002

by Airvata

Summary:

She’s a guard. He leads. He watches. He controls.

Until the day he chooses to enter the Games. Not to play but to understand. To reclaim the control slipping through his fingers.
And he wants her with him.
Inside the arena, roles blur, glances become weapons, tension rises, and she once so loyal to blood and silence, begins to want to save a life.
Just one.

Notes:

• A translation of 002 by Airvata

This is the English version of my fanfiction originally written in French.
Please note that English is not my native language — I apologize for any errors and hope you still enjoy the story. ❤️

Chapter 1: A number, not a choice

The elevator dropped me at the forbidden floor, the one where even the Guards have to knock.

I don’t knock.

I push the door open and find him there, standing, back turned, hands clasped behind his back, as always. He’s staring out at the island through the panoramic window, like a god disappointed by his own creations.

“You’re early.”

“You didn’t think I’d wait for your invitation.”

He turns slowly. Masked.
Always.

“I told you no.”

I throw the red envelope onto his desk.
002. My number.

He finally moves, slowly. Removes his glove, places his fingers on the mask, and pulls it off.
That face. I see it rarely, and every time it hits me like a blade to the stomach.
Marked, tired, with a rugged kind of beauty, worn down by power.

“Gi-hun is back.”

“So what? You have an army, cameras, plans. You don’t need a number tattooed on your back.”

He nods. He expected that.

“It’s not just about him. It’s about me.”

I cross my arms, exasperated.

“Oh yeah. The great quest for meaning. The Frontman wants to reconnect with his humanity? What, you want pity?”

A brief flash of anger crosses his eyes. He steps forward, grabs his phone, and dials a number without breaking eye contact.

“I didn’t ask for your permission. You’re coming with me.”

His tone is final, cold, relentless. He puts his mask back on, his face hardening behind the metal.
I know it’s over.
I refuse to be there, but despite myself, a burning excitement begins to rise, igniting a fire I thought had long been extinguished.

My name is Blue.
I’m a Guard. A Square, for nearly six years.
And now, I’m a player. I’m 002.

Chapter 2: Red light, green light

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

I'm alone in the surveillance center, standing, arms crossed, eyes locked on the monitors.
The first game has begun.

A man steps forward.
I recognize him,the former winner, the returning player, the one responsible for my participation in this hellish game.

He’s trying to explain to the others what’s about to happen. No one believes him. I stifle a laugh. He’s adorable, persistent, and above all, naive.
But strangely, everyone listens. No one moves. No one dies.
My smile widens as I lift my gaze toward one of the cameras mounted right above me.

I picture him.
Behind his screen, mask frozen in place, fists clenched. Enraged.
And maybe that’s what finally decides me.

“Red Light, Green Light.”

Someone moves.
They fall, one by one. Some run. Others collapse without understanding why.
The doll turns, eyes scanning. Shots echo.
It’s a real bloodbath.

And I feel nothing.
A sniper shot snaps me out of my trance, player 444’s skull just exploded.
The game is over.

I turn away from the screen. It’s time to begin.

I go upstairs, pass the security checkpoint, ignore the stares.
I soon find myself in front of the closed doors of the Frontman’s apartment.
I knock. Only once, just to provoke him.

He opens. He’s not wearing his mask.

“You watching the games, or waiting to hear about them from bed?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes narrow.
He steps aside to let me in. Smirking, I walk past him.
The apartment is quiet, almost intimate.

The sound of the door closing behind me cuts through the silence.
I turn to face him, insolent.

“You should smile. You won.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“Oh really? Then what should we call it?”

I want him to react.
He walks toward me slowly, his shadow stretching in the dim light.
He stops just inches from my face.
When he speaks, I can smell the scotch on his breath.
My tongue instinctively brushes across my lips.
His eyes linger there, but eventually rise to meet mine again.

“You think this is some personal challenge?”

“I think you can’t stand the fact that I’m not afraid of you.”

Bullseye.
He clenches his jaw. That nervous tic always shows when something gets under his skin, and this time, that something is me.
His eyes devour me. Anger. Desire. Control.
Suddenly, he steps away as if I’ve burned him.
He puts the mask back on.

“You’ll join the next games, 002. Get ready.”

----------------------------------------

The players return from the game, fewer now, quieter.
The dorm is tense, saturated with fear. I watch from the shadows, now among them.
Green jumpsuit. Number on my back.

The guards step forward. The Square explains the next game.
An old woman throws herself at his feet, clutching a man’s arm.

“Please, sir, have mercy on us! I beg you! For the debts my son owes — I’ll pay, I’ll do whatever it takes, just please, forgive us!”

During her plea, I see her nudging the man beside her — her son, probably, Player 007.
It’s so dramatic, so pathetic.
How could this man let his mother come to a place like this?
Does he have so little respect for the one who gave him life?

I sigh. These displays are painful to watch.
Normally, I wouldn’t subject myself to this, but because of him, I have to.
I have to watch them all kneel and beg for their miserable lives.

I straighten when I hear Gi-Hun’s voice.
He’s convinced he knows all the game’s flaws.
But this year, there’s something new, a vote after each game, to decide whether the game continues or ends.

But first, the prize pot is announced: ₩45 billion.
The lure of money.

I glance away from the scene and scan the room.
Where is he?

My eyes sweep across the space…
And then I see her.

222.

Small, exhausted, pregnant.
Too young to be here, too alive to die.
She looks at me.
I meet her eyes, and my breath catches.
She has that look, that innocence, that fragility…
Like him.

I look away. I can’t get attached.
But it’s already too late.
A crack has opened.
A fault line and now the air seeps through.
He knew it.

The voting begins.
A cross to end the game, a circle to continue.
Some hesitate. Others beg.

Finally, it’s my turn.
182 against. 181 for.

I step forward and look at the guard in front of me.
I barely notice the tilt of his head.

The hairs on my neck stand on end. I can feel it.
He’s here.

I have no choice.

My hand hovers over the red button, light as a whisper.
Then slowly, I press the blue one.

The crowd erupts in cheers.

“Player 001.”

He’s here.
The vote is tied. He’s the deciding vote.

The players chant their demands. He walks through the crowd.

His hand hesitates…Then presses the circle.

Let the games begin.

Chapter 3: Under the surface

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

I stay back, sitting against the wall, arms and legs crossed.
I watch. A man paces nervously, too nervous to survive long. Two girls whisper secrets to each other. And in a corner, 222. She tries to blend into the background but rests her hand on her belly, as if that alone could protect it.

Breakfast is being served, groups slowly forming, conversations sparking.
I see him approach—player 456. He walks slowly toward me, curious.

“You’ve got a strange aura.”

He scratches the back of his head and stares at me, probably waiting for a response.

“A chill down the spine, you know?”

I squint slightly.

“You were military, weren’t you?”

My gaze hardens. Bad reflex. He saw it.

“Bingo, huh. You can tell by the way you breathe. And how you hold your back. I’m Seong Gi-hun. You’re 002, got a name?”

I hold his gaze a moment longer. Then I answer in a low, cold, sharp voice.

“Blue.”

He raises his eyebrows, surprised.

“Nickname?”

“Enough.”

He smiles again. A man approaches us, player 390.

“Hey, you two, what’s the secret meeting here?”

He winks at Gi-hun. They clearly know each other.

“By the way, I’m Jung Bae, player 390.”

“Blue, 002.”

“Nice nickname, nice eyes.”

I don’t know why I answer them. Why Gi-hun comes to talk to me like this, without a mask, without apparent fear. Like it’s going to change anything.
He knows. He knows what awaits us. What awaits all of us. Yet he still tries, tries to believe, to hope.
And In-ho, where is he? I’m not here to make friends, I’m here because he wanted me to, because he needed me—and now he’s nowhere to be found.

“You didn’t react when I told the others I already played… and won.”

Gi-hun’s voice pulls me from my daze. I slowly turn my head toward him. Next to him, Jung Bae is eating as if there’s no tomorrow. The chewing noise, out of place in the heavy silence, adds a strange touch of normality to the scene.

Before I can answer, a group approaches. He’s here. In-ho walks up without even glancing at me. As if I’m invisible. As if I ceased to exist the moment he dragged me into this nightmare. His attention fixed on 456.

“Earlier, I pressed the circle because of you. I was scared, wanted to quit everything. But when I heard you, I thought, why not? Why not try one more game.”

The people around him nod. Gi-hun lowers his head silently. I can’t stop rolling my eyes. In-ho sees it, his jaw tightens. His nervous tic.

“What’s the next game?”

Everyone hangs on player 456’s words, silence falls, heavy, almost suffocating.
I lose track of the conversation, my attention drifting elsewhere.
I fix my gaze on 001. He looks like a kid having fun. He delights in seeing Gi-hun in this fragile position, finally at his mercy. He can take back control.

And then finally, his eyes catch mine. A flash of emotion crosses them, a mix of anger, pain, maybe even regret.
It only lasts a few seconds. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes speak for him.

I need to breathe.

With every step I take away from him, I feel a burn in my back, as if his gaze still marks me. Without realizing it, I’m already just a few meters from 222.
She’s there, fragile, her rounded belly both a sign of hope and vulnerability in this merciless world.

In this deadly game, she carries a life.

She watches me approach. Her eyes are tired.

“How far along are you?”

“Almost at the end.”

“Pregnant, here? Seriously? That’s a weakness. You’ll slow everyone down, put yourself in danger.”

222 lowers her head, hurt, but says nothing. I know she’s heard this before.

“Do you think I have the luxury to choose?”

Her voice is weak but full of determination. I look away, my throat tightening despite myself.
Her eyes… they remind me of someone. A flash floods me.

We’d been ordered to eliminate a target, a kid. An obstacle to take out without questions.
I remember the tension, the heavy weapon in my hands, and that kid, vulnerable, looking at me without understanding. I saw him trembling, defenseless, and yet… I fired.
The gunshot tore through the silence, but what still echoes is that gaze. A mix of fear, betrayal, and confusion. The same as 222’s today.

“Listen, I’m not saying this to break you.”

I exhale, harder on myself than on her.

“But here, the slightest weakness is a direct ticket to death. You have to be ready for anything… even to forget what you carry inside.”

222 lowers her eyes briefly, as if my words burn her skin.
Then she lifts her head, her gaze firmer, almost defiant.

“I know it’s dangerous. That it’s a burden.”

She gently strokes her belly, as if drawing strength.

“But I have no choice. This baby is all I have left.”

She pauses, her voice trembling but steady.

“And I will fight. No matter what. Even here. Even in this chaos.”

She stares at me, telling me she won’t give up despite fear, despite pain.
A heavy silence falls between us.
Beneath that coldness, a truth strangles me: I want to protect her.

Suddenly, a loud crash nearby, violent, brutal. I turn my head and see three players fighting. Two against one. 333 is getting beaten.
Without hesitation, In-ho steps in, calm, relentless.

“Kids, what the hell are you doing? In the middle of a meal, no less. There are plenty of elders here, it’s very rude. And two against one? Shame on you.”

The young guy with purple hair, Thanos, I think, answers him but I don’t listen.
I watch In-ho, feeling my heart tighten. He’s the real power here.
He steps in, cold determination in his eyes. His moves are fast. Every strike is precise, without hesitation. He pins them down, neutralizes them one by one like it’s just a training exercise.

A strange fire ignites inside me.

He’s brutal, yes, but he controls everything, and it captivates me.
I bite my lip, unable to look away.
In-ho grabs Thanos with an iron grip, his fingers closing around his throat with merciless force. I see his muscles tense, almost ready to strangle him to death.
Silence falls, heavy, suffocating.
Then suddenly, he lets go. Thanos collapses, gasping, defeated.

Everyone starts applauding. I stay frozen, breathless, a burning excitement coursing through me.
He turns slowly, and our eyes meet.
In his gaze, I see that he understands.
A barely perceptible smile plays at the corner of his lips.

A new game has begun, silent, dangerous.

Chapter 4: The six-legged pentathlon

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

The floor hums softly under my feet as the music blares from the loudspeakers. A deceptively cheerful melody, almost childish, like we’re about to play hopscotch. But everything in this room reeks of execution.

I observe our new arena: a sandy field enclosed by walls painted to look like windows. On the ground are two circles, each showing a five, striped rainbow.

“Players, welcome to the second game. We will begin shortly. This game is played in teams. You have ten minutes to split into teams of five. Please follow the instructions.”

Gi-hun was wrong. This isn’t the game he thought it would be. It’s not dalgona. Something’s changed. Someone changed the rules.

Then suddenly, a voice cracks through the air,rough, aged, and full of rage.

“That’s not the game you said, 456!”

I turn my head. Player 100. An old man with a gaze as hard as a prison wall. He moves forward, face twitching, fists clenched.

“You said it’d be dalgona! You swore it, in front of everyone!”

Around us, the other players freeze, tense. All eyes on Gi-hun. He tries an awkward smile, raises his hands in a calming gesture.

“Listen... I... I thought...”

“You thought?!”

The old man is yelling now. His voice cracks, but not his stare. He comes closer. Jung Bae instinctively steps between them.

“You think we get to just think in here, huh?! I’ve got a ten billion won riding on this!”

A murmur ripples through the crowd. A hundred billion. Even here, that’s a lot. Even for the damned.

“I bet on you. Like a fucking idiot.”

He taps his temple with a finger.

“You said you’d won before, so we believed you. And now we’re all gonna die because of your fuzzy, ass memories?!”

Gi-hun lowers his head. He has no answer. He meant well, but now he's condemned in their eyes.

I meet his gaze for a second. He’s shaken. Almost ashamed.

“Are you done?”

The voice cuts through the air like a command. Cold, sharp, absolute.

In-ho steps slowly into the circle that’s formed. He doesn’t raise his voice, he doesn’t need to.

Player 100, who was fuming just a second ago, freezes mid, sentence. His mouth stays open, searching for a retort. But nothing comes. Not a sound.

In-ho stares him down. Until the old man looks away.

And I look at him, again.

That silent power. That icy authority. That ability to break a man without lifting a finger. It twists my stomach.

I feel my lips press together. My heart pounding faster. My breath shortening, like it always does when he takes control.

I hate him for that.

“Please divide yourselves into teams of five.”

A metallic beep signals the start of the countdown. On the walls, red numbers light up: 10 minutes.

Voices rise, feet scramble, eyes dart. Everyone's looking for someone familiar. Someone strong, someone fast, someone useful.

I stay still, arms crossed, observing.

Alliances form in haste, out of instinct, interest, or pure terror. Amid the chaos, I spot them.

Gi-hun, Jung Bae, Dae-ho... and him. In-ho.

Four men. Four solid bodies. Four minds with different scars. The team forms naturally, through history, glances, unspoken hierarchy.

Only one spot left. I feel his gaze slide toward me.

I turn my head slowly. 222 is alone, watching from a distance. Her belly looks heavier with every second.

Fuck.

I already know what’s going to happen. I know what I should do. Join the team. Claim my spot. Secure my survival.

I walk toward them. Slowly. In-ho turns his head, finally meets my eyes. He expects me to join. He’s leaving a space. A silent invitation. Not a favor. An order.

I stop just a few steps away.

Then, without a word, I turn. I lift my chin toward 222.

“Go.”

She doesn’t move, as if she didn’t understand.

“What?”

“Take my spot.”

She stammers something, shakes her head, but I give her no choice. I gently take her arm, just firm enough to show this isn't negotiable.

I guide her toward them. In-ho steps back slightly as she approaches. He understands.

I step away and walk off.

I feel his eyes follow me. I feel his shock. He doesn’t move, but his gaze sharpens, like he’s trying to find the crack. He feels me slipping. Senses something shifting inside me.

He’s not happy. Not at all.

Good.

The countdown ticks on. Each beep grates on my nerves.

“Nice move, soldier.”

I freeze. A calm, low voice. Controlled.

I turn.

It’s her. Player 120. Sharp eyes. Posture that screams past discipline. She’s not wearing a uniform, but I see it in the way she stands, breathes.

She sizes me up for a moment, then says:

“You’ve got a sniper’s neck and a war dog’s instinct.”

I nod slowly. No need for words. She already knows.

“I’m Hyun-Ju. Looks like you’re free. I’ve got a spot left. The team’s not perfect, but... alive.”

I follow her gaze to the small group behind her. A hunched old woman,too dignified for this hell,a guy in his thirties with round glasses, probably her son. And a girl, Player 095.

Not soldiers. Not really.

I nod again.

“Blue.”

“Nickname?”

“Good enough.”

She smiles with her eyes only.

“Come on. We’re full now.”

I walk with her. I feel his eyes on my back.

In-ho.

He must be wondering what the hell I’m doing. Why I gave up a solid position for a shaky team.

So am I.

222 slips into their team, standing a little taller, a little steadier.

And that’s enough.

“Time to form teams is over. The game is called: The Six-Legged Pentathlon. Each team starts with legs tied together. Every ten meters, one team member plays a mini-game. Win, and the team moves forward. Here are the mini-games: Game One: Ddakji. Game Two: Flying Stone. Game Three: Jacks. Game Four: Spinning Top. Game Five: Shuttlecock. Your goal is to complete all mini-games and cross the finish line in five minutes. Now choose a mini-game for each team member.”

“We need to choose.”

Hyun-Ju is the first to break the silence. She doesn’t look at anyone, but her tone silences everyone else. Eyes meet. No one moves at first.

095 raises her hand, hesitant.

“I… I’ll take ddakji.”

Her voice is barely a whisper. She’s unsure. Doesn’t trust herself, or her choice.

“I’ve played before. Once or twice.”

No one’s convinced. Not even her. But no one says anything.

Geum-Ja, the old woman, slowly reaches for the jacks,calm, confident in a way you can’t fake.

“That was my game when I was little. We used to bet buttons back then.”

Her son, Yong-Sik, chooses the flying stone. I see him trying to focus on his breathing, but his clenched hands betray his fear.

Hyun-Ju looks at me.

“And you?”

I shrug.

“Doesn’t matter.”

She studies me. She understands. It’s not indifference, it’s habit.

“Alright, I’ll take the shuttlecock then.”

That leaves me with the spinning top. I haven’t played it since I was ten.

The first group steps forward. Five figures trying to stand tall despite their fear. Legs tied in pairs.

The game begins. The countdown. The failure. Screams of rage. Tears. They lose their rhythm. They fall. One even wets himself.

Time’s up. Guards approach. Weapons raised. A volley.

Their bodies drop. Torn by bullets. Screams vanish into brutal silence.

Next group. More careful. More coordinated.

But fear is poison. It gets into the joints.

A twisted ankle. One stumble. It’s enough.

Another massacre.

Chunks of flesh stain the walls. The metallic scent of blood fills my nose.

I watch without flinching, like watching a failed drill.

I turn to him. In-ho. His gaze hasn’t left me. Still burning with that slow, restrained anger.

He hasn’t forgiven me.

So, out of sheer defiance, out of childish rebellion, I look straight at him, meet his icy eyes and stick out my tongue.

Just for a second.

He doesn’t move. But I know him.

He saw it. And now he’s furious.

Our turn. I feel the ropes tightening around my ankles. I glance down at the cord. It’s real. It’s simple. And fatal.

Hyun-Ju adjusts her grip on my arm.

“Ready?”

I nod.

But inside, I’m scared.

The signal is given.

Game One: Ddakji.

Yong-mi steps forward, eyes downcast, lips tight. She breathes in. Throws.
The paper tile bounces. Doesn’t flip.
Once. Then again. Still nothing.

My heart tightens. She’s shaking.
Third attempt. Fail. Her hands are clammy, her breathing quickens.
Hyun-Ju leans in, calm.

"Flip it over before you throw."

Yong-mi nods. A flicker of hope in her eyes.
She throws a fourth time.
The tile smacks the floor, bounces and flips.
We all exhale at once.

"One two... one two..."

We move in sync toward the next game.

Game Two: Flying Stone.

Yong-sik takes his position. He fixes his eyes on the target. Deep breath. Throws.
Too short. Not strong enough.
We retrieve the stone, back up in rhythm. One two... one two...
Geum-Ja puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Picture that stone over there as the bastard who scammed you at the poker table. Got it?"

Second try.
Yong-sik roars. This time, the stone flies, spins, bounces, hits.
Perfect.

The room bursts into cheers. Remaining players shout, clap. I forget to breathe.
I discreetly wipe sweat from my temple.

"One two... one two..."

Game Three: Jacks.

We kneel slowly. Silence falls, almost sacred. She throws, picks up, one falls.
Miss.
But she tries again. Her hands are precise, almost graceful despite her age. Her hand shakes, but her eyes shine.
Yong-sik leans in to whisper.

"During the Korean War, didn’t you say you played jacks with bullets?"

She tries again. Almost there.

"Mom, pretend those jacks are the hair of the woman Dad cheated on you with."

I widen my eyes. Everyone turns. Geum-Ja lunges.

"You bastard!"

Success.

The room explodes in joy. Screams, laughter, tears.

"One two... one two..."

Game Four: Spinning Top.

My turn. The top waits for me in its box. My palms are damp, but my face stays neutral.
I bend down, pick it up. The cord is thin, rough. I wrap it around the top slowly, every motion precise, mechanical.
My movements are steady. No sign of fear.
I close my eyes.
Get in the zone, Blue, like back then.
I shut out everything: the blood on the floor, past screams, the sweat of others on my skin, the weight of staring eyes, even Hyun-Ju's gentle whisper,probably encouragement. I don’t hear it.
Mission. Objective. Movement. Impact.

I know he’s watching. In-ho. I feel it like a heat in my spine. That burning tension pushes me. Keeps me steady.
I fix my eyes on the ground. Inhale.
One second.
Two.
Exhale.
I throw.

The top cuts through the air. Strikes the floor in a splash of red. And spins.
It spins.
It resists every bump, every imperfection. It speeds forward, proud, fast, relentless.

The room is silent. Breath held.
Then, it stabilizes.

A tone sounds.
Success.

An explosion of cheers erupts. Everyone is standing, clapping, yelling. My teammates shout, laugh, cling to each other.
I scream too. A short, sharp cry. Pure release.

My eyes rise. I search for him.
In-ho.
He’s smiling. A real smile. Light, sincere. Like sunlight in this death chamber.
And he counts with us.

"One, two, one, two."

Game Five: Shuttlecock.

Now it’s Hyun-Ju’s turn.

"Please don’t look at me. It helps me. And helps you too."

Everyone turns away. Backs to her. My breath is short. I watch the timer. 15 seconds.
The rule was clear: five juggles with her foot. No more. No less.

I hear the first tap.

One.
I close my eyes.
Two.
Three.
Four.
I hold my breath.

Five.

"You have succeeded."

Everyone screams. We move forward. Six seconds left. Six seconds to reach the finish line.

"One, two, one, two."

It’s a real battle cry. My heart is pounding, eyes blurred. We push forward as fast as possible. Two seconds. One. We make it.

I collapse to my knees, screaming, dragging my teammates down with me. The room explodes in euphoria. I’ve never seen this during the games. For a few seconds, I forget. I forget it’s a trap. That the blood beneath us is still warm, that the shots from earlier still echo in someone’s mind.

We won. We did it.

Before we exit through the door, I look back one last time.
I search for him in the crowd.
He hasn’t moved. His turn is coming, but I won’t see it.
So I offer a smile. Soft. Light. Soothing, for just a moment.

I turn away. My legs tremble, heart still racing.

But I walk out of that room.

Alive.

Notes:

Next chapter, I promise you, there will finally be a confrontation between Blue and In-ho. It's time to strike 😈

Chapter 5: To play with fire

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

The group around Gi-hun finally returns to the dormitory, faces marked by fatigue but also carrying a breath of victory. They have won this round.
In-ho is there, beside them, his expression still harsh, almost impassive, but I notice a slight relaxation in his posture.
222 moves slowly, her rounded belly more visible than ever, yet she holds firm, proud despite everything.
I watch them silently, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words.
Gi-hun casts a fleeting glance, as if searching for a flaw in the air.
In-ho doesn’t even look at me.
There are still many survivors. Far more than I expected.
These games are nothing like the ones I knew, nor the ones Gi-hun thought he recognized. Here, it’s another war. More sly, more cruel.
The mechanics are different, the rules have changed, and every second can tip the balance.
222 approaches me hesitantly.

“I wanted to thank you.”

I barely raise my eyes.

“You can call me Kim Jun-hee.”

I remain silent for a moment, the name echoing in my head. She seeks an anchor, a connection in this chaos.
Around us, Gi-hun laughs with the group, soothed by this victory.
In-ho, meanwhile, keeps ignoring me superbly, as if I were invisible.
My anger boils under my skin. He forced me to come here, then abandons me in this insane game.
I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palm. Unconsciously, I step closer to him. Before I can say anything, his hand snaps tightly on my arm. I jump, surprised by the force. He pulls me roughly behind the metal beds, where no one can see or hear us. His gaze is a storm, his eyes burning with anger.

“Do you think you’re clever?”

His voice is cold, sharp as a blade.

“No, just alive.”

He stares at me, I hold his gaze. Nothing moves, even the air seems tense like a wire about to snap.

“You challenged me. In front of everyone.”

I can hear the grinding of his teeth.

“I outsmarted you. Nuance.”

“What game are you playing, Blue? You want us to see you as a martyr? A hero? You almost ruined everything.”

“And yet, we won. With a broken team. You should thank me.”

In-ho exhales, his eyes closing for a few seconds, as if the weight of the world had just fallen on him.

“Why her?”

I frown.

“What?”

“The girl. 222. Why her? You chose her. Without hesitation. You gave her your spot.”

I don’t answer immediately, he insists.

“You risked your life for her. Do you do that often? For strangers who look at you from afar with wet eyes?”

“She’s pregnant. Did you see that, or have you forgotten how babies are made too?”

Suddenly, he presses me against the wall. Not violently, but it’s a shock, a reminder. His gaze is black, burning. His voice is low, tight with rage.

“You saw me. You looked me in the eyes and turned your back.”

My breath catches, I lock eyes with him.

“Maybe I’m tired of marching in line. I’m tired of your silence.”

I feel him shiver against me, his hand gently approaching my throat, his fingers encircle it, I feel a slight pressure. Something awakens inside me.

“You don’t even know what you’re stirring in me, what you’re waking up, and you play with fire like a kid.”

Our foreheads almost touch. I feel his breath, he feels mine. It’s hot. Unstable.
I whisper.

“You think I don’t feel anything? That it leaves me cold? Your look, your anger, your damn restraint.”

“You drive me crazy.”

His grip tightens, I gasp, I am fragile.

“It’s mutual.”

He closes his eyes for a second. His other hand slides against the wall, he trembles. With rage, with desire.

“You made me lose control.”

“You never really had it.”

We don’t kiss, we don’t touch, but everything screams, everything burns.
And then, slowly, he steps back. He takes back his mask, his role, his distance.

“From now on, you stay close to me.”

I stare at him, motionless. My heart pounds, but my face stays impassive.

“Is that an order?”

In-ho seems to have regained his calm, his voice is low.

“It’s not negotiable.”

I give a joyless, defensive smile.

“Are you afraid I’ll start making chaos elsewhere again?”

He doesn’t answer and finally walks away. My throat feels like it’s burning. I breathe badly, too fast, not enough. Everything is blurry, hot, like a dizzy spell.
“You stay close to me.”
Who says that, seriously? Just like that, in one breath, as if it just meant “come” and not “I’m going to engulf you.”
He scares me, and for that, I hate him. Not because he yells, not because he’s dangerous, but because he sees me, really, more than I can bear myself.
I thought I had cemented all that. My past, my flaws, my badly healed wounds.
I thought no one would see them, that I was opaque enough to be unreadable. And then there was him. With his silences heavier than screams, with his controlled anger that burns me without touching, with this gaze that tears away all my excuses.
And damn, when he tells me to stay, I want to obey.

The vote starts again. The atmosphere is tense, electric.
I quickly notice that several players have switched sides.
Hyun Ju, Yong-sik, Jung Bae… they vote circle. A surprise that makes the room murmur.
In-ho stands up, calm but firm, his voice carries, echoes through the room.

“Have you all lost your minds? Do you want to keep playing these games? Despite all these dead people? Who tells you you won’t be next on the list? Leave now or we will all die. Take the money promised to you and get out of here! Think about living first. When you live, the future belongs to you!”

He fixes each of us with an intensity that cuts short hesitation.
Gi-hun and I follow his example, we vote cross. I follow orders.
The counting is quick, 139 circles against 116 crosses. The verdict falls. The third game will take place tomorrow.
As silence falls again, I catch a detail that chills me. Player 333 stares at 222. His gaze is strange, too intense, there’s something, something I can’t yet understand.

The dinner bell finally rings, I sit down with the group.
Without really thinking, I hand 222 my milk carton, an instinctive, almost automatic gesture.
I feel In-ho’s gaze on me, his eyebrows furrow.

Around us, arguments erupt, grudges surface, the vote has left marks.
Yong-sik, reveals he is buried under mountains of debt. His mother didn’t know.
She lowers her head, the pain visible.
Hyun-ju too, with her surgeries, carries a heavy load of debt.
I sigh, tired of this fragility that sticks to us. But in this chaos, we have to keep moving forward.

Night has fallen, the dormitory has quieted. Voices are softer, tired bodies seek some respite.
I sit on my bed, eyes fixed on the floor. Next to me, Hyun-ju settles down slowly, a little hesitant.

“You and I, we have a military past, right?”

Her voice is low, almost a whisper.
I nod, my thoughts dive into those dark years, those missions that never erase. She looks at me silently.
She knows that look. She’s seen it in other eyes, before other campfires, other metal beds. It’s the look of those who survived too much. She continues.

“How old was your target?”

I don’t answer right away. My gaze drifts, gets lost somewhere in the dormitory’s darkness.

“Fifteen.”

I let the word drop like a stone in a black lake.

“She was my last.”

I let the silence linger, then I sigh.

“It’s funny, because I was fifteen too when I left, it’s the age when I drew a line under that shitty life. My father drank, hit me, then one day he put his hands where he never should have. So I left. I erased my name, my home. I wiped everything away.
I built a new identity."

In my head, I replay the dark chapters of my life like a looping film.
After the army, it wasn’t over, I had to erase myself again, leave behind the soldier I had been.
Change name, change face, become another.
This time, to wear the red uniform of an unyielding guard in this deadly game. A hard shell, a flawless silhouette, a wall against chaos.
I had built this role to survive, to never feel vulnerable again.
And yet, after all these years, the Frontman had managed to weaken me, to make me human, vulnerable. He made me feel things I thought buried, especially now, at the heart of these games. This inner battle consumed me more than any physical trial.

Behind them, in the shadows, In-ho remains motionless.
He hasn’t moved, hasn’t breathed. He absorbs. He listens, silent, soaking up every word, every emotion.

The dormitory is plunged into darkness, almost silent, only the light breathing of players trying to sleep.
I lie down in my bunk, seeking some calm.
I feel a presence next to me, a shadow settling gently.
In Ho.
My heart tightens, but I say nothing.

Gi Hun is on guard upstairs, I hear his breathing a little further away, watchful.

I open my eyes, and our gazes meet in the darkness.
His look is dark, heavy with something I can’t escape.
I slowly lick my lips, almost against my will.
I want him.
It’s a burning certainty, impossible to deny.
The silence between us weighs heavily, charged with electric tension. I feel his breath, his tense muscles.
Far away, I hear voices, Jung Bae and Gi Hun talking, wondering how they ended up here, in this nightmare.

I don’t care.

My attention is riveted on In-ho.
His face cuts through the gloom, his breath steady.
A burning heat rises in me, irresistible.
I want to touch him. Just brush his skin, feel his presence closer, more real.
But I stay still, holding back this desire that makes me tremble.
This moment is fragile, suspended.
I close my eyes for a moment, to engrave this instant in my memory.

-----------------------------------------------------------

The door opens with a metallic screech. A big top. Striped red and white curtains rise to a dizzying ceiling. A perfect circle cuts through the room, bathed in spotlights. In the middle, a giant carousel, shiny, slowly turning like a broken clock. The plastic horses with frozen smiles seem to mock them. The floor shines with tiles too clean to be honest. Everything smells of powder, metal, and that sweet disgusting smell typical of children’s fairs — the scent of death in disguise.
I sweep the place with my eyes, the walls decorated with multicolored doors, like squares of a children’s game. My favorite game.

“Welcome all players to this third game. We will soon begin. The game we will play is called ‘The Little Carousel.’ I will now explain the rules of this game. Once the game starts, the little carousel will begin to turn and a number will be announced shortly after. You will then have to form a group corresponding to the announced number. You will have 30 seconds to enter a room and close the door behind you.”

In-ho is behind me, his mouth dangerously close to my ear.

“I know it’s your favorite game.”

His low, hoarse voice pierces my spine.
I see the others start organizing, talking strategy. We are a group of six: Gi-hun, Jung Bae, Dae-ho, 222, In-ho, and me.

“If the number is greater than six, we’ll have to gather as many people as needed.”

Near us, I spot Hyun-Ju’s group; they are four, perfect. Gi-hun follows my gaze and nods.

“And if the number is less? If it’s four?”

The game hasn’t started yet but Dae-ho is already panicking. I strongly doubt his belonging to the Marines.

“We’ll adapt, we mustn’t panic, stay calm no matter what happens, we all get out of here, no one left behind, come on!”

In-ho doesn’t speak loudly but his voice carries. It has that precise, clinical, almost... sincere tone.
That’s what terrifies me the most. He seems to believe it. He’s invested. Truly. As if it actually mattered.

We all climb onto the platform, our footsteps echoing hollowly on the metal. I stand near the edge, where the fall is waiting.
In-ho is behind me. Always. Like a familiar shadow, burning, impossible to push away.

To my right, 222 presses up against me. She’s trembling. Her breath is short, her eyes searching for a way out. She won’t find one.
Without thinking, I take her hand. My palm wraps around hers. It’s warm, fragile, human.
I don’t even know why I’m doing this.

The music starts, high and childish, a melody that echoes through the room, chilling.
The scenery distorts, faces become blurred, adrenaline rises like a fever.
Fear grips my throat and something else behind it… an almost animal excitement.

I squeeze 222’s hand tighter.

Let the game begin.

Notes:

The next chapter is going to be even spicier. 🔥

Chapter 6: Mingle

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

NSFW chapter 🌶️.

Round One.

The platform jerks to a halt. Everything wavers for a second, like a heart skipping a beat.
The lights dim. Fear rises. Silence falls.
Then, a synthetic voice cuts through the stillness, cold and inhuman:

“TEN.”

One word. Just a number, but it’s enough to spark chaos.
Screams. Loud counting. Groups breaking apart. Wild, panicked eyes.
Thirty seconds.

To my left, I spot 120.

“Hyun-Ju! Now!”

She gets it. She runs. Her group follows. We’re ten.

“ROOM 44 IS FREE! MOVE!”

Gin Hun. He waves frantically, desperate but focused. He’s already running.
I don’t hesitate. I tighten my grip on 222’s hand. She stumbles, but I hold on.
All around us, panic.
Players clinging to each other, screaming names, shoving, already ready to trample to survive.
I sprint toward the green door. It’s just meters away. I don’t think. I just run.
Behind me: footsteps, voices.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
I don’t even know who’s here. I don’t care.
We all cram inside, and then
In-ho.
He’s always last. Always with that goddamn perfect timing.
He slams the door just as the countdown hits zero.

CLACK.

The lock engages. A collective exhale. We’re alive.
A narrow slit in the door offers a glimpse of the arena beyond. Through it, the remaining players are visible—targets.
Suddenly, the piercing shriek of guards with rifles fills the air. No hesitation. They open fire.
The bullets scream, deadly and precise. Gunfire echoes like thunder in this confined space, each shot spelling death.

I feel In-ho watching me. I know he can sense what I feel: the tension, the adrenaline, the thrill. That twisted part of me that comes alive in danger, it excites me.
I finally meet his eyes. A shiver runs down my spine. I bite my lip, without thinking.
Our gazes lock, electric, silent, charged.

Round Two.

Back on the platform. The music restarts. In-ho right behind me. 222 on my right.
The only difference now: blood on the floor. A reminder of those who didn’t make it.
Everyone’s tense, except the two junkies, Thanos and his sidekick. They’re dancing like this is just another trip.

The platform stops.

“FOUR.”

I smirk. I push 222 toward the others, telling her to go with Gi-hun, Dae-ho, and Jung Bae.
In-ho shoots me a glare, brows drawn. I grab his arm, pairing up without giving him a choice.
The others hesitate, but they bolt toward a door soon enough.
We run toward two women. One of them’s the so-called shaman, always invoking her sky and earth gods.

Room 21 is free. We rush in.
The countdown ends. The lock engages. I exhale.

In-ho presses up behind me, close, too close. The women ahead of us are too busy peeking through the slit to notice.

“Having fun?”

“As much as you are.”

His hands slide lightly along my hips.
The guards fire again. Screams. Bodies hitting the ground. I shiver.
I feel his smile against my neck.
He steps back just as the women finally notice us.
I don’t like the way the shaman looks at me. I meet her eyes, she looks away. Fear.

The door unlocks after several minutes, once the bodies are cleared.
I hear Gi-hun calling our names. We regroup.

“Glad you two made it.”

222 watches us both, her gaze flicking from him to me.

“Thanks… for earlier.”

I just nod.
In-ho steps toward her.

“Jun-hee, how are you feeling?”

I slowly turn to him. Seriously? Since when does he care?
He’s never asked. Never shown concern. What’s his angle?

222 seems surprised too, but nods and places a hand on her stomach.

“I’m okay, thank you. I’m just glad you’re both safe.”

I stare at her. That face. That calm. That unwavering light in her eyes—even after all this.
Even after the screams, the gunshots. She stands strong. Graceful in a way I can’t understand.
My heart clenches. That growing belly is both a miracle and a target.
She shouldn’t be here. But she’s holding on.

I glance back at In-ho. He says nothing, but I see the tension in his jaw.
He doesn’t look at me. He’s deliberately ignoring me.

Round Three.

Same music. Same adrenaline. The number of players is shrinking fast.
Blood gathers beneath our feet.
The platform stops.

“THREE.”

No hesitation. I grab 222 on my left, In-ho on my right.
We dash to Room 18.

The lock clicks.
222 slides down the wall, gasping, one hand on her belly. She’s trembling, her forehead glistening with sweat.

“Just… give me a minute.”

I crouch in front of her, instinctively. My body moves before my brain.

My hands land on her shoulders, gently pressing.

“Breathe, okay? You’re strong. You’re holding on for two now.”

She meets my eyes. Tears shimmer.
Fatigue, fear, doubt—it’s all written across her face.

In-ho watches, jaw clenched. He’s holding back.
But says nothing.

Silence.

I stand against the wall, arms crossed, heart pounding.
I hear her breath slowing.
And his, still calm. Too calm.

The door unlocks. I need air.

Round Four:

“SIX.”

We’re all here. We run. I don’t think. I barely breathe.

Then, BAM.
A shoulder. A body. A man slams into me without looking back.
I crash to the ground, knees smashing the floor, hands sliding in blood.

I’ve fallen.

Fuck.

I scramble up. Everything hurts. The metallic taste of blood. The stench of fear.

Someone’s screaming—my name?

Yes. Someone’s calling me.

I look up. I see him.

He’s searching for me.
His eyes scan the crowd, he finds me.
His face changes.

Panic.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. Not like this.

I drag myself up. Legs shaking. Breath stolen from my throat. I run.

My lungs burn. My temples throb.

Three seconds.

Two.

They’re yelling for me to hurry.
I see their faces, blurred, twisted.

One.

I dive. Crash into something solid, someone. In-ho.

We tumble back.
Clack.
The lock slides shut.

I’m alive.

I gasp, my head buried in his chest. His breathing is ragged, chest rising sharply.
His arms are tight beneath me, but he doesn’t move.

I smell him. Feel the heat of his body. I stay a few seconds too long.
I lift my head. Meet his eyes. He doesn’t look away.

Round Five:

I spin, scanning the platform. Lights flashing. The music’s back, same nightmare carousel.
I search for her face.

There. Left side.

Hyun-Ju is standing, stiff, arms crossed tightly like she’s holding herself together.
But something’s wrong.

Someone’s missing.

I squint. Where’s 095? Where’s Yong-mi?

I rewind everything. I didn’t hear her number. Didn’t even notice.

I was caught in the rhythm. The survival. The fear.

Fuck.

Hyun-Ju lowers her head. She’s not crying, but she’s trembling.
And in her eyes, I see what I won’t say aloud: she feels responsible.

“What number do you think it’ll be this time?”

Dae-ho asks Gi-hun.

“Two.”

In-ho answers instead. Sure. Steady. Cold.

“Only 126 players left. 50 rooms. Two per room is 100. Not everyone will fit. Only the fastest survive.”

“TWO.”

Chaos explodes.

I turn to 222. My instinct screams to run to her but I don’t get the chance.
In-ho grabs me, hard. No words. No hesitation.

He knows.

He knows I’d turn everything upside down to protect her. He knows I’d forget myself. Again.
And he won’t let me.

He pulls. I run.

Through the madness, I spot her, just a flash, 222 with 333.
Why is he always in her shadow?

In-ho sees a door. Leaps.

A man’s already there. He throws him aside without mercy.

“IN!”

He shouts.

That voice slices through me. I obey.

We rush in. My heart’s in my throat.
Someone’s already inside.

He raises his hands.

“We were here first!”

In-ho enters. I slam the door shut with my back.

Then, his voice, low, cold, sharp.

“Out.”

The man refuses. Mistake.

In-ho’s on him instantly. Arms tight around his throat.
I stare, transfixed.

He pins the man, legs locking him in place. His breathing turns ragged.

The countdown ticks.

My heart pounds. My skin burns. I’m soaked, panting, captivated.

In-ho glances at me.

He sees. He sees everything.

Just before the countdown ends, a wet, brutal snap. Final. The neck breaks.

He drops the body like it’s nothing. Right as the lock engages.

And then, without a word, he’s on me. Slams me against the wall.
His face inches from mine. His breath hot.

“Did you want to see that? You wanted to see me like that?”

I don’t deny it. Can’t. He reads it in my eyes.

I reach for him, trembling fingers on his vest, his chest. His heart’s beating just as fast.

He closes his eyes. Trying to control himself.
But he’s lost it

“You drive me crazy.”

Then he kisses me.
A kiss that burns, bites, demands. That says everything he’s never dared say.
His lips are hot, firm, and the world flips on its axis.

I cling to him like a lifeline. I feel his tension, the fire between us, the unsaid roaring through our skin.
His hand grabs my neck, pulls me closer.

His touch scorches. My thoughts scatter.

He kicks my legs apart. One hand slides over my body, lower. Fingers tease my waistband.

“You’re desperate, aren’t you?”

I moan, hips pressing against him. Desperate is an understatement.

His hand slides past my pants. I gasp as his fingers find my soaked underwear.

He smirks.

“You’re dripping.”

I can’t form words. Just—

“In-ho… please.”

Hearing me beg snaps his last restraint.

His fingers plunge into me, rough and fast. My breath catches. His thumb circles my clit with devastating precision.

“Such a good girl, taking my fingers so well.”

His voice. His hands. I moan, muscles clenching. I’m close, too close.

“In-ho… Please… I…”

My head tilts back. Mouth open. Breathing erratic.

“You’re a fucking disaster for me.”

One hand wraps my throat, tightening just enough.

“Come for me. Come on my fingers like a good girl.”

It hits. A tidal wave.
My thighs tremble. My body convulses. A raw cry escapes me. I collapse into him, breathless.

He withdraws and brings his fingers to his lips. That sight alone makes me clench.

I grab his face and kiss him, hungry, lost. My hands roam lower, tugging at his pants—

He stops me.

“The doors are about to open.”

His voice is low, rough with restraint.
He steps back. Looks me over.

The lock clicks. The synthetic voice booms:

“The game is over.”

Chapter 7: Under the skin

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

We return to the dorm.
The metallic stench of dried blood has mixed with something subtler, more invasive, fear.
Some are smiling, relieved to be alive.
Others just stare into nothing, pupils trembling, as if their souls haven’t crossed the threshold with them.

Gi-hun approaches. His voice, deeper than usual, cuts through the silence.

“We need to observe who’s left. By counting the number of crosses and circles, we’ll know which side the vote is likely to swing.”

His eyes scan the room. The tension thickens. Faces look more carved than worn, bodies stiffer. Silent alliances are forming. Glances meet and clash.
At the back, near the darkest wall, I see 222 speaking with 333.
It’s not a calm exchange.
His voice is low, but his gestures are sharp, tense.
She’s pulled into herself, arms crossed protectively over her rounded belly.

I stand up. Walk straight to them. No hesitation.

Three steps away, he notices me. His gaze hardens.
He takes a step back, silent, vanishing like a shadow.
Not a word. Not even a nod. Just that look, cutting across me like a cold blade.

I stare after him for a second before turning to her.

“Are you okay?”

My voice is steady, but my pulse is hammering in my throat.
She nods, hesitates. Bites the inside of her cheek. Drops her gaze.

“333... he’s the father.”

The words fall like dead weight.
I freeze. She looks up, searching my eyes.

“We were together. It felt serious, or... I thought it was. Then I found out I was pregnant. He changed. Panicked. He left.
He’s here to win. To escape his debts.
Said a baby would slow him down. Said he wanted to get rid of it.”

She shrugs, small and lost.

“I don’t want him near me. I just want to survive.”

My teeth clench. Jaw tightens. Rage boiling just beneath my skin.
Loyalty or strategy, same damn war, again.

But when I look at her, I don’t see a fragile girl.
I see a mother, standing in the arena, surrounded by beasts.

I reach out, rest my hand on her arm.

“He won’t get close. Not while I’m here.”

Her eyes shine, just for a second. She nods, holding herself upright.

Heart heavy. Fists clenched.
I lower my head.
It’s not really 333 who haunts me.
It’s that word.

Father.

That title he wore, the one who broke me before the world even tried.
I didn’t want to think about it.
Not here. Not now.

But it rises.
It knocks.
It claws at the door of my memory.
The one I buried under silence, orders, blood, war.

I see his face, red, swollen with alcohol.
His voice, slurred, screaming or whispering horrors.
His hands. All over me.
His breath, cheap beer and self-loathing.

I never knew why he hated me so much. Maybe just because I existed. Because I was born.
But love? I never had that.
Just fear, shame, and the fucking rage that built me.

That’s what made me leave at fifteen.
Not glory. Not some military dream. Just the desperate need to run.

And now, in the middle of this death game, I see 222 fighting for her child.
And him—333—willing to sell his blood for money.

He reminds me of him.
My so-called father.
Another coward in a father’s skin.

I turn away.

333 just climbed my list.

 

My feet take me to In-ho almost without thought.
He’s standing with arms crossed, still as a shadow. Calm on the outside, but his eyes are on me.
Reading me. I hate that.

I square my shoulders. Smooth my face. My mask.
That damn mask I’ve worn for too long.

I force a smirk, but my fingers still tremble.
He sees. He always sees.

Farther back, Hyun-ju sits curled in on herself, eyes hollow.
Since 095’s death, she’s just breath and bones.
I want to go to her. Say something.
But I’m full.
Too full.
I’ll explode.

And that’s when the idiot returns.
The shaman.
Muttering her mystical bullshit, casting side-eyes and dollar-store prophecies.

She walks toward Hyun-ju, eyes gleaming with a sick light.
The kind that feeds on other people’s suffering.

“No use being so sad. You’ll join her in the afterlife soon anyway.
I cursed you. Oh yes. I begged the gods of sky and earth to take your miserable lives.”

I freeze.

“I tell you now—you’re all going to die in agony. None of you are making it out alive.
You’ll suffer the wrath of the gods, and all you’ll be able to do is scream and DIE.”

And I snap.

No thought.
No calculation.
Just movement.

I’m on her in two seconds.
My fist flies, clean, brutal.
A crunch. A scream.
She crumples to the floor, nose shattered, blood gushing.

Silence.

People step back, whispering.
I’m still standing there. Fist clenched.
Staring at her broken body.

God, it feels good.

I didn’t just hit the shaman.
I hit my father.
I hit 333.
I hit every man who hides behind excuses to hurt others.
Every bastard dressed as a believer, a savior, a hero.

My arm tingles. Adrenaline buzzing.

Behind me, I feel In-ho.
Still. Watching.

He understands.

And deep inside me...
A dirty, savage heat.
I’m not sorry.

He steps closer. One step, then two. Just enough so only I can hear him.
He glances at the shaman, groaning on the ground.
Then back at me.

Something flickers in his eyes.
Amusement.
And something darker.

“I almost thought you were gone.”

I stare at him, caught off guard.
He smirks, real. Almost human.

I look away. My heart’s slamming.

But then...

“Remind me never to piss you off before you’ve had your coffee.”

Jung Bae grins as he walks up, Gi-hun behind him, shaking his head, half scolding, half impressed.

I blink. I should say something.

But instead, I laugh.

A real laugh. Ragged. A little broken.

It shakes me. Hurts.

But fuck, it feels good.

The room is freezing.
The guards enter, quiet as graves.

They announce the amount:

356 million won.

A ripple spreads through the room.
No applause.
Not this time.

I sit still.
Back straight.
Hands on my thighs.
Heart slow and heavy.

I feel the shaman’s stare, burning with hate.
I don’t look away.
I dare her.

But it’s not her I’m watching.

333.

Too calm.
His eyes on 222, like a man watching what he threw away.

My jaw tightens.

The vote begins.

Gi-hun steps up first. Doesn’t even flinch.

X.

The buzzer screams like a gunshot.

Hyun-ju.
Also X.
Doesn’t look at anyone.

Jung Bae.
X.

Yong-sik.
Looks at his mother. Then X.

My turn.

The dorm holds its breath.
Screen reads: 50 circles, 48 crosses.

I step to the podium.
I follow orders.

50 / 49.

Then In-ho.

He stands.
Moves slowly.
Players turn to him.

He stops in front of the buttons.
Silent.

I watch him. I know him too well.

He’s thinking. Weighing the game.
The players.
Me.

He presses.

X.

50 / 50.

A low rumble spreads across the dorm. Murmurs. A guard raises a hand.

“As per Article 3 of the contract, in case of a tie, a second vote will be held tomorrow. We advise all players to reflect carefully on their future.”

I stay upright. But I know. I feel it.

The night will be long and bloody.

We sit around our meals like survivors around a dying fire but that’s not what matters.

The vote.
It’s on every mouth.
In every stare.

“We need to get out of here fast... I don’t know what I might do otherwise.”

Jung Bae’s voice, red eyes, tired, but not broken.

Tension builds. Circles. Crosses.
We’re watching each other like enemies now.

Gi-hun opens his tray. His eyes shift.

A fork. Steel.
No coincidence.

He stares at it.
Understands.
So do I.

I lean toward In-ho, my breath brushing his jaw.

He doesn’t look at me, but I know he’s listening.

“Let me guess… it’s time for the special game, right?”

No answer.

But there it is,that faint smirk.
His cruel, silent smile.
The one that makes a shiver crawl from my neck to somewhere far, far lower.

 

A fight breaks out in the men’s bathroom.
Screams.
Blood.
Blows.

Silence.

By the time I get there, there’ve been deaths.

222 sticks to me. Her breath ragged. Panic rising in her like a trapped animal.

The players count each other.
Whispers spread.
Eyes dart.

The truth is harsh:

The crosses are now the majority.

And that only feeds the fire. There’s talk of war. Tonight.

I step forward.

“You really think the circles will wait?”

Eyes turn to me.
Some wary. Some listening.

“They know they’ve lost ground. They’ll reach the only logical conclusion. They’ll strike tonight.”

I stare down the crosses, one by one.

“If you want to survive, strike first. Take the advantage. Don’t let them regroup.”

But Gi-hun rises.

Steps forward, eyes burning—not with survival, but something else.
A man who’s lost too much to keep playing their game.

“We can’t do that. We must not kill each other. That’s exactly what these bastards want.”

“Which bastards?”

“The ones who built this game. The ones watching us right now. They’re the enemy. Them. They’re who we fight.”

He pauses. Looks up.

“They’re up there, above us. The control center’s at the top of the stairs. The man in the black mask runs it all. If we take him out—we win.”

“And how do you plan to fight him? They’re armed.”

The voice chills my spine.

I turn.
It’s In-ho.

His tone is a blade.
Cold.
Precise.

But it’s not defiance, it’s a real question.
A raw one. Like he’s been waiting years to ask it.

I watch his eyes.

There it is. That flicker.

The reason he’s here. Always was.

 

The dorm falls into darkness.
Only the red glow of cameras remain—like predator eyes on the ceiling.

The mattresses, the blankets, the steel beds—they’re a battlefield waiting to ignite.

I’m lying flat beneath a bunk, tension coiled in every muscle.

Next to me: In-ho.

Calm. As always. Like chaos feeds his control.

His arm brushes mine. His breathing steady.

My heart pounds.

I close my eyes.

I remember Gi-hun’s whispered plan.

“We stay put. We don’t join the fights. It won’t last long. They need players alive for the next round. When the lights come back, soldiers will sweep in. They’ll be busy stopping the fighters. They’ll assume bodies on the floor are dead. That’s when they start scanning IDs. We wait. We don’t move until they’re close.”

A small sacrifice to save the many.
But tonight, I have to aim at my own former comrades.

I turn.
Eyes adjusting to the dark.
In-ho is inches away.
Too close.
Far too close.

I whisper, barely audible.

“You planned this from the start, didn’t you? How are we gonna pull it off without getting exposed?”

He turns his head slightly.
Even in the dark, his eyes gleam.

“Trust me.”

His voice is low. Warm. Certain.

Which only makes it worse.
Because that tone, that heat, shakes me.

His breath skims my cheek, my neck. The closeness is unbearable.

My stomach knots. Thighs clench. Thoughts spiral.

And of course, he notices.

He murmurs, voice dragging along my ear.

“You’re burning up. I bet your pretty little cunt’s soaked right now.”

I shut my eyes.

It begins.

A scream.
Then another.
A man’s throat torn open.

Steel slicing air.
Bodies collapse.
Blood hits the walls.

I hold my breath.
A woman falls right in front of us, frozen, eyes wide open. Staring at nothing.

I can’t breathe.

Jaw tight. Eyes squinted.

And I feel it.

His hand.

In-ho.

Palm tracing slowly,up my thigh, over my hip, against my trembling ribs.

He says nothing. He doesn’t need to.

I turn suddenly. Our eyes meet.

It’s electric. Violent.

I lunge.
My lips crash against his.

He grins into the kiss,like he’s been waiting.

I feel it. His pulse. His breath. That deep, hungry groan.

“You like this, don’t you? The chaos. The blood.”

And he’s not wrong.

Another scream. A bed crashes.

His hands grab my face, pull me back just an inch. Our breaths mix. I’m panting. Soaked.

“Good girl.”

The plan is in motion.

But here, now, in this tiny space, in the middle of hell

There’s only him. Only me. And the madness we share.

Chapter 8: The rebellion

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

The smell of blood is everywhere.
I’m lying on the floor, eyes half-closed, muscles taut like steel cables. My back aches, someone’s warm blood sticks to my neck. Around me, silence has returned, false and heavy, the kind that comes just before the storm.

Heavy footsteps echo through the dorm. The metal doors slammed open. The guards.
They move slowly among the bodies. Methodical. Too confident. They don’t know yet.

A scream.

Gi-hun lunges at a guard, catches him off-guard, disarms him. The cry ignites hell.
I roll to the side, grab the ankle of a “square” passing by. He falls. I jump on him. Two sharp strikes, his neck snaps, the weapon skids across the floor. I snatch it without thinking. The metal’s hot, heavy in my hands... like before.
Fire erupts. Bullets ricochet off the walls. Some players fall for real this time.

In-ho is already upright. I spot him in the flashing lights.
Just in time, another guard is about to shoot Gi-hun from behind.
In-ho doesn’t hesitate: a single precise shot. The square collapses.

I stand, start firing, high, to the sides, not to kill. But one bullet finds its mark. A square raises his weapon at Jung Bae. I fire, dead center in the helmet. He collapses like a puppet without strings.
Jung Bae stares at me, stunned. I look away.

The firefight lasts an eternity. Then gradually, it stops. The guards retreat—except one.
Gi-hun approaches, weapon raised.

“Hold your fire!”

Silence returns. My heart pounds against my ribs. I’m drenched in blood, sweat, adrenaline.
The guard, still alive, trembles. Kneeling, hands up, trapped.

“Take off your mask.”

The command snaps. The kid does it slowly, trembling. The helmet falls.
I squint.

He can’t be more than twenty. Too smooth skin, jaw still soft for that square mask. His eyes glisten with fear; he's barely holding back tears. I whisper:

“Fuck…”

I recognize him: Park Min-jae. A rookie, good shot, soft heart. Too soft to survive this.
I slowly turn toward In-ho. He’s motionless, weapon lowered, eyes fixed on the boy. Waiting.
I know that tension in his shoulders, the calm before the storm.

The rebel players search uniforms in silence, pulling magazines, weapons, radios. We spread everything on a sheet torn from a bed, an altar of war.
I kneel, spin a submachine gun in my hands, an MP5 in perfect condition. Its mechanism is fluid, the cold metal comforting.
I stand. Catch Hyun-ju’s eye. No words needed.

We step forward, weapons in hand, facing everyone. Fifteen of them now—increased numbers after others saw the revolt might actually work, however slim.
Hyun-ju begins, gun raised, voice steady.

“Listen up. This weapon is an MP5 submachine gun. To remove the magazine, press the central catch and pull it out. Then lower the safety for full auto, raise it for single fire. Once the mag is in, you shoot, then release the bolt catch to chamber a round.”

As she speaks, I demonstrate, fluid, precise, like sheet music I’ve performed a hundred times. Instinct. The body remembers even when the mind falters.
Hyun-ju watches my hands, then addresses the group without averting her gaze from me.

“Understood?”

Heads nod in unison. I squat, grab a radio, analyze it. Old reflexes spark back to life.
I straighten, posture rigid, breathing deep.

“I was special forces. Ran extractions, counter-insurgency ops, red-zone strikes. What we’re about to do is suicide. But if we coordinate, if we’re precise... we can take control.”

In-ho remains still after my demonstration, his gaze tracing my movements like he wants to imprint them. His expression, usually stone, is tinged with something subtle: silent admiration mixed with something indefinable. His look intensifies, almost hypnotic.
I notice his features soften. His lips twitch into the faintest smirk—serious yet guilty pleasure. He likes what he’s seeing. I’m reminded of who I truly am beneath the skin, beneath the guard’s uniform: a soldier.

The stairwell’s steps groan under our hasty ascent. Silence is broken only by our ragged breaths.
Ahead, the young guard walks hesitantly, hands raised, Gi-hun’s weapon pressed into his back. Behind us: In-ho, focused; Jung Bae, high-energy but cautious; Hyun-ju, taut as a string; and me, fingers clenched around my weapon butt.
We advance carefully. The stairwell’s pastel pink walls starkly contrast with the growing tension on each landing.
Then, the cold voice crackles through speakers:

“Return immediately to your bunks. Failure to comply will result in removal from the game.”

We stop, eyes scanning upward toward the projector speakers. That’s when I see them: red silhouettes, almost mechanical, lined up on balconies and catwalks above. The Triangles. Armed.
A half-second pause as time stands still... then gunfire.

“DOWN!”

I scream, throw myself aside. Bullets hit walls in a metallic shower, splintering plaster and candy-pink paint. In-ho yanks me behind a massive pillar. Chaos erupts into controlled havoc: Jung Bae dives behind a railing, Hyun-ju flattens on the ground. Gi-hun fires upward, pushing the Triangles back, while the guard curls into a ball.
I steal a glance at In-ho, calm, methodical, experienced. Whispering to himself:

“We need to split them. Force them down.”

I nod. My pulse racing, weapon still aimed. No going back now.

“Jung Bae! Left flank, cover us!”

Cries erupt, shots ring out. Adrenaline floods me; a shot grazes my shoulder, and a body collapses nearby, ally or enemy, I don’t know.
My gaze meets In-ho’s. Silent command: move forward.

Hyun-ju springs from cover like lightning, weapon up. Two sharp shots, precise. The Triangles falter. She shouts; it’s lost in the racket. But I see her, focused.
I rise too, reflex unstoppable. Body moves before mind catches up. Gun at cheek, eyes ahead. I don’t shoot. I observe.

Hyun-ju advances, rolls behind a concrete block. I’m right behind her.

Then I notice:

No one is aiming at me.

Bullets snap near me, ricochet, whizzing past, but none head my way.
I freeze. Gasping. Heart pounding so loud I can barely think.

I glance upward. There’s a Triangle aiming, not at me, but at someone beside me.
A chill runs through me. A thought hits:

They’ve been ordered.

I turn to In-ho. He watches me. Unfazed.
His eyes narrow slightly. I recognize that tick. He knew. He wanted me focused. He’s holding most pieces of the cursed puzzle, only letting me see a fragment.
Gunfire resumes, Jung Bae drops a Triangle. The others scatter. Gi-hun shouts advance. We press forward.

I grab In-ho’s collar, pin him to the pillar. Rough cement flakes under my fingers. He’s tense, ready to fight, but he doesn’t resist. He looks at me, cold, intense, too calm. My anger flares.

“They didn’t shoot me.”

I murmur, voice sharp in the chaos. In-ho stays silent. I repeat, louder:

“You knew, didn’t you? Admit it.”

He inclines his head like he’s weighing the truth. Finally:

“I had... guarantees.”

I grit my teeth, breath short. The silence crushes me.

“What guarantees?”

He locks eyes with me, a hard glint that allows no doubt.

“That you wouldn’t die. Not yet. Not without purpose.”

His voice darkens:

“A fake death.”

I frown, incredulous.

“A fake death to buy us escape.”

He nods, eyes unwavering.

“That’s why it was orchestrated. The chaos. The massacre. Gi-hun’s plan... it was all meant to make us vanish in the guards’ eyes.”

I cut him off.

“A puppet. That’s what I am. You pulled the strings from the start. You made me come here. You watched me fall, bleed, kill, and you knew. You always knew.”

He opens his mouth. I barrel through.

“You saw me break... and you let me. You enjoyed it.”

He steps forward slowly. I recoil, fists clenched, trembling. I refuse his control. Not anymore.

“I thought you were like me. Broken, twisted but... honest.”

He stays silent. That silence is worse than any blow. I see his face, cracked but not shattered. I turn away, desperate for air. Distance. Reality. Others move forward around us.

“You’re just a fucking puppeteer. And I’m not your puppet anymore.”

I walk away, without looking back. Yet inside me, despite the betrayal, I know, I will come back.

The stairs climb endlessly. Air grows heavier. In-ho leads, rigid, focused, almost cold. Gi-hun beside him—quickening pace. I bring up the rear, weapon hugged to my chest, alert.

We stop at the top. The young guard spins around, trembling:

“If you want to pass security... you have to wear this.”

He holds out a square mask. His eyes meet In-ho’s.

Then he realizes who stands before him.
I see his throat tighten, pupils dilate. He’s recognized the Front Man. In-ho doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But a guard one floor up fires. One shot. The boy collapses. His mask clatters at his feet.

Silence thickens. Then chaos resumes, shots ring out. More precise. Closer.

Gi-hun turns:

“Control room is at the top. We move now.”

In-ho steps forward:

“I’m coming with you.”

Gi-hun raises a hand:

“No. You stay here with the others. Buy time. Jung Bae and I will handle it.”

Tension ripples. In-ho stiffens. I step up, no hesitation.

“I’m going. You’ll need cover.”

Gi-hun meets my gaze, nods once.
In-ho says nothing, but I feel his burning stare. I know he’s seething.

We slip into a corridor beyond the door. Concrete walls in shifting violet. A surreal labyrinth. Cold lights hum softly. We’re closing in. Control room on top.

Jung Bae exhales behind me:

“Why me, Gi-hun? Why choose me?”

Gi-hun keeps walking, voice carrying:

“Because you’re my best friend.”

Silence. Jung Bae snorts.

“You only say that when shit hits the fan.”

I can’t help a sharp laugh. My stomach twists. That empty feeling before the end. The eerie certainty: none of us will leave alive.

I think of 222. Her worried eyes. Her hand in mine. Her small voice asking if I’d come back, and my promise. I believed it. Now... I’m not sure.

And In-ho. Damn him. He knew. He allowed it.

Gunshots echo. Bullets ping against metal walls. We press against the side. The stairs are a trap now—crossfire above and below.

“We’re out of ammo!”

Hyun-ju’s voice crackles through the radio, tense:

“Same here. Holding, but it’s shooting everywhere.”

Teeth clench. Fingers tremble just enough. Fear. Living.

Movement to the right. A guard raises his weapon at Gi-hun.
I fire without thinking. Like old times.
Ping, helmet shot.

Gi-hun looks at me, eyes wide. No words.

It doesn’t stop. Bullets hammer walls. Shatter, penetrate, whistle. We retreat again, too many guards. Too few bullets. Hell closing in.

I raise my weapon. The magazine clicks empty, louder than the gunfire. Jung Bae meets my gaze, worried, almost resigned. He’s understood. We’re out.

Radio crackles. In-ho’s voice. My heart jolts.

“Gi-hun. I’m in the back corridors. I’m trying to come around. Make a diversion.”

His voice is fast, low, chopped. He’s running.
A diversion, meaning we must use ourselves as bait, just seconds. Maybe less.

Gi-hun doesn’t hesitate. He breathes in, turns to us.

“Let’s go.”

No order, more plea. He knows this could be the last thing he says.

Jung Bae looks at me. Long silent glance. Teeth gritted. His weapon nearly empty. Blood-streaked hands.

“You trust this?”

I don't answer. I breathe slowly.

Then the radio, In-ho again. A whisper this time. Strange. Distant.

“It’s the end.”

Silence that hits harder than bullets.

“They got us.”

Then a sound, strained groans, rattled breaths.

My blood freezes.
It’s not his voice.
I know it. I sense it. Someone else is with him. Maybe several. He doesn’t speak like himself now. He’s performing. Acting.

A setup.

I recognize it even in the chaos.
The lie is nearing its end. The ruse won’t last long.

I grip the radio tight. Heart twists. We have nothing left.
No bullets. No escape.

Gi-hun lowers his weapon first. Slowly. A gesture reverent as a final farewell to rebellion.
Jung Bae follows. Then me.
The metal skids to the floor, sharp, hollow, cold.
We kneel. Hands on our heads. Guns trained on our chests. Three targets. Ready to vanish.
They wait for the order. But it never comes.

Thick silence blankets the corridor.
Then footsteps. Slow. Heavy.

I close my eyes for a moment.
I know them before I see them.
Boots thumping on tiles, measured, theatrical.

I raise my eyes. He stands there.

The Front Man.
A black cloak swirling around him like a living shadow. His mask—impenetrable, smooth, gleaming. Behind him, twenty guards.
But it’s him who commands attention.

Then I see movement.

In-ho.

Taller. More statuesque. More dominant than ever.
He stands before us, a few meters away. Close enough to feel that familiar cold radiating from him.
I don’t know what he’s planned.

His silence weighs heavier than guns trained on us.
My heart pounds, so loud I’m sure the guards can hear it.

Gi-hun lifts his head, tries to speak. Nothing comes out.

In-ho holds all the power.

“Player 456, did you enjoy playing hero?”

In-ho’s voice echoes through the corridor, a sentence delivered like a blow. Metallic through the mask, almost unreal. But every syllable haunts.

He aims his weapon at Gi-hun. Factual. Relentless.

“It seems you didn’t account for all the consequences of your little heroic stunt.”

Even before Gi-hun can respond, In-ho’s wrist flicks. The weapon swings left.

BANG.

Jung Bae crumples. No cry, just that hollow thud of life departing.

Gi-hun screams. Drops to his knees. Slides to Jung Bae’s side, grabs him, shakes the lifeless body, muffled cry, raw sob, implosion of grief.

And me...
I can’t tear my eyes from the Front Man. From him.
I look at Jung Bae, blood pooling beneath him, this abrupt, absurd end, so cold, so raw.
And I look at In-ho. Upright. Silent.
My breath freezes.

Part of me contorts, sadness, rage, shame maybe. But another part flares, a fire I dare not name.

He’s out in full light now. In full power. Without emotional masks because he no longer needs them.

The real In-ho.
Cruel. Certain. In control.
It’s unbearable.
And it’s sublime.
My legs tremble but it isn’t fear, it’s desire.

My fists clamp tight. I force my breath. Mask my face. But I know he sees it.
I can’t read his expression behind the mask, but I feel his silent gaze on me.
He knows.

And worst of all... I think he likes it.

 

Then everything shatters.

A scream. A sudden move.
Gi-hun lunges at the Front Man. Desperation overwhelming reason.
Guards react instantly, slam him to the floor, guns raise. Chaos erupts again, everyone is a target.

In the mayhem, his hand grabs mine.

A reflex. A plea. A desperate bid to pull me into his fall.

I stagger.

A shot.
One.

Unexpected. Forbidden.

A panicking soldier. He fires. It hits me.

Pain explodes in my ribs, sharp, searing. I drop to my knees, slump, breath cut off.
Fuck...it fucking hurts.

My vision narrows, blurs. I feel blood pouring, hot at first, then icy on my skin.

Panic erupts around me. Gi-hun screams my name, tears, flails. He doesn’t understand.
Guards pin him down harder. I think he knocked one out before crumpling under the blows.

And I fight.
I want to see. I need to see him.

I open my eyes, just a sliver. The room tilts. My temples throb.

In-ho’s there.
First still, then he steps forward. He’s shouting an order. His voice is muffled, distant, tense.

Furious.

Worried?

I feel myself being lifted. A hand pressing on my wound. I stifle a scream. It tears through me. Cold spreads despite my burning flesh.
I want to speak. I can't.

My hand shakes. My eyes search for his.
He’s close.
I think his eyes are searching for me too.
Then everything fades.

The sound.

The light.

The pain.

The world.

Black.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! I'll be offline for a few days, so here's a double update. Next chapter drops Thursday. ❤️

Chapter 9: What remains when everything burns

Summary:

Didn’t think I’d have service, but surprise! Here’s a new chapter to keep you going until Thursday.

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

Blur.
A dense fog clings to my eyelids, then a burning sensation. Viscous, sour, it pulls me up from the depths, tears me apart from the inside. I feel someone pressing on my wound, digging maybe. I don’t know. It’s too much.
A scream. Distant, guttural.
It takes me a few seconds to realize.
It’s me.
It’s my voice.
It’s my body.
It’s my pain.
I’m freezing, every shiver splits me in two. My limbs are numb, but my chest rises in jerks, with difficulty. My breath is rough, trembling.
Then a word, barely audible. A whisper.

“In... ho.”

Or maybe I only thought it. Maybe my lips didn’t move. Maybe this is all a nightmare.
I open one eye. A yellowish light, a cracked ceiling, then shadows. Movement, someone bustling around.
And just before I slip away again, I feel warmth on my forehead, a hand. A voice barking an order.
I let myself sink.
Unconsciousness calls me again, and this time, I don’t resist.

A broken groan escapes me.
My throat is dry, like burnt paper. My eyelids stick, but this time, I manage to open them slowly. No harsh light. Just a soft, bluish dusk, almost unreal.
I’m lying down. A mattress, not the dorm one. Softer; warmer, too warm even. My skin is damp, sweaty, but the cold no longer pierces me. The pain is still there, dull in my ribs, but pulsing gently now, like a distant echo. Bearable.
I turn my head slightly, and I see him.
Sitting in a chair near the bed, motionless silhouette, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of his mouth.
In-ho.
He’s here, dressed in black, unmasked, still marked by the fight. Dried blood on his sleeve, darker circles under his eyes than usual. He’s staring at me, or maybe lost in thought. I don’t know how long he’s been there. I just know he hasn’t moved.
I cough. Weakly.
He straightens instantly, like waking from a nightmare.

“You should still be sleeping.”

His voice is low, rough, tired. No authority, no sarcasm, just neutral, but weighted with something else.

“I hate sleeping not knowing what’s happening.”
He almost smiles. Barely a twitch. Barely a breath.

“You lost a lot of blood.”

He stands slowly, approaches the bed, eyes locking with mine. They shine in the dim light, tiredness, anger, and that other thing between them. That silent fire he doesn’t always control.

“You have no idea what you set off.”

I frown, throat still dry.

“You mean getting shot? Or being abandoned with a half-baked plan that turned into a bloodbath?”

“It wasn’t supposed to go like that.”

“Nothing ever goes as planned with you.”

I said it more softly than I meant to. Because I’m tired and because he’s here.
He looks away for a second, then meets my eyes again.

“You made it. Again.”

I swallow hard. My ribs still ache, but it’s something else weighing on my chest.
I turn to him, slowly.

“Who shot me?”

His jaw tightens. No immediate answer. His eyes darken.

“A guard.”

“Which one?”

This time, he stares at me. Long. Too long. A dense silence fills the space, like the air itself is holding its breath.

“It’s taken care of.”
Three words. Cold as ice.
I don’t need more. I get it. He found him. He handled it, his way.
I close my eyes for a second, not to escape, but to feel the truth better.

“Where’s Gi-hun?”

A pause. Then In-ho uncrosses his arms and slowly stands.

“He’s alive. The games will resume, but without us.”

He stands before me, like he’s already gone, like he’s becoming the Front Man again, impersonal and cold.

“And us? What do we do?”

“We return to our posts. The VIPs will arrive soon.”

A wave of disappointment crashes through me. Bitter. Painful. I open my mouth, then close it again. What’s the point? That bitter taste climbs my throat.
I feel like a chasm just opened beneath my feet.
Everything goes on like nothing happened.
I don’t even have the strength to fight. Not now. My eyelids are heavy, my ribs throb, my head buzzes. The world tilts slightly.

I feel the mattress sink beside me. A familiar warmth. His hand rests softly on mine. Nothing like before, no control, no force.
He leans in, and in that small movement, there’s something human.
His face draws near, and his lips touch mine.
A gentle kiss. Light. Almost unreal. Nothing demanding. Nothing expected.
A breath escapes me as he pulls away, and my eyes slide shut.
Darkness wraps me once more.
But this time, it’s almost tender.

I wake with a start, gasping. The pain is dull, muffled by something thick, but there, present in every nerve pulsing in my side. My lips are dry. My heart pounding.

“Kill them all. Even the inspector.”

His voice. In-ho. Cold, commanding.
I rise slowly. The sheets cling to my sweaty skin. A grunt of pain slips from my throat.
I glance around and finally realize where I am, the Front Man’s apartment. I recognize it by the dark walls, the minimalist but luxurious furniture, the sense of being outside time. Outside the world.
A place you don’t live in you rule from.
I peel myself from the bed, every movement a punishment. I brace myself against the cold wall, breath short, and walk barefoot across the icy floor.
Through the crack in the open door, I see him.
His back to me, posture stiff, tense.
The large screen in front of him is off, but his low, raspy voice still lingers in the air.
I get close enough to see the phone receiver clutched in his hand, like a weapon.
His other hand is clenched at his thigh.
He doesn’t move. I wonder if he knows I’m here.
I take a breath.

“Who’s the inspector?”

He freezes. The air turns suffocating.
Slowly, he lowers the phone but he doesn’t turn around. His shoulders tighten, like he’s carrying the whole world.

“You shouldn’t be standing.”

His voice is deep, composed but I hear it. The crack.
I move closer, teeth clenched through the pain. My eyes don’t leave him.

“I asked you, who’s the inspector?”

He turns his head, just slightly. Enough for me to see his profile.

“It’s none of your business, Blue. Go back to bed.”

I laugh. Harsh. He’s trying to shut me out again.

“None of my business? You pulled me into this game, lied to me, used me and now you want me to look away?”

I step closer. I could almost touch him.

“Tell me the truth, damn it. Who is he, In-ho? What are you still hiding?”

Silence.
Then finally, he turns to face me.
Slowly.
His eyes burn into mine.
He steps closer. His voice is a whisper.

“The inspector is my brother.”

I freeze. Lips parted. Heart racing.

“Your brother? He’s here?”

In-ho looks away like my words hurt. He steps back, but I don’t let him retreat.

“That’s why you changed the plan? Took the risk to blow the whole mission?”

He stiffens and then, suddenly, he snaps.

“You don’t understand. It’s not your concern, Blue. You have a role here, so play it. Do your job. You’re just a guard. Don’t forget that.”

His words hit like a slap.
I clench my fists. My whole body screams with pain but the rage takes over. Pure. Brutal.

“Just a guard? Since when do you kiss just a guard? Risk your life for just a guard? You’ve been playing me from the start. Pulling my strings like I’m your damn puppet. And now you think you can just toss me aside?”

He steps toward me. Menacing. Dominant. But I don’t flinch.
I push him with both hands against the chest, hard, but he doesn’t move. His body is wound tight, like a string about to snap.
I try to hit him again, but this time he grabs my wrists. Rough. Forces me back, slamming me against the wall. I groan in pain. His grip is firm, his breath short.

« You're hurt, you're weak. »

« Afraid I'll know, huh? Afraid I'll figure out what you're hiding? »

« Shut up. »

His voice is a growl.

« Tell me the fucking truth! Look at me! »

And he finally looks at me, really. His hands are still holding me, but they're shaking, slightly.

« I protected you. All this time. Even when I shouldn't have. So now, obey. »

« Fuck you, In-ho. I'm not your toy. »

Silence falls. His breathing is heavy. And I'm pinned against the wall, trapped between pain, rage and this rising tension, seeping into my veins, dripping down and making me unconsciously clench my thighs. He stares at me, his dark eyes examining me, from the crease of my lip to the set of my jaw to my burning gaze, and he smiles. Slowly, without warmth. A smile that cuts his face like a blade.

« Look at you. »

His voice is hoarse, low, almost a whisper.

« You're angry, hurt, and yet you're trembling in my arms. You say you're tired of being manipulated, but I see the way you look at me, how your thighs press together when I'm here, how you drip when I talk to you, how your pretty little pussy drools over my fingers while you beg me. »

He leans in a little closer, his breath brushing my ear, shivers running through my body.

« So tell me, are you sure you don't like this? Being my toy? »

He pulls back, just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes shining with rage and desire.

« Because I think you love it. The violence, the domination, the power. You feed off it as much as I do. »

His hand slowly moves down my side, just to the edge of my bandage. Without touching, he stops there, waiting, provocative.
I feel like I'm trapped, a trap slowly closing in on me. He has all the power here, as if the air belongs to him, as if my own will is crumbling at his touch.
I could leave, scream, tell him I hate him for what he's doing to me, but I stay here, motionless, watching him like someone watching an inevitable fall.

"And you seem to take a lot of pleasure in playing."

My voice is just a whisper, yet I feel like it echoes through the apartment. As I speak, my hand presses firmly between his legs. Beneath the rough fabric of his outfit, I can feel him hard. His hand clings to my throat, squeezing just enough to let a wisp of air escape. My thighs clench compulsively, my vision starting to blur.

« In-ho... »

His eyes are black with desire, he growls.

« Say it. »
« In-ho... please... Touch me. »

The dam gives way under my submission. His lips crush against mine. This kiss sounds urgent. It's brutal, uncontrolled. His tongue easily finds mine and asserts its complete dominance.

I feel my legs give out. A jolt of sharp pain shoots from where the bullet tore through my ribs. I groan into his mouth.
My body slumps, but In-ho catches me, his arms locking around me.
Everything stops.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His breath is ragged. Mine, worse.

« It hurts. Damn it, it hurts, and I’m freezing. »

My forehead drops to his shoulder, teeth clenched.

« You can’t stay still for more than two seconds. »

His voice is low, tight. I don’t respond. I can’t.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing. My arms go around his neck out of instinct, face buried deeper into his chest. My heart pounds too fast, pain, desire, I can’t tell anymore.
He carries me to his bed and sets me down with unexpected tenderness. Nothing like the man who kissed me moments ago.
He pulls the blanket over me without a word. His hands barely tremble.
He stands there for a moment.

« I have to go welcome the VIPs. »

He straightens, about to leave but just before the door.

« I’ll be back. »

And that simple promise lights something inside me again.
A warmth. An ache. A damned hope.

Notes:

I was thinking of writing a chapter that revisits everything from In-ho’s perspective. Would you be into that? Let me know. ❤️

Chapter 10: Hold the line

Notes:

The next two chapters will be from In-ho's point of view. ❤️

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

I hear the elevator stop. No knock against the door.
I know it’s her.
She enters without announcing herself. Insolent, insubordinate but that’s exactly why she’s here.
Her voice cuts through the silence.

“You didn’t actually think I was going to wait for an invitation, did you?”

She tosses the red envelope onto my desk. Insolence, personified.
I remove my glove. The leather slides against my skin before my fingers reach for the mask. I hate these moments when I show her my face, it’s a crack she knows how to exploit.
Her gaze locks onto mine. Every time, it tears me apart. What she reads in my features, what she understands without me saying a word.
I pronounce her name like a verdict.

“Gi-hun is back.”

She lifts her chin, defiance in her eyes.

“So what? You have an army, cameras, plans. You don’t need a number on your back.”

She knows exactly where to strike. I feel the blood pulsing in my temples. The urge to tell her to shut up, but it would be pointless. She never shuts up.
I pick up my phone, dialing the numbers. She thinks she has a choice? How amusing.
I fix her with a cold, unwavering stare.

“I didn’t ask for your permission. You’re coming with me.”

It’s an order, not a request, and she knows it. She looks at me like she wants to tear me apart, but what shines in her eyes isn’t just anger.
It’s that burn.
That fire.
The one she’s been trying to drown for far too long.
I put my mask back on. The conversation is over. She hates that. She thinks she’s just lost.
She has no idea what’s waiting for her.

 

Gi-hun.
I watch him struggle, trying to explain to the others what’s about to happen. Poor fool. He really believes experience makes people more receptive? No one believes him. Yet he talks, insists. They listen.
For a moment, I find myself respecting his stubbornness, but it’s useless here.

“One, two, three, red light.”

The sentence falls. And finally, chaos descends.
Bodies fall, some run, others collapse without even understanding why. It’s always the same dance, the same bloodbath, but this time, I feel a different tension.
I glance down at the surveillance monitor B-02. She’s there. Blue.
She challenges me without even being in the same room. I clench my fists. She knows exactly how to stoke the embers under my skin.
A sniper shot bursts open a player’s skull. The game is over.
She’s going to come.

 

“Are you watching the games, or waiting for someone to tell you about them in bed?”

She doesn’t even let me answer. She slips inside as if this place belongs to her. She does this every time. Claims the space, the air, me.
I approach her. Step by step. She wants me to react, to lose myself.
I can taste the scotch burning in my throat. I hate when she’s right. I stop just inches from her face.
Her lips barely move, but every word slaps me in the face.
I observe her. Every detail of her face is a provocation. Her eyes are trying to skin me alive.

“I think you just can’t stand the fact that I’m not afraid of you.”

I grind my teeth. I hate her. I hate her for hitting where it hurts. That nervous tic, the clenching of my jaw—she watches for it. She knows she struck true.
I look away. I hate myself for that.

“You’ll join the games when they return, 002. Get ready.”

I see her smile. She thinks she’s winning. But the game hasn’t even started yet.

 

She’s there, leaning against the wall, isolated but never vulnerable. Back straight, gaze sharp. She thinks I don’t see her. She thinks I haven’t figured out her little game. But I see everything. I’ve always seen everything.
She gauges every person, every potential threat, with that icy calm I know so well. But something’s off. Her gaze lingers too long on certain people. 222.
Gi-hun approaches her. That damn 456. Always trying to understand, clinging to his illusions of humanity like a rotten lifebuoy in an ocean of blood. He talks to her.
I can’t hear the words, but I see his smile. He still thinks he can save others.
She barely reacts. A tightness in her jaw, a slower blink. To most, it’s imperceptible. Not to me.
He mentioned her past, that much is clear.
She hates being looked at straight on. And him, he insists. As if it would change anything.
I let them talk, but my eyes never leave her.
She’s reaching for me even if she doesn’t know it yet.
She thinks she’s playing in the shadows, but I’m the one who drew her role.

 

I descend silently. My steps are calculated, my gestures precise.
When I reach them, it’s as if the air thickens.
I move toward Gi-hun. He feels my gaze.
I throw him a line about voting, about his little speech earlier. I want to sting him, remind him he’s just a pawn in a game he doesn’t control.
I feel 002’s gaze on me. It’s physical. She irritates me as much as she draws me in.
She rolls her eyes, provocative, insolent, always on the line.
I clench my jaw. That tic, she knows it. She knows she hit a nerve. She’s playing. She wants me to react.
But not here. Not now.
I sense Blue’s gaze shifting. She’s watching 222. The pregnant girl. Easy target, walking weakness.
I read the tension on her face. She’s trying to stay detached, but the crack is visible. She’s starting to give in, slowly, methodically.
That’s exactly what I want.

 

A commotion erupts. A fight. Two idiots jump on another. Fools.
I walk toward them slowly, silence falls as I pass.
I play with them to remind them of the natural hierarchy. A verbal slap, then brute force. I immobilize them. Precise, clean.
I feel her eyes on me. Blue watches me with a mix of fascination and disgust.
She doesn’t look away. Not this time.
She devours me with her gaze, but not like the others, not with fear.
She’s trying to understand me, dissect what makes me so cold, so in control.
When I release the player’s throat, I know she’s on the edge. The excitement is there, tangible, almost physical.
I turn.
Our eyes meet.
Another game begins.
She thinks she can win, that she can stay free, defiant, but I’m the one who made the rules.
And this time, she will dance to my rhythm.

 

I scan the room. They were expecting the dalgona, especially him, 456. He said it, he was certain.
There are no certainties here. Only shifting rules, and I’m the one who writes them.

“Players, welcome to the second game.”

Ten minutes to organize in teams of five, it’s generous. Ten minutes to reveal alliances, betrayals, cowardice. Ten minutes to see who wants to live and who will beg.
And as expected, there’s always one who breaks.

“This isn’t the game you said, 456!”

Player 100. Another piece of trash. His raspy voice cuts through the air, but that’s not what annoys me. What bothers me is this crude naivety, thinking that here, a man’s memories are enough to predict anything.
I see them gathering: Gi-hun, Jung Bae, Dae-ho. Good choices, strong men, efficient. I knew it, and that’s why I let it happen. I watch her, I fix her with my gaze, I leave her the space. She understands. She belongs to me.
And yet, she pivots.
She turns her head toward the pregnant girl, 222. I sense it before she even moves. I see the choice forming in her, that damn choice she’s not allowed to make.

“Go ahead.”

She gives her spot away. She’s defying me.
She knows exactly what she’s doing. And I watch her without flinching. Not a single muscle twitches, but inside, the fire rises. I want to crush this foolish act of heroism, but I let her do it.
A new pawn approaches her: 120. The former soldier, I’ve had my eye on her from the start. She recruits her in a few words.
I watch them assemble their team: losers, weaklings. A group that shouldn’t survive. I fix my eyes on her. She feels it. She ignores me.
I clench my teeth.

The game begins.
I stay in the shadows, watching the first teams get decimated. Fear dissolves them, renders them useless. They fall. They cry. They die.
I don’t look away. No compassion, no satisfaction, it’s mechanical.
I search for her.
Her turn comes.

She knows what I’m thinking. She provokes me again, sticking her tongue out like a child. Pathetic. Yet, I don’t move.
The game unfolds. I watch coldly. Ddakji, stones, jacks. They barely scrape through thanks to luck and pitiful improvisations, but they cling on.
Then it’s her turn.

The spinning top.
I watch her kneel. Her movements are confident, but I know the truth. I see the tension in her shoulders, the tightness in her fingers. She’s not as invincible as she pretends.
She knows I’m watching. She feeds on it.
She launches.
The top spins. It holds, and when the signal sounds, she doesn’t look at anyone but me. She’s waiting for my reaction.
I smile.
A real smile.
Not for her, for me. Because she thinks she’s won, she thinks she’s defied the rules, but what she doesn’t understand is that even her rebellion is part of the game. My game.
She crosses the finish line with her new allies. She breathes as if she’s cheated death.

Before leaving, she searches for me again, she smiles. Soft, light, as if that could erase everything else.
I watch her leave without a word.

I let her have this victory.

She will owe it to me, sooner or later.

As night falls, I stay hidden in the shadows. Motionless, invisible, yet I hear everything.

She’s speaking with 120. Her voice is low, but every word hits me like a gunshot. Every sentence she utters sinks deeper, like a blade twisting endlessly. I don’t move, but inside, something is breaking.
I listen to her talk about her past. About that fifteen-year-old target, about leaving at fifteen herself. I hear the crack in her voice, the tremor in her silences. I knew. Not everything, not the details, but I knew, and I never asked.
Because I’ve seen that look. Reflected in a shattered mirror, in the frozen hallways of this island, on the faces of those I send to their deaths. It’s the look of people who survived, but lost the reason to.
I clench my fists without even realizing it. Pain. I know it well. I ran away too. Changed skins, wore masks until I no longer knew which one was really mine. The Frontman became my armor… and my prison.

But what she’s saying tonight shakes me. She talks about erasing her name, wiping away her past, rebuilding herself behind a uniform. But I know, you never erase. You pile it up. You bury it, until the day it all resurfaces, like a wave you can’t hold back.
I stay crouched in the dark. A silent witness to a confession she doesn’t know she’s making to me, but I’m here. I hear it, I take it in, every word seeping under my skin.

I see the crack in her armor. And in that moment, I feel mine starting to fracture too.

Notes:

I tried my best to stay true to In-ho's / the Frontman's character. I hope I managed to capture it. The next part is coming very soon. xoxo ❤️

Chapter 11: Too late

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

In-ho's POV.

The third game begins, the mingle, his favorite.

First round.
The platform stops abruptly, the signal of chaos.
I move, fast, instinctively. Everyone rushes, screams, claws for a spot. I spot Gi-hun, shouting for room 44, desperate. Bodies shove, eyes panic.
I close the door behind us, last as always. The lock clicks shut. Temporary safety, fragile. I barely breathe.
I see Blue, beside 222. She holds 222’s hand, protecting her. I feel the tension in the air, that electric mix—fear, excitement, defiance.
The guards open fire. Bullets whistle, screams erupt. Death dances at our feet. But she doesn’t look away, she shivers as if she loves it.
I watch her, and I know she feels what I feel. That forbidden thrill burning beneath the skin.

Second round.
We get back on the platform, the game continues. Blue pushes 222 towards Gi-hun and the others. I shoot a dark look; she’s provoking me.
She grabs my arm, pulls me toward a duo. I have no choice.
We enter room 21 with these two women. I press behind Blue, silent, close. My warm breath grazes my neck. Outside, panic screams, but here, in this bubble, it’s almost calm. Almost.

When 222 talks about her belly, I look away, clenching my jaw. That fragile belly, that miracle exposed to danger. A reminder nothing here is normal.
I don’t answer Blue, but I know she saw what I tried to hide. I can’t let her get too close.

 

Third round.
The pace quickens, blood thickens beneath our feet. Blue grabs 222 on one side, me on the other. We rush toward room 18. I lock the door; the air is heavy, fear palpable.
222 trembles, gasps, exhausted. Blue crouches beside her, supporting her. I watch them, fists clenched. I want to say something, but nothing comes out. Silence weighs.

Fourth round.
We run, all together, then suddenly, Blue is hit, thrown to the ground. I look for her in the crowd. Her body rises, staggering. For the first time, I see pure fear in her eyes, the fragility slipping through the cracks.
We collapse together, the door closes behind us.
I feel her head against my chest, her ragged breaths. My body is tense, but I don’t move. I don’t want to let her go.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I don’t look away.

Fifth round.
The music resumes, the game goes on, the last round.
Chaos restarts, brutal.
I don’t give her a choice, not this time. I spot a free door, I rush.
A guy is inside. He refuses to leave; I don’t argue. I tackle him, subdue him, hold him by the throat until he suffocates, his neck gives way.
The lock clicks. I turn to Blue, she looks at me with that burning gaze.
I grab her, slam her violently against the wall. Her body against mine, her warm breath, her mouth so close.
I kiss her with a restraint long held back. This kiss consumes, devours, demands.
My hand slides, exploring, breaking barriers. She moans, begging, fragile and strong at once.
I lose control.
My hand goes lower, feeling her heat, her desire. She moans, pleading, lost, unable to form words.
I grip her throat softly. Her body explodes, her silent screams echo inside me.
I withdraw my fingers, bring them to my lips, a primal, erotic gesture.
She grabs my face, kisses me, tries to control the moment but I dominate.
The door opens; I step back, panting.

 

We return to the dormitory.
I feel the stares. They pierce me. They want to know which side I will turn to.
The smell of dried blood lingers like a raw truth’s perfume. Fear is more subtle. It sticks to the skin, seeps into veins, gnaws silently inside.
Gi-hun steps forward. His voice cuts through the air, grave, harsher than usual.

“Watch those who remain. By counting crosses and circles, we’ll know which way the balance will tip at the next vote.”

I watch him play his little game. He still thinks he controls something. It’s pathetic, but I need him. He inspires the desperate.
My gaze sweeps the room. I count faces, anticipate alliances forming, betrayals brewing. Some think the night belongs to them, that they’ll bend it to their will. They still don’t get it. This game belongs to no one.
Suddenly, she catches my eye.
She moves toward 222 and 333 like a war dog ready to bite.
333 backs away, avoiding her.
I fixate on her. She protects 222. Noble. Useless, but noble.
She places her hand on the girl’s arm, a simple gesture, but I see her clenched fist, her jaw tight. She burns. Rage is there, beneath her skin.
I know what haunts her. I guess. She carries that familiar darkness. That fire never really extinguished. I know this inner battle: loyalty versus strategy.
She turns, meets my gaze.
Finally.
She tries to straighten her shoulders, put back on her mask. I see everything. She knows it, feels it. It bothers her. She hates it.
A smirk crosses my lips. She hates being read.

 

Gi-hun speaks. He lays out his plan. His voice low, quick, tense with adrenaline and fear.

“We must stay down. Don’t move. When the fight starts, there will be deaths, inevitable. But they’ll never accept losing too many players at once. They’ll intervene to regain control. Then they’ll focus on those who move, those still fighting—not the corpses.”

I close my eyes briefly. I savor it. This moment. He doesn’t even realize, but he’s giving in.
The hero, the preacher, the one who wanted to save everyone, now whispers, barely daring to say the words: sacrifice some to save the many.
It’s delicious. It’s pathetic, and exactly what I expected from him.
I see him, I feel it. That quiet rage, that fury he’s been hiding all along. He masks it behind justice speeches but deep down, he wants to see the machine bleed. He wants to press the flaw.
And this plan? This plan is proof he understands.
You don’t win by being pure. You win by being ready to sacrifice.
I rejoice inside. I feel this fever rising under my skin. That’s it, Gi-hun. Drop your principles, your pretty ideals, and join me in this dirty place, this place where we decide who lives and who dies.
It’s not cruelty, it’s clarity—the one I learned over years, wearing this mask.
I stay silent, face stone, but inside, I laugh, because right now, Gi-hun looks more like me than he’ll ever admit.
He’s finally becoming what he always fought.

 

I lie beneath a metal bed. She’s there, beside me. A few centimeters away, way too close.
I feel her arm brush mine. Her breathing quickens. Mine stays calm. It’s always in the waiting that I feel alive.
I know this moment. The calm before the storm. That’s when the Frontman’s mask embraces me the tightest.
She closes her eyes but she’s tense, ready to explode.
I sense her before she touches me. Her tension, her turmoil, her desire. It’s almost a vibration in the air. She tries to stay focused, professional, but she’s doomed.
I slowly turn my head toward her, our faces centimeters apart.
I see her eyes adjust to the dark, pupils dilated, breath short.

“Trust me.”

My voice is low, deliberately soft because I know what it stirs. I feel her stiffen, fight the urge to press closer.
Her body betrays her. Her belly tightens, thighs press together and of course, I notice. Every detail.
And I’m here. Calm, controlled but boiling inside. It’s not violence that excites me. It’s her. The way she fights, trying to control what she feels, what she wants.
I slide my hand over her thigh, slowly. I move upward; I feel her tremble beneath my fingers. Her breathing speeds, jaws clench. But she doesn’t move. Not yet.
Then she breaks.
She turns to me suddenly, eyes piercing. Our lips collide, brutal, wild.
I feel her vibrate beneath my hands, her heart pounding against her chest. I growl against her lips.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You love the chaos, the blood.”

And it’s true. She tries to deny it but she knows. She knows here, in this madness, she feels alive. She’s like me. A beast hidden behind a uniform.

 

I stay back, sharp eyes watching every movement, every cry, every shot. Chaos spreads before me like a giant chessboard, and I savor the moment. They think they’re playing for their lives, fighting to survive, but I just see pawns moving.
Gi-hun loses control, pushes his troops forward, but they don’t know everything’s already decided. They think they can force fate while I already hold the cards.
The plan unfolds exactly as intended. Every mistake, every missed shot, every retreat is a perfectly choreographed ballet.
I feel the moment approaching. The moment to step out of the shadows, to take back my role.
She calls me a puppeteer, and she’s right. I pull the strings because in this game, it’s the only way to survive, whether she accepts it or not.
I’m not here to save souls or be her broken hero. I’m here to do what must be done, and if that means seeing her fall, seeing her hate me, so be it.
I step back as she pushes me, furious. Let her scream her hate, convince herself I’m her enemy, I know she’ll come back. Because deep down, she knows I’m the only one who’s seen through this chaos. The only one who knows how to get out.
It’s time to take control again.

 

I watch them, motionless, behind my mask. The weight of every gaze settles on me, but I remain impassive. The black coat slips around me like a shadow, my silent kingdom. They don’t know yet that the game is about to change.
Gi-hun fidgets nervously, ready to speak, to defend his desperate pack of players. But this is no longer his game. Not this time. I’m here to take back control, to end this charade.
I point my weapon, then I shoot. Jung Bae collapses, and chaos erupts. The pain he shows, the screams, the tear, it’s all a performance, a perfect orchestration. I silently rejoice.
True power isn’t in the weapons, but in fear, manipulation, the fall of those who think they’re free. I savor this cold domination.

Then the sound reaches me, clear, ripping, a dull cry amid the chaos.
I see Blue stagger, her features freeze. The bullet just hit her, right there, in her ribs. Not planned, not allowed, a mistake. An uncontrollable variable in this game I thought I mastered.
She wavers, drops to her knees, then falls, pale-faced, immediate pain etched into every movement. Blood begins to bead, burning against her skin, and for a moment, everything slows around me.

“Neutralize player 456. Bring her back to the dorm, alive.”

My voice is firm, sharp, with no trace of emotion. Guards rush forward. Gi-hun struggles, screams, but they quickly restrain him.
I fix my eyes on Blue, fighting through pain, her breathing ragged, already faltering.

“Medical attention. Now.”

I order, my tone harsh, urgent. But she slips. Her eyes close, her breath falters. Unconsciousness beckons, and I see her body slowly give in.
I approach her, calm, controlled. Too late. She collapses, heavy, inert.

 

Blood sticks.
It seeps into gloves, squeaks under soles, it stinks. You get used to it.
But not tonight. Not when it’s her.
I clench my teeth, hard, too hard. The metallic taste in my mouth reminds me I can’t lose control. Not now. Not in front of them.
They touch her wound. They press, they search. One of the doctors told me they need to check if the bullet passed through. I nodded, gave permission. But when she screams, it’s like they’re splitting me in two.
I ball my fist in my pocket and force myself to stay standing, upright. Front Man.
Not In-ho. In-ho died long ago.

“In-ho...”

My name tears her throat but she whispers it, weak, like a plea.
I want to tell her to be quiet, to save her strength, but no sound comes from my lips. So I just place my hand on her burning forehead.
She slips back into unconsciousness, and I suffocate beneath this mask.

 

Hours pass. I don’t know how many. I sit there in this chair, back hunched, hands clasped in front of my mouth. I watch her breathing, irregular, fickle. I watch for any change.
I don’t sleep. I can’t.
When she finally moves, it’s like a detonator. Her groan is hoarse, broken.
I sit up straight immediately.

“You should still be sleeping.”

My voice is softer than expected. Less firm. I hate it.
But she answers me, that bitch. Stubborn, grumbling.
I let her talk. I let her bite because she’s alive.
I tell her what she already knows. That she lost blood, that she should have died. But she wants to know. Who shot?
I look away. A guard. It’s settled. That’s all she needs to know.
Then she asks about Gi-hun. I hate that name in her mouth. That damn parasite Gi-hun.

I cut her off. I have to get back to my role, I have to reclaim my place.
But she pins me down with her eyes, like she sees what I’m trying to hide.
I stay close to her. One hand on hers. It should be a weakness, but right then, it’s all that keeps me grounded.
I kiss her. Not how I should.
She falls asleep in that in-between. And I know I’m screwed.

 

I hang up the receiver.

“Kill them all. Even the inspector.”

The words still echo. I know what they mean. What they demand.
My brother is outside. He’s digging. Still digging. He doesn’t know he’s digging his own grave.
I feel his presence behind me even before she speaks.
She heard.
Fuck.
I close my eyes for a moment. She won’t give up.
I want to protect her from this. To keep her away from the edge but she doesn’t understand. She won’t understand.
She comes closer. Too close. She ignites.
I bite. I strike with words, I put her down. Just a guard, nothing more.
A lie.
She fights back. Her anger is alive, vibrant, it hits me full force. But I stay still. Until she pushes me, until she punches me with her ridiculous little fists.
I slam her against the wall, grab her wrists. She’s fragile, wounded but she keeps fighting.
I tell her to shut up. She screams louder.
She’s not afraid of me. That’s the real problem.

I challenge her. I throw the truth in her face. What she hates to hear, what she already knows.
That she likes it. The domination, the submission. That she thrives on this tension, just like me.
I bite the words. They slip out like sweet poison.
And she answers. Her hand slides between my legs, catching me off guard.
I lose my footing.
I squeeze her throat. Not hard, just enough to remind her I’m in charge. But it’s a lie. I’m losing control.

“Say it.”

I want her to say it. To let it out of her lips, to be the one to give in.
And she gives in.
The dam breaks.
My lips crush hers. The kiss is brutal, uncontrollable. I devour her, want to possess her, erase her, rebuild her under my hands.
And then she falters.

She moans in pain against my mouth. I stop abruptly.
My heart tightens. A growl escapes my throat. It’s my fault. All of this, it’s my fucking fault.
I carry her. She clings to me and I feel her breath burning against my neck.
I lay her on my bed. I tuck her in. Gently, like she’s made of glass.
I have to go welcome the VIPs. I have to be what they expect of me again.
I turn away. I leave, but before closing the door, I give her what she wants, what she’s waiting for.

“I’ll be back.”

 

And it’s a promise.
For her.

For me.

Notes:

I loved writing from In-ho’s perspective, so feel free to let me know if you want more. The next chapter will return to Blue and continue with the events. ❤️

Chapter 12: Hide and seek

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

I wake up with a start, gasping for air. Silence hits me first. A thick, strange silence, almost too clean. In-ho isn’t here. The emptiness in the room suddenly feels icy without him.
I get up. My legs protest, aching, but I refuse to stay lying down.
I cross the hallway without a clear purpose. My bare feet brush against the cold floor. The large room welcomes me like a chasm, vast, impersonal. I hate this place. I hate this sterile luxury, these walls that smell like a stage set.
My fingers brush the control panel on the wall screen out of habit. It lights up with a quiet buzz. Images appear and suddenly, the room shrinks.

The new game. Hide and seek.

I see Gi-hun. He’s there, his face hard, twisted with rage. He doesn’t take his eyes off Dae-ho, ready to jump his throat.
Geum-ja, curled up behind her trembling son, is just a shadow among shadows, and 120, stiff, upright, stoic—a mercenary soldier awaiting sentence.
But I don’t care. I’m not looking for their fear, not their hatred.

I’m looking for 222.

My eyes scan the screen, sweeping the columns, the catwalks, the shadowed corners.
She’s there, apart, her belly rounded, too young, too fragile. Her hands tremble slightly as she adjusts the red armband.

Red.

A cold wave runs through me. My stomach tightens.

Red means hunter.

During this round, she must find another player, a blue armband, track them down, and kill them before time runs out—or she will be eliminated. Executed like a defective piece.
I clench my teeth.
They don’t give her a choice. They put a predator in the skin of prey. Turn this pregnant girl into a killer just to earn her survival. That’s the game.
I feel my fingers clench on the edge of the console. My nails dig into the metal. I want to scream, to smash this screen, this macabre theater,but I stay frozen, cold.
She won’t make it.

I know.
She’s not made for this.
A shiver runs through me, violent, uncontrollable.
I can almost hear In-ho’s voice in my head, dry, relentless: “No one chooses their rules here.”

No.

Not her.

Not today.

I slam my fist on the console, breathing ragged. I know I can’t intervene. Not directly. But I refuse to just watch this farce without doing anything. Not this time.

I’ll find a way.

A crackle makes me jump. The guard’s voice cuts through the speakers in the control room, metallic, soulless.

“Before the game begins, we will give you the opportunity to change your fate. If any of you are dissatisfied with your assigned role, you may swap teams with a member of the opposing team—provided you do so before the game starts.”

I freeze. What?

I stare at the screen, heart pounding. My fingers tighten on the desk’s edge. My breath is held, as if my body refuses to move until I’m sure I heard right.
Then I see him.
He steps forward, slow, deliberate, towards 222. A giant compared to her. Broad-shouldered, head lowered, jaw clenched. He stops in front of her. 222 looks up, hesitant, wary—a silent, tense, almost unreal exchange.

Seconds stretch. I hold my breath.

Then 333 raises his hand, removes his blue armband. With measured motion, he offers it to 222.
She stays frozen.
I want to shout at the screen. Take it! Now!
She finally moves. Hesitant at first, then more sure, she removes her red armband, exchanges with 333, their fingers barely touching.

The swap is done.

I exhale a long breath, a brutal relief. My head bows forward almost against my will, my forehead resting on the cold surface of the console.
She has a chance. She’s no longer the hunter. She won’t have to kill today. She’ll have to hide, survive—more than she hoped for, more than I dared believe.

I raise my head. I stare at 333. That idiot. That unpredictable fool.

Why him?

I don’t know his game, his reasons. But today, he just gave her a real chance.
I clench my teeth, holding back a smile. It may be small, but it’s enough.

For now.

 

I can’t stay here any longer,not just watching, not just waiting. I have to find him, to reach him.
I open the cupboards one by one, furious, impatient. The first is empty. The second, masks and files. Then finally, in the third, a red uniform carefully folded. Right underneath, a black helmet with a square symbol. And a weapon—my weapon.
I grab it without thinking. The pain in my ribs twists and burns me, but I grit my teeth. Not now. I don’t have the luxury of being weak.

Putting on this uniform is a battle. The fabric sticks to my skin; every movement is torture, but I keep going. I put on the helmet, adjust the visor. I am no longer Blue. I am a guard, a pawn, perfectly anonymous. Invisible.
I leave the apartment, slip into the hallway, my steps quick and precise despite the pulsing pain with every stride.
Around a corner, a guard—a triangle—blocks my way. He freezes, surprised, ready to question me.
I don’t give him time.

“Where is the leader?!”

My voice cracks, harsh, commanding, as if the uniform gives me that right. He flinches barely, then bows immediately, docile.

“In the main lounge, with the VIPs. The game has started.”

My blood runs cold.
I nod sharply and move on without waiting, speeding up, almost running. The pain lashes like a whip, ripping grimaces from me, but I don’t care.
I must arrive before it’s too late.
I enter the surveillance center without being stopped. The uniform works its magic. No guard questions me; no one looks away from their screens. Perfect.
I approach a console, heart pounding hard. I scan the monitors, the numbers, the camera angles. Where is she? Where is she, damn it…
There.
222.
She moves carefully, limping slightly, but she’s not alone. Behind her, 120, still upright, a stolen blade in hand. And Geum-ja, the old woman, hunched but holding tight to them. They’ve allied themselves—that’s smart. Those three are sharper than they seem.
I don’t take my eyes off the screen. I follow their breathing, their movements. They move fast, slip into blind spots, understand the cruel rules of this insane game. It’s a hunt.
I catch myself smiling, a mix of pride and tension as they set a trap for a player hunting them. But the game isn’t over.
I see him.
A red bib. A massive player, cruel in the way he walks. He’s spotted them and has no intention of giving them a second chance.

“Damn…”

He tracks them like a dog, methodical, without rush. I see 222 speed up, panic. Bad move. She stumbles.

“No…”

She falls, tumbling down the stairs. I almost hear the crack from here. Her ankle is ruined.
I straighten, gripping the table in front of me.
The red player lunges at them. But 120 doesn’t move; she stands between him and 222, blade forward. It’s a desperate fight, but she won’t give up. She strikes again and again until the red one collapses, his throat cut.
I stay frozen.
120 has just bought them a few more minutes of life. But 222 is doubled over, her hand clutching her twisted ankle. She won’t hold on—not like this.
I bite my lip until it bleeds.
If I intervene, I sign my death warrant. In-ho won’t forgive me. He won’t make exceptions. Not for me. Not for her.
But if I stay…
I watch them on the screen.
And I hate myself more and more.

 

Then I hear it. That sound that freezes me. A groan, painful, muffled, but impossible to ignore. 222 twists in agony, her face contorted with pain. That’s when I understand. It’s not the ankle. It’s deeper. Irreversible.
The labor has started.
No, no, no, not now.
Geum-ja reacts immediately. With a sharp gesture, she drags 222 into an empty room, followed by 120 who closes the door behind them. On screen, I see the old woman take charge, give orders, improvise a makeshift maternity ward in this hell.
Cold sweat runs down my back. A baby. Here. In the middle of this massacre game. It can’t be. I can’t let her give birth here.
I promised her.
I looked her in the eyes and promised she’d get out of here,she and that child.
On screen, 222 bites her fist to stifle her screams. Her legs tremble; she pushes. It’s inhuman.

I hesitate no longer.

To hell with the rules, to hell with In-ho.
I pivot on my heels, ready to leave the surveillance center.
And I freeze.
He’s there.
The Front Man.
Straight as a blade in his black coat. The smooth, shiny mask. He blocks my path. Motionless, relentless.
I feel his invisible gaze pierce my chest.
He knows.
He knows where I was headed.
He says nothing.
He looks me up and down. Or rather, he crushes me with his presence. The mask hides his face, but I know behind it, his eyes are probing me, stripping me bare, waiting for me to give in first.
I grit my teeth. My breath is short—not from the ribs pain, not this time. It’s him.

“Step aside, In-ho.”

A silence, icy.

“Return to your post, guard.”

Cold. Official. Like playing pretend.
I take a step. So does he. He blocks the way effortlessly.

“She’s going to give birth in this damn arena. I can’t let her die there.”

The mask tilts slightly. A tiny gesture, but I know it well enough to decode it. He’s thinking, weighing.

“That’s not your role to decide. You’ve already crossed too many lines.”

I step closer, almost touching his chest, feeling the cold he always carries.

“And you? How far will you go before you stop? Until there’s nothing left to save? Until there’s nothing left of you?”

It’s an attack. I know it. He knows it; his fist tightens. He’s fighting with himself.

“If you move now, you sign your death warrant. I won’t cover you anymore, Blue. Not this time.”

I hold his gaze, or what’s left of it through the mask.
I stay still.
A scream shatters the silence.
A tiny, fragile scream. But it makes the whole air around me tremble.
I spin toward the screens. The surveillance cameras still broadcast the scene, but everything has changed.
222 has given birth.
Geum-ja holds the baby in her arms, shaky, trembling, but alive. A girl. That’s what she said.
A girl.
I approach the console, stagger, almost collapse against the cold metal. My hands clutch the edge. My head bows, thoughts crashing and trampling one another. I can’t contain them.
It’s done. She’s here. In this place, in this game.
I close my eyes. I promised to protect her. I promised.

“Blue.”

His voice behind me. That smooth, calculated tone. But it no longer fools anyone. It no longer fools me.
The baby’s cries still ring in the room. Sharp, piercing like needles under the skin.
I grit my teeth.

“It’s no longer a game, no longer a match, In-ho. There’s a life here. A real one. Not a damn play for some old millionaires craving thrills.”

I see him stiffen. His fists clench. But he stays silent.
I take a step toward him, closer than before.

“Say it. Tell me it doesn’t affect you. Look me in the eye and lie to me.”

A short breath. Almost a twitch, but he doesn’t lie.
He says nothing.
I stay facing him. The baby’s cries fill the room. They pound the silence like sledgehammer blows.
And suddenly, everything shifts. On the screen, I see him.
333.
He turns toward Hyun-ju. There’s no hesitation in his eyes. No anger, just that emptiness. That icy calm only killers inside possess.
The blade cuts through her throat so fast I don’t immediately realize what he’s done.
Hyun-ju collapses.
Dead.

I freeze. The air locks in my chest.
333 then looks toward the room where 222 and the baby are.
My heart pounds, pounds, pounds so hard I feel the whole room pulse around me.
He walks to the door.
I clench my fists, ready to scream, ready to run, to break everything if necessary.
But he does none of that. He stops. He looks inside, then without a word, without even touching them, he closes the door. Slowly, deliberately. He protects them.
My breath returns, ragged, brutal.
He just gave them a chance. A real one.

On the screen, I see Geum-ja protect 222 and the baby by killing her own son.
I could care. I could cry for that sacrifice but I have no energy left.
I only see her.

She stands up, the baby in her arms, exhausted, staggering but upright. She moves. She crosses the room, opens the hidden exit, and passes through the door.
She made it.
I close my eyes, clench my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms.
She made it.

I still hear In-ho’s breathing behind me.
But at that moment, he doesn’t exist.
There is only her.
Her and the promise I kept.
The pain reminds me, dull, nagging, like a knife twisting slowly in my rib cage.
I stagger, almost collapsing against the console, but I refuse to give in—not now, not in front of him.
I feel his presence behind me, cold, motionless, like a shadow.
I straighten slowly, without turning around.

“You know, I thought you had everything planned. That nothing could escape you.”

Silence. Then his voice, icy, calm, poised like a blade ready to cut.

“You’re right. I control almost everything.”

I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms.

“Almost.”

I feel his breath on my neck, but he stays still, a wall of darkness.

“Do you really think saving that girl and her baby will change anything? That it will save you?”

I finally turn my head, meet his gaze behind the mask. A hard look, but… is there a shadow of something else? Of doubt?

“Maybe not. But it’s the only thing left. The only reason I can still look at myself in the mirror.”

A heavy silence.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, and you’re no longer a player, Blue.”

In-ho steps forward deliberately, his gaze fixed on the screen.
The shadow of his mask seems to absorb all the light around him, but what I see in his eyes, if only I could truly see them, is obsession, a dull hunger taking hold of him.
Gi-hun, there, under his eyes, is losing it.
He’s breaking.
The weight of vengeance, pain, anger… it all explodes in him like an uncontrollable storm.
In-ho says nothing. He doesn’t move.
But I feel he’s savoring this scene, enjoying every moment of this fall.
It’s no longer a simple game for him. It’s a cruel show he is both master and spectator of.
His face remains impassive, but deep down, I know he’s captivated, hypnotized, almost satisfied.
Chaos is settling in, and In-ho watches. Without looking away. Without mercy.

 

Gi-hun snaps. He ends up succumbing to his dark impulses, this devouring rage.
I see him, cold, relentless. He grabs Dae Ho, the one who betrayed him, humiliated him.
He strangles him, slowly.
Dae Ho collapses, silent. The game is over.
Blood, pain, madness. Another bloodbath. Another macabre game that never ends.

Then, on the screens, another spectacle unfolds before me.
Triangle guards advance slowly in the arena. They shoot the remaining players.
I stand up, limping, hand clenched over my still aching ribs, and approach.
Slowly, they remove their masks. I understand. They are not simple guards; they are VIPs.
The same ones who delighted in the games from their gilded lounges.
They no longer just watch. They participate.
What hell.

 

I’m back in the apartment. In-ho didn’t give me a choice. Escorted by two guards, without another word, he closed the door behind me.
I’m tired, but it’s not the pain in my ribs that eats at me most; it’s what I just saw.
222 and her baby.
She ruined everything.
My armor, my certainties, that icy distance I had patiently built.
It all broke.
And I can’t stop thinking about it. Was that his plan? Did In-ho want to push me that far? To bring me to that breaking point just to see what I would do?

 

I settle into the armchair, in front of the dark screen. I wait for him.
I don’t move, even though every breath sends a shiver of pain through me, even though my back begs me to change position.
I stay there.
Hours pass. I no longer know if it’s fatigue or rage keeping me awake.
Then my eyelids close.
I barely hear him come in. He makes no noise. As always.
But I feel something.
A breath, a caress. His fingers brush my cheek, light as air.
I want to tell him not to do this. I want to spit in his face, scream what’s in my heart.
But no sound comes out, and he lifts me, effortlessly.

I find myself lying on the bed. The mattress is cold, or maybe it’s my body that’s burning, I don’t know anymore.

“Why did you bring me here…”

My voice is only a whisper, almost inaudible.
He sits at the edge of the bed. His voice is low, soft, almost weary.

“I don’t want to fight with you tonight.”

I let out a joyless laugh.

“Good. Me neither.”

Silence settles. It doesn’t leave.
My voice slips out, weak but firm, like a vow burning on my lips.

“This baby has to live.”

I keep my eyes closed, unable to meet his gaze.

“I’ll do what I have to… no matter the cost.”

A sigh escapes him. Heavy, worn, as if, for the first time, he’s lowering his guard.
He says nothing, but I guess all that he’s keeping inside.
That sigh is a confession. Whether he wants it or not, he knows he’s losing control of this game.
What I just told him is not a threat, it’s a promise, and he knows I’ll keep it.
He straightens slowly. His fingers brush my hand for a moment, like a last touch, or maybe a desperate attempt to anchor something between us.
Then he murmurs, almost to himself.

“Then do it quickly. Before they get involved.”

I open my eyes again. He’s already up, not looking at me anymore.

But I heard him.

And that’s all I needed tonight.

Chapter 13: The sacrifice of a mother

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

NSFW chapter 🌶️.

I’m staring at the screen, eyes locked on Geum-ja’s body as they drag her away without care.
She hanged herself.
Killing her own son, even to save a life, was a burden too heavy to bear.

Now, 222 is alone. Alone with that baby, in this hell.
I clench my fists.
Today, it ends.
Today, I’ll get her out of here.

The sound of the shower stops.
I tense up. I had almost forgotten.
The door opens. He enters, casually.
No suit, no mask. Just black pants and that black tank top clinging to every line of his torso, his shoulders.
His wet hair is slicked back, leaving his face exposed.
Cold, beautiful, dangerous.
I swallow hard. It’s unfair—he shouldn’t be allowed to be this handsome.
He approaches silently, drying his hair with a slow, almost indifferent gesture, as if the tension in the room doesn’t exist.
As if he doesn’t know I’m watching him. Or maybe he knows exactly.
I turn my back to him. I can’t look. I can’t allow myself to get distracted.
He comes closer. I feel him at my back—too close, yet not touching.

“You going to tell me what you’re plotting, Blue?”

His voice brushes against my neck. No anger, no threat—just a warning.
He knows. He sees right through me.
It’s him. In-ho.
Naked, in all his ambiguity.

I hate him. I want him. I hate him for what he is, for what he turns me into when he looks at me like that, with that calm facade that’s just another mask.
One more mask.
I turn towards him, painfully.
The burning in my ribs snaps me back to reality, but I crush it.
I face him. His eyes lift to mine. Slowly, as if savoring every second, as if I’ve just triggered something inevitable.
The silence is suffocating.
Vibrating.
Every muscle in my body is taut, ready to snap, to explode. So is his, I feel it.

And suddenly, there’s no more distance. No space left to escape.

In-ho steps forward, slowly, but this time, he doesn’t stop.
His hand grabs the back of my neck with a firmness that leaves no doubt. He’s not giving me a choice, and maybe, in this moment, I don’t want one.
I’m tired. Tired of fighting, of smashing into walls that won’t budge.
So when his lips crush against mine, I don’t move.

This isn’t a tender kiss. It’s not a caress. It’s a takeover. A brutal reminder of who’s in control in this hell.
His mouth steals my air, steals my will.
I should push him away, bite his lip, remind him I don’t bend.
But not now.
I let the weapons fall, just for a few seconds.
I let myself be consumed.
I feel his fingers tighten around my neck, as if to anchor me here, as if to pin me in the middle of the chaos.
This kiss is his command, his warning, his territory claim and I let him.
For the span of a heartbeat, I need to forget everything around me.

The games.
The blood.
The death.

I just want to lose myself, drown in this moment where there’s only him. Only me.
He doesn’t need words. He’s never needed words for me to understand what he wants.
What he demands.

I look up at him, and there’s no arrogance left in my gaze, only this deaf, burning submission. I give him the reins.
He feels it. I know he does, even though I haven’t moved. His fingers glide slowly down my neck, lingering at my throat, just enough to choke my breath, to set my skin ablaze under his touch.
He captures my lips again, but this time, I respond.
I don’t fight, and when a soft, nearly involuntary moan escapes me, his grip on me tightens, as if that sound belonged to him.
The tension builds, electric, palpable. Every fiber of my body is on high alert, drawn to him. Every thought drowned under the heat of desire.
I don’t want to think anymore. Not now.

He kisses me with an intensity that shatters all my defenses.
He pulls back slightly, just enough so our breaths still mingle, so his gaze can lock onto mine and trap me there.
This isn’t the same look. This isn’t In-ho the Leader, the strategist.
No. What he’s showing me now is something else.
Brutal. Unfiltered.
His eyes are black with desire, dark and burning, and I know he’s crossed the line.

His hand presses down on my shoulder, firm, grounding. I fall to my knees, ignoring the flare of pain in my ribs. My eyes well up with tears I refuse to shed. I look up at him for a few seconds before finally lowering my gaze.
He’s dominant.
Completely.
My hands grip his waistband. I tremble slightly, almost imperceptibly, but I know he notices.
He’s as aroused as I am—I see it, I feel it. He says nothing, he waits, his hand still resting on my shoulder.
I finally pull down his pants and boxers, revealing how hard he is. My eyes widen, my thighs clench.
His hand, once on my shoulder, slides into my hair, gripping a fistful. The gesture is simple, clear—he’s in charge.
I wrap my lips around him, my saliva pooling quickly. He guides my head up and down, slowly at first, then the pace quickens.
I start to lift my hands to hold onto him, but his voice cuts through.

“Put them behind your back.”

I obey. My eyes water as he thrusts deeper. He eventually hits the back of my throat, my nose pressed against his pelvis. I moan, inhaling his scent, feeling my thighs dampen.

“Good girl, you take me so well.”

He yanks my head back and looks at my face. Tears streak down my cheeks, my lips swollen, parted as I gasp for air.

“What a sight you are.”

His voice is low, dripping with lust, sending shivers through my entire body. Then everything accelerates, he uses my mouth, his pace ruthless. My hands remain clasped behind my back, my teary eyes locked on his. I’ve never been this aroused.

He closes his eyes,he’s close. I decide to disobey. Pleasure twists in my stomach; I need release. One hand slips into my panties, searching for that precise spot. I find it quickly, matching the rhythm he imposes. The pleasure spikes. The thought of touching myself while he fucks my throat makes me shudder. I moan, the sound vibrating on his cock. He growls, his eyes snapping open, fixing on me.

“You filthy little brat.”

Yet he doesn’t stop, pushing in and out of my mouth, the vein on his neck pulsing, strands of hair sticking to his forehead. I’ve never seen him this beautiful. That sight alone tips me over the edge, pleasure crashing through me, a long moan muffled by his cock. That seems to be his tipping point. He holds my head around his shaft and cums with a loud, guttural breath. I choke as he spills down my throat.
He pulls out slowly, quickly fastening his pants.
I look up at him, finishing to swallow. He narrows his eyes.

I try to stand, gather my strength, regain some semblance of control, but the pain floors me.
My ribs scream. I stumble, catching myself on my hands, furious at this body betraying me.
Then, without a word, he’s there.
His arms wrap around me, firm, but not brutal.
He lifts me and carries me to the couch, laying me down with an almost strange slowness, as if the storm from before had never happened.

I want to say something, throw a sharp remark to avoid drowning in what he’s done, but I stay silent because in that instant, he kneels before me.
Eye level.
Him.
The Front Man.
In-ho.

“You’re staying here. Resting. You’re in no shape, Blue.”

I lift my head, eyes locked onto his. He knows what I’m going to answer, and yet he dares.

“No.”

I sit up, ignoring the searing pain in my ribs.

“I’m putting that uniform back on and going to the control room to do my job.”

He stands as well, towering over me, arms crossed, expressionless. A brief flash crosses his eyes. He sighs, shakes his head, tired but not surprised.

“Then you’re coming with me.”

His voice snaps. No negotiation.

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

I stiffen, the furious urge to tell him he has no right to decide for me, that he never did. My fists clench, rebellion boiling in my throat.

But he sees it. He feels it and in an instant, he becomes harsher. His face shuts down, his gaze sharpens, icy.

“Don’t push me, Blue. You know you won’t win. Not now.”

It’s a reminder. Cold, sharp, inescapable.

I hold his gaze, muscles tense, but deep down, I know. I’m at my limit, physically, mentally. I can stubbornly lose, or bend and move forward. I lower my weapons.

“Fine… Leader.”

I practically spit the word, but he smirks—that slight, satisfied half-smile that makes me want to tear him apart.

 

The room drips with luxury. Gilded walls, velvet couches, crystal glasses, champagne flowing endlessly. Opulence oozes from every corner, but the strongest scent here is contempt. These people laugh, drink, bet on human lives like it’s a simple card game.
In-ho sits, straight-backed, impassive, his black mask in place. Nothing seems to affect him. Not even the lewd jokes, not even the exorbitant wagers. He lets them talk. Watch. Wallow in their own decadence.
Me, I’m there, off to the side, in a red uniform, square helmet screwed onto my head. My weapon crosses my chest, a Praetorian guard stance. Invisible but ready. Every inch of me is tension. The pain still slices through my ribs, but I crush it beneath the weight of what’s at stake.
On the giant screen, the players line up, preparing for the fifth game. And, of course, they’re talking about her.

“Isn’t 222 too disadvantaged? She’s injured, limping, and now she has a baby. That’s a lot of handicaps.”

“Did anyone bet on her for the next round?”

“Who in their right mind would do that?”

“I did. I was drunk and pressed the wrong number. But I’m not backing down. There’s a saying that God created mothers because He couldn’t be everywhere at once. Maybe 222 can pull something off.”

I grit my teeth. My fist clenches at my side. I can hear my own heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else.
But on the screen, something makes me breathe, just for a moment. Gi-hun. He’s by her side, talking to her. He takes the baby into his arms, clumsy but protective. He positions himself in front of her, like a shield.
I exhale.
A slight tremor in my hand, but I control it. I’m not allowed to fail. Not here.
Then In-ho’s voice rises. Calm, composed. The Leader, giving the show.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the fifth round.”

Conversations stop. All eyes turn to him.
The glass wall opens, revealing the macabre set: a suspended bridge above a void, framed by two gigantic mechanical dolls. Their frozen smiles send chills down the spine. In their hands, a taut metal rope, ready to slice through the air. Beneath their feet, a chasm several meters deep. No safety nets. No return.

In-ho continues, merciless.

“The rule is simple: cross the bridge by jumping rope. Within the allotted time. If you fall…”

He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.
The VIPs erupt. Bets fly, predatory smiles spread.
I feel his gaze on me through the mask. He knows I’m on the edge. But he says nothing. Not yet.

“With that ankle, 222 won’t even make it onto the bridge. Might as well let her die there, save us the trouble.”

The VIP to my right grumbles, a glass in hand, the other lazily resting on the armrest, indifferent.
Another suddenly perks up, his eyes gleaming with a sick idea. His smile is sharper than the glass he twirls between his fingers.

“Or… how about we spice things up? Send the baby to join her?”

Murmurs of excitement, laughter, amused gasps of mock horror.

“Imagine. A mother would do anything to save her child. Maybe it’ll give her wings. Maybe she’ll jump better with one more reason not to fall.”

The room approves. Loudly, too loudly. They love it. The idea of a crippled woman, forced to cross hell with an infant in her arms. They’re already salivating over it.

And then, as if their opinion mattered, all eyes turn to him. The Leader.
In-ho.
He doesn’t move. Remains silent for a moment. Then, in a slow, measured gesture, he inclines his head. A barely perceptible nod.
My stomach twists. Nausea rises to my throat; I’m suffocating.
I take a step. My body moves before my brain.
And he turns his head toward me.
One single movement, but it slices through me like a frozen blade. He says nothing. He doesn’t need to. His gaze, even hidden behind the mask, screams for me to stay put. Not to move.
My blood freezes. Every fiber of my being screams to lunge, to rip off his mask, to punch him, to scream, but I’m paralyzed.
Then the music starts.
The game music.

 

The countdown appears in red letters above the arena: 20 minutes.
Time flows, and every second is another bite into my flesh.
On the screen, Gi-hun moves to the front, determined, eyes steely. Behind him, 222 holds her baby close, her face set, but I can see her fingers trembling slightly. They have a plan. They think they can cross, place the child on the other side, and come back for her after.
A movement catches my attention. A square guard approaches them. Slowly. Too slowly.
I tense up.

“The baby is now an official player.”

His voice rings through my earpiece, cold, merciless.
I see Gi-hun freeze. Then he explodes.

“You bastard, it’s a goddamn newborn! You want him to jump too?!”

The guard doesn’t respond. He raises his weapon. Aimed straight at Gi-hun.

“Return to your place and start the game.”

I straighten up, despite the pain stabbing my side.
A growl escapes me.
I no longer hear the giggling VIPs behind me. I no longer hear the twisted music driving this charade.
I hear only the metallic click of a safety catch being released as another guard points his gun at 222 and her baby.
I step forward, my hand clenched around my weapon.

“Blue.”

In-ho’s voice snaps in my earpiece, authoritative, threatening.

“Do not move.”

I freeze.

The guard aims his barrel at 222’s head, then at the baby snuggled against her. She doesn’t move. She’s frozen in terror.
I close my eyes for a moment. I bite my lip until it bleeds to keep from screaming. But I can’t stay here. I can’t.

“Go with her, please… Save her.”

222’s voice is shattered, trembling.
I see her grab Gi-hun’s arm, her eyes locked onto his, desperate. She gives him her baby, her hands are so weak she struggles to pass him over, but she does it. Because she has no other choice.

“I promise you.”

In the arena, the first player jumps. 124. I recognize him — the junkie who sold his soul for two grams of powder. His foot slips on the metallic rope. His scream echoes through the entire complex.
He falls.
His body crashes onto the ground with a sickening thud.
The VIPs erupt in laughter and applause.
I clench my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms.

And now, it’s Gi-hun’s turn, with the baby in his arms.
I stop breathing.
I watch him step towards the edge. He breathes in. His gaze hardens. He holds the child tight against him and jumps.
His foot hits the rope. He wobbles.
My heart stops.
He regains balance at the last second, the baby pressed against his chest. I’m tense, every muscle in my body ready to snap.
He jumps again.
Time slows.
I see him struggle, fight against the baby’s weight, against exhaustion, against terror. He jumps. He holds on.
One final leap.
He lands on the other side. Knees hitting the ground, gasping, but alive.
I finally exhale, without even realizing it. A trembling breath, almost a whimper.
He did it.
He saved that baby.

 

They advance.
The players, starving, desperate, driven by that flicker of false hope. They shove, push each other like beasts, their bodies piling onto the platform, screams and howls blending into raw, frantic fear. It’s a tide of chaos.
But her, she remains.
222. Jun-hee.
She’s the last one, alone, still on solid ground.
She tries to jump, but her legs give out.
She collapses.
My heart clenches so hard it makes me nauseous.
I’m not breathing.
She refuses 333’s help, pushes his hand away, her pride held high like a banner, even at the edge of the abyss. She keeps her head up, until the very end.
One by one, the players pass, leaving their souls on those cursed ropes. Only she remains.
Gi-hun shouts from the other side, screaming that he’ll come get her.
A lie.
I know it.
He knows it.
He has neither the time nor the strength, but he can’t stay silent.
So she shouts back.

“Save her! Protect my daughter! No matter the cost!”

Her words are daggers. They pierce through the glass. They pierce through me.
She steps toward the edge.

“Stay where you are.”

Her voice is sharp. Fierce. An order, clear and absolute.
But I’m not listening anymore. I don’t hear orders.
I feel her gaze burning into my neck, but it no longer matters.
My fist tightens around my weapon, my legs move on their own.
I take a step forward. Then another. I advance.
I’m in front of the glass.
Tears burst out, unfiltered, scorching my skin.
She tips over.
Her body falls in a deafening silence.
Time stops.
The sacrifice of a mother.
She crashes down and my hand crashes against the glass.
I tremble. I suffocate. I bite my lip until it bleeds.
The VIPs scream, laugh, bet on the next victim.
They didn’t see the fall, didn’t see the sacrifice.
They only saw a game.
I’m sobbing.

I can’t feel my legs anymore.

I hear nothing.
The VIPs’ voices are distant, distorted, like through a pane of glass.
I’m not listening.
My eyes are fixed on the arena floor, where 222 ceased to exist.
And then, his voice slices through the air, clear, cold, calculated.

“What if the baby played in 222’s place for the next game?”

A shiver rips down my spine. I turn slowly, breathless.
He’s there, standing before them, straight, impassive behind his mask.
They nod, delighted. Horror pleases them.

My heart explodes, my hand moves on its own.
It finds the grip of my weapon.
I could shoot them. All of them.
It would be easy.
Just a finger’s pressure.
I pivot, ready to raise my weapon.
But suddenly, a shadow steps in front of me.
A guard, square helmet, plants himself between me and them.

“The Leader awaits you in his quarters.”

I clench my jaw, knuckles white around my weapon.
Across the room, I meet In-ho’s gaze.
He did this on purpose. He predicted every step I’d take.

The door closes behind me with a sharp snap.
The apartment is steeped in dim light, only illuminated by the glow of screens embedded in the walls. The silence is heavy, suffocating.
He’s there, standing before the bay window, back to me, his mask still screwed onto his face.
I slam my weapon onto the table.

“Take off that fucking mask, In-ho.”

He doesn’t move.
I take a step, then another, until I’m almost against him.
My voice trembles, but it’s not from fear. It’s from rage. Raw, visceral.

“You wanted to break me, didn’t you? Lock me in here so I’d finally feel something.”

I strike my fist against his chest. He takes the blow without flinching.

“Well, here you go. You’ve got your emotion. Look at me, damn it.”

He slowly removes his mask.
His face is expressionless, but his eyes—his eyes haunt me. Cold, dark, but not empty.
Not this time.

“Blue.”

“No. Not this time. I’m the one talking. You think this is what feeling means? Watching a mother die so a bunch of pigs can applaud? You call that a lesson?”

I push him, he steps back.
He lets me, and that— that drives me insane.

“You knew it would destroy me. That I wouldn’t be able to do anything. You locked me in here, watching you play God, and now you want me to accept it?”

A long silence. Then his voice, rough.

“I wanted you to understand. This world is just a playground for them. Not for us. If you cling to the idea of saving someone, you’ll end up like her.”

“So what do we do, huh? Let them crush everything? Become like them?”

I hit him again, my fists against his chest, but without strength this time.

“I don’t want to be like you, In-ho.”

He grabs my wrists. Firmly, but not enough to hurt.
His forehead rests against mine, his breath burning.

“You’re not like me. That’s exactly why you drive me crazy.”

I close my eyes. I’m suffocating.
I hate him. I hate him for understanding me so well.
I pull away from his hands and step back, my gaze locked onto his. My voice is barely a whisper, but every word cuts like a blade.

“The baby. I’m telling you, In-ho… I won’t let her die. Not in front of me.”

He doesn’t flinch. It’s as if he was waiting for this sentence. But me, I’m trembling from all that it means. I know what he’s going to say. I don’t care and I keep going.

“You’ll have to kill me.”

I see him flinch, just a flicker, a tiny spark in his eyes.

“Because if you want to stop me, if you want me to look away, you’ll have to shoot me, In-ho.”

I walk toward him. One step after another. He’s taller, stronger, but tonight, I am the most dangerous weapon in this room.

“I don’t care about your rules. Your orders. I’m going to save him. That baby will have the life that was stolen from me.”

A deadly silence.
He scrutinizes me, jaw clenched, fists tight.
Then he murmurs, so low I almost thought I imagined it.

“You’re worse than poison, Blue.”

“No. I’m the cure to this rot.”

He closes his eyes, breathes deeply. When he opens them again, he looks… resigned. But not defeated.

Chapter 14: What you will not become

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

NSFW chapter 🌶️.

I’m back in the VIP lounge, in my usual shadowed spot, the red uniform draped over my shoulders, helmet screwed tightly onto my head. Invisible, yet very much here. My eyes stay glued to the giant screen where the last players are seated. The final meal. A farce, a grotesque stage play before the execution.
They gorge themselves like pigs. Jaws snapping, fingers scraping plates, the clatter of cutlery against porcelain. A disgusting spectacle. Only Gi-hun stays apart, standing, silent, his gaze fixed on the void. As if he already knows it’s pointless to fight.
A guard is bottle-feeding the baby. I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms through the gloves. It burns.
In-ho is there, sitting on his throne-like chair, master of the scene. Mask in place, posture perfect. He knows I’m watching him. He knows I’m holding back my rage with every breath.
The VIPs chat, their voices thick with arrogance.

“What if they decide to quit, huh?”

“They won’t make it to the end. I’m telling you, those rats got nothing left to lose.”

“The game must go on!”

In-ho raises a hand. Silence falls, cold as a blade.

“Don’t worry. The final game will take place.”

He straightens up, crosses his legs, his tone razor-sharp.

“They have no reason to vote ‘no’ if they’re sure they’ll survive.”

He’s confident. Too confident. He commands the room, every syllable hitting like a verdict. And he’s right: I already know the sentence.
The vote begins on screen. One by one, the players approach the black box, but it’s all an illusion. Just a well-oiled mechanism now.
I barely pay attention. This vote is theater. The bloodshed is already decided.
A Square guard enters the players' room. His voice echoes, cold, methodical.

“In the final game, you will choose which players to eliminate. If you all agree on the choice of three players, the remaining will be declared winners of the game.”

The room freezes. A chill runs through me. I understand. I understand their strategy.
They want to see how far they can twist a human soul, who will dare to vote for the death of a baby.
I close my eyes. Inhale. My decision is made. If these monsters will go that far, perfect. So will I.
The VIPs are ecstatic. They applaud In-ho like it’s an opera premiere.

“Fabulous! Absolutely fabulous!”

“Can’t wait to see their faces tomorrow…”

“You’re spoiling us, Leader. Truly.”

In-ho doesn’t flinch. Sitting straight in his chair, he stays silent. He maintains that calculated quiet, the kind that feeds the mystery. Tomorrow’s game is his secret. They won’t know until the decisive moment.

“Come on, give us a hint!”

“Tsk. Guess we’ll have to drink all night to wait!”

And they laugh like hyenas.
They talk about death like it’s an upcoming buffet. They chat about everything and nothing, as if lives aren’t dangling from their whims.
It’s pathetic. It’s vile.
I feel my nostrils flare, despite myself. A brief snort, betrayed by the helmet mic.

“Hey, you, over there!”

The voice is heavy, drunk, but alert. A VIP has just noticed me. He points his pudgy finger.

“Yes, you, the guard!”

His sneering gaze scans me from head to toe.

“You look tense, big guy. Didn’t they teach you how to relax here?”

He saunters forward, mocking.

“You should be honored to serve such a spectacle, right? Or maybe…”

His grin widens, malicious.

“Maybe you forgot who you serve, little soldier?”

The others laugh around him. In-ho says nothing, his mask locked on me. He watches. He weighs.

This isn’t just a stupid drunk’s provocation. No. This is a test.
A test for me. For him.

To see how far I can bend without breaking.
I straighten up, hands firmly on my weapon. My heart pounds so hard my ribs vibrate.

“I never forget what I serve.”

My voice is dry, sharp.

“That’s why I’m still standing.”

The VIP stares, surprised by my answer, then bursts out laughing, delighted with his little game.

“I like this one! Got some bite, huh Leader?”

The others mimic him, but their interest in me fades quickly. Just another passing distraction.
The VIPs have all night. They laugh, they drink, they gorge on their own decadence.

 

My shift is ending. I leave the lounge, my jaw clenched so tight it trembles.
Every step feels like an insult to 222.
I’m seething, but I need to think. I need a plan. I’ve got barely a few hours.
I feel the burn in my chest, the anger, the helplessness.
And then… him.
He passes in front of me.
In-ho.
Straight, calm, implacable in his black uniform, his mask still glued to his face.
He doesn’t even turn his head towards me.
He doesn’t need to.

“Apartment. Now.”

His order snaps, sharp, absolute. An invisible chain wraps around me, strangling.
I grit my teeth. I could leave, run, but that would be stupid.
I reluctantly turn away from the hallway leading to the control room and follow him, heavy steps, heart storming, ready to explode.
The apartment is bathed in cold, impersonal light.
I shut the door behind me with more force than necessary. He’s there, In-ho, standing in the center of the room, his back to me, mask still glued to his face.
The wall screen is on, players’ faces scrolling, their sneers echoing in the air. They’re already scheming, relishing the idea of eliminating a baby.
A fucking baby.
I freeze, fists clenched.

“Stop.”

His voice is sharp, irritated.

“Stop provoking them. Stop provoking me, Blue.”

I breathe out, a joyless laugh bubbling in my throat.
I step forward, finger pointed at the screen, at this grotesque mockery they dare call a ‘game.’

“Look at them, In-ho. Look at them closely.”

My voice trembles with rage.

“They want to kill a baby. A fucking baby! Is this your show? Is this what you stand for?”

He spins around suddenly. His mask reflects the harsh light, but I can feel his burning gaze behind it.
He takes a step toward me. I don’t move.

“That’s enough.”

His voice is low, icy.

“It’s time to end this.”

He raises his hand, and almost immediately, a Square guard enters the apartment, impeccable, silent.
In-ho doesn’t even let him salute.

“Bring me player 456 here. Now.”

I turn to him, brows furrowed, heart racing.

“What are you doing?”

He doesn’t even look at me. He stands straight, cold.

“Shut up.”

His tone snaps, merciless.

“For once, shut up. Stay back.”

He pierces me with his authority, the kind that leaves no room for disobedience.
My blood boils, but there’s something in his voice. A crack, imperceptible, in that controlled facade.
He’s planning something.
I glare at him, jaw clenched, but I swallow my response.

In-ho settles into his chair, unmoving, back straight, hands resting on the armrests like a king on his throne. The empty chair in front of him awaits its condemned.

I take my place behind him, mask firmly in place.
My heart hammers furiously against my ribcage.
The silence is suffocating. The tension in the air so thick it could slice skin.
A metallic ding rings out.
The elevator.
The doors open, slowly, solemnly. Gi-hun steps out.
He walks cautiously, his eyes scanning the room, wary, anxious. He’s different. Harder, darker. The innocence is gone.
A few more steps, and he stands face-to-face with the Front Man.

“Please, have a seat.”

In-ho’s voice is soft, almost polite. But it carries a glacial edge.
Gi-hun says nothing. He stands there a moment, fists clenched, hesitant, then pulls out the chair and sits.
Silence returns, heavy, stifling.
I stand straight, just behind In-ho. I feel his aura, that deceptive calm, a controlled time bomb.
I know this posture; I know he’s ready to strike at any moment.

“I brought you here because I have a proposal. It concerns your future—and the baby’s.”

Gi-hun chuckles, without humor.

“You really think we have a future?”

“As you’ve probably guessed, you and the baby will be the targets in the next game.”

“Exactly what you and your masters wanted from the start. That’s why you added a newborn to the game. You want to watch them, blinded by greed, kill a child for money.”

He spits his words, his gaze burns, but In-ho remains impassive.

“I’m trying to help you and the baby.”

“Help us? That’s rich.”

Gi-hun’s voice trembles with rage.
In-ho then places a knife on the table, gently, as if it were just another piece of cutlery.

“Take this knife back to the dorm. Kill those who wish to harm you and the child. They’re full, bloated, drunk. They’ll sleep like the dead. If you slit their throats quietly, no one will notice.”

Gi-hun clenches his jaw.

“Why would you want me to do that?”

In-ho slowly removes his mask.
Gi-hun’s eyes widen. Horror, anger, rage, betrayal.

“I’m sorry for what happened to Jung-bae.”

His voice tries to sound sincere, but Gi-hun hears only emptiness.
Gi-hun stands up abruptly, knife in hand, stepping towards In-ho with heavy steps.
I move too, weapon drawn, body tense, ready to intervene.
But In-ho doesn’t flinch. He faces the blade without blinking.

“You want to kill me? Go ahead. But killing me changes nothing. Someone else will take my place and the final game will happen tomorrow, exactly as planned.”

He leans in slightly.

“And during that game, you’ll have to face the bastards who want to kill you and the child.”

Gi-hun trembles, his breathing heavy, burning with hatred.
I raise my weapon, safety already off, I intervene at last, for the first time.

“Put the weapon down, Gi-hun.”

My voice cuts through the air, sharp, unquestionable.
He flinches, surprised by my intervention. His eyes narrow, glancing at me.

“Who are you?”

I don’t look away. Slowly, I raise my hand to my mask and remove it.
The silence thickens.
Gi-hun stares at me, searching my face, trying to understand. But deep down, he doesn’t seem that surprised.
His gaze shifts from me to In-ho. Slowly. He’s analyzing, deciphering.
Then, with a sigh, he lowers the knife but doesn’t let go of it. His hand remains clenched around the handle.
I take a step forward.

"The baby… he’s the only thing that matters now. You have to protect him, no matter the cost."

He watches me, trying to see if I’m telling the truth.
He finds my anger, my fear, my determination.
Our eyes lock, and in that moment, he understands. This is no longer just his fight, it’s become ours.
In-ho straightens slightly in his chair, elbow resting on the armrest, chin propped against his fingers. His voice is calm, almost gentle, but every syllable strikes like a verdict.

"But if you eliminate them before tomorrow, it’ll be just you and the baby left. And you need more than two players to play the next game."

A slight smile slides onto his lips.

"According to the rules, the game will stop immediately."

He pauses, savoring every word.

"You and the baby will walk out of here alive. You have my word. Kill them before they kill you. That’s your only chance. You have no choice."

A deadly silence falls.
Gi-hun, face closed off, pivots without a word. He takes a few steps toward the elevator, the knife trembling in his hand.
But just before he reaches the door, In-ho’s voice slices through the air, sharper this time.

"Player 456…"

Gi-hun stops dead, without turning around.

"Do you still have that much faith in humanity?"

The echo of his words stretches out. In-ho savors the moment, his gaze drilling into Gi-hun’s tense back.
Gi-hun doesn’t respond. He grips the knife tighter, his knuckles whitening. And then, he moves forward. He leaves the room. For good.

The silence crashes down, heavy, suffocating.
I stand behind In-ho, frozen. I finally understand.
He wants to push Gi-hun over the edge, to make him cross that line, to kill by his own will.
This is In-ho’s final game.

My gaze falls on him. For the first time, I’m at a loss for words.
The man I’ve hated, tried to understand, is turning this nightmare into a lesson in horror. And he looks… proud.
I swallow hard, but the words stick in my throat.
I move closer.
He’s there, seated in his chair, imposing in his black suit, no mask this time.
His face is bare, unguarded, yet he radiates this cold control that makes me want to scream—or to touch him.
He says nothing. He just stares, dissecting me with that impassive, piercing gaze.
I close the final distance between us. I sit on his lap. He doesn’t push me away.
I lean toward him, my breath brushing his face. I press my lips to his.
It’s not a tender kiss. It’s loaded, burning, like a silent detonation.

I feel his breathing quicken, his hands gripping the armrests, but he doesn’t yield. Not yet.
I pull back slightly, my eyes locked onto his.

"Why did you give him that knife, In-ho?"

"You want to see him kill, don’t you? Watch him fall, watch him do the dirty work for you."

"You’re handing him the rope, waiting to see if he’ll hang himself."

"Gi-hun has the choice I no longer have. If he wants to save that child, he’ll have to get his hands dirty. Like I did."

I stare at him, and for the first time, I see the crack.
Not remorse, but a bitter realization.

"Is this your redemption, In-ho? You want someone else to damn themselves in your place?"

"And if Gi-hun refuses to kill? If he chooses to die with that child, will you be satisfied?"

He closes his eyes briefly, exhales slowly.

"If he refuses, he’s dead. If he accepts, he’s broken. Either way, the system wins."

His cynicism slaps me. But deep in his gaze, I see the faintest fissure, a fragment of a soul he hides from everyone.

"You have no idea how naive you are, Blue."

I lean in, my lips barely brushing his.

"No. I just know I’m still human."

His eyes drop to my lips, then slowly rise to meet mine again. The silence between us grows heavy, almost tangible, like a contained explosion.
His hands slide from my thighs to my waist, pulling me closer to him. My breath quickens, anger and frustration mingling with a burning desire.
He tilts his head, his breath warm against my skin. Without a word, his lips trail down my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. I close my eyes, surrendering for a moment to the storm within us.
He kisses me deeply, dominantly, a kiss that defies the chaos around us, everything we’ve been through. I let myself go, my hands sliding into his hair, forgetting everything except him.
My breath quickens, and I arch slightly under his grip. He feels it. He sees it. His gaze darkens, his pupils dilate, his hands slide up, brushing my ribs, making me flinch in pain but he doesn’t stop.
His hands graze the edge of my chest through my uniform. He stops there, deliberately, a burning whisper against my skin:

"Say it. Say you want me to continue."

I grit my teeth, my heart a mess, but I eventually nod, unable to form a single word. He smiles, that dangerous half-smile he has when he knows he’s won.
His hand slips to my neck, his fingers tangle in my hair, pulling my head gently back, exposing me to him. His mouth trails down my neck, tracing a burning line along my collarbone, stopping right where my breath catches.
His other hand slides down, slow, calculated, molding to my curves, stopping on my thigh.
My knees are on either side of his, my hips painfully aware of the indecent closeness.
He grabs the zipper, unhurried, and starts to pull it down. Every inch exposed sends shivers across my skin under his burning gaze.
He never looks away, not for a second, as the fabric falls away, revealing my shoulders, my heaving chest. His hands are precise, methodical, but he takes his time. He enjoys watching me squirm under his control.
He sets me on my feet. When my uniform finally pools at my feet, he leans back, his eyes roaming over my naked body like a caress more intimate than his hands. He leans slightly against the back of his chair, looking at me with that raw intensity, not hiding the dark desire in his eyes. His gaze slowly slides over me until it stops at my hip, where the still-fresh wound marks my skin with a deep red. His brows knit together. He says nothing, but I see a brief tightening of his jaw. It’s not pity, it’s something else. A cold, icy frustration, as if that wound was never supposed to exist. Not on me. Not on what he considers his.

“Look at you… even naked, you still want to wage war.”

 

He leans back in his chair, immaculate in his black suit, cold, assured, as if he rules the entire world. The contrast hits me hard.
With a simple flick of his wrist, he gestures for me to approach, without even voicing a command.
I obey, sliding between his parted legs. He doesn’t move, he waits. He knows I’m the one coming to him. He doesn’t need to chase me.
I try to lift myself onto his lap, but before I can, his strong hand grabs my waist and pulls me roughly against him. My naked body presses against his perfectly tailored suit. The cold fabric against my burning skin makes me shiver.
He locks me onto one of his thighs, holding me firmly with just one hand. I’m trapped, locked exactly where he wants me. His domination is total. I’m nothing but an extension of his will.
I don’t know why I do it. Maybe to defy his implacable calm, maybe to reclaim a sliver of power, or maybe just to prove to myself that I’m still breathing. Slowly, I start moving against him, seeking to soothe that ache between my legs. My clit rubs against the fabric of his pants, a moan escapes me.
I ride him, but he doesn’t let me take control. His grip tightens on my hips, dictating the rhythm, the pace. I’m not leading this dance; he is, always him. Every movement I try to initiate is reined in, channeled.
His breathing remains controlled, but his fingers dig deeper into my flesh. He keeps me anchored to him, forbidding me to escape or slip from his grasp.

"Do you think you’ll regain control like this, Blue?"

His voice is a whisper, low, contained.
I continue moving, more insistently, but he clamps his hand around my neck, slowing me down. He holds me at arm’s length, his eyes locked onto mine, and the more I try to speed up, the more he imposes this slow, calculated, torturous pace. He makes me feel that I’m here, naked, offered, but that nothing will happen until he decides.

"Look at me."

I have no choice. I drown in his dark eyes, and suddenly, I understand — he wants to see me break. He’s waiting for that precise instant when I’ll finally lower my guard, when I’ll stop resisting him. Not just physically, but mentally.
My movements falter. My muscles stop fighting. I finally release that tension that’s been devouring me from the start.
His hand leaves my neck to graze my jaw, sliding up to my hair, which he grips firmly. His other hand glides down my bare back, slowly descending. His body remains upright, powerful, still clothed, and this difference in control, in vulnerability, burns me.
Then, in this suspended silence, he shifts. With a single movement, he envelops me, pulls me down, lays me against him. I feel it, his breath deepens, his patience is crumbling.

"Tell me what you want, Blue, tell me."

I lean in, my lips brushing his ear.

"I want you to fuck me, In-ho."

These words fall into silence, and it’s as if a lock has been broken.
His gaze changes. A flash passes through his eyes, dark and burning. He grabs my hips, pulls me abruptly against him, my body pressed to his, in an embrace that leaves no room for escape.
He no longer waits. All restraint collapses.
With his free hand, he undoes his belt. The sound of the zipper echoes in the room. He is already so close.
My body trembles with anticipation. In-ho lifts me, and I sink onto him. We moan together.
He gives me no time to adjust, his rhythm is hard, relentless, I feel my body tightening around him.
His hand finds my clitoris and sets a rhythm, it’s overwhelming. My head falls back, my mouth opens, a cry escapes.

“You’re such a sight. Look at yourself. You’re going to come on my cock like a good girl.”

My thoughts scatter, I hear myself whispering a yes. My pleasure spikes, I open my eyes and lock them onto his. His gaze is so dark. He’s close.

“In-ho… Please… Come inside me.”

He drives into me, his rhythm becomes frantic, rushed, he loses himself. My orgasm takes me by surprise, my body tightens around him, he plunges deep inside, and lets out a guttural sound.

 

I collapse against him, my limbs heavy, my breathing still uneven. His shirt is crumpled under my cheek, and I feel the warmth of his chest, his heartbeat slowing, contrasting with the storm still echoing in my body.
He reaches out, without a word, and turns on the screen in front of us.
The image flares to life: Gi-hun, tense silhouette, moves through the darkness of the dormitory. The knife in his hand glints under the cold light. Around him, the other players sleep, unaware. In-ho shivers, a barely noticeable smirk on his lips.

With a fluid motion, he grabs his glass of scotch and brings it to his lips. His free hand slowly moves down, caressing my bare side, as if his fingers are tracing the curves to reassure himself they still belong to him.
I could speak, ask him what he hopes for, what he’s waiting for, but I say nothing.
This moment belongs only to him.

Gi-hun is there, leaning over player 100. His hand trembles slightly, clenched around the knife’s handle. The blade brushes the skin, just under the sleeping player’s throat. It would only take a breath, a slight pressure, for everything to end. Time seems frozen, the silence is absolute, barely disturbed by the heavy breathing of the players, oblivious to the edge of the blade hovering above them.
Gi-hun closes his eyes for a second.
He steps back, breathless as if he has just fought an invisible battle. The knife remains in his hand, but he lowers his arm. He will not kill. Not tonight.

The weight of silence fills the room, heavy and tangible. In-ho does not move, his face locked in an expression of inner conflict, as if holding back a storm ready to break. His eyes stay fixed ahead, but I can sense the crack behind this facade: a mix of bitterness, suppressed anger, and perhaps, somewhere, a hint of envy or admiration for Gi-hun, who dared to choose a different path.
I feel his hand pressing gently against my skin, a firm and protective touch, a silent message saying more than words ever could. I press a little closer to him, seeking in that gesture an anchor, a proof that amidst all this chaos the world around us keeps turning, but in this suspended bubble, we share a brutal truth: Sometimes, the greatest battle isn’t the one fought outside, but the one fought within.

Chapter 15: What’s left of him

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

I’m alone, lying in the crumpled sheets of In-ho’s bed. My skin still carries the heat of his hands, but the room is freezing without him.
A sharp voice makes me lift my head. He’s there, his back turned to me, a dark silhouette by the window, phone to his ear.

“Lieutenant Hwang Jun-ho, do you copy?”

I sit up abruptly. That name.
Jun-ho.
I’ve heard it whispered before, but now,it sticks.
Hwang In-ho. Hwang Jun-ho.
His brother.
The shock passes quickly. My mind kicks into gear, logic resurfaces.
I slip out of bed, bare feet on the cold floor, and sneak toward the glass partition separating the bedroom from the living room. He doesn’t see me.

“You should give up. Stop your investigation. You’ll die for it.”

I hold my breath, clinging to that shadowed whisper.
I can’t hear the other side of the call. Not a word.
But him… him, I see freeze.
In-ho remains still, his head slightly tilted as if he’s been struck in the chest. His fingers tighten, whitening around the phone.
For a fraction of a second, his mask of coldness falters.
Then he hangs up. The phone nearly falls onto the coffee table.
In-ho stands there, facing the window, fists clenched, his back tense.
He has become a fortress of silence once again.

“You can come out of your hiding spot.”

His voice is calm, not raised. He doesn’t even turn around.
I step out, barefoot on the icy floor, arms crossed over my bare chest.
He knew. He always knows.
I approach slowly, but it’s him who breaks the silence.

“Today is the last game. The VIPs expect a show.”

He pivots slightly, his gaze hooks onto mine, inquisitive.

“I’ll say this one last time: no provocations, no reckless moves.”

I stay silent. I feel his voice vibrating through my bones, an order engraved into my flesh, but deep down, something is roaring, pulsing.
He steps closer, reducing the space between us, his fingers brushing my face, tracing up to my chin, which he grabs firmly.

“I want you by my side. Standing tall. Perfect. Not trembling with rage or getting yourself killed for one wrong move. Is that clear?”

I nod slowly.I don’t say a word because deep down, I know, maybe today is the end.
For him, for me, for this masquerade. He releases my face and steps back.

“Get ready. We go down in an hour.”

 

He leaves the room, leaving me alone, standing, heart pounding like a ticking bomb.

I walk behind him, his shadow a guiding line.
In-ho stands tall, the Frontman mask back on his face. I’m in uniform, eyes locked forward, but inside—it’s chaos.
The VIPs are already there.
They stand before the large glass window, buzzing like vultures. Their chatter fades at our entrance. Not out of respect, but anticipation.
Today is the grand finale.

“Ah, here’s our Master of Ceremonies!”

A VIP raises his glass, mockingly solemn. The others snicker, but they don’t expect a reply. Their attention is glued to the spectacle unfolding below.
The arena has changed. No more glass tiles, no more childish games.
In the center, three massive pillars rise, geometric, like altars in the void: Square, Triangle, Circle.
An architecture built for one purpose: the aerial Squid Game.
A chessboard of death.
The players are there, tiny from this height, huddled in the shadows of the pillars.

Gi-hun holds the baby tightly in his arms.
I clench my fists. I feel In-ho’s gaze slide toward me.

“Remember, no reckless moves.”

His voice is calm, but I know he’s watching me behind the mask.
Then, the electronic voice echoes.

“These are the game rules. This is an expulsion game across three towers: the Square tower, the Triangle tower, and finally, the Circle tower. To begin, you must push at least one player off the Square tower while they are still alive. The remaining players may then proceed to the Triangle tower for the next round. Similarly, eliminate one or more players from the Triangle tower during the second round, and the remaining players may then proceed to the Circle. Finally, push one or more players off the Circle tower, and all players still present on the tower will be declared winners. Be advised, if you fail to expel anyone within the allotted time, all players on the tower will be eliminated. Please press the button on the floor to start the first round.”

The VIPs behind me stir with excitement. They pull out their binoculars, laugh, already placing bets.

“Well, we already know which three are getting eliminated.”

“Just need to find out in what order.”

The button is pressed. The gong reverberates, heavy, final.
There are ten players on the Square tower. Nine adults, one baby.
They size each other up. A tense, feverish mass on the brink.
The platform seems tiny beneath their bodies, the void pulling at them.

“Someone has to fall.”

This phrase, thrown by a player, spreads like poison. All eyes turn to Gi-hun holding the baby.
Glares cross, measure each other. Fear, hatred, survival instincts.
The baby whimpers.
Player 333 steps forward, convincing the others not to kill the baby yet, proposing the junkie, Player 125, instead.
The others agree, relieved it’s not them.
The VIPs erupt in enthusiasm.

“That’s what I call entertainment!”

“Pack mentality at its finest, beautiful!”

I hold back a scream.
On the tower, 125 collapses, crawling, begging. 333 grabs him roughly, shoving him off in one swift motion. 125 plummets into the void, his scream silenced by distance.
The gong sounds.

Round 1: Validated.

The floor of the Square tower lights up, a trapdoor opens, revealing a narrow bridge to the Triangle tower.
The players cross it, heavy steps. The baby is still crying. I can’t take my eyes off him.

Gi-hun is the last to reach the Triangle tower. The bridge seals shut behind him with a deafening thud.
The VIPs hold their breath, some already thrilled.

“They’ll do it. The baby’s done for this time.”

My hand moves to my weapon almost by reflex.
My fingers wrap tightly around the grip, as if I could stop the inevitable.
In-ho is to my left. He doesn’t look at me, but I feel his gaze weighing on me.
A silent language: “Don’t do it.”

The circle closes around Gi-hun.
The players approach. Primitive strategy: isolate the weakest, devour the stray.
They close in, nearly tearing the baby from his arms.
One of them, 336, raises a metal bar. I see it in his eyes. He wants to end it with a swift blow. Throw the baby. It’s visceral. It’s too much.
My grip on my weapon tightens. The metal is cold under my fingers.
I raise it, slowly, discreetly, like a breath that turns heavy.
I aim, target fixed. I’m ready to break the rules.
I feel In-ho turn his head toward me. Slowly.
He says nothing, but his gaze pierces through me.
It’s not an order. It’s worse.
It’s a warning.

Player 336 lunges, he strikes.
Gi-hun reacts. In a flash, he draws his knife. The blade sinks into 336’s side, a gasp of shock echoes.
Time freezes.
Then 333 steps in.
He shoves 336 violently, sending him over the edge, his scream of rage and terror fading into the abyss.
I lower my weapon.
The pressure in my chest eases only slightly.
The VIPs erupt, fists raised, loud and grotesque.
They didn’t see my attempt, but In-ho did.
I don’t dare look at him, but I feel his tremor.
It’s not fear. It’s something worse.
Contained fury. A silent volcano.
I straighten up, heart pounding, ready to burst.
The tension is suffocating. The VIPs are hysterical.
333 steps forward, his eyes blazing, and speaks clearly.

“This child… is my daughter.”

A murmur of disbelief ripples through the VIP lounge, quickly turning into a thunder of exclamations.

“Incredible!”

“I’m impressed with this year’s player selection.”

Laughter, applause, clinking glasses. They are savoring it. Their perfect show.
The players on the tower have lost all humanity.
They descend on Player 039, beating him with fists, kicks, iron bars.

“I tenderized the meat.”

039 no longer screams. He can’t. He collapses, broken.
Gi-hun lunges.
He grabs one of the attackers by the collar and throws him down.
The tension escalates, the brawl erupts. Amidst the chaos, someone hits the button.

“Second round. Begin.”

It’s raw chaos. Fists, knives, stifled screams.
The baby is there, on the floor, crying his lungs out. That sharp, heart-wrenching wail cuts through me.
In-ho, beside me, stands motionless, impenetrable, his eyes fixed on the spectacle.
Gi-hun fights with the energy of desperation.
He grabs a knife off the floor. A player charges at him, he has no choice.
The move is quick, instinctive, the blade pierces flesh, the man collapses, dead.
Silence. A suspended moment.
Only 333, Gi-hun, the baby, Player 039 crawling half-dead, and old Player 100 remain.
333 looks at the old man. His smile is calm, as he steps closer.
He pushes him. Player 100 stumbles and falls into the void.
The gong sounds.

Round 2: Validated.

A cold shiver runs through the VIP lounge.
The spectators scream in delight, their bloodlust satisfied.
I stand straight, but my hand grips my weapon so tightly my knuckles turn white.

The third round is about to begin.
The players are still on the Triangle tower.
Player 039 knows. He knows what’s coming.
His legs tremble, but his decision is made.

“No… not like this.”

333 tries to grab him, but the man throws himself into the void, without a sound.
The frozen silence that follows is only broken by the dull gong of his body hitting the ground.
Gi-hun doesn’t wait. He picks up the baby and rushes toward the final tower: the Circle.
But 333 blocks his path, iron bar raised.

“Give her to me.”

His voice is dry, crazed, stripped of humanity. He’s ready to kill his own child for the money.
Gi-hun freezes.
The iron bar sways in the air, ready to strike.
In a flash, 333 rips the baby from Gi-hun’s arms.
I feel my heart explode. My weapon. My legs. I’m too late but Gi-hun doesn’t hesitate.
He dives for his knife on the ground, grabs it, and charges.
The bridge retracts. He has only seconds.
With a desperate leap, he lands on the Circle tower, just before the void swallows the path behind him.
333 dangles the baby over the edge.

“One more step and she falls.”

But Gi-hun steps forward, slowly. His gaze is no longer that of a player.
It’s a father’s gaze.
The tension snaps. They grapple, brutal, animalistic. The iron bar, the knife, their fists. The baby screams, suspended between two dying bodies.
And then, suddenly, everything falls apart.
They both topple.
My breath stops, I raise my weapon, but it’s too late.
Gi-hun clings to a metal beam jutting from the tower.
His other arm holds the baby, tight against him.
333 isn’t so lucky.
He slips. His scream is brief, muffled.
He crashes violently onto the ground.
A heavy silence descends upon the arena.
Gi-hun climbs back up, panting, face twisted with effort. He kneels, the baby against his chest.
I suffocate.
A cold dread runs through me.
The button… No one pressed the button.
The round never started.

Two remain: Gi-hun and the baby.
The VIPs rise, stunned, thrilled by this anomaly, murmurs rising.
I don’t breathe.
Time feels suspended.
The VIPs are frozen, gasping behind their tinted glass.
And Gi-hun… He knows.
With slow steps, he advances. He presses the button on the floor.
The gong resounds, metallic, solemn.
Then, he turns from the machinery.
He walks back to the baby, lifts her with infinite gentleness.
His eyes rise next. They search for the glass. They find us.
He knows. He knows we’re here.
In-ho, me, the VIPs.
His gaze locks onto mine.
Time dissolves.
Each heartbeat echoes his stare inside my skull.
I feel nothing but the tears falling, unstoppable.
I see his decision.
He kneels.
He places the baby gently at the center of the tower.
A slow gesture.
Final.
Then he stands.
He turns, offering us his back.
He walks to the edge.
His voice, hoarse, torn, slices through the arena.

“We are not horses… We are human beings… Human beings.”

And he falls.
The void swallows him, the fall feels endless.
I hear nothing anymore, just the blood pounding in my temples.
I move without thinking, my arm raises my weapon.
The moment Gi-hun crashes onto the ground, I pull the trigger.
The gunshot merges with the impact.
The VIPs’ bodies collapse in a grotesque ballet. Scarlet splashes stain their golden masks.
In-ho whips around towards me.
His stare freezes, betrayed between shock and rage. He stares, paralyzed between what he just witnessed and what he refuses to believe.
His jaw tightens, the muscles in his throat constrict.
I run.
I hear his order crack behind me, brutal.

“Come back!”

But his voice breaks. He knows it’s too late.

I descend the metal stairs of the VIP lounge.
The alarm hasn’t been triggered yet, no one understands what just happened.
The shock is total.
The hallways are empty, I dive into the labyrinth without thinking.
My only obsession: the baby.
The corridors twist and repeat. The pink walls suffocate, devour me. My footsteps echo, my breath shortens.
I must find her. Before them.
Voices crackle through the intercoms, the first alerts.

“Shots fired in the VIP lounge! Security on red alert!”

But I’m ahead. I know this maze.
I reach the airlock leading to the arena, the ground is littered with debris, blood, shattered bodies.
And in the middle, tiny, fragile, she is there.
The baby.
She cries, alone, her little fists clenched.
I run, kneel down, my arms cradle her, her body is warm, alive.
I clutch this little being to me, a sob escaping.
I’ve got her.
I’ve got you.
Behind me, the loudspeakers screech, piercing.

“Red alert! Self-destruction procedure initiated. All personnel proceed to evacuation shuttles immediately.”

I rise, I run again with this little life clutched to my chest, plunging into the bowels of this cursed building.
The sirens wail throughout the complex, the walls vibrate with the evacuation alarms.

Chaos erupts.
Guards run through the corridors, some tear off their masks, panicked.
They know the island will disappear, and I carve my path through this deluge, the baby tight against me, weapon raised.
In the distance, a dull noise, distant explosions.

Jun-ho.
He did it.

The Coast Guard is approaching. The building trembles.
I cross steel walkways, emergency staircases, racing through hallways leading to the docks.
But I feel it.
He’s there.
In-ho.
I see him descending the stairs, slow, steady, his black coat billowing behind him, His eyes are burning. Freezing.
He’s alone, but he doesn’t need backup.
He has that look—a man who has lost everything, who has nothing left to lose.

“Give me the child, Blue.”

His voice is low, emotionless.

“It’s over.”

I tighten my grip on the gun. My hands are trembling.
He stops a few meters away, his eyes lock onto mine.

“You think you can just walk out of here like that?!”

I swallow back a sob.

“You wanted him to die here, like the others. Like your brother.”

He freezes. His fists clench, his jaw tightens. He’s fighting.
When he speaks again, his voice is lower, rougher.
I see him crack. The marble man wavers, and then, in a hoarse breath, he lets it out.

“Come with me.”

I stay frozen.

“You, me… and the child. We leave this island. Now.”

His gaze, searing, hooks into mine. It’s no longer an order—it’s almost… a plea.
My heart is pounding in my chest.
The baby whimpers.
I grip my weapon, my breath cuts short.

I close my eyes for a second—one second too long.
When I open them again, he’s there, his hand outstretched, reaching for me, for us.

Notes:

The next two chapters will be from In-ho’s point of view. hope you enjoyed this one! Feel free to drop a little comment, xoxo ❤️

Chapter 16: What cannot be saved

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

In-ho's POV

A triangle approaches. It stops at the regulation distance, but I can sense its hesitation. It doesn't want to talk to me. No one ever wants to talk to me.

“Chief, the Blue guard went down to the control room.”

He could have said anything else. But no. Blue, control room.
I don’t need more explanations. I know where she’s going, I know what she’s planning.
She doesn’t understand the rules — or rather, she doesn’t care.
My fist clenches involuntarily. It was predictable. I should have stopped her earlier, I should have… But no, you can't hold back a gust of wind with your fists.

I leave my post. I know exactly what she’s about to do, and this time, I can’t look away.
I descend quickly, heart heavy, the mask weighing more than ever.
I watch her pivot on her heels, already poised to cross the line she’ll never be able to erase. She thinks I’ll let her through. She thinks I’ll look away, like always.
Not this time.
I stand in front of the door. Straight, relentless. The mask does the work for me. It’s easier that way.
She freezes.
I see her breathing shift. I watch her. Even if she can’t see my eyes, she must feel the weight of what I’m projecting. I forbid her to move, to speak. She feels it, I see it in the way her jaw tightens — but she speaks anyway.

“Step aside, In-ho.”

She says my name. Not Sir, not Leader, In-ho. As if that could pull me back to the right side.
I could tell her that name doesn’t exist anymore, that it died with everything else, but I no longer have the strength to play that game.

“Return to your post, guard.”

She advances. I advance. She challenges me, and I block her. Physically, it’s easy, but it burns inside.

“She’s going to give birth in that damn arena. I can’t let her die in there.”

I lower my head, just slightly, just enough to think without letting go.
It’s not her role to decide. It’s not mine either. We’re supposed to do as we’re told.

“This isn’t your role to decide. You’ve already crossed too many lines.”

I say it for her, I say it for myself, because if she crosses this one, I’ll have nothing left to hold onto either.
But she steps closer. Too close. Her breath against me, her gaze piercing through. She’s looking for the crack. She knows it’s there.

“And you? How far will you go before you stop? Until there’s nothing left to save? Until there’s nothing left of you either?”

She hits where it hurts, where it still bleeds.
I clench my fists. I fight against myself because she’s right, and it’s too late to back down.

“If you move now, you’re signing your death warrant. I won’t cover for you anymore, Blue. Not this time.”

That’s all I can offer her. One last warning. Not a threat. A truth.
She holds my gaze, even without seeing my eyes — she knows they’re trembling.
And then, that cry.
A tiny sound, but it tears through the air. It tears through everything solid left in me.
I see her turning toward the screens. I don’t need to look. I know what she sees, I feel it in my flesh.
A baby, in that arena.
I stay behind her. Powerless.
She almost collapses against the console, her hands gripping the cold metal as if it could save her from what just happened.
I call her.

“Blue.”

My voice is smooth, automatic, it’s all I have left to stay standing — but I know she’s not fooled anymore. She hears the void behind my words, she hears what I can’t hide.
The baby’s cries pierce my eardrums. They tear out something I thought had died long ago.
She speaks again, trying to pull me out of it.
She doesn’t understand there’s no way out, or maybe she just doesn’t care.
I close my eyes behind the mask. I wish she’d stop, wish she’d stop making me see what I can’t bear anymore, but she steps closer. Too close.

“Say it. Tell me this doesn’t affect you. Look me in the eyes and lie to me.”

I could. I could lie, but my throat locks up.
The lie won’t pass.
So I stay silent because that’s all I have left.
She thinks she understands me, she talks to me as if she knows the weight of my silences, as if she can guess what’s left behind this mask.
She thinks I don’t waver. She’s wrong.

“You know, I thought you had everything planned. That nothing could slip past you.”

I keep the mask impassive, but her words resonate. It’s a provocation. No, it’s worse, it’s a fracture.
I give her a truth, raw, cold.

“You’re right. I control almost everything.”

But that almost… I hate it. It scrapes me raw, every single day.

I turn away, slowly. Step by step, my eyes catch the screen.
There, Gi-hun is collapsing, shred by shred.
Every emotion in him becomes a weapon against himself: anger, vengeance, that despair I once carried, that I still carry.
I stay standing, mute, facing this scene. It’s not voyeurism, it’s more perverse than that.
It’s recognition. Resonance.
I know what he feels. That fall, I lived it, I fought it, I lost it.
I let this spectacle engulf me, it’s the only honest mirror I have left.

 

I close the door behind her. It’s a simple, mechanical gesture, but it’s another weight on my chest.
I watch her walk away, escorted by two faceless silhouettes, and I stay there a moment too long, hand on the handle, fists clenched, jaw tight.
I brought her back here, not to protect her, not to punish her, but because deep down, I no longer know what to do with her. I no longer know what to do with myself.
I return to my shadows.
Hours pass, stealing what little lucidity I have left. I force myself to stay in the control room, to stare at the screens, but my mind is elsewhere.
The image of that baby, of that life, loops in my head. It taunts me.
I thought I had buried all of that.

When I finally return, she’s there, motionless, frozen in that chair, staring at the black screen.
I approach. My hand reaches out, almost involuntarily. A brush against her cheek, a caress I have no right to offer.
I already hate myself for this useless gesture, for this ridiculous need to remind her that I’m still human.
She says nothing, she doesn’t push me away — so I lift her.
She’s light. Too light. It’s rage that holds her upright, I know it.
I lay her on the bed. I could leave — it would be easier — but I stay there, at the edge, unable to move away.
And then she lets go of what she’s holding back, not a threat, not a scream — a promise.

“This baby must live.”

I lower my gaze. What she says, I already knew, but hearing it tears me apart more than I expected.

“I’ll do what I have to do… whatever it costs me.”

Her stubbornness, her fire — it’s what fascinates me as much as it terrifies me about her.
Because I know she’ll go all the way, even if it kills her. And because I no longer know if I can do the same.
A sigh escapes me. I can’t play my role anymore tonight.
I get up. I can’t stay any longer. My hand brushes hers, without clinging. I don’t give myself the right — but that contact costs me more than it should.
I turn away before I see her gaze.

 

The sound of water stopping, I have no mask, no armor left. The black pants stick to my skin, the tank top clings to my muscles — I know what she sees, what it triggers in her, yet I act as if nothing’s happening.
My eyes slide over her without fixing. I feel her tense, turn away.
The tension in the room is thick, almost suffocating, but I maintain that feigned calm.
I want her to soak in it, to suffocate under the weight of what I’m not saying.
I step closer, close enough for her to feel my presence, but without touching.
My voice grazes her neck. I don’t need to raise it.
She turns, and I see that gleam in her eyes: rebellion, hatred, and something deeper. Something she refuses to admit, but it’s there, in every beat of her heart when I get closer.
I close the distance. I want to feel her yield, feel her tip over.
My hand finds her nape, firm, without brutality. It’s not an attack — it’s an inevitability, a fact she can’t escape.
When my lips find hers, it’s not to offer an escape, it’s to remind her that I hold the reins.
I feel her resistance, slight, then that fatigue… She lets go.
My grip tightens. I can’t let her slip away.

This kiss isn’t tender. It’s raw.
But it’s not just a power play, it’s also my own battle, a battle against myself because at this moment, she engulfs me as much as I hold her.
I capture her gaze. I see acceptance slide into her eyes. Mute, burning.
She gives me the reins. But what she doesn’t know is that this control I impose — I’m clinging to it to avoid losing myself.
She falls to her knees. A gesture she offers me, but that tears her away from herself.
I should feel triumphant — I feel nothing but a fiercer fire.
Her hand on my pants is a slap to my control. I struggle to stay impassive, but I’m as feverish as she is. When she starts to give in, it’s me who falters.
I let my hand glide through her hair. The sensation of her strands between my fingers is almost painful. It’s not a tender gesture — it’s an anchor point.
I control her, yes, but the truth is she’s breaking me from within.
When she tries to lift her hands, I pull her back to order. Coldly.

“Put them behind your back.”

I want to see her obey. I need her to obey.
She complies, and that image — her misty eyes, her reddened lips — strikes me with a dull violence.
Every vibration, every moan she gives me is a step closer to the irreversible.
She thinks she’s provoking me, she’s chaining me.
She thinks she’s the one flirting with disobedience when her hand slips under her panties — but it’s me she’s condemning to lose the game.
I see it, I know it, but I don’t stop her.
I stare at her, burn her with my gaze, hate her for what she makes me feel, desire her more than I admit.
And when she yields, when she tips over, the growl that escapes me is no longer calculated.
The rest is a surge, brutal, total. I want to make her pay for what she triggers in me. I want to chain her to me, mark her, possess her.
But when she collapses, when pain cuts her down, everything stops.
I’m there. Instantly. I carry her, wordless, to the couch.
I lay her down, stare at her. I want to throw a biting quip, rekindle the spark of her anger — but I don’t.
I kneel.
At eye level.

“You’re going to stay here. Rest.”

I know she’ll refuse, but I give her the space to do it, because I need that confrontation to stay standing.
And when she tells me she’ll go anyway, I stand up, colder, firmer.
The distance is restored. The Leader takes his place again.

“Then you’ll come with me.”

She doesn’t understand. I’m not afraid she’ll fail. I’m afraid I’ll never see her again.
She tries to bite back, to push me away — but reality is there: she’s at her limit and I’m her anchor point, whether she likes it or not.
And yet, despite the tension, despite the apparent victory, a fissure slices through me because what I feel for her — I no longer have control over it.

 

The golden walls, crystal chandeliers, blood-red velvet sofas… it’s just a theater set for a tragedy they call entertainment. I watch them, those pigs in tuxedos, their greasy laughs, their obscene bets. They revel in suffering like cruel children tearing the wings off a butterfly. And yet, I must watch them, listen to them, give them the show they demand. But tonight, I feel something is spiraling out of control.

She’s there, in red uniform, square mask, straight as a blade. Invisible to the VIPs — but not to me. I see every tension in her body, every vibration beneath her skin. I see her clenched fist, her barely trembling breath. I know her pain is eating her alive, not just the pain in her ribs, but the deeper one — of what they’re doing.
She’s a bomb, ready to explode, and I know I put her there myself, thinking she could endure.
I may have been wrong.
When they mention the baby, when these beasts get excited at the thought of throwing an infant into the arena, I feel acid rise in my throat. Their greed, their sadism disgust me, but I don’t flinch. I have no right. The Leader has no emotions. I nod, barely, and the dice are cast.
But I feel her, teetering.
The step she takes forward is a thunderclap in my head. I don’t even need to look to know her hand is already grazing the grip of her weapon. I feel her body ready to explode.
Yet with a single word, I pin her in place.

“Do not move.”

My voice is stable, sharp, but inside, I’m burning. I feel the look she gives me behind that mask. It’s not fear, it’s hatred. A hatred I planted in her, nurtured until it became as sharp as the blade she wants to stab into my heart.
That’s what I wanted. To push her there, to make her understand.
But what I see isn’t rage, it’s a shattering. When 222, that woman she admires silently, throws herself into the void to save her child, I see Blue die standing. Her tears, I feel them before they fall. Her heart screams in my head, crushed by the obscene laughter rising around me.
So when I state, coldly, that the baby will play in 222’s place, it’s not out of gratuitous cruelty but because I have no choice. These pigs always want more; they never stop. But it’s also for her. To force her to cross that line because I know she’s incapable of doing it. She watches. She always watches. She carries that in her like a curse. And when she bursts into my quarters, red with fury, weapon in hand, I know it’s all over. I’ve won — and I’ve lost everything.

She hits me, spits her rage at me, and I stay there, straight, silent — but every word she hurls at me is a slap. She thinks her fists will reach me, but she doesn’t know it’s her eyes that tear me apart because in that gaze, there’s still something pure. Something I’ve spent my life suffocating.
She’s not like me. She’s never been like me.
That’s why she fascinates me. Why she destroys me.

When she tells me she’s going to save that baby, that to stop her I’ll have to kill her, I know she’s already chosen. There’s no turning back.
She’s the poison I’ve let flow in my veins, but she’s also the only thing that proves I’m still breathing.

I close my eyes. Inhale. When I open them, I have no armor left.
She’s waiting for me to confront her, but I can’t because, deep down, it’s not her who’s a prisoner in this room — it’s me. Prisoner of her, and I have no idea how to let her go.

Notes:

The next chapter will be from In-ho’s point of view and will follow as the final chapter of this story… ❤️
I’m already feeling nostalgic about them, so if you're interested, I’ve started working on a little side project that dives into Blue’s past and their first meeting.
Let me know if that’s something you’d like to read!
Thank you so much for reading, xoxo ❤️

Chapter 17: End of a reign

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

In-ho's POV

I’m seated in my chair, mask in place, posture straight. I feel their gazes sliding over me—hungry, impatient, like dogs circling a bone. They babble on, their greasy voices polluting the room.

"What if they decide to stop, huh?"

Idiots. They understand nothing.

"The game must go on!"

The game will go on.
I raise my hand. Their noise is sliced clean, as if cut by a razor.
This power, this control, I’ve honed it through compromises and betrayals. Every word I utter is a chain tightening around their throats.

"Don’t worry. The final game will take place."

I sit up, cross my legs, and in my voice, there’s only certainty.

"They have no reason to vote 'no' if they're certain they'll survive."

I say it calmly, but inside, I am a taut blade. I know she’s listening. I know her gaze burns through the room towards me. I feel her rage vibrating against my skin, but it doesn't reach me. Not here.
The vote begins on the screen. A ritual, nothing more. They think they have a choice, but everything is already written.
Then comes the key moment. A Square enters the players’ room, his voice echoing, surgical.

"For the final game, you will choose which players will be eliminated. If you all agree on which three players to eliminate, the others will be declared winners."

I don't look at them, but I feel the room freeze. That shiver, I feel it too. It’s the bite of the true game. How far will they twist their souls to save their skins? That’s what the pigs around me want to see. It’s no longer a game for them; it’s a mirror.
I hear them gloating. Their excitement is vulgar, primal.

"Fabulous! Absolutely fabulous!"
"Can’t wait to see their faces tomorrow…"
"You’re spoiling us, Leader. Truly."

I remain silent. I give them this silence. They’ll get no more than what I choose to give. Mystery is my last weapon, and I never waste my ammunition before the decisive shot.
They insist, laugh, try to squeeze a hint out of me.

"Come on, give us a clue!"

"Tsk. Guess we’ll have to drink all night to pass the time!"

Pathetic. They’re just spoiled children to whom I hand a knife and a mirror. But when I hear that breathing, betrayed by the mic, I freeze.
Blue.
She’s burning inside, I can feel it from here.
And like a vulture sensing a wound, one of them points at her. His pig-like finger stretches in her direction.

"Hey, you there!"

I don’t move. My mask stays fixed on her, but inside, every fiber of me is suspended on what will follow.

"Yeah, you, the guard! You look pretty tense, big guy. Didn’t they teach you to relax around here?"

I feel the tension rising in her. I know her. Every muscle in her body speaks to me. She swallows her rage, but I know she's one breath away from shattering the masquerade.
He approaches her, smug, sure of himself.

"You should be honored to serve such a spectacle, right? Or maybe…"

He’s playing with fire. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know he’s provoking a storm.

"Forgot who you’re serving, little soldier?"

The others laugh. I don’t.
I fix my gaze on Blue. I weigh, measure how far she’ll bend.
She straightens up. Slowly. Imperceptible to them, but not to me. I see her decision forging in her clenched fists, in the tension of her neck. Her voice falls, sharp.

"I never forget what I serve. That’s why I’m still standing."

The VIPs burst out laughing, satisfied with their little show. They understand nothing.
I understand. This isn’t insubordination. It’s a declaration of war.
She just told me, without even looking at me, that she’s still here, but that she decides how long that lasts.
Under my mask, I clench my jaw.
Blue is at the edge.
And I’m left with one burning question: do I make her fall, or do I let her jump?

 

"Apartment. Now."

I don’t turn around. I don’t need to. I feel her rage behind me, her ragged breathing following me down the hallway. She could’ve run, could’ve tried something, but she’s smarter than that. She follows me.
It’s a silent war setting in with each step.
In the apartment, the light falls like a verdict. The wall screen illuminates the room with images I know too well: the players laughing, whispering, preparing their next murder under the guise of survival.
I hear her close the door. Too loud. Provocative.
She’s there, behind me. I feel it, she’s boiling over, and it’s testing my patience.

"Stop."

My voice slices through the air, sharp, but she doesn’t care. She steps closer. She dares to come closer.
I see her finger point, accusing, at the screen. At them, but it’s me she’s aiming for.

"Look at them, In-ho. Look at them carefully."

She thinks I haven’t been watching them from the start? She thinks I don’t see what these dogs have become?

"They want to kill a baby. A fucking baby! This is your spectacle? This is what you endorse?"

Every word is a blade, but she doesn’t understand that this fight, I’ve been waging it alone, far longer than she imagines.
I turn sharply.

"Enough."

My voice snaps. Lower, colder. She’s crossed the line.
She thinks it’s her fight, but it’s been mine since day one, and today, it’s time to end it for good.

"Bring me player 456. Here. Now."

She looks at me, doesn’t understand. Blue, with her mask, her restrained rage, her heart beating too fast. I don’t have time for her objections, nor her doubts. I must keep control.

"Silence."

Not for cruelty, but because every word is a risk, a crack in the machine.
I sit in that chair. The room fills with static. I feel the tension, but it doesn’t touch me. I am the calm storm before the onslaught.
The elevator opens, and he arrives. Gi-hun. Hardened, changed. The innocence has fled his eyes, replaced by a heavy shadow. I watch him, ready to play my final card.
I invite him to sit, and he hesitates; that simple gesture is a victory over himself. I speak softly, almost politely, but every word is ice in the air. My offer is simple, cruel: survive or die.
He spits his hatred, his accusations. He believes we are monsters, perverse spectators. Maybe he’s right, but it’s necessary.
I place the knife before him—weapon and key. He must understand the dead end: he must kill to survive.
I remove my mask. I know this revelation will strike him. I see betrayal in his eyes, fear, anger. Everything I expected.
He stands up, threatens, but I remain calm, unmoved. He doesn’t know that killing me changes nothing. The game will continue, inexorably.
I tell him the truth. I push him to cross that line he fears, to face the monstrosity both within and without.

"Do you still believe in humanity?"

It’s a provocation, an invisible blade. I revel inside. This moment where hope falters, where he must choose. This is my ultimate game.
Blue watches me, frozen, finally grasping the depth of my intent.
I feel her gaze, her tension, that mix of hostility and closeness as she approaches and sits on my lap. I don’t push her away. No more mask, no more façade. Just this icy control, this power to impose the truth.
I feel her breath on my face, her lips pressing against mine. This kiss isn’t tender, it’s a discharge, a silent explosion tearing me apart. My breathing quickens, my hands tighten, but I hold on. Not yet.
I watch her pull away, her eyes locked onto mine. She asks why I gave Gi-hun that knife, why I pushed him into that black hole.
I answer, cold, almost brutal: because he has no choice. Because if he wants to save that child, he’ll have to dirty his hands, like me.
I see a crack in her gaze. It’s not pity, nor regret. Just a bitter realization. A truth I can’t escape.
She speaks of redemption, but to me, it’s a burden, a weight I try to shed by forcing it onto someone else. But what if Gi-hun refuses? What if he too chooses to die with that child? The system will have won regardless.
When she comes closer again, her skin against mine, I feel the anger, the frustration, and something more intense, more brutal. She resists, but I feel her desire burning.
My hands explore her curves, slowly, deliberately. I want her to tell me she wants me to continue, that she accepts this silent struggle between control and surrender.
I hold her against me, the cold of my suit contrasting with her burning skin. My eyes never leave hers, even when they drift to the wound on her hip. A wound that shouldn’t be there, that shouldn’t exist. I can’t let this war consume her.
I pull her towards me, silently dominant. She tries to regain control, to find a semblance of balance, but I slow her down, imposing my rhythm, the rhythm of struggle, of power, of control.
I want her to get lost in my eyes, to let go, to surrender to this tension consuming us both.
When she finally collapses against me, when she murmurs what she wants, I feel my own mask cracking. Restraint falls, I give in, fully, brutally.

 

Afterwards, lying down, my breathing barely calms while the screen lights up. Gi-hun, silent, knife in hand, moves through the shadows. I shiver with anticipation, a bitter smirk on my lips.
My hand glides over her skin, trying to hold onto what remains fragile between us. I say nothing, I have no words for this.
Gi-hun hesitates, knife hovering above the other player’s sleep. He steps back, refuses the fatal act tonight.
In this silence, I’m caught in an inner storm. Bitterness, anger, perhaps a hint of envy. He dared to choose differently. He dared to refuse.
I gently grip her skin. This touch is an anchor, proof that amidst this chaos, there’s still something to save.

 

Leaning against the glass wall, the phone pressed to my ear, the world around me fades. That voice… it tears me apart. It reopens wounds I thought I had locked away.
My brother. The one I buried in a corner of my mind. And yet, he hits me full force, brutal as an invisible punch.
I feel my fingers clench around the phone, whitening under the pressure. My mask of calm cracks, just for a moment, but it’s enough for the pain to drown me. That silence between two heartbeats is a chasm.
I hang up. The phone nearly slips from my hand, as if I’m letting go of a burden I can no longer bear.
I stay still, back straight, fists clenched, as if to hold back the inner storm threatening to sweep everything away.
She’s there, in the shadows, hidden but not fooled.

Time is running out. The final game is near, and with it, the ultimate trial. The VIPs are expecting their show, and I must be ready.
I finally look at her, my eyes seeking hers, needing to plant a clear command, a silent hope.

"No provocations, no reckless moves."

I don’t want her to be broken, to lose herself in this madness with me. I want her to be strong, to stand tall by my side.
I reach out, gently touch her face, lift her chin.

"I want to see you there, by my side. Not trembling, not consumed by rage. Is that clear?"

I feel her silence, her unspoken assent. I know everything could collapse today. For her, for me, for us.
I let go, step back, and give her the time that remains.

 

I walk ahead, straight, the Frontman’s mask firmly in place. An armor.
Behind me, she follows in uniform, eyes fixed ahead, but I can feel the storm she’s holding inside. I know her well enough to sense that beneath that facade, it’s chaos.
The VIPs are already there, swarming by the glass, eager, almost feral, like vultures ready to devour their feast. Their chatter dies down as we arrive—not out of respect, but feverish anticipation.
The grand finale is here.
I glance at the players, tiny figures in the shadow of the pillars.
Gi-hun clutches the baby against him, fragile and exhausted.

"Remember, no reckless moves."

I speak calmly, but under this mask, my mind is spinning at full speed.
The electronic voice reels off the game’s rules. Successive expulsions, constant pressure—a deadly trap.

The final game begins.
I sense her gripping her weapon. I don’t turn my head, but I feel her movement, the instinct pushing her to intervene, to stop what’s about to happen.
My gaze weighs on her, heavy with unspoken words: “Don’t do it.” It’s not a shouted order, it’s a silent warning. I know she’s ready to break the rules, to cross into forbidden territory.
The circle tightens around Gi-hun. The players close in, brutal strategy, relentless: isolate the prey, devour the weak. They want the baby, want to shatter what’s left of his humanity.
She raises her weapon, slowly, too slowly. I finally turn my head toward her, my eyes piercing, locking onto hers. It’s not anger that fills me in that instant, nor fear. It’s worse. It’s a deaf, contained fury, ready to explode. Because if she fires, everything will collapse.
She lowers her weapon, but the air remains thick, as if the pressure in my chest won’t relent.
The VIPs scream their joy, like starved beasts. They’ve seen none of my tension, guessed nothing.
I feel her avoiding my gaze, but I’m trembling, yes. Not from fear, but from anger—a cold, implacable anger. A storm brewing deep inside me, ready to destroy everything.
I straighten up, clench my jaw, and wear my mask of impassivity once more. But inside, I am on fire.

They are two. Gi-hun and that baby.
Gi-hun steps forward, presses the button on the floor. The gong resounds, a mechanical sound marking the beginning of the end.
Then he turns away from the machine, kneels, places the baby at the center of the tower. A slow, precise, calculated gesture.
His gaze seeks the glass, and he finds me. He finds me, and her, and all these VIPs savoring the spectacle.
I clench my fists, muscles taut.
He stands, turns toward us, exposing his back. His voice tears through the silence, hoarse, defiant.

"We are not horses… We are human beings… Human beings."

Then he falls. I stay frozen, senses on high alert.
The void swallows Gi-hun, and the instant he crashes to the ground, I hear the gunshot.
The sound of the gunfire pierces through me more than it deafens. Bodies collapse below, grotesque, pathetic, in a spray of blood and gold. The VIPs’ masks roll on the floor, stripped of meaning.
I remain still.
She fired.
To save her. To save that child she doesn’t even know.
She shattered the game, shattered the rules, just like that, without calculations, without a safety net.
I should be furious. I am. But it’s not enough. That’s not the strongest thing I feel right now.
I feel… something else. Something I thought long dead. This impulse, this jolt of humanity she’s just reignited at point-blank range.
She’s ready to lose everything, even her own life, to save a baby that, to everyone else, is just another pawn on this board of death.
And me, I stand here, frozen.
I feel my jaws clench until they ache.
I hate this woman. I hate her because she’s tearing me away from what I’ve become. Because deep down, a part of me, small but persistent, envies her. That pure rage, that ability to choose life, despite everything.
I turn toward her, my eyes burning with silent fury.

"Come back!"

My voice cracks through the chaos, brutal. But of course, she doesn’t turn around.
I watch her sprint away, a red silhouette tearing the scenery to shreds. Her footsteps echo against the metal as she rushes toward the arena.
A Guard approaches, panting under his black mask.

"Sir, the Coast Guard! They’re approaching the island."

I don’t move, my fists clenched behind my back.
Jun-ho.
That cursed little brother. He found the entrance.

"Initiate evacuation plan. Launch the self-destruct protocol."

The guard runs off. The evacuation alarm soon blares through the loudspeakers. The building is already trembling from the first sabotage detonations.
She’s running toward the child, and I—I need to find her.
I pivot on my heels, my black cape whipping through the air as I set off in pursuit.
She’s not leaving here without me.

She’s mine.

Notes:

The next chapter will officially be the last of this story ❤️

Chapter 18: She will have her chance

Notes:

Thank you for reading — I hope you enjoy the story! xoxo ❤️

I turn over the last drawer and finally, my fingers touch what I’ve been searching for. The passport is there, tucked beneath a pile of yellowed old bills. I grab it, clutching it in my palm like it’s a weapon. The cover feels rough under my fingers, but it burns with a promise: to get away.
I cast one last glance around me. This miserable studio won’t hold me back. The walls ooze with dampness, the floor sticks under my soles, but I feel nothing. No regret, no attachment. This place is as empty as what I’ve left behind.
I take the stairs two at a time, the flickering neon lights above me groaning like dying breaths. My heart is calm. It’s strange. I should be afraid, I should be running—but no. Every step feels heavier, anchoring me to the ground.
At the bottom, the building’s front door swings open violently.
Rain slams into my face, cold, brutal, but I keep going. The car is there, engine running, headlights glowing like a dull heartbeat in the night.
I move forward.
The passenger door swings open, and there he is.
In-ho.
The mask is gone. His face is bare, rain streaming down his skin. He stares at me, his gaze calm—too calm—as if he’s played out this scene in his head a thousand times.
I stop, frozen. I grip the passport tighter. Rain drips down my temples, into my eyes.

“Get in, Blue.”

“It’s Jun-ah.”

“What?”

“My name is Jun-ah.”

A heavy silence falls between us before he nods, barely perceptible.

“Alright... Jun-ah.”

And he says my name like he’s meeting me for the very first time.

 

Six months.

It’s crazy how time twists and dilutes. Six months ago, I had blood on my hands, alarms ringing in my head, and this baby... this baby clutched to me like she’d vanish if I let go for even a second.
Today, she’s here, in my arms, peaceful. Her breath is soft against my collarbone, her tiny fingers clutching my t-shirt. She knows nothing of the world we’ve escaped. She never will.
In-ho is leaning against the car, arms crossed. He hasn’t said much since we arrived, but I know him. His silence is a countdown. Los Angeles. That’s where we’re headed.
But this baby doesn’t belong in this escape.
I look down at her. Her eyelids flutter gently, she’s dozing against me, lulled by my breathing that I’m trying to keep steady. But it’s not working. I feel the tears rising, burning. I hold them back for a moment, then they fall.
I did it.
I made it.
She’s alive. She’s going to live.

In-ho approaches, wordless. He reaches out his arms. I look at him, my fingers refusing to let go, but I know. I know I have to let her go. My arms obey, trembling.
When In-ho wraps his hands around her small body, he does it with a tenderness that tears me apart. As if he knows too, what it costs.
I wipe my cheeks roughly. I take a deep breath.
He pulls a bank card from the inside pocket of his jacket. Blood money. He places it on the baby, in plain sight. There’s enough on it to buy her an entire life. A real one.
I watch In-ho walk away, the baby in his arms, until he disappears around the corner towards Jun-ho’s apartment.
And there, finally, my chest empties in a ragged breath.

 

Time stretches. I don’t know how many minutes pass. Just enough for the absence to become unbearable.
I don’t see him come back, but I feel him. He places his hand on my shoulder.

“She’ll get her chance.”

I close my eyes. The chance I never had.

“And what about us?”

He doesn’t answer and opens the car door.
He knows I’ll get in, because he’s my world, and that’s all I have left.

Notes:

This is the end of this story. It’s bittersweet to let them go. I hope you enjoyed it.
I’ll soon be publishing a short prequel about Blue’s past—her rise among the Guards and her first encounter with In-ho.
See you soon, and thank you for your support! xoxo ❤️