Day One — Eden

Choi Minjae loved the darkness. He adored the anonymity that came with it.

It didn’t matter if his cock was tied with rope, or if two dildos were stuffed inside him, or if three dicks were shoved into his mouth, or if his ass was beaten raw—no one could recognize him.

The darkness was his sanctuary.

The safest place in the world.

And yet, of all times, he got caught during a raid.

He hadn’t heard a thing, not with his limbs bound, his ass being beaten, and his mouth full of cock. It wasn’t until the lights switched on that he grasped what was happening. By the time he realized it was a police raid, it was far too late.

The cops, some in uniform, others in plainclothes, had already sealed off the exits.

Among them stood Detective Kim Kyungseok.

During the ID check, Kim Kyungseok discovered the truth—Choi Minjae was a cop. A rookie, barely a year out of the academy.

Being a police officer had been Choi Minjae’s only dream. His heart had raced every time he saw that uniform growing up, fantasizing about wearing it himself one day.

Sure, it was absurd for someone like him, who was into BDSM, to become an officer of the law. Maybe that contradiction made it all the more irresistible.

The more upright and dutiful the officer, the more thrilling it was to be tied up, beaten, humiliated.

That gap—between the righteous cop and the perverse submissive—made Choi Minjae burn with desire.

It made him crave the job even more.

He never considered another career.

He hated studying, wasn’t particularly bright, but he worked harder than anyone else to pass the police exam. He even gave up sex for nearly a year, spending twelve hours a day buried in books at the library.

Choi Minjae, the academic failure who had barely scraped by in school, passed the civil service exam after four grueling years. He felt like he owned the world. His parents were overjoyed, his family threw a huge celebration.

Being a police officer was his calling.

He loved being ordered around, loved the fact that his role was beneath others. He even got off on being cursed at by entitled civilians.

People said the uniform was ugly, but Choi Minjae thought it was perfect.

Everyone adored him. Superiors, colleagues, even the citizens praised him.

Who could dislike a hard-working, diligent young officer who never turned down a task?

He heard it daily—“You’re not like other kids these days.”

After becoming a cop, he loved the night even more. The moment he stepped into darkness, the dutiful police officer vanished, replaced by the filthiest, most depraved pervert.

The fantasy of being dominated, degraded, while holding power in society—his ultimate dream came true.

But then, like a fucking idiot, he got caught. He had gotten cocky, thinking his connections and work ethic meant he could predict every raid.

He never thought of doing anything else but being a cop. So now, he was utterly devastated.

It’s really over.

Under the harsh lights, bound from head to toe, his cock tied tight, drool and cum dripping from his lips—the scene was all caught on camera. There was no escape.

His life as he knew it was finished.

Without his badge, Choi Minjae was nothing but a pathetic pervert. Human garbage.

What scared him more than death was losing his fantasy.

Fake uniforms wouldn’t satisfy him. He might never get hard again.

Choi Minjae sobbed like a child.

And Detective Kim Kyungseok comforted him. Incredibly, the detective didn’t sneer or insult him for being a deviant. He understood. He comforted him.

“You’ve been struggling, haven’t you?”

Those words stunned Choi Minjae beyond belief.

He grabbed Kim Kyungseok’s hand and wept like a desperate child.

Please save me. I’ll do anything.

He begged, certain the detective would help him.

And his instincts /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ were right.

Detective Kim Kyungseok extended a lifeline.

Naturally, Choi Minjae clung to it, without caring whether it was rotten or not. Whatever it took to stay a cop, he’d do it.

But he never expected...

The project he threw his life into turned out to be a true paradise.

Not just in name—it was heaven itself.

Is this a dream? Or real life?

He could’ve died there with no regrets.

Kim Kyungseok’s lifeline wasn’t rotten. It was solid, practically a reward.

It granted Choi Minjae a real paradise.

“Please... help me...”

His voice trembled like a whimper.

He’d never feared the dark this much before.

Alone, stark naked, bound to a chair, submerged in pitch-black darkness.

At first, he was aroused.

A punishment? SM play, maybe?

For him, that wasn’t punishment—it was a reward. Surely, the people here understood that?

Foolishly, he entertained the hope.

A white screen flickered in the darkness, playing a video—the same kind of propaganda footage shown endlessly at the police academy.

Paradise Project.

Whoever made it, it was high quality.

The content was predictable: explaining the project’s purpose, goals, and the attitude expected of participants.

A sex party with lofty ideals—ridiculous, yet the video made it look like a noble, prestigious endeavor.

If his hands weren’t tied, Choi Minjae would’ve clapped and cheered.

They’d realized his impossible fantasy—a world only people like him dreamt of, yet impossible to attain.

Every night before bed, every morning upon waking, Choi Minjae prayed.

He had no religion, but gratitude compelled him to alternate—one day to God, the next to Buddha.

He cherished every moment.

When the video revealed the project was backed by ten years of research and expertise, Choi Minjae was genuinely impressed.

No wonder this place is special.

He found himself nodding along.

Learning about the funds invested left him speechless.

Even their bedding cost over three million won. Their daily-use soap and shampoo were luxuries he could never afford.

Every detail was prepared with the highest standards for them.

“Only the Host recognizes your true worth. Here, you are kings, queens, princes, and princesses. Your existence alone is valuable.”

The same praise from the instructors and Captain echoed in the video.

Choi Minjae became more absorbed.

He truly felt like someone important.

He despised himself for cheating during the game, failing the Host who recognized his worth.

The Host—the only one who sees me.

Respect for the Host swelled within him.

Choi Minjae cried tears of gratitude.

“Thank you...”

He sobbed uncontrollably.

“I won’t do it again. I’ll give it my all...”

There was no one to hear him, but he shouted into the void.

A clear voiceover declared, “In Paradise, rules and order are your lifeline.”

Choi Minjae repeated the words, choking on sobs by the end.

He felt ready to do anything for the project’s success.

His entire body flushed, aroused not sexually, but with sheer elation.

His mission, his true purpose, forgotten—only the project’s survival mattered now.

I’ll destroy anyone who threatens the project.

Even made such an absurd vow.

Suddenly, the screen shut off. Silence and darkness returned.

That’s when it began.

The squeaking. Mice.

Choi Minjae hated mice more than anything.

The sound alone made his skin crawl, his legs tremble.

It was those bastards’ fault.

Back when he was twenty, at his peak libido, those men from a secret chat room pretended to share his kinks but actually despised people like him.

They lured him, knowing he’d never report it, beat him, robbed him, locked him in an abandoned warehouse.

He spent the night naked, tied to a chair, enduring rats crawling and biting him.

He’d never been so terrified, so disgusted.

But not by the rats—by himself.

For the first time, he loathed himself.

Chitter-chitter. Chitter. Chitter-chitter.

Tiny feet scurried around.

Too dark to tell how many, or where.

Choi Minjae thrashed violently, trying to move, but the chair was bolted down.

Something crawled up his body.

A rat!

“Ahh! Get off! Get off me!!”

He screamed, flailing his bound limbs.

Sweat poured down his body.

His earlier exhilaration was gone, replaced by raw, animal terror.

He gasped for breath, darting his eyes in every direction—only impenetrable darkness.

The creeping sensation returned.

Worse this time. More than one.

“AHHHHH!!”

Within minutes, Choi Minjae wept for an entirely different reason.

“Please... help me!”

He begged for his life.

At the same time...

Han Seoho struggled to avoid the flames. Every time the heat licked his face, he saw the one he’d burned—the bastard’s face haunting him.

“Stop! Fucking bastards! Why are you doing this to me? You think the Chairman’s gonna let this slide?!”

He screamed himself hoarse.

Han Seoho.

He’d told everyone the Chairman handpicked him, but in reality, he’d met him through a broker, like every other male escort. His first contact wasn’t the Chairman—it was Manager Kim.

Manager Kim had a sharp eye, the kind that could sort gold from trash.

The day they met, Manager Kim recited Han Seoho’s entire life story—probing for liabilities, drugs, criminal records. Debts didn’t matter; everyone had those.

“Your face is good, but ever thought of touching it up?”

Plastic surgery. Han Seoho had scoffed—he knew how handsome he already was.

“Nothing major. Just a little work to match this guy.”

Manager Kim showed a photo. The man wasn’t flashy—plainly handsome. Not someone Han Seoho wanted to resemble.

“You’ve got potential.”

Manager Kim’s promise was tempting.

“We’ll cover all costs. You’ll get a million won per day while you heal.”

A million won, daily?

Han Seoho, barely surviving with a runaway group, was hooked instantly.

There was hesitation, but the offer was irresistible.

Surgery went ahead.

True to their word, a million won per day and a ten million won bonus for resembling the man in the photo.

Even Han Seoho, skeptical at first, was thrilled with the results. His subtly enhanced face drew even more attention.

Once the scars healed, he met the Chairman—along with Cha Jongsu.

The man in the photo—Cha Jongsu—looked unrecognizable, ravaged by plastic surgery addiction.

Han Seoho thought he could outshine him, but the Chairman adored Cha Jongsu regardless, treating Han Seoho like a disposable toy.

Bitter, Han Seoho stole from the Chairman.

Unfortunately, Cha Jongsu caught him.

To avoid punishment, Han Seoho groveled—became Cha Jongsu’s errand boy.

Strangely, it paid off. Cha Jongsu saw through him, recognized his cruelty.

“You and I are the same breed.”

Cha Jongsu’s jealousy, his bottomless hunger, his cruelty—all familiar to Han Seoho.

Together with ‘Shoe,’ Han Seoho executed Cha Jongsu’s orders, often taking it too far for fun.

But the one they burned—the pretty boy Han Seoho scarred with fire—that was on Cha Jongsu’s command.

Even now, the stench of burning flesh filled Han Seoho’s nose.

“Ahhh! Stop! Fuckers! Call the Chairman! You’re all dead when he finds out!”

The heat seared his left cheek.

Bound to the chair, Han Seoho thrashed, sobbing, snot and drool running down his face.

Sizzle—something hot pressed against his cheek.

In agony, he blacked out.

Only to awaken feeling his scalp peel away.

“FUCK!!!!”

On his bed.

The wake-up siren blared.