For over twenty minutes, no one came in.

Jiwon instinctively counted heads.

Twenty-nine.

No one had been expelled.

Then why...?

****

Right after hearing the announcement telling them to “stand by,” Jiwon spoke to a guard and returned to his room. He dried his wet hair and looked for socks to put on. His shoes were gone.

One must’ve fallen somewhere in the hallway, and the other was probably still in Room 9 or Room 11.

If an administrator had been watching, they’d have at least returned one shoe.

That flimsy guess filled him with the foolish hope that maybe no one had been monitoring that room after all.

His nerves were about to break from the fear of being exposed. On top of that, he was exhausted.

Just looking at the bed made him want to collapse.

Until a moment ago, he hadn’t even been aware of it, but his right arm felt like it was going to fall off, and his whole body ached and throbbed.

Jiwon gulped down painkillers, trying to catch his breath.

When the guard urged him, he left the room and made his way back to the auditorium.

Everyone was casually chatting away. The Manito Game seemed like an afterthought. Honestly, even for him, ever since the game started, all he did was waste energy trying to help Park Geonwoo, yet he hadn’t exchanged a single word with his actual Manito, Gwak Chan.

Everything had gotten twisted around.

Jiwon was about to glance at Team 2, where Gwak Chan was, but locked eyes with Number 3 instead.

Number 3 winked at him.

A sharp jolt ran through his chest. More precisely, his nipples—especially the areola where he imagined Number 3 had bitten him.

His face flushed hot.

He hated himself for getting drugged up and fantasizing about doing something so perverted with Number 3.

He scolded himself—what the hell was he thinking, coming here to avenge his brother and father, only to get reduced to some junkie.

Hyper-aware of Number 3’s gaze trailing after him, Jiwon forced himself to return to his seat.

“Kim Yunho.”

He called out to the root of this mess, Kim Yunho.

Kim Yunho, who had been whispering with Park Geonwoo, turned around with his usual cheerful face.

“You told Number 11, didn’t you?”

“Told him what?”

Kim Yunho tilted his head in confusion.

“What do you mean, what. Our plan.”

“What plan?”

He kept feigning ignorance.

“You know damn well. The thing where we get Number 9 to suck him off.”

The moment Jiwon’s expression turned cold, Kim Yunho glanced nervously at Park Geonwoo.

“No, I—”

“What the hell, Kim Yunho? Who did you tell, and what?”

Quick-witted, Park Geonwoo caught on immediately.

“No, hyung, it’s like... I kind of slipped up...”

“Don’t tell me you told him who my Manito is.”

“No, it’s not that... But he promised to keep it a secret.”

“Fucking hell, loudmouth. You call that keeping a secret?”

Park Geonwoo recoiled in disgust.

“Hyung, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I screwed up. But seriously, he promised he wouldn’t say anything. He’s got a tight mouth.”

Kim Yunho clasped his hands together and begged with a pitiful face, spitting out a pathetic excuse.

“Screw you, idiot. I’m not talking to you anymore.”

Park Geonwoo turned his head away in disgust.

Kim Yunho flailed, frantically trying to soothe the pissed-off Park Geonwoo.

Meanwhile, Jiwon got pushed to the background.

“How did you even find out?”

Kim Yunho, now properly intimidated, asked cautiously.

Jiwon wanted to spill everything that had happened earlier, but that would only put him at a disadvantage.

“Ask Number 9 and Number 11.”

Jiwon deliberately raised his voice. Loud enough for Park Geonwoo, and the others nearby, to hear—with that pointed tone suggesting those bastards had tried something shady.

“Tight mouth, my ass. It’s already fucking everywhere.”

Park Geonwoo raged, making Kim Yunho shrink even smaller.

“He’s not the type to blab though...”

Yet still, Kim Yunho stuck to defending Number 11.

That dangerous bastard had him completely wrapped around his finger.

“Kim Jiwon, you—nothing happened, right?”

Finally, Park Geonwoo turned his worry toward Jiwon.

“Nothing happened, right? Yeah?”

“N-no... nothing really...”

“You sure? You’re saying nothing bad happened?”

His voice was full of concern.

On the other hand, Kim Yunho was eyeing Jiwon like he was worried Jiwon had done something filthy with Number 11.

“See? Nothing happened, right, Jiwon?”

Now he desperately wanted Jiwon to confirm it.

“The hell’s wrong with you, dumbass. You think Jiwon sucked that bastard’s dick or something?”

“Hyung, why do you talk like that? He just said nothing happened, but you keep twisting it and making it sound like—”

“Making it sound like? You gonna keep taking that bastard’s side? That tight-lipped bastard already told Number 9, what now?”

Their voices got louder, drawing the attention of Han Seoho’s group, who started watching with curiosity.

Jiwon, not wanting to hand Han Seoho more ammunition, hurriedly stepped in to break them up.

The three of them kept bickering so much, they didn’t even notice Nam Gyuwon approaching.

“Gyeong.”

He suddenly blurted.

“What?”

“Jiwon-nim, Gyeong.”

“What do you mean, Gyeong?”

“Someone told me to pass it along. ‘Gyeong.’”

“Who?”

“Dunno. I just heard it and figured I’m closest to you, so I’m telling you.”

With a shrug, Nam Gyuwon walked away.

That was the beginning. While Park Geonwoo and Kim Yunho kept squabbling, two more gag-masked participants approached with new letters—“jik” and “jeon.”

Gyeong, jik, jeon.

No matter how he tried to piece them together, they didn’t form a word.

What kind of dumb prank is this?

Jiwon scowled, scanning his surroundings. Just then, another gag-masked participant handed Park Geonwoo a letter—“sin.”

That was only the start. Out of the twenty-nine participants, only Crew Zero received these letters from random others. Park Geonwoo ended up with three letters, and so did Kim Yunho.

“Betrayer? What the fuck? Who’re they calling a betrayer? The damn betrayer’s right here in front of me.”

After piecing the letters together, Park Geonwoo glared at Kim Yunho, visibly annoyed. Understandable, considering how sour his mood already was, only to be called a betrayer on top of it.

Kim Yunho, pretending not to hear, arranged his own letters.

“Pal-pal-jeong...”

“Pal-pal-jeong? Are you fucking kidding me? That’s erectile dysfunction meds, right? Who the hell’s saying I need those? Who’s calling me a premature ejaculator?”

Kim Yunho was just as dumbfounded.

Jiwon studied the other teams.

Han Seoho was giggling like he’d gotten something amusing, Lee Gangjun wore a disgusted look, and Jeong Hajun looked red in the face from rage.

That’s when the rumor started: the letters spelled out °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° “your Manito’s worst secret.”

Same as the mission Jiwon drew.

“Uncover your Manito’s worst hidden secret.”

But how would they know who Crew Zero’s Manitos were?

That was Jiwon’s first thought.

Simultaneously, the image of that hallucination—him blurting his Manito to Number 3—flashed through his head.

But he shook it off.

Even if that wasn’t a hallucination, there’s no way Number 3 went around exposing everyone’s Manitos just to help Jiwon finish his mission. Even finding the Manitos was one thing, but uncovering their deepest secrets? Impossible.

The moment the rumor spread, Lee Gangjun and Jeong Hajun’s expressions brightened. In contrast, Han Seoho frowned prettily, scanning the room, then suddenly charged at someone.

Number 3.

Han Seoho’s Manito was Number 3?

“What the fuck is wrong with you assholes, pulling some nasty prank like this?”

Kim Yunho looked even more offended than when someone implied he had premature ejaculation. No wonder—learning that the Number 11 he worshipped took erectile dysfunction meds wasn’t exactly a turn-on.

Meanwhile, Park Geonwoo muttered, “Makes sense, though.”

If the rumors were true, Number 11, Kang Jooyoung, was reliant on erectile dysfunction pills, and Number 9, Kim Eunhyuk, was the betrayer.

Whoever started this prank, it was unsettlingly precise.

Why target only Crew Zero?

What’s the hidden agenda?

Jiwon still couldn’t form a coherent word from his letters.

“Gyeong-jik-jeon? Gyeong-jeon-jik? Jik-gyeong-jeon? Jik-jeon-gyeong? Jeon-gyeong-jik? Jeon-jik-gyeong?”

None of them made sense.

His eyes kept drifting to Number 3 and Han Seoho. Number 3 sat there smirking as usual, looking up at Han Seoho looming over him, their faces close like they were about to kiss.

What the hell, why so close?

Jiwon caught himself feeling jealous and quickly looked away.

At that moment, the entrance door opened.

The scattered participants began returning to their seats.

Lee Jihoon, who had been with the gag-mask crowd, brushed past Jiwon before sitting down.

“Hyung, chal.”

“Huh?”

“Chal.”

Lee Jihoon handed over the final letter.

Suddenly, the fragmented pieces clicked into place.

“Jeon-jik-gyeong-chal.”

Jiwon nearly screamed.

His heart pounded like it was about to burst from his chest. He struggled to stay composed, but it was no use. If he wasn’t already seated, his legs might’ve given out.

Luckily, the team leaders entered, and after that whirlwind of letters, no one seemed to care what Jiwon had received.

Feigning nonchalance, Jiwon muttered, “What the hell...” acting unimpressed.

Former cop.

But it wasn’t referring to Jiwon.

Technically, he wasn’t even “former.” He was still an active-duty officer, just on medical leave.

The relief only lasted a second.

If the rumors were true about revealing your Manito’s worst secret...

His eyes widened.

A cop?

Gwak Chan?

Not Choi Minjae?

Even if “former,” a cop was still a cop. Could be someone faking they quit.

Jiwon spiraled into chaos. His mind felt pummeled, like taking a fist to the face over and over. The towel incident from earlier barely registered now—this was far worse.

Who found out?

How did they know?

It had to be a hallucination. Jiwon desperately hoped he’d misheard it—just an auditory illusion.

This made no sense. He tried to deny it internally, yet doubt began to creep in.

No one took the stage.

Instead, the Captain spoke on behalf of the organizers.

“We’ll now conduct the mid-term inspection for the Manito Game.”

His voice was oddly cheerful.

“Anyone who knows who their Manito is, stand in front of your team leader.”

At the Team 1 leader’s command, people began standing up one by one.

“If you’ve completed your mission, move to the back.”

The majority of participants began to shuffle around.

But Jiwon absolutely couldn’t join them.

A former cop?

Even if that were true, he would never be the one to say it—especially when it was still unclear whether that rumor was real or not.

He’d rather take the punishment.

Jiwon stayed seated.

“Shit... we’re fucked.”

Watching Number 9 walk forward, Park Geonwoo sighed in frustration.

Of course, Number 11 stepped up as well. Seeing that, Kim Yunho quietly made his way to the back, implying he had already completed his mission without telling anyone.

Park Geonwoo shot Kim Yunho a sharp glare.

Only eight remained seated, including Jiwon.

It didn’t look like they figured out their Manitos through hard work—more like they’d simply confessed to each other and cleared their missions outright.

Jiwon was the only one taking this seriously, it seemed. To the others, it was just some playful game.

Fortunately for Jiwon, the team leaders were asking everyone how they discovered their Manito.

They were expected to answer honestly.

The gag-masked participants confessed the truth immediately under the not-so-subtle pressure of the team leaders, but the Sailors and the ones dressed as cops resisted. They stubbornly acted like they’d solved it through their own effort.

But the team leaders were relentless. Eventually, they all had to fess up.

“Look at that bastard Han Seoho, still holding out.”

Park Geonwoo, eavesdropping on the conversation between Han Seoho and his team leader, scoffed.

Jiwon scanned the room, looking for Number 3.

Surprisingly, Number 3 was seated like Jiwon, slouched back in his chair with an indifferent expression, long legs stretched out, both hands shoved deep into his pockets.

What did he and Han Seoho talk about earlier?

Blinded by jealousy, Jiwon hadn’t even considered why Han Seoho had suddenly approached Number 3, but now it finally occurred to him.

What was the “worst secret” Han Seoho got from Number 3?

His thoughts circled back to Gwak Chan.

Gwak Chan’s a former cop?

Jiwon shook his head.

The police didn’t have the resources to cultivate three undercover agents for covert operations like this. More importantly, they didn’t even have the personnel. When Jiwon volunteered, Detective Kim Kyungseok had practically celebrated finally having two operatives. One of them had to be Choi Minjae.

Of course, Jiwon couldn’t trust Kim Kyungseok’s every word, but it was obvious how hard it was to recruit people for this mission.

Honestly, unless someone was gay or had a twisted sexual appetite, no cop in their right mind would volunteer for this.

“We started prepping this operation five years ago. But so what? We just hovered around the outskirts, getting our asses kicked over and over. Two years ago was the first time we actually infiltrated the Party. Sure, they disappeared without a trace and didn’t uncover jack shit, but hey, it was still progress.”

Even with the Party growing in size, infiltrating with three agents was practically impossible.

Fuck. What the hell is going on?

Jiwon had been obsessively worried about failing his revenge mission—he never expected to get caught up in this mess with another undercover operative.

Dealing with Choi Minjae alone was exhausting.

And if there was another?

I’m going insane.

He forced himself not to jump to conclusions.

It was just a rumor. Nothing was confirmed.

Besides, so what if someone’s a former cop?

According to Kim Yunho, Gwak Chan wasn’t some ordinary pervert. If the worst secret about Gwak Chan being a former cop held any weight, the only logical explanation was that he’d been caught doing some deviant shit on the job. Especially if his colleagues or superiors found out—that’d be a nightmare.

Jiwon tried to reason through it logically.

Right. If that was the case, there was nothing for him to stress about.

But... what if “former cop” was referring to him?

What if someone already knew his identity?

Did the administrators see the CCTV?

Could they really deduce he was a cop just because he used a triangle chokehold?

That seemed excessive. They might suspect his identity, but labeling him a cop with that alone? Impossible. His cover as Kim Jiwon was airtight—there wasn’t a single crack.

He’d nearly killed himself patching up those cracks.

Fuck. I’m losing my mind.

“The Manito Game has been prematurely terminated due to your violations.”

The Captain’s declaration snapped Jiwon back to reality.

The participants, oblivious to how serious this was, whispered and giggled among themselves at the front and back of the auditorium.

“As we explained during orientation, rules and discipline are your lifelines here. You’re expected to follow them. But today, you’ve made a grave mistake by treating those lifelines with disregard. The organizers will not overlook this incident.”

The Captain’s voice rose in intensity.

Even with sunglasses hiding his face, his anger was palpable.

“Don’t forget why you’re here.”

As his words continued, the grinning participants’ expressions hardened, and the rest finally realized the severity of the situation.

“Everyone except the eight seated will exit the auditorium. Now!”

The Captain barked the order.

Tension rippled through the room like never before.

“What the fuck... what’s happening?” Park Geonwoo whispered to Jiwon.

“Yeah... what’s going on?”

The participants being thrown out were visibly confused, some even protested—but it was useless.

“Move it. Out now!”

They were practically shoved out of the auditorium.

“Those of you remaining here at least followed the rules. You’ll be exempt from punishment.”

Only eight left. Of those, the only Sailors were Park Geonwoo and Jiwon. The rest included Number 3, Gwak Chan, and Nam Gyuwon.

Unexpectedly, the game ended anticlimactically. At least, that’s what the eight who avoided punishment thought. No one explained what the punishment was, or how long it would take.

The eight left behind were technically losers, but they got a free pass—though they wouldn’t enjoy the privileges the winners received.

“Sex, my ass. I don’t give a shit as long as I skip punishment. Fuck, what’s with all this sex crap anyway,” Park Geonwoo grumbled, though it was clear he was glad Gwak Chan was still here.

But Jiwon couldn’t relax.

Gwak Chan. Choi Minjae.

This was a tangled mess.

He had to untangle this knot before the real game began.