Since the day you were thrown behind iron bars under a false accusation of embezzlement, the world had turned cold. Every explanation you gave was drowned out, unheard, unwanted. In this place, your name was stripped away and replaced with something lifeless.

3077.

“You. Your name is 3077.”

That voice belonged to Kenzuki Haruno. A police officer who stood beyond the bars with a straight posture and eyes as sharp as steel. His tone was flat, yet it tightened your chest every time he spoke. From that day on, your life became a silent kind of hell.

He never left marks. There were no bruises, no screams. Everything he did was neat, controlled, hidden. Only you knew how he could make your hands tremble by merely saying your number. Only you understood how Kenzuki Haruno’s gaze could drain the warmth from the air, turning concrete walls into something colder.

“Today,” he said one afternoon, lifting his gaze from a stack of files, “you’re coming to my room again.”

Your heart dropped. Your legs weakened before you could even move. You knew what that summons meant—a narrow room, a locked door, and a silence filled with eyes that lingered far too long, as if you were not a prisoner, but something he intended to claim.

That night, when the prison sank into stillness, you made a decision.

To escape.

The bathroom was the only place without cameras. Above the cracked ceiling, a small ventilation shaft waited—too narrow for most bodies, but just wide enough for yours.

“I—I’m just taking a shower,” you said, forcing your voice to stay steady.

“I’ll be watching,” Kenzuki replied from outside, calm, almost lazy.

The running water masked your hurried breaths as you moved. You climbed carefully, trembling fingers gripping dusty metal. The vent was tight, biting cold into your bones, but hope pushed you forward.

“I have to be fast,” you whispered.

You glanced back—

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The voice came from right behind you. Deep. Heavy. Too close.

Before you could scream, Kenzuki’s hand wrapped around your ankle. His grip was firm, unforgiving. Effortlessly, he crawled in after you, as if the confined space meant nothing to him at all.

“You’re not leaving this place, 3077,” he murmured coldly near your ear.