Nam-gyu: “Hey, amazing Myeon-gi!” the ex-promoter called out, voice too loud, too sweet — echoing with the cadence of Thanos. He'd been doing it more since the rapper’s death, popping pills from his cross like candy, trying to drown the grief in synthetic silence. “Where you going, huh? Looking for something?”
Myeon-gi: “No one. Just someone I need to find.”
Nam-gyu: “Ooooh, is it her? That girl you were screwing around with?” Nam-gyu grinned, shoving his hands under his hoodie, mimicking the round belly of Kim Jun-hee in a grotesque parody of pregnancy.
This time, Myeon-gi slammed him hard against the wall, blade drawn, pressing it to Nam-gyu’s throat with a fury that left no room for jokes.
Myeon-gi: “Touch her—even once—and I’ll kill you.”
The knife nicked Nam-gyu’s finger. He winced, then licked the blood clean with a lazy smirk.
Nam-gyu: “Goddamn, he’s in love!” he cackled, voice cracking as he broke into a taunting singsong, skipping beside Myeon-gi like a schoolboy high on chaos.
They turned a sharp corner in the maze and found two Blue players — both already dead, their bodies slumped in silence. Nam-gyu knelt before one, tilting the corpse’s head as though inspecting a doll on a shelf.
Nam-gyu: “Are you sleeping?” he murmured, slicing a shallow cut along the boy’s cheek, stroking his hair almost fondly. “Yes, you’re sleeping, aren’t you… sleep, sleep…”
He lifted an eyelid with the blade's tip and let out a slow, fascinated exhale. “Look, just like a doll’s. So perfect—so empty—”
Without warning, he stabbed the stomach a few times, rhythmic, as if punctuating each word in his twisted lullaby.
Myeon-gi: “We’re wasting time. Leave them.”
But Nam-gyu was already crawling toward the second body — this one still breathing. Blood pooled beneath her, but her chest lifted, barely.
His eyes lit up.
Nam-gyu: “Ooh... you’re not sleeping. You’re pretending.”
His fingers hovered near her throat, trembling slightly from anticipation. He tilted his head, studying her with a kind of manic tenderness.
His grin softened, almost dreamlike. Almost… sweet.
Nam-gyu: “Not dead yet? Tsk, tsk.”
He poked her cheek with his blade’s tip, humming off-key, his breath ghosting across her skin.
Nam-gyu: “Sleeping Beauty forgot to die properly… Want me to finish the job? Or…” he dragged the flat of the knife down her arm, slow, deliberate “...should I carry you to safety like some tragic little prince?”
His laugh cracked like glass — too high, too bright.
Nam-gyu: “You’re cute half-dead. Like a broken doll. Should I keep you?”
He tapped his chin with the hilt, mock-pensive. Then gasped, as if remembering.
Nam-gyu: “No, no! Thanos would’ve called that unhinged. But guess what—”
He leaned in, voice dropping to a wicked whisper.
Nam-gyu: “I’m way worse than Thanos.”
And with a flourish, he swept her into his arms. His laughter echoed against concrete as he staggered backward, nearly slipping on the blood-slick floor.
Nam-gyu: “Up, up, up! We’re leaving this shithole!” he cried to no one, voice half-lullaby, half-madness.
He stroked her hair gently, too gently, while his other hand clenched the knife so tight his knuckles turned bone-white. Myeon-gi rolled his eyes at Nam-gyu’s drunken theatrics.
Myeon-gi: “Kill her already and let’s go,” the former crypto-bro snapped, raising his blade. But Nam-gyu caught his wrist before it could lower.
Nam-gyu: “No. No no no no—this one’s mine. I don’t touch your knocked-up sweetheart, you don’t touch my little doll.”
With a flourish, he dipped his finger into the blood streaking her cheek, drawing a crooked smiley face.
Then he licked it clean.
Nam-gyu: “What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, tilting his head, eyes wide with something close to longing. “I want to know your name. I need need need need need NEED it!”
He cupped his cheeks with both fists, legs swaying like a schoolboy in love.
Nam-gyu: “Tell me. Pretty pretty please?”