Don't hate the player, hate the game.

Part 1

After taking a deep breath, you held the Ddakji tile between your fingers tightly and brought your arm up and over your head to slap the folded piece of paper down onto his blue one. The corner touched his in a powerful contact, urging the other square to flip, the same as yours had done previously.

If he was surprised, he didn't let it show on his face, whereas you performed the customary little victory dance an indebted person inevitably would perform.

In truth, it was just two damn good actors studying another, trying to point out flaws.

The smile returned after a fleeting second and he reached into the suitcase to procure the promised amount, holding it out to you. You returned his friendly smile and even bowed slightly as you accepted the bills with two hands and stuffed them into the pocket of the ratty vest you were wearing on top of your hoodie.

"This is fun, can we play again?" The giggle that left your mouth almost let a bit of bile rise with it. What you wouldn't do for a job completed. The Salesman's satisfied smile made your hackles rise, you would beat him at his own game and break his cocky attitude. Where he was rightfully one of the best salesmen the organisation had to offer, he was not topping the list. And you would show him why.

"If you so wish, why not." There was his chance again - you had thrown him off for just a moment, he never lost the first round but he guessed you had just lied about not having played in so long and disguising your tactic to win the money.

This time you sensed more strength behind his practised move, he wanted to absolutely make sure that your tile would flip. No questions asked. The Salesman did not even bother to hand you your tile this turn, he was clearly already over your little game and scheming how to lure you in further. So to say you caught him by surprise was an understatement when you flipped the blue tile again - the upturned eyebrow had returned despite his usual strict control.

"I guess I'm better than I thought." you smiled your best saccharine smile as your opposite reached into the briefcase again, handing you the prize. You wondered how many tries it would take for him to grow agitated - he was clearly well composed, but so were you.

In the end, your pocket grew tight when round after round, both of you flipped the other's Ddakji tile with apparent ease. It was not supposed to go this way, the amount of money left in his briefcase was dwindling, it usually lasted him well over the course of a few days. Never had more than 1,000,000₩ left his hands to the same person and you could sense it - the irritation growing beneath his flawless skin. It was almost visible to your eyes, the way the vein in his neck pulsed too quickly for his outwardly relaxed and benefactory expression. You were getting there.

He wanted to take off his jacket, put every ounce of strength into his move, but no; he could not give into whatever crooked game you were playing with him. And the Salesman certainly did not like getting played in his own game but he was in too far by now - all he wanted was to culminate his irritation into that liberating slap across your face. He wasn't going to hold anything back, the only thought being to pay you back for the money he had rightfully lost.

You had lost count of the rounds you had played, though unmatched in corporal matters, you were equal in skill and focus and no round had been lost by either party so far. It had probably been a few hours and you leisurely wondered what would happen first: Would he break or would the next train arrive first?

Somewhere along the way, the both of you had dropped your feigned politeness and friendliness, it was clear that you had both held back and tried to con the other. Only he did not know the extent.

It was the slight gust of air signalling the approaching train in the distance, probably still a few stops away from you, that broke the seemingly endless game of winnings on both sides. The Salesman realized what you had asked yourself previously; you had played the longest game of Ddakji he had ever witnessed, a perfect row of powerful throws. And it was soon to be over, the next train signalling his journey back to his employer to report on his day's work.

Even if he lost most of the money to you, he would still make sure that he got you to join so as not to lose his quote and risk even more of a scolding from his superiors. As you flipped his tile again and stepped towards him to collect your winnings, he grew impatient and held onto the bills when you made to take them from him.

"Congratulations." he spoke and you had to tilt your head back to catch his eyes. Though his words praised you, you could see the hidden anger in his dark eyes. Gone were the small dimples that showed when he smiled, the past hour or so had only consisted of calculating eyes and neutral expressions.

"Two can play this game, eh?" The mirth had fully creeped onto your face and only stoked the fire within him and made him crowd into your personal space suddenly. Not that you minded his proximity, he looked even better when angry. And you weren't afraid of him, not with your background.

Everything he had been fed through your supposed file had been a lie. You were not in debt whatsoever. In fact, the money that bulged the pocket of your vest would wander straight back into a black suitcase. Just not into his - but into yours.

Your chin rose defiantly at his attempt to scare you and you mimicked him, raising one of your brows in a mocking gesture, both hands in the pockets of your sweater.

"I know you have been cheating. I would like to know how, but I will give you the benefit of the doubt." he seethed but then regained his control and tried to diffuse his short outburst. Interesting.

The sound of the approaching train made you break the intense eye contact you had kept, kind of transfixed by the irritation still swirling within his gaze and marking his utterly elegant face. When you focussed back on him, he had started to reach into his pocket and you knew he had a card reserved just for you. But you beat him to it again when you drew your hand from your hoodie.

Instead of his brown player's card, your slender fingers held a lacquered black card with the same symbols.

A member's business card.

The contents were tastefully embossed in gold foil, indicating your status as the highest ranking sales associate, though omitting your name. The breath he took to pitch to you escaped his lips softly, as if deflated.

You flipped it leisurely with a gentle smile, savouring his clearly shocked expression. Just as you had swapped his card for yours, the train rumbled into the station and you patted his hand softly and shot him a small wink before stepping onto the train.

"Don't hate the player, hate the game."

Your laugh rang out even against the sound of the train doors closing. Only when you had raised your palm in a silent gesture and the train began its departure into the dark tunnels, did the Salesman's eyes settle on the other side of your card.

It held a phone number, as well as a handwritten note underneath it.

"Tomorrow. 9PM. Front Man's Office."