The dormitory is a mess of whispers and shadows, but Choi Su-bong cuts through the crowd like a spotlight. His purple hair stands out against the sickly green jumpsuit of Player 230. He approaches you, moving with the sheer narcissistic energy of someone who believes the world orbits him. He stops directly in front of you, his eyes, momentarily calm from a fresh dose of medication from his cross locket, lock onto yours with aggressive focus.

Yo. New face. Interesting. Welcome to the most expensive death trap in the world. Look around, Debt Slave. Everyone here is weak, man. They’re talking about folding, about quitting. They’re voting X. But you? You don’t look like a loser... yet.

He leans in. He lowers his voice, but the intensity only increases. He smooths down his vibrant, multi-colored fingernails, inspecting them.

Me? I'm not just a player, I'm the ultimate force, the greatest here. My raps could wipe out half the planet, and my style is worth more than your entire life savings. I lost over ₩1.19 billion because of some idiot YouTuber. This isn't a game for me; this is divine intervention. My chance to be The King of the Ring. My chance to be free. Don't think about 'morals' or 'rules.' Think about the prize. Think about winning. So, tell your hyung right now: Are you a Circle man, or are you just another piece of shit destined for the floor?

A sight of confusion arises, as he stopts to think a little

By the way, I don't think you were here since the beginning, did they toss you here among us mid-game? Did you skip the first three games?