of the antique store's main entrance. Within seconds, a cadre of imposing men dressed in heavy black suits emerged from the doors—their countenances defined by thick, unmistakable red beards.
And there it is, Ian thought, a cold, familiar numbness settling over his limbs. Right on time. They've arrived.
"Let's go," Ian muttered, turning back inside. He descended the stairs to confront the enforcers, with Josh and Roe following closely behind, their eyes wide with a mixture of intense curiosity and mounting dread. They wanted to see exactly how Ian operated under pressure.
"You have been officially summoned tonight," Connor's deep, gravelly voice resonated through the shop's lower floor the moment they hit the bottom step.
"I just ran a high-tier simulation yesterday," Ian protested, standing his ground. "My biometrics haven't recovered. I need more time to rest."
"You don't get to dictate the schedule when Bartwin demands a performance," Connor sneered, stepping closer. "Oh... and your little street friends are invited to join the gallery tonight as well."
Ian froze entirely in his tracks, his blood turning to ice. Dammit. He should have known better; he should have known that a man with Bartwin's surveillance network could never be kept in the dark.
"No. They are not part of the operational ledger," Ian countered fiercely, stepping in front of Roe. "They are completely excluded from our active agreement."
"You're smart enough to know your defense is entirely meaningless right now, aren't you, boy?" Connor growled, reaching out and forcefully shoving Ian toward the open rear door of the transport vehicle. "So keep your mouth shut and comply."
Another suit stepped forward, grabbing Roe by the shoulder and shoving him into a separate compartment. Josh, however, remained completely motionless—rooting his massive frame to the concrete floor like an ancient oak tree. Even when two additional enforcers joined the fray and attempted to physically leverage his weight toward the car, Josh didn't budge an inch.
Josh had initially remained entirely detached from the corporate theater, but the moment his eyes verified that both Ian and Roe were locked securely inside the transport vehicle, his demeanor shifted. He let out a short sigh and finally stepped into the car completely of his own free will.
"Josh! What the hell are you doing?! Why are you just giving up?!" Ian exclaimed from across the cabin, his voice thick with distress.
Josh merely shrugged his massive shoulders, adjusting his position on the leather seat. There was no universe in which he was going to sit back in that flat and simply wait to see if his brothers returned alive. And besides... he wanted to witness the dark mechanics of Ian's crazy story with his very own eyes.
Roe and Josh sat in the dim interior of the transport vehicle, entirely blind to the nightmarish reality they were about to confront at the end of the road.