《The Moderator》


 The Man and His Mysterious Bag

    My name is Sang Hoo. I am a nineteen-year-old young man, living with my father in a small house that barely accommodates us. Yet, the warmth of our bond made up for its lack of grandeur. My father was poor¡ªvery poor¡ªbut he stood tall like a mountain against the winds, hiding his pain from me as a warrior conceals his wounds behind his shield.


    In the neighborhood, I was seen as nothing more than a weak and poor boy. They never spared me their harsh words, words that weighed heavier than any material burden. They mocked me for our poverty and the fact that I couldn¡¯t go to school like my peers. But despite all this, I refused to give in to despair. Every day, I walked beside my father through the neighborhood streets, helping him sell the simple toys he crafted with his tired hands.


    I was handsome¡ªhandsome enough to make people pause at our little stand. They would smile at me, and perhaps that was the only reason some of them bought the "dakji," "cards," and "Uno" games that my father displayed. I¡¯d watch them carefully choose, but deep down, I knew they bought them because they liked me¡ªor maybe because they pitied us.


    The night enveloped our small house in its cold darkness when my father stumbled in. The scent of alcohol clung to him¡ªa smell I had never associated with him before. His eyes were heavy with sorrow, as if they bore the weight of the entire world. He sat on the floor in silence, a silence that felt heavier than words, before looking up at me and saying in a trembling voice:


    "How long will this go on, huh? Tell me, Sang! How much longer?"


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    I stood frozen, unable to answer, unable to ease the pain in his voice. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand with a force that made his desperation palpable and said, "Listen to me. I couldn¡¯t give you a good life. You need to go to the capital. There, you¡¯ll find work. You can live a better life."


    "Father, what are you saying? I won¡¯t leave you!"


    But he cut me off, his voice rising in anguish: "Don¡¯t argue, Sang Hoo! I couldn¡¯t even take care of myself in this situation. You must go. Take this money¡­ and leave!"


    Before I could comprehend his words, he pulled me toward the door with a strength I didn¡¯t know he had. I resisted, shouting, "Father, I don¡¯t want to leave you! Father!" But his hands didn¡¯t falter. He slammed the door shut behind me.


    I stood there, screaming his name, pounding on the door with all my might, but there was no response. The only sound that reached me was the muffled sobbing from the other side. A sound that shattered what was left of my heart


    I walked alone through the streets, tears streaming down my face, the silence broken only by my muffled sobs. The cold crept into my bones, but the pain in my heart was far worse. I kept asking myself, over and over: "How? How could he leave me like this, all alone?"


    I spent countless exhausting nights wandering aimlessly, struggling with every step to make my way to the capital. My weary legs dragged my body across harsh roads, and after what felt like an eternity, I finally arrived. But the capital was no sanctuary. It was a maze of unfamiliar faces and streets, offering no warmth, no home.


    I became a beggar, roaming the alleys at night, holding out my hands to strangers, pleading for kindness. But it was as if the world had turned deaf to my cries. I scraped together small coins, barely enough to buy bread. A piece here, a sip of water there, just to survive another day.


    One morning, as I sat on the cold pavement, drained from a sleepless night, a man appeared before me, carrying a brown bag. Without a word, he approached and sat beside me, his movements calm and deliberate. There was an air of mystery about him, but his eyes held something I couldn¡¯t quite place.


    Slowly, he opened his bag, as if unveiling a hidden world. I glanced inside and saw something that stopped me in my tracks: a few bills of money¡­ and a "dakji" game. My heart skipped a beat. That game, that simple thing I used to sell with my father, had reappeared, now held by the hands of a stranger.

 2-Awaiting the Unknown

    the strange man pulled out a game of "Dakji" and some money from his brown bag. His smile was strange, and his words even stranger: "If you play with me and win, you can have the money. But if you lose... I''ll slap your face."


    I stared at him in surprise, but the monotony of my day pushed me to agree. He pointed to me and said, "Choose one: the blue or the red." I looked between them and chose the red.


    The game began. I lost on the first round, and he slapped my face. I was stunned, but I continued. I lost again, and the slap was harder. With every loss, my anger grew, and the slaps became more painful. I couldn''t control myself and yelled at myself: "You have to win! You have to win!"


    Then came the long-awaited moment. With a decisive move, I flipped the card and won. Finally! The man exclaimed, "Wow!" and handed me the money.


    I looked at him with anger and said, "You fool, how dare you slap my face?" I raised my hand to return the slap, but he easily stopped me and pulled out a golden card with symbols and numbers on it.


    He handed me the card and said calmly, "Call this number, and you''ll find a job that will earn you money and comfort."Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    I stood there, staring at the card, a mixture of anger and curiosity filling me.


    I kept thinking about the man¡¯s words all day, unable to get his voice out of my head. By nightfall, curiosity had consumed me, and I could no longer wait. I made my way to a public phone booth, hesitating as I picked up the receiver.


    I dialed the number written on the card, and after a few moments, someone answered. A low, mysterious voice came through, almost as if rising from the depths of shadow. The voice gave me an address, then hung up abruptly, offering no explanation.


    I found myself standing on the sidewalk of a desolate street, dimly lit by flickering streetlights. The silence was heavy, pressing against my ears. Suddenly, a black car appeared out of nowhere and stopped beside me.


    The front door opened, and a stern voice commanded, "Get in." I hesitated, but climbed in nonetheless. Before I could even settle into my seat, they blindfolded me, plunging my world into complete darkness.


    As the car sped off, I heard another voice, sharper and colder, leaning in close. It said, "If you don¡¯t do as you¡¯re told... you will be tortured until you beg for death."


    I sat in silence, consumed by fear, as the roar of the engine carried me toward the unknown.


    I had no idea how much time had passed, but I suddenly woke up to the sharp sound of a whistle piercing my ears like an arrow. Slowly, I opened my eyes to find myself in a small, desolate room with pale white walls, devoid of any signs of life.


    Before I could make sense of my surroundings, a mechanical, stern woman¡¯s voice echoed through the room: ¡°All workers are required to wear the clothes and masks provided in the room and wait in the outer hallway. Stand in line with others bearing matching symbols.¡±


    I looked around and saw neatly placed clothes and masks beside me. I picked up my mask and noticed a white circle symbol on it. A pristine, pure circle, like a quiet seal concealing an unknown storm.


    Realizing I had no other choice, I put on the clothes and mask, my mind racing with questions about my fate and the other symbols that might await me in that long, shadowy hallway.

 3-The Land of Silent Blood

    We left the room, arranged in three precise lines, each representing a distinct identity: the Circle line, the Triangle line, and the Square line. Feeling that the Circle line was where I belonged, I joined it without hesitation. The air was charged with tension, and the synchronized footsteps echoed in the silence.


    A man stood before us, tall and imposing. He was dressed in a pitch-black outfit and wore a strange black mask that concealed his features entirely. When he spoke, his voice was deep and enigmatic, cutting through the silence like thunder:


    "I am the Front Man. You are here today because each group has a purpose. Behind me, you can see those screens. The individuals displayed on them are the reason we are gathered. Our goal is to create a fair game for them¡ªa game governed by strict rules."


    Our eyes instinctively shifted to the large screens behind him. The faces on display were unfamiliar, carrying stories we could not yet comprehend. His voice grew firmer as he continued:


    "Each of you has been assigned a number. You¡ªyour number is 012."


    I couldn¡¯t respond, only feeling the weight of the number seared into my mind as if it were an indelible mark. He pressed on, his tone sharp and unyielding:


    "It is forbidden to remove the mask you wear. If you do, you will be eliminated immediately. The mask is your identity now."


    His words were absolute, leaving no room for doubt or defiance. We exchanged quick, silent glances, but no one dared to speak. Silence became our shared language.


    Each line had a leader who stood at the forefront, guiding and directing us. The leaders were like silent shadows, their eyes concealing secrets we couldn¡¯t decipher.


    "Every line has its own path to follow," the Front Man declared. "Stay on your path. Straying from it will have consequences."


    The movement began. Each of us followed our leader along the assigned path. Our steps synchronized, forming an eerie rhythm, while the solemn silence cloaked the space like a heavy fog.


    We arrived at a strange underground room, resembling a vast, dark cave. The walls were rough, and the air was thick with the scent of dampness and fear. We sat in silence in front of closed doors, while our leader gestured for us to remain still and focus on the large screens mounted on the walls beside us.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The screens showed a bizarre, eerie scene: an unfamiliar ground where people stood with their faces fully visible¡ªno masks, only numbers displayed on their chests. The tension was palpable as all eyes were fixed on a peculiar doll standing in the center of the arena. Its features were unnatural, almost childlike, but its presence radiated an unsettling menace.


    The game began. The doll stood motionless for a moment, then started to sing a strange tune¡ªa melody reminiscent of a child¡¯s song but laced with an ominous undertone. As the doll sang, the people on the ground began to move cautiously, trying to advance. But as soon as the doll stopped singing, it suddenly turned around.


    At that moment, one person was still moving, behaving recklessly as if the rules did not matter. He approached the doll in a careless, almost playful manner. And then, it happened.


    A deafening sound echoed¡ªa gunshot, sharp and sudden. A single bullet struck the man¡¯s head, causing his skull to explode violently. Blood and fragments splattered everywhere as if his head had been a bomb.


    Panic engulfed everyone. Screams and gasps filled the air as terror gripped the room. My companions were frozen in fear, their faces pale with shock. Yet, strangely, I did not feel the same. I wasn¡¯t scared. Instead, I felt a dark sense of enjoyment, an inexplicable thrill coursing through me.


    Our leader turned to us. His movements were calm, deliberate, but his eyes behind the mask burned with a cold intensity. Just as he was about to speak, one of us abruptly stood up and removed his mask.


    "I didn¡¯t sign up for this madness!" the young man yelled, his voice trembling with anger.


    But his defiance was short-lived. Another gunshot pierced the room. The leader had already raised his pistol and fired without hesitation. The bullet shattered the man¡¯s skull, his lifeless body collapsing to the ground in a heap.


    The leader¡¯s voice cut through the silence, cold and authoritative:


    "Didn¡¯t I warn you? The rules are clear¡ªanyone who removes their mask will be eliminated."


    A heavy, suffocating silence descended upon us. No one dared to move or speak. The weight of the situation was unbearable for most, but not for me. I sat still, unnervingly calm, as if this chaos was nothing out of the ordinary.


    The leader continued, his tone as merciless as before:


    "Your only task is to collect the bodies and burn them as soon as the game ends."


    His words hung in the air like a death sentence. We remained seated, the closed doors in front of us a barrier to the horrors beyond, while the world of terror behind them had only just begun.


    Hundreds of people on the floor lay dead, their bodies scattered like broken dolls. Blood covered the ground, painting it like a macabre masterpiece of chaos. We entered the grotesque arena, the air heavy with the metallic scent of blood and death. Strangely, none of us showed any fear. No screams, no tears, not even a flinch.


    As I walked among the carnage, my mind drifted to old memories. Blood was not new to me. I had always faced bullying with relentless fury. Whenever someone tried to humiliate me, I fought back¡ªnot out of desperation, but with pure, unrestrained joy.


    I remember it clearly: my hands soaked in blood, my heart racing with exhilaration. There was one who pushed me too far. I grabbed a rock from the street and struck him with it, putting all my strength into each blow. The first hit knocked him down, but I didn¡¯t stop. I kept going until his skull shattered, blood and fragments of bone splattering everywhere. People screamed, they ran, but I? I laughed.


    That laugh of mine, the one so familiar, poured out of me like fire. I wasn¡¯t weak. Do you see that? I wasn¡¯t helpless. I was strong, strong enough to crush anyone who dared think otherwise.


    Now, walking among the corpses here, I felt the same calmness. The same thrill. The same laugh threatening to escape my lips. Perhaps, in this place, I had finally found my kind.

 4- My New World

    Blood filled the arena. A terrifying sight, yet it brought a dark laugh from within me. How could these fools gamble their lives on luck like this? I heard they risked everything for money, that they were once homeless, living without hope. But relying solely on chance like that? It''s pure stupidity. But then again, isn''t it oddly entertaining?


    I chuckled again as we moved the bodies to the furnace. The sight of the blood was horrifying, yes, but it also made me laugh. A strange mix of fear and enjoyment. I felt as if they had chosen me carefully for this role. I was perfectly suited for this place.


    As we burned the bodies, a strange feeling washed over me. The heat, the scent, the transformation into ash¡ª it was odd, but it didn''t disturb me.


    Some might think I was once a poor, kind-hearted son, helping my father, and that''s what I always showed. But what I never told my father was the pleasure I felt when I grabbed one of those who once belittled me.


    I remember it clearly, how I would grab them and throw them to the ground, smashing their heads and stomping on their bodies. The fountain of blood before me wasn¡¯t something horrifying; instead, it was a mesmerizing spectacle.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Now, standing here, I feel that I was born for this game. Every moment of my life led me to this place. Every body I see, every drop of blood spilling, reassures me that I am a part of this world.


    I noticed some of the soldiers among us taking the bodies to a secret place. What caught my attention was that some of these bodies seemed to pulse with faint signs of life. I raised an eyebrow, bewildered. Could it be that one of these fools was still struggling to stay alive?


    I couldn''t help but laugh quietly. Somehow, I found myself following them, though I wasn''t sure exactly what was going on. What intrigued me further was that they had removed their masks. The situation was getting stranger, but more fascinating. They were holding sharp tools, as if dissecting one of the bodies.


    They moved toward me cautiously, threatening to interrogate me. But I spoke first, my voice calm and mocking:


    "How could you fools not tell me there was this masterpiece here?"


    I pointed to the body on the table. Then I added:


    "And the doctor explaining it? Yes, I¡¯ve seen him before. He was one of the players in the game."


    I laughed again. This was becoming even more interesting than I¡¯d expected.


    They grew tense, but finally said in a low voice:


    "Don¡¯t expose what you see here. Don¡¯t mention it to anyone."


    "Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t say a word."


    I left them and made my way back to my room, preparing for the next day. In that moment, I knew that there was much more awaiting me in this strange world.

 5-A painting from the past

    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¡ªthe Circle team only¡ªout 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¡ªan 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.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    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¡ªit 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¡ªa wild, uncontrollable laugh¡ªas 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.

 6-The First Dance of Blood

    The commander entered the room with calm, deliberate steps, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. He stopped in front of me, observing my success, and said in a cold voice:


    "Now onto something harder. Are you ready?"


    I raised my head, filled with determination, and replied,


    "Yes, I¡¯m ready. Nothing will stand in my way."


    A mysterious smile played on his lips as he motioned for me to follow him. He opened a door leading to another room, this one darker, more sinister. When I stepped inside, the sight before me was shocking. Real people hung by ropes, their bodies trembling in agony, their tear-filled eyes pleading for mercy.


    I burst into hysterical laughter, as if the scene had awakened something dark within me:


    "Hahahahahahahahaha! Who are these fools?"


    The commander looked at me coldly and said,


    "They are your targets. I don¡¯t want you to kill them¡ªjust extract their kidneys¡­ while they¡¯re still alive."The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    My expression froze for a moment as I stammered,


    "Wait, what?"


    The commander let out a heavy, chilling laugh, stepping closer as he said,


    "Don¡¯t you want to savor the blood? Just savor the act of extracting their organs¡­ and their screams. They¡¯re fools who lost the games, and this is their fate."


    The commander left, his footsteps steady as he turned to me before closing the door and said with a mocking tone,


    "I hope you succeed. Many couldn¡¯t handle it."


    I stood in the middle of the room, my gaze fixed on the hanging bodies. I began moving between them, dancing lightly, as if performing for an invisible audience. Raising an eyebrow, I said aloud,


    "Where should I start?"


    My eyes scanned the room until they landed on a man who looked to be in his forties. I walked toward him slowly, his eyes widening in terror. In a trembling voice, he said,


    "I have kids¡­ my wife is waiting for me."


    I smirked coldly and replied,


    "You¡¯re the one who relied on luck and didn¡¯t escape. Yes, dear reader, just a simple vote among the players to leave, and they returned again. Now¡­ do you want me to show you mercy?"


    I paused, pretending to think, then added with a playful tone,


    "Alright, let¡¯s play rock, paper, scissors. Agreed?"


    He nodded, clinging to the last shred of hope. I made him play against the man hanging in front of him. "Come on, rock, paper, scissors!"


    In sheer foolishness, the man chose "scissors," while his opponent chose "rock." I smiled, my voice dripping with mockery:


    "Well then, let¡¯s begin."


    I grabbed the knife and stepped closer to him. He began screaming, struggling against his restraints, while I watched him with cold detachment. I plunged the knife into his side, precisely where the kidney was, his screams echoing through the room. Blood splattered in every direction, painting the floor in crimson.


    I reached inside his body with my hand, pulling out his kidney slowly, a twisted smile on my face as I held the bleeding organ in my grasp. Looking at the lifeless body hanging before me, I smirked and said,


    "We¡¯ve succeeded with the first specimen."