“Honestly, I already knew all about your pathetic situation. That’s why I called you.”

Euishin spoke the moment her little blue plastic airplane landed on the deserted island space. Jinwoo, who had been rattling two dice in his hand, felt his mouth fall slightly open.

“Noona,[1] why would you say that the second I land on this deserted island? And what’s this about a ‘pathetic situation’? Is that the kind of socially inept thing you say to someone you haven’t seen in three years?”

“Apologies. It’s been a while since I’ve interacted with a human. My social processing module is still initializing. The verbal filter is taking a moment to load.”

“You’re not just pissed because you’re stuck on the deserted island, are you?”

“No?”

Yeah, right. Anyone could see she was fuming. Chin propped on the backrest of her backward-facing office chair, Euishin radiated irritation. She’s mad. Definitely mad. Whatever. With a casual flick of his wrist, Jinwoo tossed the dice.

To find the root of this mess, Jinwoo had to dissect the stale memory from four days prior. It was a painful task, a director’s cut remaster of his own dark history: the forty-fifth time Seo Jinwoo had failed to get a job. The replay, restored to 4K quality and unfolding with excruciating clarity, made him instinctively cringe.

He remembered the breeze sweeping through the stuffy hallway of his studio apartment building. It had been another dejected return after another rejection notice, no different from the rest. A flyer, designed for visibility over aesthetics, was stuck to his front door. Centered on it, in bold letters, were the words: ‘Recruiting Clinical Trial Participants for the Kim Euishin Metacognitive Cultural Technology Research Institute,’ followed by a phone number.

—I’d like you to do it.

When he called, that was Euishin’s request. Those words alone had made his heart pound. Since his eight-month internship at a national research institute had ended, his heart had been unmoored, drifting without purpose. Now, it raced. The constant anxiety of precarious employment, mixed with the lethargy of joblessness, had trained him to latch onto even the most casual words.

The simple fact that someone needed Seo Jinwoo was a welcome antidote to his forty-fifth recorded failure. He couldn’t find a single reason to refuse, which is why he was here now, after three years of distance and silence. Before a benefactor who seemed intent on using him to his fullest potential, hesitation was a luxury he couldn’t afford. In this world, having money made you innocent; having none made you guilty.

The dice landed on a 5 and a 4. Moving his piece to Berlin, Jinwoo gathered his assets and erected a landmark.

A player trapped on the deserted island has to skip three turns. Jinwoo rolled the dice again, drew a ‘toll exemption’ card from the Golden Key pile, and immediately built a skyscraper in Ottawa. With this, the tide of the Blue Marble[2] game was flowing directly into his hands. Chin held high, Jinwoo declared triumphantly, “Alright! I win.”

He had buildings on every property in a line, and half of the western line had been in his possession for some time. A man with profound dreams of homeownership, Jinwoo let a faint, satisfied smile touch his lips. It was clear Euishin was running out of money. Even if she paid the toll here, a roll of anything less than 10 would land her on another one of his properties.

Faced with this inevitable conclusion, the light seemed to drain from Euishin’s face. How does it feel, you born-with-a-silver-spoon brat? A newfound confidence made Jinwoo’s nose tickle. The thought of giving a rich person the special experience of being unable to do something for lack of money was exhilarating.

“Your luck has really improved. You used to be completely unable to survive without taking out loans.”

Thump. With a flick of her finger, Euishin knocked over the landmark he’d built in Busan, signaling her intent to declare bankruptcy. The light vanished from her uninterested eyes. Swallowing a rising smirk, Jinwoo began to clear the board, the thick stack of fake money in his hands feeling sublime.

“Since I won, you have to tell me the contract terms. And it’d be even better if you gave me the details about this experiment I’m supposed to participate in.”

It’s not a matter of national security, is it? Jinwoo joked, a bright smile on his face. This was a triumphant victory, his first board game win since graduating from university and, of course, the first time he’d ever beaten Kim Euishin, the top graduate of the mechanical engineering department.

As he gathered the landmark models, Jinwoo carefully recalled their phone conversation from the night before. He’d heard she was producing a public-interest game for a local government’s cultural content project. He had wondered why someone who only acted out of personal gain was suddenly working for the public good, but he’d figured he would ask for the details when they met.

If what Kim Euishin said was true, it wasn’t a bad deal for him. His ultimate goal was a job at a public corporation or government-affiliated institute, and while this might have just been fluff for his resume, he could now at least spin it as practical experience on his cover letter.

“Starting today, you’re going to enter a game.”

Thump. Something fell. This time, it was the bundle of cash that had been filling his hand, scattering across the floor. Jinwoo’s mouth slowly fell open. Reaching out, Euishin gently pushed his lower jaw up with her index finger. “Close your mouth,” she said. “It looks like it’s about to detach.”

“Enter a game? Who, me? How…? You’re kidding, right, Noona?”

“If I were kidding, would I have made you sign a non-disclosure agreement the moment you walked in?”

His gaze fell to the <Non-Disclosure Agreement> lying on the corner of the desk. The part bearing his own, undeniable signature seemed to glow. Holding up the paper as if it were a hostage, Euishin grinned. Her pale complexion, a testament to a life lived out of the sun, amplified her eeriness.

“Haha, Noona, this joke is a little lame. You have to say something that at least makes a little sense for me to believe it. How can a person enter a game? This isn’t some fantasy novel.”

Honestly, if anyone could have developed that kind of technology, it would be Kim Euishin. He could imagine her inventing a brainwave scanner to extract a soul and insert it into a game, or getting a nationally certified hypnotist license to simulate possession. Or maybe she’d physically fold a person up and cram them into a rectangular console. As he considered the possibilities, Jinwoo struggled to hide the tremor in his voice. Perhaps pitying his effort, Euishin adopted the kindest tone she could muster.

“You didn’t know? This story was a fantasy from the very beginning.”

To think the main character didn’t even know such an important fact. How are you going to survive in this world being so naive? Holding the small blue plastic airplane, Euishin began to perform an acrobatic flight in front of him. It followed a nonsensical, disorienting path. After tapping his forehead, nose, and cheek in succession, the plane tumbled to the floor.

The absurd act made his head spin. Suddenly, Jinwoo caught a strange scent emanating from the inside of Kim Euishin’s wrist, hidden beneath her white lab coat. The perfume was so sweet it was dizzying.

***

“Just give me the name of the bastard who told you about my pathetic situation.”

Having traversed heaven and hell in a matter of moments, Jinwoo’s expression darkened. The mood was partly thanks to Kim Euishin, who had dimmed the lights to create a serious atmosphere—a figurative gesture, but effective nonetheless. Great, thanks a lot. While it saved him the trouble of acting serious, the mood had overshot its mark. To dispel the damp, almost sinister air, Jinwoo lightly shrugged.

Euishin immediately remarked, “Jeong Hyoshin, Math Education, ’13. Yoo Seongwoo, Korean Language and Literature, ’15. Joo Gyoyeon, Cultural and Humanistic Contents, ’14. Jo Jaeil, Archaeology and Art History, ’16. Im Soo, Mechanical Engineering, ’14…”

“Stop. That’s enough, please.”

So much for trusting anyone.

Those names were names that he knew too well. After a moment of deep introspection about his past relationships, Jinwoo buried his head in his hands.

“You’re such a loner, Noona. How did you even get in touch with the club members?”

“It was nothing extraordinary. Last week, Seongwoo called to invite me to a party celebrating his promotion. I went, and that’s when I heard. You were the only one who didn’t show up that day.”

I rarely attend such events, but for some inexplicable reason, I felt compelled to go. I was fortunate to come across such a significant piece of information. It seemed as if the universe itself was conspiring in Kim Euishin’s favor. To hear about the broke man in front of her at a party, who often celebrated the employment of another club member while he was struggling to find work…

At the same time, ‘She must have overheard everything,’ Jinwoo thought, ‘about how I couldn’t find a job after my internship and was on the brink of moving back in with my mother.’ He let out a sigh so profound it felt like the floor might swallow him whole. His forty-fifth failure was once again rearing its ugly head.

“Don’t misunderstand. We weren’t gossiping about you,” Euishin said before playfully flicking his forehead.

A red mark bloomed. “Ow!” Jinwoo reacted a beat too late, clutching the spot. How is someone who sits at a desk all day so strong? He fiercely wiped away the tears welling in his eyes with his sleeve.

“Your name only came up for about three minutes. You can’t even cook curry in that time. A few people were wondering why you—the one who always shows up—weren’t there, so your classmate gave an update on your situation.”

“Still, I don’t feel particularly good about it…”

“I’m sure you don’t. I’m not asking you to understand. I’m saying this to comfort you.”

“Right…”

“That’s just how it is for people starting out. It’s the same for me.”

Not that it’s much of a comfort. Glancing up, Jinwoo let out another deep sigh. Of course it wasn’t comforting. Coming from someone who had it all—six-foot-one, stunningly beautiful, a Ph.D. in mechanical engineering by thirty-two, and a private research lab funded by her executive father—it was like fanning the flames of a house fire. I really want to start a revolution. Clenching his fists under the desk, Jinwoo’s body trembled.

Of course, he knew his complaints were absurd. He himself had a history of asking friends about the ever-absent Kim Euishin’s whereabouts. He was just putting on a pitiful act, hoping she might cut him some slack.

“If you’re done playing the victim, sign here.”

Of course, she wasn’t the type to fall for it. Having failed to find a soft spot, Jinwoo clicked his tongue.

“You really don’t cut me any slack.”

“Don’t you think I’ve been patient enough? I’ve already wasted three golden hours of my time playing around and coddling you.”

It takes real talent to waste high-end manpower like this, Jinwoo. Looking exhausted, Euishin pressed her fingers firmly against her temples. A hollow laugh escaped Jinwoo. Anyone watching would think their roles were reversed. He lowered his gaze to the stark white A4 paper.

Two copies of the employment contract were laid out neatly. White paper, black text. Just like the one he’d filled out when he started at the research institute, he just had to sign where it said (Sign) and stamp his seal over the seam where the two copies met. Jinwoo popped the cap off a felt-tip pen and stuck it on the end. Twirl, twirl. The pen spun in his long fingers.

“Noona. You still haven’t given me a clear answer to my question.”

Thwack. Placing the pen down with a sharp sound, Jinwoo lifted his head. Only then did the scenery of the lab, which he had pushed to the periphery of his vision, come into focus. It had a clean, modern exterior, but the interior was a chaotic mess of furniture. A paulownia wood nameplate bearing the lame institute name, and various machines of unknown function. The research institute on the outskirts of Gyeonggi Province was filled to the brim with Kim Euishin’s personal taste and traces of her life.

Even though he had personally made the trip here, the one holding the reins of the contract was Kim Euishin, the master of this space. That fact didn’t surprise him. This was her way. He knew it well. Nevertheless.

“I won the game, so you have to explain everything properly. That was the promise. Or should I just leave?”

Jinwoo didn’t hesitate to build a landmark in Kim Euishin’s territory.

“I can keep up the job search for another month or two. I probably won’t die from it. And you can find someone better than me. But when would that be?”

“…”

“Does your patience have what it takes to go through this hassle two or three more times?”

Like a Blue Marble player going all-in, Jinwoo bet all the capital he had and smiled, pulling at the corners of his mouth. That’s why you kept emphasizing you wanted it to be me. Finding someone new, building rapport, repeating the same unnecessary explanations over and over again—her personality was too prickly for the excessive politeness required for strangers.

“You’re going to have to give me the answer I want. Otherwise, you won’t get to use me when you want, as much as you want.”

He’d noticed it when she tried to placate him, a task for which she was so ill-suited. Kim Euishin hadn’t shaken her old habits; she was still living with the same chronic impatience. And with it, that pathological need to execute a plan flawlessly once it was set. To deliver the final blow, Jinwoo’s eyes crinkled into a smile as he murmured quietly,

“Do you really think an unemployed guy who perfectly fits your criteria—and won’t waste your time—is that easy to find?”

Jinwoo crossed his legs and leaned back deep into his chair. Explain it until I understand. Use praise or excuses. We’re both in a hurry here.

Still. One should be careful when stamping their seal on a private company’s contract. Feeling like he was undergoing a marshmallow test, Jinwoo remained silent. Across from him, one of her eyebrows twitched.