Substitute
Chapter 65

There had been an all-hands assembly that morning.

Manager Kim stepped up onto ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) the platform. On either side of him stood his lackeys—Deputy Manager Jeong Hyeonwook and the guy with the horn-rimmed glasses. The fact that all three had shown up at once meant something important was about to be announced.

Did someone get expelled already, unable to even last a day?

Everyone held their breath.

“Curious why I’m here?”

Manager Kim’s voice was laced with his trademark affectation.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that every crew member hated Manager Kim, so no one answered. Not that he seemed to expect a reply in the first place.

“Let me say this first. No one has been expelled.”

Relief rippled through the room—and with it, deeper curiosity.

Then why the hell is he here? Is he planning to change the rules or something?

Crew members, who had already been hyped at the prospect of getting to have sex at midnight, now wore expressions of suspicion and unease.

“Starting tomorrow, we enter Week Two. I’m sure most of you are aware.”

Manager Kim began his preamble.

“In the past six days, there have been six expulsions. Aside from that, there hasn’t been a single unfortunate incident of the type we feared. Considering your young ages and remarkably healthy physiques, this is truly nothing short of a miracle. As someone who’s planned and operated similar projects over the last ten years, I can say this with certainty—you are the most disciplined and outstanding group I’ve ever dealt with.”

He was praising them. Which was unusual, coming from Manager Kim.

It wasn’t like the dramatic performances or exaggerated tones of the instructors or captains—this was in Manager Kim’s usual dry, flat voice. That somehow made the praise feel more genuine.

The crew members, who had been glaring at him with visible distaste, loosened up slightly.

But not Jiwon. If anything, his posture turned even more hostile.

It was the part about doing this disgusting shit for ten whole years that got to him.

Fucking bastard. Living off other people’s blood and tears, huh?

Ten years ago, Manager Kim was probably just a deputy or a section chief. He must have climbed to this position feeding on the bloody tears of young men who’d once shone brighter than anyone.

Jiwon promised himself that if he somehow survived all this and got a chance to capture that man, and if he asked for a reason and Manager Kim dared to say something like, “I had no choice—it was just a job. I just did what I was told to avoid getting fired,” then Jiwon would rip that fucking mouth off his face.

Then again, maybe the man wouldn’t even bother making excuses.

Hell, it’d be lucky if he didn’t just invoke the right to remain silent and ask for a lawyer.

But that was all in a future that hadn’t come yet.

And Jiwon still had the option of killing him with his own two hands, so there was no point in worrying about it now. He pushed the boiling rage back down.

“I know none of you care whether I praise you or curse you. What you're all really wondering is whether or not you'll be allowed to have sex and masturbate starting tomorrow. The answer is: Yes. Absolutely.”

The moment those words left his mouth, the room erupted in cheers.

In an instant, the auditorium turned festive.

“However—there are eligibility conditions.”

The mood flipped in less than a second. Boos and curses flew through the air. Some people raised fists or flipped their middle fingers.

“You shitting me, asshole?!”

“Think you can say whatever you want?! I’ll rip your goddamn ass open!”

And that was tame, compared to the rest. Rage exploded from every corner.

Naturally, Manager Kim didn’t flinch. He waited, bored, as if he was used to this.

The rules probably weren’t his idea, anyway.

When the room failed to settle down, he reluctantly picked up the mic again.

“The eligibility conditions will change daily.”

The jeers, insults, and general hostility only intensified.

Then the doors opened, and a line of men in security uniforms entered. They wore masks and moved with the calm coordination of ex-police or military—or at least seasoned security professionals.

“Now, listen up. I’ll explain the first eligibility condition for participating in tomorrow’s sex and masturbation.”

Unfazed by the noise, Manager Kim continued.

“We’re going to play a game.”

At that, laughter broke out from various spots. Some sneered that he must’ve watched too many dramas.

“The first game is... the Manito Game.”

Of all things, Manito? The auditorium filled with mocking laughter.

“You all know what a Manito is, right? Even if you don’t, don’t worry. The announcement will include full details.”

Booing erupted again. Some of the masked officers gave thumbs-down gestures.

“People still do that crap?”

“What even is that?”

“Why make us do something from your generation? If you're feeling nostalgic, do it yourself.”

“Maniker?”

“Fucking dumbass.”

Everyone had something to say.

Manito. A secret friend.

Since moving to Intelligence, Jiwon had played Manito every year at the end of December, exchanging gifts, so he was familiar with the game.

The rules were simple.

Each participant’s name was written on slips of paper. You drew one randomly to become someone’s Manito—meaning you were their secret friend. You had to keep your identity secret and, according to predetermined rules, you’d prepare a gift or letter for them.

Usually, the duration lasted two to seven days, and at the end, everyone exchanged gifts or letters and tried to guess who their Manito was.

If you guessed wrong, there might be a minor penalty—but really, the whole point was to make the other person happy, so most of the time, there was no penalty at all.

Sometimes the slip of paper included a mission along with the name. Just doing nothing for a week was boring, so they usually included a minor task—buying coffee, giving compliments, small gestures—subtle enough not to give yourself away.

But there was no way the missions here would be that innocent.

“Manito? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Park Geonwoo grumbled.

“I kinda like stuff like that. Sounds cute. Fun, even.”

Kim Yunho, of course, actually liked the idea.

“Oh yeah, let’s all play cutesy games in this place, huh?”

“You’re such a pessimist.”

“Would you be optimistic in my shoes?”

Park Geonwoo kept shooting Yunho down for being overly cheerful.

For once, Jiwon agreed with Park Geonwoo.

And as always, his bad feeling didn’t miss.

“The mission you’ll receive tomorrow will determine whether or not you can engage in sex and masturbation. There will also be a penalty.”

Of course. No way there wouldn’t be a penalty.

Jiwon had zero doubt that this so-called game was less about granting permission than about assigning punishments.

“We’ve prepared three Manito boxes. It wouldn’t be fun if you could be matched with someone from your own team, so we’ve imposed some restrictions. For example, Crew Zero must choose a box from Crew One or Crew Two. Which one they pick is up to them. After drawing a Manito, they’ll head straight to the mission box to draw their mission.”

As the explanation went on, the room slowly settled.

“Once your Manito and mission are decided, you report them to your team leader.”

Before they realized it, everyone was listening intently.

“No two missions are exactly alike. Though... some might be. No one knows. Not even me. But I can guarantee one thing. No matter what’s written in there, no matter what you do—you won’t receive any penalty points, and you will not be expelled.”

A thunderous cheer and applause broke out. It was like a rock concert. Manager Kim’s statement made it sound like previously forbidden acts might now be officially sanctioned.

“One thing’s guaranteed—it’ll be fun. Everyone will enjoy themselves.”

Will they, really?

“The most important rule of this game is that your Manito target must not realize that you are their Manito. This is a deathmatch. If they figure it out, you lose your chance. But if they don’t, they lose theirs.”

The word “deathmatch” sent a wave of excitement through the room. Maybe it was because most of them had grown up on edgy games and provocative media—the mood was now completely different from how it started.

“Out of the twenty-nine of you, only fourteen will get to have sex with the partner of their choice and jerk off as much as they want!”

Most of the crew protested, but Manager Kim didn’t care.

“Does that include losers, if they’re the ‘partner of choice’?”

One of the cops asked.

“Of course not. Only winners get the prize. But—winners can select three people from the losers. Those top three, based on votes, will also be allowed to have sex and masturbate.”

The word “vote” triggered groans all over the room.

They expected some kind of consolation prize for the losers, but of all things—a popularity vote?

Some people clearly didn’t even need to play the game.

Han Seoho, Son Geonwoo, and Number 3.

Anyone would want to have sex with those three.

“Fucking unfair.”

Park Geonwoo, who mostly hung out with the Sailors, grumbled bitterly.

Kim Yunho, who’d built up a decent network—especially thanks to the ball gag—seemed to be secretly optimistic.

“One more thing. If you win this game, you’ll be exempt from punishment even if you lose the next one.”

Another unfair clause.

And a clear hint that there would be more games to come.

Apparently, when they called this the Olympics of sex during the final interview, they weren’t joking. Unbelievable. Jiwon furrowed his brow.

Despite the pouring backlash, Manager Kim remained completely composed.

“The Manito game will begin at noon today and end at 11 PM tonight. At 11, we’ll gather back here and guess our Manitos.”

Jiwon neither hoped nor complained. He was focused on only one thing—winning.

“We’ll determine draw order randomly. In the box my colleague is holding are twenty-nine balls, each with a number and a color. Crew Zero gets pink, Crew One gets blue, and Crew Two gets black. To prevent fraud, team leaders will take turns drawing. Crew Zero usually goes first, so we’ll start with Crew Two this time. Team Leader.”

Manager Kim called on the Crew Two leader first.

The ball-gagged team leader walked over to the lackey Manager Kim had called “that guy,” dramatically raised a hand, and reached into the box. He stirred the balls around.

The clacking noise of plastic spheres was oddly cheerful.

He pulled out one.

Blue.

Number 9.

The bastard who had grabbed Jiwon’s ass in the training room got to draw first.

Number 9 strutted forward, confidently chose the box labeled “Sailor,” and picked his Manito. After reading the name, he smiled. Then he moved on to the mission box held by horn-rims and drew his mission. Whatever it was, his eyes widened for a moment, then settled.

He finally walked over to his team leader and showed both slips. The team leader typed something into his tablet.

Apparently it synced, because the other team leaders’ and Manager Kim’s devices vibrated simultaneously.

The first Manito and mission had been selected.

Jiwon was called tenth. Among the Sailors, he was third—after Lee Jihoon and Jeong Hajun.

He didn’t hesitate. Without a second thought, he reached into Crew Two’s box—the one for the ball-gag wearers.

Just earlier, Son Geonwoo had been all over him, and people had seen him nearly make a “reservation” with Number 3, so from behind, he could hear Park Geonwoo and Kim Yunho whispering in confusion.

But Jiwon had never been interested in Crew One—the cops. Aside from Son Geonwoo and Number 3, he didn’t know what the others had been convicted for. He had no friendships with them, no sense of their personalities or tendencies.

Most of the cops avoided mingling. Even Son Geonwoo and Number 3, who were considered sociable, were still far quieter than the Sailors or the gagged ones.

There was something shifty about them. Just a bad vibe.

The guys in Crew Two were extreme, with hard-edged preferences—but they followed rules. A few even talked with Jiwon now and then, and thanks to Kim Yunho, Jiwon had a pretty clear idea of who was who.

He might even get lucky and pull Nam Gyuwon, Gwak Chan, or Choi Minjae.

Which meant his chances of winning were higher.

And Jiwon’s instinct was right.

Wild Dog #4.

Gwak Chan.

Now it was time for the mission.

With mild tension, Jiwon reached into the mission box and pulled out a slip.

What... the hell? What is this?

It was too easy. It couldn’t be this simple.

He tried not to let his confusion show and walked toward the Captain. Then he handed over the two slips he’d drawn.

The Captain entered the information into his tablet, and a moment later, the other team leaders’ devices buzzed. Manager Kim’s did too, obviously.

Jiwon’s Manito game had begun.