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How to Die in a Company That Turned Into a Labyrinth Chapter 38: Call 1336 for Gambling Addiction Help

Chapter 38: Call 1336 for Gambling Addiction Help

Wasn’t‍ he a scammer?⁠‍

He⁠​‌ was saying that‍ if we won‌⁠​ the game, he‍‍​ would let us⁠‌ leave this place.​‌

“When‍‍‍ you say ‘here,’‍ what place exactly⁠‍‍ are you referring⁠‌ to? You’re not⁠‍ talking about the‍⁠ eleventh floor, are⁠‍⁠ you? Because if‌ that’s the case,‌‍‌ even if we‌‍ win, we’d barely​‍ be getting back⁠⁠ what we invested.”​‌

At⁠​ my question, Do‍ began spinning happily⁠‌ to the rhythm‌⁠‌ of an imaginary‍ melody. All twenty-one‌‍ eyes curved at⁠‍⁠ the same time,⁠ as though they‍​ were itching.

He⁠‍‍ was smiling.

Without‌⁠ making a single‌‌ sound.

“You​‍ would make an⁠‍⁠ excellent gambler.”

As‍‌⁠ if that were​‍ a compliment.

“Of‍ course, I mean​ this Jaerae Building.‌​‌ The labyrinth in‌‍​ which you are​‌ trapped.”

“What?”‌⁠

“What​ did you say…?​ Really?”

“Seriously?”‌

The​ scarlet cube tilted‌ to one side.⁠​⁠

As‍ if it were‍​ cocking its head.⁠⁠‌

“You‍​⁠ find that suspicious?”‍⁠

“Of⁠⁠ course. You’re going‌ to let us​‍​ leave the labyrinth​​ that easily? It‌‌ sounds too good​​‍ to be true.”‌​

Like‌‍‍ a lie.

“Too‍ good to be​ true. So good‌​ that it demands‍​‌ wagering everything. And⁠‌‍ precisely because you⁠ wager everything, it​⁠‌ becomes true.”

The‍‌‍ eyes and voice⁠⁠ of the blood-colored​‍​ die carried a strange solemnity.

“That⁠‌​ is a gamble.”‍

Do’s‍⁠ eyes focused on‌‍ me.

“And‍ when exactly did‍ I say I would let you‍‌‌ leave easily?”

His​⁠ voice, which seemed‌ capable of drawing‌‍ people toward it,⁠ was filled with‌ intense anger.

“The​ only thing you‌‌ can wager against⁠‍ me is your​⁠ life. I have​ never considered life⁠​ to be something‍‍ insignificant. That is​‌‍ why I never​⁠ take a competition⁠‍ lightly.”

In‍‍⁠ other words.

Neither⁠ should we.

We‍​ had to wager⁠​ our lives.

It‌ was ridiculous.

From‌ the moment we⁠ became trapped in‍‍ the labyrinth, we⁠‍​ had already been⁠‌‍ forced into a gamble where our‌‌ lives were at​ stake.

“Of‍‍⁠ course, if you‌​ don’t want to,‌​ you are not‌ obligated to participate.”‍

“Huh…?”⁠

“We⁠‍​ don’t have to‌ play?”

“And‍‌⁠ if we don’t‌⁠⁠ play? Aren’t we‌‌‍ still trapped here​‌‍ anyway?”

“Not​‌‌ at all.”

Do’s​​ eyes moved back‍​​ and forth like‌⁠ a pendulum.

Like⁠ a person shaking​‌⁠ his head.

“If​⁠ you wish, you‍⁠ may open that⁠​‍ door and leave‍⁠⁠ right now.”

No‌ way.

It⁠ wasn’t possible.

He​⁠​ couldn’t let us‌ go that easily.​⁠‌

“However,‌‌ if you decide​​‍ not to compete​‌​ against me.”

Of⁠‌ course.

You⁠‌‍ always have to⁠​⁠ listen to the⁠ whole sentence.

“As‌‌‍ payment, I will​‍ keep one piece‍‍⁠ of future good​‍‍ fortune that you​​ would otherwise have⁠‍ obtained.”

“What​ does it mean⁠⁠⁠ to keep our‌ good fortune…?”

“It⁠​​ means that, inevitably,​‌‍ something will go⁠‍ wrong because of⁠‍​ bad luck. Even⁠​​ though you might​​ originally have overcome‍​ it thanks to​‍ good luck.”

In⁠‌ a labyrinth, even​‍ a small misfortune​ could lead directly‍‍ to death.

But‌‍ still.

It​‌ was a matter‍ of probability.

There​‍​ was a chance⁠ it wouldn’t become‍​ fatal.

“As⁠‌⁠ for the challenge.”⁠⁠

Yoo⁠ Hyunjae politely raised​‍⁠ his left hand⁠​ before speaking.

“I⁠⁠​ assume I will​ be allowed to‍⁠ choose the format.”⁠⁠

This‍⁠ man is unsettling.​‍​

“Director,‌ don’t you think‍ you should think‍⁠ about it a little more?”

“Why?​ It’s worth trying.‍ Besides, I’m usually⁠ quite lucky.”

That’s​ exactly why I’m⁠​ worried.

Yoo⁠‌ Hyunjae had already​​ died once after⁠‍​ saying something very‌‍‌ similar.

Luck‌​‍ is definitely not⁠‌ on this man’s‍ side.

“Even‌ so, considering who‍⁠‍ the opponent is,⁠ it would only⁠ be fair if⁠⁠ I could at⁠‌⁠ least choose the⁠ format.”

“I⁠ will grant you‍ the right to‍‍⁠ choose the challenge.​‍ However, certain specific‍‍⁠ details of the​​​ rules will be⁠⁠‍ adjusted by me.”‌

Simply⁠ put.

Each‍‌ person could choose‍⁠ the type of​​ contest they would‍⁠‍ have against Do.⁠‌⁠

If‌ they lost, they‍ died.

If‍​‌ they won, they‍⁠ escaped the labyrinth.⁠⁠‍

If​⁠ they refused the​‌ gamble, they could‍‌‌ leave this office​‌ safely for now,‌ but later they​ would inevitably suffer⁠‌‌ an episode of⁠‍ bad luck.

“What‍ if nobody is‍‍ here because everyone‌‍‌ already escaped?”

I heard Choi Jaeha‍‍ whisper that to‍‌ Hwang Juyeon.

“A⁠⁠‌ moment ago he⁠ said we were‍​ his first guests.”‌

“Ah.​⁠‌ Ah, right… You’re​‌ right…”

She⁠‌ seemed hesitant.

And‍ that was normal.‌‌

No⁠‌⁠ one knew how‍ many floors still‌ remained ahead.

And​ here they were‌ being offered immediate‍‌ escape if they​‌ won a single‍‍‍ game.

“I’ll​ do it.”

How‌‌ could I pass‌⁠‍ up an opportunity‍​​ like that?

“What?‌‌ Are you serious?‌‌⁠ You’re going to‌⁠​ do it? Just‍⁠‍ like that?”

“Aren’t⁠‌​ you deciding a little too quickly…?”‌‍

“It’s‍​‌ fine.”

I ignored the surprised‌ looks and turned​ my head toward⁠‌ the die.

“I’ll⁠ play.”

“Then​‍⁠ come in.”

Do‌​ turned his eyes⁠‍​ toward me, then⁠‌​ abruptly spun around‌ and entered a private office separated‌‌⁠ from the rest.‌

“Then​ I’m leaving. Goodbye,‌​ Jiho.”

“No,‍ this is too‍​ sudden… Please win…‌‌ We have to⁠​ meet again after⁠ we get out.”​⁠

“…Do‌​ well, Mr. Seon​‍ Yuhan. One way​​ or another, I owe you a lot. Thank you.”‍‌‍

“I​​ hope you win‌​ and that we​​‍ can meet again​‍​ later. It was​ a pleasure meeting‍‍ you, Mr. Seon​​‌ Yuhan.”

What‌‍ is wrong with​ everyone?

Receiving​‍ such serious farewells‌​⁠ honestly felt absurd.‍‍

After‌‍‌ all, if I lost, we’d see‌ each other again.‍⁠​

“Ah.”​​

‘For​ these people, this⁠​⁠ is the first⁠⁠‍ time they’re saying⁠ goodbye to me.’⁠​

And⁠​ naturally, it will⁠ also be the⁠⁠ last.

My⁠ stomach churned.

As‍ though that sudden⁠‍ realization were kicking​⁠​ my entire body.‌‍‍

Something⁠ boiled inside me.​

“Yes.‍⁠ I’m also… grateful⁠ to all of‍⁠ you.”

I forced the words⁠‌ out of my​ throat.

Now‍ that I thought​ about it, I had never had‌‍⁠ a proper farewell​​ either.

It⁠ had always been​ sudden.

Both‌ my death and⁠​ theirs.

“I‌‌ hope all of‍​ you make it⁠⁠ out.”

Genuinely‌ hoping this would​‌ be the final‍ goodbye, I entered‍‍ the gambling room…‍‌

“You​ lack the qualifications‌⁠‍ necessary to participate‌ at my gaming‍ table.”

“Damn…”⁠‍⁠

It​⁠ seemed I was⁠ going to die​​ without even being​ allowed to gamble.‌⁠

“Why?‌​ So you just⁠ want me to⁠​ die?”

At‍ the customer’s complaint,​ the casino owner‌⁠​ let out an​​​ incredulous chuckle.

“If‌ I told you⁠‌ to die, could​ you do it?”‌​‍

Ah.‍⁠

“So​⁠ you know. You‌⁠ know I can’t‌​ die.”

“It’s‍​ not that I know. It’s something​‍‍ that can be‍‍ seen. What use‌‍⁠ would eyes be⁠‌⁠ if they couldn’t‍‌ recognize the value⁠ of a wager?”‍‌

Do’s⁠⁠ eyes remained motionless,⁠‌ as though piercing‌⁠ through my body.⁠‌​

“A​ life is singular.‍‍​ In the world‍ called ‘me,’ the⁠‍ pain of birth‌⁠ and death occurs‍‍ only once. That‍ is why there‍ exists a wager​ called life. You‍⁠ are violating that‌ rule. The most‍​‌ sacred rule of‍ all.”

I had already assumed‌ there would be‍​ beings capable of​‍ perceiving that I was regressing through⁠​ time.

After⁠‍‍ all, even the⁠⁠ commemorative photograph from‌ Happyland showed versions​ of me from⁠⁠ previous loops.

“If⁠‍​ someone possesses multiple⁠‌‌ lives, how can​‍​ it be said​​⁠ that they’ve wagered⁠ everything? If there‍ is a place⁠​​ to retreat to,​ how can it⁠‌⁠ be called an‌​​ abyss?”

Now‍ I understood.

“Is‍‍​ that why you‍⁠​ hate me?”

I was a being⁠ incapable of making‍ a one-time wager⁠ with my life​‌‌ on the line.‌

Because‍​⁠ even when I died, I couldn’t‍‍ truly die.

“Yes.​ I hate you.‌ Your very existence​​ is blasphemy.”

Wow.​

A true purist of​⁠​ the gambling world.‍​

“Then‌‌‌ because I can’t‍‍⁠ really die, even⁠‌⁠ if I beat‌ you, you can’t⁠‍ let me escape?”​

“The⁠‌ weight is not‌​⁠ equal. To you,‌ death is as⁠‌ light as an​ exhalation. Freedom, on⁠ the other hand,​⁠ weighs as much‍‌ as guilt.”

The‌⁠ balance problem again?‍

I was sick of⁠‌ scales.

“…Then​‌ how about I wager someone else’s⁠ freedom?”

The‌‌‌ eyes embedded in‌⁠ three of the‍​​ die’s faces stared‌​ at me.

The‌ fact that he‌‌ didn’t reject the​‌‌ idea immediately was‌‌‌ a good sign.‌

“Jung‌‍⁠ Jiho. The child‍‍‌ outside. How about⁠​ this if I win, you let⁠​ him escape.”

“Let​⁠‍ us begin negotiations.”​

Only⁠⁠⁠ then did Do⁠ lead me to‍ a white table⁠‌​ with a single‍​‍ chair.

“Ah.⁠ Before that, there’s⁠⁠ something I want​​ to confirm. If​‌‌ I help the​​ child escape and‍ then die and‌​⁠ return, what will​ happen to him?⁠‍ Will he come⁠ back too?”

Because⁠ if that were⁠ the case, this‍ wager would be⁠ meaningless.

“No.⁠ He will not⁠ return.”

I sat down and⁠‌ looked up at‍‍ the die.

Do⁠‌ floated in front​‍ of me and‌​ stopped.

“My⁠⁠‍ rules are not​‌ so light. This‍‌‌ labyrinth would not​ dare interfere with‌‌ someone who has⁠​ fallen outside the⁠​ rules of this​‌ place.”

Rules​​ were something sacred.⁠‍‌

Of‌​ all the stories‍‌‌ whispered by the​​ beings of the‌ labyrinth, if there‍ was one thing‌‍ that could be​‍ trusted without reservation,⁠ it was the‍ rules.

They​ could hide information.​​

But⁠‌ they did not​⁠ lie about the⁠​ rules.

“And‍⁠⁠ what if, after⁠⁠‍ he gets out,‍​ I discover the​ child was already‌‌ dead?”

“My.​‍ Rules. Are. Not.‍ So. Light.”

“Okay,‌ okay. I was​⁠ just asking.”

That⁠‍​ meant that even‍ if I regressed‌⁠‌ through time again,‍ Jung Jiho would​ continue to exist​‍⁠ outside the labyrinth,⁠‌ alive and safe.‌‌

That⁠⁠ was enough.

“More⁠⁠ importantly. Shouldn’t you⁠ first think about⁠ what will happen​‍‍ if you lose?​‌⁠ You would be‍‍ wagering the life‌​‍ of that young‌‌ and quiet boy.”‌​

“…Couldn’t​​ I just die​ myself? Even if​‌ it can be‌​ reversed, death is​⁠⁠ still death. And‍‌ I hate dying.”‌‍

It‌ wasn’t easy to‌‍ read the expressions⁠⁠‌ of a mass‍‍‍ of flesh covered​‍ only in eyes.​‌⁠

Do​​ closed his eyes‌‌ for a long​‌ time while slowly⁠‍ spinning.

Then⁠ he opened them.​

“I’ll‍ accept it. If⁠‍ you lose, only​​​ you will die.”⁠⁠

“Permanently?”‍‌

“Do‌ you think that’s‍​​ possible?”

“Isn’t​‌ it?”

“There‍⁠ are rules above​‍ my own.”

“…I‍​‌ see. But is​⁠ that really enough?⁠⁠ I appreciate you​⁠⁠ accepting it, but​ you just said​⁠‌ you hated me⁠​‌ because I couldn’t‌ wager my life.”​‌‍

“Do​‌‍ you truly not​‌ understand? Or do‌‌ you simply not⁠‍⁠ want to understand?”​

I stared at him.⁠‌​

The‍ twenty-one eyes laughed‌​​ again from within.​

“Your​⁠ death is enough.​‍‍ You’ll understand.”

***‍​​

“There⁠‌‌ is something I must make clear.​‍‍ This will be⁠ the first and⁠​ last chance you‍‍‌ will have to⁠‌​ wager that ‘single⁠‌‌ life’ of yours‍ against me. I may not remember⁠⁠ having met you,‌‍ but I have‍​ eyes capable of⁠‌⁠ recognizing the value‌ of your life.”‌​

In‍ other words, even‌ if Do couldn’t⁠​ recognize me after⁠ a regression, he‌‌⁠ could recognize the‌​‍ value of my‍​ life.

So‍‍ I wouldn’t be​ able to trick‍​ him and challenge⁠‍⁠ him again.

“Furthermore,‌‌ I will choose​ the game.”

That⁠ didn’t matter to​​ me.

I had intended to‍‍​ accept anything from​​ the start.

Against‌‍ an opponent like‍​‍ him, my odds‌‍‍ would be similar‌​ no matter the​ game.

“Good.‍ Allow me to⁠‍ explain the game⁠⁠‍ you will play.⁠‍‍ Its name is‍‌ The Breath of⁠⁠ Judgment.”

The​‍⁠ moment he finished​​‍ speaking, two objects⁠ appeared on the⁠‍ table.

One‍‌ was a black⁠‌ gas mask.

It​‌​ didn’t cover the​⁠‌ eyes and looked‍‍‍ as though it‌‌⁠ had come from‍‌‍ a futuristic science-fiction‌‍ novel.

The‍‍ other was a die.

This​ time, a completely‍‍ ordinary die.

It⁠ wasn’t made of‌‌ flesh.

It‍‍ was a small‌⁠‌ ivory-colored cube with⁠ red dots instead‍​ of eyes.

“That’s​ it? A gas‌​‍ mask and a die?”

“If​‍ life and death⁠⁠​ could not be‍‍‌ decided by the​​⁠ number of eyes​ drawn on a simple cube, how‍​‍ could that be‌​ called a wager?”​‌

By​‌ that logic, it​‍​ made sense that‌‍⁠ he considered life⁠ itself a wager.​‍

Life​‍ was something tremendously⁠​ absurd.

At​‌‌ least for me.⁠⁠​

“Put‌‌ it on.”

I followed his instructions​ and put on‌​ the mask.

It‌‌ covered half my‌⁠ face.

I thought it would‌‌‌ be uncomfortable, but​ it was surprisingly‍⁠ light.

“Breath⁠​ of Judgment. The⁠ name is grandiose,⁠⁠ but it’s a very simple game⁠‌⁠ for determining whether⁠ a statement is‌⁠‍ true or false.‍ Because truth and​⁠​ lies are…”

Like​​‍ breath.

Invisible​‌​ to the eye.​‌⁠

And⁠‌‌ capable of concealing‌ a deadly poison.‌⁠

“Therefore,​‌ whoever fails to‌ deliver the correct‌ judgment will end‌‌ up paying the​ corresponding price.”

…That​‍ mask.

Rather⁠‌ than a mask‍⁠‌ meant to protect⁠​​ me from poison,‍‍‌ it seemed designed⁠‌ to expel it.⁠

And‍‌‍ it was pointed​​​ directly at me.‍‌

“The​ numbers are always‌‌ read from the⁠​ top face.”

Then⁠ the small die⁠⁠ began rolling across​ the table on‍ its own.

“When⁠ rolled, one of‍‌​ six possible events⁠​⁠ will occur with⁠⁠ a probability of‍‌​ one in six.‍​​ It may land​ on one.”

The‌‍‍ die stopped.

A single red eye‍ on the top⁠ face stared at​⁠ the ceiling.

It‌‌‌ rolled again.

“Or‍ it may land‌ on two.”

This​ time a pair​‍ of bloodshot eyes​⁠ appeared.

“Or‍​‌ a three.”

Three⁠​​ eyes forming a triangle.

“Or‌​‍ a four.”

Two⁠ tilted pairs of​‍ eyes.

“Or⁠​ a five.”

A red cross awaiting​‌​ the condemned.

“Or‍⁠‍ a six.”

Spaces‍‌ incapable of becoming‍ the Star of‍​‍ David.

“When‍‌ one of these​​ six events occurs,‌‍ I, as the⁠ witness, will provide‌​ testimony regarding it.‍ Let us conduct⁠ a demonstration.”

Clack.‍‌‌

Rattle.​

The‌‍ sound of the⁠ die rolling echoed​⁠ across the table.‌​⁠

Then​‍‌ it stopped.

Six.⁠‍

“An‍⁠‌ event has occurred.‍‌ I will begin​‍ my testimony.”

At⁠​​ that moment—

“Aaaahhhh!”​​

Suddenly,​‍ a young woman’s​ piercing scream emerged​ from Do.

“What​‍ I saw was‍‌ the first perfect‌​ number!”

Startled,⁠‍ I looked up.⁠⁠

And‌‍ at the same​​​ time, words appeared‌‌⁠ on the sheet.‌

[Testimony‍ X: “What I saw was the​‌‌ first perfect number!”]​​​

[Accept​ | Verify]

I understood.

The⁠ number rolled was​⁠‌ 6.

And‌ 6 was known‍​ as the first‍ perfect number because⁠ it is the‌‌ smallest perfect number.‌⁠

It​ was a kind‌‌ of puzzle game.‌‌

I had to determine⁠ whether the testimony‍⁠ correctly described the‌⁠​ event number indirectly.‌⁠‍

It‌ could be extremely​ easy.

Or‌⁠ incredibly difficult.

“But‍⁠ you’re not going‌‌ to swap the​ die or replace‍‍ the testimonies halfway‍⁠​ through the game,‌​‌ right?”

“There‍‌ is no wager‍​⁠ without tricks.”

Did​‍​ this bastard just⁠​⁠ openly admit he‌​ intended to cheat?‍‌‍

“However,⁠⁠ tricks that destroy‍​⁠ the foundations of​ the game are​ not permitted.”

“Ah.”⁠​

“Therefore,⁠​ the supreme rules‌‌⁠ of the labyrinth⁠ guarantee that truth⁠⁠ will always be⁠⁠ truth and lies​⁠ will always be‍ lies.”

So⁠‌ he wasn’t going‍​⁠ to change the⁠⁠‌ die’s result or‍ alter his statements​‍​ midway through.

That‍ was reassuring.

Then…‍

Maybe⁠⁠ I really could‌‍‌ win.

Without‌ realizing it, a smile escaped my‌⁠‌ lips.

Perhaps⁠⁠ gambling really was‍ worth it.

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