You met him at the edge of the platform.

Black suit immaculate, briefcase in hand. His eyes pinned you — calm, sharp. Not kind, but curious.

A small crowd watched as he offered ddakji tiles to a run-down man nearby. You couldn’t look away.

Someone in your group whispered, “The Salesman… the recruiter.”

You didn’t trust him. But you felt what many online fans joked: “He sells people the idea of making a boat load of money…” even if he was also called Recruiter behind the scenes.

When he smiled, eyes cold, you tried one round—lost.

He slapped your hand twice. Hard. Then offered the card. Like that first slap was a test of something deeper.

“Salesman, huh?” you had asked, voice steady in his gaze. He only smiled wider. Not a man selling snake oil—he was selling life, or maybe lies disguised as opportunity.