Surviving Restructuring

As Kwak furrowed his brow, Eun-Ho subtly calculated the distance and calmly took a step forward—just far enough that Kwak’s wooden club would not reach.

“Why are you digging your own grave?” Eun-Ho asked coolly.

“W-what?” Kwak stammered.

“Some people have already escaped to other safe zones. If they survive, they’ll tell everyone you killed your own teammates. You’ll be labeled as a murderer.”

Kwak clenched his jaws.

“There might be missions later where you’ll need to cooperate with others. You’re setting yourself up for a huge disadvantage.”

Kwak’s eyes darted nervously, betraying the unease bubbling under his mask of control.

“H-how do you know all that?” he questioned.

“It’s the same as hiring and firing people, isn’t it? I’ve got plenty of experience with restructuring and layoffs... Those kinds of things,” Eun-Ho said, sidestepping the real explanation.

He did not want to admit that he learned about the existence of the ”next stage” through the system. The restructuring of his old job and the restructuring of the world were hardly the same, but it sounded convincing enough. Kwak did not press further.

“Think rationally,” Eun-Ho urged.

At first glance, it might seem smarter to go solo rather than trust a group in a trial where only a limited number could survive. After all, it was a competition.

But in the early stages, the survival limit won’t be so strict. It’s best to band together, endure the early and mid-game as a group, and then compete later when the numbers shrink.

Eun-Ho was not sure if Kwak had the foresight to think that far ahead. If he refused to listen, there was no choice but to switch tactics.

“Who are you to tell me what to do? You think I’m some pushover? I’ve always hated you, you know that? You act like you’re on my level!” Kwak spat, his usual murky eyes flashing with anger.

Kwak was a man who divided people into tiers—he envied those above him enough to harbor murderous rage and scorned those like Eun-Ho below him, dismissing them as worthless.

It’s always the guy just one rung above you that’s the most dangerous.

“I don’t care whether we’re on the same level or not,” Eun-Ho replied flatly.

“Shut up! Who the hell do you think you are, bossing me around, you dumb bastard?!” Kwak barked.

Apparently, Kwak had abandoned even the barest shred of rationality. Deciding there was nothing left to say, Eun-Ho turned to leave, but the furious Kwak had hurled a brown flowerpot at him.

Thwack!

Thankfully, Eun-Ho’s body moved faster than his mind. Before he could even identify the object, he instinctively stepped back, narrowly dodging it.

[The parameters required for skill activation are being calculated.]

Again? Eun-Ho thought grimly.

“Don’t look down on me! Don’t you dare dismiss me!” Kwak howled.

He grabbed more flowerpots, wildly throwing them as if he intended to smash every head in the room. The people gathered by the meeting room entrance scattered in a panic, ducking and scrambling to avoid the flying pottery and sharp shards.

Pathetic. He’s wasting valuable throwable weapons like that?

“That lunatic!”

Crack!

Horrified by both murder and attempted murder unfolding before their eyes, the witnesses began to flee one by one.

“Eun-Ho, should we go downstairs? Maybe we can make it to the fourth floor if we hurry,” Ji-Eun suggested anxiously.

“It’s already too late,” Eun-Ho replied.

Even at his fastest, they would barely make it. Besides, the lower floors would already be packed, which Ji-Eun seemed to realize too. With frustration and a frown, she bit her lower lip.

“Is this the end for us?” Ji-Eun asked quietly.

“No. The game hasn’t even started yet,” Eun-Ho said firmly.

“Then what should we—ah!”

Before she could finish her sentence, Ji-Eun collided with someone rushing past in panic and stumbled back. Judging by the direction they were heading, they had likely given up and were heading to another floor.

Thwack!

Eun-Ho grabbed the man’s wrist, halting him mid-step.

“W-what are you doing?” the man stuttered.

“If you don’t have a plan, then join us,” Eun-Ho said steadily.

The man wasn’t especially large, but his compact, solid build stood out—an unmistakable physique honed through long, disciplined training.

“I do have a plan... I was going to try one of the other safe zones,” the man said cautiously.

“Don’t you think it’s too late for that?” Eun-Ho asked.

When the man lowered his gaze and hesitated, Eun-Ho gave his shoulder a small shake just as he had done earlier with Ji-Eun.

Although almost out of time, his tone remained calm and precise. “We have three minutes left—a hundred eighty seconds. It takes five seconds to reach the stairs. With your steps, it would take you fifteen seconds per floor. To get down to the fourth floor, that’s a hundred sixty-five seconds in total. You’ll arrive with just ten seconds to spare.”

“W-what?”

“There are still over seven hundred survivors in this building, and there are only two safe zones. Since this one’s been abandoned, where do you think everyone else went?”

“Well, on the fourth-floor safe zone—oh.”

“It might be even worse down there,” Eun-Ho warned.

Finally grasping the hopelessness of the situation, he lowered his head in grim acceptance.

“I get it, but even so, we can’t just fight recklessly, can we?”

The man had sun-darkened skin, a body carved like stone, cropped hair, and a deliberate, almost awkward way of speaking. His muscles weren’t sculpted in a gym—they were forged through real, hard-earned training.

“Did you work out? Or are you military?” Eun-Ho asked.

“I was discharged as an army sergeant last year. How did you know?”

Instead of answering, Eun-Ho tugged the sergeant by the wrist and pulled him into the disheveled office space outside.

“That can wait. First, look around for something sturdy to use as a shield.”

“A shield... ah! Would a pan do?”

“We’ve got three minutes. Keep looking and find the biggest thing you can.”

Eun-Ho was not entirely confident in the man, but there was no time to hesitate.

“Ji-Eun, you can go to the women’s restroom. There should be a janitor’s closet in there, where you’ll probably find a mop.”

“Got it!” Ji-Eun replied quickly.

After rapidly spitting out instructions, Eun-Ho headed for the men’s restroom. Unfortunately, there was no janitor’s closet there. However, a moment later, Ji-Eun appeared carrying a mop with both hands.

“There was only one. What should we do now?” she asked.

Eun-Ho said reached for it. “One is enough. Give it to me.”

He was the least physically capable among them. Hence, when he tried to take it, her eyes widened in surprise. However, she almost just as instantly seemed to understand and nodded.

“You must have your reasons.”

“Yes. The two of you... You’ll need to push that,” Eun-Ho said.

“What do you mean?”

Eun-Ho gestured behind Ji-Eun. The sergeant was lumbering toward them with a massive whiteboard in tow.

“Found it!” the man called out.

***

[01:45]

“When I give the signal, we move in together,” Eun-Ho said.

He took a quick peek into the conference room. It looked almost the same as before—except now there were noticeably fewer flowerpots, thanks to Kwak’s frenzied throwing earlier.

“Watch out for the wooden club and the flowerpots. If we get close, he’ll throw them without hesitation,” Eun-Ho warned.

“Got it!” Ji-Eun replied.

“If we move in behind the whiteboard, we should be able to block most of it. When I give the signal—what was your name again?” Eun-Ho asked the man.

“Oh, my name is Choi Jae-Hyuk!” the man replied crisply.

There was something different about a sergeant discharged from the army compared to regular soldiers. Unlike veterans who had a laid-back confidence, Choi Jae-Hyuk still radiated the sharp discipline of a buzz-cut recruit. He seemed reliable in a way that reminded Eun-Ho of a black Doberman—alert and dependable.

“Jae-Hyuk, when I give the signal, push to the right. Ji-Eun, you take the left. You two should match your steps so it’s easier to move together,” Eun-Ho instructed.

“Understood,” Jae-Hyuk nodded firmly.

“When we reach the safe zone boundary...”

The two listened intently and nodded along as Eun-Ho explained what he called the “palm strategy.” Sweat slicked Eun-Ho’s grip on the mop.

[00:15]

“Now!” Eun-Ho yelled, his tone low but forceful.

The wheels of the whiteboard screeched as the three charged forward. It took them five seconds to reach the conference room entrance with the whiteboard as their shield. They then hesitated for another three seconds as pots and even dumbbells slammed against the board with dull thuds. Kwak, wild with rage, wasted two seconds swinging his bloodied wooden club and snapping it against the board.

Soon, they hit the boundary of the safe zone.

“Flip it!” Eun-Ho shouted.

The three spun the bottom of the whiteboard sharply, sliding themselves under and into the safe zone in just one second. The maneuver was like flipping the palm of a hand—a fast and clean motion.

Did we make it?

Eun-Ho glanced around. They all seemed to be inside; they had pulled it off.

“Y-you bastards!” Kwak snarled.

With a roar, he grabbed a jagged piece of a shattered flowerpot and stabbed Jae-Hyuk in the side.

“Aaaah!”

“Jae-Hyuk!” Eun-Ho shouted.

Thud!

Eun-Ho kicked Kwak away from Jae-Hyuk and swung the mop hard, twisting Kwak’s neck at an unnatural angle.

“How dare...! Even scum like you think you’re better than me?!” Kwak screamed.

He charged straight at Eun-Ho like an enraged bull thundering toward a waving red flag.

A new message then popped into view.

[Time is up.]

Boom!

As if pulling the “red flag” away, Eun-Ho stepped aside. Kwak stumbled and tumbled violently out of the safe zone, unable to stop his own momentum.

[Restructuring has begun.]

“W-what...?”

The trial was over.

“I... finally had a chance! This is all your fault, you bastard...”

Kwak flickered, his voice garbled and distant.

“How is that Eun-Ho’s fault? If you hadn’t attacked first—” Ji-Eun began angrily.

“Ji-Eun,” Eun-Ho interrupted and shook his head.

There was nothing more to say. Kwak had threatened his teammates, murdered the executive director, rejected Eun-Ho’s proposal, attacked everyone, and stabbed Jae-Hyuk.

If he had just stayed calm, all four would have cleared the trial together. Every failure lay squarely on Kwak himself, and now his pitiful life had come to an end.

“He’s gone,” Ji-Eun murmured.

“I guess,” Eun-Ho said quietly.

As the two stared bitterly at the now-empty space, as if Kwak had never existed, a familiar system notification rang in their ears—one they desperately waited for.

[Please choose your trial reward.]

The first mission gave a twenty percent increase, then the next was a seventy percent increase. That means, this time, it’s...

“Trial reward. Limp recovery,” Eun-Ho said, his voice trembling.

Will it work? It should. It has to.

During the split-second pause before the system responded, his heart dropped, then soared in a violent swing of emotion.

[Trial reward has been granted.]

[Limp recovery rate: 100%.]

Tap.

Eun-Ho stepped forward with his right foot.

Tap. Tap.

Left foot, then right foot, there was no lag, no hint of hesitation.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

His legs were so light that he felt like he could fly.

It worked!

Like a madman, he jumped in place. Ji-Eun stared at him wide-eyed like a startled rabbit, but he barely noticed. He felt so exhilarated that he could have kept jumping all night, but he had to save his energy to survive.

“Ha...”

“Eun-Ho! Congratulations!” Ji-Eun said with a bright smile.

I need something more...

Although regaining his dead leg was a priceless reward, he had spent three trial rewards just to restore it. That meant, unlike others who had used theirs to enhance their already healthy bodies, he was falling behind. His starting line was still three steps behind everyone else’s.

That means... I need to start with that method.

Surpassing those in front of him had always been his greatest strength—and his fiercest habit. He would push forward and endure no matter what it took.

“You’re completely healed, right? Oh my god...!”

Ji-Eun clapped her hands over her mouth, her face glowing with genuine joy, as if it had happened to her. She really was a kind person.

“Thank you. Then I’ll just—”

“Ha...”

Eun-Ho had barely started to rise from his seat when a strained gasp cut through the air. Only then did he remember Choi Jae-Hyuk, who was still sprawled on the floor. Quickly, Eun-Ho helped him sit up against the wall.

“Jae-Hyuk, are you okay?” Eun-Ho asked.

“Ha...” Choi Jae-Hyuk only exhaled heavily in response, clearly not looking too great.

“There’s a shard still stuck in you. I’m going to have to pull it out,” Eun-Ho said grimly.

Through the blood-soaked fabric of Choi Jae-Hyuk’s shirt, a sharp ceramic pot fragment jutted from his side, leaving it at risk of infection.

“It’s going to hurt. Brace yourself,” Eun-Ho warned.

“Hieeek!” Choi Jae-Hyuk yelped.

“I haven’t even touched it yet,” Eun-Ho said flatly.

Choi Jae-Hyuk fell silent.

Eun-Ho reached in cautiously and brought his fingertips to the shard.

Plop.

“Huh?”

The shard popped out with a gentle flick.

“I think... this is the end for me...” Choi Jae-Hyuk murmured weakly.

Eun-Ho blinked. “What?”

“If you could... pass on my final words to my mother back home...”

Final words?

Eun-Ho’s eyebrows twitched involuntarily.

“Um, Jae-Hyuk,” he called calmly.

The man gazed up at him with soulful, glassy eyes.

“Tell her yourself. You’re not dying.”

“You’re... so cruel...” Jae-Hyuk whispered, looking utterly betrayed.

His eyebrows drooped pathetically, his eyes glistened, and his lips pressed tightly shut in what could only be called a heartbreakingly offended expression.

“You’re not going to die. Not from this,” Eun-Ho said firmly.

Was it three centimeters, maybe two? Barely a drop of blood clung to the tip of the shard. Now that Eun-Ho looked closer, it was clear that there had not been much bleeding to begin with.

Why is he such a coward?

Eun-Ho had thought that he had gained a Doberman for an ally, but it turned out that he had just picked up a black mutt.