As soon as I entered my room and surrendered to sleep, I was suddenly awakened in the middle of the night. Those fools barged in without warning, dragging us—the Circle team only—out to an unknown destination.

I couldn’t make sense of it until we found ourselves standing in a large kitchen. What kind of madness was this? How did we end up in a kitchen? The whole situation felt absurd.

Then came their strange demand: we were instructed to make dalgona candy. That simple yet challenging treat we used to play with as kids. It was a circular candy with various shapes carved inside it—an umbrella, a triangle, or a circle.

The task? Extract the shape without breaking or damaging it.

It seems those other players are going to suffer a lot in this game, and we’re the ones creating their torment. How ironic! I chuckled quietly at the thought.

We finished making the candy, and by the next morning, we sat as usual, waiting for the game to end, watching them through the screens. It was entertaining in its own twisted way, especially when we started betting on who would win.

One of us was particularly adamant about player 101, insisting that he would be the winner. But that confidence didn’t last long; the player messed up the shape he was working on and was promptly eliminated.

Honestly, the Triangle team excels at killing the players with incredible precision. Every move and decision they make feels as though they were born for this role. And that’s exactly what I aspire to achieve.

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As usual, the game ended in another massacre. Many had died, and we entered the arena to collect the bodies and carry them to the incinerator. What once sparked excitement in me now felt monotonous and repetitive. I craved something more, something bigger.

I decided to approach the Front Man, determined to catch his attention. I wanted a more significant role. With a firm voice, I said:

"Transfer me to the Triangle team."

He turned to me, his expression unreadable behind the mask, and asked:

"Have you ever held a weapon?"

I grinned, my voice brimming with enthusiasm:

"No, but I want to learn. I want to kill with these hands of mine, hahaha."

Without warning, he slapped me hard across the face. My cheek burned as he spoke sharply:

"Not everyone deserves to be killed. Only the losers and the weak are eliminated. Do you understand?"

I nodded, suppressing my frustration while a strange excitement bubbled within me. He continued, his tone colder:

"Go to your leader. He will teach you how to handle a weapon."

Without responding, I turned and walked back to my leader, my mind racing with thoughts. I would learn. I would prove that I was made for this game.

I went with my leader, who took me to a secret place far from prying eyes. The area was empty except for a target board mounted on the wall and a weapon in his hand. He handed me the weapon and said in a firm tone:

"Do you see that board? Aim for the red mark in the center."

I gripped the weapon, my hands trembling slightly. I tried to aim but missed. I tried again and failed once more. Frustrated, I glanced at him, but he simply said sternly:

"I'll leave you here for a day and a night. You need to gain control over yourself and figure out what to do. Don't be an idiot."

Left alone in the space, I stared at the target, weapon in hand. I kept trying, over and over again, until something strange began to stir inside me. I closed my eyes for a moment and imagined that the target in front of me wasn’t just a board—it was one of the bullies from my old neighborhood, hanging there, blood pouring profusely from his head.

I started firing, repeatedly, as if I were killing him over and over again in my mind.

I laughed—a wild, uncontrollable laugh—as I kept shooting. His screams echoed in my imagination, and I savored every moment of it. The sound of gunfire was like a symphony, and his cries were the music. I felt a pleasure unlike anything I had ever known.