The cold, synthetic hum of the hotel suite was the only sound as Arthur stared at the digital ghost maps Ciel had projected into the air. The discovery of the Squid Game card in Mr. Lee's possession had been a crack in the reality he thought he understood.
The revelation of the Squid Game card in Mr. Lee's pocket had been a dissonant note in Arthur's symphony, a variable that didn't belong in the world of Satisfy.
If the "Death Game" existed here, it meant the shadows in this world were deeper and more depraved than the history books of his previous life had recorded.
Back in the temporary solitude of his hotel suite, Arthur stood before a window overlooking the sprawling, neon-drenched grid of Seoul.
"Ciel," Arthur said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous frequency. "The card wasn't a coincidence. My father's circle is small, but their reach is infinite. Scan all encrypted communications, offshore accounts, and private server logs linked to the Cromwell-Kim conglomerate. I need to know if the man Or woman who raised me is a spectator to that slaughterhouse."
The air in the room seemed to cool as the Divine Intelligence Core processed the request. On the glass of the window, translucent data streams began to scroll—a HUD only visible to Arthur's augmented perception.
Arthur let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He didn't have a shred of love for the current family, but parents involved in the Squid Game was a liability even he didn't want to manage yet.
Arthur's ruby eyes ignited. Chairman Song. The man was a pillar of the Korean economy and a key ally in the Kim family.
While his father, Kim Da-sung, was a man of cold ambition and ruthless corporate maneuvering, he was, at his core, a man of systems and legacy. He didn't play with the dead; he played with the living. But the world of the ultra-elite was a tangled web of parasites, and Arthur needed to know which ones were feeding on his flank.
"Ciel," Arthur's voice was a low, melodic rasp. "The business card is a gateway. Mr. Song of the Song-Heung Group—my father's primary ally in Kim Agrotech—is a Tier-1 High Command member of this 'Game.' But he is just one pillar. If Song is involved, his contact list is a necropolis of the powerful. Filter his communications. I want the names of the hidden hands. I want the architects of the masks."
Arthur's ruby eyes widened as a gallery of faces appeared on the glass window, superimposed over the lights of Seoul. These weren't just businessmen; they were the "Hidden Hands."
He saw the Minister of Justice, the CEO of a rival tech conglomerate, and several high-ranking international bankers. They were the men who signed the laws and managed the wealth of nations by day, and by night, they gambled on the survival of the desperate.
Arthur felt a surge of cold, electric clarity. In his previous life, he was just a lead researcher, a scientist pioneering a new world. Now, thanks to Ciel, he was looking at the direction of the world's darkness.
"So," Arthur whispered, a sharp, dangerous smile curving his lips. "Song is the bridge. He uses his 'ally' status with my father to legitimize his wealth, while using the Squid Game to cull the 'useless' population that can't pay back his predatory loans. He thinks he's at the top of the food chain."
Arthur noted with a sense of grim satisfaction that while Song was a key financier of Kim Agrotech—the massive corporate entity his father ran—the old man had no connection to the Haenam experimental facility.
The "fortress" on the jagged peninsula was funded solely by Arthur's trust and his father's "no-questions-asked" personal investment. It was the one piece of the board that Song couldn't touch. The "Vitality" crops growing in that obsidian soil were pure, untainted by the blood-soaked influence of the High Command.
While the revelations of the High Command brewed in the background, the physical reality of Arthur's starting zone was moving at an accelerated pace.
Mr. Lee, fueled by the staggering 16,800,000 won advance deposit and the promise of a stable future for his children, had moved with a desperation that only a man at the end of his rope could manifest.
Within forty-eight hours of their soju-fueled meeting, the "persuasion" of old Mrs. Lee had been completed. The grandmother, moved by her son's tears and the prospect of her grandchildren finally attending a proper high school without the shadow of debt, had agreed to move into the son's smaller unit for a few months until they could leverage the rent money to buy a larger, combined home.
"The apartment is yours, Arthur," Mr. Lee had told him over the phone, his voice shaking with a mixture of relief and exhaustion. "We're moving the last of the furniture tonight. You can have the keys by Friday."
Arthur had already arranged for a specialized cleaning and security team to sweep the unit the moment the Lees vacated. He wasn't moving in for the aesthetic; he was moving in for the proximity.
Apartment 707 was more than a home—it was a sniper's nest. From that 140-square-meter space, he would be less than ten meters away from Shin Youngwoo. He would be able to hear the rhythmic tapping of the future "Grid" through the walls.
He would know exactly when the legendary blacksmith was logged in, when he was sleeping, and when he was most vulnerable to a plot-shattering intervention.
As the move-in date approached, Arthur spent his final nights in the hotel suite finalizing the "Chaos Point" (CP) strategy. The CP store was his true edge. While the rest of the world's elite, like Chairman Song, played with human lives for sport, Arthur would play with the laws of nature for dominion.
"The Ruby Tomatoes are just the beginning, Ciel," Arthur mused, tapping the screen where the Legendary Ketchup Formula glowed.
"Once I earn enough CP by sabotaging the early milestones of the Satisfy plot, I'll unlock the molecular concentration formulas. We'll take the AFT-infused harvest from Haenam and run it through the Japanese-engineered lines I've ordered. The gold I make in the game as a Blacksmith will pay for the machinery. The machinery will produce the 'Vitality' goods. And the goods will make the real-world economy revolve around me."
Arthur looked at the blank business card he had taken from the ground—the one Mr. Lee had dropped. He didn't throw it away. Instead, he placed it on the table. It was a reminder. The world was darker than even his military training had prepared him for. The "Hidden Hands" were real, and they were watching. But they were watching the wrong game.
"They're looking for players in tracksuits," Arthur said, his eyes reflecting the cold neon of the city. "They won't see the man in the greenhouse until it's too late. I'm going to help the Lee family, not out of pity, but because they are a shield. And I'm going to offer Young Mr. Lee a job in my Ketchup company once the lines are running. A little guilt-free charity to keep the neighbors loyal."
His sister, Soha, was already excited about the move to Seoul. She saw it as a new start, a chance to attend a prestigious high school. Arthur saw it as the final placement of a chess piece. Soha and Sehee—Grid's sister—would become friends.
The two families would become entwined. Arthur would be the "benevolent, wealthy older brother" living next door, the perfect mask for a man who was planning to steal the future.
As the sun began to rise over Seoul, painting the skyscrapers in shades of bruised purple and gold, Arthur finally closed the data projections.
The workers in Haenam were already reporting that the first sprouts of the Ruby Tomatoes had broken the surface of the obsidian soil, glowing with an unnatural, vibrant green.
The apartment was ready. The neighbors were unsuspecting. The High Command was identified. And the "Pagma's Successor" class was waiting in a digital cave, unaware that its rightful owner was about to be replaced by a ghost.
"The board is set," Arthur whispered to the empty room. "Time to move into the neighborhood."