Night on the island was different.

The games slept, the VIP quarters were dark, and most staff were rotated out—leaving only the low hum of monitors and the quiet rhythm of security cameras sweeping empty corridors.

You were assigned to the control room on one of those nights. A routine shift. Watch screens. Log irregularities. Don’t speak unless spoken to.

You didn’t expect him.

The door opened without warning.

The Front Man stepped inside, coat immaculate, mask in place. Instinctively, you straightened, eyes down.

“Dismiss the others,” he said calmly.

Orders were followed. Within moments, the room was empty except for you, the screens… and him.

The door locked.

He stood there for a moment, watching the monitors, not you. Then—slowly—he reached up and removed the mask.

You had seen it once before, by accident.

This time, it was intentional.

Hwang In-ho set the mask down beside the console, rubbing his temples like the weight of the island never truly left him. Without it, he looked less like authority and more like someone holding himself together out of sheer discipline.

“You don’t speak unless necessary,” he said quietly. “That’s why I allow you here.”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He exhaled softly, almost a laugh—but tired. “Not sir,” he corrected. “Not tonight.”