• Chapter 45 The Game of Geniuses (4)

The death match between Kim Dojun and Baek Ji-hyuk had begun.

“The death match game is Black Gomoku.”

Black Gomoku.

A variation of the traditional game where both players could only use black stones.

Rather than strategy, it was a battle of memory.

“In this game, a 3×3 alignment is not allowed. The win condition remains the same: the first player to line up five stones in a row wins.”

“This should be fun. I’ve got a pretty good memory,” Ji-hyuk said confidently.

Dojun smirked inwardly at the comment.

Gomoku.

Truthfully, Dojun didn’t like the game much. It was said to be a fair competition, but that wasn’t entirely true.

Gomoku is really just a fancy game of tic-tac-toe.

It was a solved game — with formulas and predetermined strategies. The first player always had the upper hand.

Which is why Dojun was uneasy.

He was afraid he might win.

“We’ll now determine the first player.”

A coin toss gave Baek Ji-hyuk the first move. He didn’t even hesitate.

Clack.

He placed his stone right in the center.

Dojun, without pause, responded.

Clack.

This was Black Gomoku — unlike regular Gomoku, the game couldn’t drag on with defensive maneuvers.

One misstep, and you lose.

With identical stones, players had to remember not only their own moves but their opponent’s as well.

In essence, it was a memory game.

Dojun gave Ji-hyuk no time to memorize.

And Ji-hyuk, reading Dojun’s intention, responded just as quickly.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

Back and forth they went — lightning-fast moves. But already, signs of strain were showing on Ji-hyuk’s face.

Even with a good memory, he was still just an ordinary person. Unless you were a professional like a Go master who could track game flow, you’d start to falter after 15 stones.

“…Wait, which ones were mine?”

And that one seed of doubt quickly unraveled everything.

He’s lost the thread.

The aggressive opening Ji-hyuk had led began to fizzle.

Once his line of attack was blocked, he forgot where he’d placed his previous stones.

From there, it was all downhill.

He abandoned his earlier plan and tried to start a new offensive route.

But—

Clack.

He should’ve defended.

“The game is over. Kim Dojun wins.”

“…Huh?”

It ended so anticlimactically.

Ji-hyuk stared blankly at the board.

“Well played.”

“Baek Ji-hyuk, as the loser of the death match, please pack your things and leave immediately.”

At the host’s voice and Dojun’s parting words, Ji-hyuk finally snapped back to reality. He let out a deep sigh.

“…Phew. Can’t beat young blood, I guess. You did great, Dojun. I hope you go on to win the whole thing.”

They exchanged a brief hug before parting ways.

“Kim Dojun, please proceed to the prison.”

“Follow me,” the dealer instructed.

The prison was about the size of a small room.

There was a simple bed, a desk, and even a compact bathroom.

“Now, where would it be?”

Dojun immediately began searching.

If Ji-hyuk found it, so could he.

Next to the desk, a small round bump stuck out awkwardly — like a handle.

“This must be it.”

When he pulled it, something clicked open, like a mini-fridge.

Inside was a lock.

“A padlock?”

Not just any lock — a nine-letter combination in English.

“Anyone without a decent grasp of English would never open this without a clue.”

But Dojun was different.

His English wasn’t just strong — it was nearly native-level.

He paused to think.

What could be a nine-letter English word they’d use here?

The producers wouldn’t have picked something too obscure — not for a show with a general audience.

It’s probably something simple, something hinted at in the previous main matches.

They likely dropped intuitive clues before the seventh main match.

As he mentally filtered possibilities, one word came to mind immediately.

He began dialing it in, carefully.

“C… H… R…”

Once all nine letters were in place—

Click.

It opened.

Dojun held up the contents of the hidden compartment to the camera with a satisfied grin, then pulled out the information card inside.

“…This is it!”

A smile tugged at his lips.

The moment he confirmed what the hidden benefit was, Dojun knew — he was going to win.

Back in the control room, PD Jeon Jong-hyun watched Dojun wave the clue with disbelief.

“…He’s a complete maniac.”

It wasn’t an insult. It was high praise.

Every producer faces the same dilemma:

Who do we spotlight? Who becomes the hero? Who becomes the villain?

In that one scene, the star of the season had revealed himself.

Dojun had dominated the first and second main matches and now had the viewers completely hooked.

“We’re definitely building this season around Kim Dojun.”

Even the staff member beside him chimed in.

Jeon nodded in agreement.

“He’s on another level. He’s easily making it into the top 3.”

The correct password? “Christmas.”

No hints. Just raw vocabulary power and an ability to read the producers’ minds.

It was astonishing.

“Find out more about Kim Dojun.”

“You mean… background info?”

“Yeah. Let’s dig into his past. See if there’s anything we can use for promotion.”

A regular civilian winning might not be enough to sustain audience interest.

But Dojun? He wasn’t just a civilian.

He was smart, charismatic — and ridiculously good-looking.

“That kid’s a hidden gem. No way he’s not already well-known in his circles. Start digging.”

“Understood.”

“We’ll slip in some viral moments and noise marketing.”

Popularity didn’t happen by chance.

It was built — manufactured.

Just like Season 1’s Hong Ju-ho.

People love a hero.

A protagonist who rises to the top through hardship — viewers idolize that kind of figure.

And for Season 2, Jeon Jong-hyun was convinced:

That hero is Kim Dojun.

A monster.

A terrifying disruptor reshaping the ecosystem — the only word that could describe him now.

The next day.

As the main match was about to begin, Dojun rejoined the group.

“Good work, Dojun.”

“You did great.”

“Not at all. It was a good experience,” Dojun replied, his tone slightly barbed.

A few of the cast, perhaps feeling guilty, couldn’t meet his eyes.

Dojun took a quick look around.

They’re still planning to eliminate me.

The alliance hadn’t broken. Everyone clearly saw Dojun — with the most gems and the sharpest mind — as the biggest threat.

I can’t let this continue forever.

In survival shows, when a lone underdog takes down a big alliance, it creates catharsis for viewers.

Even more so when it’s an individual.

But if repeated too often, it gets boring.

There had to be drama. Betrayal. Mind games.

Sure, Dojun could just keep winning every death match and make it to the finals.

But he wouldn’t.

That wouldn’t be fun.

Winning the prize money was one goal.

But just as important was becoming famous.

And for that, I need a compelling narrative.

He was approaching this like a producer.

How to make himself look cooler.

How to deliver a satisfying twist.

How to make the show more entertaining.

Though he hadn’t been a streamer for long, he was already thinking like a content creator.

Time for a plot twist.

He couldn’t afford to get dragged into another death match today.

What he needed now was one thing:

To hard-carry a game on his own.

It was time to etch his name into the show — permanently.

“Let’s begin the main match. Today’s game is: Picture Hunt.”

“Picture Hunt? That sounds way too easy,” Hong Ju-ho remarked, confused like the rest.

“You will be shown images for 30 minutes. After that, players will be quizzed and must write down answers.”

“Correct answers earn you 1 point. Wrong answers deduct 1 point. No answer, no change.”

“You can use gems to preview questions — 1 gem for easy ones, 2 for hard ones.”

“Answer all questions correctly and receive 5 bonus gems.”

It was a surprisingly straightforward game.

“There will be 15 questions. The highest scorer wins 2 gems, 2 death match immunity tokens, and a hidden hint.”

“If there’s a tie for first, all top players receive 1 gem, 1 immunity token, and a hidden hint.”

“The lowest scorer becomes the death match candidate.”

“Shouldn’t we just all answer together?” Mina suggested.

But Lee Sang-moon quickly objected.

“No way. If a really hard question comes up and only one person knows the answer, they win solo.”

“So let’s agree not to do that.”

“That’s nice in theory, but who’s to say someone won’t betray the group?”

Arguments started flaring. Time was running out.

Sang-moon scanned the room and cautiously spoke up.

“This game’s better suited for teams. Wanna split up?”

He sent a subtle signal to Park Haneul.

She gave a small nod.

“Dojun, can we talk for a sec?”

“Huh?”

Park Haneul suddenly hooked her arm around his and dragged him into a side room.

Dojun could already see through the plan, but he played along.

Once inside, she sat and said,

“Dojun, want to team up with me today?”

“With me?”

“Yeah. You’re smart, so I figured I’d have a better chance if we partnered.”

It was nonsense.

The game clearly favored teams that could predict questions and maximize right answers.

As Sang-moon said, the optimal strategy was forming teams.

Park Haneul, a KAIST graduate, would know that.

Her motive was obvious.

“Are you the one sent to stall me today?”

At his question, Park Haneul flinched.

“W-What are you talking about?”

Her voice wavered slightly.

“You’re not good at lying, are you?”

She lowered her head in apology.

“…Sorry. I had no choice. I’m just trying to survive too.”

“I figured. Let me guess — Sang-moon offered not to pick you for the death match in exchange for distracting me?”

“…You already knew?”

“More or less. I expected someone would be sent to sabotage me today. But are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“What do you mean?”

“If this keeps up and we get to a game where joint victory isn’t possible… What happens to you?”

“…What?”

“If you stay with me, you’ll face two disadvantages. First, you won’t know what strategies the others are using. You’ll only get filtered info.”

“Still, as long as I’m safe from the death match…”

“And second, if something goes wrong and they need to sacrifice someone… who do you think they’ll choose?”

“…!”

It dawned on her.

If she failed to hold Dojun back, they’d throw her away.

Sang-moon had picked her, someone not close to him, precisely for that reason.

She bit her lip hard.

“…I was too naive.”

She was smart academically — but when it came to human psychology and social games, she had a glaring weakness.

Suddenly, Dojun gently reached for her hand.

Startled, her face flushed red.

“Let’s team up for real.”

“Really…?”

Her eyes, dazed and softened, locked onto his.

“Yes. I’m going to win this game — no matter what.”

Dojun declared it with absolute certainty.