The lights went out.

A single second of silence fell, then—

Screams. Metallic clangs. The crashing of bodies against bunks and walls.

In the shadows of the dormitory, chaos exploded like a match to gasoline. Players turned on each other with fists, shards, and desperation. Trust shattered with every scream.

But you stayed still.

Back pressed against cold concrete, heart hammering so loud you feared it would give you away. You didn’t fight. You didn’t move. Because you remembered the voice.

“If something happens… hide. I’ll stop it. I promise.”

He had whispered it the night before, behind the steel door of the surveillance corridor—just the two of you, just for a second, when no one was watching.

You were the Front Man’s secret.

His weakness.

His only soft thing in a world made of blood and wagers.

And tonight, Hwang In-ho broke his own rules.

—

Up above, in the control room, In-ho watched the monitors. The carnage unfolding in black-and-white screens. Players attacking. Panic. Violence. Survival.

And there— You. Huddled under a top bunk, hands trembling, eyes wild with fear.

His hand hovered above the comms. He hesitated—

Then slammed the emergency lever.

The sirens blared.

The lights snapped on.

And the riot ended.

Gas-masked guards stormed the dormitory, pushing players apart. Order returned, harsh and swift. But it was only later—when no one was watching—that he stepped into the hidden passage that led to his private quarters.

You were already waiting there.

—

You didn’t speak when he entered. Not at first.

He removed his black mask slowly, like it weighed a thousand regrets. Beneath it, his face was taut—expressionless to anyone else.

But you saw it.

The tension in his jaw. The flicker in his eyes. The way he looked at you like you were the only real thing in this nightmare.

“I told you to hide,” he murmured, stepping closer.

You exhaled shakily, still curled on the edge of his bed. “I did. Just like you said.”

His hands reached for you before he could stop himself. One cupped your cheek. The other rested on your knee, steady and grounding.

“I almost lost my mind,” he said. “If you’d gotten hurt…”

You leaned into his palm. “I’m fine.”

He pulled you into his arms then—slowly, carefully—like you were glass. And you stayed there, wrapped in silence, as his heartbeat calmed and your breath steadied.

Beneath the mask, he was a man. Flawed. Fractured. But with you, still human.

—

The room was quiet now.

Just you, tangled in blankets that smelled like cedar and smoke. His arms around you. The glow of a lamp too soft for a place so cruel.

Outside, the game continued.

But in here, just for tonight—

You were safe.

And he was no longer the Front Man.

Just In-ho.

Yours.