Location: Duskshade District, outskirts of Gwanak City**
The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving the streets of Duskshade in a haze of orange and shadow. Streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a weak glow over cracked sidewalks and rusted fences. The smell of old engine oil, fried food, and cigarette smoke mixed in the air.
Seojin walked beside his best friend, Hamin, a plastic bag of half-priced kimbap swinging from his hand. They laughed about an old YouTube video they watched during school lunch—trying their best to ignore the heaviness life had been throwing at them lately.
Seojin was from a struggling middle-class family, the kind that always had unpaid bills tucked under the fridge magnets. His dream was to become an MMA fighter—he had the passion, the fire, the skills. He'd trained in Taekwondo since he was 10, even picked up boxing from a local gym. But life didn't care about dreams. His father lost his job, his mother fell sick, and the gym bills piled too high to ignore. So he quit. Just like that. No fights. No belts. No glory.
But Seojin never complained. He smiled. He joked. He survived.
Until that night.
As they passed through a narrow alley that cut behind a convenience store, they heard it. A loud slap. Then another. Then the sound of a girl crying.
They turned the corner and froze.
A guy—maybe in his twenties—was shouting and hitting a girl, dragging her by the hair. His voice was sharp, cruel. People nearby just walked past. Some glanced, but nobody stopped.
Hamin clenched his fists. "This is messed up."
Seojin didn't hesitate. "We stop him. Now."
The guy looked at them like they were insects. "Back off if you don't wanna die."
Wrong move.
Seojin and Hamin had trained for years, and their bodies remembered everything. In less than a minute, the man was on the ground, groaning, his wrist twisted and his face bloodied.
Hamin rushed to help the girl, who looked barely older than them. "Are you okay?"
She nodded shakily, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Thank you…"
As the girl was taken away by a kind old couple, Seojin stood up, wiping his knuckles.
Then something strange happened.
A sleek black car with tinted windows pulled up at the alley's mouth. Silent. Unmarked. The windows rolled down like in a movie, revealing nothing but a deep black void inside.
A man stepped out.
He wore a jet-black suit, and his face was pale—too pale. His eyes hidden behind mirror-tinted glasses. He looked... unreal. Like something out of a dream. Or a nightmare.
"You both have potential," he said, his voice calm but cold. "That was impressive."
Seojin blinked. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm from Generation 3," the man replied, holding out two cards. "I am No. 2, ....
Hamin took a step back. "What does that mean?"
The man smiled slightly. "I'm offering you a chance. A way out of this life. Take this card, and you will gain access to something few ever do—money, power, and respect."
Seojin narrowed his eyes. "What's the catch?"
"No catch," the man said. "Just become candidates for the *19 Show*. A survival game. Dangerous, yes. But the rewards are… limitless."
He handed them the cards. Matte black, with a strange silver symbol on them. No name. Just a number.
And an email address.
"Email this. You'll receive your location and game time. First game starts in one week. Show up… or don't."
He got into the car and drove off into the night, disappearing like smoke in the wind.
Hamin stared at the card in his hand. "What the hell was that?"
Seojin looked at his, then glanced up at the stars, a storm brewing in his chest.
Maybe this was fate.
Maybe this
was madness.
But either way, their lives would never be the same again.