The sight before them was enough to silence even the strongest heart.
What Airen and the two sisters saw on the three glowing screens was beyond words — horrifying, cruel, inhuman.
On the first screen, a woman was tied to a chair, her body trembling violently. Blood trickled from where her fingers used to be — some were gone, crudely cut. Her toes too, mutilated. She screamed weakly, voice breaking from exhaustion.
Beside her, a live chat list flickered on the screen:
$1,000 – Cut one more finger
$5,000 – Burn her arm with a torch
$10,000 – Dip her into boiling water for one minute
$50,000 – Break a bone
$100,000 – Pour acid on her face
$1,000,000 – Anything you want
The cursor blinked beside the last line. New donations kept appearing — laughing emojis, cruel comments, and usernames cheering.
On the second screen, a man was tied upright, forced to run on a treadmill. His legs were shredded with cuts, blood splashing the machine. He panted like a dying animal, each step a plea for mercy.
On the side, another list:
$10,000 – Make him run for 12 hours straight
$20,000 – Electrify the floor for 10 minutes
$50,000 – Cut one Achilles tendon and make him keep running
$100,000 – Let the dogs in
He screamed something — maybe begging for help — but his voice was drowned by the laughter coming from the chat feed.
And on the third screen, the most disturbing of all — ten children, maybe 10 to 12 years old, fought inside a ring. Their faces were hidden by plain white masks, only their eyes visible through the slits.
Each wore a numbered shirt, and blood stained the floor beneath their feet.
A man's voice echoed through speakers:
"Place your bets! Who will last till the end? Number Three's still standing — who's betting on him?! Haha!"
The kids didn't want to fight. Anyone could see it — the trembling hands, the silent tears. But they still swung, weak fists connecting again and again.
They weren't fighting to win. They were fighting because losing meant death.
The sisters couldn't bear it. Seo-yeon turned away, tears spilling down her face. Min-ji clutched her mouth, eyes trembling with disgust.
Airen watched quietly. For a moment, even his breath slowed. Shock flickered through his eyes — not fear, not pity — just a flash of memory.
He looked at the third screen, voice low and calm.
"This reminds me of some bad times…"
Neither sister understood what he meant.
But the tone — that flat calmness — made it clear: whatever he'd lived through wasn't any lighter than what they saw now.
The ten teenagers lounging on the couches still hadn't noticed them. Their faces glowed in the blue light, laughter faint, lost in their own cruel amusement.
Airen walked up to one of them — a boy slouched on the bed, eyes glued to the screen, smiling faintly.
He leaned close, whispering in his ear.
"Are you enjoying this?"
The boy chuckled, eyes still on the monitor. "Yeah… this is the best show—"
He froze mid-sentence. The voice wasn't one of his friends.
He turned — and met Airen's eyes.
The boy shot up instantly, panic flashing across his face. The others noticed too — six girls and four boys, all around eighteen or twenty, now staring at the stranger standing among them.
One of the boys stepped forward, frowning.
"Who are you? How did you even get in here?"
His voice wasn't trembling — it carried arrogance, the confidence of someone who'd never been scared before.
Airen didn't answer. He simply looked down at him — silent, unblinking.
The boy stepped closer, clearly irritated. But as he stood face-to-face with Airen, his confidence began to crumble.
He hadn't realized how tall Airen was — his shadow alone seemed to swallow the light.
Airen's gaze met his, sharp and cold like a blade. He moved his right hand slowly, reaching toward the boy's head.
And in that moment — the boy felt it.
The pressure.
The killing intent.
If that hand touched him, he'd die. Instantly.
His legs trembled. His breath hitched. He staggered back, shaking violently, eyes wide with pure, primal fear.
It wasn't just a feeling — it was like staring straight at death itself.
Airen lowered his hand slightly, eyes still fixed on him, expression unreadable.
"Sit down," he said softly.
The boy dropped to his knees without another word.
The entire room went silent.
Seo-yeon's face twisted in disbelief. Her hands shook as she pointed toward the screens, voice cracking.
"H-how could you… watch something like this?"
Her eyes glistened, not from fear — but from sheer disgust. Her body trembled, as if her mind refused to accept what she had just witnessed.
One of the teenagers — a thin boy with messy blond hair — leaned back lazily and shrugged.
"What's wrong with it?" he said. "We're not doing anything different from everyone else."
Seo-yeon's breath hitched. "What?"
The boy smirked, his tone calm, as if explaining something simple.
"You bet on horses, right? On dogs, on bulls? You cheer when they bleed, when they fall. You call it sport. We just took it a step further."
He glanced at the first screen, grinning faintly.
"At least ours know the price of losing."
He leaned forward, voice dripping with twisted confidence.
"We pay to see them struggle — same as you. You bet on a horse race, but have you ever asked the horse if it wants to run? You eat meat but never see the slaughter. You wear leather and call it luxury. Tell me…" he tilted his head, smiling,
"…how are we any different?"
Seo-yeon's face went pale. Her lips trembled. "B-but… they're people! We're not animals!"
Her voice cracked halfway through the sentence.
Airen said nothing. He just watched them — the kind of silence that carried more weight than any shout.
Then, something caught his eye.
In the corner of the room, half hidden behind a couch, a large spinning wheel stood upright — painted in red and black, its surface smeared with dried stains.
Each section of the wheel had writing on it — the same horrifying list they'd seen on the screens.
Cut a finger. Burn a limb. Pour acid. Run till collapse.
The wheel creaked slightly, still spinning slowly, as if it had been used just minutes ago.
Airen's voice broke the silence.
"What's this?"
No one answered.
His gaze turned toward them — sharp, cold, and suffocating.
The air seemed to thicken.
A girl sitting near the back finally broke. She covered her mouth, tears pooling in her eyes.
"W-we spin it…" she whispered, voice trembling. "Wh-whichever it lands on… we select that option on the screen…"
Her words faded into the heavy quiet that followed.
Min-ji's hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. Seo-yeon covered her mouth again, on the verge of breaking down.
Airen looked at the spinning wheel one last time. His face showed no anger — only an empty calm.
But in his eyes… there was a shadow.