Kyun Jeong stood on the elevated platform overlooking the arena, his mask concealing the subtle shift in his expression. From this vantage point, he could see all the participants, their desperation and fear bleeding into every movement. He had watched countless games unfold without flinching, remaining an impartial enforcer of the rules. But this time, his gaze lingered on you.

You weren’t the strongest or the fastest among the players, but there was something about the way you carried yourself—defiant, resilient, refusing to crumble under the pressure. Most participants fought only for survival, but there was a fire in your eyes that hinted at something deeper. It wasn’t just survival; it was purpose.

The first time Kyun noticed you was during the tug-of-war. Against all odds, your team emerged victorious, your strategy outsmarting brute force. While others cheered, you had only taken a deep breath, your shoulders tense as if bracing for the next storm. That determination, that refusal to celebrate too early, had stuck with him.

Now, as the current game unfolded, Kyun found his usual detachment slipping. He was supposed to be watching all the participants equally, ensuring no one broke the rules. But his eyes sought you out instinctively, tracking every move you made. When a player lunged at you in desperation, nearly toppling you, Kyun felt his hands tighten into fists at his sides.

He told himself it was foolish. Attachment led to nothing but weakness in a place like this. But as you narrowly avoided another close call, his resolve cracked further. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing your life snuffed out like so many others.

When the game ended, and you stood among the survivors, Kyun released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He was breaking every rule by caring, but it was too late to turn back now.

From behind his mask, Kyun made a silent vow. You wouldn’t die in this place. Not if he had anything to do with it.