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wqnsho · 15 days ago

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second chance | hwang in-ho x fem! reader

*.✧ synopsis: hwang in-ho joined the games with one goal: to monitor and manipulate seong gi-hun. but everything changed the moment he saw his childhood friend among the players—a face he never expected to see again. *.✧ word count: 21.7k (are you even surprised) *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, choking, guns, explicit depictions of injuries, panic attacks (reader experiences one) usage korean words and suffixes, mentions of cho sang-woo, reader moved from in-ho's place to gi-hun's place (gyeonggi-do to ssangmun-dong), softie in-ho because its you, angst :D *.✧ note: I ACTUALLY THOUGHT CROSSROADS WILL BE THE LONGEST THING I WRITE, SURPRISE SURPRISE SECOND CHANCE IS HERE. hope you guys love it!! masterlist | request here

Your life wasn't supposed to go in this direction.

Ever since you were small, people knew great things would come to you. You were talented and smart in every way, shape, or form. Teachers would gush about how bright your future was, and neighbors would brag to their kids about your achievements as if they were their own. So why were you here now, standing in a room surrounded by strangers for a chance of winning some money?

Currently, all of you watched as the screen displayed various people getting slapped left and right. Announcing their player numbers, names, and how much money they owe. The sheer amount of debt displayed beside each name was staggering—hundreds of millions, even billions.

You shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the whispers around you. People were muttering under their breath, some recognizing names and faces, others lamenting their own debt in comparison. The tension in the room was suffocating, a shared humiliation that weighed heavy on everyone.

Player 132. [Last Name] [Name]. 562 million.

The words echoed in your ears like a slap to your face. Your own name, your own shame, displayed for everyone to see. A few heads turned toward you, but you refused to meet their eyes. You scratched the back of your head in shame, keeping your eyes on the ceiling as if you could avoid the weight of judgment all around you.

'Well... at least it wasn't from that stupid crypto bullshit,' you mumbled under your breath, though the bitter smile on your lips faded as quickly as it appeared. As the guard moved to another person, the crowd around you blurred into an indistinct mass of voices. You didn’t care to listen. You let yourself drown in your thoughts, tuning out the chaos.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Life was supposed to be a series of steady steps upward, not a freefall into the abyss. When your family moved from Gyeonggi-do to Ssangmun-dong, everything changed.

Your father, once the pillar of the family, walked out one day without a backward glance. Which left you and your mother to fend for yourselves. He left for some woman he barely knew. Someone who didn’t have to deal with the mess he’d left behind. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, your mother decided she had better things to do than raise a child.

One morning, you woke up to an empty house and a note on the dining table. The words were hurried, impersonal, as if she didn’t pushed you out and raised you. Worst of all, she didn’t even spell your name right!

The pain of abandonment never left you. It festered, growing into a heavyweight you carried everywhere. You tried to survive, piecing together odd jobs and small victories, but it was never enough. Debt piled up faster than you could manage, dragging you into this nightmare.

The first game was announced— Red Light, Green Light.

You had doubts. The game seemed too simple, almost childish, like something even teens could survive without breaking a sweat—just a game, right? But as soon as the first shot rang out, you realized how wrong you were. Bodies fell like dominoes, blood staining the grass in vivid red. The sound of death was deafening, and the reality of it hit you like a punch to the gut. You froze, your breath caught in your throat, as the world around you erupted into chaos. People screamed, some running, others collapsing in terror. You couldn’t move. The simplicity of the game suddenly made sense—it wasn’t without cost.

Death was suddenly real, closer than it had ever been before. Your entire life flashed before your eyes—every mistake, every regret, every moment you had taken for granted. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Not here, not now.

Luckily, a player stepped up and took charge. Player 456. He was calm and collected, advising everyone to hide behind the larger players, claiming that the robot wouldn’t be able to see you if you stayed out of its line of sight. His plan was simple yet effective, and with his guidance, you managed to survive the round.

As you returned to the main area, the tension from the first game clung to the air like a thick fog. Every breath felt heavy, and the adrenaline that had pushed you through the chaos now left your limbs trembling. Despite it all, a deep sense of gratitude toward him lingered in your chest. You wanted to stay close, to follow his lead. There was security in his presence, a grounding force that kept the worst of your fears at bay.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy boots echoed through the room. Guards entered in perfect formation, their masks as eerie as the silence that fell over the crowd. The sight of them sent a shiver down your spine. One by one, people began to plead for their lives, collapsing to their knees, their voices breaking with desperation as tears streamed down their faces.

“There must be a misunderstanding,” the main guard, marked by a square on his mask, said in a monotone voice. “We are not trying to harm you. We are presenting you with an opportunity.”

Before he could continue, the same player who had spoken during the first game—Player 456—interrupted with a sharp shout.

“Clause three of the consent form!” The room froze, all eyes, including yours, turning to him.

His words were sharp, filled with a sense of urgency and strength “The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. Correct?” he demanded, his voice firm.

“That is correct,” the guard replied, his tone unwavering, as though the question had been anticipated.

“Then let us take a vote right now,” Player 456 said, his words igniting a spark of hope in the crowd. It was as if a door to freedom had cracked open, and everyone could almost taste the possibility of escape.

“Of course. We respect your right to freedom of choice.”

A collective sigh of relief spread through the crowd, a fleeting moment where fear was momentarily pushed aside by a glimmer of hope. For the first time, you felt something that resembled a shift in the balance of power. They weren’t in control—at least, not entirely.

“But first,” the guard continued, “let me announce the prize amount that has been accumulated.” He pressed a button on his device, and the room suddenly dimmed.

A low hum filled the air, followed by the descending of a massive glass piggy bank from the ceiling. It gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, casting eerie reflections across the players’ faces. The sound of wads of cash clinking together echoed through the room, loud and clear, like the jarring noise of a twisted casino jackpot.

The players stared, wide-eyed, as the money poured into the glass bank. It was hypnotic—the sound, the sight, the overwhelming promise of wealth. Some players instinctively stepped forward, as if drawn by an invisible force, while others lingered at the back, still fearful but unable to resist the allure of the prize.

“The number of players eliminated in the first game is 91,” the guard announced, his voice as flat and emotionless as ever. “Therefore, a total of 9.1 billion won has been accumulated. If you quit the games now, the remaining 365 of you can equally divide this amount and leave.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, and Player 100, who was standing near you, called out, his voice filled with disbelief. “How much is that?”

“Each person’s share would be 24,931,500 won,” the guard replied without hesitation.

The words hung in the air, heavy and cold, as a wave of murmurs spread across the room. There was a mix of disbelief, anger, and confusion.

“Twenty-four million? We almost died for that?” Player 124 scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. You couldn’t help but feel the sting of it too. Twenty-four million wasn’t nearly enough to make up for the terror, the near-death experience, the trauma of the first game. Yet, at the same time, the number was hard to ignore. It was money. A lot of it. Enough to make you forget the panic, at least for a while.

“You said the prize was 45.6 billion!” Player 230 shouted, his voice rising with frustration.

The guard’s response was calm, almost detached. “The rule states that 100 million won is added for each eliminated player. If you choose to play the next game, and more players are eliminated, the prize amount will increase accordingly.”

There was a brief silence as everyone processed the implications of this. The numbers didn’t seem to add up at first. But as the calculation sank in, the possibility of even more money stirred the crowd.

“How much will it be if someone survives until the very end?” someone asked, their voice trembling with hope.

The guard, unbothered by the growing tension, simply stated, “As I already told you, the total amount of prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. If you are the sole survivor, you will receive the full amount.”

The room erupted into a chorus of gasps, whispers, and shouts. Some players looked at each other, their expressions shifting as greed began to seep into their eyes. Others remained still, haunted by the terror of the first game. The promise of so much money was a heady temptation, but it came at the price of their lives.

“So, we can take a vote again and decide to leave after the next game?” someone asked, their voice tinged with hope, as if the very idea of escape was now within reach.

“Yes,” the guard confirmed. “As outlined in the consent form, you may vote after each game and decide whether to leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point. We always prioritize your voluntary actions.”

You stood there, torn. The terror you’d felt during the first game still clung to you, wrapping around your chest. But the temptation of the prize money—of being free from the crushing debt that had haunted you for so long—was overwhelming. This could be your only chance to escape. A chance to climb out of the pit you’d been stuck in, buried under mountains of bills and threats. If you walked away now, you’d return to the same miserable existence, drowning in debt, with no way out in sight.

Your mind raced. You had fought so hard just to survive, and now, standing in this room, you were faced with a decision that could change everything. The terror from the first game still gripped your chest, but the lure of the money was almost impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just about survival—it was the chance to escape the suffocating weight of your debt, the years spent trying to climb out of a hole you’d fallen into.

The voting started with Player 456. You watched as he cast his vote, the air thick with tension. The red light from the voting machine flickered for a brief moment as he pressed his choice, a clear "X." One by one, others followed, some hesitating, while others quickly made their decision. The chaos of it all felt overwhelming. You couldn’t help but wonder if they had already made up their minds, whether they were giving in to the temptation of the money or if they were too afraid to continue.

When your number was called, your legs felt like lead as you approached the voting machine. Each step was agonizingly slow, the weight of your decision pressing down on you. The room seemed to shrink, and you could feel every eye on you, even as you tried to ignore them.

Your hand trembled as you reached for the button. The thought of pressing it, of choosing to continue, made your stomach twist in knots. For just a moment, you hesitated, feeling the weight of your decision crushing you from all sides.

Then, with a deep breath, you pressed the circle.

The blue light illuminated your face, a cold reminder of the choice you’d just made. A guard stepped forward, handing you a blue patch marked with the same symbol as your vote. You accepted it with shaky hands, bowing slightly before pinning it to your jacket. As you returned to your spot in line, your heart pounded in your chest.

God, why did it come to this? What could have gone so wrong? Had you done something to upset the gods? Or were you simply born unlucky, destined to live a life riddled with hardships?

You couldn’t stop questioning yourself—your decisions, your choices, the countless crossroads where you might’ve taken a different turn. You missed the early moments in your life when everything felt so simple, so light. Back then, there were no looming debts, no sleepless nights spent worrying about survival, no constant weight pressing down on your shoulders.

You had it all once—a lovely family with successful parents who made sure money was never an issue. You had good grades, a tight-knit circle of friends, and a future that seemed full of promise. You were happy, truly happy.

And you weren’t always alone. Aside from your parents and friends, there was someone else—someone who had been a constant in your life, a steady presence you could always count on. He wasn’t just a friend; he was the friend. The one who stood by you no matter what, even when the world seemed to turn its back on you.

When the bullies in school targeted you for reasons you never understood, he was the one who stepped in without hesitation. You still remembered the way he’d square his shoulders, his voice firm and unwavering as he told them to back off. He never cared if he got in trouble for standing up for you; all that mattered to him was that you were safe.

He wasn’t just your protector, though. He was the person who could make you laugh when you were seconds away from tears. He had this knack for knowing exactly what to say or do to lighten your mood, whether it was pulling a silly face, cracking a joke, or nudging you with that mischievous grin that always made you roll your eyes but secretly smile.

He was the one who stayed up late with you when you were cramming for exams, even though he wasn’t the most studious person himself. He’d throw pencils at you when you started to drift off, only to shove snacks in your face the next moment and tell you to take a break. He had this way of making even the most mundane moments feel special, as if just being around him made everything a little brighter.

And as much as you tried to deny it back then, he had become your everything. Your safe haven, the person you trusted more than anyone else. He was the one you turned to when life felt too heavy to bear, the one who never made you feel like a burden for leaning on him.

He was your partner in crime, the one who’d sneak off with you during boring school events, laughing as the two of you got caught and had to face detention together. He made life feel like an adventure, even in the quiet, simple moments.

But above all, he was your first love. Though you never said it out loud, it was there—in the way your heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled at you, in the way you found yourself searching for him in every room you walked into. It was in the way you felt safe and seen in a way no one else could make you feel.

He didn’t know, of course. How could he? You were just kids, too shy to even admit it to yourself most of the time. But looking back now, it was clear as day: he wasn’t just your best friend. He was the boy who had stolen your heart, even if he never realized it.

You paused. The faint buzz of the voting machines around you barely registered as you froze in place. Why were you thinking about him now, of all times? You clenched your fists, trying to will the memories away, but they pushed their way into your mind regardless.

You remembered the way he shouted at you, his voice filled with anger and frustration. The argument had been sharp, the words he threw at you cutting deeper than you ever thought possible. He had been upset that you were leaving, but instead of asking you to stay, instead of saying goodbye, he stormed off.

It didn’t matter how much time had passed; the wound was still raw. He was your best friend, the boy you loved so deeply you couldn’t even bring yourself to admit it back then. And he let you leave without so much as a goodbye.

Your chest tightened as the memories overwhelmed you, crashing over you like waves. You had convinced yourself that you were over it—that it didn’t matter anymore. But clearly, that wasn’t true. The emotions you had buried deep, the hurt and the unanswered questions, all clawed their way back to the surface.

Did he hate me? The thought stung, even now. Did I mean so little to him that he couldn’t even say goodbye?

The pain lingered, sharp and vivid despite the years that had passed. You could still see it, like a scene burned into your memory—the moment he walked past you on your last day of school. His face had been a mask of cold indifference, his eyes resolutely avoiding yours as though looking at you would cost him something precious.

You had called his name, your voice trembling with desperation and a plea you couldn’t quite voice. You just wanted him to stop, to look at you, to give you a reason, a sign that he cared. Anything to make the ache in your chest a little less unbearable.

But he didn’t.

He just kept walking, his steps steady and unyielding, leaving you standing there. The knot in your throat had tightened until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. He left without a word, without even a glance. And in that silence, you were left with nothing but heartbreak and questions that would never be answered.

And now, here you were, those same feelings dragging you down as the votes continued. The sound of faint button presses and shuffling feet filled the air, each vote drawing everyone closer to an answer.

You hadn’t been paying attention to the numbers flashing on the screen, but the tension in the room was suffocating. The votes were neck and neck—X and O, tied. A deuce. The final vote could change everything. You could feel the unease creeping over the room like a storm cloud ready to burst. The fate of the game rested in the hands of the last player.

The tension was unbearable. Everyone held their breath. It felt as if time itself had come to a standstill, the anticipation hanging in the air.

You forced yourself to look up, to see who the final person would be. Your heart pounded louder in your chest with every second, the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on you. Your gaze fell on the figure walking toward the voting station. You couldn’t immediately register who it was—your mind too wrapped in the urgency of the moment. The final decision.

But then something hit you. A familiarity. A sinking feeling in your chest.

And then your breath hitched.

It was him—.

In-ho.

Your world seemed to tilt on its axis as you watched him. It was like a punch to your gut. Your chest tightened painfully, and your thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. You had spent years trying to push him out of your mind, trying to move forward, but in that moment, it all came rushing back with a force you weren’t prepared for. The ache in your chest deepened, and you realized just how much you had never really healed.

Your mind swirled with the years you’d spent without him. The countless nights you had stayed awake, wondering what had gone wrong, why your friendship ended that way.

He was standing there now, in front of you, like a ghost of your past. He was so close, yet you couldn’t reach him. You couldn’t understand what you were seeing. Was this a dream? Was this some cruel twist of fate?

You watched his every move as if in slow motion. There was no hesitation in his actions. His hand reached out to press the button with a deliberate, practiced motion.

And then, he voted. O.

The cheers erupted around you, but they felt distant, muffled, like they were happening in another world. You could hear the excitement rising from the others around you, the shift in the air as the vote swung in favor of continuing the game. 182 to 183.

But none of that mattered to you.

All you could think about was how the boy who had once meant everything to you was here, in the same room, playing the same dangerous game. The same boy who had walked away from you all those years ago, leaving you in silence.

You stared at him, unable to move, to speak. It was as if time had stopped, like the world around you had turned to static. Your mind was racing, a torrent of emotions swirling inside you. The hurt you had pushed down for so long had exploded back to the surface.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him, your body frozen in disbelief. All you could do was stand there, feeling the weight of the past, the weight of everything that had happened between you two. The questions that you had carried for so long—about why he left, about why he never said goodbye—pushed their way to the surface, raw and painful.

Your mind raced, but your body refused to move. You were trapped in this moment, unable to escape the overwhelming emotions that came with it. There was no easy way out.

The past was alive in front of you, and it had never felt so real.

Hwang In-ho was a man who prided himself on always being in control. Every move he made was deliberate, calculated, and designed to maintain his upper hand. He wasn’t one to take risks without knowing the outcome, nor did he leave anything to chance. His sharp intellect and knack for strategy had always kept him one step ahead of everyone else, whether it was in the games or in life outside of them.

So when he learned that Seong Gi-hun, the man who had also escaped the game’s clutches once, was coming back—not as a desperate participant, but as a threat to everything the games stood for. In-ho knew he had to act. It wasn’t just about the rules or the money; it was about protecting the intricate system he had helped sustain, the foundation he had sacrificed everything to uphold.

The idea of Gi-hun winning was infuriating. He wouldn’t allow it. Not because he believed in the games' morality, but because their collapse would mean his own failure. It would mean admitting that he, the one who always stayed ahead, had lost control.

And In-ho did not lose. Not to anyone. Certainly not to Seong Gi-hun.

The solution was clear: he had to join the game.

Adopting the alias "Young-il," In-ho entered as Player 001, his plan meticulously calculated. Every detail was accounted for—his presence would be unassuming, his actions deliberate. The goal was simple: get close to Gi-hun, observe his every move, and ensure the game remained firmly under his control.

It wasn’t just about safeguarding the system he had come to embody; it was about reaffirming his dominance. To In-ho, this was more than strategy—it was a statement. A test to prove that no matter the odds, no matter who opposed him, he would remain two steps ahead.

That was his purpose. His only focus.

Or so he thought.

Everything changed the moment he saw you.

It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving him breathless and disoriented. In-ho’s steps faltered, his carefully calculated composure slipping for the first time in years. His eyes locked onto your figure amidst the sea of players, and for a fleeting moment, he thought it was a cruel trick of his mind—a phantom conjured by guilt and memory.

But no. The wide, shocked eyes staring back at him were unmistakably yours.

The realization struck him like a physical blow, an ache spreading through his chest that he couldn’t ignore. You were here. You were really here.

You shouldn’t be here.

He froze, his usually sharp mind scrambling to piece together an explanation. What were you doing here? What had happened in your life to bring you to this place of desperation and death? He remembered you as you once were—bright, warm, full of life—and now, the thought of you standing on this stage of horrors felt wrong in every conceivable way.

Memories of you came rushing back, vivid and unrelenting. The way you used to laugh, how you’d pull him out of his brooding silences with a simple touch, the way you always seemed to bring light into his otherwise shadowed world. Those memories clashed violently with the reality before him. You didn’t belong here. Not in this uniform. Not in this nightmare.

He felt his mask of indifference. The armor he’d built over years of pain and regret started to crack. For so long, he had mastered the art of detachment, burying every emotion deep beneath a layer of control. But now, with you standing there, all of it came flooding back. Guilt. Regret. Anger.

And something else. Something he couldn’t name but had tried to bury long ago.

The look on your face gutted him. Recognition, confusion, hurt—it was all there, as raw and unguarded as the day he’d last seen you. You looked at him like he was a ghost, like you couldn’t believe he was standing in front of you. That look shattered something in him, something he hadn’t realized was still breakable.

For the first time in years, In-ho felt unsteady. His carefully constructed walls, the ones that had kept him in control, in power—shook under the weight of your stare.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

He clenched his fists at his sides, a desperate attempt to regain control, to force himself back into the cold, calculating mindset he’d mastered. He couldn’t let you see how much this affected him. Not here. Not now. This was a game—a deadly one—and emotions were dangerous, liabilities he couldn’t afford.

Even as he tried to steady himself, forcing his gaze away and focusing on the task at hand, something inside him rose above the chaos. He knew, without a doubt, that he had to protect you.

It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t part of his plan. But it was undeniable. Seeing you here, dressed in the same uniform, facing the same deadly stakes, ignited something in him that he couldn’t ignore. He had joined the game to regain control, to manipulate the outcome, to ensure Gi-hun wouldn’t tear everything apart. But because the one person he never wanted to see in this hell was standing right in front of him, the thought of sticking to that plan seemed impossible.

And no matter what it cost him—his control, his plan, his very life—he couldn’t let you die.

It was time for the second game: the Six-Legged Pentathlon.

You walked hand in hand with another player—Player 222, Kim Jun-hee, as she had introduced herself earlier. Together, the two of you moved through the crowded room, searching for three more players to form a team. Your eyes flicked down to the frail figure beside you, her grip on your hand trembling slightly, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of protectiveness.

Earlier, before the announcement of the next game, you had found her curled up in the corner of the bathroom, clutching her stomach with a pained look on her face. She had been trying to hide her tears, but they slipped through anyway, leaving tracks down her pale cheeks. The image of her broken composure stuck with you, and even now, the weight of it hadn’t lessened.

The look on your face as you crouched beside her was indescribable. When you asked her what was wrong, she was silent at first, her gaze vacant and lost as if the weight of the world was too much to carry. Slowly, her shoulders sagged, and she spoke in a low, quiet voice, each word heavy with the burden she was trying to carry. It wasn’t just about the game anymore—it was everything. Her words were a confession, a painful release of all the fears that had built up inside of her. She spoke of being alone, of how no one wanted to team up with her, and the overwhelming worry that constantly gnawed at her. But it wasn’t just that.

She talked about her child. The one thing in this nightmare that kept her going, even if only by the thinnest thread. Her mind was consumed by the thought of them. She wondered if they would survive. But what hurt the most was the months of silence from the man she thought she would spend the rest of her life with. Her fiancé, who had disappeared without a trace, left her to wonder if he was dead or alive, only to learn he was in the same hellish game. She never imagined she would have to face this—alone, scared, with no one to lean on.

Something in her tone, the hopelessness wrapped in every syllable, struck a chord deep within you. For a moment, it wasn’t Jun-hee you saw—it was yourself.

You had been there before. You knew what it was like to feel abandoned, to watch everything you had built slowly crumble, to be left in a world where trust was a distant memory. The same fears she voiced were the ones that had haunted you—the fear of losing your loved ones, the dread of facing a future where you had nothing, and the overwhelming loneliness that seemed to suffocate every hope you had left.

Her pain was your pain, her desperation mirrored your own. You had been there—fighting for survival, clinging to any hope that things could get better, even when the world felt like it was falling apart. It wasn’t just empathy you felt for her; it was the haunting reminder of your own struggle, a shadow of the darkness that had once consumed you. You didn’t want her to experience the same isolation, the same crushing hopelessness that had almost broken you. You knew too well how it felt to be lost, to question whether you’d ever make it out alive, to wonder if there was anything left to fight for.

As you looked at her, a quiet resolve settled deep within you. You wouldn’t let her walk this road alone. You wouldn’t let her fall into the same despair that had once threatened to swallow you whole. You could no longer stand by and watch someone else go through the torment you had endured alone. You would be her strength, her anchor—just as you had longed for someone to do for you when everything seemed to be slipping out of your grasp.

Without hesitation, you reached out, your hand finding hers, cold and trembling. You squeezed it gently, offering a steadying warmth that you both needed. “Then you’ll come with me,” you said. “We’ll figure this out together.”

You weren’t going to let her face this nightmare by herself—not when you knew the crushing weight of solitude so well. You wouldn’t let her fall down the same painful path you’d been on. From that moment on, you refused to leave her side.

You were supposed to focus on your own survival, you know that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave her behind. Something about her reminded you of someone else, someone you had been a long time ago. You couldn’t save everyone here, but maybe, just maybe, you could save her.

Meanwhile, In-ho’s plan was progressing smoothly. He had successfully gained Gi-hun’s trust and joined his team. Together with two others—Player 388 and Player 390—they were only one person short of completing their group. In-ho kept his head down, maintaining his facade as the amiable and harmless Player 001. He had positioned himself perfectly, right where he needed to be.

Until he heard your voice.

“Hello, excuse me. Do you have space for two more?”

His head snapped up instinctively. There you were, standing just a few feet away, holding player 222’s hand as you looked at Gi-hun and the others, avoiding him altogether.

In-ho couldn’t help but stare.

“We’re sorry, miss,” Gi-hun replied apologetically. “We already have four members.”

You didn’t falter, keeping your small smile. “That’s not a problem,” you said firmly. “Would you be willing to have her instead?”

Before anyone could respond, you gently nudged Jun-hee forward. She hesitated, glancing nervously between you and the group, but you gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

In-ho stayed silent, watching the interaction unfold. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Irritation bubbled under the surface. Of course, you would do something like this. Even in a place like this, where survival meant looking out for yourself, you were still thinking about someone else. Always putting others before yourself, even when it didn’t make sense to do so.

You never change.

And yet, despite the frustration clawing at him, He couldn’t stop the flicker of warmth in his chest. It was small, barely noticeable, but it was there. A part of him—a part he didn’t want to acknowledge—was happy.

Because no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much this place had changed the both of you, there were still parts of you that remained the same. That stubborn kindness, that fierce determination to protect others—it was one of the things he had always admired about you.

It was one of the things that terrified him.

You still carried that same hope, that same belief that people could be better, that kindness had a place even in a place like this. It made his stomach twist. The fact that you hadn’t hardened, hadn’t become cynical like everyone else—it was both a relief and a danger. You couldn’t afford to trust anyone here, not without consequence.

What if you trusted the wrong person? What if you let your guard down just once and someone used that against you? He had seen it happen before, in a way that made his insides tighten with dread. People here weren’t to be trusted, and you were too pure, too unguarded. He’d seen how quickly things could turn, how easily alliances could break, how one wrong move could be the end of someone’s life.

It made him want to reach out, to warn you, to pull you away from the people who might betray you. But instead, he stayed silent, his heart racing faster than his thoughts could keep up with.

His gaze shifted to the girl you had taken under your wing. She was trembling, showing a strong facade. In-ho couldn’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness for her too—though he would never admit it out loud. She was vulnerable. She didn’t belong here. But you were giving her a chance. You were always giving people chances, even when they didn't deserve them.

He tore his gaze away, looking anywhere but at you. He hated the way you made him feel, even after all those years. Torn between wanting to protect you and wanting to pull away, he couldn’t reconcile the two. He had built walls for a reason—so that no one could get too close, so that no one could hurt him again. And yet, there you were, slipping through those cracks, reminding him that even after all this time, even after all the distance, he still cared.

“What about you?” Player 388 asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll be okay. I’ll find a group somewhere.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed, his brow furrowing with worry.

You nodded, your tone firm but kind. “Of course. If you want, you can help me?” you offered, though it wasn’t a question so much as a gentle suggestion.

The male nodded without hesitation, as though it was the most natural thing to do. He saluted you with a small smile, his expression brightening as he turned to lead the way. You followed quietly, walking side by side as the two of you engaged in light, casual conversation. The sound of your voices seemed almost out of place in the tense atmosphere of the game, but for a moment, it was just the two of you, navigating the chaos in your own way.

In-ho watched the interaction unfold from a distance, his gaze fixed on you. His chest tightened as he observed the way you interacted with Player 388, the ease with which you formed connections, the comfort you seemed to give others despite the grim situation. For a fleeting moment, he found himself wishing it was him walking beside you instead of that other player. He longed to be the one you relied on again, the one you trusted in a world where trust felt like a luxury.

He clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides, trying to suppress the emotions that stirred inside him. It wasn’t supposed to matter. You had your own path to walk, and he had his. But the feeling gnawed at him, more intense than he liked to admit. A part of him wanted to be the one to keep you safe, to be the one to stand by your side. To be the one you turned to, the one who could offer you something real in the midst of all the chaos. But another part of him feels like that’s impossible to achieve now.

Busy with his inner battle, he didn’t notice the curious watchful eyes of the female beside him.

Luckily, you and Player 388—Dae-ho, as he introduced himself—found a group of four not long after starting your search. Players 149, 007, 120, and 095 stood in a tight circle, whispering among themselves as they looked around for their missing fifth member. Their faces were a mix of tension and determination, but they didn’t seem hostile, which was more than you could ask for in this environment.

Dae-ho, ever the confident one, strode forward with an easy smile. “Excuse me… do you need more members?” he asked, his voice warm and inviting.

All four turned to face you both, their eyes scanning you up and down. There was an unmistakable wariness in their expressions; trust wasn’t exactly in abundant supply here. Finally, Player 120 spoke, her voice measured. “I’m sorry, but we only need one more.”

Dae-ho didn’t even flinch at the rejection. Instead, his grin widened, his tone growing more playful. “Well, you’re in luck! You see, [Name]nim here is a master at spinning tops. Quick hands, sharp focus—everything you’d need for precision games like these. How could you possibly pass on a deal like that?”

You blinked at him, both amused and exasperated. Was he seriously pitching you like you were a product at an auction? Despite the absurdity of it, his tone was so casual, so confident, that it managed to disarm the tension in the air, even if just a little.

You gave Dae-ho a small shake of your head before stepping forward yourself, bowing politely to the group. “I may not be a master,” you began, sending a pointed but amused glance toward Dae-ho, “but I’ll do my best to contribute. Please, if you’ll have me, I’ll work hard.”

The group exchanged glances, their hesitation apparent. It was weird for them, hearing a casual and almost teasing tone in an environment where death is prominent. Still, after a moment, Player 120 gave a curt nod. “Alright. You’re in.”

Relief flooded through you, and you turned to Dae-ho, a small smile breaking across your face. “Thank you,” you said, your tone filled with genuine gratitude.

Dae-ho gave a casual wave of his hand, as if dismissing your thanks. “Thank me after you survive this game [Name]nim.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head at his unshakable confidence. “Alright Dae-ho, see you later.”

As you turned back to your new team, introductions were exchanged before quickly discussing strategies. Despite the palpable tension in the air, they seemed cooperative enough. Each player carried their own air of quiet determination, though the stress of the situation was evident in the tightness of their voices and the stiffness in their movements.

Your team was one of the teams to go first. When it was your turn, you grabbed the top and string with trembling hands, whispering a small prayer under your breath. Slowly, you began winding the string tightly around the body of the top, starting from the bottom and wrapping upwards. But as you reached the middle, the string suddenly slipped free, unraveling entirely. You froze, your shaky hands betraying you further as you fumbled to pick up the loose string.

A lump rose in your throat as panic surged through you. You knew you were good at this. Spinning tops was your childhood talent, something you had always taken pride in. But now, in the most critical moment, your nerves were getting the best of you. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you looked at Player 120, your voice trembling. “I… I’m sorry. I swear I’m good at this. I’m just… really scared.”

Player 120’s expression softened, and she knelt beside you. Her voice was calm, reassuring. “It’s okay. You just need to take a deep breath and focus, alright? You’ve got this.”

Her words anchored you, and you nodded, inhaling deeply. As you exhaled slowly, a memory surfaced—something that always helped you when you were scared. Turning to 120, you asked hesitantly, “Could you… could you cover my eyes?”

She blinked at you, puzzled. “Cover your eyes? Why?”

You offered a nervous smile. “I promise it’ll help. It’s… just something I do.”

With a shrug, she moved behind you and placed her hands gently over your eyes. As darkness enveloped your vision, you felt a strange but comforting familiarity take over.

“What’s up with this weird ritual you do?” In-ho’s voice was teasing, his hands warm as they covered your eyes back then. “You’re always doing this!”

“It’s not weird!” your younger self had retorted, pouting.

“Is too!” he laughed. “Nobody else does this, you know.”

“Well, I get really scared when I see what I’m doing, okay?” you’d replied stubbornly. “So I thought, ‘What if I just don’t look?’ It helps me focus.”

You smiled softly at the memory, your hands finally steady as you began winding the string again. This time, it wrapped perfectly around the top, tight and precise.

When 120 uncovered your eyes, you felt a renewed sense of determination. But before you could proceed, a familiar voice cut through the air.

“To effectively spin the top, first, you must hold the loose end of the string firmly in your hand,” In-ho called out, his voice carrying an authoritative tone. He paced in front of you like a drill sergeant, his arms folded behind his back. “Next, throw the top onto the ground with a flicking motion. Pull the string sharply to make it spin. Understood?”

You straighten your posture, snapping a salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”

The two of you broke into laughter, a sound so pure and unexpected that it momentarily dissolved the tension in the air. When he handed you the fully wound top, his fingers brushed yours lightly. “Alright, [Name],” he said, his smile softening, “show me what you can do.”

Gripping the top tightly, you turned to him one last time, your eyes filled with uncertainty. He gave you a reassuring thumbs-up and a wide smile, and somehow, it was enough to calm your racing heart.

With all your might, you threw the top onto the ground, pulling the string sharply. It spun perfectly, steady and unwavering. Relief washed over you as you watched it spin continuously.

The cheers erupted so suddenly that it startled you out of your thoughts. Your teammates—149 and 120—rushed to your side, shaking your shoulders in celebration. Their excitement was infectious, and soon you found yourself smiling, laughing, and letting the moment sink in.

“Alright, alright, let’s calm down!” 120 said, her voice mixed with happiness and haste. She led the group to the next station, the victory fueling your collective determination.

In-ho watched from a distance, a quiet warmth blooming in his chest. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one he hadn’t let himself indulge in for years—a flicker of joy, the kind that came from something genuine. Seeing your face light up with relief and triumph stirred something buried deep inside him, something he thought was long gone. He couldn’t stop himself from cheering along with the others, maybe louder than necessary. Perhaps it was his way of masking the whirlwind of emotions inside him, or maybe it was just his heart acting on its own. Either way, he didn’t care to stop.

As your group crossed the finish line. The room became lively again. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound pure and unrestrained, even as the adrenaline still coursed through your veins. For a moment, you allowed yourself to feel it: pride, joy, and the simple relief of success.

Amidst the commotion, your eyes instinctively searched the crowd—and then you saw him, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight made your breath catch, your smile faltering for a second before returning, softer this time.

And then it happened. Your eyes locked. Everything else seemed to fall away—the noise, the crowd, the weight of the game itself. It was just the two of you in that moment, a silent conversation unfolding in the space between your gazes.

His dark eyes, cold and guarded the first time you saw them, were now filled with longing, happiness, maybe even a glimmer of pride. It was as though he was telling you, I knew you could do it. I’m proud of you. But there was something deeper, too—something unspoken. His gaze held a vulnerability that he wouldn’t dare put into words, a quiet hope that you might still see him the way you once did.

You felt it, too. A warmth spreading through you, unexpected and disarming. The wall between you, built by years of distance and unspoken words, seemed to crack ever so slightly. For a brief moment, you forgot the tension, the pain, and the uncertainty. You saw him—not as an enemyl, not as someone you had grown apart from—but as the In-ho you once knew.

His lips twitched into a small smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes but still held a quiet sincerity. He wanted to say something, you could feel it. But words were unnecessary. The way his gaze softened, the way his shoulders relaxed, the way his presence seemed to pull you closer—it was enough.

The moment passed as quickly as it came, but it left something behind. A spark. A fragile yet undeniable hope.

As you were all escorted back to the main area, you found yourself glancing back at him one last time. He was still there, watching, his expression unreadable now. But you saw the faintest nod, as if to say, Please, let’s talk soon.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance. A chance to fix what had been broken. A chance to bridge the gap that had grown between you. A chance to reconcile, to find your way back to each other in a world that had done everything to pull you apart.

Your eyes remained locked with his until the door behind you closed.

Player 149 invited you to join them for a chat, a way to pass the time as the second game continued. With a small nod, you followed them to their little corner, settling on the stairs just behind Player 120. The group was warm and welcoming, and soon you were learning their names, hobbies, and bits of their lives outside the games.

Player 149 introduced herself as Jang Geum-ja, a kind but sharp woman who spoke with unwavering pride about her son, Player 007, Park Yong-sik. Her love for him was evident in every word and action—she had joined the games solely to pay off her son’s debt, determined to give him a better future despite the grim odds.

Player 120, Cho Hyun-ju, exuded a quiet yet approachable aura. A transgender woman with dreams of starting fresh, she joined the games not only to clear her debt but also to complete her medical treatments. Her plan was to move to Thailand and begin a new chapter in her life, one filled with hope and authenticity.

Finally, there was Player 095, Kim Young-mi, a soft-spoken woman with a warm, unshakable belief in the goodness of others. She and Hyun-ju had formed a close bond, their friendship blossoming into a dynamic partnership that made them inseparable—like two peas in a pod, finding strength in each other amidst the chaos.

As the room began to fill with players returning from the game, your eyes instinctively darted to the doors each time they opened. Your stomach twisted with worry, though you tried to stay composed. You were searching for Jun-hee and her group, your concern growing with each passing minute.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you spotted familiar faces walking through the doors. Relief surged through you as you quickly excused yourself from the group and descended the stairs. Without hesitation, you rushed straight to Jun-hee.

"Are you okay? How are you? How’s the baby? Did you feel nauseous? Do you want me to massage your back? Or your feet? Need to go to the bathroom? Pee? Puke?—"

Jun-hee's face turned bright red as she raised a hand to shush you. “Stop, [Name]nim, you’re embarrassing me,” she whispered, glancing nervously at her group. Despite her words, a small smile tugged at her lips, her eyes soft with gratitude.

“Hey! It’s [Name]nim!” Dae-ho’s cheerful voice cut through the moment as he jogged over to you.

“Dae-ho! Looks like I owe you a proper thank-you now, huh?” you said with a laugh, the tension in your chest finally easing.

The three of you exchanged warm words, laughter breaking through the otherwise somber atmosphere. Nearby, the rest of Jun-hee’s group—456, 390, and In-ho—watched the scene unfold. As 456 and 390 moved away to sit down at their spot, In-ho lingered, his gaze fixed on you for a moment longer before he turned to follow the others.

Moments later, you found yourself joining the group, introducing yourself properly. 390, a man with a friendly demeanor, grinned and replied, “Ah, how could we forget you? Thank you for giving Jun-hee to us. She’s really skilled in ddjaki! The name’s Park Jung-bae by the way.”

Your eyes widened. “Jung-bae? Are you Young-sun’s husband?” You asked, pointing a finger at him.

Jung-bae blinked in surprise. “Huh? How’d you know my ex wife?”

“I live in Ssangmun-dong! I visit your pub often. Young-sun would always keep me company when I stopped by.”

Recognition dawned on his face. “Ah! I remember now! You’re the one who splurged like crazy that one night. You even had to crash at our place because you were too wasted to leave! Young-sun told me you were whispering someone’s name... what was it... In-h—”

Panic shot through you as you clamped a hand over his mouth, heat rising to your cheeks. “Don’t. You. Dare,” you hissed, glaring at him.

Jung-bae’s eyes widened, and with a nervous nod, he raised his hands in surrender. You slowly released him, muttering an apology under your breath as you tried to regain your composure.

Dae-ho and Jun-hee, however, were staring at you, their mouths slightly agape. Who knew the kind person they looked up to was a raging alcoholic? Behind them, In-ho’s expression shifted subtly, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. Was it anger? Hurt? Curiosity? You couldn’t tell, and the uncertainty only made your heart race faster.

Breaking the awkward silence, Jung-bae cleared his throat. “W-well, speaking of Ssangmun-dong, my buddy here also lives there. We’re best of friends!” He gestured toward Player 456, who waved at you with a sheepish smile.

You bowed politely, offering a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Seong Gi-hun,” he introduced himself with a nod.

“What a small world,” you said, grateful for the distraction as the three of you fell into an animated conversation about your shared hometown.

From a short distance away, In-ho watched the scene unfold, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingered on you, his mind racing. Why were you talking about Ssangmun-dong like it was the greatest place in the world? What about Gyeonggi-do? What about the memories you shared there? What about him?

He paused, a flicker of something he refused to name surfacing in his mind. Was it jealousy? No, it couldn’t be—he wasn’t allowed to feel that way, not after everything he’d done to you. The very thought felt absurd. Yet, the knot tightening in his chest as you spoke to others wasn’t easy to ignore.

A nudge from Dae-ho jolted him out of his thoughts. He blinked, realizing all eyes, including yours, were on him, waiting for his introduction. Clearing his throat, he straightened his posture and forced a polite smile.

“My name’s Oh Young-il. Young-il sounds like ‘zero one’, and that’s my number, see?” He gestured to the 001 embroidered on his jacket. Dae-ho raised his brows, impressed by the coincidence, but your gaze lingered on him, a storm of confusion hidden behind your composed expression.

You knew his real name. You knew that he was Hwang In-ho, not Oh Young-il. So why was he lying? The thought gnawed at you. Had he changed his name after getting married? But there was no wedding ring on his finger. Maybe he’d taken it off? No, no. The contradictions piled up, yet a part of you didn’t want to accept the truth. He wasn’t meeting your gaze, deliberately avoiding you. He was hiding something, and you wanted to know what it was.

The moment was interrupted as the heavy boots echoed across the room. Guards marched in, their presence commanding silence. The atmosphere shifted instantly as the square-masked guard stepped forward.

“Congratulations to all of you for making it through the second game,” the guard began, his voice monotone yet eerily loud. He pressed a button on a remote, and the massive piggy bank descended from the ceiling once again. Wads of cash began to tumble into the glass container, the sound of bills hitting each other. Eyes across the room were glued to the spectacle, greed and desperation lighting up every face.

“The results of the second game are as follows: 110 players were eliminated. Therefore the total prize money accumulated is now 20.1 billion won. Since there are 255 players remaining, each person’s share is 78,823,530 won.”

Despite the staggering amount, you couldn’t shake the pit forming in your stomach. 78.8 million won. It was a fortune—more money than you could have ever imagined—but instead of relief, all you felt was disgust.

How could you be thinking about the money when 110 people had just died? Faces flashed in your mind, the terrified screams, the sight of bodies collapsing. And yet, here you were, wondering if it was enough to pay off your debts. The thought sickened you, and your throat tightened as bile threatened to rise. When did I become this person? You had stepped into the games for survival, for a better future, but now you couldn’t tell where desperation ended and greed began. The numbers on the screen blurred as hot tears welled in your eyes, your breaths coming quicker. I’m no better than the ones who created this place. Am I even human anymore? You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms as you tried to silence the spiraling thoughts, but they refused to stop.

You felt your body tremble, your vision narrowing as the room seemed to tilt around you. The walls felt closer, the hum of voices blurring into a distant buzz that drummed in your ears. Every blink brought a sting to your eyes, tears welling and threatening to spill over. You tried to focus—on the floor beneath your feet, the faint pattern of the tiles, anything—but it all blurred together, a haze of shapes and colors you couldn’t ground yourself in. Deep breaths came shallow, catching in your throat, each inhale fighting against the tightness in your chest. Your hands twitched at your sides, desperate for something to hold onto, but all they found was empty air. You whispered to yourself, hollow words of comfort you couldn’t even hear over the pounding of your heart. Your pulse throbbed in your ears, drowning out everything else. All you could feel was the weight of guilt pressing down on you, the silent judgment of the room—even if it existed only in your mind. You were spiraling, untethered, a storm of shame and helplessness that swallowed everything in its path.

Suddenly, a hand gently rested on your shoulder. The warmth startled you, and you whipped your head around to find its source. It was him. In-ho. Or Young-il, as he’d introduced himself. But he wasn’t looking at you; his head was turned toward the commotion among the players, who were now arguing loudly about the rules. His hand, though, remained on your shoulder, steady and deliberate.

Before you could process it, he began to rub your shoulder in slow, soothing circles. His fingers worked gently, almost instinctively, massaging the tension from your stiff muscles. You stared at him, stunned into silence. His expression remained neutral, his attention seemingly elsewhere, but his touch told a different story.

After all these years, he remembered. He remembered how you used to freeze up during moments of intense stress, how just a simple touch—steady and grounding—could help you calm down. You hadn’t needed to explain it to him back then; it was something he’d noticed, something he’d done instinctively. And now, after everything, he was still the same. His hand stayed on your shoulder, firm yet gentle, just like before.

He remembered how you hated when people stared at you in moments of weakness, so he kept his eyes elsewhere. He knew you felt exposed, ashamed even, as if everyone was silently judging you, so he never let that happen.

He remembered how you felt guilty for needing comfort, for drawing attention to yourself, so he never made a big deal of it. No words, no questions—just a quiet, unwavering presence that said, I’m here.

And you were thankful for that, more than you could ever put into words. It gave you hope. Hope that maybe, after all these years, there is still something left between you.

With a grateful nod, you looked away as his hand left your shoulder, already missing his warmth. The commotion around you had ended, and people were drifting back into small groups, discussing their next move. You knew you had to focus, to think through the decision, but your mind felt like it was breaking into pieces. Should I vote X? If it wins, you’d leave with 78 million won—not nearly enough to erase your debt, but at least it would mean you were alive. Or should I vote O? That meant continuing the games. No guarantee of survival, but a chance at something greater—a chance to fix everything.

You tilted your head to gaze at the piggy bank hanging above, its glowing light taunting you. Before you could fully weigh your options, a conversation behind you caught your attention.

“Oh, don’t worry. I want to stop here,” In-ho’s voice said casually.

You froze, listening.

“I should go and be with my wife at the hospital,” he added.

Oh.

It was like someone had snuffed out the flicker of hope you’d just found. The energy drained from your body in one cruel wave as the words settled in. A bitter laugh bubbled up in your throat, and you swallowed it down, shaking your head. Of course, he has a wife. How could you have thought otherwise? You felt like a fool for hoping, for thinking even for a second that those small moments meant something more.

Dae-ho’s voice broke your spiraling thoughts. “I’m telling you, we’ll get out this time,” he said with determination, tugging at the patch on his jacket like it was the source of all his problems. “A marine should think strategically and know when to retreat,” he added, giving Jung-bae a playful shake.

Jung-bae, looking utterly rattled, nodded weakly. “R-right… that’s true,” he muttered, though his nervous glances betrayed his doubts.

“We have to end the games here,” Gi-hun said firmly, stepping into the circle of your group. His eyes met yours briefly, and you nodded. It was a silent agreement, one that seemed to lift his spirits slightly.

In-ho, standing off to the side, watched the exchange with something that could only be described as malice.

Dae-ho clapped his hands, calling everyone back to attention. “Alright, let’s huddle up!” he said with a grin, thrusting his hand into the middle.

One by one, everyone joined in. Your hand landed just below In-ho’s, and you tried not to think about it, about how the warmth of his hands made you feel .

“In one, two, three… Victory at all costs!”

“Victory at all costs!”

“This time the vote will begin with Player 001. Please cast your vote.”

All eyes turned to him, including yours. In-ho met your group’s collective gaze with a calm, unreadable expression before walking up to the platform. Without hesitation, he pressed the X button. The distinct chime echoed in the room as the counter for X increased by one.

The next player—Player 006—stepped forward. Without much deliberation, they also pressed X, their vote adding another mark to the tally.

“Player 007.”

Your eyes flicked upward at the familiar number. It was one of your teammates from the second game, Yong-sik. You spotted him in the crowd, watching him lean down to exchange hushed words with his mother. Her expression was tight, desperate, begging him to vote X but he simply nodded before walking to the machine. His hesitation was visible as he stood there, torn between his choices. Then, the sound of O being chosen played, the button glowing bright blue as his vote was registered.

Your heart sank as you saw his mother’s face fall, her grief and disbelief plain for everyone to see. You averted your eyes, unable to look at either of them any longer. You understood both sides of the story—the desperate hope of a mother to save her child so they can go home and the equally desperate desire of a child to pay his debt fully, leaving his mom with no more worries.

The votes continued, each press of a button punctuating the room like a drumbeat of tension. Finally, your turn came. You felt the weight of the decision like a physical burden pressing on your shoulders. Part of you wanted to vote O, to take the gamble, to fight for a chance to win enough to pay off your crushing debt. But the thought of your group—the first people in years who had truly accepted you—stopped you. You had promised yourself that you would protect them, that they would go home safe to their families.

You stepped forward and pressed X. The red glow of the button reflected on your face as the counter ticked up. You removed your blue patch as a guard gave you a red one. You stuck it to your jacket before, giving a small bow to them before retreating to your spot.

As you walked back, you felt In-ho’s gaze following your every step. His eyes burned with intensity, but you didn’t look his way. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, not when you knew the truth now. He had a wife—a life far removed from you. Whatever feelings you might have clung to in the past didn’t matter anymore. You would not degrade yourself into becoming a mistress in someone else’s story.

The voting continued until suddenly, a commotion broke out. Gi-hun stormed to the center of the room, shouting for people to vote X and urging them to end the games. His words rang out with desperation, but before he could fully plead his case, In-ho cut him off.

In-ho’s voice carried an edge of anger as he stepped forward, his composure cracking. “There’s no guarantee you’ll survive the next game! Do you really want to risk your lives for a few more million won?”

The room fell silent for a moment, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Then Player 100 stepped forward, shaking his head with disdain. “And what if we don’t risk it? We leave here with nothing but debt and regret. One more game, and we’re looking at at least 240 million each. That’s life-changing money!”

His argument ignited the room, and chaos erupted. Voices clashed, some siding with In-ho, others with Player 100. It spiraled into a shouting match, each side growing louder, more frantic.

You stood still, detached from the chaos. As much as you wanted to support your friends, you couldn’t bring yourself to intervene. This wasn’t a debate to be won; it was simply another game of chance, with lives hanging in the balance. The outcome wasn’t up to persuasion or reason. It was up to luck.

Finally, the vote was tallied. O won against X by a wide margin, 139 to 115.

Your stomach churned, fear creeping in as you processed what it meant. You weren’t scared for yourself but for Jun-hee, her kind heart too soft for the brutality of these games. You weren’t worried about your own safety but for Dae-ho, whose unwavering faith in others had been betrayed as Jung-bae—someone he admired and respected—voted O.

When the vote ended, your group regrouped, the air thick with tension and unspoken emotions. You found yourself behind Jun-hee as she ate her portion of the day’s dinner. Her small frame trembled, though she tried to hide it, her hands shaking as she clutched the bread's wrapper.

Without a word, you placed your hands on her shoulders, massaging gently to ease her tension. You moved to her lower back, your fingers pressing lightly, offering what little comfort you could in such a bleak moment. She didn’t say anything, but the way her breathing slowed told you that it helped, even just a little.

Without a second thought, Dae-ho stood up, his face conflicted as he grabbed Jung-bae by the arm and dragged him over to your group. His eyes darted nervously between you, Jun-hee, Young-il, and Gi-hun before his gaze softened, and he let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry, [Name], Jun-hee, Young-il,” he started, his voice low, his words laced with guilt. “Gi-hun, I’m sorry…” His apology hung in the air, sincere but laced with discomfort.

He went on to explain his decision to vote O, his voice shaky but determined. “You see, I borrowed some emergency cash, and the creditors have been harassing my ex-wife and kid. They’re threatening them, and if I play one more game, I think I’ll be able to settle the debt. So…” His words trailed off, the weight of his decision clear in his eyes.

Before you could speak up in defense of Jung-bae, In-ho cut him off, his frustration still fresh from the earlier commotion. His tone was cold, a sharp edge beneath the calm exterior. “Jung-bae,” he started, his voice low but heavy with disappointment. “You of all people shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t twice as righteous.”

You felt a twinge of sympathy for Jung-bae, but In-ho’s words were true. Deep down, you understood why In-ho was so disappointed.

In-ho’s gaze flicked back to Jung-bae as he continued, his words almost regretful. “But looking at the results, even if you two voted against it, we would still have been outvoted.”

“Right? So it’s not really our fault,” Jung-bae quickly added, eager to find any shred of justification. He seemed relieved, like the pressure had been lifted slightly, but his eyes flickered nervously to the others, waiting for confirmation.

Dae-ho, who had been silently observing, scratched his head and gave Jung-bae a comforting pat on the shoulder. His movements were casual, though his eyes were thoughtful. “Honestly, I get why you did it. 78 million won isn’t enough. So when I went to vote, I really thought about going for ‘O’ too.”

You nodded in agreement, a soft murmur of approval escaping you. You understood the temptation, the overwhelming urge to fight for more when it felt like everything was slipping away. The money was too much to ignore.

Seeing the subtle nods of agreement from the group, Jung-bae’s confidence grew. He straightened his posture, eager to make up for his earlier decision. “Next game, I promise. I’ll—”

“Next game?” Gi-hun’s voice cut through the air, sharp and filled with a quiet intensity. “Next game, we might have to kill each other.”

The room went completely still. Everyone froze, the silence thick and suffocating. Gi-hun’s words hung in the air, their weight sinking into each of you. He was right, and the grim truth of it was enough to stop all conversation. There was no sugarcoating it. The next round could very well be the end, and the thought was unbearable.

The quiet that followed was heavy, the dread and uncertainty sinking into your bones. You couldn’t help but feel a cold shiver run down your spine, the magnitude of what was to come settling over you like a thick fog.

Annoyed by the uncomfortable pause, you spoke up, your voice cutting through the tension. “Gi-hun, that’s a bit much. We all know there’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s just stay focused. We need to eat, get ourselves together, and prepare for the next round.”

The group seemed to agree with your statement, the momentary discomfort fading as they all began to refocus.

In-ho, ever the quiet observer, handed his milk carton to Jun-hee without a word, his gaze flicking to her briefly before he looked away. “I don’t drink plain milk,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the gesture was nothing more than a small, unnoticed act.

Jung-bae, following suit, offered his bread to Jun-hee as well, his eyes shadowed with guilt. “I don’t deserve to eat,” he said with an awkward chuckle, trying to mask the heaviness of his words with forced humor.

You watched the exchange, your heart twisting slightly, but before you could speak, Dae-ho leaned in, his voice light but with an edge of concern. “I’ll take the milk carton?”

When Jung-bae shot him a glare, Dae-ho hesitated, then pulled back, not wanting to push it further.

As you ate, you couldn’t help but feel the heavy weight of what was ahead. The uncertainty, the danger—it all felt too much. But in this moment, you focused on your meal, knowing it was the only thing you could control for now.

You found yourself sitting beside Dae-ho, your bread in hand, chewing quietly as you both took a brief moment of respite. Dae-ho seemed lost in thought, his eyes darting toward you, hesitant yet full of unasked questions.

“If you have any questions, just ask me, Dae-ho,” you said, offering a small smile. “I’m not gonna bite, you know?”

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, caught off guard by your casual invitation. But he took a deep breath, calm now, and turned to face you fully. “Do you have kids at home, [Name]nim?” he asked, his voice low but sincere. “It’s just... whenever I see you with Jun-heesii, it reminds me of my mother taking care of me and my four sisters.”

You hesitated, feeling a slight pang of discomfort as you realized the question would require a vulnerable answer. In-ho, sitting nearby, seemed to listen in, his curiosity piqued. Part of him, though, wished you didn’t have any children, that you weren’t settled in on with somebody, a selfish thought he quickly pushed away.

“Ah, this is embarrassing,” you murmured, a soft laugh escaping you as you fidgeted with your bread. “I actually don’t have any kids or a husband... I’ve never even had a boyfriend. Boys don’t really look at me like that, if you know what I mean. Life wasn’t that nice to me, especially after we moved. I didn’t have the time or luck for any of that…”

Dae-ho’s expression softened with guilt. He immediately regretted asking the question, but when he saw the faint longing in your eyes, he paused. There was something more behind your words—something unspoken, something that told him you longed for a family, for the chance to live that dream.

In-ho, overhearing, felt a pang in his chest. What had happened to you? He knew things had ended badly between the two of you, but he never expected life to treat you so harshly. You were kind, generous, and had always believed in the goodness of people. He couldn’t understand why life had been so difficult for you. You didn’t deserve that.

Before the silence could grow any heavier, Jung-bae mischievously broke it with a suggestion. “Well, if you like, I can set you up with someone back in Ssangmun-dong. Right, Gi-hun?”

Gi-hun, who had been quiet up until then, blinked in surprise, his confusion evident. “Huh? Who?”

“You know! Sang-woo! The Pride of Ssangmun-dong!” Jung-bae grinned, clearly amused by his own suggestion. “I think he and [Name] would make a great couple, don’t you think?”

At the mention of Sang-woo, Gi-hun’s face shifted. His expression faltered, a wave of guilt and sadness clouding his features. A pained smile tugged at his lips as he nodded absently. “Yeah... I think so too,” he murmured, his mind clearly elsewhere as he drifted off into his own thoughts.

The sudden change in Gi-hun’s demeanor caught your attention. His usual angry and tense self had been replaced with something quieter, a deep sadness that seemed to pull at him. You looked to Jung-bae for an explanation, your brows furrowed in concern.

In a soft voice, Jung-bae filled in the blanks. “Gi-hun and Sang-woo were childhood friends, but... he’s been missing for years.”

You nodded, understanding the pain behind Gi-hun’s words. You could relate to that feeling—the ache of a long-lost connection. You couldn’t help but feel a pang in your own heart as well. Even though the lost connection was right in front of you, and he still felt so far away.

Gi-hun’s sadness wasn’t a good look on him. He was always either grumpy or happy, never in between. You wanted to change that. You thought back to when you missed In-ho so much, you’d drown your sorrows in alcohol and chatter to Young-sun about him. Maybe, just maybe, getting Gi-hun to talk about Sang-woo could help him, even if it was just for a little while.

“Hey, Gi-hun,” you called softly, breaking the silence. “Tell me more about this Sang-woo guy. Who knows, maybe we’d click together, you know?”

Gi-hun’s eyes widened in surprise, clearly caught off guard by your question. But something in his gaze softened as he began to talk. He recounted bits and pieces of his childhood with Sang-woo, his voice lighting up with nostalgia. His eyes shined as he described his friend’s strengths, quirks, and all the little memories they shared.

From the way Gi-hun spoke, you could see how much Sang-woo meant to him. The same way you felt about In-ho, the weight of love and loss behind every word. You silently prayed for their reunion. Gi-hun deserved happiness, and you wished for him to find it—whether through Sang-woo or another way.

In-ho’s jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation flashing in his eyes. If they were going to give you a partner, they should give you someone who can protect you—someone who knows you, your likes and dislikes, your type... His thoughts were possessive— jealous. His hands clenched into fists, though he forced himself to stay composed. He wasn’t sure why the thought of you with someone else hurt so much, but it did. It hurt more than he was willing to admit.

As the conversation shifted and laughter filled the space, In-ho stayed silent, the weight of his unspoken emotions heavy in the air. The conversation ended when they all went to the bathroom, leaving you and Jun-hee alone. She wasted no time asking a question that had been bothering her ever since she noticed something strange.

“[Name]nim, do you know Young-ilnim? Like, before the games?”

You were taken aback, your surprise evident in the way your eyes widened. What prompted her to ask such a thing?

“No, not that I remember,” you replied, a small ache tugging at your chest. It was hard to say those words. “Why do you ask?”

Jun-hee hesitated, her gaze flickering down to her hands. “It’s just that… I always see Young-ilnim looking at you, or staring at you. Especially when you helped me during the second game. His stare... it was like there was something there.” She trailed off, her voice quiet, unsure if she had crossed a line. “I thought you two might know each other. Sorry if I overstepped.”

“No, no... don’t apologize, Jun-hee. You didn’t do anything wrong,” you reassured her with a small smile. “Maybe I just remind him of someone?”

The conversation shifted, and though the topic ended there, you couldn’t help but linger on what Jun-hee said. In-ho, looking at you? Your mind spun with questions that you couldn't quite answer. But before you could dive deeper into your thoughts, the group returned from the bathroom, and the moment was gone.

Gi-hun gathered everyone, asking them to bring their mattresses and bedding to your designated spot. You all exchanged confused looks but did as instructed, gathering pillows and blankets. It was clear there was something important going on, and it wasn’t lost on anyone.

As you and Jun-hee handed out the bedding, the tension in the air grew. Jung-bae spoke up. “Hey, is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under here.”

Gi-hun continued setting down blankets without looking up. “Once the lights go out, someone might attack us.”

His words grabbed everyone's attention, and you paused, glancing around. Dae-ho, curiosity now evident in his eyes, asked, “Why would anyone do that?”

“The prize money goes up every time someone dies. It’s part of the game they designed,” Gi-hun explained, his voice tense with the weight of the situation.

You frowned, the idea feeling far-fetched at first. But as you thought about the desperation you’d seen in people—and the way some of the others eyed the prize board with hunger—it started to make a disturbing kind of sense. Gi-hun’s words seemed to settle over the group like a cold shiver, but In-ho wasn’t convinced. “Gi-hun, I think you're overreacting,” he said, shaking his head. “Even if that were true, people wouldn’t do that.”

Gi-hun turned to him sharply, fury in his eyes. “In the previous games, dozens of people killed each other at night. Right here, you have no idea how people can change in a place like this…”

In-ho trailed off, looking away, clearly uncomfortable. “I see… I guess I didn’t know what I was talking about. I’m sorry.”

The tension between the two men was palpable, but Gi-hun, though still angry, nodded with some understanding. “We need to take turns keeping watch after the lights go out.”

“I’ll take the first watch. You should decide the order for the rest,” Gi-hun added, continuing to spread the last of the blankets.

It wasn’t long after that you found yourself lying on the bottom bed, the silence in the room heavy. You couldn’t tell what time it was, but sleep seemed distant. With your eyes closed, you tried to rest, but your mind kept wandering. You couldn’t shake the thoughts of Jun-hee’s question, of In-ho’s gaze, and of all the tension in the air.

After what felt like an eternity, you couldn’t stay still any longer. You quietly rolled out of the bed, careful not to disturb Jun-hee beside you. As you stood, you rubbed your eyes, still groggy but wide awake. You walked over to the one who was supposed to be keeping watch.

“Hey... get some sleep. I’ve got it from here,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath in the darkness.

When no response came, you paused, your heart beating a little faster. Had you imagined it? You slapped your cheek lightly, half-expecting to wake up from a dream, but the sting was real. This was no dream. You were still in the game. But who was supposed to be guarding?

As you glanced toward the guard, your breath caught in your throat. There, in the dim light, stood In-ho, staring at you with wide, almost startled eyes.

“In-ho...” you whispered, the name escaping before you could stop it.

He blinked, his expression unreadable. “[Name]... sit down, will you?” His voice was quiet, laced with an undercurrent of tension. You did as he asked, your body moving on its own, though the atmosphere between the two of you felt thick with unspoken words.

You sat there, your knees pressed together. The silence stretched, heavy and thick. There were so many things unsaid between you, so many apologies left unspoken, so many reasons left unexplained. Neither of you seemed to know where to start, but the distance between you had never felt more real. You had shared a bond once, and now it was hard to find the words to bridge the gap that had formed.

In-ho shifted slightly, as if searching for something to say, but still, nothing came. Neither of you moved for what felt like hours, both of you stuck in a place neither knew how to navigate.

The silence between you and In-ho lingered, thick and suffocating, each of you carrying the weight of the years since you’d last spoken. Finally, In-ho shifted, breaking the stillness, his voice low and tight.

"[Name], I—I'm sorry," he started, his words hesitant, as though testing the waters.

"I shouldn't have acted like that, not when you were leaving. On our last day together, I—" He stopped himself, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours, searching for the right words in the dim light. "I was so angry, I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t mean to push you away. I never should have let my emotions control me like that, especially when I knew you were going away."

Your chest tightened at his words. The apology you’d waited for, yet feared to hear, was finally being spoken, but the bitterness still clung to you. You swallowed hard, forcing the anger down, trying not to let it rise again. It felt like you were walking a fine line, torn between the hurt and the understanding you wished you could give him.

"You know," you said softly, voice wavering, "I was angry, too. You pushed me away, In-ho. I never got to explain myself, to tell you why I had to leave. It hurt so much that you didn’t even give me a chance." You paused, trying to steady yourself. "I don’t know what you thought, but I wasn’t running away from you. I... I never wanted to hurt you."

In-ho’s eyes flickered, regret and guilt tugging at his expression. His hand tightened into a fist, then relaxed at his side, as if searching for the right words but struggling to find them.

"I thought you were just... leaving, leaving me, leaving us." he said quietly, his voice strained with emotion. "I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know if I could let you go. But you were going, and it felt like I was losing you, like you’d be gone for good. I was angry that you didn’t even try to stay. I thought you had already made your choice." He swallowed hard, his gaze still on the floor. "I thought you didn’t care about me the way I cared about you."

Tears threatened at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. This was it. The truth you’d wanted to hear, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear. The anger you’d carried for so long still clung to you, but in this moment, it was tinged with understanding.

"I didn’t know you felt that way," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I thought you hated me for leaving. I thought I’d ruined everything, and you’d never forgive me for it." You took a deep breath, trying to steady the shaking in your chest. A tremor crept into your voice as you fought to hold back the emotions welling up inside you.

"I understood why you did it," you said, voice cracking slightly. "I understood it at the time. You were scared, just like I was. But it didn’t make it hurt any less." Your voice dropped. "I didn’t know how to feel. You were the one person I thought I could rely on, and then you turned away without a word. And I had no choice but to carry that weight with me."

Your eyes locked onto his, your heart aching at the sight of the guilt in his expression. “I spent so much time angry at you, blaming you for leaving me like that. But now... now I know we were both just lost. I didn’t know how to handle it, and neither did you.”

In-ho’s face softened, his expression full of regret. "I wish I had known how to handle it better. I wish I had been braver... for you, for us. I should’ve told you how I felt, instead of shutting myself off."

The words hung in the air for a long moment, both of you silently processing what had been said. Then, as if a dam had broken, you continued, feeling a rush of emotions that you hadn’t been able to express before.

"All those years... I kept wondering if I could’ve done something different. If I could have convinced my parents to stay. But I was too proud, too scared. And when we left, it felt like the world just... stopped. I couldn't move forward, not without you. I didn’t know how to move on. And I don’t know if I ever truly did." Your voice cracked, the weight of it all coming crashing down in that moment.

In-ho’s breath hitched as you spoke, his eyes never leaving yours. “I was scared, too. I didn’t know how to handle the idea of losing you. But I realize now... that by pushing you away, I was only making it worse. I’m sorry, [Name]. I’m so sorry for everything.”

You both sat there in the quiet, the weight of the past hanging heavily in the air between you. In-ho’s voice broke through the silence again, softer this time. “I should’ve been better for you. I should’ve told you how I felt, not let my fear take over.”

Your heart ached hearing the sincerity in his words. He was so close now, but there was still a lingering distance between you. His hand hovered near yours, unsure if you’d let him in. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing his. The touch was like a lifeline, pulling you both back from the uncertainty.

In-ho’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his hand finally resting on top of yours. He shifted slightly, moving a little closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. There was a vulnerability in his gaze now, something you hadn’t seen in him before. “I don’t want to lose you again,” he said, his voice low and steady.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you had to swallow hard to keep them from spilling over. For so long, you’d carried this burden of unspoken words, of lost time. But now, sitting here beside him, it felt like the weight was lifting, bit by bit.

In-ho seemed to sense your struggle, his hand gently squeezing yours. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I never wanted you to feel abandoned or alone.”

The words were all you needed. With a shaky breath, you leaned toward him, resting your head on his shoulder. The closeness between you felt like a reunion, a connection rediscovered after years apart. In-ho’s arm slipped around you, pulling you just a little closer, as though he never wanted to let go again.

He ran his hand through your hair, slowly, gently, as if trying to calm the storm inside you. The motion was soothing, and for the first time in so long, you felt at peace. The anger and the hurt slowly started to fade, replaced by something new—something warm.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

In-ho paused, his breath hitching as he processed your words. He pulled back slightly to look at you, his face inches from yours. “I’ve missed you, too,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

You both sat there in the quiet, letting the words hang in the air, surrounded by the unspoken promise of a new beginning. The past wasn’t something that could be erased, but it didn’t have to define you anymore. What mattered now was that you were here, together, in this moment.

In-ho held you close as you let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything you’d kept inside for so long. You felt his chest rise and fall against you, steady and warm, as his presence grounded you. After a long moment of silence, he pulled back just enough to look at your face, his expression filled with concern and curiosity.

“What happened to you, [Name]?” he asked softly, his voice thick with emotion. “What happened all of this? I’ve been wondering for years.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest as the memories threatened to spill out. But, in his embrace, it felt safer to finally speak the truth. Slowly, you opened your mouth, your voice a whisper against his chest.

“I didn’t want to leave, In-ho,” you murmured. “But I had no choice.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, the weight of your past pressing down on you. “My parents... My father left for someone else, and my mother... she just disappeared. One day she was there, and the next, she was gone. I was... alone.”

You felt In-ho’s grip tighten around you as you spoke, but he said nothing. He just listened, offering his silent support.

“I tried to hold it together,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “But the bills kept piling up, and I couldn’t see a way out. I was working non-stop, just trying to keep up, but it never seemed to end. So, I thought, maybe a small loan would help... just to get by for a little while. But it only made things worse. I kept borrowing, and the interest kept stacking up. Eventually, I couldn’t keep up at all. To cope with everything, I started drinking. I just needed something to numb the pain.”

You paused, trying to steady your breathing. It felt like the floodgates had opened, and now there was no stopping it.

“After a while, it became a habit,” you said, your voice shaking. “I couldn’t face the world without it. And... I lost everything. My job, my sense of myself. I kept pushing people away because I didn’t know how to fix anything. I didn’t even know how to fix myself.”

In-ho’s hand gently cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer against his shoulder as if to shield you from the weight of your own words. He didn’t say anything at first, letting the silence settle between you. Then, his voice broke through the stillness.

“I’m sorry, [Name], I wish I was there with you during those times,” In-ho murmured, his voice filled with regret, each word heavy, like it carried all the years of silence and distance between you.

You let out a quiet sigh, the ache in your chest growing as you tried to push back against the weight of the past. The pain, the loss—it was all there, hovering just beneath the surface, but you chose to focus on what was right in front of you now. You chose the present. “It’s okay, In-ho,” you said softly, trying to steady your voice, but your heart was louder than it had been in years. “What matters now is you’re here with me, just like before.”

He was still so close to you, your bodies pressed together in the embrace, his breath uneven against your shoulder. His hand traced the back of your neck, his touch gentle, as though trying to reassure you, to hold you together. But there was more to it—something unspoken, a pull between you that neither of you had fully acknowledged until now. The warmth of his body, the steadiness of his presence, felt so right, and yet, it stirred something deeper, something dangerous.

His fingers grazed your cheek, his touch soft and hesitant, like he was testing the waters. He lingered, his thumb tracing the outline of your jaw. The tension between you was palpable, and you could feel that silent question in the air, one you had both ignored for so long. Could you finally give in? Could you finally let go of the years that had kept you apart?

You wanted to lean in. You wanted to close that distance, to feel his lips against yours and forget everything else. All the pain, the years apart, the weight of the world—it could disappear, just for a moment. But your mind raced with doubts. What if this wasn’t real? What if it was just a fleeting feeling? What if you were getting swept up in the moment, in the desperation of it all?

And then, In-ho’s lips brushed against your forehead, his kiss tender and almost like a promise. You didn’t hesitate this time. The distance between you seemed to disappear, and without thinking, you leaned in. Your lips parted, and your breath mingled with his as you slowly closed the gap, inch by inch. Your heart raced, your pulse pounding in your ears. It was all so familiar, yet so new. You could feel everything—the pain, the longing, the need. You wanted to erase the distance, to bridge the gap that had haunted you both for so long.

But just as you were about to close the distance completely, just as you were about to feel his lips against yours, something flashed through your mind. The memory of him speaking of his wife, of the woman who was supposedly ill in the hospital, came crashing back. Your chest tightened. He was already married. You pulled back suddenly, your breath caught in your throat.

“What about your wife, In-ho?” Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper. The words had been building inside you, but you couldn’t stop them. The questions came rushing to the surface. The connection, the closeness—it felt so real, but how could it be? How could you trust this moment when he had a sick wife waiting for his return?

In-ho froze, his eyes widening for a brief moment. Then, as though realizing the weight of what he’d said, his expression softened. He reached for you immediately, his hands cupping your face gently, almost desperately, like he couldn’t bear the space between you now.

“No,” he said, his voice low and strained. “You don’t understand. I lied to them. The wife... the illness... even my name. I did it for safety.” He explained as fast as he could.

“I swear to you, [Name], I wanted you. I always have. I’ve always wanted you. I’ve been waiting... waiting for you. All these years.”

The words hit you like a wave, sweeping over everything you had believed. The confession shattered your doubt. The years apart, the silence, the feelings that had never gone away. You had thought he was moving on, that he had a life without you, but now he was telling you that it had always been you. That he had always wanted you.

You looked into his eyes, searching for the truth, and for the first time in years, you saw it—his vulnerability, his sincerity. He had waited for you. He wasn’t lying now.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and in that moment, you whispered, almost to yourself, “I never stopped thinking about you, either.”

That was it. Your hands, almost on their own, moved to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The hesitation, the doubt, all of it was gone. You leaned in again, this time with no fear, no second-guessing. You could feel his lips, just inches from yours, and this time, it was going to happen. There was no turning back.

But just as you closed your eyes, just as you felt the warmth of his lips moving toward yours, the room suddenly lit up. The loudspeaker crackled to life, its cold, mechanical voice slicing through the moment like a knife.

“Third game will begin momentarily. All players, please get out of bed and get ready.”

The announcement shattered the moment like glass and reality rushed in. You pulled away quickly, both of you flustered, eyes wide as reality snapped back into place. In-ho let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. His gaze, still soft from the moment, quickly shifted into irritation.

You, too, felt your cheeks burn with the sudden shift. You couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh, the absurdity of it all washing over you. “Of course,” you muttered, voice a little shaky. “Couldn’t be that easy, huh?”

In-ho shot you a look, a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “I swear, they have the worst timing.” He shook his head, clearly irritated by how things had unfolded, but there was a trace of humor in his voice that made the tension feel lighter.

You both sat there for a moment, the awkwardness of the interruption still hanging in the air but somehow feeling less heavy. It was like you’d both just come back from the edge of something important—and the abrupt break made you laugh despite the weight of everything. In-ho let out a short chuckle too, the irritation in his eyes still there but fading, replaced by a sense of shared frustration with the situation.

You glanced at him, eyes still lingering as you both realized how close you'd come to crossing that line. But there was no point in lingering on it now—not with the game calling you back to reality.

“Guess the universe isn’t ready for us yet,” you said, shaking your head.

In-ho gave a soft, exasperated sigh, but the corner of his mouth twitched up slightly. “Yeah, well, it never really was on our side before,” he muttered, then stood, adjusting his clothes and brushing off the frustration like it was nothing.

You nodded, taking a deep breath before turning your back, to tend to the pregnant girl you had been caring for. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t feel quite as impossible as it had before. In-ho followed suit, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than necessary. For a moment, the room felt like it belonged to just the two of you again. But the third game was calling, and you both knew you had to face it. Together, this time.

The third game was Mingle. A game where you had to form pairs based on a number assigned and get into a room within 30 seconds. As the platform spun beneath your feet, you felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you. It reminded you of times spent playing this game with friends back in Gyeonggi-do. You remembered one time in particular, when he had gotten into a fight with a common friend, because of the said game. You laughed softly at the memory, causing In-ho to glance over at you, curiosity in his eyes.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice low but still full of interest.

“Nothing,” you said with a soft chuckle. “I just remembered how Byung-hun was angry when you pulled him off of me, so you and I could be partners instead. Didn’t peg you to be a jealous kid.”

In-ho immediately bristled, though there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Hey, I wasn’t jealous. He was hurting you by gripping you so hard.”

“It didn’t even hurt!” you teased, but the corner of your lips twitched upward, unable to keep a smile off your face. “You’re just jealous.”

“Whatever you say…” In-ho muttered, stepping onto the platform. You followed him, shaking your head but smiling at the same time.

After four rounds, you all began preparing for the final one. The rounds were nerve-wracking, the tension palpable, but you had made it this far with the help of your amazing group. The platform began to spin, the music creating a frantic rhythm as it played in the background. You found yourself standing beside Jun-hee, instinctively holding her steady to keep her from stumbling as the platform jerked beneath your feet.

“What do you think the next number will be?” Jung-bae asked, his voice alert as he looked around.

Without hesitation, In-ho spoke up. “Two.”

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow, glancing at In-ho, silently asking him to explain.

“There are 50 rooms, and 126 people still alive. Everyone will need a partner, but there won’t be enough rooms. This is how they conduct these games.” In-ho’s eyes were sharp, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit of awe at how quickly he had figured it out.

And as it turned out, he was right.

Everyone paused, looking around at each other, wondering who would pair up with whom. Before you could grab Jun-hee to pair up, In-ho suddenly grabbed your arm, pulling you along with him. The rest of your group—Dae-ho with Jun-hee, Gi-hun with Jung-bae—quickly followed, all of you rushing to find a room.

You spotted an open door and, without thinking, you shouted. “Over there!” You both sprinted toward it, but before you could step inside, a man suddenly tackled you to the ground. Your head slammed hard against the floor, and for a moment, everything spun.

In-ho’s face twisted with fury as he watched the man try to crawl into the room you had been aiming for, disregarding you entirely. Without thinking, he reached for the man, grabbing him by the neck and shoving him away from you.

“Get in the room!” In-ho shouted, his voice sharp and commanding. You were dizzy and nauseous, the world spinning around you, but you didn’t hesitate. You stumbled to your feet, still feeling the lingering effects of the impact, and forced yourself into the room, fighting through the haze in your head.

But as soon as you entered, something coiled around your neck, a vice-like grip tightening with brutal force. You gasped, your throat constricting as you tried to draw in a breath, but the air seemed to vanish. Your vision blurred, dark edges creeping into the periphery of your sight. Panic surged like a tidal wave, and you clawed at the hands choking you, but they were relentless. Your breath came in short, desperate gasps, each one feeling more like a plea for life than a simple breath.

The world around you was fading, your chest tightening, your limbs growing heavier. You struggled harder, your body thrashing, trying to free yourself, but the darkness was swallowing you whole.

And then—just when you thought you would lose consciousness—there was a shift. The grip loosened. The constriction around your throat vanished in an instant, and you gasped, desperately drawing in the breath you had been fighting for. The air tasted sharp, bitter, as if the world itself was trying to punish you for the terror you had just experienced.

And there he was—In-ho.

He stood over you, his face a mask of fury, eyes wild and unrecognizable with the force of his anger. His knuckles were white, gripping his fist tightly, as though the act of hitting the man who had attacked you had only just begun to settle in. His face was twisted in a way you’d never seen before. Something inside him was unraveling—breaking.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned on the man who had attacked you, and the sound of his fist meeting the man’s face was deafening. A sickening crack echoed through the room, sharp and cruel, as In-ho’s punch sent the man crashing to the floor. But In-ho wasn’t done. The fury inside him was a beast, a monster he couldn’t control. He grabbed the man by the neck, his fingers tightening with savage force, twisting, until there was an awful snap.

The sound of a life being crushed, broken beyond repair, sent a shockwave through your body. Your stomach turned violently, and your chest tightened, as though you could feel the man’s life draining out of him, just like your own hope of ever seeing In-ho as you once had. It wasn’t just the man who had died. In-ho had killed, and something inside him had died, too.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t move. You stared at him, frozen by what he had just done, your heart racing as the gravity of the moment began to settle in. His chest heaved, each breath coming out ragged and uneven. But it wasn’t the man’s blood on his hands that terrified you the most. It was the look in his eyes. Dark. Soulless. As though he was searching for something—anything—to bring him back to the man he once was. But it was gone. That warmth. That kindness. All of it.

"In-ho..." you whispered, your voice cracking as you reached for him, but he wouldn’t look at you.

His gaze was distant, bloodshot, as though he couldn’t even recognize the person standing in front of him. For a brief moment, you feared you were losing him—losing the man you thought you knew.

And you couldn’t let that happen.

“In-ho,” you whispered again, more urgently this time, your voice thick with unshed tears. “Thank you. For saving my life. Again.”

His jaw clenched, the guilt settling into every line of his face. “I’m sorry, [Name],” he said, his voice breaking, and you could hear the remorse in every word, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. “I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, your heart hammering as you let out a shaky breath. “What are you sorry for?” Your voice was stronger now, fueled by a strange mixture of anger and desperation. “That bastard almost killed me, and I’m glad he’s gone. I’m glad he’s dead. What’s there to apologize for, In-ho? You saved me. You did what had to be done.”

But In-ho’s gaze softened for only a moment before it hardened again, his hands curling into fists. He was still haunted by what he had done. You could see it in the tight set of his shoulders, in the way he stood, as though he was trying to hold himself together. But the cracks were showing, and you couldn’t let him fall apart in front of you. Not when you needed him most.

Before you could say anything else, the adrenaline that had kept you both on edge began to fade, and the weight of everything—the violence, the pain, the fear—settled into the pit of your stomach. You threw your arms around him, not caring about anything else. Not the blood, not the death, not the mess that surrounded you.

You held him tight, pressing your face into his chest as sobs wracked your body, uncontrollable and raw. “I thought I was going to die…” you whispered between breaths, your voice trembling with the weight of the fear you had felt. “I didn’t know... I didn’t know what was going to happen...”

In-ho didn’t say anything at first. He just held you, his arms coming around you in a protective, desperate way, like he was trying to shield you from the madness, from the horrors that were closing in on you both. His chest was shaking with the same unspoken terror, his breath ragged in your hair as he held you closer, as though afraid you might slip away if he let go.

You closed your eyes, pressing harder into him, the weight of his words sinking into your heart. But no matter how tightly he held you, there was a part of you that was already broken, already afraid that the man you had just seen—the man who had crossed a line he never should’ve had to—was never going to come back.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he whispered, barely audible. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

You both stood there in silence for a long moment, caught in the aftermath of what had just unfolded, the weight of the violence and the fear finally catching up to you. But for the first time in what felt like forever, you knew—no matter what happened next, you weren’t alone.

After the third game, the group gathered in the makeshift fort Gi-hun had set up, each player lost in their own thoughts. The atmosphere was heavy as they processed the brutal reality of the games. Gi-hun asked Jung-bae to report the number of players who had voted to continue. The tally revealed 56 players had voted O, while the X team remained outnumbered by twelve votes.

In-ho suggested that if six players switched their votes, it would result in a tie, and seven switches would tip the scales in their favor. The tension was palpable as everyone prepared for the vote. When the results were announced, it was a tie. Relief spread through the group, prompting cheers, but their celebration was short-lived.

The guards announced that a tie meant another vote would take place the following day. Dinner was served, and while the group shared light moments to ease their nerves, the tension lingered, a silent reminder of the stakes.

That night, chaos erupted when a fight broke out in the bathroom between the two sides. The O team accused the X team of initiating the attack, while the X team retaliated with their own accusations. The conflict escalated quickly, spreading through the room like wildfire. By the time order was restored, Team X had gained an advantage, now numbering 48 players compared to Team O's 47.

“Two people died on our side,” Player 047 said grimly, sitting down. “We lost three overall, but we’re still ahead by one vote.”

Jung-bae tried to remain optimistic, his voice steady. “As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win tomorrow.”

Suddenly, the announcement broke the silence.

“Attention, please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

Player 047 turned to the group, his voice firm. “Listen, no one can change their mind, okay? We’ll win tomorrow. Stay strong, and we’ll make it through.”

The group murmured their agreement, but Gi-hun’s expression remained tense.

Dae-ho leaned in, glancing toward the opposing team. “Those guys are acting really suspicious. They’re planning something—I can feel it.”

Jung-bae waved him off. “Whatever. Once we win tomorrow’s vote, it’ll all be over.”

“No. Once the lights go out, they’ll attack us.” Gi-hun spoke, his voice calm but filled with tension.

The room went silent. Player 007’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, They know we’re at an advantage,” He said, voice steady despite the situation. “They’ll try to kill some of us tonight to even the odds and raise the prize money.”

“Then we should attack first. We need to take them by surprise,” In-ho suggested, his tone firm. His words were met with agreement from Player 047, who nodded and added, “We have the women and elderly on our side. If they attack first, we’ll be at a huge disadvantage.”

But Gi-hun raised a hand, his expression grim. “No. We can’t start a fight like that.”

The group turned to him, confused by his sudden objection. Gi-hun’s voice cut through the growing tension, calm yet weighted. “We need to stay calm. If we kill each other, that’s exactly what they want.”

“Who are they? Who are you talking about?”

“The makers of the game,” Gi-hun said bitterly, his eyes burning with anger. His words hung heavy in the air, silencing the murmurs around the room. “They’re the ones who want us to kill each other. They’re watching us right now.”

A chill ran down your spine as you processed his words. The room fell silent, each player lost in thought. Dae-ho broke the quiet, his voice tight. “Where are they?”

Gi-hun slowly looked up, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Up there,” he murmured, his voice barely audible but filled with conviction. You all follow. His eyes seemed to pierce the walls as though he could see straight into them. “The control rooms are above us. Their leader wears a black mask. If we capture him, we’ll have leverage.”

In-ho scoffed slightly, though there was no mockery in his tone. “How are you going to fight them? They’ve got guns.”

“We’ll take their guns.”

“From the masked men?” Player 246 asked, his disbelief evident.

Gi-hun nodded resolutely. “Yes. We’ll catch them off guard. They won’t expect it.”

“That’s too dangerous,” In-ho said, shaking his head. “Even if we manage to steal their guns, we’ll be outnumbered.”

Gi-hun’s gaze hardened. “What’s your plan, then? Sit around and wait to die? Watch as they pick us off, one by one? Is that your idea of survival?” His voice rose slightly, the desperation in his tone cutting through the tension.

The silence that followed was suffocating, each player wrestling with the grim reality of their situation. You could see some heads nodding in reluctant agreement, while others remained still, their fear paralyzing them.

Player 120 spoke up hesitantly, her voice trembling. “Do we even stand a chance?”

“We do,” Gi-hun said, his voice unwavering. “If we strike first, we catch them off guard. They’ll never see it coming. The people running this game think we’re powerless, but we have the upper hand now. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

“How do you plan to take their guns?” In-ho asked again, his skepticism still evident.

Gi-hun didn’t hesitate. His determination was clear, as if he had already played the scenario out in his head. “Once the lights go out, we’ll have our chance.”

Lights out in ten.

The countdown began, the numbers pounding in your skull like the beat of a war drum. You lay stiffly on your bed, your muscles tense and ready to spring. Your heart raced as Gi-hun’s instructions echoed in your mind—Once the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quickly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us.

You clutched the edge of the bed, your nails digging into the rough wood. The seconds dragged, each one stretching impossibly long, amplifying the terror building in your chest.

One.

The lights flickered violently before plunging the room into suffocating darkness. The sudden silence was deafening. You could hear every breath you took, each one louder than the last, as if your own body was betraying you.

For a brief, terrible moment, the room was still.

The silence was suffocating, a heavy void pressing down on you as though the darkness itself were alive. You held your breath, every muscle locked in place, straining to catch the faintest sound.

Then the chaos began.

Screams erupted, raw and animalistic, tearing through the suffocating silence like claws raking through flesh. Heavy footsteps thundered across the room as bodies scrambled and collided in the dark. The sound of someone slamming into a metal bed reverberated like a gunshot, followed by the sickening, wet crunch of bone meeting steel.

The sharp clang of makeshift weapons rang out, chaotic and dissonant, punctuated by the grotesque, unmistakable sound of flesh being pierced. It was chaos, raw and brutal, an orchestra of horror conducted by desperation.

You didn’t think—there wasn’t time to think. Instinct took over as you dove to the floor, crawling under the bed as Gi-hun had warned. Your breath came in short, panicked bursts, and you pressed yourself flat against the cold floor, willing the shadows to swallow you whole.

The room was a nightmare brought to life. The desperate shrieks of the dying mingled with the guttural grunts of attackers. Somewhere close, you heard a chilling, high-pitched laugh—a sound that sent icy needles of fear racing up your spine. The stench of sweat, blood, and raw terror filled your nose, a nauseating cocktail that made your stomach churn.

A body hit the ground nearby with a sickening thud, so close you could feel the vibrations reverberate through the floor. You froze, every nerve in your body screaming as you listened to their gasping breaths turn into choking, gurgling sounds.

You wanted to turn away, to block out the awful noise, but there was nowhere to go. Even pressing your hands over your ears couldn’t drown out the terrible symphony of suffering.

The screams were getting closer. You clenched your jaw, biting back a whimper as you pressed yourself tighter against the floor, your trembling fingers digging into the cold metal beneath the bed.

Your heart stopped when you felt it—a hand clamping down on your shoulder, strong and unyielding.

Your blood turned to ice, the chill spreading through your veins. Panic seized you, and you thrashed instinctively, your mind consumed by the singular thought that someone had found you. You opened your mouth to scream, but a second hand covered it before a sound could escape.

For a moment, terror blinded you, until a familiar face appeared as the lights flickered.

It was In-ho.

His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the room with laser focus. “Quiet,” he whispered, his voice low and urgent, barely audible over the chaos.

Relief swept over you, so sudden and overwhelming that it left you momentarily breathless. But it didn’t last.

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the air, followed by the sickening sound of someone being dragged across the floor. You flinched violently, but In-ho’s hand tightened on your shoulder, grounding you. His grip was firm, steadying you even as your body shook uncontrollably.

The two of you stayed motionless, his presence the only thing keeping you tethered to reality as the violence raged around you. Every scream, every thud, every awful, wet crunch seemed amplified in the darkness, etching itself into your mind. You wanted to shut your eyes, to block it all out, but the terror kept them wide open, unblinking.

Gradually, the chaos began to subside. The screams turned into weak sobs, the sounds of struggle fading into an eerie, oppressive silence. Then came the mechanical hiss of the doors opening, cold and detached, signaling that the nightmare was over.

But you knew better. It was far from over.

In-ho’s hand finally relaxed on your shoulder, and you turned to him. His face was unreadable in the dim light, but there was something in his eyes—something fleeting, unspoken. Before you could say a word, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Stay safe,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. Then, without waiting for a response, he crawled out from under the bed, disappearing into the shadows.

You stared after him, your mind struggling to process what had just happened. The display of affection, so sudden and unexpected, left you reeling. By the time you snapped out of your stupor, he was already gone.

The sound of gunfire shattered your thoughts, sharp and jarring, each shot echoing like a death knell in the enclosed space. You curled into yourself, covering your ears as tears pricked at your eyes.

Please let them be safe, you prayed silently, over and over again, the words a desperate mantra. Please let them succeed.

After a while, Gi-hun’s voice finally rang out—calm but commanding—it felt like the first breath after being submerged underwater. “Hold fire!”

The gunfire stopped.

Slowly, you crawled out from under the bed, your limbs trembling so violently it was a struggle to move. The room was a battlefield, littered with bodies and soaked in blood. Your eyes darted frantically, searching for one face, one person who mattered more than anything in that moment.

Your heart leapt when you spotted Jun-hee crouched nearby, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Jun-hee,” you whispered hoarsely, stumbling toward her. You dropped to your knees, pulling her into a tight embrace. She clung to you like a lifeline, her body trembling against yours.

The two of you stayed huddled together, finding solace in each other’s presence, until Gi-hun’s voice called out again.

“It’s safe to come out now.”

When everyone was told to gather in the middle of the room, you lingered, pretending to adjust your shoes. Jun-hee gave you a worried glance, but you waved her off with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right there. Just... something I need to do.”

She hesitated before nodding, her small frame disappearing into the growing crowd.

Your heart raced as you scanned the room, the chaos of bloodied survivors and flickering lights making it harder to find him. But then you saw him—a familiar silhouette, half-hidden in the shadows of a secluded corner.

In-ho.

He was focused, his movements precise as he disarmed a fallen attacker, slipping the weapon into his grasp. His stoic expression didn’t falter as he worked. Even now, in the aftermath of chaos, he was calculating, steadfast, and unshaken.

Your breath hitched. You knew this wasn’t necessary. You knew you should be with the others in the middle of the room like you’d been instructed. But the ache in your chest, the fear gnawing at your sanity, pushed you forward. You couldn’t leave without speaking to him—without feeling the warmth of his presence one last time.

When you spotted him in a secluded corner, hunched over a stash of weapons he was collecting from fallen players, your resolve solidified. Silently, you crossed the chaotic room, weaving past overturned beds and scattered bodies. Your heart thundered in your chest, not from fear, but from the weight of what you needed to say.

Without a second thought, you ran towards him, your steps quick and silent. When you reached him, you didn’t wait for him to notice you. You immediately threw yourself into his arms, catching him off guard.

“[Name]!” he gasped, his voice sharp with surprise as he caught you. He always caught you. His hands steadied you automatically, even as confusion flashed across his face. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be with the others. It’s not—”

Before he could finish, you cupped his face and kissed him deeply. The movement was so sudden, so full of everything you’d kept locked away, that it caught him off guard. He froze, his lips still against yours, the cold metal of the gun slipping from his grip and hitting the floor with a dull thud.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, and you thought your heart might shatter. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he kissed you back. His hands moved to your waist, holding you as though you might slip away if he let go. The kiss deepened, his lips trembling against yours, and you could feel the war inside him—the pull of his duty against the part of him that wanted to stay here forever.

His lips moved against yours, his hands gripping your waist as though anchoring himself to you. The kiss was messy, desperate, and full of everything you couldn’t say out loud.

When you finally pulled away, your breath mingling with his, your voice broke. “In-ho…” You could barely get his name out.

“[Name],” he murmured, his voice low and trembling. “You shouldn’t be here, you know that.”

“I don’t care.” You gripped the front of his jacket, your tears spilling freely now. “I don’t care about any of that. I needed to see you. I needed to know you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice cracked, betraying the lie. His hands shook where they rested on your waist. “But you—you need to go back. You need to stay safe. I can’t…” He trailed off, his eyes darting away, as if meeting your gaze might break him completely.

“In-ho,” you choked out, clutching his jacket tightly. “Won’t you stay, In-ho? For me?” your voice crackled with desperation.

His breath hitched, and he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. For a second, you thought he might say yes. But then, his face crumpled, and he shook his head. “I can’t,” he said, his voice breaking. “I want to—I want to so badly. But I can’t. I have to help them, [Name]. I have to make sure they have a chance.”

You tried to hold back the tears, tried to be strong for him, but the floodgates opened anyway. A sob tore from your throat as you buried your face against his chest. His arms wrapped around you fully now, steady and grounding, even as your world fell apart.

Of course, this was In-ho. The one who always puts others before himself. The one who bore every burden silently, who carried the weight of guilt and responsibility like it was the only thing keeping him alive. This was In-ho—your In-ho. The man who had always been so much more than you deserved.

And yet, even if it hurt, you loved him for it. You always would.

“What about me?” you whispered, tears streaming freely down your face. “What about us? Don’t we matter?”

His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears even as his own filled his eyes. “You matter,” he said, his voice trembling. “You’ve always mattered. More than anything. More than anyone. But if I don’t do this… none of us will make it out of here.”

“In-ho…” Your voice broke, and he pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

“I’ll come back,” he whispered into your hair, his voice unsteady but full of resolve. “I swear, I’ll come back to you.”

“Please,” you choked out, clinging to him like your life depended on it. “Please, In-ho, don’t make me lose you again. I can’t—I can’t do this… not without you.”

“You won’t lose me,” he said, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his own uncertainty. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there as if trying to memorize the feel of you. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

Deep down, you both knew his promise was a fragile thing, held together by hope.

He leaned down, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. His lips met yours once more, this time in a lingering kiss, slow and deep, filled with everything he couldn’t bring himself to say. For a brief moment, the world seemed to pause. The chaos around you faded into a distant hum, and the weight of the moment lightened just enough for you to feel the depth of his love. A love as desperate and fleeting as the seconds you shared.

When he pulled away, his lips brushed against your forehead, a soft sigh escaping him as if the kiss had stolen the last of his strength. “I’ll be extra safe,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, though his eyes betrayed the agony tearing him apart. “I promise, [Name].”

The promise felt hollow, like a brittle shell barely holding together.

You nodded weakly, though every fiber of your being screamed at you to pull him close, to make him stay. But you knew. You knew who he was—knew that In-ho was the kind of man who always put others first, and there was nothing you could say or do to change that.

“I’ll come back to you,” he said, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as you. “You have to believe that.”

Your voice wavered as you whispered, “I believe you, In-ho.” But the ache in your chest said otherwise.

He took a step back, his hands lingering on your arms before they fell away entirely. The warmth of his touch disappeared as he turned, moving toward the shadows with quiet determination.

Your heart shattered as you stood there, frozen in place, watching him walk away. It felt like every part of you was being ripped apart, your chest heaving with silent sobs. You wanted to scream his name, to demand he turn around, to beg him not to go. But the words caught in your throat, strangled by the raw, suffocating pain of letting him go.

As his figure grew smaller and smaller, the reality of what just happened sank in. The promise he made, the kiss he gave, the pain in his eyes—they all felt like goodbyes masquerading as hope.

As the silence closed in, the thought struck you with brutal clarity. This was the last time you would ever see him.

And it broke you, how painfully right you were.

#wqnsho.writes #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game fanfic #frontman x reader #hwang in ho x reader #player 001 x reader #in ho x reader #oneshot

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solxamber · 4 months ago

Text

Trash Novel Chronicles: Not Another Royal Mess - Azul Ashengrotto x reader

As a proofreader who gets isekai’d into a cringeworthy novel, you decide to take revenge on the heroine and male lead for their awful story. With Azul—who just wanted to sell you a magic rock—pulled into your chaos.

Series Masterlist

You stare blankly at the manuscript in front of you, feeling your soul slowly withering away, shriveling like an overcooked raisin under the weight of yet another tragic tale of misguided villainy. The title alone—The Villainess Who Was Actually Just Trying to Mind Her Own Business and Got Beheaded Anyway—had already set the tone for what you could only describe as a disaster in prose form. How this had slipped through several rounds of quality control was beyond you.

Maybe it was a prank. Maybe it was revenge. You couldn’t tell anymore.

You take a deep breath, a sigh so deep that it feels like it's being dragged up from the depths of your very soul, a sigh that could only be summoned by a story so ridiculous, so absolutely bonkers, that even you—seasoned proofreader extraordinaire—were questioning every life choice that had brought you here.

"Okay," you mutter to yourself, flipping through the pages with all the energy of a reluctant retiree trying to pick up knitting. "Let's see. We’ve got your standard fantasy kingdom where every noble is born with elemental powers. Classic. The saintess is the only one who can wield all four elements. Cool, cool, makes sense." You pause, eyes narrowing. "Except for the villainess who's faking it with a magical rock she bought off of Fantasy Craigslist and just... does all the same stuff the saintess can do without actually, you know, saintess-ing anything bad. Just... being suspiciously good at wind and fire, I guess?"

You squint at the text like it’s personally offended you. "So let me get this straight. The heroine—who, by the way, isn’t the real saintess—finds out about the rock and immediately turns into the nation’s tattletale. Like, she just full-on rats the villainess out to the entire country and gets her beheaded for daring to do an accidental cosplay of a saintess? Seriously?"

You blink. "And the prince? The so-called male lead? He’s not even mad because the villainess was evil or anything. No. He’s mad because she... rejected him? Oh, so that’s the crime. She bruised his precious princely ego, so naturally she deserves to lose her head. Makes perfect sense. Absolutely logical," you deadpan, flipping another page with growing disdain.

“And just when you think it can’t get any dumber,” you continue to mutter, “the heroine uses the exact same magic rock after she gets the villainess killed, struggles to use half the power, but instead of everyone questioning her, they just...” You drag a hand down your face. “They just... pat her on the back for her effort? What? Oh, bravo! Standing ovation! You’re so talented! What a genius!”

You want to scream. You can feel it building up inside you, a primordial rage that no amount of fantasy drivel can suppress. How... how did this get published? How did someone not raise their hand and go, “Hey, maybe the heroine is the real villain here? And maybe the villainess is just really good at rock collecting?”

Your eye twitches.

Then you get to the part where Azul Ashengrotto—a.k.a. the business owner and kingpin of the information and assassination game—gets dragged down in this hot mess of a plot for the crime of selling a magical rock. He’s not even involved in the drama. He just sold a crystal, did his job, and suddenly he’s collateral damage in this ridiculous farce. And beheaded. You slap the manuscript down on your desk, nearly choking on the sheer absurdity of it all.

“He sold a rock!” you yell to no one. “One. Rock! And he loses his head because the heroine doesn’t know how to mind her own damn business! And no one bats an eye?”

You imagine Azul, standing there with a bemused expression as the sword comes down, probably muttering something like, "Well, this is an unfortunate turn of events."

You shake your head, unable to wrap your mind around the sheer audacity of it all. "So, let me get this straight. The heroine kills the villainess out of jealousy and rage, takes the same stone, uses it poorly, and somehow becomes the saintess? And no one questions it? Not even one guy in the back going, ‘Hey, wait a minute...’?"

A laugh escapes you, bitter and incredulous. "I’ve lost all faith in fantasy kingdoms. They deserve what’s coming to them. Honestly, if their idea of justice is to murder anyone with a shiny rock collection, they probably deserve whatever apocalyptic disaster is waiting in book two."

You sit back in your chair, contemplating the many ways you could disappear off the face of the Earth to avoid reading the inevitable sequel. Maybe you could fake your own death? Dramatically crash through a window with a glitter bomb, leaving behind a cryptic note that reads, “Gone to buy a rock, brb.”

But no. You were a professional. You would soldier on.

Then again, if this novel could get published, maybe it was time to start your own writing career. Surely you could cobble together something halfway decent. Maybe a story about a villainess who just wants to live her life and ends up getting murdered by a heroine with a major inferiority complex. Oh wait, that’s literally this garbage fire in front of me.

You sigh again, this one even deeper, more existential than the last, the type of sigh that could bring about world peace if properly harnessed. Your eyes wander from the steaming pile of poorly written drivel, caught somewhere between disbelief and mild homicidal thoughts. You rub your temples, wondering if proofreading was really the best career path for someone who still had shreds of sanity left.

"Maybe I should've been a baker," you mumble to yourself, stretching your arms overhead. "At least bread dough doesn’t hit me with nonsensical plot twists."

As you stand, ready to grab a snack to soothe your wounded soul, you don’t notice the precariously stacked pile of villainess novels towering on the shelf above your desk. The entire collection of "disaster-bound fantasy heroines and their poor life choices" sways ever so slightly as you brush against the table, and then... it happens.

One moment you're contemplating the logistics of moving to a remote island where bad writing can’t reach you, and the next, you hear a spine-chilling creak followed by a horrifying cascade of poorly bound paperbacks. The avalanche of literary mediocrity comes crashing down on you in one tragically comedic sweep.

"Are you kidding me—" is all you manage to choke out before the entire bookshelf’s worth of subpar villainess novels crushes you beneath their illogical weight. And of course, because the universe has a sense of humor, the last book to hit you in the face is titled, "The Villainess Who Tripped and Fell into her Own Grave—Oops!"

As the darkness closes in, your final thought is one of supreme exasperation: I cannot believe I’m being killed by the worst plotlines ever written. Death by plot twist. Too soon, yet not soon enough.

And then nothing. Just silence. Peace, finally.

You’d heard the phrase "no rest for the wicked," but honestly, who knew divine punishment was this over the top? Apparently, you'd racked up enough sins in your previous life to not only die under an avalanche of bad literature but to then be reincarnated into said literature. Because why not? The gods were clearly having a laugh.

When you open your eyes, you're not even phased. Nope. You don’t scream, cry, or panic. You just stare up at the overly ornate ceiling of what is clearly a mansion because, of course, the villainess is always absurdly rich. You're lying in an obnoxiously fluffy bed, and the first thing that pops into your mind is: Are you serious?

A quick glance in the mirror confirms it. There you are, standing in the overly frilly shoes of the villainess from the very same garbage novel that ended your life. Perfect. You take a deep breath, rub your temples (again), and give yourself a mental pep talk. "Okay, you’ve read this before, multiple times. You know the beats. You know the plot. You’ve got this."

Step one: don’t freak out. Because, really, this plot is bad enough without adding your personal panic to the mix. Step two: check the villainess's diary because, obviously, the previous inhabitant was stupid enough to leave all her secrets lying around like a teenager's unlocked Facebook account. Sure enough, you find it: a gloriously leather-bound journal detailing all the times plotted to impersonate the saintess. You roll your eyes. Not today, Satan.

You scan the pages, checking the timeline. You have a few months until the heroine rats you out, which means it’s time for step three: revenge. And no, you don’t mean the "oh, woe is me" type of revenge that makes you spiral into despair. You mean good old-fashioned pettiness, the kind that makes the heroine and the male lead’s lives miserable.

You can't help but snicker at the thought. It's karmic justice, really. They’re going to get a taste of the absolute horror you experienced reading their terrible, nonsensical love story. You spent hours proofreading their idiocy, now it's their turn.

You stand in front of the towering, ominous doors of Azul Ashengrotto’s office at Mostro Lounge, taking a deep breath before pushing them open. The dark, almost theatrical ambiance inside feels like a stage set for the devil himself to offer you a deal. But you’re no saintess—you’re the villainess of this story, and you’re here to strike a deal that’ll flip the entire script on its head.

Azul looks up from his desk, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in your presence. “Ah, My Lady,” he greets smoothly, slipping into that charming, calculating smile of his. “What brings you to my humble establishment? Shouldn't you be busy pretending to be a saintess?"

You roll your eyes and take a seat without waiting for an invitation. "About that... I've decided to cancel my order for the magic stone."

Azul’s expression falters. “Cancel the order? But aren’t you the one planning to impersonate the saintess and secure your place in the royal court?”

You lean back in your chair, a smirk playing on your lips. “Well, plans change. I’ve come to realize that there's a much better way to spend my time and resources—mainly, by humiliating the heroine and the prince for fun.”

Azul blinks at you, the corners of his lips twitching as if he’s not sure whether to laugh or be intrigued. “You... want to humiliate the heroine and the prince?”

You shrug, a gleam of mischief in your eyes. “Why not? They’re gonna be responsible for my end if I impersonate the saintess. I’ve already decided that instead of dying gracefully, I’m going to make their lives miserable. And that’s where you come in.”

Azul folds his hands on his desk, the smile growing on his face. “I see. And what exactly do you expect me to do?”

You pull out a blank cheque, sliding it across his desk. “Whatever you want. My family is wealthy, and my parents will gladly dance upside down on a chandelier if I asked them to. Write any amount you want, but you’re going to help me with my new plan.”

Azul’s eyes flicker with interest as he glances at the cheque. “And what exactly would that plan entail?”

“I want you to sabotage them,” you say simply. “The heroine, the prince—they’re going to suffer public humiliation. Every time they try to play the part of the perfect couple or flaunt their status as the so-called chosen ones, I want you to make sure they fail spectacularly. We’re going to tear apart their reputations piece by piece, and I need your expertise.”

Azul leans back in his chair, tapping a finger to his chin. “That sounds... intriguing. But I do believe I’ll need a bit more than just money to make this worth my time.”

“Name your price,” you reply coolly. “Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

Azul’s smile widens, but it’s sharp. “I’ll take a hefty sum, of course. Let’s say... one hundred thousand gold. But I’ll also require two wishes that I can cash in at any time.”

Your brow arches. “Two wishes? And what exactly do you plan to use them for?”

Azul’s smile turns positively devilish. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something. It could be anything—information, a favor, perhaps something more. Who knows? I just want to keep my options open.”

You weigh the deal for a moment, then nod. “Fine. Two wishes and one hundred thousand gold. But I want results, Azul. Don’t disappoint me.”

Before he can respond, the door behind you slams open with a bang, and Floyd Leech strolls in, grinning ear to ear like a shark who’s just spotted its next meal. “Heh, you’re funny, Shrimpy,” he says, eyeing you with amusement. “This whole ‘let’s humiliate the prince and his little heroine’ thing? I like it. I’ll help. I wanna see the look on their faces when they get wrecked.”

Azul sighs dramatically. “Floyd, this is a delicate matter. You can’t just go around—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Floyd cuts him off, draping himself across your chair like a lazy cat. “But c’mon, wouldn’t it be more fun if I helped? We can make it real painful for ’em. How 'bout it, Shrimpy?”

You can’t help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. “Honestly? I wouldn’t mind having you on board, Floyd. Your brand of chaos could be exactly what I need to really make them squirm.”

Floyd grins wider, nudging you playfully. “Now we’re talkin’! See, Jade? Shrimpy’s got taste.”

You glance over to where Jade is standing, quietly watching the entire exchange with a serene smile. “I’m not surprised,” he says in his calm, unsettling way. “After all, our esteemed client clearly knows how to turn a situation in their favor. It’s rather... admirable.”

You shoot Jade a look. “Please don’t make that sound like an insult.”

Jade chuckles softly. “Not at all. I find your tactics fascinating. I’ll be quite interested to see how this all unfolds.”

Azul clears his throat, clearly ready to bring the conversation back on track. “Well, if that settles it, we have a deal. Two wishes and one hundred thousand gold. Floyd and Jade will assist you, and I’ll personally oversee the sabotage.”

You grin, satisfied. “Perfect. Let’s give those two a taste of what real humiliation feels like.”

Azul inclines his head. “Pleasure doing business with you, my dear client.”

As you get up to leave, Floyd playfully bumps your shoulder again. “Heh, I like you, Shrimpy. Let’s make sure that prince and his girl get what’s coming to ’em. It’ll be a real laugh.”

You smirk as you make your way out of the office. “Oh, trust me, Floyd. This is going to be spectacular.”

And with that, the stage was set. The heroine and her precious prince had no idea what was coming their way. But you did—and with the help of the mischievous trio from Mostro Lounge, you were going to enjoy every second of it.

The royal ballroom glistened with opulence as golden chandeliers hung above the vast marble floors, reflecting the lavishness of the night. The music was soft yet upbeat, a perfect backdrop for the event of the season. Nobles twirled gracefully around the room, engaged in light conversation as they eyed one another with thinly veiled curiosity. You stood at the entrance, the heavy doors creaking behind you as you took a deep breath.

The villainess in this world had been a little too subtle for her own good—dresses that were elegant but far too modest, more befitting of someone trying to sneak through the ranks as a saintess. But you? You had other ideas. You weren’t about to blend into the background. Oh no, tonight was all about making a splash.

The dress you wore was nothing short of a masterpiece. The neckline plunged just enough to be daring, the skirt flaring dramatically around your legs as you moved. The villainess had always had potential, you realized as you caught your reflection earlier that evening. With a little effort, she'd looked like a queen.

And apparently, that effort wasn’t lost on the crowd. Conversations stuttered to a stop as you walked in, eyes swiveling toward you like moths to a flame. A smirk tugged at your lips. Good. They could look all they wanted. Tonight, you were more than the villainess. You were a force to be reckoned with.

Of course, it didn’t take long for the male lead—Prince Arrogant-Entitled himself—to notice. He’d been chatting animatedly with the heroine, a sweet little thing dressed in pastels, who was practically bouncing on her feet with excitement.

But the moment you crossed the threshold, his gaze latched onto you like a leech, his conversation with the heroine cutting off mid-sentence as he abandoned her entirely. His eyes scanned you up and down with blatant appreciation, and you felt an unpleasant shiver crawl down your spine as he made his way toward you.

Sleazy little worm.

“My Lady,” he greeted you, standing too close for comfort. His voice dripped with what he likely assumed was charm. “You look ravishing tonight. I must say, your beauty is... overwhelming.”

You kept your expression neutral, though internally you gagged at his lackluster attempt at flirtation. The heroine, meanwhile, was glaring daggers from across the room. Not that it bothered you. Let her seethe.

You plastered on a fake smile, playing along for now. “Your Highness,” you replied, “I must say, your compliments are as subtle as ever.”

He laughed, his hand reaching out as if to brush your arm, but you sidestepped it gracefully. “You wound me, my lady,” he said, clearly trying to maintain the upper hand. “Would you honor me with a dance?”

You opened your mouth to deliver a polite but firm rejection, when suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the tension with the smoothness of silk.

“Ah, apologies, Your Highness,” Azul’s voice was a breath of fresh air as he sidled up beside you, his arm slipping around your waist with practiced ease. “I’m afraid my date for the evening is already spoken for.”

The prince's face dropped, the smile frozen awkwardly as Azul’s words sunk in. You could see the wheels turning in his head, trying to process how exactly this turn of events had occurred. “Your... date?” he stammered, looking between you and Azul.

Azul just smiled, that infuriatingly calm smile of his. “Yes,” he said, his tone light and polite but dripping with a silent victory. “I do hope you understand, Your Highness. After all, it wouldn’t do to leave such a radiant lady waiting, would it?”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. Azul's ability to swoop in at just the right moment with perfect timing was nothing short of impeccable.

The prince was visibly flustered, caught completely off-guard by the public rejection. The heroine, still watching from across the room, looked like she was about to combust on the spot. Her fists were clenched at her sides, and you could practically feel the heat of her glare boring holes into you.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” you said, dipping into a mocking little curtsy. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

And with that, you took Azul’s arm and let him lead you away from the prince, who stood frozen in humiliation as the ballroom buzzed with whispers around him.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Azul turned to you with an amused grin. “You seemed to be having fun back there.”

“Oh, I was,” you replied, chuckling. “But not as much fun as I’m about to have dancing with you.”

Azul raised an eyebrow, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as the two of you began to sway to the music. “Careful now,” he teased. “If you keep up that flirting, I might just start blushing.”

You grinned, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “I thought you were immune to such things. What happened to your infamous poker face?”

“Hmm, perhaps I underestimated your charms,” he mused, his voice lower now as he twirled you effortlessly around the dance floor. “You certainly know how to keep a man on his toes.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. “Is that so? Because I think you’re the one getting flustered, Azul.”

His smirk faltered for just a moment, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. You knew you had him.

But then, just when you thought you had the upper hand, Azul dipped you suddenly, causing a surprised squeak to escape your lips. He leaned over you, his face just inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Flustered, hmm?” he murmured, his voice smooth as velvet. “I think you may have that backward, my dearest client.”

You blinked up at him, momentarily caught off-guard by the intensity in his eyes. Damn it—he was good at this.

“Well played,” you muttered, feeling your own cheeks heating up now.

Azul chuckled softly, pulling you back up into his arms as the music continued to swell around you. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “We can call this round a draw.”

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “Fine. But don’t think this is over.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a wink.

You’re jolted awake by the sound of frantic knocking on your bedroom door, followed by your maids bursting in like the world was ending. “My Lady!” one of them squeals. “The mafia is breaking into the house!”

Now, any sane person would hear this and immediately take steps to flee, barricade themselves in, or at the very least, hide under the bed. But you? No. In your infinite wisdom, still half asleep and probably only functioning on half a brain cell, you bolt out of bed and head straight to the living room like you’re ready to take on a gang of mobsters in your nightgown. What was it that you always said about wanting more excitement in life?

You storm into the living room, ready to confront the so-called "mafia," only to be greeted by none other than Azul, Jade, and Floyd. Well, they weren’t exactly what you expected, but then again, the maids had screamed ‘mafia,’ and these three did dabble in... questionably legal activities.

Floyd's already poking through your vase of expensive flowers, looking completely at home, while Jade is smiling in that eerie way of his that makes it hard to tell if he’s genuinely amused or planning to harvest your organs.

“Good morning,” Azul greets you smoothly, like this is the most normal thing in the world. “Apologies for the intrusion, but we have urgent business to discuss.”

You stare at them for a long moment, your confusion building. “I didn’t make an appointment with you guys. Did you make an appointment with me?”

Jade’s eyes gleam with mischief. “No appointment, but we’ve come across some information we thought you’d be interested in.”

You cross your arms, already sensing the chaos about to unfold. “Go on…”

“Well,” Jade says, stepping forward with an innocent smile (which, of course, is anything but), “it seems the prince and his little heroine are planning to attend a charity event today to show off their ‘generosity.’”

Floyd pops up behind you, slinging an arm over your shoulder like you’re best friends. “Want to crash it?” he asks, grinning wildly, his sharp teeth flashing. “It’s bound to be fun. Who knows what kinda trouble we can stir up?”

Azul adjusts his glasses, looking thoughtful yet undeniably excited. “There could be some... interesting opportunities there,” he muses. “And I wouldn’t mind attending, purely for business reasons, of course.”

You blink at them. Charity event? Crashing? Making the prince and heroine’s lives miserable? Well, hell, why not? You did wake up to the mafia in your living room, after all. “Fine,” you say with a smirk, “let’s do it. Let’s crash this event and see how generous our dear prince really is.”

The four of you arrive at the event like a troupe of misfits dressed in their Sunday best. The venue is packed with people, all fawning over the prince and the heroine like they’re some divine beings sent down to bless the peasants. The heroine’s practically glowing as she bathes in their attention, her overly sweet voice echoing through the hall as she accepts praise for what is—let’s be real here—a laughably small donation, considering who they are.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. The prince and heroine are practically bathing in the affection of these poor, unsuspecting people. "Oh, how generous they are!" people cry. "Such saints, oh thank the heavens!"

Yeah, not today, airhead.

You nudge Azul. “Let’s show them how it’s really done.”

Azul, already ahead of you, strides confidently toward the stage. You follow, not missing a beat, and together, you announce—no, proclaim—that you will be tripling the total amount of donations for the event.

The reaction is immediate. Complete chaos erupts. The organizers start crying tears of joy, running up to you with such fervor that you have no choice but to stand there and accept their hugs and gratitude, despite your overwhelming desire to swat them away. Floyd, cackling like a hyena, is playfully lifting some of them off the ground in his bear-like hugs, while Jade just stands off to the side, watching the chaos unfold with a bemused smile, occasionally offering polite nods of acknowledgment.

The prince, who had been gloating only moments before, now looks like he’s been slapped in the face. His expression is priceless—shock, embarrassment, and barely concealed rage all battling for dominance. The heroine’s smile has dropped completely, replaced with a furious scowl as she watches the organizers fawn over you instead. Her fists are clenched at her sides, and you can see the very moment her fragile ego shatters. Oh, how delicious.

Amidst all the madness, you catch yourself actually smiling—not one of your usual smirks or devious grins, but a genuine, warm smile. As much as this was all meant to be a petty revenge plan, you can’t deny the satisfaction that comes from seeing these people so happy. It's almost... heartwarming.

Azul turns to you at that exact moment, his usually calm expression softening as he sees your smile. He blinks, clearly caught off-guard by how radiant you look. For a split second, he seems to lose his composure, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink.

“You’re smiling,” he says, his voice almost quiet. “It suits you.”

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What, you’ve never seen me smile before?”

“Not like that,” Azul admits, his usual poise faltering as he looks down at you with something akin to awe. “It’s... different.”

Before you can respond, Floyd suddenly slides up between you, throwing an arm around both you and Azul with a grin. “Oho! Azul’s gettin’ all blushy on us, huh?” he teases, eyes glinting mischievously. “Careful, Shrimpy. You might actually be softening him up.”

Azul huffs, pushing Floyd away with a barely contained scowl. “You’re insufferable, Floyd.”

“Oh, come on, boss!” Floyd laughs, ruffling Azul’s hair before darting away to avoid his retaliation. “Just admit it, you’re totally into ‘em!”

Jade sidles up next to you, his ever-present smile in place. “Well, it seems things are progressing quite nicely,” he says, his tone light but teasing. “Perhaps we’ll see more of this warmth from you, hm? It’s quite refreshing.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Oh, shut up, both of you,” you say, though there’s no real malice in your words.

As the crowd around you finally begins to disperse, you feel a strange sense of contentment. Sure, you came here for revenge, but now? Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Azul’s first wish. He could’ve asked for anything—power, prestige, wealth beyond imagination. But no, he wants to open a café. A legit café. Sure, his shady business would still run in the background, but this time, he wanted something wholesome, something real. And of course, he wants you to sponsor it, not just with money but with your influence—Queen of the Social World that you are after your fabulous ball stunt.

You’re intrigued, mostly because it’s Azul, but also because, well, it was a bit funny imagining him in a cute apron, serving cakes and coffee like some innocent caf�� owner. But business was business, and you were all in.

The following weeks were spent in an intense whirlwind of planning with Azul, Floyd, and Jade. What started as you simply agreeing to fund Azul’s café spiraled into you helping them design the entire place, from choosing the colors of the tiles to picking out the cups, to menu planning. You found yourself oddly invested, not because Azul asked for your help, but because, strangely enough, you liked spending time with them.

Like tonight, for example. You were supposed to be working on the café’s logo, but instead…

“Stay still, Floyd,” you muttered as you carefully painted his nails. Floyd, surprisingly, wasn’t squirming, but he was giving Jade some ridiculous side-eye. “If you mess this up, I swear, I’ll let Jade poison you with the mushrooms.”

Jade chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Poison? Now that’s an interesting accusation. I thought we were discussing the edible variety.”

“Oh, don’t play innocent, Jade. I’ve read up on your particular interests,” you quipped, finishing off one of Floyd’s fingers and moving on to the next. “And besides, everyone knows you’re a master of both the edible and the... not-so-edible.”

Floyd, meanwhile, grinned at you. “Shrimpy! You know, you're real funny, you know that? I should make you my personal nail artist. You’re doing way better than Jade ever did!”

Jade gave Floyd a look, crossing his arms in mock offense. “Please, Floyd. My skills are exceptional, but you insist on ruining the results every time.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “That’s because Floyd never sits still long enough for anything decent to happen. Isn’t that right?” You turned to Floyd, who was just nodding along like you’d given him the biggest compliment of the year.

Azul entered the room at that moment, looking slightly confused to find you painting Floyd’s nails. Without missing a beat, you reached out and tugged him over, all casual. “You’re next, Azul. Sit.”

He blinked at you, half surprised and half flustered by how natural this all felt. “I-I didn’t realize I’d signed up for this,” he stammered but still sat down beside you like he couldn’t refuse.

“You didn’t. But now you’re here, and you’ll be leaving with your nails looking fabulous,” you said with a grin. You took his hand, and despite how awkwardly he tried to keep his composure, you felt him relax under your touch.

“So, what were you discussing before I arrived?” Azul asked, glancing between you and Jade, who was still sitting nearby.

“Mushrooms,” Jade said with an oddly proud smile. “Our friend here is surprisingly knowledgeable about rare species. It’s rather refreshing to have such an... engaged conversation partner.”

“Well,” you said, dipping the nail brush back into the polish, “you’d be surprised what you can pick up after spending a considerable amount of time researching... various topics.”

“Of course,” Jade said, his smile just a little too knowing for your liking. But you didn’t take the bait, instead focusing on Azul’s hand, painting a particularly delicate pattern with precision.

As you finished Azul’s nails, Floyd suddenly launched himself at you, wrapping you in an unexpected squeeze. “Shrimpy! You’re my best friend now. Best. Friend.”

You barely had time to react as he practically crushed you, and you patted his back with a small laugh. “I’ll take that as a compliment... Floyd. Now, could you maybe let me breathe?”

Azul, who had been watching the exchange with a soft look on his face, finally stepped in. “Floyd, don’t suffocate our sponsor, please.”

Floyd reluctantly let you go but stayed attached to your side like a loyal puppy. “But Shrimpy’s so soft and fun!”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving Floyd away. “Okay, okay. Back off, or you’ll mess up your nails.”

Jade chuckled again, his gaze softening as he watched the three of you. “I must say, I never thought we’d be having... a sleepover, of sorts.”

You laughed. “Neither did I, to be honest. But I don’t mind. It’s kind of fun, isn’t it? Relaxing, being able to just... exist.”

Azul glanced down at his newly painted nails, feeling the warmth of the room and the camaraderie between you all. “Yes,” he murmured softly, “it is.”

And for a brief moment, Azul found himself wishing that nights like these could last forever.

The sun was already low on the horizon as you made your way toward Mostro Lounge, your daily visits now a routine you couldn’t seem to avoid. It had become a comforting ritual: meeting Azul, Jade, and Floyd, where the lines between business and friendship blurred into late-night planning sessions. You had just started to hum softly to yourself when a figure stepped into your path, blocking your way.

You stopped short, frowning as you recognized the sleazy, arrogant smirk plastered on the Crown Prince's face. He was the last person you wanted to deal with today. Or ever.

“There you are,” the prince drawled, taking a step closer to you, his hand reaching for your arm. “I’ve been thinking about you. Why don’t you stop all this nonsense and reconsider me as a suitor, hmm? You know I can offer you far more than Azul ever could.”

You stiffened as his hand wrapped around your wrist, his grip tighter than necessary, and you glared up at him. “Let go of me,” you said through gritted teeth.

The prince’s expression darkened, and he yanked you closer with a cruel tug. “Don’t act so high and mighty. You should be grateful I’m even giving you the time of day—”

A loud, unmistakable voice interrupted. “Oi, you slimy bastard!” Floyd’s voice boomed from behind you, and the next thing you knew, the prince’s hand was wrenched off your wrist as Floyd grinned down at him with an unsettling amount of excitement in his eyes. “You wanna keep those fingers or should I snap ‘em off for ya?”

The prince recoiled, his confidence wavering as Floyd stepped between the two of you, looking unhinged and ready to throw down at any moment. “Do you have any idea who I am—”

Floyd just laughed, cracking his knuckles with a loud pop. “You really think I care? Touch Shrimpy again, and I’ll show you why it’s a bad idea.”

Just as the prince looked like he was going to say something, Jade appeared at your side, his presence cold and menacing. His polite smile only made the threat more ominous. “Your Highness, I believe my brother gave you a fair warning. I suggest you heed it unless you wish to experience... unpleasant consequences.”

The prince looked between the two brothers, weighing his options. Though his pride was clearly hurt, the danger in their eyes finally seemed to register. He took a step back, sneering at you. “This isn’t over.”

“Oh, but it is,” Jade said, his smile never faltering. “If you value your position and your life.”

With that, the prince turned on his heel and left, and it wasn’t until his retreating figure disappeared that you realized you were shaking. The adrenaline coursing through your veins made your knees weak, and your breath came out shakier than you wanted it to.

“Shrimpy, you okay?” Floyd’s voice was softer now, lacking its usual teasing tone. He turned to you, his expression shifting from anger to concern.

Jade, too, watched you carefully. “You’re trembling. Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, biting your lip to stop the quiver. Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around Floyd first, burying your face in his chest. He stiffened for a second, surprised, before his arms enveloped you gently, as if unsure of how much pressure to apply.

“‘S okay, Shrimpy,” Floyd mumbled into your hair. “I gotcha.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling Jade’s comforting hand rest on your shoulder. When you pulled away from Floyd, Jade was there too, his smile uncharacteristically soft. You hugged him as well, and for a moment, all the tension seemed to melt away as the Leech brothers stood there, silently offering their comfort.

By the time you made it to Mostro Lounge, Azul was already waiting, his expression brightening when he saw you approach—until he noticed your pale face and the tight look of concern on both Floyd and Jade’s features.

“What happened?” Azul asked immediately, his voice sharper than usual.

You hesitated for a second, glancing toward the twins. But before you could answer, Floyd spoke up. “The damn prince tried to pull some shit with Shrimpy.”

Azul’s entire demeanor darkened, the air around him thickening with icy fury. “Is that so?” His voice was calm, too calm, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “I see. Well, it seems our little game has taken a new turn.”

You blinked up at him, confused. “Azul?”

Azul turned to you, his stormy eyes locking with yours, and despite the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior, he smiled—a smile that sent chills down your spine, but also made you feel... protected. “From this point on, your revenge is my revenge. I won’t allow that fool to get away with this.”

You could only nod as the weight of his words settled over you. What had started as a personal vendetta was now much larger. Azul had made it personal, and with his intelligence and the Leech brothers by your side, you had no doubt the prince would soon regret the day he ever laid a hand on you.

Azul reached out and took your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll make sure he never forgets this lesson.”

And with that, you knew—there was no going back now. It wasn’t just about your revenge anymore. You had a powerful ally who was more than willing to turn the tables. And for the first time since you’d been thrown into this chaotic world, you felt truly... safe.

It all started with a completely innocent plan.

Well, innocent in the way that any plan involving Jade and Floyd Leech could be. You were sitting in Azul's office, sipping tea, when Floyd flopped onto the sofa like a bored toddler who’d been forced to sit through an economics lecture.

"Ugh, I’m bored,” he groaned, throwing an arm dramatically over his face. “Let’s go mess with someone. Like, now.”

Azul, across from you, pinched the bridge of his nose. “We have work to do, Floyd. You can’t just—"

“I wanna mess with someone," Floyd whined, cutting him off, “and you know who’s real fun to squish? That princessy little heroine.”

Your ears perked up. Oh no. No, no. This was bad.

But also tempting.

Azul gave you a side-eye like he already knew you were considering the chaos. “We’re not doing this,” he said firmly, like he was talking to two feral cats he had to babysit.

Jade, standing ever-so-politely by the door with his signature smile, chimed in. “I must say, brother, it does sound like a rather… entertaining idea.” His eyes glinted in that creepy way that made you unsure if he was plotting your doom or just mentally filing away a new tea recipe involving venomous plants.

“YESSS!” Floyd shot up from the couch, his mood doing a complete 180. “Let’s go squish her, let’s go squish—"

“No,” Azul snapped, sending you a warning look. “Don’t encourage this.”

You, of course, ignored the warning look entirely. “I mean… it's not the worst idea in the world.” You gave a dramatic sigh. “Someone has to put her in her place.”

Azul’s eye twitched. “We had a plan—”

“And now we have fun,” you interrupted, standing up and straightening your jacket like you were about to lead an army into battle. “Come on, Azul. When was the last time we had fun?”

Azul opened his mouth to retort, but Floyd was already bouncing around the room like a hyperactive puppy. “Ooooh, we’re gonna have fun, we’re gonna have fun!”

Jade, always the picture of composure, smiled serenely. “Shall I prepare the necessary… ingredients?”

Azul looked like he was about to pass out from sheer exasperation. “What ingredients?!”

But it was too late. The twins were already in full scheming mode, and you were all-in.

Twenty minutes later, you were sneaking—well, you were sneaking. Jade was strolling casually, and Floyd was giggling—through the palace gardens where the heroine had set up her usual tea party, surrounded by noble ladies with IQs lower than the calorie count of their diet biscuits.

The plan was simple: make her life miserable. The execution, however, was where it got beautifully wacky.

Floyd had brought a lot of frogs. (Don’t ask where he got them.)

The heroine was sitting, blissfully unaware, serving tea and playing the perfect little princess as usual. You felt your eye twitch just looking at her.

“Eww,” Floyd whispered beside you, wrinkling his nose. “She’s got that gross fake smile on again. Makes me wanna squish her even more.”

“Patience, Floyd,” Jade murmured, handing him a cup of “tea”—which was, in reality, some concoction Jade had brewed that you suspected involved swamp water. “We mustn't rush.”

Azul, standing beside you, was facepalming so hard you were surprised his glasses didn’t snap in two. “This is a disaster.”

You grinned. “No, this is a masterpiece.”

Just as the heroine raised her cup to sip her tea, Floyd, who was clearly too impatient to wait for subtlety, threw three frogs straight at the tea table.

SPLAT!

Chaos. Utter chaos. The noble ladies screamed, cups and saucers flew, and the heroine herself jumped back like the frogs were molten lava. Her chair tipped, and she fell—right into the flowerbed, splashing herself with tea and dirt.

Jade clapped politely, ever the gentleman. “Bravo, Floyd. That was an excellent throw.”

The heroine scrambled to her feet, gasping and red-faced, frantically brushing dirt and tea from her dress. “Wh-what—how dare—"

“Oh nooooo,” Floyd said, dramatically clasping his hands to his cheeks. “It looks like you fell! So clumsy! And right before your party too. That’s soooo embarrassing~!”

Azul turned to you with a look that screamed I told you this was a bad idea.

You, however, were practically glowing. “This is the best day of my life.”

“I-I’ll have you all arrested!” the heroine spluttered, her hair falling in disarray as she glared daggers at you and the Leech twins.

“Oh?” you said sweetly, leaning forward with an exaggerated pout. “For what? Frogs? You think we command amphibians, your grace? You’re so flattering.”

Azul cleared his throat, stepping in with his best diplomatic smile. “Now, now, let’s not escalate this. It was clearly an unfortunate mishap, and I’m sure you’ll be able to recover… in time.”

The heroine narrowed her eyes at him, her cheeks burning in humiliation. “You think this is funny, don’t you?!”

Floyd leaned over Azul’s shoulder, grinning like a shark. “I think it’s hilarious.”

Before she could retort, Jade suddenly stepped forward, his usual calm smile widening just a bit too much. “Perhaps it would be wise to retreat and freshen up, Miss. After all, one mustn’t linger in such… messy conditions.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again, and then—seeing the eyes of all the other noble ladies on her, their whispers starting to spread—she whirled around, storming off with a huff.

As soon as she was out of sight, you and Floyd doubled over, laughing like lunatics.

Azul, pinching the bridge of his nose again, shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m associated with any of you.”

“Oh, come on, Azul!” you managed to say through giggles, wiping a tear from your eye. “This was gold!”

“I still think we should’ve used the snakes,” Floyd added, totally serious.

Jade, always the perfectionist, just gave a little hum. “Next time, perhaps.”

Azul sighed deeply, already regretting every life choice that led him to this moment. “I need a vacation.”

You clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Azul. Admit it. You had fun.”

He glanced at you, his lips twitching slightly as if he was fighting a smile. “…Perhaps.”

And with that, the four of you left the wreckage of the tea party behind, victorious and full of glee. The heroine would be recovering from this disaster for weeks.

Sometimes, revenge really was a dish best served with frogs.

The evening was quiet as you and Azul strolled through the town, the air filled with the subtle hum of night creatures, the scent of blooming flowers mixing with the cool night breeze. It was peaceful. Too peaceful, perhaps, as you noticed Azul shifting nervously beside you.

"Are you alright?" you asked with a raised eyebrow, watching as he straightened his posture a little too quickly. He was trying to play it cool, but you could tell that there was something bothering him.

"Of course," he replied with an air of forced calm. "Just enjoying the evening, that's all."

You nodded, though his tenseness made you smile internally. Here was Azul, calm and collected under all circumstances—except in moments like these, where even the tiniest of things could throw him off. It was charming, really.

And then, out of nowhere, a loud rustling erupted from the nearby bushes. Before you could react, Azul let out a strangled, startled yelp, practically leaping into your arms in an impressive feat of acrobatics you hadn’t quite expected. You blinked down at him, his arms clinging tightly to your shoulders as he cowered against you.

“W-what was that?!” he stammered, clearly shaken, his eyes darting around like a nervous prey animal.

You craned your neck to see what had caused the commotion, only to spot… a particularly fat raccoon waddling out of the bushes. The creature glanced at you lazily, munched on a discarded piece of bread, and then ambled away into the night.

“Azul,” you began slowly, “it’s just a raccoon.”

Azul, looking rather pale, cleared his throat and tried to regain his dignity, though he was still very much in your arms. "I-I see… It merely startled me, that’s all."

For a moment, you considered putting him down, but then you looked at him—his wide, flustered eyes, his pink-tinged cheeks—and decided, "Nope." With a little shift, you adjusted his weight in your arms and started walking again, as if carrying the mafia boss-turned-café-owner like a blushing bride was the most normal thing in the world.

Azul blinked. "What are you doing?"

"Carrying you," you said simply.

"But—"

"No ‘buts.’ Just relax," you said cheerfully, striding forward. Azul's face went from mildly shocked to utterly dumbfounded as you continued to carry him through the quiet town square like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Honestly, you’re pretty light,” you teased, trying to hold back a grin. “I should carry you more often.”

Azul cleared his throat, his face a deep crimson now, but you didn’t miss the way his arms stayed looped around your shoulders. His voice was a little quieter when he finally spoke again. “Well, if you insist…”

You chuckled, enjoying his rare moment of vulnerability. As much as he liked to keep his composed businessman mask, Azul clearly wasn’t immune to your charm. You could see it in the way he leaned a little closer, and for a moment, the teasing gave way to something softer, something a little more real.

When you finally set him down after several streets of wandering, Azul adjusted his glasses, his composure returning. But then he turned to you, an odd glint in his eye. “You know… I’ve been thinking. About a way to get back at the prince.”

Your eyebrow quirked up in curiosity. “Oh? Do tell.”

He folded his arms behind his back, looking as though he was trying to frame this in a way that didn’t reveal too much. “It’s quite simple, really. A business arrangement. A… fake engagement.”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate. He cleared his throat and continued. “If we pretend to be engaged, it would irritate the prince, perhaps even force him into a rash decision. It would also be good for my public image. And, of course, you would gain the satisfaction of seeing him completely humiliated.”

You stared at him for a moment, then smirked. “Azul… do you want to date me?”

He choked on absolutely nothing, sputtering, “W-what— I— that’s not what I said—”

You rolled your eyes, amused by how he was floundering. “It’s fine, Azul. I get it. You want to date me. You don’t have to frame it like a business deal.”

Azul blinked rapidly, caught between mortification and something else—something that looked like hope. “Well, that’s… I mean…”

“And if you really want to make it official,” you continued with a grin, “why don’t we just make the engagement real?”

Azul’s flustered expression softened into something utterly pleased. For a moment, he stood there, barely containing the wide smile that threatened to break free. “You… You’d really consider that?”

“I think it would be fun,” you said with a wink. “Plus, it’ll definitely piss off the prince.”

Azul finally allowed himself to smile—a genuine, relieved smile that made your heart skip a beat. “In that case… I would be honored.”

The next morning, you decided to really turn things up a notch. You knew the prince and the heroine were planning to spend their day parading around the town square, fishing for compliments and praise. So, naturally, you decided to plan your very public proposal right in the middle of their little event.

You stood with Azul in the town square, both of you perfectly dressed for the occasion. The crowd gathered, waiting for the prince’s grand appearance, but before he could make his big entrance, you stole the spotlight. Grabbing Azul’s hand, you dragged him to the center of the square, and with a dramatic flourish, you dropped to one knee.

“Azul Ashengrotto,” you began, projecting your voice loud enough for the entire square to hear, “will you do me the honor of becoming my fiancé?”

The crowd gasped, murmurs rippling through the commoners. The prince, who had just appeared with the heroine on his arm, looked absolutely dumbfounded, while the heroine herself looked like she’d swallowed a lemon.

Azul, ever the dramatic actor, placed a hand over his heart as if he was deeply moved. “Of course!” he said, tears welling up in his eyes. “It would be my greatest honor.”

The crowd erupted into applause as you slipped a ring onto his finger, and Azul pretended to wipe away a tear, leaning in to whisper, “You know, I didn’t think you’d go this far.”

You grinned up at him, whispering back, “Well, you’re the one who wanted to fake it. Might as well make it memorable.”

Azul let out a small laugh, then looked at you with something softer in his eyes. “I have to admit… this isn’t so bad.”

And for the first time since this whole revenge plot began, you found yourself feeling… happy. Not just because you’d embarrassed the prince and heroine, though that certainly was satisfying. But because standing here, with Azul by your side, it felt like maybe, just maybe, this arrangement could be more than just a scheme.

Azul sniffled dramatically, playing up the moment for all it was worth, but you saw the genuine affection in his eyes. And as the crowd continued to cheer and applaud, you couldn’t help but smile, truly and honestly happy for once—happy just to exist here with Azul, your hand firmly in his.

Tea parties were the bane of your existence. Seriously, you’d rather file taxes for a hundred years or listen to the prince’s self-praising monologues on loop than sit at one more dainty little table surrounded by frills and forced giggles. But, here you were, once again trapped in the depths of social hell, smiling so hard your face muscles were cramping.

“Isn’t this just delightful?” one of the duchesses chirped, her laugh tinkling like a bell forged from your nightmares. You could practically hear your soul dying.

You plastered on a fake smile. “Absolutely. A dream come true.”

Across the table, the heroine herself—Miss Sunshine and Butterflies—fluttered around like she was hosting the fanciest gala of the year. You bit back a groan as she served tea to everyone, her stupidly sweet smile never faltering. But there was a gleam in her eye, something almost off about the way she was handing out those cups.

You squinted. Was it just you, or did her eyes always look like that? Beady little things, like a snake pretending to be a fluffy bunny. Ugh, maybe it was just her entire vibe that set you off. You wouldn’t be surprised if she threw in a few spiteful herbs just to ruin your day further.

“Here you go!” she chirped, placing a cup of Rosehip in front of you. Her eyes gleamed again.

Okay, weird.

Before you could think too hard about it, Azul’s hand slid across the table. With a smooth, practiced movement, he swapped your cup with his, like this was a perfectly normal thing to do.

You blinked at him, raising a brow. “What? Did you want rosehip that badly?”

Azul smiled, giving you a soft shrug. “I’ve always been partial to it.”

That was… well, typical Azul. You shrugged it off. Maybe he just wanted to get a taste of a different blend, and it wasn’t like you were going to argue over tea.

And then he took a sip.

And immediately coughed up blood.

"Azul?!" you shrieked, eyes widening as he doubled over, clutching his throat. The teacup slipped from his hand and shattered against the table. Panic shot through your chest like a dagger.

"Oh my god, Azul!" you were up and out of your chair faster than you’d ever moved in your life, diving next to him on the floor as his coughing turned wet and ragged. Blood splattered onto the pristine tablecloth, and all you could hear was your heartbeat thundering in your ears. “No, no, no, NO, this is NOT happening!”

Azul’s face was turning ashen, his breathing shallow, and you were completely losing it.

“What the hell was in that tea?!” You turned, glaring murderously at the heroine, who just stood there, wide-eyed and shocked. Your hands trembled as you pulled Azul closer, cradling his head against your lap like he was going to die any second.

“Stay with me, dammit! Don’t you DARE leave me like this!” you sobbed, tears streaming down your face. “We haven’t even finished the damn revenge plot, you idiot! I-I didn’t even get to tell you I like you!”

Healers finally came rushing in, but by then you were an absolute mess—full-on ugly crying, gripping Azul’s shirt so hard your knuckles turned white. You were inconsolable, practically wailing like the world was ending because, to you, it really felt like it was.

“P-please, I’ll do anything! Just don’t die, okay?! You can have my soul, my fortune, my entire wardrobe, I don’t care! I’ll even stop plotting revenge, just don’t—don’t—” you hiccupped through sobs, nearly incoherent at this point.

Somehow, through your hysterical bargaining with the universe, the healers managed to stabilize Azul. His breathing evened out, the blood stopped flowing, and you could hear them saying something about the poison wearing off. But all you could do was sit there, holding him as the storm of emotions tore through you like a hurricane.

It felt like an eternity before he was finally awake and stable, sitting up in bed after what felt like the longest, most agonizing night of your life. And when you saw him there, looking far too smug for someone who had just almost died, you snapped.

“What the hell was that?!” You stormed into the room, furious tears still clinging to your lashes. “What in the name of all that’s holy possessed you to drink that?!”

Azul blinked at you, clearly not expecting the outburst. “I didn’t want you to get hurt—”

“I DON’T CARE!” you shrieked, pacing around like a madwoman. “You almost died! Do you have any idea what that did to me?!”

Azul opened his mouth to reply, but you cut him off, throwing your hands up. “The deal’s off, Azul! I’m done! No more revenge, no more schemes, I don’t want to be a part of this if you’re gonna be coughing up blood and nearly dying on me!”

You were about two seconds away from spiraling into another sobfest when suddenly, Azul grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward him. Before you could even protest, his lips crashed onto yours, shutting you up immediately.

You blue screened.

For a solid five seconds, all you could think was: Oh, he’s kissing me. And then, Wait, he's kissing me!

He pulled back, looking exasperated and amused all at once. “Will you calm down?” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I’m not going anywhere. I want to see this through. For you.”

You blinked, completely thrown off. “But… why?”

“Because,” he smirked, “you’re not the only one with a vendetta. And, well,” his eyes softened a little, “because I care about you.”

Your heart stuttered, and you stared at him, still not quite over the kiss. “You what?”

Azul chuckled, clearly enjoying the rare sight of you being completely speechless. “Sounds like you care about me too,” he teased. “Or did I hallucinate you confessing your undying love while I was poisoned?”

Your face flushed red, and you crossed your arms defensively. “I wasn’t confessing my undying love, I was panicking, okay? But, yeah. Fine. I like you. I was gonna tell you sooner, but then you had to go and die on me.”

Azul raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t die.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled. “You almost did.”

He laughed, and you swore your heart did a little flip. “Well, now that we’ve cleared that up…” he leaned closer again, his eyes glinting with mischief. “What do you say we continue this revenge plot? With less near-death experiences, of course.”

You eyed him warily. “Only if you promise to never pull that shit again.”

Azul chuckled and gave you a playful, solemn look. “I promise.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was still pounding as you leaned in, pulling him into another kiss. And this time, there was no poison, no tears, no panic—just the two of you, finally on the same page for once.

And maybe, just maybe, you could pull off this revenge scheme and come out of it with something even better.

It was a party meant for the elite of the kingdom—everyone who considered themselves someone was present. Glistening chandeliers, extravagant gowns, and enough fake smiles to power an entire city. But all you could focus on was the prince—who was pretending not to undress you with his eyes from across the ballroom—and the heroine, fluttering about with her fake miracles and equally fake modesty.

You stood by Azul, nursing a glass of wine and feeling like your patience was thinner than ever. But tonight was the night. The two of you had been planning this for weeks. Everything was in place, and the heroine and the prince were about to get the public humiliation they so richly deserved. The prince, with his wandering hands and slimy charm, had made it no secret he was obsessed with you, the villainess. And the heroine? A conniving fraud with no real powers, just cheap tricks and affairs with every married noble she could get her hands on. They were perfect for each other.

Azul adjusted his glasses, his smirk subtle but telling. “Are you ready?”

You glanced at him, a wicked grin spreading across your face. “Born ready.”

The two of you exchanged a nod, and as Azul sauntered toward the prince’s little circle of sycophants, you made your way toward the heroine, who was doing her best impression of a saintly flower surrounded by admirers. The second you reached her, she turned to you with that fake smile, the kind that said I wish I could set you on fire, but I’ll settle for pretending to like you.

“Ah, it’s so good to see you,” she cooed, her eyes scanning you for a flaw to latch onto.

You gave her a saccharine smile, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Likewise. I couldn’t help but overhear your little chat about your latest miracle—what was it this time? Turning water into wine?”

She blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Oh, nothing so grand. Just helping a few people in need, as always.”

“Helping?” you raised an eyebrow. “That’s funny, because I seem to recall several of those ‘people in need’ being married men. Some of them not exactly in need of healing, but more… in need of a different kind of attention.”

Gasps erupted around you. The heroine’s face turned a rather satisfying shade of white.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” she stammered, her composure cracking.

“Oh, I’m not implying anything,” you said, voice turning sharp as a blade. “I’m flat-out saying it. You’ve been using your so-called ‘holy powers’ as a cover while having affairs with multiple married men. That’s not even the worst of it, though, is it? Let’s talk about your miracles—or should I say, your alchemy tricks.”

More gasps. Nobles all around were now staring, whispers spreading like wildfire. And as for the heroine? She looked like she was about to faint.

“You—you’re lying!” she screeched, eyes wide with desperation.

“Oh, am I?” You pulled out a letter, one of many you and Azul had collected. “Because this says otherwise. A love letter to Lord Ainsworth, a very married man, detailing your... special ‘healing sessions.’” You fluttered the letter in front of her face, then loudly cleared your throat, reading aloud, “Your touch is divine, and I felt so... blessed after our long night together. Honestly, your vocabulary could use some work. Not exactly poetic, is it?”

The heroine was trembling now, and the crowd around you was in stunned silence. But you weren’t done. Oh no. You turned to where Azul was confronting the prince. Perfect timing.

Azul was speaking smoothly, voice calm but lethal. “And speaking of deception, Your Highness, should we address your... exemplary battlefield skills? I’ve heard rumors that when the kingdom needed you most, you deserted the warfront. Ran off with a servant girl while your men perished. Am I wrong?”

The prince, who had been sneering at you from afar, suddenly looked as though he’d been slapped. “That’s preposterous!”

“Oh?” Azul’s smirk deepened. “So, you didn’t flee like a coward and abandon your post? Perhaps we should ask your former comrades. Oh wait, we can’t—they’re dead.”

Gasps turned into outright murmurs now, the room swirling with scandal. The prince, visibly sweating, attempted to regain control. “I don’t have to listen to this nonsense! Guards! Arrest these—”

You cut him off with a laugh, stepping forward. “Oh, and before you get all high and mighty, let’s not forget your little... habit of harassing women at court. Everyone’s heard about it, but no one’s had the guts to say it out loud. You have no idea how many complaints have been buried by your influence.”

The prince’s face turned purple. He looked like a fish flopping on dry land, desperate to escape. The nobles around him, previously loyal lapdogs, were now backing away, muttering to each other in disbelief.

The heroine finally broke, shrieking like a banshee. “You can’t do this to us! You’ll regret this!”

You turned to her with a smile that could only be described as gleeful. “I already do, dear. Trust me, being in the same room with you is enough regret for a lifetime.”

And with that, Azul snapped his fingers, signaling the beginning of your grand exit.

In the chaos that followed—nobles yelling, the prince and the heroine in absolute shambles—Floyd, with a cackle, grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of flour. “Time to go, Shrimpy!”

“What is it with you and throwing me over your shoulder?!” you hollered, flailing. But you were laughing, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Meanwhile, Jade was quick to hoist Azul over his shoulder, ignoring Azul’s indignant protests. “I am fully capable of walking, Jade!”

Jade chuckled. “But this is faster.”

With that, the four of you barreled out of the ballroom, tearing through the palace halls like children who’d just pulled the most epic prank of their lives. You could hear the sounds of guards scrambling, but none of them seemed to have the nerve to chase after you. After all, exposing the kingdom’s so-called saviors was no small feat.

“Where are we even going?!” you laughed, gripping onto Floyd’s jacket as he sprinted full speed, not slowing down for a second.

“Anywhere that isn’t here, duh!” Floyd cackled, clearly having the time of his life.

After a few more turns, you finally found a secluded garden, well away from the palace guards, and Floyd unceremoniously dropped you onto the ground. Jade did the same to Azul, though with a bit more care.

You took a moment to catch your breath, still riding high from the adrenaline of it all. Azul straightened his coat, still clearly annoyed by the shoulder-ride but too composed to say much about it.

“Well, that was fun,” you said, leaning back against the garden wall. “So, what now? Are we fugitives yet?”

Azul, now looking much more composed, adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “There’s still the matter of my wish. You promised me one, remember?”

You blinked. “Oh, right. What do you want?”

Azul hesitated, then fixed you with a look that was surprisingly serious. “Come with me to the Coral Sea.”

You stared at him. “What, like... right now?”

Azul’s eyes flickered with something like doubt. “You don’t have to—”

“Oh, no, I’m in,” you interrupted, grinning. “Let’s go right now before we get arrested or something.”

Azul blinked, clearly not expecting you to agree so readily. “You… you’re serious?”

You shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be? This place is a nightmare. You know what sounds fun? Underwater adventures. Coral Sea? Sign me up. Let’s get out of here before they send a search party.”

Floyd laughed loudly, throwing an arm around you. “I like this plan! Let’s see how Shrimpy handles the ocean!”

Jade chuckled, his smile as sharp as ever. “It seems we have an impromptu vacation ahead of us.”

Azul, still looking somewhat stunned, finally smiled—though it was a soft, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Very well. Let’s go, then. The Coral Sea awaits.”

The Coral Sea was nothing like you expected, but everything you needed. You’d relocated your café to this underwater haven, a place filled with bioluminescent reefs, shimmering schools of fish, and an air of quiet magic. Running a café under the sea was a wild dream, but somehow, you and Azul had made it happen. Every day felt like an adventure, with Floyd and Jade always testing your patience—and taste buds—with their questionable yet inventive cooking.

Today was no different.

You stood at the counter of your café, watching with a mix of amusement and mild horror as Floyd dumped a strange, glowing ingredient into a bubbling pot. Jade stood next to him, calmly adding delicate pinches of spices that, according to him, would “bring out the flavor.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So, what exactly are you making today? Because last time, I’m pretty sure I saw sparks coming out of the dish.”

“Don’t worry, Shrimpy!” Floyd chirped, giving the pot an enthusiastic stir. “This one won’t explode! Probably.”

Jade smirked, clearly enjoying your wariness. “It’s a new dish we’ve been perfecting—Sea Serpent Stew. I think you’ll find it... quite unique.”

You blinked. “Sea Serpent… what now?”

Floyd cackled. “Relax, it’s just a name! No actual sea serpents in it. Mostly.”

With a resigned sigh, you accepted the bowl they handed you and stared down at the glowing, swirling contents. It looked like something out of a mad alchemist’s lab. But hey, you’d survived worse—like being kidnapped by Floyd. This was nothing.

Bracing yourself, you took a cautious sip.

It wasn’t… terrible. Actually, it was kind of delicious. Spicy, with an oddly sweet aftertaste that lingered in a pleasant way. You blinked in surprise, then took another spoonful.

“Well, damn,” you said, looking at the two eels with newfound respect. “This is actually good. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think we could add this to the menu.”

Floyd pumped a fist into the air. “Yesss! Told ya we nailed it!”

Jade chuckled, looking pleased but less outwardly excited. “I’m glad it meets your standards.”

You grinned at them both. “I mean, if people don’t mind glowing food, we’re set. Let’s call it ‘Mystic Stew’ or something. I’ll work on the branding.”

After a few more rounds of tasting, tweaking, and banter, the day finally wound down. The café’s lanterns dimmed, casting the place in a soft, cozy glow, and you could hear the gentle hum of the ocean outside. Floyd and Jade headed out to “hunt for more ingredients”—which you suspected was code for causing chaos somewhere else—leaving you alone to close up with Azul.

You locked the doors, the quiet settling in as Azul finished counting the day’s earnings. He glanced at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Another successful day.”

“Yup. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think we’re actually doing well here,” you mused, walking over to him. The quiet moments like this were becoming your favorite—just the two of you, after the bustle of the day, with nothing but the serene ocean around you.

Azul chuckled, slipping his arms around your waist as you leaned into him. “You doubted our business?”

“Never doubted the business,” you teased. “But the Coral Sea? Yeah, I wasn’t sure about moving here. But now... I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his touch warm and familiar. “I’m glad. This place... it’s different from anything I could have imagined, but with you here, it feels like home.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you couldn’t help but smile. “I never thought a stupid order for a magic rock would lead to this, but here we are. You and me, running a café under the sea. Who knew?”

Azul chuckled, pulling you closer. “That magic rock was the start of everything, wasn’t it? ”

You looked up at him, feeling your chest tighten with affection. “Yeah, funny how life works. I thought I was signing up for a revenge plot, and instead, I got... well, you.”

Azul’s gaze softened, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The weight of everything—the journey, the chaos, the unplanned twists—hung in the air between you, warm and comforting.

“I love you, you know that?” you said, the words slipping out with ease now, no hesitation.

Azul smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “And I love you. More than I thought possible.”

You tilted your head, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “Good, because you’re stuck with me now. No refunds, no returns.”

He laughed, a rare, genuine sound that made your heart swell. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With that, you pulled him into a kiss, soft and lingering, with the ocean as your only witness. This—right here—was everything. The café, the Coral Sea, and Azul by your side. It might have started with a plot for petty revenge, but it had turned into something much deeper, much more real.

And as you stood there in his arms, the world felt right. You had found your place. Together.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

Okay! Kalim and Leona are next! (Whichever I finish editing first) Who would y'all like to see after that?

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto x you #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul #azul ashengrotto #twst azul #azul x you #twst azul x reader #trash novel chronicles #fem reader

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