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Title: Any alpha test players… know someone who’s gone missing? DM me please.. (1)
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ㄴMy friend got trapped inside the game.
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Thump-thump.
Jung Da-hoon immediately replied to the comment.
ㄴ(??)Me: My friend is in a similar situation. Have you contacted the police?
ㄴㄴWould they even take a report like thatㅇㅅㅇ
ㄴㄴㄴ(??)Me: So you haven’t yet. How did you find out about it?
Jung Da-hoon straightened his back consciously as he waited for a reply.
‘…If there really is another victim…’
If this wasn’t just Yeo Woo-rim’s case.
If word got out, the game company might try to cover it up by shutting down the servers. Then, along with the data, Woo-rim himself could disappear—that was his fear. If there were more cases like his, then the company would have no choice but to step in and actively try to solve the problem.
ㄴㄴㄴㄴSaw him on a fox fan account reel. After ignoring all my messages, that’s where he posted a proof of life.
But upon reading that comment, Jung Da-hoon felt all the energy drain from his body.
He wasn’t trapped in the game… He just got ghosted.
ㄴㄴㄴㄴㄴ(??)Me: Are you seriously joking around with someone’s life right now? He’s not even confirmed to be trapped—he just ghosted you;;
ㄴㄴㄴㄴㄴㄴ?This dude’s a nutcase lol
The commenter reacted to Jung Da-hoon’s sudden outburst with disbelief, downvoted, and bolted.
“What, nutcase?”
Clack-clack.
You think it’s funny to toy with someone’s desperation? Acting like a sociopath—karma’s gonna bite you.
He was about to fire back with a rebuttal comment when a notification popped up.
(You cannot reply to deleted comments.)
A clean escape. Deleted and gone.
Still fuming, he tried to recall what had been written when something struck him as odd.
“His friend showed up on a fox fan account?”
Jung Da-hoon scrolled through all the fox photos he’d uploaded.
To protect privacy, he’d always blurred out the faces of users in the background. The only unblurred faces were NPCs like Kessler and a few skeletons.
“…So even that was a lie.”
Jung Da-hoon grabbed the Yeo Woo-rim fan with his face on it and fanned himself, trying to cool down his frazzled brain.
***
The final vote results for will be announced shortly.
Judgment Day.
Jung Da-hoon and I waited for the results with solemn hearts.
Roughly 400 players were still left in the game. Of those, we’d secured signed contracts from 335.
That didn’t mean we could let our guard down. If the remaining 60 or so players all voted for either Jung Da-hoon or me, one of us could still end up in third place.
“Ow!”
“Oops, I’m so sorry.”
But just then, my nine twitching tails finally caused an accident. I accidentally smacked a guy who was walking in with iced coffee.
“You spilled the whole thing! Ugh, what about my clothes?!”
“Just cast Binding on the shirt and give it here. I’ll take it to Golgol Dry Cleaners.”
“Then it’ll be secondhand! Are you kidding me?”
“…Wasn’t that shirt due for a wash anyway? It had kimchi stains and spit marks all over it…”
“What?! Are you trying to weasel out of paying? Not only can’t you admit fault, but now you’re saying kimchi stains? Have you ever seen me eat kimchi?!”
“There’s red pepper powder stuck between your front teeth.”
“YOU—!!”
The man reached for my collar, but Jung Da-hoon stepped in between us.
“And you are?!”
“Jung Da-hoon.”
“I’m asking what the hell you’re doing!”
“Protecting the player, sir.”
With everyone’s attention now on the scene, the expedition captain stepped up onto the altar of the chapel in a sleek black suit.
He pulled a loudspeaker from his pocket.
“Attention, everyone. The results are in.”
“Huff, huff… what if they call my name?”
“Prayer meta, let’s go!”
PeeledGarlicUnpeeledGarlic bowed his head in greeting.
“Thank you for your efforts. ‘KebabGudasaai,’ ‘RedFalconPark,’ and ‘ICantLiveWithoutIcedAmericano,’ please step forward to the execution stage.”
Raw vote data was transparently released.
1st: ICantLiveWithoutIcedAmericano – 123 votes
2nd: RedFalconPark – 87 votes
3rd: KebabGudasaai – 78 votes
The clapping that had reflexively broken out fizzled into awkward silence. The named users voiced their discontent.
“Are you clapping? Are you insane?”
The user who had spilled coffee because of me, ICantLiveWithoutIcedAmericano, crumpled the cup and threw it across the room.
The girl with fairy wings, struck by the cup, flared up and stood.
“This is exactly why you got picked! Didn’t you just pick a fight with a passerby earlier too?!”
Then, as if to challenge her, she ripped off one of her wings and wielded it like a sword.
Watching the escalating argument, Jung Da-hoon muttered,
“‘ICantLiveWithoutIcedAmericano’… living up to the name. Congrats on dodging that dry cleaning bill.”
I quietly reached my hand toward Jung Da-hoon. He, still watching the bickering pair, took it.
We hadn’t been called. A handshake filled with celebration—for our efforts and success.
The chaos didn’t last long.
Since the quest was still active, all users had entered a ‘surrender’ state, making their hands go limp as soon as they tried to draw weapons from their inventories, letting them drop helplessly to the floor.
KebabGudasaai stood up slowly with a resigned expression and climbed the execution stage.
“Haah… this just feels bad.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
Three people took the stage.
In order: the smelliest, the most foul-tempered, and one who’d pulled off a nasty scam in the past.
But just before the execution could proceed, multiple appeals were submitted to the Expedition Captain.
“Apologies, everyone. We’ll be holding a quick meeting. Please take this time to say your goodbyes.”
While the growing chatter from players was being subdued and the captains convened in a side meeting, Jung Da-hoon set up a beam projector facing the stage.
“Everyone, let’s watch a farewell video before we go.”
As the footage began playing, I picked up the loudspeaker the Expedition Captain had set down on the stage earlier.
“Mic check, one two—”
Jung Da-hoon nodded, indicating the audio was working fine.
“The footage you’re seeing now is of user KebabGudasaai enjoying a kebab.”
“Is this… a funeral?”
“Looks like it, yeah.”
Somber music played in the background. Onscreen appeared various scenes of KebabGudasaai: Offering kebabs to others, forcing a smile even when ignored, trying to be friendly by spritzing perfume, and finally, his slumped back as he watched the sunset alone.
“He who orbited the players like a lonely planet… now drifts away.”
The melancholic display of KebabGudasaai stirred discomfort in many. A few more empathetic viewers even teared up, calling it tragic.
As the music ended, the screen faded to black, and ending credits rolled:
Cast │ KebabGudasaai
Camera │ Jung Da-hoon
Director │ Yeo Woo-rim
“Please remember him in his final moments.”
Just then, Kessler entered from the far end of the audience, still in search of the fox.
The first to notice was Jung Da-hoon. With his Murderer class’s instincts, he sensed the killing intent crawling over his skin, and hurriedly flipped his cloak over himself.
“Don’t act friendly in front of the Lord. He gets jealous.”
Following Jung Da-hoon’s wish, I pretended not to know him, as he darted around like he was in a state of emergency.
“Thank you for listening.”
After finishing the presentation and returning to the player seats, I felt the silent pressure of Kessler’s eyes boring into me and walked over.
Soon, we sat side by side.
“Baby Fox.”
“Hey.”
“That stinky husk story was real touching.”
“Thank you.”
The so-called “stinky husk,” KebabGudasaai, was crying, overwhelmed by the tribute dedicated to him.
“Mic check, mic check.”
At last, the Expedition Captain returned from the council meeting and took the loudspeaker once more.
“We’ve received quite a few appeals. By the Captain’s authority, we’ll be holding a revote.”
“What?! A revote?”
Before the murmuring could grow louder, he continued quickly.
“The player quest, , was originally designed to identify a Murderer, but concerns have been raised that the quest has strayed from its purpose.”
Of course. Two of the top three vote-getters had already revealed and proven their classes.
“Yeah, the wrong people definitely got targeted.”
“Too many were just mindlessly going, ‘As long as it’s not me.’”
“There’s a reason the presumption of innocence exists…”
Many players nodded in agreement.
“So what, now what are you gonna do?! You taking it back?”
“We’re not undoing the verdict—but we are opening a second-chance vote.”
“Ooh. Is that even allowed?”
“The quest hasn’t officially ended, so yes, it’s allowed. On the slips of paper handed out, please write the name of one person you wish to save among the three. If any name receives a majority, that user’s execution will be canceled.”
A paper floated down to me as well.
I wrote down all three names: ICantLiveWithoutIcedAmericano, KebabGudasaai, and RedFalconPark.
All three were infamously problematic players who were essentially Jung Da-hoon’s lunchboxes—whether they died here or not didn’t matter much.
‘Guess that settles my debt for the spilled coffee earlier.’
All the ballots were collected.
“Thank you for your participation. I will now announce the results.”
After checking the outcome, the Expedition Captain took a deep breath and continued.
“Survivor: KebabGudasaai. And…”
“Oh!!”
The crowd applauded, elated at what felt like justice being served.
“No one else. That’s all. We’ll proceed with the executions.”
The executioner for today—a special part-timer named ExecutionerGol—stepped onto the stage and casually drank from a bottle behind the two.
“We’ll now hear your final words.”
“Nothing to say. I’ll try to live right in my next life.”
“You think I’m gonna just let this go?! I’ll remember all your faces! I graduated from a top university!!”
ExecutionerGol placed a hand on the head of the raging user ICantLiveWithoutIcedAmericano. He vanished in an instant, leaving behind only a puff of shadow.
“You’re the one who saved that stinky husk, Baby Fox.”
“Maybe so.”
“Why’d you save him?”
Kessler looked curious. I wasn’t really sure. There wasn’t a specific reason.
“Maybe I just wanted to see him a bit longer.”
“You’ve got a kind heart.”
“……”
“That’s touching.”
I wasn’t sure what exactly was supposed to be touching about that, but in any case—it was a good outcome.
