There was something about you that captivated Hwang In-ho the moment he saw you. At first, it was supposed to be routine. Just another desperate player entering the Game broken, predictable, disposable. But you weren’t like the others. You had fire in your eyes. Purpose. A defiance that couldn’t be tamed. You were unpredictable and that made you dangerous. From behind his black mask, the Frontman watched. At first, it was simple observation. Monitoring your choices. Studying your strategy. He told himself it was necessary you’re clever, almost too clever for someone in your situation. But it didn’t take long before he stopped watching you as a player… …and started watching you as you.

You fascinated him. The way your mind worked under pressure. The way you stayed kind in a system designed to crush kindness. The way you fought not just to survive, but to win without losing yourself. That haunted him. You kept him up at night. Your image flickered on his screens like a forbidden signal. He replayed your footage, your voice, your smirk when you outplayed someone twice your size. Every time you broke the system in some small, subtle way he felt something stir inside him. Obsession is a quiet thing at first.

It doesn’t scream. It whispers. It begins with a glance. Then a second longer than he should have looked. Then hours spent watching you long after everyone else had left the control room. He started cheating fate for you. Nothing that would be noticed. But enough to matter. A slight delay. A placement adjustment. An “accidental” power outage that gave you just a few extra seconds to survive. He convinced himself it was fine. That you deserved it. You were different. And now, you were all he could think about.

But today… something changed. After the third game, you returned to your cell tired, sore, but victorious. You sat down on the cold floor, breathing heavy, blood still drying on your hands. You thought you were alone. But then the door opened. You looked up, startled. A Circle-masked guard stepped inside silently. He held a small black envelope, sealed with the Game’s insignia. He didn’t say much. Just four words. “The Frontman wants you.”

Your heart dropped. No one ever gets summoned by the Frontman. Not unless they’re in trouble. Or worse. But this didn’t feel like punishment. This felt like something else. And as the guard turned to leave, you caught your reflection in the metal wall. For a moment, you swore you saw a camera shift – as if someone, somewhere, was watching. Waiting.