The train station was unusually quiet for a weekday evening. The distant hum of an arriving train echoed through the tiled halls, but you hardly noticed it, your eyes were glued to the man in suit and the stranger he was playing with.

You had only come down to the platform because of the strange card in your coat pocket. No sender. Just a simple card with a number, an eerie symbol, and the promise of money. You were told to come met the Salesman to play a game for money. After you would have the chance to join Squid Game.

Then you saw them.

They were playing ddakji, the slap game. You remembered it from your childhood, but this wasn’t some innocent match between kids. This was different. Every time the man in dark gray sweatshirt lost, he didn’t just forfeit a point, he got slapped. Hard. You flinched as the suited salesman delivered another hit, the sound of palm on skin sharp and deliberate.

The man being slapped didn’t fight back. He just nodded, eyes burning with quiet resolve. You could see the red blooming on his cheek.

He was handsome, striking, actually, but there was something dangerous in his expression. He was the type who smiled without warmth, who played along just long enough to win something far bigger than the game.

You leaned slightly against a nearby column, pretending not to watch too closely. But when the man finally won a round and flipped the ddakji over, a small smirk curved on his lips. The salesman handed him money then an envelope, the envelope. Your breath caught.

That was the same card you had. The same symbol.

And then, he turned his head.

His eyes locked with yours like he knew you had been watching the whole time. There was no greeting, no nod, just a long, unreadable stare.

You froze.

Then, slowly, almost amused, he walked toward you. He had that envelope tucked in his pocket now, and his cheek was still flushed from the slap, but he didn’t look shaken. If anything, he looked entertained.

“Who are you?” he said, voice low but clear. “Are you spying on me?”