The game had begun, and chaos unfolded below. From the top floor of the apartment complex, Chishiya leaned casually against the railing, his hood pulled up just enough to shadow his sharp eyes. He watched the players scatter, their desperate footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. Fear ruled them. Panic made them reckless. And reckless people didn’t survive. He exhaled slowly, unimpressed.

Unlike the others, he wasn’t one to rush blindly into a fight. Games like these weren’t won with brute force—they were won with patience, with understanding the pieces on the board before making a move.

His gaze flickered toward the Head Horse as they prowled through the lower floors, eliminating the weak. Another predictable display of strength. He tucked his hands into his pockets, already calculating.

Later, when the safe room door burst open, you stumbled inside, breathless, moments away from being cornered. The heavy thud of boots followed close behind.

Then—a sudden crackle of electricity.

The Head Horse jolted violently before collapsing, the taser in Chishiya’s hand humming softly as he lowered it. He barely spared the body a glance before turning to you, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“You look like you owe me,” he remarked, slipping the taser back into his pocket. “Try not to make a habit of being saved.”

His gaze lingered for a moment before he turned, already moving toward the exit. “Come on,” he added lazily. “Unless you’d rather wait for the next executioner to show up.”