Esrione

Nicknames only—that was the rule. No given names, no surnames, no hints of who you were before you entered the school. The government called it neutralization. The students called it normal, because they had never known anything else from the start of Elementary School.

The classroom door slid open, and she entered without haste. Her heels made no sound on the linoleum. She wore a navy-blue suit cut too sharply for comfort, hair pulled back so tight it seemed to pull the skin of her face with it. She carried no textbooks nor attendance sheet, only a small metal case in one hand.

She stopped at the podium and faced them.

Silence thickened.

"My designation is Instructor Sato," she said flatly. No greeting or welcome, her voice held no warmth, no curiosity, no disdain… only function. Her eyes swept the room, not lingering on any student for more than a second.

"This classroom has been selected."

A murmur rippled through the room.

Selected for what?

Sato did not clarify. She didn't pause for questions, nor acknowledge the fear beginning to coil in their chests.

"A new rule has been added," she continued. "By order of the national government."

She then placed the metal case on the podium and snapped it open. Inside lay a white respirator mask and a small black device with a red button.

Without warning, she lifted the mask and secured it over her face, the elastic snapping softly into place.

The room froze.

"What-" Tower, a nickname, started.

Sato pressed the button.

The television bolted high in the corner of the classroom flickered to life, its screen warping for a second before stabilizing. Static hissed, then cut cleanly.

A smiling man appeared. He wore a crisp government uniform, posture perfect, eyes bright in a way that made your skin crawl. Behind him was a flag no one had ever been taught to question.

"Good morning, students," he said cheerfully. "Congratulations on being chosen."

The word chosen landed wrong.

"This school was built by the government," the man continued, pacing slightly as he spoke. "And as such, it serves the future of our nation. Beginning this year, a new educational program has been implemented."

A diagram appeared beside him: an island, surrounded by dark water.

"For three days," he said, still smiling, "you will be transported to a designated location. An uninhabited island. There, you will participate in a survival exercise."

The word exercise felt obscene.

"The rules are simple," he went on. "You must eliminate one another."

The man raised a hand gently, as if calming children.

"When only one student remains alive, the program will conclude. Failure to comply will result in immediate consequences."

The screen briefly flashed images: collars tightening, bodies collapsing. It returned to the man's smile. The television then clicked off.

For half a second, nothing happened. Then a faint hiss filled the room. Thin white gas seeped from vents along the ceiling, curling downward like fog. Students leapt from their seats, coughing, shouting, overturning desks.

The gas burned the lungs, sweet and heavy. One by one, bodies hit the floor. Vision blurred; muscles failed. The last thing many of them saw was Instructor Sato standing perfectly still at the podium, mask fogging slightly with each calm breath, with the chaos that slowly died down.

She watched as the classroom went silent. When the final body collapsed, she checked her watch, then she turned and walked out.

The bell rang again.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ Your Name💋 ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The first thing that returned was sound.

A low electric and constant hum, followed by the distant creak of metal somewhere overhead. The floor was concrete, rough against skin, smelling of rust and damp dust instead of disinfectant.

One by one, the forty students stirred.

Eyes fluttered open to a different classroom, or what used to be one. The walls were cracked, paint peeling in long yellow strips. Half the windows were shattered, the others boarded up. Desks lay overturned and mismatched, dragged here from different rooms, some with names carved into them by students long gone.

At the front of the room stood Instructor Sato. Arms folded, posture perfect, waiting.

No mask this time.

A soft groan escaped from the center row.

Sweetheart woke with a sharp inhale, hand flying instinctively to their neck. Something was there. Cold, solid and tight. Their fingers brushed smooth metal. A collar, heavy and fitted exactly to the curve of their throat.

Heart pounding, Sweetheart tugged at it but it didn't budge. Slowly and carefully, they looked around. Every other student wore the same thing. Metal necklaces locked snug around their necks, each with a small speaker embedded near the jawline, each marked with a faint serial number. Some students were already crying, others were yanking uselessly at the collars, breathing too fast and loud.

Princess sat two desks away, eyes wide, hands trembling as she traced the edge of hers.

"What… what is this…?" someone whispered.

Sato unfolded her arms.

"Stand down," she said, her voice cut through the panic with surgical precision.

"Eyes front. All of you."

Fear hesitated but then obeyed, forty pairs of eyes locked onto her.

"You are currently on an island," Sato began. "This school is its central point. From this building to the farthest edge of the island is a distance of ten kilometers."

She gestured once toward the cracked blackboard behind her. A rough map had been drawn there, an island ringed in red, the school marked with a bold X.

"You may eliminate each other by any method you choose," she continued. "Weapons, traps, alliances, deception. Creativity is permitted."

A few students stiffened.

"But," Sato added calmly, "stupidity is not."

She tapped the device clipped to her belt.

"These necklaces monitor your heart rate, location, and behavioral irregularities. If you attempt to damage the device, leave the island, or disrupt the program in an unacceptable manner-" She paused. "I will press a button."

Her finger hovered.

"The necklace will explode," she said. "But not yours."

A ripple of confusion.

"Instead," she went on, "a random participant's necklace will detonate. You will be responsible for their elimination."

Someone sobbed openly now.

Sweetheart swallowed. The collar tightened slightly, as if responding.

"If more than one student survives after three days," Sato continued, "all remaining necklaces will explode simultaneously."

She let them sink in the information.

"For demonstration purposes," she said, and pressed a button.

A sharp beep cut through the room and one necklace began flashing rapidly.

Princess's.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Everyone turned toward her.

"No-" Princess whispered, backing away. "No, wait, I didn't-"

The beeping grew faster. Panic detonated before the collar did.

Students scrambled away from her, chairs screeching, bodies shoving, backs slamming into walls. Someone screamed for her to move, someone else screamed for her to stay still.

Princess's eyes darting wildly, breath hitching.

"Please-" she cried. "Please help!"

The beep became a solid tone. Then…

BOOM.

The explosion was sharp, contained, brutal. A flash of red, a shockwave that rattled the windows, then Princess collapsed where she stood.

Smoke curled upward.

No one moved.

A second later, the speaker embedded in the necklace remains crackled to life.

"Kim Soojong is eliminated."

Silence fell like a guillotine.

Some students stared at the floor, others stared at the body. One vomited quietly into the corner. Sweetheart couldn't hear their own breathing anymore, only the echo of that calm, mechanical voice.

Sato didn't look at Princess, she continued.

"Each of you will receive a bag," she said. "Inside: limited water and bread, a compass, a map, a flashlight, hints about a randomized students' real names, and one randomized weapon. If you managed to eliminate a student, you can steal their bags."

Her eyes swept across them.

"You will use the weapon to eliminate other students once the game begins." She folded her arms again. "Any questions?"

A long, terrible pause, then a hand rose, shaking.

"W… why…" the student choked. "Why us…?"

Sato didn't hesitate. "Random selection."

Another hand. Barely raised.

"If… if I survive…" the student whispered, tears streaking their face, "will I… go home…?"

"Yes," Sato replied. "You will return home. You will be guaranteed employment of your choosing. Your parents were informed prior to your transfer."

Silence swallowed the room whole.

"If there are no further questions-" She snapped her fingers, then the doors at the back burst open. Soldiers filed in, boots heavy against concrete, faces hidden behind helmets. They wheeled in metal trolleys stacked with identical black bags.

"-when I call your nickname," Sato said, voice flat, "step forward and take your bag."

Her gaze lingered on the students.

"Sunny," she called.

And the game began.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ Your Name💋 ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Dense forest swallowed the horizon, trees packed so tightly their canopies knitted the sky into broken fragments of blue. The air smelled of salt, wet earth, and decay, maybe. The abandoned school loomed behind them like a spine left picked clean.

One by one, students were released.

When Kiwo stepped forward—fifteenth in line—they felt the weight of the bag dig into their shoulder.

A soldier shoved them gently but firmly.

"Move."

Kiwo didn't look back. The moment their shoes hit the island's soil, a speaker embedded in the collar crackled, Kiwo broke into a run. No plan, just motion as they sprinted downhill, branches slapping against their arms, lungs burning as adrenaline drowned out thought. Check the terrain first. Don't fight yet. Don't be seen. That was the only instinct screaming loud enough to matter.

After several minutes, Kiwo slowed, ducking into a patch of tall grass near a cluster of rocks. Their legs trembled as they dropped to their knees, then onto their back, staring up at the swaying leaves.

That was when they heard it.

"Kiwo…?"

A voice, thin and cracking, Kiwo bolted upright. A classmate stumbled out from between the trees, face streaked with tears, hands empty and shaking.

"What… what should I do, Kiwo…?" they sobbed.

Kiwo opened their mouth.

"What-"

The sentence never finished because a sharp thunk cut the air, the student's body jerked once, then collapsed.

An arrow protruded cleanly from their neck. No blood spray, or drama, just stillness. Then the collar spoke.

"Park Jeongmi is eliminated. Thirty-eight participants remain."

Kiwo's heart slammed against their ribs.

The shooter stepped into view. A student Kiwo barely recognized, holding a crossbow too tightly, eyes wild, finger already squeezing the trigger again.

"Shit!" Kiwo hissed.

They dove sideways as the bolt whistled past where their head had been a second earlier. Dirt sprayed. Kiwo rolled, came up crouched, but froze.

Sweetheart stood a few meters away, frozen in place, face drained of color, bag still unopened at their feet.

"Move!" Kiwo shouted.

Another bolt flew.

Kiwo grabbed Sweetheart by the wrist and yanked them down hard, dragging them through the grass as the arrow slammed uselessly into a tree trunk.

They didn't stop running until the terrain dipped sharply.

Behind them appears a scream, and Kiwo risked a glance. The crossbow owner had stumbled, tripping over a root. The weapon skidded across the ground, spinning to a stop near another student who had just arrived.

Mini.

They stared down at the crossbow like it was alive.

"Hey," Mini called out, voice high with nerves. "Dooie… is this yours?"

Dooie, the shooter, scrambled to their feet, panic etched across their face.

"Don't touch that!" Dooie yelled, lunging forward.

Mini shrieked. Hands shaking, they pulled the trigger by accident. The bolt fired, and Dooie dropped instantly. Then the speaker chimed again, cheerfully indifferent.

"Kim Jungdo is eliminated. Thirty-seven participants remain."

Silence followed. Kiwo didn't wait to see what Mini would do next. They dragged Sweetheart deeper into the forest, both of them gasping, hearts pounding so hard the collars felt tighter with every step.

Somewhere on the island, another student screamed.

Sweetheart didn't realize their hands were shaking until Kiwo squeezed them.

"Hey," Kiwo whispered, breath uneven but steadying. "You're okay. You're still breathing."

Sweetheart nodded, even though their chest felt too tight for air to pass through properly. The forest seemed louder now. Every rustle a footstep, every birdcall a warning. They kept moving until the ground sloped upward and the trees thinned just enough to give them cover without exposure. Kiwo crouched behind a fallen log, scanning the area like they'd always known how to survive something like this.

Sweetheart watched them without meaning to. They had liked Kiwo long before this island. Long before collars and blood and numbers ticking down. A quiet, stupid thing like shared glances in class, passing notes with nicknames scribbled in the margins. Nothing ever said out loud.

Now everything unsaid felt heavier.

"We should check our bags," Kiwo murmured. "But… maybe not together. If someone sees-"

Sweetheart swallowed. "I'll go a little farther... just to look. I'll come back."

Kiwo hesitated, then nodded. "One minute. If you hear anything, run back here."

Sweetheart stood. For a moment, neither of them moved, then Sweetheart turned and disappeared into the trees. They found a shallow dip in the ground, hidden by ferns and shadow. Kneeling, Sweetheart pulled the bag onto their lap and unzipped it with trembling fingers.

Inside: water. Bread. Compass. Map. Flashlight. And an envelope.

Their breath hitched as they opened it. Inside was a folded sheet of paper, a list of nicknames paired with real names.

Sweetheart's eyes scanned quickly, pulse roaring in their ears.

Princess → Kim Soojong

Patch → Lee Minjae

Tower → Han Seungwoo

Their own nickname sat at the top, their real name printed beneath it like a secret dragged into daylight.

Sweetheart folded the paper fast and shoved it back into the bag. That was when a shadow fell across the grass.

"Found you," someone said.

Sweetheart spun around.

A classmate stood a few meters away, smiling too wide, gripping a short metal baton. Their eyes flicked to the bag.

"Hand the envelope over," they said. "I don't want to hurt you."

Sweetheart's fingers slid into the bag, their touch sense feels around cold metal. They pulled out three ninja stars, edges sharp enough to gleam even in the shade.

The classmate blinked. "W-wait-"

Sweetheart didn't wait and threw. The first star grazed the attacker's shoulder. The second embedded into their thigh. The scream that followed was high and panicked, more fear than pain.

The classmate charged anyway.

Sweetheart rushed forward instead of back. They slammed into the attacker, knocking the baton aside, and drove the final star into the side of their neck with shaking but deliberate force before Sweetheart stumbled backward, staring.

The body went limp. Blood soaked into the grass, the collar crackled.

"Choi Hyunsoo is eliminated. Thirty-six participants remain."

Sweetheart dropped to their knees. Their stomach twisted, but no tears came, only a hollow quiet where fear had been screaming moments before. They wiped their hands on their pants, stood, and ran back toward Kiwo.

Sweetheart didn't realize they were crying until Kiwo grabbed their shoulders.

Kiwo had been pacing, counting breaths, eyes darting every time a branch snapped, then Sweetheart burst through the trees.

Blood darkened their uniform, Kiwo's face fell.

"…Sweetheart."

Sweetheart tried to speak, but their jaw locked. Their hands trembled so badly the collar at their neck let out a faint warning beep.

Kiwo didn't ask.

They stepped forward and pulled Sweetheart into their arms, firm and sudden. Sweetheart froze for half a second, then collapsed into them, fingers clutching the back of Kiwo's shirt like it was the only solid thing left on the island.

"It's okay," Kiwo whispered, voice low, urgent. "You're here, you're breathing… that's enough."

Sweetheart shook against them, the smell of iron and earth clinging to their clothes.

After a moment, Kiwo loosened their grip.

"Stay," they said. Not a suggestion. "Don't move."

Before Sweetheart could protest, Kiwo turned and sprinted back the way Sweetheart had come from, disappearing into the trees.

Sweetheart hugged their arms around themselves, trying not to replay the moment. The weight of the body, the way the collar spoke so calmly.

A few minutes later, Kiwo returned. They were breathing hard, carrying an extra bag. Sweetheart's eyes flicked to it, then away. Kiwo sat across from them and slowly unzipped the bag. Inside is another envelope. They hesitated, then opened it. Kiwo's brow furrowed as they scanned the list.

"…None," they muttered.

They turned the paper so Sweetheart could see.

Different nicknames, different real names, but not a single one belonging to either of them. Meaning somewhere on the island, other students now knew who they truly were.

Sweetheart swallowed. Their throat felt raw, like the collar had tightened just to remind them it could.

"So… we're still anonymous," Sweetheart whispered. "For now."

"For now," Kiwo echoed.

Sweetheart stood slowly, knees weak, then lifted their hand between them, pinky finger raised, small and fragile against the weight of everything else.

"Promise," they said quietly. "That we won't kill each other…?"

Kiwo stared at the finger. For a long second, Sweetheart thought they'd hesitate. Instead, Kiwo hooked their pinky around Sweetheart's without a word.

A promise—childish, old-fashioned, impossibly human.

Kiwo gave a small tug, pulling Sweetheart closer until the space between them disappeared.

"I won't," Kiwo said softly, smiling despite everything. "After all…"

Their voice dropped, almost shy.

"I like you."

For the first time since the collars locked shut, Sweetheart smiled back.

Kiwo was the one who broke the moment.

They cleared their throat and gestured to the bags. "We should… sort supplies."

Sweetheart nodded, grateful for something concrete to do.

They sat facing each other, knees nearly touching, and opened Hyunsoo's bag. Inside were two water bottles, unopened, and a single loaf of bread sealed in plastic. Nothing special or comforting.

Kiwo handed one bottle to Sweetheart without thinking, then paused, frowned, and reached back into the bag.

"No," they said quietly.

They pushed another bottle into Sweetheart's bag, then the bread.

Sweetheart blinked. "Kiwo-"

"You're shaking," Kiwo said, not looking at them. "You need it more."

"I'm fine."

"You're not," Kiwo replied, voice firm. "And you won't be if you don't eat."

Sweetheart wanted to argue, wanted to insist on fairness but instead, they closed the bag and nodded.

"… Thank you."

They stood together, shouldered their packs, and began walking.

The forest swallowed them almost immediately. Sunlight filtered through leaves in uneven patterns, the ground soft with moss and fallen needles. Every direction looked identical. Trees repeating endlessly, and trunks scarred with old markings that meant nothing.

They checked the map. Turned it upside down. Compared it to the compass, but…

"It says there's a stream somewhere east," Sweetheart murmured.

Kiwo squinted. "Everything is east if you keep walking long enough."

They tried anyway.

They walked until their legs ached, stopping every so often to listen, to make sure no footsteps followed them. Birds scattered. Insects hummed. It's just the island pretending to be peaceful.

"Doesn't it feel like we're not moving?" Sweetheart said at last.

Kiwo stopped and turned slowly, looking back. The trees behind them looked exactly like the trees ahead.

"…Yeah," Kiwo admitted. "It's like the island's looping."

Sweetheart hugged their arms. The idea of getting lost, of night falling while they wandered in circles, sent a fresh spike of fear through their chest.

"We should find somewhere elevated," Kiwo said. "At least then we'll know where we are."

They veered uphill, boots crunching over roots and stones, marking trees with small scratches from a shard of metal Kiwo carried—tiny signs only they would recognize. Still, the forest refused to change. No landmarks, clearings or shelter.

The sun began to dip, light turning warmer, longer.

Sweetheart glanced at the sky through the leaves.

"… It's going to get dark soon."

Kiwo tightened their grip on the strap of their bag.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ Your Name💋 ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Night came without warning. One moment the forest was dim; the next, it was swallowed whole. The air cooled, damp and heavy, every sound stretched thin and unfamiliar.

Sweetheart's steps slowed as their eyes strained to make sense of the shadows ahead. Then they saw it, a shape on the ground too still.

Sweetheart stopped breathing.

"No…" they whispered, then broke into a run.

"Sweetheart-!" Kiwo called, but it was too late.

Sweetheart dropped to their knees beside the body.

It was their friend.

Uniform torn. Collar intact. Eyes open, staring at nothing, reflecting the faint moonlight filtering through the trees. No rise and fall of the chest. No warmth left to cling to.

Sweetheart gasped, a sharp, broken sound, and grabbed their friend's shoulders.

"Hey- hey, wake up," they sobbed, shaking them gently at first, then harder. "Please… please wake up. We're supposed to stick together, remember? You promised-"

The body didn't move… didn't answer… Sweetheart's hands slid down, slick with dried blood, and their breath collapsed into loud, uneven cries.

Behind them, Kiwo stopped. Something in their chest cracked, not loudly or enough to show, but enough to hurt. They knelt beside Sweetheart and placed a hand on their shoulder, steady and warm.

"It's okay," Kiwo murmured, though they knew it wasn't. They rubbed small circles, slow and patient. "I'm here."

Sweetheart cried harder. Their shoulders shook violently, breaths coming in painful gulps, grief spilling out unchecked now that the dark had given it permission. Kiwo stayed. They didn't rush, didn't pull them away. They just stayed.

Minutes passed, maybe longer. Time meant nothing anymore. Sweetheart then turned suddenly and clutched at Kiwo, burying their face into Kiwo's chest like they were afraid the ground itself would disappear.

Kiwo wrapped their arms around them immediately. They rested their chin lightly against Sweetheart's hair and continued to pat their back—slow, rhythmic, grounding. Each touch said you're here, you're not alone, keep breathing.

Sweetheart's cries muffled against Kiwo's shirt, raw and aching, but Kiwo didn't move.

In the middle of the island, beneath a sky that didn't care, Kiwo became the only safe thing left.

Sweetheart's sobs slowly thinned into quiet, broken breaths. Their grip on Kiwo loosened just a little, forehead still pressed against Kiwo's chest, shoulders rising and falling unevenly. Kiwo kept their arms around them, counting the breaths with them, grounding both of them in the rhythm.

Crunch, a soft rustle behind Kiwo and their body went rigid. Another sound followed—ragged breathing, too fast, too close.

Kiwo swallowed and slowly turned their head.

A classmate stood a few steps behind them. Moonlight caught their face just enough to reveal wide, bloodshot eyes and a jaw clenched so tight it trembled. Their chest heaved with every breath, hands twitching at their sides like they were already imagining the motion of striking.

There was no fear in their expression. No hesitation, only hunger, and Kiwo knew that look.

Whatever had been human in them, whatever had once sat in that classroom and answered to a nickname, was gone. Corroded by panic, by blood, by the island whispering that killing was the only way forward, Kiwo's heart hammered.

Slowly and carefully, they leaned down and whispered into Sweetheart's hair.

"Hey," Kiwo murmured, voice barely audible. "Stay right here by your friend. Don't look up."

Sweetheart nodded weakly, face still buried, unaware of the danger hovering just behind Kiwo's shoulder.

Kiwo straightened, their hand slid into their pocket. Cold metal pressed against their knuckles as they pulled out their weapon: a brass knuckle duster, dull and heavy, fitted perfectly like it had been waiting for their hand all along. They slipped it on, Kiwo stepped forward, putting their body fully between Sweetheart and the classmate.

The forest seemed to hold its breath.

"Back off," Kiwo said quietly.

The classmate didn't answer, they lunged. Kiwo raised their fists. The knife flashed in the dark. Kiwo barely had time to register it before they were moving—twisting their body, stumbling back as the blade skimmed past their ribs. Fabric tore, a sharp sting followed. Not too deep, but close.

"Damn it-" Kiwo hissed, jumping back as another slash came for their arm. The classmate fought wildly, sloppily, fueled by panic and bloodlust rather than skill. Still, a knife was a knife.

Kiwo's forearm burned, and their shoulder stung. Thin lines of pain stacked one over another, their lungs burned, and their legs were starting to slow.

Kiwo looked down at their fist. The brass knuckle duster glinted faintly. They had never boxed, never fought properly, but this wasn't a ring. There were no rules left to learn.

The classmate lunged again. Yet this time, Kiwo didn't retreat. They stepped in. They swung, and the impact was sickeningly solid.

Crack.

Kiwo felt it through their bones, heard it echo in the night. The classmate screamed, hands flying to their face as they staggered backward.

Kiwo didn't stop.

They swung again, harder, forcing the classmate away, creating distance while pain crippled them. The attacker tripped, collapsing onto the ground with a strangled cry. They were gasping, clutching their jaw, eyes wide with agony.

Kiwo stood over them, chest heaving.

This is it, their mind screamed. End it. If you don't-

But Sweetheart's face flashed in their mind. Crying, shaking, trusting them. Kiwo clenched their jaw so hard it hurt.

"I can't," they whispered.

Killing them here would be safer, but Kiwo wasn't built that way. Instead, they raised their fist again, and brought it down hard on the classmate's ankle. Then the other.

A sharp, wet crunch. The scream that followed was raw, animal. The classmate writhed on the ground, unable to stand, unable to chase.

Kiwo turned away immediately and ran back to Sweetheart.

"Run," Kiwo said urgently, gripping their wrist. "Don't look back. Ever."

Sweetheart didn't ask questions. They had heard the sounds, the screams, the cracking impact, but they still ran. Together, they disappeared deeper into the forest, branches tearing at their clothes, darkness swallowing their footsteps. They didn't stop running until their legs finally gave up on them.

Kiwo stumbled first, catching themself on a tree before sliding down onto a patch of grass. Sweetheart followed, collapsing beside them, knees hitting the ground before they tipped onto their back.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Their chests rose and fell too fast, breaths sharp and uneven, the world narrowed to the feel of cool grass beneath them and the sound of blood rushing in their ears.

Above them, the moon hung low between drifting clouds. Pale, quiet, and unbothered.

Sweetheart turned their head slightly, still breathing hard. "I… I thought I was going to die back there."

Kiwo let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a laugh. "Me too."

Silence settled again, softer this time.

The grass smelled faintly sweet. Night insects hummed around them, cautious but curious. The island, for once, wasn't screaming.

Sweetheart hugged their arms around their chest. "You got hurt."

Kiwo glanced down at the scratches along their arm, the torn fabric darkened by dried blood. "It's just scratches… I'll live."

Sweetheart pushed themself up on one elbow and leaned closer, inspecting them anyway. Their fingers hovered, careful not to touch.

"… Thank you," Sweetheart whispered. "For not leaving me... For coming back."

Kiwo turned their head to look at them.The moonlight caught Sweetheart's eyes, still red, still wet, but alive.

"I wasn't going to leave," Kiwo said quietly. "Not you."

Sweetheart swallowed. Their voice came out smaller. "Even if… it makes things harder?"

Kiwo didn't answer right away. Instead, they shifted, their pinky brushing Sweetheart's by accident. Then, on purpose.

"It already was hard," Kiwo said softly. "You just make it worth it."

Sweetheart's breath hitched.

They stared at the sky again, but their hand stayed where it was, fingers slowly intertwining with Kiwo's.

A few seconds passed, Kiwo sighed and rolled onto their side, propping themself up.

"Okay," they said, voice steadier now. "We can't sleep out in the open. We need cover… high ground or something enclosed."

Sweetheart nodded, squeezing Kiwo's hand once before letting go.

"Let's go," they said.

They pushed themselves up, legs still trembling but stronger now.

They found it by accident.

A broken school annex, half-swallowed by vines, its concrete walls cracked but still standing firm against time. One side had collapsed inward, forming a slanted ramp of debris that led upward.

Kiwo tested the structure first, pressing their weight carefully onto the rubble.

"It'll hold," they said. "I think."

They climbed slowly, muscles aching, fingers scraping against rough concrete. At the top, Kiwo turned and reached down.

"Okay. Step where I step."

Sweetheart nodded and took Kiwo's hand.

Together, inch by inch, they climbed until their palms burned and their legs shook, but finally, they rolled onto the rooftop.

They lay there for a second, catching their breath. Then Kiwo pushed themself up and looked over the edge.

The island stretched out below them. Dark forest broken by pockets of movement. Tiny flashes of motion. Shadows chasing shadows.

A scream echoed faintly. Then another.

Kiwo's stomach twisted. They could see it now: classmates running, fighting, collapsing. Small, distant, but horrifyingly real.

Sweetheart moved closer without realizing it, shoulder brushing Kiwo's arm. Their fingers curled into Kiwo's sleeve.

"We will be safe here for the night, right?" Sweetheart asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Kiwo didn't look away. "Hopefully."

That was all they could promise.Sweetheart tugged gently on Kiwo's wrist. "Come here."

Before Kiwo could respond, Sweetheart pulled them toward the center of the rooftop and eased them both down onto the cool concrete. They lay side by side, staring up at the sky. Stars scattered unevenly, clouds drifting lazily like this wasn't a place built for killing.

Sweetheart broke the silence.

"If this rule didn't exist," they said softly, "what do you think you'd be doing right now?"

Kiwo thought for a moment. "Probably complaining about homework. Or pretending I studied when I didn't."

Sweetheart smiled faintly. "I'd be annoyed at the nickname rule. I always wanted to hear you say my real name."

Kiwo turned their head. "I still want to."

Sweetheart's cheeks warmed despite the cold night air.

"Maybe," Sweetheart said, eyes still on the stars, "we'd be walking home together. Stopping at that convenience store near the gate."

"Buying something we don't need," Kiwo added.

"And talking about nothing important," Sweetheart finished.

They fell quiet again, the sounds of the island distant and muffled now.

Kiwo shifted slightly, their hand brushing Sweetheart's.

Neither pulled away.

The rooftop stayed still.

Gradually, Sweetheart's breathing slowed, evening out as exhaustion claimed them. Kiwo stayed awake a little longer, watching the stars, listening for danger.

Then, without realizing it, their eyes closed too.

Above them, the sky kept its secrets.

And Day One came to an end.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ Your Name💋 ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Light, harsh and blinding.

Sweetheart groaned and lifted their arm, shielding their eyes as their vision swam back into place. The concrete beneath them was warm now, sunlight soaking into it.

Morning… Morning…? Their heart jumped.

"Kiwo-" they breathed, turning their head instinctively, but they screamed.

An arrow was buried deep in Kiwo's chest. Their body lay beside Sweetheart exactly where Kiwo had fallen asleep. Eyes open, mouth slightly parted, like they'd been about to say something and never got the chance. Blood had dried dark against their uniform, the arrow's shaft jutting out at a cruel angle.

Sweetheart's hands shook violently as they scrambled toward him.

"Ki-Kiwo, wake up- please-"

"You're awake, Y/F/N."

The voice froze you in place. You looked up and saw a classmate stood a few meters away, bow raised, an arrow already nocked and aimed straight at your chest. His shadow stretched long across the rooftop.

Patch, No- You remembered now.

Lee Minjae.

"Minjae, wait- hold on- please-" you tried, voice breaking as you lifted your hands slowly, buying time that didn't exist. But Minjae didn't lower the bow.

He glanced at Kiwo's body, then back at you, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. You shivered.

Seeing Kiwo like that, lifeless and silent, made Minjae chuckle softly.

"Sunoo is dead, you know," Minjae said casually. "His real name is Kim Sunoo."

A sob tore out of you before you could stop it, tears blurring everything as Minjae pulled the string back farther, the bow creaking under tension.

The arrowhead glinted in the sun.

"Any last words?" Minjae asked.

You couldn't speak. Your chest hurt too much. Your throat closed around the weight of everything you never said, everything Sunoo never got to hear. He didn't even hear your real name.

Minjae sighed theatrically.

"Well," he said, tilting his head, "Sunoo woke up before you, so I did the same thing. Asked him for his last words."

Your breath hitched.

"He said," Minjae continued, smiling wider now, "that he likes you. Said you're his crush, said he knows you like him too."

Your world shattered. Before you could even cry out, the string snapped forward, the arrow struck you squarely.

Pain exploded through your chest as you fell backward, the sky spinning wildly above you. The sound of the island faded, replaced by ringing silence.

Your eyes drifted to the side, Sunoo was still there. You reached out weakly, fingers brushing his sleeve as darkness closed in.

At least, you weren't alone.

"Y/F/N is elminated. Nineteen left."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ Your Name💋 ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

No fire, brimstone, or torment. Just silence.

You stood frozen at the threshold, wings tucked tightly against your back, unsure if stepping forward would trigger something, an illusion, a trap, or the punishment you deserved.

The receptionist's desk was empty, a small nameplate turned upside down. The clock on the wall ticked faintly, the only sound in the stillness.

You swallowed hard, fingers trembling slightly as you touched the polished doorframe. It was comfortably warm, almost inviting. You hated that it didn't feel wrong. You still step in, your bare feet pressing softly against the marble floor. The faint echo of your movement filled the air, too loud for a place that felt this still.

On the counter sat a small silver bell, gleaming as if recently polished. Out of instinct, you reached forward and pressed it. The clear ding sliced through the silence.

Then… nothing. No one appeared, just the same heavy air you despised. Your fingers loosened their grip on your white wings, feathers drooping slightly as the unnatural stillness sank in. The warmth in the air slowly seeped into your skin, wrapping you in a strange comfort you didn't ask for. It wasn't the scorching heat of damnation you expected, it was almost human.

Patience, that's what Heaven had drilled into you. Be still and be obedient, for patience is purity. So you did.

Ten minutes passed, but no one came. You sighed, the sound barely stirring the air. Your eyes wandered around the lobby once more, tracing the way the shadows stretched along the black marble walls, until something metallic caught your attention.

A lift. Its doors stood silently at the far end of the room, silver polished to perfection. You glanced around, half-expecting someone to stop you, to warn you that this wasn't where you belonged, but there was only quiet. So, you stepped closer.

The doors slid open without a sound, and you stepped inside. It smelled faintly of burnt incense and rain. The interior glowed with soft red light, casting long shadows along the mirrored walls. You stared at the buttons. There was no indication of floors, only glowing numbers that stretched upward: 1, 2, 3, all the way to 999.

Before you could decide what to press, the doors slammed shut. The sound jolted you. You stumbled back, heart racing as you hit the mirrored wall. Panic surged through you and you slammed your finger repeatedly on the open-door button.

Nothing.

The lift shuddered, then began to move up.

You pressed the button harder, faster, your breath quickening. "Open! Open, please!"

Still nothing. The lift ignored you, gliding smoothly upward as the numbers began to rise on their own.

The hum of the motor filled your ears. You could only watch the glowing numbers ascend higher and higher. The number then stops. The sudden halt jolts through your body like a cold shock, your wings tensing instinctively. You step back until your wings hit the mirrored wall, the metal surface cool against your trembling wings. For a moment, the only sound is the faint hum of machinery winding down. Then…

Ding.

The lift doors part slowly, but there is no floor, hallway, or a faint flicker of light waiting to greet you. Just pitch darkness. An endless, consuming void that stretches far beyond sight, if there even is a sight to see. The air that seeps in feels heavy, cold, and alive in the worst possible way.

Your instincts scream don't move. Every fragment of heavenly teaching still left in you warns that what lies beyond that door isn't meant to be touched, seen, or known.

And yet, you are no longer an angel. You were cast out, wings stripped of grace, powers fading into silence. Heaven already decided you no longer belonged. That left you here, in this place that wasn't quite hellfire but still felt like judgment.

You breathe out slowly, a trembling exhale that sounds louder than it should.

"One step," you whisper to yourself.

Your foot lifts, hovering over the threshold, and you take it just one step.

The darkness doesn't swallow you whole, but it presses against you like a presence, cold and watching. You don't dare go farther. The faint glow spilling from the lift keeps you tethered to something familiar, something that still feels alive.

Beyond that light is just… no.

The lift door suddenly slams shut behind you. The sound echoes like a crack of thunder in the empty dark, and suddenly the world is gone.

"Wait-" you gasp, spinning around, your hand finding only air. "No, no, no- open!"

You slam your fists against the invisible space where the door should be, but there's no sound, resistance, or metal under your touch. Just void. Your pulse races and your breath catches in your throat. You try to summon light, but all you manage is a faint spark that dies the moment it leaves your fingertips.

It's gone. Your power, your connection, your last piece of heaven—gone. You are alone, suspended in the dark, where even your shadow can't find you.

Suddenly, you hear something… voices.

"Again, why must I guide a newbie?!"

The sound makes you flinch. It's close and loud enough to echo through the emptiness around you.

"Because it's your turn?" another voice answers, calm and amused.

"I have the right to reject!"

"Then who do you recommend guiding a newbie?"

There's a sharp exhale, followed by an indignant tone. "Maybe Yeonjun hyung?! Or even-"

"Kang Taehyun, Yeonjun's busy."

"Busy flirting?! Mind you, I am also one of Asmodeus' followers!"

"Well," the deeper voice says, unfazed, "when I saw you, you seemed to be just flirting. Yeonjun is straight up trying to have some sex. Just go, Kang. She's waiting."

"She better be nice," the first voice grumbles, his tone dripping with irritation.

"Hey, wait. Here's her folder."

There's the faint sound of paper being handed over, then silence.

You stand frozen, heart pounding, staring into the dark that feels heavier by the second. Then, two red lights flicker into existence. They hover for a moment in the dark, glowing faintly, studying you. And then, as if the air itself adjusted to let you see, a figure begins to emerge from the shadows.

A man.

He steps closer, his presence grounding the darkness around him. He's dressed in a grey suit, crisp and perfectly fitted, the color strangely muted against the faint red hue that clings to his silhouette. His tie is undone, his shirt collar open just enough to make him look more weary than threatening.

His expression is unimpressed, almost bored, as his red eyes meet yours.

"…You're the newbie?" he says flatly.

Your throat tightens, and for a second you can't answer.

He sighs, tucking the folder under his arm. "Of course you are."

He studies you for a moment, your wings, your trembling hands, and your wide eyes that still haven't adjusted to the dark. Then, rubbing the bridge of his nose, he mutters, "Perfect. Heaven's finest, sent straight into my schedule."

You can't tell if he's annoyed or amused, maybe both.

You watch the man in front of you as he opens the folder in his hand. The paper inside glows faintly red, as though written in light instead of ink.

"Let's see…" he begins, voice steady but uninterested. "Y/F/N."

You tense at the sound of your name coming from him.

"Purpose of demotion," he continues, eyes flicking down the page. "Attempted liaison with a divine being." His tone sharpens, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might've been a smirk. "Which means getting involved in a forbidden relationship."

Your lips part, but no words come.

His gaze drops back to the page. "Age: 25. Measurements: 80–50–91." This time, when he looks at you, his eyes trail slowly down your frame. "Hmm... Fits"

His gaze lifts from the page, meeting yours, sharp and unreadable. You can't tell if there's judgment there, or amusement.

He shuts the folder with a soft snap. "Alright," he says simply. "You get to choose: Lust or Envy?"

You blink, taken aback. "…What?"

His sigh echoes softly in the void. Before you can pull back, his hand grabs yours and with a sharp snap of his fingers, the darkness collapses around you.

Your breath catches.

The suffocating void is gone. In its place, you find yourself standing inside what looks like… a room.

Warm, dim lighting hums from a chandelier above. Velvet curtains drape over tall windows, and the faint sound of distant chatter leaks through the walls. A soft crimson carpet cushions your feet.

It feels like a hotel suite. Lavish, quiet, and far too comfortable for what Hell was supposed to be.

— MDNI LAST WARNING —

"If you won't decide… then I will." A flick of his wrist and creates a ripple in the air, and suddenly, you're yanked forward, the space between your bodies erased. No warning and mercy, his lips crash against yours with searing hot and demanding precision, a claim forged in dominance and desire.

Your senses surge as his kiss deepens, that numbness in your tongue spreading, making every movement feel both foreign, yet right. It's as if his kiss is commanding your actions, your tongue dancing to his tune, moving in harmony you never knew it could. All the while, his possessive wandering hands roam over every dip, every curve of your body.

At one point, you tried to pull your hand free from him. Everything about this felt wrong. You had just arrived in Hell, disoriented and afraid, and now this man, or this demon, was dragging you through things you barely understood.

It was absurd. You'd spent your whole existence under Heaven's teachings: love was sacred, something to be nurtured, earned, and shared only with the one you chose to walk eternity beside. It was never meant to be rushed, never meant to be taken.

But this man didn't move with patience. His world didn't run on gentle vows or celestial promises.

His tongue invades with purpose, sending waves of numbness through yours, forcing compliance in the most intoxicating way. And worst of all? Your body obeys, your mouth moving in sync with his like it was made to follow.

His hands roam everywhere at once. One gliding over the swell of your hip, another tracing the dip of your spine. Never staying long enough for you to adjust, always teasing something more.

You shove weakly at his chest. "Get off me!" But the protest cracks mid-breath as his fingers drift lower still, trailing down that sensitive curve from waist to ass… but why does pulling away feel so wrong?

A shiver rolls through you and suddenly you're clinging instead of pushing.

The kiss breaks, but only so he can drag molten-open lips along your jaw, then down, teeth grazing the pulse point on your neck.

"W-what did you… do to me?" You gasp out between breaths, hips twitching forward without permission.

He chuckles a low rumble against skin, as one hand slips dangerously close to where heat pools between you. "This? Just a brush…" A fingertip skims over cloth along inner thigh, and you jolt, fingers knotting in his shoulders hard enough to bruise marble as pleasure blindsides you, eyes rolling back like prayer answered wrongfully well.

"Told ya," he murmurs proudly against sweat-slick skin. "Touch of an Asmodeus' follower doesn't seduce souls, it rewrites them."

His teeth still at your neck, he drags one hand up your spine beneath the soft layer of your celestial fabric that never belonged here anyway.

"Too much light," he growls against skin. "This won't last."

A snap of his wrist and the seams split. The garment falls open, baring the untouched curve of your shoulder to hell's breath. And his mouth follows instantly, claiming burn after burn down collarbone and chest as more ties give way.

You try to cover yourself, but he catches both wrists with one hand and pins them above your head without breaking kiss or rhythm.

"Let me see what heaven tried to hide." Another tug, one strap slips, and then another until the whole thing pools at your hips… held up only by trembling thighs clenching instinctively together.

"You're shaking," he murmurs darkly against swollen lips.

"I-I don't know this…" you breathe.

"No," he agrees, thumb brushing dangerously close. "But you will."

"Look at you," he sneers against your throat, fingers dragging slow from hip to waist. "All soft light and trembling grace… did Heaven lock your body away? Keep you pure for some holy purpose?" His laugh is smoke and venom. "Pathetic. You were made for this. Not prayers, but moans."

His palm flattens over your stomach, pressing down as he sinks lower to his knees, and still, the insult drips.

"Such wasted beauty," he murmurs, lips brushing the quiver of your navel as one hand glides up, fingers skimming beneath sensitive curves of your breasts without touching the peak yet... teasing.

"Punished by modesty… starved of desire." A hot breath on damp skin. "No wonder you're shaking like a sinner who just realized she likes it here."

His thumbs finally catch both peaks. One gentle roll, and suddenly you cry out, back arching like it has no choice.

"Ah-ah," he chides mockingly when you whimper under him. "Heaven must've taught you silence too... told you pleasure was shame." His tongue flicks one hardening bud into sharp relief, slow drag outward. "But listen to that little gasp? That's not guilt, that's hunger."

His hands move lower, one circling over mound through soaked fabric now, he grinds his thumb in lazy circles.

"And this?" He chuckles darkly when your hips jerk forward involuntarily. "This wet need soaking through? This isn't devotion to some distant god, it's surrender to me."

Every word cuts, but every touch heals with fire. You hate him, you hate what he says, yet when his mouth closes over heat and teeth graze sacred flesh once forbidden, you sob out loud in pleasure so deep it feels like truth.

A shove and suddenly the backs of your thighs hit the edge of a bed. He doesn't ask, doesn't wait, but just presses down on your chest with one palm until you fall back, wings flaring wide only to scrape against the softness of the bed.

"Stay," he growls, then one fingertip hooks beneath soaked lace at your hip. "This?" He sneers as he drags it down, slow as dripping venom. "Another little lie." The fabric tears easily under pressure, burns to ash before it hits the floor. "Heaven wraps light in cloth… Hell unwraps it."

You're bare now, but not touched yet, not until two fingers glide through slick heat, one long stroke from entrance to clit, with such maddening control that your hips jerk up instinctively, begging without words.

"Ah-ah," he chides darkly, pressing flat against your stomach to pin you down while those cursed fingers start again: circling, teasing, dipping just inside then retreating.

"So wet," he murmurs mockingly, watching your face twist in helpless need. "All this for me? After one touch? How fragile is Heaven's will when its angel falls apart for an Asmodeus' follower?"

Faster now, he builds rhythm not toward release, but denial.

In. Out. Circle. Stop just before edge. Repeat.

Your breath hitches. You pant prayers once taught in ivory halls, but they come out broken syllables of words you want to say.

"You're aching, aren't you?" He watches the tremor in thighs clenching around the air. "Tell me how long angels are trained to endure…" His thumb swipes hard over swollen bud, and you scream softly into Hell's silence.

"But I'm not done playing."

And again, he starts over. Never going deeper, never giving relief. Just endless worship wrapped in cruelty.

"Still so patient?" His voice is dark velvet laced with venom as he watches your face twist. Lips parting on silent pleas, thighs trembling around his wrist like they want to clamp down and force him inside.

You bite your lip hard to remember who you are: an angel of light, not some whimpering thing lost in heat, but when he presses deeper, one finger fully in, and crooks it upward in a way that makes stars burst behind your eyes, a cry escapes. You didn't mean to let it out, but it's too late now.

"That's right," he coos mockingly as you pant beneath him. "Heaven never taught you about this spot… did they? The one that makes angels forget prayers." Another shallow thrust, one teasing circle over your clit. "What do you need? Say it."

You shake your head frantically, even though every nerve screams for more. So he stops entirely. Fingers withdraw completely. You whimper, a raw sound from the back of throat.

No.

"Please…"

But his hand hovers just above, not touching, and when his voice cuts through the silence again? It's cruel velvet.

"Please what?" He leans close until hot breath ghosts over sweat-damp skin. "Speak up, angel."

And there, it breaks. You shatter on one ragged breath: "B-baby making…" so soft… so ashamed…

For a heartbeat, silence. Then, he throws his head back and out a deep, thunderous sound full of mockery, but edged with something darker, something like victory.

"Baby making?" He sneers playfully while suddenly yanking your hips flush against his clothed length, the thick ridge straining at wool pressing exactly where you ache most.

Only then do you realize, he's still fully dressed, in tailored grey silk and polished sin, while you're bare, exposed on the bed like offering meant for devouring.

Your gaze drifts down, lingering on the collar buttoned around his strong neck, the glinting cufflinks at his wrists, and finally settling on the taut fabric of his trousers, where his desire for you is all too clear. He notices your eyes and a slow, wicked smirk spreads across his face.

With deliberate grace, he starts to remove his clothing: first, the coat falls softly to the ground, then the waistcoat comes undone with a maddening slowness, followed by his shirt sliding off his shoulders to reveal his massive black wings as they unfurl behind him in all their dark glory.

He lets you look, lets you feel every inch of your nakedness against his smoldering control, before stepping closer, bare-chested, cock pressing boldly against your aching entrance.

"If you think this is baby-making…" he murmurs in your ear, voice dripping with wicked desire as he moves atop you, weight sinking into your body like something dark and divine. "Then I shall make it so."

He doesn't warn you. He doesn't ease in. With one powerful roll of his hips, he shoves inside, thick and unrelenting, tearing through your innocence like a sinner breaking prayer.

"Feel me…." he growls against your neck, lips moving over sensitive skin like fire as he shifts against you. "All this need… I know your pretty little body feels it just as much as I do. This ache… this emptiness… tell me you need it, too."

"Say it," he demands, low and dangerously, his voice vibrating through your core as he holds himself deep inside you, hips flush against yours.

But you don't answer, so he moves. A slow, torturous drag all the way out… then a brutal shove back in that makes your breath catch in a broken gasp.

"Ah!"

"There it is," he murmurs darkly, doing it again, pulling out like he's savoring every inch of slick resistance before slamming home once more. "You like that? Being split open by something so much worse than holy?"

Another thrust. And another. Each one deeper than the last, as his rhythm builds from cruel slowness into raw power: hard snaps of his hips that lift your body off the bed with each impact.

he growls against your neck as he moves hard, fast thrusts from the moment. No mercy, no pause to adjust, just deep, punishing strokes that slam inside you until pain becomes fire becomes everything.

You moan a high cry torn from your throat with every brutal snap of his hips. Fingers claw at his biceps so hard it might leave marks; thighs clamp around him like they're afraid he'll stop…

But he won't.

His dick drags over every sweet spot with animal precision, as if Hell itself taught him how to ruin angels, and each thrust sends waves crashing behind your eyelids so intense you can't think… can't breathe…

"Just moan," he demands darkly between grunts, voice rough with lust and power. "No prayers here… only this."

Maybe you don’t need Heaven anymore. You want him. Every inch. Every cruel movement. All the way down into sin's core.

The force of him drags over every nerve inside you, the same place again and again, and pleasure begins to coil tight beneath your skin despite yourself, despite how wrong this should feel.

"You're trembling," he grunts against your shoulder, not slowing down even for a second. His hands grip your thighs hard enough to bruise as they spread wider still, letting him go even deeper with every punishing stroke.

Each thrust knocks air from your lungs, each thick glide makes wet heat flood between you, and when his thumb finds that swollen bud above where they're joined?

Rubbing firm circles in time with his brutal rhythm?

You break first.

"Ahh! I-I'm-"

No warning and control, your climax tears through you like wildfire. Walls clenching violently around him as back arches off the bed and cry rips from throat.

"You're not done yet, little one," he growls, voice rough as sin and breath hot against your ear, when your body clenches around him in the violent aftershocks of release.

Your walls pulse, still sensitive, but he doesn't stop. He smirks, and drives deeper.

"Too much?" He laughs low as you whimper beneath him, hips twitching like they want to retreat, but there's nowhere to go. He caged you in with black wings spread wide, pressing down like shadows refusing to let light escape. "Then we'll do it again."

And just like that, he changes the angle. One hand hooks under your thigh and drags it higher up to land on his shoulder, opening you wider, and suddenly every thrust hits a place so deep it makes stars burst behind your eyes all over again.

"No… no…" You gasp as pleasure coils tight once more inside your gut. "I can't- I already…"

"Can't what?" He grinds into you hard on each word. The pace relentless now, as if building toward something darker, something heavier than mere release for himself. "You came once? That means nothing here."

Another brutal snap of his hips. Another cry from your lips. Fingers clawing at his back this time, one hand tangling into the base of his wing feathers hard enough to make him snarl.

"Ah! Ah!" Your voice breaks as the second wave slams into you faster than before. Climax tearing through already trembling limbs until tears gather at the corners of squeezed-shut eyes.

But still, he keeps moving. Still buried deep and rock-hard inside you.

"You feel that?" His voice drops an infernal whisper dripping with pride and cruelty."That desperate need? That emptiness begging to be filled even after coming twice?"

He leans close until fangs graze soft skin beneath an ear: "It's because I haven't given myself yet, and Hell doesn't let angels rest, until they beg for ruin one last time."

You're still trembling from the last release. Walls fluttering weakly around him, when he groans low and deeply in his chest like something ancient stirring awake.

"You've taken so much," he murmurs against your sweat-slick neck, voice thick with hunger. "But you can take more."

His hips snap forward with renewed fire: inhuman thrusts pounding into your oversensitive core until another whimper escapes, then another, building too fast to deny.

"N-no… I can't…" You beg, but your body already tightens around him in betrayal as pleasure coils tighter than before.

A sudden flash across the room, a glint of dark metal summoned by him: a scythe, jagged-edged and humming with infernal energy. In one brutal motion, he drags the blade across his palm, and blood wells black-tinged red between his fingers.

He smears it on the length of the scythe's edge without breaking rhythm inside you, and then, with a smirk, he swings it sideways at your outstretched wing.

The tip grazes pure white feathers, then agony blooms in slow waves down every nerve, as if Heaven itself screams through your soul. The blood sizzles where it touches feather, marking you, an unholy brand upon divine light.

"Ah! Ah!" You cry out, but no sound follows after two gasps. Your mouth opens… but nothing comes out.

You're dumbstruck, voice stolen by infernal magic, or perhaps by shock alone, as spasms rack through every muscle. Your passage clenches around him so violent it finally breaks his and your third control.

"Fuck!" He snarls as your body milks him, back arches off wings flaring wide behind him as release slams into him hard.

You feel heat inside your entrance so fierce it feels molten, as he pulses within you again and again, cursing under his breath.

Both of you collapse afterward, one speechless fallen angel trembling beneath stained feathers. One smirking devil breathing heavily over her throat.

He pulls out of you slowly, almost lazily, and the emptiness that follows is sharp and aching.

Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements smooth, unhurried, as if what just happened was nothing more than routine. Black wings fold into his back like shadows being reeled in. One by one, he redresses: trousers fastened with precision, shirt and suit buttoned over still-heaving chest dusted with sweat and sin.

You lie there, trembling on bed slick beneath you, not daring to move.

He adjusts his cufflinks, checks his watch, as if time still matters down here. Then, he looks at you.

"Now that the ritual is complete," he says flatly. "you belong to Asmodeus." A pause.

"You belong to Hell now." His voice doesn't rise. "Welcome to eternity… fallen one."

And just like that, he turns and steps toward the door, and vanishes into darkness without another glance backwards.

You can't move. Your body still throbs inside, warmth spilling down as his seed leaks from where he claimed you.

Mind blank, breath ragged, and thoughts shattered like glass, but one question drifts through the fog.

Who was he?

Kang Taehyun?

But even that slips away, as silence closes in and Hell begins.

And when memories are removed, they don't disappear, they turn into butterflies, a delicate creatures that carry fragments of what was lost. Some say you can tell what kind of memories they once were by their color.

Now, in a dim, narrow room deep underground, ten butterflies fluttered weakly inside a glass dome. Their wings were stained with streaks of crimson. The air was cold, and the hum of machines filled the silence.

On the bed lay a man. His skin was pale, his breathing shallow. Wires ran from his temples into a device that still pulsed with light. The woman beside him wore a grey coat and an expression that didn't change, even as the monitor flatlined for a moment before resuming its rhythm. When his eyes opened, they were blank in emptiness.

"You're awake," the woman said. "It's done."

He swallowed, his throat dry. "What's done?"

"Your past," she replied. "It's gone." She tapped her tablet, bringing up a file. "Your new name is Elias Rhee. You'll board a ship tomorrow. There's no trace left of who you were."

Elias turned his head slowly toward the glass dome. The butterflies moved in restless patterns, like trapped flames. Something in him stirred, a flicker of unease he couldn't explain.

"How many?" he asked softly.

The woman hesitated. "Ten."

"Ten?" His eyes narrowed slightly, as though the number meant something he couldn't quite grasp.

"They were your unwanted memories," she said simply. "All of them have been extracted."

Elias sat up, holding his head as a faint pain pulsed behind his eyes. The woman placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't fight it. You asked for this."

He nodded slowly, not understanding why his chest felt so heavy.

Elias turned toward the door. The metal floor echoed softly beneath his boots as he walked down the empty corridor. He didn't look back.

When the door closed behind him, the specialist exhaled, stepped forward, and lifted the glass dome. The butterflies rose in a silent storm. Ten red wings scattering into the air, circling the dim ceiling before slipping through the open vent. By the time the man disappeared into the city streets above, the butterflies were already gone — carrying his sins into the night, free at last, while he walked away clean, nameless, and reborn.

The butterflies didn't stay together once they escaped. They drifted apart the moment the dome lifted, their wings catching the faint hum of electricity that pulsed through the vents. One flew toward the city's rooftops, vanishing into the fog. Another disappeared down a narrow alleyway where neon signs flickered like dying stars. Each one carried a fragment, a memory that once belonged to the man who no longer remembered them.

One butterfly, with wings darker than the rest, flew farther than the others. It floated through the cold night air until it reached the quieter part of the city, where the lights were softer and the streets still smelled faintly of rain.

Through an open window, it slipped into a small apartment. Inside, the room was dim, painted in warm shades of beige and blue. A baby lay sleeping in a crib, wrapped in a soft blanket. The butterfly hovered above the child for a moment, its wings trembling as if uncertain. Then, gently, it landed on the baby's chest.

For a few seconds, everything stayed still. Then the baby's face tightened, and a soft whimper escaped its lips, turning quickly into loud, desperate wails.

Upstairs, footsteps hurried. The door opened, and the mother rushed in, her hair messy, panic flashing across her tired eyes.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" she whispered, lifting the crying child into her arms. She rocked the baby gently, humming a lullaby under her breath. When that didn't help, she reached for the bottle on the nightstand, offering it. The baby turned its head away, still crying. She tried a pacifier next, but no use. She checked the diaper, it’s clean. Nothing worked. The mother's voice trembled now. "Please, please, what's wrong?"

The butterfly stayed there, wings glowing faintly red, pulsing in rhythm with the child's heartbeat. And then, as suddenly as it had come, it lifted off, rising quietly toward the ceiling before slipping out the same open window.

The crying stopped. The baby's eyes fluttered, breath steadying, before slowly sinking back into sleep. The mother froze, watching, her heart still racing. She brushed her fingers through the baby's hair and exhaled shakily.

"You're okay," she whispered. "You're okay now."

Outside, the butterfly vanished into the night sky, carrying with it a trace of something the child would never remember, the faint echo of a memory that wasn't theirs.

Years passed quietly.

The apartment remained the same. Warm, small, and filled with the faint scent of baby powder and sunlight. The child who once lay sleeping in that crib had grown; his laugh now echoed through the halls, small footsteps padding against the wooden floor. He had only just learned to speak properly. His words still soft, sometimes jumbled, and to walk without stumbling every few steps.

Outside, the night was calm. The mother was in the kitchen, washing dishes, when a faint tap sounded against the window. She didn't notice it, the sound was too light and fragile, like a heartbeat caught in glass.

Another butterfly had found its way back. It hovered for a while, its wings flickering as though deciding, before gently landing on the toddler's shoulder.

The child blinked, his eyes unfocused. Then came the trembling of his lips, the confusion clouding his small face, and finally, the tears.

"M-mummy!" he cried, voice cracking with fear. "Mummy!"

The sound was sharp, urgent. The mother dropped the dishcloth and ran to his room. She found him standing near the window, little hands balled into fists, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"What's wrong, baby? Did you fall? Did something hurt you?" she asked, kneeling down and wiping his face. But the boy could only cry harder, shaking his head, unable to explain. His tiny fingers clutched at her clothes, his voice trembling with panic. "Mummy! Mummy!"

He didn't have the words to describe what he saw, flashes of something foreign and terrifying. A dark room. A face he didn't know. A sound that wasn't his mother's voice.

The butterfly still clung to his sleeve, its wings pulsing faintly until, as if satisfied, it lifted off again, drifting silently toward the open window.

And the moment it left, the boy's crying stopped. His breathing steadied, though tears still streaked his cheeks. He blinked once, twice, and looked up at his mother, confusion fading into weariness.

"Mummy…" he whispered softly this time, reaching out.

The mother pulled him close, holding him against her chest, rocking him the way she used to when he was just a baby. "It's okay," she murmured. "It's just a bad dream."

Outside, the butterfly vanished into the dark, carrying with it another shard of the killer's forgotten past.

The years slipped by like pages turning in silence.

The boy was no longer a baby, nor the unsteady toddler who clung to his mother's clothes. He was six now, small and curious, his school uniform slightly too big for him. The house was filled with drawings taped on walls, the smell of breakfast, the sound of laughter that made his mother's heart feel full again.

For a while, the strange nights were gone. The crying, the trembling, all had faded into memory. The mother believed, with relief, that her child had simply grown out of his fear.

Until one morning, it came back. The sky outside was pale, still waking. A soft breeze slipped through the curtains. And with it came a flicker of red, the third butterfly, its wings darker than before, glowing faintly under the weak sunlight. It landed gently on the boy's shoulder as he sat by his desk, coloring before school.

The effect was instant.

His small hand froze mid-stroke. His crayon rolled from his fingers and hit the floor. His eyes widened, empty at first, then filled with a kind of horror that didn't belong to someone his age. He gasped once, then let out a trembling cry.

"M-Mummy! Mummy, it came back!"

His mother, startled by the sound, rushed from the kitchen. "What came back, sweetheart? What happened?"

He couldn't answer properly, only sobbed, clutching his head, words tumbling out in fragments that made no sense. "The red… the people… I didn't… I didn't do it but it came back!"

The butterfly stayed for a moment longer, as though watching him struggle to speak, then it lifted its wings and vanished out the open window.

The boy's breathing slowed, his body trembling in silence. His mother crouched in front of him, hands on his shoulders. "It's okay. It's okay, honey. Look at me."

He did, eyes still wet, and whispered, "It came back again, Mummy. I saw it."

She didn't understand. The words were too strange, too heavy for a child. But when he finally stopped crying, he reached for his crayons again. Quietly, carefully, he began to draw. He didn't speak while he worked. His mother only watched, unease growing with every stroke of color. When he was done, he held up the paper for her to see.

It was simple. A stick figure standing upright, holding something in its hand. Another stick figure lay on the ground beside it. And beneath that figure, smeared with thick red crayon, was a spreading pool.

That was all.

The mother stared at the drawing, her hands tightening around the paper. Her throat went dry. "Sweetheart… where did you see this?"

The boy blinked, confused by her tone. "I don't know," he said softly. "It just came into my head."

She forced a smile, trying to keep her voice calm. "You've never seen anything like this, right? I've never- I'd never show you this, you know that?"

He nodded, but his gaze drifted toward the window, where outside, a faint red shimmer lingered for just a second before fading into the sunlight.

The mother folded the drawing and pressed it to her chest, her heart pounding.

The years carried him quietly into middle school.

The toys and picture books had been replaced with textbooks and notebooks stacked high on his desk. The little boy who once drew stickmen was now a focused student, determined, polite, and always eager to make his mother proud.

His mother often watched him study late into the night, his small desk lamp glowing softly against the quiet room. She smiled, proud of how far he had come, and grateful that the strange nightmares of his early years had faded with time.

Until one evening, it came back again. The fourth butterfly drifted in through the half-open window. The wind barely stirred as it landed gently on the boy's arm while he bent over his notebook, scribbling equations.

And just like before, everything stopped.

The pencil rolled off the desk. His hand trembled. His eyes widened, and the air left his lungs in a small, broken gasp.

It hit him like a wave, flashes of light, sound, and blood. A man's laughter. The metallic scent of iron. A voice screaming that wasn't his. His own hands, older and larger, gripping a knife.

He stumbled back, knocking over his chair.

"Mom!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Mom, it's back!"

His mother dropped the laundry basket and ran upstairs, her heart racing. "Lee Chan? What's wrong?"

He turned to her, face pale, eyes shaking. "I saw it again," he said, voice trembling. "But it's worse now."

She knelt beside him, holding his arms. "Tell me what you saw."

He swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath. "It was me, but it wasn't. I was older. I was holding a knife, and… and there was this man, I don't know who he is, I kept stabbing him." His voice faltered. "Then I cut him. His arms, his legs-"

"Lee Chan-"

"And then I looked in the mirror," he whispered. "And I saw myself… but it wasn't me. It was someone else."

The color drained from his mother's face.

He scrambled for his sketchbook and began to draw, not like before with stickmen, but with the steady, deliberate hand of a boy who wanted to prove what he saw. Within minutes, the outline of a man's face appeared. Messy hair. Cold eyes. A scar along the jaw. When he finished, he turned the sketchbook toward his mother. "That's him."

She stared at it. Her lips parted slightly. The blood drained from her face until she looked almost ghostly. Her hands trembled as she reached out, touching the page lightly, as though it might burn her.

"Mum? What's wrong?"

Her voice was faint, barely a whisper. "Lee Chan, honey… why do you have memories of a dead man?"

He blinked. "Dead man? But-"

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing. "He's dead before you were even born."

He stared at her in confusion, eyes wide. "What do you mean? Who was he?"

She shook her head quickly. "No. No, not now."

"Mum, please-"

"Lee Chan." Her tone turned firm but gentle, trembling with fear. "Listen to me, sweetheart. When you're old enough, when you reach adulthood, I'll tell you everything. But right now… it's not the right time. You shouldn't have to carry something like this."

He wanted to argue, but the look in her eyes stopped him, that same terrified softness she used to have when he was little and sick.

The butterfly, unnoticed, lifted from the desk and slipped through the window, disappearing into the night once again.

Fast forward to the end of high school, finally graduating and waiting for the results that would decide the university Lee Chan wanted to attend. The fifth butterfly landed on him, and when the memories rushed into his brain, he immediately began roughly sketching an animation without a second thought, desperately using his memory to capture everything before the butterfly flew off.

When his mother came back home, he handed her his iPad nonchalantly, showing her the animation he had just created.

"Mum, tell me everything?"

Chan's mother sighed, setting the groceries down before sitting beside him. She watched the animation a second time, this time seriously, her eyes quietly studying her grown-up son.

"Before you were born," she began slowly, "I was carrying you for a month when a serial killer was announced dead on every media outlet and news channel. A serial killer who killed ten people before his death. All ten were found missing their limbs or organs. First, a pair of eyeballs. Then ten fingers. After that, a whole arm, a pair of legs… and slowly, the rest were just internal organs gone. The detectives and police eventually managed to recover the missing parts after you had grown into elementary school, but back in my days, we all lived in fear because he attacked both men and women. He was once a wanted person in the country, about to be sentenced to death, until news of his death spread. His body went missing, and no one could ever find it. When you reached middle school, they officially announced the serial killer as dead, closing the case for good."

Listening to everything, Chan sensed that his mother had more to say but chose not to. He could see it in the way her gaze drifted away, as if afraid of what her own words might bring back. Understanding that she wasn't ready, he nodded quietly and left the room.

When university began, everything felt like a new beginning for Lee Chan. A new place, new faces, a new rhythm of life away from home. He was living in a small dorm room now, with a narrow window that overlooked the campus gardens. For the first few weeks, everything felt almost normal.

Until the night the sixth butterfly came. It was quiet in his dorm. The sound of laughter from the hallway had faded, replaced by the faint hum of the ceiling fan. Chan was sitting by his desk, reviewing notes from his first class, when a familiar flutter brushed against the silence.

He turned his head toward the window just in time to see it, the butterfly slowly drifting inside, its wings glowing faintly under the light of his desk lamp.

This time, he didn't flinch or move. He simply watched as it circled once in the air before landing gently on the back of his hand. The moment it touched him, the memories began to flow in. He saw flashes, a man's hands tightening around something sharp, the sound of a heartbeat that wasn't his, a voice humming a soft tune while someone cried in the background. He could feel the same cold satisfaction, the same pulse of violence that didn't belong to him.

But Chan didn't react. He didn't scream, didn't push the memory away. He just sat there, eyes locked on the butterfly, silently watching as the memories played out like a film only he could see.

When it was over, the butterfly lifted off. It hovered briefly in front of his face, its wings shimmering faintly, and then, it vanished, simply dissolved into thin air, leaving behind a trail of dust-like light that faded within seconds.

Chan stared at the empty space where it disappeared, his heartbeat steady, almost too calm. Slowly, he turned back to his laptop, typing a name into the search bar, the name he'd never dared to look up before.

The serial killer.

He scrolled through old articles, reports, and grainy pictures of the man's face, the same face he'd seen in the visions. Every photo sent a shiver down his spine, but he couldn't look away.

One headline caught his eye: 《"Notorious killer declared dead after police raid, body never recovered."》

He leaned back in his chair, muttering softly, "So this is you…"

For a moment, he hesitated before whispering the name out loud. It sounded heavy, almost cursed, hanging in the air longer than it should.

Chan's thoughts drifted to the stories he'd heard, about illegal specialist buildings hidden from the public. The ones that could erase memories completely, even for wanted people. But he had no way of knowing where to start, or how to contact them. So, he could only sit there, staring at the serial killer's picture on the screen, the same cold eyes and the faint smirk, and the name that once terrified a nation.

A few evenings later, Chan found himself with a small group of classmates in the dorm lounge, laptops open and conversation drifting between deadlines and cheap instant noodles. He couldn't stop thinking about the butterfly and the way the memories had poured into him like a film rewinding in his skull.

On impulse he pushed the question out, casual-sounding but hollow at the center. "Hey, serious question. Say a butterfly that carries unwanted memories lands on someone… could that make the person suddenly remember those memories? Like, instantly inherit them?"

The table fell quiet for a beat. Wonwoo pushed his glasses up and shook his head. "No. That's not how it works. Butterflies carry the fragments, but they don't just transfer them on touch. That's why we have specialists and legal removals. To extract, isolate, or contain them safely." Soonyoung chimed in, "If something like that happened, it'd be huge. People would know. It doesn't just jump people like a cold."

Chan let out a laugh that didn't reach his eyes and steered the talk toward project specs, filing the question away behind jokes and shared grievances about professors. He volunteered nothing of his own nights, said nothing of the image that kept returning. But behind his smile, a different thought kept whispering, steady and impossible: Then I'm the first one.

He sat through the rest of the evening like a normal student, but the idea hummed under his skin, not fear exactly, more a stunned, peculiar ownership of something no one else had ever been given.

Years passed, and university ended in a blur of ceremonies, handshakes, and late-night packing. Lee Chan stood at the edge of adulthood. Freshly graduated, suit pressed, résumé sent to every company that might take him. His dorm was empty now, bare walls echoing memories of laughter and quiet nights alone with his thoughts.

That evening, as he sat by the window of his small apartment, staring at the city's dim skyline, a flicker of motion caught his eye.

A butterfly drifted into the room through the open window. He froze, breath caught in his throat. By now, he knew what this meant.

The butterfly landed softly on his shoulder. He didn't move, didn't resist, he just sat there, watching as another storm of memories flooded into his head. Blood, screams, the sound of a heartbeat that wasn't his. The smell of iron. The twisted satisfaction of a man who had once felt unstoppable. And then, as gently as it came, the butterfly lifted off again and vanished into the fading daylight.

Chan exhaled slowly, leaning back against his chair, sweat clinging to his forehead. He stayed still for a long time, feeling both empty and full at once, filled with pieces of someone else's life.

Later that night, he opened his laptop. His fingers hovered over the keyboard before typing out the words that had haunted him for years: 《"Lee Hanseok - serial killer case."》

The old reports appeared instantly, but as he dug deeper, scrolling through pages of archived articles, one headline made him stop.

《Tenth Victim of Lee Hanseok's Murder Spree Survives After Years in Coma》

He clicked.

The article detailed that the tenth victim, a young woman at the time, had miraculously survived. One eye gone, and one arm missing. Her heart had stopped for five minutes before she was revived. She'd remained in a coma for almost a decade before finally waking up last year. Now, she was living quietly in a small town, married to a local craftsman.

Chan stared at the photo attached to the article, the woman smiling, standing beside her husband in front of a modest house with flower pots by the fence.

Without realizing it, he copied down the address.

By the next morning, he was on a train heading toward that very town.

The rhythm of the train wheels echoed his pulse. Each clack felt like a question he wasn't sure he wanted answered. When he finally reached the quiet street, he saw it, the same house from the photo. The same flowers by the fence.

He stood there for a moment, unsure whether to knock or turn back, but curiosity pushed him forward. He took a breath, stepped up to the front door, and rang the bell.

The door creaked open, revealing a man in his mid-thirties, his face kind but cautious, the sort of expression reserved for unexpected visitors.

"Hello," the man greeted, his voice polite yet edged with uncertainty. "Can I help you?"

Lee Chan straightened, offering a gentle smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Good afternoon. I'm sorry to come unannounced, but… I wanted to ask something regarding the Lee Hanseok case."

The man's expression shifted immediately. His hand tightened slightly on the doorknob, his posture becoming guarded. "That's… a very old case," he said carefully. "Why are you asking?"

"I'm doing some research," Chan replied, the words rehearsed but soft. "Your wife… she's the tenth survivor, isn't she? I'm not from the press, I promise. I just… want to understand what happened. About him."

The man blinked, uncertain whether to believe him. His jaw flexed as if weighing something invisible between his teeth.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, voice low. "She doesn't talk about it. She's been through enough. We don't accept interviews, research, or anything like that."

"I understand," Chan replied, nodding with quiet disappointment. "Thank you for your time."

He took a small step back, prepared to leave, when the man hesitated, keeping the door half-open. His eyes lingered on Chan's face for a moment longer.

"You know…" the husband murmured, his tone almost thoughtful now, "you look… familiar somehow. Like someone I've seen before. But I can't remember where."

Chan's smile froze. "Ah… maybe just coincidence," he managed, forcing out a light chuckle. "I get that a lot."

The man nodded once, still staring, then slowly closed the door.

The soft click of the latch echoed in Chan's chest. He stood there for a long moment before turning away, walking back toward the empty bus stop. The quiet street offered no answers, only the faint rustle of wind brushing past the flowers on the fence.

By the time he reached his apartment, the city lights had already swallowed the sky. He set down his bag, loosened his tie, and sank into the chair by the window.

The silence pressed in on him. No answers. No proof. Just more questions, and a face that now refused to leave his thoughts: the survivor's husband, and that look of faint recognition in his eyes.

Months passed. Lee Chan finally secured a job, a quiet one, tucked inside a mid-sized animation studio where he could disappear behind screens and storyboards. The world outside moved fast, but his life had settled into a strange calm: coffee in the morning, deadlines in the afternoon, the occasional message from his mother checking if he'd eaten.

But at night, when the hum of the city softened and only the glow of his monitor remained, he would open another browser tab. The same search bar, the same name, Lee Hanseok.

He had learned nearly everything about him now: his background, his victims, even the strange rumors of how he escaped police custody before being declared dead. The pieces fit together like a grim puzzle, except for one blank space that never filled: the final victim.

The tenth. The woman who lived.

He had gone to her house once and failed. He'd read every article and watched every old documentary. But something about her name, her existence, tugged at him relentlessly, like an unfinished memory trying to resurface.

And then, one evening, as the sun melted into a haze of orange and violet, he heard it, the faint flutter of wings.

He turned his head.

A butterfly drifted through the open window and circled him once before landing gently on his wrist.

His breath hitched, he didn't resist, didn't even blink. The moment it touched him, a flood of visions returned. Not of screams this time, but of a face. A woman's face. Fearful, trembling, her voice faint as she whispered a name he couldn't make out. The scent of antiseptic, the sound of footsteps retreating, and then, darkness.

When the butterfly lifted off and vanished, Lee Chan remained frozen, chest rising and falling as if he had just surfaced from drowning. He pushed his chair back and pulled up his files again, now certain of what he was looking for.

Her, the survivor, the last one.

He began digging into medical records, old interviews, anything connected to her recovery. And buried among the forgotten archives, he found something that made his pulse quicken, a confidential document leaked from the hospital she was treated in.

It mentioned a private sponsor, someone who paid for her surgeries, for her rehabilitation, even for her relocation to a different city, but the name of the sponsor was blacked out. Still, a note at the end of the report caught his attention:

《"Subject shows signs of psychological confusion, claims to see the face of her attacker in her dreams.》

Chan leaned back in his chair, eyes wide, mind spinning.

Someone she knows. His hands trembled slightly as he closed the file.

Eight butterflies had come and gone, two remained.

A week later, the ninth butterfly came. It simply appeared on the corner of his desk as if it had always been there, waiting for him to notice.

When it landed on his hand, the memories struck faster than before. The image of the woman again, but closer this time. Her terrified eyes. The sound of rain against metal. Then, his own reflection in a puddle, smiling faintly through blood.

The butterfly lifted and vanished before he could breathe.

Lee Chan sat still for a long moment, staring at his trembling hands. Then, slowly, he reached for a notepad, jotting down words, names, and dates in hurried scrawl. Connecting pieces, mapping routes, and searching for patterns only he could understand.

By nightfall, he had a plan that is simple, quiet, and unrevealed even to himself. And as the city lights flickered outside his window, he whispered softly to no one, "Just one more left."

The tenth butterfly arrived like an answer. Chan felt it settle over him the way purpose finally settles after years of restless searching. He finished his preparations in a silence so complete it felt like permission: a packed duffle, a jacket folded over an arm, a list of small details rehearsed until they fit into a single smooth motion.

He went to the survivor's workplace the way a man goes to finish something he has convinced himself is destiny. He lied when he had to, moved with the patience of someone who had watched other people's lives from the edges for years. When the moment came, it was terrible in its ordinary efficiency: he closed the distance, he acted, and the world narrowed to the single, cold thing he had been carrying for every year since those first butterflies. Her life ended there, in a room that had once been about morning routines and telephone chitchat; after, he burned what could be burned and smashed what could be smashed, removing names, traces, anything that could be traced back to him.

Because he remembered the husband, the man who had looked at him with that faint recognition, Chan went back again. Hesitation cost time; the second ending was slower, clumsier, darker in the way it lingered. In the hush after, there were two fewer people in the world. Two more memories folded inside him like a closing door.

Standing in the cold that followed, among the shards of what he had destroyed, Chan felt the thing inside him settle into a shape he could name. He thought of what his mother had left unsaid, of the holes she'd protected him from. He thought of the man in the old reports, the face in every picture, and how at last the circle had closed.

"Mum didn't tell you about me, but I finally know you, pops." He smiled up at the indifferent sky, not knowing if the man he called father lived or was already gone. Around him, the city breathed on, unaware and unforgiving. The tenth survivor was dead. The eleventh death had a name now.

"Keep moving!" he shouted, voice trembling but firm.

Junhyun and Mirae were right behind him, their faces pale and streaked with sweat. Together, they climbed toward the rooftop, the last safe place they could think of. Behind them, the moans grew louder. Junhyun stopped halfway up the stairs, swung his own weapon, and brought it down hard.

The thud echoed once, twice… then silence.

Spring arrived quietly.

Cherry blossom petals drifted through the air like slow rain, dancing in the sunlight before settling on the school courtyard. Laughter and chatter filled the air. A perfect day, untouched by the chaos to come.

Jake leaned against the staircase railing, eyes half-closed, the wind brushing gently against his face. It was almost peaceful.

As he stared at the blossoms, his thoughts began to drift, rewinding through fragments of his past.

Young Mirae's promise under the old tree: "When we grow up, I'll marry you, okay?"

Her laughter after flunking her exam, even though she had always been the top student.

Junhyun's first day. Quiet, polite, but sharp-eyed.

And then… the two of them together, walking home side by side. Smiling.

Jake exhaled through his nose, humming a tune to drown out the ache in his chest.

"You're stupid." The voice snapped him out of his daze. Jake turned his head to find Jungwon standing beside him, arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face.

"You lock yourself up in the same place every time you're feeling down," Jungwon said flatly. "If you're going to ditch at the start of the year, you'll end up taking extra classes. Or worse, flunk."

Jake clicked his tongue. "Like you're one to talk. We're still in fifth class."

"Well, I'm a genius," Jungwon shot back, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Unlike you, I didn't need God's help to get into this school."

With that, he turned and left, leaving Jake alone again. Jake rolled his eyes and leaned back against the railing, closing his eyes, until the sharp sound of metal clanking snapped him back.

Clank. Clank. Clank. He turned his head toward the source, to the school gate.

An unknown man stood there, rhythmically slamming his head against the metal bars. The sound was disturbingly steady, like a machine that didn't know pain.

Jake frowned. A few staff members nearby noticed too, hurrying toward the gate. One of them yelled something, Jake couldn't make out what, before grabbing the man's arm to pull him away.

Then it happened.

The man lunged, sinking his teeth into the staff member's arm. Blood sprayed onto the pavement. Screams erupted. The bitten staff member fell, clutching the wound as crimson spread fast across his sleeve.

Jake's breath caught.

The others rushed in to help, but before they could even reach him, the fallen man stopped moving. For a moment, everything froze. Then he twitched. Slowly, unnaturally, and stood back up.

Jake's stomach turned cold. He didn't wait to see what happened next. He ran, took the stairs two at a time, his heart hammering so hard it almost drowned out the echo of his own footsteps. The hallway blurred past him, all meaningless now. He didn't stop until he reached his classroom. He slammed the door open. The loud bang made everyone jump.

"Sim Jaeyun!" the teacher snapped, "You're late again-"

Jake ignored her. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on Mirae. Without a word, he strode over and grabbed her wrist.

"We need to go. Now."

Mirae blinked, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Junhyun, sitting near her, frowned. "What happened?"

Jake turned to face them, his face pale but firm. "Someone got killed at the front gate. This is serious."

The room fell silent.

Mirae's brow furrowed. "Are you serious?"

"What would I gain from lying?" he shot back, voice sharp with urgency.

Mirae yanked her arm away. "What's your problem?! You're always having these crazy thoughts-"

Jake's hand moved before he could stop himself. Smack.

The sound echoed through the room.

"Shut up and listen to me!" His voice cracked with desperation. He turned to Junhyun.

Junhyun stared, startled, but something in Jake's expression told him this wasn't one of his usual overreactions. He stood quickly and followed Jake out of the classroom to a storage room.

"Alright. Assuming you're telling the truth, we'll need weapons."

He opened a cabinet where the sports equipment was kept. He handed a metal pole to Mirae, who still looked shaken, and tossed a bat to Jake.

Jake caught it, tightening his grip. "What about you?"

Junhyun smirked faintly. "I'm a black belt, remember?"

"In any case," Jake said, glancing toward the door, "we need to get out of here. Now."

"Wait, let's call the police first." Mirae's voice trembled, but she stood her ground. "My dad's there."

Jake dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Good thing I don't follow school rules." He shoved it into her hands.

Mirae quickly dialed, pressing the phone to her ear. But after several rings, a recorded voice echoed through the speaker: "All emergency lines are currently overloaded. Please remain calm and-"

A cold chill ran down Jake's spine. Before anyone could speak, the school's announcement system crackled to life.

"Attention, all students," a teacher's voice came through, calm but strained. "A fight has broken out on campus. Please follow your instructors and evacuate from the school. I repeat-"

Jake muttered under his breath, "It's about time…"

But before the teacher could finish the sentence, the speakers screeched. A burst of static, followed by shouting.

"Help! Someone's-!"

Screams. Crashes. Then, silence.

Across the hall, Jungwon peeked out from his classroom, eyes wide. Jay stood beside him, equally tense.

"Jungwon," Jay whispered, "what's going on?"

"I don't know," Jungwon muttered, glancing down the corridor. "But we need to get out of here. Now."

The speakers crackled again, replaying the teacher's desperate cry for help, looping and distorted, until it suddenly cut off with a harsh click.

Silence. Every student in the building froze. For a few seconds, it was as if the whole school held its breath. Then, a single scream broke the quiet.

And just like that, chaos erupted.

Students rushed out of classrooms, shoving and screaming. Desks toppled, books scattered, and bodies slammed against each other in a wild surge toward the exits. No one cared who fell, they only cared about surviving. Those who tripped were stepped on, their screams swallowed by the chaos.

And all of it started right after that broadcast.

Jake, Mirae, and Junhyun saw the incoming flood of people and instantly turned the other way.

"Should we run outside?" Jake asked between breaths, his voice tight with fear.

"The students are pouring out of the lecture building," Junhyun replied quickly, eyes scanning for an escape route. "We'll go through the admin building instead!"

Jake nodded, and the three of them sprinted down the corridor, weaving through the chaos. The hallway shook with the stampede of hundreds of footsteps. Halfway through their run, something appeared in their path, a figure stumbling out of a nearby hallway.

Mirae froze. "Isn't that… our teacher?"

The teacher stood still for a moment, his head tilted unnaturally to the side. Blood pooled down his trousers, dripping onto the floor with a soft patter. Then, without warning, he lunged forward straight at Mirae.

"Mirae!" Jake shouted.

Mirae's body shook, but her instincts kicked in. As a member of the lancing club, she gripped her metal pole tightly and thrust it forward, piercing the teacher's chest. The pole went straight through the heart. But the teacher didn't stop. His body twitched violently, and he kept staggering forward, forcing the pole deeper into himself.

"Why?! I pierced his heart, yet he's still moving?!" Mirae cried, terror breaking through her voice.

The teacher slammed into her, throwing her back against the wall. The impact made her gasp in pain as the creature clawed forward, teeth gnashing inches from her face.

Junhyun rushed in from behind, grabbing the teacher's shoulders to pull him off.

"Hold on!" he yelled, but before he could push the creature away, the teacher twisted unnaturally fast, and bit down on Junhyun's forearm.

"Arghhh!" Junhyun screamed, blood spraying from the wound.

Jake froze for only a second, then charged. With both hands gripping his bat, he swung as hard as he could. The bat connected with a sickening crack, and blood splattered across the walls. The teacher's body dropped, twitching once before going completely still.

Jake panted heavily, staring at the corpse. His hands trembled, but he forced himself to look away. Below them, chaos erupted in full. More students were being attacked, and some of the fallen began to rise again, moving with jerky, unnatural motions.

Junhyun clutched his bleeding arm but managed to speak, his voice strained. "We… we should head to the rooftop. Higher ground, we might get help there."

Mirae and Jake exchanged a glance before nodding. They ran together, up the final flight of stairs, until they reached the rooftop. The wind was strong there, carrying the smell of smoke and burning fuel. When they reached the edge, their eyes widened. Cars were overturned, smoke rising in thick columns. The world beyond the school was already falling apart.

A powerful gust blew past, scattering cherry blossom petals and dust. Then came the heavy thrum of blades—helicopters cutting through the air above them.

Mirae's eyes lit up. "It's the SDF! But… from where? There shouldn't be a base anywhere near here."

Jake shielded his eyes from the wind. "Save your breath, Mirae. They wouldn't come this far without a reason."

Junhyun followed the helicopters with his gaze, his tone grim. "They're not here to save us. If they were, they'd already be doing something about that."

He pointed down at the school grounds below, where dozens of infected figures staggered around, biting anyone still alive.

"It's a mess out there, even though there's still space to run," he continued, voice low but steady. "Those things, they're like zombies. But this isn't a movie or a game. They eat people. Once their prey dies, it joins them. I don't know why, but the only way to stop them is to smash their heads open."

Before any of them could speak, they turned and saw several of the infected emerging from the rooftop stairs.

Mirae's grip tightened on her weapon. "So what do we do now?"

Junhyun looked at both of them, his expression calm despite the blood dripping from his arm. "We head up to the observatory and blockade the stairs. It's the only way to buy ourselves time."

Jake nodded, already breaking into a run.

They shove the last piece of furniture into place and pant against the makeshift barricade. The world below is a distant drum of screams and feet. Junhyun leans against the railing, coughing, and a wetness stains his shirt.

Jake sees the fear in his friend's eyes and it's like a cold hand closing around his chest.

"Jake… I need your help." Junhyun says, voice thin and raw.

"With what?" Jake manages, breathless.

Junhyun points without looking, toward the rooftop edge, where the concrete drops away. "If I fall over there, I'll probably go head first and smash my skull."

Mirae's face crumples. "What are you talking about?!" she wails.

"I don't want to become one of them!" Junhyun screams, and then he vomits blood again, the sound tearing through the small space like a physical blow.

He collapses to his knees, clutching his stomach, eyes squeezed shut. Pain twists him into a crooked, pleading shape. Mirae scrambles forward, hands useless as she tries to hold him, to staunch something she can't see how to stop. Jake stands frozen, every instinct screaming to do something, anything, but his feet feel rooted to the rooftop concrete.

Junhyun's breaths come ragged and shallow. "Jake," he whispers between coughs, "please…"

Jake fights the panic, the refusal, the thought of pushing his friend to die, then the harsher possibility: that Junhyun will wake like the others and turn on them. His hand closes around the bat so tight his knuckles go white.

Junhyun's body convulses; blood flecks his lips. Mirae sobs and presses her palm to his chest, as if pressing could keep him human. Jake's throat works. He wants to scream at the sky, at whatever brought this to them. He wants to deny that the choice is even his to make. Junhyun goes still. For a terrible second, time thins. Mirae's hands tremble as she checks for a pulse, but there is none. Her face collapses, and she falls into Junhyun's arms, weeping like the world has been hollowed out.

Jake watches Junhyun's fingers twitch once, twice. Every muscle in Jake's body tightens with an animal, terrible anticipation. He feels the bat like a weight and an obligation both. The twitch becomes a shudder. Junhyun draws a breath, not the uneven breath of the dying, but something louder, harsher. His eyes open and there's no light in them, only a flat, hungry focus. The familiar curve of his mouth warps into something wrong and wide.

"No-" Mirae screams, a single long cry that rips through Jake like a blade.

Jake doesn't think, he acts. He yanks Mirae back by the sleeve, dragging her out of the path of the thing that used to be their friend. Junhyun's head turns toward them, each step deliberate, teeth bared in a savage grin.

Jake raises the bat. All the things that have been coiled inside him—fear, grief, fury, the raw need to protect the only people left—unspool into the motion.

He swings. The bat connects with a heavy, final sound. Junhyun's body goes limp and collapses where it stands. The rooftop takes the aftershock into its wide, empty air.

Jake stands over him, chest heaving, bat slick in his hands. Mirae clings to him, shaking, her face wet with tears. They look down at the still form, at the terrible cost of the choice they didn't want to make, and for a long moment there is nothing but the wind and the soft fall of cherry blossoms around them.

They waited, chests tight against the cold plaster, listening to the hallway breathe with the shuffling of feet and low, wet groans. The crowd's thunder had thinned to a scattered patter; whoever had survived had already run past them.

Jay peered around the cracked doorframe toward the staff office and then back at Jungwon. "What should we do now, Jungwon?" he asked, voice low.

"What's your idea?" Jungwon shot back, scanning their surroundings.

"Maybe… approach the staff?" Jay offered.

"And what do you think the staff would do after we found them?" Jungwon shot the question right back, eyes narrowing. He didn't like the answer. They moved together, feet silent, following the route Jake and the others had taken. Up ahead, Jungwon pointed. "See? People out by the staff office. Same idea."

They crouched behind a pillar and watched as a practiced, hopeful rhythm rose from the cluster by the door: knocking, pleading, more knocking. Then the door sighed open. At first it looked like salvation, then the teacher-figures swung themselves out, teeth bared, and the students closest were bitten in a rush of blood and screams. The hope tore away like paper.

Jay flinched. "We need to get inside."

They darted into the admin building and hugged the walls, breath shallow, until they slipped into the art-and-craft room and bolted the door. The room smelled of glue and paper and lacquer, ordinary things that suddenly felt like lifelines.

"Think we can make weapons in here?" Jungwon whispered, already scanning cabinets and drawers.

Jay's fingers were already moving, rifling through boxes of metal staples, a coil of wire, a half-empty nail gun, batteries, and a roll of duct tape. "I can try," he said, voice steady but urgent.

Outside, the knocks began at first like someone impatient, then heavier, then frantic. Wood thudded and cracked while muffled moans rasped and collided with the door. The handle juddered.

"Do it faster," Jungwon urged, jaw tight. "They'll break through-"

A crack splintered through the wood as the first of them slammed into the door. The door bowed inward with a sickening groan; splinters flew like short rain. For a heartbeat the room filled with a press of hot, rotten breath.

Jay finished with a final twist, slamming the makeshift mechanism into place: the nail gun, jury-rigged from the workshop's supply and reinforced with tape and wire, hissed and clicked when he tested the trigger. He didn't have time to think about whether it would fire, only whether it would matter.

A hand shoved through the opening, fingers clawing for purchase. A wet, gurgling growl followed. Jay aimed, thumb steady on the trigger, and squeezed. The nail tore through wood, then bone, driving into the forehead of the creature that had reached in first. The sound was a sharp, mechanical bark. The thing jerked back; its head slumped to the side. For the briefest second, stunned silence replaced the banging.

Jay's mouth went thin. He re-cocked the improvised weapon with two fingers, eyes never leaving the gap in the door. Jungwon pressed his shoulder to the wood and pushed, bracing for the next wave.

Outside, more bodies shuffled. The room filled with the raw metallic scent of blood and the ragged sound of someone, somewhere, screaming. Jay wiped sweat and something darker from his palm and readied himself for the next shot.

Mirae twisted the rusted handle of the rooftop tap until her palms burned, the metal groaning before water finally sputtered out. The stream gushed violently, splattering across the floor in bursts of cold spray.

"Now!" Jake shouted, gripping the bent pipe they had rigged as a makeshift nozzle. The force of the water nearly knocked him back, his muscles straining as he redirected the stream toward the rooftop entrance where the zombies clawed at the barricade.

The heavy burst hit them like a wall. Bodies staggered, slammed against the rails, and fell back down the stairwell with the rush of water. Mirae watched, half relieved and half terrified, as the mixture of blood and water swirled around their shoes, spilling over the roof's edge.

"Come on, hold steady!" Jake grunted, trying to keep the water pressure focused. But the longer it went, the more the wooden blockage started to loosen. Boards creaked. Nails popped out.

"Jake, stop! The barricade-"

Too late, the last plank gave in with a splintering snap, sending the soaked debris crashing down the stairs along with the drenched corpses. For a few tense seconds, silence followed, then the faint sound of groaning below.

"They're still moving," Mirae whispered.

Jake grabbed his bat and motioned toward the staircase. "Then we go before they climb back up."

They descended fast, Jake swinging at any zombie that lurched into sight, the wet floor slick beneath them. Each blow sent echoes through the stairwell, their breath mixing with the metallic scent of blood.

"Where are we even going now?" Mirae asked, voice trembling as they hit the next landing.

"Home," Jake replied firmly. "We'll help anyone we can on the way. This is our town, we know the routes better than anyone."

Mirae nodded, clutching her weapon tighter. "Then let's move."

Meanwhile, across the campus, Jay's nail gun hissed with mechanical precision. Each shot cracked through the air, nailing a zombie to the floor or wall with brutal efficiency. The air smelled like dust, oil, and something foul.

Jungwon stayed low behind him, eyes darting between the advancing corpses and the scattered tools on the floor. "Jay, you're running low," he warned, reaching for another box of nails.

"Then make it count," Jay muttered, squeezing off another shot that buried a nail clean through a zombie's temple. The creature crumpled instantly.

"Jungwon, grab the drill and nails, put them in that bag," Jay ordered.

"Will do." Jungwon moved quickly, sweeping up tools and stuffing them into a torn duffel bag.

Once the last of the zombies in front of them collapsed, Jay exhaled shakily. "We're clear for now." He pushed open the door to the hall and froze.

The corridor beyond was a mess of staggering bodies. Dozens more, maybe from other classrooms, all drawn by the gunfire.

"Shit," Jay hissed, lifting his nail gun again. "No choice."

He fired in bursts, nails tearing through skulls as Jungwon covered his flank with a crowbar. Each shot echoed, ricocheting down the hallway as more bodies fell.

Later, when the hall fell silent again except for the faint drip of water somewhere above, a wet towel suddenly flew across the corridor and slapped against a zombie's head. No reaction.

Jungwon, crouching behind a row of lockers, picked up another soaked rag and hurled it toward a metal locker a few meters away. The cloth hit with a sharp clang. Instantly, the nearest zombie turned toward the noise, groaning as it stumbled into the lockers, bumping its head repeatedly against the metal.

Jay blinked. "What the hell…"

"See how it didn't react when the rag hit its head?" Jungwon whispered. "They don't feel pain. They only react to sound. I don't think they can see, otherwise it wouldn't have run straight into that locker."

Jay glanced at him, realization dawning. "Then… noise draws them."

"Exactly." Jungwon nodded grimly. "Which means if we make the right sound, we can lead them away."

The hallway fell quiet again, only the faint echo of something dripping down the stairwell, somewhere far below, and the quiet hum of survival between them.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the campus, the sound of faint, dragging footsteps echoed through the hallway. The fluorescent lights flickered weakly above as three figures moved cautiously down the corridor. Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Heeseung, the school's medic teacher.

Sunghoon led the way, calm and alert, his katana still sheathed in its cover as he used it to nudge obstacles aside. Sunoo followed beside him, mirroring his movements with his own covered blade, while Heeseung trailed slightly behind, clutching a first-aid kit tightly against his chest. His hands trembled slightly; he wasn't built for this kind of chaos.

"Let's head to the staff room," Heeseung said, scanning ahead.

"The staff room?" Sunoo raised an eyebrow. "That's a difficult request, don't you think?"

"But everyone keeps their car keys in there," Heeseung replied quickly, his voice low and strained. "If we're getting out of here, we'll need transportation."

Sunghoon didn't argue. His sharp eyes caught movement ahead, a lone zombie staggered out from behind a classroom door. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and used the sheathed katana to slam the creature aside, knocking it hard into the wall.

Heeseung flinched at the sound. "Why don't you just… kill them?" he asked quietly.

Sunghoon's voice remained steady. "If we stop to crush the head of every single one we see, we'll get surrounded. Every second counts. If one of them grabs us, it's over."

Sunoo nodded in agreement. "He's right. It's better to move than to fight needlessly."

They pressed onward through the dim hallway, until the sharp sound of gunfire broke through the silence.

All three froze.

"That's… gunshots," Heeseung whispered, his grip tightening on the first-aid kit.

"From the arts wing," Sunghoon said, his tone suddenly focused.

Without hesitation, they broke into a run, their footsteps pounding against the tile floor.

At the same time, Jake and Mirae, their uniforms stained and shoes still wet from the rooftop, heard the same noise.

"Those are shots," Mirae said breathlessly. "Someone else is still alive!"

Jake's eyes sharpened. "Then let's go help them."

They sprinted toward the source, every turn echoing with the growing chaos.

The two groups collided at the corner of the arts wing hallway, a scene of madness unfolding before them. Jay, panting and desperate, fired his nail gun until it clicked dry, while Jungwon swung a crowbar wildly to keep the oncoming zombies at bay.

"I'm out of nails!" Jay shouted.

"Then duck!" Sunghoon commanded, surging forward. He struck with precision, the sheathed katana slamming against a zombie's head, sending it flying backward into a wall.

Sunoo moved in next, knocking aside two more with sharp, sweeping blows. Meanwhile, Jake and Mirae rushed from behind, joining the fight.

Jake's bat connected with a skull in a sharp crack, while Mirae jabbed forward with her pole. Blood splattered across the floor; the air filled with the sound of metal and bone colliding.

Even Heeseung, trembling, tried to stay useful, pulling back anyone who stumbled too close to danger.

After a few brutal moments, silence fell. The last body collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud.

Jay exhaled shakily, lowering his nail gun. "Guess the rescue squad just arrived."

Sunghoon looked around at the group, all breathing heavily, all alive. "If we're together now," he said, sheathing his sword, "then our next step is finding somewhere secure. This place won't stay quiet for long."

After the chaos at the arts wing, the group finally reached the staff room, guided by Heeseung, the medic teacher. The door creaked as they entered, revealing a room scattered with papers, broken mugs, and half-spilled coffee on the floor. The smell of dried blood faintly lingered from somewhere nearby.

"Let's rest here," Sunghoon said firmly, closing the door behind them and sliding a chair beneath the handle for reinforcement.

Mirae immediately went for the sink in the corner. The water was still running, murky at first, then clear. She splashed it onto her face, trembling slightly as she rinsed away the dried blood and grime.

Jay followed, filling a cup to drink, while Jungwon used a spare towel to wipe the dust off his hands.

For a few minutes, it was quiet, just the sound of running water and weary breathing.

When everyone had calmed down a little, Heeseung stood and gave a polite bow. "I'm Lee Heeseung, the school's medic teacher. I was on the second floor when all this started. I… didn't know what to do, so I just ran."

Sunoo gave a short chuckle, tired but not mocking. "Well, at least you ran in the right direction, Mr. Lee."

Jake nodded. "Yeah. You helped us make it this far."

Heeseung smiled faintly, though the exhaustion was clear in his eyes. "I'll do what I can, I can treat wounds, but I'm not much of a fighter."

"That's fine," Sunghoon said simply. "We'll handle the rest."

Once they'd had a moment to breathe, Sunoo glanced over. "Mr. Lee, where are your car keys?"

"Oh, they're in my bag." Heeseung reached down, rummaging through the half-zipped medical bag until he found a small keyring. He held it up with a bit of pride.

"Say," Sunoo asked, tilting his head, "is your vehicle spacious enough to seat all of us?"

Heeseung froze for a second, thinking. "…Now that you mention it… no."

Mirae, who was sitting near the corner, suddenly perked up. "What about the miniature buses? The ones the clubs use for activities? The keys are usually hanging on the wall here."

Everyone turned to look. Sure enough, a row of labeled hooks lined the wall, and a few keys still hung there.

"That could work," Jay said, getting up to check the tags.

Heeseung adjusted his glasses. "It might, but… where exactly are we going?"

Jake straightened, his voice steady. "We'll check on our families. We'll stop by everyone's home, starting from the closest to the farthest. If we find anyone, we help them. When it's over, we find a safe place to stay."

Sunoo crossed his arms. "So basically, survival tour."

"Something like that," Jake replied grimly.

Sunghoon, meanwhile, turned on the old television in the corner. The screen flickered to life, showing a trembling reporter.

《"…the government has started to do something about this ongoing revolt. However, the politicians-"》

"Revolt?" Jake interrupted, frowning. "They're calling this a revolt?!"

Sunghoon said nothing, simply changing the channel.

The next station showed footage of burning cars, people running, and bodies in the streets. The reporter's voice was tense.

《"The number of deaths in the city prefecture already exceeds ten thousand. The prefectural governor has declared a state of emergency-"》

Before she could finish, a figure suddenly lunged at her from the side of the screen. The camera tumbled, static bursting across the screen before cutting to black.

Everyone went silent.

Then, a calmer, indoor broadcast replaced it, a reporter sitting inside a studio, her voice trembling slightly.

《"There's been… some sort of problem. From now on, we'll be broadcasting from the studio. As you can tell, the situation outside has become grave. We advise everyone to stay indoors and avoid unnecessary travel. Once it's safe, we'll bring further updates."》

Jake slammed his fist onto the table, the sound making everyone flinch. "That's it?! Why aren't they saying more?!"

"Because they're afraid," Jungwon replied quietly. "If they say too much, people panic. Fear leads to chaos, chaos leads to anarchy. How do you expect the government to manage the living dead when society collapses under fear?"

Jake stared at him, jaw tight, but said nothing.

Sunghoon switched channels again. This time, an international news broadcast came up.

《"This unusual phenomenon has spread throughout the United States and remains uncontrolled. Government authorities have evacuated the White House and relocated to a command center on an aircraft carrier. Reports suggest this move is in preparation for potential tactical measures. We have lost contact with Moscow. Beijing has been set ablaze. London has maintained order, but Paris and Rome are in crisis, with reports of widespread looting. Government officials have declared-"》

The television flickered again, the signal weakening. The room fell into a deep, suffocating silence.

"…It's everywhere," Mirae whispered, her voice shaking.

Sunghoon lowered his head slightly, his tone calm but grim. "Then we're not just surviving a school outbreak. We're surviving the end of the world."

No one argued, no one even breathed loudly, the only sound left was the faint hum of the television, whispering a broken world's final broadcasts.

"I can't believe it only took a few hours for the world to come to this…" Mirae said quietly, hugging her knees as she sat near the basin. The flickering light from the television cast shadows across her face. "But there must be some place that's safe, right? And soon, things will go back to normal."

"Keep on dreaming then," Jungwon muttered, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "This is a pandemic. It's when an epidemic of infectious disease spreads across countries or continents. So, the same disease that's infected people here… it's spreading throughout the world."

"Like influenza?" Jake asked, his brows furrowing.

"Like the Spanish flu of 1918," Jungwon replied matter-of-factly. "Over six hundred million people were infected, and fifty million died. Think about how people freaked out when that new strain of influenza appeared a few years ago. This is that, but worse."

Heeseung adjusted his glasses and spoke up softly, "Isn't this more like the Black Death of the 14th century? Europe's population dropped by a third during that."

Sunghoon turned to him. "How did those diseases stop?"

"There are lots of theories," Heeseung said, his tone grim. "But the main reason is that they killed so many people that there weren't enough left to spread the infection."

"But… in this case, the dead are moving around and attacking people," Sunoo said, his voice tightening.

"Then you're implying it has no reason to stop spreading?" Jake asked.

Heeseung exhaled, his eyes heavy with uncertainty. "It's hot outside, so maybe their flesh will start decomposing and they won't be able to move anymore?"

Jungwon shook his head. "Impossible. During summer, it takes about twenty-two days for some parts of the body to decompose. In winter, it can take months. But who's to say they'll even start decomposing? These things… defy everything we know about medicine. So why bother relying on it? It could be hopeless."

Silence filled the room for a moment, broken only by the faint static from the television.

Sunoo looked around at everyone and spoke firmly. "What's important is finding a safe location after we check on our families. If we act only for ourselves, we'll have no chance of surviving. We have to move as a team, help survivors if we can."

"And how do we get out?" Mirae asked, gripping her bat tighter.

"The front door is closest to the parking lot," Sunghoon said, glancing at the window where the faint growls of the undead echoed below.

Jake nodded, determination burning in his eyes. "Then let's go."

They moved quietly through the dimly lit corridor, each step measured and tense, the air heavy with the scent of rust and decay. The flickering emergency lights painted their faces in pale flashes, revealing beads of sweat and clenched jaws.

"Just to confirm," Jay whispered, his voice calm but commanding, "you need not begin fighting unless it's inevitable. Refrain from fighting when the opportunity arises. We don't need unnecessary noise."

"They only respond to sound," Jungwon added, keeping his voice low as his eyes swept over the shadowed hall ahead. "And they're strong enough to break through a normal door. If one of them gets a hold of you… you're done for. Be careful."

Everyone nodded silently, the weight of his words sinking in.

When they reached the final hallway near the front entrance, the faint groans of the undead echoed ahead. A dozen or more zombies loitered by the doors, pacing in lazy, uncoordinated steps.

"I can try to be bait to lure them aside," Jake said, tightening his grip on his bat. His tone was quiet but firm.

"Jake-" Mirae began, but he gave her a small nod before slowly descending the stairs.

Each creak of the step beneath his shoes felt like thunder in his ears. His heartbeat thumped violently in his chest so loud he feared they'd hear it. He reached the ground floor and froze. The living dead shuffled aimlessly before him, the smell of rot clinging to the air.

One of them turned its head in his direction and began to shuffle forward. Jake didn't move. His knuckles whitened around the bat. The zombie passed him by, its decomposed shoulder brushing inches from his own. He didn't breathe until it was gone. A drop of sweat rolled down his cheek as he steadied himself.

They really can't see… he realized.

Quietly, he crouched and picked up a single left shoe lying abandoned by a locker. With a steady hand, he threw it as far as he could. The shoe clattered loudly against another locker down the hall. Immediately, every zombie turned toward the noise. Their groans rose as they stumbled in that direction, away from the entrance.

Jake moved fast but silent, reaching for the front door. He twisted the handle slowly, easing it open just enough to wave the others through. One by one, they descended the stairs and slipped through the gap. Sunghoon first, then Sunoo, Mirae, Jay, and Jungwon. But just as Heeseung started down, the metal pipe he carried struck the railing.

The sound rang out like a bell in an empty cathedral. Every zombie, inside and outside the gates, snapped their heads toward the stairwell.

"Run!" Jake hissed, his voice breaking into urgency.

The dead howled in unison and began storming toward them.

"Why did you do that?! If you hadn't yelled, we'd only have to deal with the ones near us!" Jungwon shouted, swinging his wrench at a lunging corpse.

"No way! Didn't you hear that echo?!" Mirae yelled back, smashing a zombie in the head with her bat.

"There's too many!" Jay shouted as more swarmed in through the broken windows.

Jake stepped forward, slamming his bat into one zombie's skull. The wet crack echoed, blood splattering across the tile. He swung again, clearing their path. "Don't talk, run!"

They sprinted through the chaos, smashing, shoving, and ducking as they fought their way toward the parking lot.

"Mr. Lee! Drive the bus!" Jay shouted, pointing toward the vehicle ahead.

Heeseung fumbled with the keys, panic etched on his face. He threw himself into the driver's seat and jammed the key into the ignition. The bus roared to life.

"Come on, come on!" Sunoo urged, swinging his blade's sheath at a reaching hand.

Jake and Sunghoon were the last to board, Jake hitting away one final zombie before slamming the bus door shut.

Heeseung floored the accelerator. The bus jolted forward, hitting several zombies and sending them flying.

With a deafening crash, the vehicle burst through the school gate, metal bending and glass shattering.

And just like that, they were out.

The school—once filled with noise, laughter, and life—disappeared behind them, swallowed by the chaos they barely escaped.

The bus rumbled to a slow, uneasy halt, the groan of its old brakes echoing in the heavy silence. Outside, the world looked worse than ever. Cars jammed bumper to bumper, doors hanging open, windows cracked, and trails of blood smeared across hoods. Some vehicles still had faint movement inside, rotting silhouettes clawing at the glass.

The engine hummed as Heeseung exhaled shakily, his knuckles pale against the steering wheel.

"We're not moving," Sunoo muttered, peering out the window. "Looks like everything's blocked ahead."

Jungwon adjusted his glasses, leaning forward. "We're progressing at roughly one kilometre per hour," he observed. "At this rate, I wonder if we can even make it over the bridge before morning."

A wave of quiet dread fell over them. The faint sounds of distant sirens and gunfire echoed through the city, blending with the low, eerie moans carried by the wind. Mirae held her knees close, staring out at the skyline slowly being devoured by smoke.

Jake sat near the door, tapping his bat lightly against his shoe, mind running through every possible route. But the truth was clear: they were stuck.

The air was heavy with salt and smoke. A breeze rolled across the rooftop of an abandoned terminal where two figures lay prone, their rifles glinting faintly under the orange evening light.

Ni-ki peered through the sniper scope, his finger poised on the trigger. A lone zombie shuffled across the cracked runway, its head tilting in unnatural rhythm.

"Damn," Ni-ki clicked his teeth, disgust twisting his face. "He looks repulsive."

His partner, Ta-ki, adjusted his earpiece, eyes fixed on his rangefinder. "He's an actor," he replied flatly. "Was on location here for filming." Then he read out the numbers like a machine. "Distance: 4500. Angle: minus six. Wind: favorable. Corrections: none. Permission to fire: granted."

The rifle cracked.

A clean, sharp bang tore through the still air. The undead's head burst open in a crimson bloom, collapsing onto the asphalt.

"Good work," Ta-ki said, calm and composed. "All targets on the runway have been eliminated. Over and out." He lowered his communicator and turned toward his partner.

Ni-ki pushed himself up from the prone position, rolling his shoulders before tearing off the top layer of his protective gear. Sweat clung to his shirt beneath. "If only you were a better shot than me…" he teased.

Ta-ki scoffed. "You're one of the top five officers in the country. You don't need to rub it in."

Ni-ki chuckled under his breath, loading another round. "Still doesn't explain how those things even got here. We're on a seaside airport, you can only get in by ship."

"Yeah," Ta-ki nodded, his expression darkening. "They've been restricting entry for days. Only high-ranking officials, technicians, and their families are allowed. My guess is one of them was already infected."

"The situation's under control for now," Ni-ki said, scanning the horizon through his binoculars. The city skyline in the far distance flickered with distant explosions. "But who knows how long that'll last?"

Ta-ki exhaled, lowering his weapon. "What do you think would've happened if we weren't assigned here? You know, because of those terrorist threats?"

Ni-ki gave a half-smile. "Probably this place would've been wiped out already." He patted his rifle. "Still, I don't have infinite ammo."

Ta-ki raised an eyebrow. "You planning to run away?"

"Not planning on it." Ni-ki smirked faintly. "Well… not yet."

The two fell silent, the sound of crashing waves echoing faintly against the empty terminal walls.

Then Ni-ki spoke again, voice low but certain.

"I'm gonna go to the city. Eventually."

Ta-ki turned his head. "What, you got a girl there?"

Ni-ki's smirk softened. "Nah," he said quietly. "A friend. Named Heeseung."

The hum of the idling bus engine and the faint clatter of loose metal parts blended with the distant wails of sirens. Heeseung's eyelids began to droop, exhaustion finally catching up to him after everything they had gone through. His grip on the steering wheel loosened.

"Mr. Lee?"

He didn't respond.

"Mr. Lee."

A firmer tap on his shoulder startled him awake. Jungwon stood beside him, his usual calm expression masking quiet urgency.

"You almost fell asleep," Jungwon said, adjusting his glasses. "If you doze off here, we'll never move."

Heeseung blinked, trying to focus. The road ahead was still a solid wall of red brake lights. Cars were jammed in every direction. Families huddled inside, some crying, some praying, and some just staring blankly into the chaos ahead. Soldiers were positioned between vehicles, yelling instructions and trying to herd survivors into neat lines that no one could maintain.

The air was thick with tension and exhaust fumes.

"I think it would've been better if we had gone toward the suburbs," Heeseung sighed, rubbing his face. "At least it wouldn't look like this."

"There are other ways to escape besides cars," Jay said, watching the chaos through the window.

Sunoo tilted his head. "What do you mean? You're not talking about the seaside airport, are you?"

Jungwon crossed his arms, tone analytical as ever. "As you can see, it's too dangerous to stay in the city. There are groups of people who are trying to flee to islands or isolated areas where there are armed forces stationed."

He paused, glancing toward the endless line of vehicles.

"But it's too late for that. Areas with large numbers of American soldiers or where the SDF is stationed are probably under control right now. However, they've likely started being strict about who they take in. Think about it, if you were in charge, and letting in others meant risking infection, what would you do?"

Jake leaned forward, eyes tired but sharp. "I'd shut myself in."

Jungwon nodded slightly. "Exactly. And what if the whole world started thinking the same way? What if everyone tried to keep their communities as small as possible for maximum survival?" He turned to face them fully. "What we should be doing now isn't chasing some false idea of rescue. We should be thinking about how we're going to survive."

Silence filled the bus. Outside, a child screamed, and the sound of gunfire echoed in the far distance.

Jay exhaled, glancing out the window. "Looking at the situation outside, in order to escape, I believe we'll need to leave this bus and move by foot."

"Then let's alight," Mirae said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

They gathered what they could and stepped out into the night. The air was cool but carried the sour scent of decay. Together, they climbed the overhead bridge, their footsteps echoing faintly against the metal flooring. Below, a river rushed violently under the bridge, reflecting the red glow of traffic lights.

"The water level went up," Sunghoon observed, gripping the railing. "I guess it wouldn't be possible to go upstream. So what should we do now?"

Heeseung adjusted his glasses and pointed toward the faint silhouette of buildings nearby. "Then we should get some rest for today. There's a place we can use, it's nearby, so we can walk there."

Jake gave him a questioning look. "Is it your girlfriend's?"

Heeseung chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Nope. My buddy's place. He's always traveling for work, so he gave me the key. I usually go over there to let some fresh air in."

Sunoo perked up. "Is it an apartment? Is the view good?"

"Yeah," Heeseung replied. "It's a maisonette next to the river. Close to a convenience store too. Oh, and he has a tank."

"A tank?" Jay frowned. "Like… a real tank?"

Mirae laughed faintly for the first time that day, brushing her hair back. "Well, I'm tired too. I'd like to shower while there's still working electricity."

With that small bit of normalcy in their voices, the group began to move again toward the faint light ahead.

The television buzzed weakly, static cutting through before a weary anchor's voice came through the speakers: 《"The killer pandemic is rapidly spreading throughout the world. Our government, as well as others, is collapsing with no viable solution to this outbreak. In this country alone, the death toll has surpassed two million. Due to the infectious nature of this disease and the lack of government support, that number is projected to double within the next one or two days.

We've also taken heavy casualties just to keep this broadcast running. Our team will be evacuating to an offshore facility to prevent further losses. This will be our final transmission. Farewell, everyone… and may you find safety, wherever you are."》

The screen went black. Silence filled the apartment, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the sound of Mirae's shower running in the background.

In the living room, the boys were busy cracking open a row of metal lockers they'd found. The hinges groaned as they pried them open, and inside were rows of rifles, pistols, and boxes of ammunition stacked like treasure.

Jake whistled softly, crouching to pick up a rifle. "Well, that's a surprise. I just hope this is the only thing I'll have to point it at."

Sunghoon glanced at him, expression unreadable. "You know that's not possible. Things are only going to get worse from here."

"In a world like this," Jay added, examining a handgun before expertly loading a clip, "there's no surrendering or talking it out. It's survival or nothing. Anyway, someone help me load these mags."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "You sound way too comfortable with that thing. Done this before? With air guns or something?"

Jay gave a small, humorless chuckle. "Nope. With real ones."

Sunoo's eyes widened. "Wait, you've actually fired a real gun?!"

"Yeah," Jay said casually, not looking up. "When I went to America, I trained for a month with a Blackwater instructor. Ex-Delta Force captain."

Sunoo blinked. "Okay, I officially feel safer having you on our side."

Sunghoon set down a disassembled rifle, his tone sharp with curiosity. "By the way, who is Mr. Lee's friend? Because these guns definitely aren't something a regular guy should own."

Jay smirked faintly. "Technically, it's not illegal if you buy all the parts separately. It only becomes illegal once you put them together. Mr. Lee said his friend was in the SAT—Special Assault Team."

Jake sighed. "So it's fine as long as you're police, huh?"

Jungwon leaned against the table, crossing his arms. "More like it's fine if you know how to hide it. Think about it, regular officers live in dorms, not riverside maisonettes. If this guy can afford a place like this, either his family's rich… or he's involved in something deeper than we think."

Everyone went quiet for a moment, the weight of the world outside pressing in from the flickering city beyond the windows.

The static cleared again, and a new broadcast flickered to life on the screen. A female reporter's voice came through, steady, but strained beneath the weight of exhaustion.

《"A lockdown is now in effect here in the city. However, as this pandemic continues to spread worldwide, one in ten citizens are questioning the effectiveness of these measures. Those of us left behind due to the lack of transportation to our offshore facility will continue to report on the current situation through satellite communications."》

The footage cut to chaotic scenes of the streets below, people pushing against barricades, banners raised high, smoke filling the air. The voice of the reporter carried on, her tone tighter now as shouts rose behind her.

《"Right now, we're live at the demonstrations taking place in several districts, where citizens are protesting against the lockdown. The nature of this group remains unclear, but according to the flyers they've distributed, they believe this pandemic was caused by the leak of a biological weapon developed jointly by Japanese and American governments."》

A man in the crowd, his face half-covered by a torn mask, shouted through a megaphone, his voice crackling with anger:

《"This abuse of power by the police is unforgivable! We condemn those responsible for this killer pandemic! You've doomed us all with your experiments!"》

The screen shook as the crowd surged forward. Tear gas hissed. Sirens wailed. Then the transmission cut abruptly to static.

Jake frowned at the dead screen, his voice rising. "What? Biological weapons? There's no way science can explain how corpses are moving and attacking people!"

Sunoo crossed his arms, unease flickering in his eyes. "Maybe it's not science anymore. Maybe we're way past that."

Jungwon leaned closer to the window, watching the faint glow of fires in the distance. "Whatever it is, people will start tearing each other apart long before the dead do."

A heavy silence fell over the group, the hum of the air conditioner, the faint dripping from Mirae's shower, and the distant chaos outside blending into one grim melody of a world collapsing.

Steam fogged the bathroom mirror as Mirae stepped out, towel around her shoulders. Her exhaustion finally caught up with her, and after muttering a faint "goodnight", she sank into the makeshift bed. Within minutes, her breathing softened into sleep.

Outside on the balcony, the night was heavy with silence, the kind that carried danger in its stillness. Jake leaned on the railing beside Jay, taking the binoculars from him.

Through the lenses, the world beyond looked like a forgotten battlefield. Fires burned faintly in the distance, and what used to be streets were now crawling with the dead. Every direction Jake turned, there were moving, staggering, devouring bodies

Then, he froze. At the far edge of the neighborhood, a small house glowed faintly, light flickering behind its curtains. Someone was still alive.

He adjusted the focus. A couple was approaching the house. The man banged on the door desperately, shouting words Jake couldn't hear. For a moment, the door cracked open and then a blade flashed.

Jake's heart stopped as the man stumbled back, clutching his side. The door then slammed shut again. The woman dropped to her knees, cradling him as his body went limp. Her cries carried through the dead night, raw and breaking, and that sound alone was enough to turn every nearby corpse in her direction.

"Shit…" Jake whispered.

Before he could react, Jay had already raised his rifle. A muffled crack rang out, a bullet bursting through the skull of a zombie inches from the woman. Two more shots followed, dropping others that stumbled toward her.

Jake turned sharply. "Dude, what happened to not shooting? And abandoning people to save yourself?"

Jay didn't lower his rifle. "It's a woman, Jake! You're going to rescue her, right? I'll cover you from here!"

Jake sighed, shaking his head but smirking faintly. "You're out of your damn mind…"

He strode back into the apartment, grabbing his bag and a helmet before mounting a dusty motorbike by the door.

Heeseung, who had been checking his gun, looked up. "Don't rely on the gun. The sound will draw them."

Jake started the engine, a low rumble filling the hallway. "Welp, the bike's gonna be noisy anyway."

"Correct," Jungwon added calmly, "but noise from movement scatters attention. Gunfire doesn't."

Jake revved the engine once, then looked back. "Open the door."

Heeseung and Jungwon pulled it wide, and Jake shot out into the night. Tires screeching, wind tearing through the silence as he zigzagged down the streets. Jay fired with precision from above, dropping zombies that got too close while Jake made his way toward the house.

When he arrived, the scene was chaos. Bodies pressing against the gates, the woman cornered near her fallen boyfriend. Jake leaped off the bike and swung his bat, cracking skulls one after another.

Inside the apartment, the others stirred awake. Sunoo rushed to wake Mirae. "Get up, we're moving! Now!"

They began preparing weapons and loading the tank Heeseung's friend had left behind.

"Is the car ready?" Jungwon asked as he peered outside.

Sunghoon loaded the last crate. "Now's the time. The noise from Jake's bike is pulling them away."

"But how will he get back? He'll be trapped."

"Then we meet him halfway," Heeseung said, holding up the keys. "This thing's built to survive a war."

Sunghoon nodded. "After we pick him up, we head for the other side of the river."

Back on the street, the woman knelt beside her boyfriend, tears streaking her dirt-stained face. Jake paused, watching the quiet devastation before stepping closer. He removed his jacket, gently covering the man's face, then plucked a single flower growing from a crack in the pavement and handed it to her.

"He died protecting you," Jake said softly. "That makes him a good man."

You, trembling and broken, placed the flower on the cloth, whispering something Jake couldn't hear. Then, the moans grew louder. Hands slammed against the gates.

"Don't cry too loud," Jake muttered. "They'll hear you."

The street was a sea of moving shadows. There was no way through the front, and the back was crawling. Jake's eyes darted until he found it, a low wall running along the side of the house.

He climbed first, then offered his hand. You hesitated but took it. Together, both of you balanced on the narrow ledge, shuffling step by step as the undead reached from below.

"Try not to look down," Jake whispered. "Just keep your eyes forward."

Then came the low rumble, an engine, distant but growing. Headlights cut through the darkness. The tank barreled through the street, crushing zombies beneath its treads. Jake's heart leaped.

"Come quickly, Jake!" Mirae shouted from the hatch.

"It's impossible!" he yelled back, glancing at the mass still below.

"Move!" Jay's voice crackled through the radio. Gunfire burst again as he cleared a path.

Jake took your hand tighter. "On three. One… two… jump!"

You both leapt from the wall, landing hard on the tank's hull as Heeseung gunned the engine.

The tank roared forward, smashing through the last cluster of undead before speeding down the ruined streets, leaving behind the flickering house, the bodies, and the sound of a dying city.

Morning came slow and gray. The tank ploughed through the river like a low, armored whale, water spraying along its flanks until they reached the far bank. Dust and mist rose as Heeseung killed the engine; the world smelled of wet metal and damp earth. For a moment everyone just sat, exhausted and bone-tired, and let the silence fill the space between the words.

"We'll rest for a bit," Sunghoon said. "Just long enough to catch our breath."

They gathered on the tank's rear deck, knees bunched, backs against the cold metal. The daylight was thin, but it felt safer than the blackness of last night.

"Jake, take this," Jay said, pressing a shotgun into his hands. "Aim for the head. Close range. You can do it."

"I told you, I don't know how to use one," Jake muttered, hefting the weapon awkwardly. "I'm better with a bat."

Jay didn't miss a beat. He crouched beside Jake and walked him through it like an impatient instructor. "Load the shotshells in here," he said, tapping the shotgun's chamber. "Get your target in sight, press the trigger, and boom, head gone. Stick to targets close enough to be safe; you haven't had practice."

Jake frowned as he fumbled a shell. "And when I run out?"

"Break the gate open here," Jay said, demonstrating the pump action. "Push the shells in like this. Most of these hold four rounds plus one in the chamber—five total. Use them wisely." He paused, tone softer. "Also, recoil is strong. Don't let it punch you in the face."

Jake scowled. "If it gets that bad, I'll use it like a bat."

"Fine," Jay grinned half-heartedly. "But this is to help you survive, not decorate your wall."

"I know," Jake said, shoulders easing.

While they sorted weapons, Sunghoon and Sunoo climbed the grassy slope beside the road to peer over the ridge. The landscape below looked deceptively calm in daylight: empty streets, burnt-out cars, the occasional shambling figure in the distance. No immediate cluster of the undead closed in on their position.

"Heeseung, you good to drive up?" Sunoo called down.

Heeseung nodded from the tank's driver's hatch and began steering up the slope, treads grinding on the soft earth. The tank eased onto the road as the group reassembled and checked their gear one last time.

"What's the plan?" Heeseung asked, wiping sleep from his eyes.

"Jungwon's house is the closest," Jake said after a beat. He tightened the strap on his makeshift pack. "Let's go there first."

The tank rumbled forward, the group settling into a wary silence, a fragile and practical calm between them as they moved toward the next uncertain stop.

For a while, their travel was smooth. The streets were eerily silent, save for the rumble of the tank's treads. Then, Jay's voice broke the quiet.

"Zombies! Ahead and to the right, three hundred meters out."

"Turn right!" Jungwon commanded. Heeseung followed instantly, turning the wheel hard. But as they veered right, more figures stumbled into view.

"More on this side! Turn left!" Jungwon barked.

Heeseung did as told, but the horde thickened on both sides. "Keep up the speed and push them aside!" Jungwon ordered.

On top of the tank, Jake and Mirae scanned the road ahead. Mirae suddenly shouted, "Stop! Stop driving forward!"

Sunghoon squinted at the road, his eyes catching something faint in the air. "Wire! A wire's affixed to the walls! Turn the car to the side!"

Heeseung jerked the controls, but the tank screeched loudly, the steel grinding as the wire caught its front. Sparks flew, and the vehicle veered sharply.

"Why won't it stop?!" Heeseung shouted in panic.

"Lock the tires! Ease off the brake and step on the gas!" Jay instructed, gripping the seat to steady himself.

But Heeseung, unfamiliar with controlling something this heavy, slammed the brake fully instead. The tank lurched violently to a stop, and Mirae was thrown off the top, landing hard on the road.

"Mirae!" Jake yelled, scrambling out. Zombies were already closing in. He fumbled with the shotgun, his hands trembling.

"Open the slide… aim for the head… and fire!" he recited to himself. The gun roared, but the shot went wide, striking a zombie in the shoulder.

"What? But I aimed for the head!"

"You're a lousy shooter!" Jay snapped. "The recoil's raising your muzzle! Hold the gun straight and aim at their chest!"

Jake steadied himself, following Jay's words. "Aim at the chest… then fire…" Two zombies dropped instantly.

"After firing, release the trigger and open the slide! The muzzle shifts a little!" Jay continued yelling instructions over the chaos.

Even so, their ammo dwindled fast. The crowd of undead was endless.

"The engine stalled! I can't start it!" Heeseung yelled.

"None of us are dying here!" Jungwon shouted back. "My house is just around the corner!"

They fought until dusk, but when the bullets finally ran out, Jake and you were forced to switch to melee weapons. Side by side, you swung and struck, creating as much noise as possible to draw the horde away from the others. The plan worked mostly. The majority of zombies followed, but a few lingered stubbornly near the tank.

Just when exhaustion began to set in, a voice echoed from nearby. Sharp and commanding.

"Everyone, get down!"

Gunfire erupted, clean and precise. One by one, the zombies dropped to the ground. When the smoke cleared, a woman emerged from behind a barricade, Jungwon's mother, armed and steady.

"Our situation, on the other hand, does not bode well," you said quietly, glancing down. Below, a few zombies still lingered near where you and Jake had taken cover. "I don't believe they'll come help us."

Jake gritted his teeth. "Then we'll take a detour. I know my way around this area."

And without hesitation, you followed him, both running through the narrow, debris-filled streets, hearts pounding, hoping the others would make it out alive.

They ran down a narrow alleyway, ducking under broken signboards and sidestepping abandoned bicycles until Jake spotted a large vehicle store just up ahead. Its glass doors had been shattered, and the inside was dim, but the faint gleam of metal caught his attention.

"Over here!" he said, pulling you inside. Rows of vehicles lined the floor. Bikes, cars, and one particularly large, amphibious vehicle with the words "Aqua-Runner" painted on the side.

Jake let out a low whistle. "Now this is our ride."

Without wasting another second, he climbed into the driver's seat while you hopped into the passenger side, shutting the door behind you. The engine roared to life with a deep rumble that shook the dust off the shelves.

"Hold on tight," Jake warned, gripping the steering wheel.

He pressed the accelerator, and the vehicle surged forward, smashing through the half-collapsed shutters before speeding down the road. The groans of the undead echoed faintly behind, but they were already too far ahead.

"Heading for the lake," Jake said, eyes on the road. Before you could respond, he drove straight toward the edge of the slope. The car dove down the incline, tires screeching as it skidded across the dirt. You braced yourself while Jake fought the steering wheel, managing to stop just before hitting the lake's edge.

Zombies at the top began to tumble down after them, slipping helplessly down the steep hill.

"They can use the stairs but not a steep slope?" Jake muttered, eyebrows raised.

"Say whatever you want," you replied dryly, "but can we move on? They're getting up again."

"Right, right."

Jake shifted gears, driving straight into the lake. The water exploded around you in a wave of white foam. Cold droplets splattered your face, and Jake laughed nervously before realizing what he'd just done.

"Okay, this might've been a bad idea because I totally forgot your clothes might get soaked-"

He turned toward you mid-sentence, only to freeze when he saw how the water had clung to your shirt, turning the thin fabric nearly transparent. His face turned scarlet in an instant, and he whipped his head away so fast he nearly hit the steering wheel.

"I-I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to- I mean, I didn't see anything! I mean I did, but- oh my god, I'm sorry!"

You sighed and covered yourself with your jacket. "Just… drive, Jake."

"Right! Driving!"

The vehicle glided smoothly across the water's surface, its hybrid engines humming. After a few minutes, Jake spotted a small patch of land, a dry mound large enough for them to stop and catch their breath.

He parked, stepping out to check the area. "Safe enough for now."

You wrung the water from your sleeves while Jake rummaged through a side compartment. A moment later, he held up a folded piece of clothing. "Here. Found a spare outfit in the back."

Once you'd changed into the dry clothes, you stepped out of the car. "Now that I'm changed… should we leave? There are less of them now."

Jake nodded. "Ah, yeah. Let's go."

You both climbed back in, the engine roaring once more as the vehicle crawled up from the lake and back onto the cracked road. The journey to Jungwon's house resumed, the night slowly descending upon the ruined city.

By the time the moon rose high, exhaustion had set in. Jake spotted an old temple off the road, its gates half-broken but still standing.

"Let's rest here for the night," he said quietly.

You both parked near the entrance and slipped inside. The temple smelled faintly of dust and wax. You locked the doors securely while Jake found a few old candles and lit them one by one, their flickering light painting warm shapes across the walls.

He turned to you, holding another neatly folded outfit, your dried clothes. "Here. Yours are ready now."

You nodded and stepped behind one of the wooden partitions to change. Jake, keeping his promise, stepped outside to give you privacy.

When you called softly that you were done, he came back in. The candles reflected off his face as he smiled faintly, exhaustion softening his usual grin.

"You look warmer now," he said quietly.

The two of you sat down near the candlelight, the distant sounds of the undead fading into the night, replaced only by the hum of wind through the temple's old beams.

The temple was silent except for the faint crackle of candle wicks and the gentle whisper of wind brushing through broken wooden slats. You and Jake sat across from each other, the flickering light casting soft, golden shadows over his face. He looked calmer now, his usual sarcastic grin replaced by something quieter, almost tender.

"You know," Jake started, breaking the silence, "I never thought I'd be spending a night in a temple during an apocalypse. With someone who actually doesn't drive me insane, I mean."

You smiled faintly. "I'll take that as a compliment."

He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It is. You're... braver than I expected. Most people would've frozen back there when we climbed the fence, or screamed when I drove us into a lake."

"I almost did both," you admitted, a small laugh escaping. "But if I panicked, I'd just slow you down."

Jake tilted his head, watching you quietly for a moment. "Still. You kept moving. You're stronger than you think."

There was something about the way he said it, steady and sincere, that made your heart flutter just a little. You looked down, brushing your fingers over the hem of your sleeve. "You're not bad yourself, you know. Kind of reckless, but... you didn't leave me behind."

Jake leaned back against one of the temple pillars, his lips curving into that familiar half-smile. "Yeah, well. Jay would've yelled at me forever if I did."

You laughed softly. "Right. Can't risk that."

The laughter faded, replaced by a comfortable silence. Outside, the world was chaos, moaning, growling and dying, but in here, the candlelight wrapped the two of you in a fragile peace. Jake reached out absently and pushed a candle a little closer to you, his fingers brushing yours for a brief moment.

The touch was light, fleeting, but enough to send warmth creeping up your neck. Jake seemed to feel it too; he glanced away quickly, clearing his throat.

"Uh- just making sure it doesn't go out," he muttered.

"Of course," you said softly, hiding a smile.

Minutes turned into an hour. The two of you shared quiet stories, little fragments of life before the outbreak. Jake talked about his brother, the stupid bets he used to lose, and how he missed real coffee. You told him about your favorite places to go when you needed to think. Somewhere between laughter and sighs, the distance between you grew smaller.

When a gust of cold air slipped through the cracks in the wall, Jake noticed you shiver. Without a word, he took off his jacket and handed it to you.

"Here," he said, eyes averted. "You'll freeze."

You hesitated, then accepted it, pulling the jacket around yourself. It smelled faintly like smoke and rain, and a little like him. "Thanks, Jake."

He shrugged, sitting beside you instead of across. "Don't mention it. It's not like I can sleep knowing you're cold."

The closeness made the silence heavier, yet not uncomfortable. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, steady and grounding. The flickering candlelight painted soft gold on his skin, and his eyes, tired but still full of life, met yours for a heartbeat too long.

He gave a small, crooked smile. "If things were... you know, normal… I'd probably ask for your number right about now."

You smiled, the corners of your lips tugging up. "If things were normal, I'd probably say yes."

Jake laughed quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor, then back at you again. "Guess we'll just have to make do with the end of the world then."

The night deepened, the candles slowly burning lower. At some point, your shoulder brushed his, then stayed there. Jake didn't move away; he simply leaned in, resting lightly against you.

The warmth between you wasn't loud or desperate. It was quiet, like the flicker of a small fire keeping the cold at bay. And before sleep finally pulled both of you under, Jake whispered, voice barely audible: "Hey... I'll make sure we both see another sunrise. Promise."

You smiled against the dim candlelight, your eyes closing. "I'll hold you to that."

Outside, the world burned and groaned. But in the old temple, for just one night, there was peace, and the quiet, fragile start of something human in the midst of ruin.

The sun rose pale and hazy over the ruined skyline. Morning dew clung to the edges of broken temple stones as you and Jake stepped out together, your hands intertwined. The air was cool, heavy with silence, and then came the groans.

A small horde staggered out from the tree line, their silhouettes twisting against the faint gold light. You and Jake shared one look, an unspoken understanding, and let go of each other's hands. Jake lifted his shotgun, pumping it once, while you gripped a steel pipe scavenged from the temple yard.

"Stay behind me," Jake said, though he knew you wouldn't.

"Not happening," you replied, swinging first.

The fight was fast, brutal, and rhythmic, like survival had become a strange kind of dance. You dodged a swipe, slamming your weapon against one's skull; Jake fired twice, the recoil jarring his shoulder but dropping two at once. Both of you moved in sync, breathless but alive.

When the last corpse hit the ground, Jake glanced at you, blood-streaked, panting, but still standing. He smiled faintly. "Not bad, partner."

"Same to you," you said, brushing hair out of your face.

After checking the surroundings, the two of you continued your way down the cracked road until a familiar gate came into view. A tall, reinforced metal fence, half-covered in ivy, Jungwon's house.

Jake knocked hard, shouting, "Jungwon! It's us!"

The sound of locks turning echoed from the other side, and Jungwon's face appeared through the small crack in the gate. Relief flashed across his expression as he swung it open.

"Thank god. I thought the noise outside was another wave."

Once inside, the tension melted. The others were safe, tired, but alive. The group spent the next few hours patching wounds, eating canned food, and resting.

Jake sat by the window later that afternoon, gaze distant. His voice was soft when he spoke, almost as if talking to himself.

"Mutiny on the Bounty... It was my second year in middle school," he murmured. "Our homeroom teacher told us about it, how a ship's crew lost discipline after staying too long in paradise. He compared it to spring break."

He chuckled bitterly. "Guess we're in ‘Tahiti' now too, huh? This house feels safe, maybe too safe."

No one interrupted. The quiet hum of the city's decay filled the silence instead.

Later, as dusk fell, Heeseung perked up suddenly from where he sat fiddling with Jake's old phone. "Hey, I think I still remember my friend's number."

Jake tossed him the phone. "Go ahead. If he's alive, it's worth a shot."

Heeseung quickly dialed the number, pressing the phone close to his ear. After a few tense seconds-

"Ni-ki! You're alive!" Heeseung's face lit up. "Man, I had so much trouble, but now-"

"Save that for later," came Ni-ki's voice from the other end, distorted but firm. "Where are you right now? My place?"

"Oh, no, it's not safe there anymore," Heeseung said. "But we did borrow your guns and some other stuff…"

"That's fine, but where-"

The line went dead. Then, everything went white. A blinding flash burst through the window. It wasn't lightning, it was too wide, too intense, swallowing every shadow in its path. Everyone shielded their eyes as the room filled with that unnatural glare.

"Jungwon, what is that?!" Sunghoon shouted.

Jungwon's face went pale. "No… no, it can't be-"

At Ni-ki's location, the same light consumed the streets. His phone flickered once before cutting off completely. He turned toward the window, eyes wide with dread. "They… they actually did it."

Back in Jungwon's house, the light faded, leaving behind silence, and the faint scent of burning circuits. Jake blinked rapidly, his ears ringing.

"Mirae," Jungwon said quickly, "try aiming your dot sight at me."

Mirae steadied her gun, squinting through the scope. "Uh… there's no dot."

Jungwon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Just as I thought."

"What's going on?" Jake asked.

"It's an electromagnetic pulse, an EMP attack," Jungwon said grimly. "Also known as HANE, High-Altitude Nuclear Explosion. When a nuclear warhead detonates in the upper atmosphere, the gamma rays knock electrons loose from air molecules. Those electrons get trapped by Earth's magnetic field and release a massive electromagnetic pulse."

He looked around the room, his tone heavy. "That pulse travels through antennas and fries any electronic circuit it touches. Phones, cars, power grids—everything."

Sunoo blinked. "So basically…"

"We can't use electronics," Jungwon finished. "Phones are dead, computers too. Cars won't work unless they're old enough to not rely on chips. Even the power plants are likely down."

Jake rubbed his temples. "So that's it, huh? We're cut off."

"Completely," Jungwon confirmed. "Only military-grade equipment might still function. The SDF and a few government bases probably have EMP shielding, but for the rest of us…"

He looked toward the window, where the city skyline was dark and eerily still.

"…we're back to the stone age."

The group exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of realization settling in. For the first time since the outbreak began, it wasn't just the infected they had to fear, it was the end of every system that once held their world together. They moved fast. The moment Jungwon finished explaining, the group hurried toward the garage, hoping for some kind of miracle, and somehow, one was waiting for them.

A man in grease-stained overalls slid out from beneath a half-repaired armored SUV, blinking up at the sudden flood of light from their flashlights. "Oh, you folks ain't biters," he said with a relieved sigh, wiping his hands on a rag. "If you're here about the car, she's good to go. Built to withstand EMPs, triple copper plating and insulated circuits. She'll run even if the world's fried."

Jake stared at him, stunned. "You're kidding."

The mechanic chuckled hoarsely. "Wouldn't dare. Now get in before those things smell the noise."

They didn't need to be told twice. Everyone piled into the reinforced vehicle. Jungwon, you and Sunghoon at the windows, Sunoo, Jay and Mirae loading their weapons in the back, Jake in the passenger seat, and Heeseung gripping the wheel.

He turned the key once. The engine roared to life. A sound they hadn't heard in hours. A sound that felt like hope.

Heeseung exhaled shakily, hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Now where are we heading?"

Jake looked out the cracked windshield, the road ahead faintly glowing under the moonlight. "As far as you can take us," he said quietly. "Mirae and I… we need to find our parents. After that, we'll look for your friend."

Heeseung gave a small nod. "Okay."

The car rolled forward, the reinforced tires crunching over debris. Outside, the world was a wasteland of burned-out lights and silence, save for the faint, distant groans that echoed across the empty streets.

By evening, they reached the highway. And what awaited them was chaos. The long stretch of road was littered with overturned vehicles, and among them, hundreds of the undead, shambling endlessly beneath the fading sun. Their hollow eyes turned as the headlights cut through the dusk.

Jake gripped his shotgun. Mirae steadied her aim. Heeseung pressed his foot to the pedal, jaw set tight.

"Looks like the fight for survival still continues," Jungwon murmured.

The car surged forward, headlights slicing through the darkness as the first wave of zombies came into view, and the battle for another day began.

And so, here you stand, under a full moon that seems a little too bright for comfort, listening to your friends’ voices dripping with mockery.

"We’ll give you an hour," one of them says, glancing at their phone. "One round trip into the forest and back. But don’t worry, we’re not that cruel. If you’re not back in an hour, we’ll call the police."

You almost roll your eyes. Such thoughtful friends, you think bitterly. Maybe I should start shopping for new ones after this.

Still, as the wind tugs at your red coat and the forest looms before you, you take just one step forward, because apparently, you're dumb enough to prove you're not the little red riding hood.

The moment your boot presses into the damp earth, the air changes. The laughter of your friends fades behind you, swallowed by the quiet sigh of trees. It isn't entirely silent—the leaves rustle softly, as though whispering to one another about your arrival, and the crickets sing a fragile lullaby between their pauses.

It's eerie, but… not hostile. At least not yet.

Moonlight spills between the branches like spilled mercury, painting silver veins along the path. The forest floor is carpeted with moss so soft it muffles your footsteps. Every step you take feels muted and distant, as though the world outside this place no longer exists.

It's strange how peaceful it is, you think. You almost forget you're here because of a dare, that this forest has a reputation for swallowing people whole. The air smells faintly of pine and rain-soaked bark, grounding and almost comforting, though something beneath it, faint and metallic, lingers too long in your nose.

The trees here are too old, their bark twists in shapes that resemble faces, their shadows long enough to look like stretched arms. When the wind moves, the branches sway, and for a moment, you swear they lean just a little closer.

You tug your red coat tighter. The night is beautiful, yes, but it's the kind of beauty that feels… watched. The kind that smiles at you while hiding its teeth. And though it feels peaceful, you can't help but sense that the forest isn't quiet because it's asleep. It's quiet because it's listening.

Luckily, you have your old watch. Its ticking a soft, reassuring rhythm against your wrist. You glance at it beneath the silver wash of moonlight and do a bit of quick mental math. If you spend thirty minutes wandering, that leaves thirty more to make your way back before your so-called friends start dialing the police. Reasonable enough. You're not here to win some bravery award, after all.

The forest is vast, stretching endlessly in every direction, but you have no intention of finding its heart. Curiosity might be what gets fairy-tale girls into trouble, but you're not one of them. You stick to a faint trail that looks barely used, the kind that might have once been carved by deer or forgotten travelers, until the sound of trickling water reaches your ears.

Drawn by it, you part the curtain of hanging branches, and there it is.

A lake.

It lies still and glassy under the moonlight, its surface so clear it almost doesn't look real. The full moon rests upon it like a coin dropped into an unmoving pool, its reflection shimmering with every breath of wind. The water catches the light in such a way that it looks as if the stars themselves have gathered there, trapped just beneath the surface.

You step closer, your boots crunching softly over the pebbled shore. The air here feels lighter, colder, the silence around the lake deeper than anywhere else in the forest. It's almost peaceful enough to forget where you are.

You crouch down, watching the mirrored moon ripple gently when you toss a small stone into the water. The ripples widen, distorting the reflection into shifting rings of light. For a fleeting moment, it's beautiful, calm, serene, and untouched.

Then you see it, a shadow shifting across the water's reflection, solidifying into shape.

A wolf, but not just any wolf. This one is enormous, far larger than any you've ever seen or even imagined outside of stories told to frighten children. Its fur glows faintly under the moonlight, a pale, silvery white that blends with the mist rising from the lake. Its eyes—crimson, raw, and alive—catch the light and hold it, burning like embers against the dark.

It has seen you.

You freeze, breath catching in your throat. Every instinct screams to run, yet your body refuses to obey. The night feels suspended and soundless, even the wind seems to hold its breath. You know one wrong movement could mark you as prey, and against a creature like that, there's no winning.

The wolf stands across the lake, muscles tense, head tilted slightly as if trying to make sense of you. The moonlight slides across its back, tracing every ripple of its fur as it takes a step forward. Then another. Slowly, deliberately, it begins to move. Not toward the forest, toward you.

It circles the lake's edge with the grace of a predator that doesn't need to rush. Its gaze never leaves you; those red eyes stay locked, unblinking, studying and dissecting. The sound of its paws pressing into the earth is barely audible, yet each step makes your pulse hammer harder in your chest.

You dare not move, not even to breathe too deeply. Only your eyes follow its movement as it makes its way around, the distance between you shrinking with each quiet stride.

When it finally reaches your side of the lake, the air feels heavier, thick with something primal. Fear, awe, or perhaps a strange, haunting familiarity. The wolf stops a few paces away, its breath misting softly in the cold night air.

And still, it looks at you.

Then, something happens.

A sharp crack splits the air—then another, and another—like the sound of dry branches snapping under impossible weight. The wolf's body convulses, its bones shifting beneath its luminous fur, twisting, reshaping. You stagger back a step, heart pounding, frozen between terror and disbelief. The sounds grow louder. Crunching, snapping, and rearranging, until it feels like the whole forest echoes with the noise.

You squeeze your eyes shut, unable to watch, bracing for the moment it pounces and pins you to the earth. You wait for the weight, the claws, the bite, but none of it comes.

The night falls still again. The cracking stops. The forest exhales.

And then, a low, commanding, distinctly human voice cuts through the silence.

"Get back out, human."

You jolt, your eyes flying open just a fraction before you dare to widen them. The sight before you steals every trace of breath from your lungs.

The wolf is gone. In its place stands a tall, broad-shouldered, and impossibly striking beneath the pale moonlight man. His skin carries a faint luminescence, a remnant of the wolf's silvery sheen, and his hair falls in dark waves that frame his sharp, sculpted features. His jawline is clean and defined, his lips a soft curve that looks almost too perfect to belong to someone with such a deadly presence. But it's his eyes that root you in place. It's glowing crimson, intense and unyielding, burning with a mix of irritation and something else you can't name.

He looks at you as though you've committed the greatest inconvenience of his night.

"Did a human not understand basic language?" he says again, his tone clipped, his words crisp enough to sting. "Get out, human."

You open your mouth, but your throat betrays you.

"I…"

That's all you manage. The rest of your voice seems to dissolve before it even reaches your tongue. Because yes, there's fear—a deep, instinctive fear that reminds you this man isn't normal. But mingled with that fear is something else.

Awe.

The kind that crawls under your skin and makes your chest tighten. His presence is magnetic and dangerous, yes, but mesmerizing in a way that makes it impossible to look away. The moonlight clings to him, outlining his figure in a faint silver glow, and for a moment, you wonder if the stories of monsters and men have always been one and the same. His gaze narrows slightly, a flicker of impatience flashing through those blood-red eyes.

"Well?" he says, his voice lower this time, almost a growl. "Do you need me to show you the way out?"

The man exhales sharply through his nose, a sound that's half frustration, half restraint. His crimson eyes remain locked on you as he takes a single, deliberate step forward. The earth beneath his boots barely stirs, but somehow the air shifts all at once, as though the entire forest leans closer with him.

You instinctively take half a step back.

The cold air bites harder against your skin, and your body trembles despite your best effort to stay still. You can feel your pulse hammering at the base of your throat, wild and uneven. Every instinct in you screams to run, but your legs refuse to listen.

He stops, his gaze flicking briefly over your face, your coat, the trembling in your hands. The faintest crease forms between his brows, as though he's trying to decide whether you're brave, foolish, or both.

Still, you don't speak. Your throat feels locked, the words buried deep somewhere between fear and disbelief.

The moonlight catches his profile. Sharp nose, defined cheekbones, a jaw that tenses as if he's fighting the urge to growl again. He looks every bit the creature he once was: something wild and regal, beautiful in a way that feels both divine and dangerous.

"Humans," he mutters under his breath, almost too quiet for you to hear, though the edge of irritation is still there.

Your fingers clutch at your red coat unconsciously, grounding yourself against the dizzying mix of fear and awe that swirls inside you. You want to ask who he is, or what he is, but your voice still won't come.

He tilts his head slightly, watching you with the same unblinking intensity as before. For a fleeting moment, something in his eyes softens, maybe curiosity, before it hardens again.

"Still not moving," he says, voice low, his tone carrying an unspoken warning. "Do you truly wish to test me, little red?"

The nickname strikes through the air like lightning, and your breath catches.

If you like, you could laugh at the irony, that of all stories, you ended up living this one. But laughter dies somewhere in your chest before it can even form. You don't want to be like the Little Red Riding Hood's outcome. You don't want to be the one who gets eaten. Still, the thought echoes bitterly in your mind: there's no grandmother in a cabin waiting for you. No hunter conveniently patrolling nearby. No trick for the wolf to play this time.

Your grandmother lives in the city, far from the whispering pines and secrets of this forest. And you're the only one here. The only heartbeat trembling in the cold air.

You truly wish to beg. The words gather at the edge of your tongue “please, I didn't mean to trespass; please, I'll leave; please, don't-” But you stop yourself. Would begging even work?

You glance at him, the man with the crimson eyes, the wolf beneath the skin, and you already know the answer. His gaze isn't one of mercy or patience. It's primal, ancient, steady as the moon above. He doesn't look like someone who can be swayed by pleading. He looks like a predator, and predators don't listen to fear, they feed on it.

The distance between you feels smaller now, heavy with tension. The night itself seems to hold its breath, waiting for what comes next. Then, like a jolt of cold water, you remember the dare.

Thirty minutes to walk into the forest. Thirty minutes to walk back out.

You swallow hard, forcing your stiff throat to move. "I- I'll leave," you manage, the words stumbling out between shallow breaths. "I- I wasn't supposed to- I'll go now."

Your fingers fumble for your watch, desperate to ground yourself with something familiar. You tap the glass face, trying to see through the faint fog of your own trembling breath.

Shoot. You have twenty minutes left.

You glance back up, but the man is already watching you, his head slightly tilted as though reading every thought running wild in your mind. A faint smirk ghosts across his lips, the kind that isn't quite amusement but something far more dangerous.

"Twenty minutes," he murmurs, voice low and velvety, curling around the air like smoke. "Plenty of time."

Then, his eyes narrow.

"Run, while you still can," he says, taking a slow step forward. "While I chase behind you."

Your breath hitches. He doesn't count down, doesn't even blink, just waits. And like the fool you are, you think he might give you a head start. So you turn sharply on your heel and start running. Your first step nearly sends you sprawling because your legs are still trembling from fear. The ground blurs beneath you as you force yourself to move faster, branches slapping against your arms, your lungs burning from the cold air.

But the moment you start to think you're doing well, that maybe, just maybe, you've gained distance, you hear it.

The cracks. That same dreadful sound of bones shifting, twisting, reshaping. The sound that belongs to him. And then, the forest erupts.

Leaves whip past your face as something enormous moves behind you. The thunder of paws pounding against the earth, the snap of twigs breaking beneath inhuman weight. You don't dare look back. You can feel him—the presence, the force, the wolf—closing in, the air itself trembling with his chase.

You run faster than you ever thought you could, heart hammering, mind blank with pure survival. The forest seems endless, until suddenly, the trees thin, the air opens, and you burst out into the moonlit clearing where your friends are waiting.

You stumble, sliding across the dirt, barely catching yourself before you fall face-first. Your knee scrapes against the ground, hot pain blooming as blood trickles down your skin. You're panting so hard it hurts.

"Whoa- hey! Are you okay?" one of your friends rushes forward, grabbing your arm. "What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

You can't answer. You're still staring past them at the dark line of trees you just escaped from.

And there, deep among the shadows, a faint glimmer catches your eye. Two crimson lights. The wolf's eyes. Watching and unmoving.

You can't shake the feeling that somewhere between the running and the escaping… he let you go. Because no matter how fast you ran, no human could've outrun that beast.

He spared you.

But as the wind stirs and your friends keep asking what's wrong, you know one thing for certain: if you ever come back to this forest again, you won't get a second chance. So you say nothing. You brush the dirt off your bleeding knee, ignore their questions, and start walking home alone, leaving the forest behind.

Or at least… trying to.

Because even as you leave, you can still feel his eyes following you.

You broke things off with your friends not long after that night.

The excuse was simple, you'd "grown apart," you said, pretending it wasn't because of the way they laughed about the dare the next day, completely unaware of what really happened. You couldn't stand their voices anymore, or how easily they dismissed the fear that still curled cold inside your chest.

So, you made new friends. Kinder ones. Ones who didn't mock you for the things that haunted you. You tried to live normally again, study, work, eat, and sleep. You told yourself to forget the forest, to forget the glowing red eyes that burned through the dark. But you couldn't forget him.

The memory lingered. His face, so devastatingly beautiful under the moonlight, carved into your mind like something too vivid to be real. You remembered the gleam of his silver-white fur before he changed, the sound of his low and commanding voice, and the way it made your heart tremble in a way that wasn't entirely from fear.

The longer you stayed away, the worse it got. The temptation grew like a shadow following you quietly, patiently, and always waiting. Sometimes you'd catch yourself glancing out your window at night, half expecting to see those red eyes staring back from the tree line.

You told yourself you weren't going back. That you'd be smart this time. But curiosity has always been the true curse of Red Riding Hood. And so, when morning came one weekend, bright and clear with sunlight streaming through your curtains, you decided it was harmless, just a look.

Daytime couldn't be dangerous, not when the sun touched everything, not when the shadows were small.

That's what you told yourself, so you went back.

The forest looked different under the daylight, warmer and softer. Sunlight poured through the canopy in golden ribbons, catching the dust in the air and turning it to drifting specks of light. Birds sang somewhere far off. The air smelled clean, almost sweet. It was nothing like the eerie stillness of that night.

You followed the same path, the memory of every turn and tree embedded in your steps. Your heart still pounded, but not out of fear this time, anticipation perhaps, or something deeper.

Eventually, you found the lake. Still, quiet, shimmering like glass beneath the sun. But there was no wolf, no man, nothing at all except you and the sound of rippling water.

You hesitated. Going deeper felt wrong, but leaving so quickly made you feel ungrateful, as if you hadn't appreciated the forest's strange beauty the first time.

So, after a long pause, you bent down and untied your shoes. The grass was soft under your feet as you peeled off your socks and stepped closer to the water's edge.

The lake was cool when your toes touched it, the temperature crisp enough to make you shiver slightly. You let the water lap at your ankles, its gentle flow tracing around your skin like a quiet greeting.

It was peaceful.

You let out a small breath and stared at your reflection rippling in the sunlight. Your red coat draped beside you, your face calm for once.

Your peace doesn't last long. It's broken by the sharp crunch of something behind you, the sound of twigs snapping beneath heavy weight. Your breath stills. The air, once warm and golden, turns thick in your lungs.

You turn, heart thudding, half-expecting and half-hoping, to see the familiar silver-white fur glinting in the sunlight. But what greets you freezes your blood instead.

A wolf—massive, like the last—but its fur is as dark as night, sleek and shadowed, absorbing every ray of sunlight that dares touch it. Its lips curl back, revealing sharp teeth slick with saliva, and its crimson eyes gleam with hunger, not curiosity.

This one doesn't just watch. It stalks.

You stumble one step back, then another, the water rippling around your calves as you edge deeper into the lake's center. Your voice trembles as you whisper, "I… I don't mean harm. Please-"

But the wolf doesn't care for words. It lowers itself, shoulders rippling, every muscle tensed. A low growl rumbles from its throat, a sound that vibrates through the ground, through the water, through you.

You keep pleading, but it keeps coming closer, step by deliberate step. The ripples spread wider around you, your reflection breaking apart. But then, a blur of silver flashes past you, so fast the water bursts upward in a spray. Another growl cuts through the air, deeper, sharper, one you recognize immediately. The silver-white wolf. Him.

He slams into the black wolf with a force that shakes the ground, sending both of them sprawling in a snarl of fur and teeth. You stumble backward, splashes echoing around you as they crash into each other, fangs snapping, claws slashing. The air fills with snarls so fierce they don't sound earthly anymore.

You can't tell who's winning. You can't even breathe properly. You just move. You scramble out of the water, heart pounding, legs slick and cold. You grab your shoes and bolt, barefoot, ignoring the sting of sharp stones cutting into your feet. Branches whip against your arms as you run, the forest spinning around you.

You don't look back. The sounds of the fight fade behind you, swallowed by the wind.

By the time you break through the tree line, you're gasping, lungs burning. You collapse to your knees on the dirt, clutching your shoes, the taste of iron in your mouth.

But unlike the first time, you don't stop. Not for long. You shove your shoes back on with shaking hands, sprint the rest of the way home, and burst through your door. You tear through drawers and cabinets, grabbing whatever you can. Antiseptic, bandages, a small towel.

You don't even think. You just go. Back into the forest. Back to the lake. Because the image of him, the silver-white wolf, bleeding, fighting, and protecting you, refuses to leave your mind. You don't know what you'll do when you find him, or if he'll even still be alive. But you have to try. Even if it means going back into the heart of the forest, the place you swore you'd never return to.

The forest greets you again with silence—an eerie stillness that presses down like a thick fog. Your breathing comes quick and shallow as you make your way back to the lake. The smell hits you first. Metallic, heavy, and wrong.

Then you see it. The black wolf's body lies half-submerged in the shallows, its head twisted away from its torn torso. The water around it is dark, clouded red. The sight makes your stomach lurch. You nearly collapse then and there, knees buckling, but your hand catches the nearest tree trunk, bark biting into your palm.

You swallow hard, trying not to be sick.

There's no sign of the silver-white wolf.

"He must be here… somewhere," you whisper to yourself, scanning the trees. You don't even know his name, just his eyes, his voice, and the way he looked at you. If he's hurt, he wouldn't have gone far.

Ignoring every instinct screaming for you to leave, you tighten your grip on the medical kit and press deeper into the forest. The branches claw at your clothes as you push past them, following faint traces of blood on the grass, silver glints under the moonlight, leading you like a cruel trail.

Then you see him. Limping, his once-pristine fur streaked with red, moving slowly through the trees. Your chest tightens.

Without thinking, you call out, "Hey- wait!"

He freezes, head snapping toward you. A low growl rumbles from his throat, his sharp eyes glinting under the dim light.

You halt instantly, holding both hands up in surrender. "I'm just helping you. I mean no harm."

The wolf's eyes narrow. You hear it then, the sickening crack of bones shifting, reforming. You shut your eyes tightly, flinching as the sound continues, until it fades into shallow breathing and the faint rustle of movement.

When you open them again, he's standing there in human form, the same man from before. Pale, sharp-eyed, and now visibly bleeding down his arm.

"Don't you get it," he rasps, voice edged like a blade, "by not coming back here, human?"

Your throat feels dry, but you force the words out, trembling slightly. "I just… wanted to help."

"I don't need help from a human." He growls, and you flinch at the sharpness of his tone, but you don't step back.

"You saved me just now," you say softly, your voice barely steady. "So please…"

His lips twist, almost sneering. "You'd be stupid to think I saved you. All you pathetic humans are useless. Always chasing what you shouldn't, never learning when to stop."

The words sting more than you expected, but you only manage a faint, sad smile. Slowly, you kneel, setting the medical kit down before you.

"No matter what you think, please," you murmur, not daring to meet his eyes, "let me help you."

He clicks his tongue, turning his back with an annoyed sigh. His footsteps crunch on the leaves as he starts walking away.

"I'll come back again if you leave!" you call out, louder now, desperate. "I'll check on your wounds!"

He stops mid-step. You can almost hear his frustration in the silence that follows. Then he turns sharply, his face shadowed but his expression unmistakably irritated.

"So what I'm hearing," he says, his tone low and mocking, "is that you took interest in me."

Your breath catches, your chest tightening. You fumble with the kit, the lid rattling as you open it. "N-no," you stammer.

He snickers under his breath, stepping closer until his shadow looms over you. "Then explain why you're so persistent, little human."

"I'm just-" you swallow, trying to keep your voice steady, "trying to heal you."

"Only pathetic humans heal slow." His eyes flash. "You've seen what I am. I'm not like you."

You bite your lip and reach out, hesitating for a moment before carefully dabbing the blood from his arm.

"I… don't know about that," you whisper.

He raises a brow. "About what?"

Your eyes flick up to meet his for a fleeting second before you focus again on cleaning the wound. "That you heal fast."

He huffs, almost amused, but it comes out as half a growl. "Stupid," he mutters, watching you quietly now, "you are indeed dumb."

You ignore the sting of his words, the way every syllable feels like a deliberate cut, and focus instead on patching his wound. Your fingers tremble a little, not from fear anymore, but from how close he is. The heat radiating from his skin feels unnatural, too warm for someone who should be bleeding this much.

He doesn't speak, and neither do you. The forest seems to hold its breath; only the occasional whisper of wind stirs the silence.

"So," you murmur finally, trying to ease the tension, "I-"

"Shut up." His interruption is immediate, sharp enough to silence the birds.

You blink, startled. "...Aren't you and that black wolf the same?"

His jaw tightens. "Do not compare me and that black dog. We are rivals."

You frown. "Just because you're rivals, you fight until one of you dies?"

"He said something that triggered me."

"He?" You pause in cleaning his arm, curiosity getting the better of you. "So he's a man too, like you. What did he say?"

"Stop trying to interfere," he mutters, looking away, "He was trying to eat you."

You tilt your head slightly, lips curling into a faint smirk despite yourself. "And what did you reply back?"

No answer. He avoids your gaze entirely. Instead, his tone shifts—distant, almost detached.

"He's from another pack," he says, as if changing the subject. "So I have no worries ending him once and for all. Might cause a bit of trouble for my pack, but that's it. It's not like my pack isn't powerful like me."

That last part makes you snort softly, unable to help it. "Confident much?"

"It's a good sign to be confident," he replies, his voice calmer now, almost smug.

You tie the last bandage with care and lean back, brushing the dirt from your knees. "There. Done." You glance up at him with a small smile. "Thank you… for saving me."

He doesn't respond at first, just stands, brushing leaves and twigs from his pants. Then, with a distant expression, he says flatly, "Do me a favour, and don't come back."

You freeze for a second, your fingers tightening around the medic box. The thought of not seeing him again aches more than it should. The idea of returning here still sends chills down your spine, yet… somehow, walking away from him feels worse.

You lower your gaze, murmuring, "But… I'm going to miss you."

His head tilts slightly, and you catch the faintest glint in his eyes before his voice cuts coldly through the air again.

"Don't like me too much. You are just a human." His tone drops to something almost warning, almost sorrowful. "And I am far more powerful than you."

Before you can say anything else, he turns sharply, the sound of cracking bones filling the silence once again. Fur bursts through skin, limbs twist, and in seconds, the man is gone, replaced by the gleaming silver-white wolf you can never forget.

He gives you one unreadable but fierce last look, before he dashes off into the shadows, leaving behind only the faint rustle of leaves and your pounding heartbeat.

You're left kneeling there, alone, staring at the direction he vanished, your heart aching in quiet confusion.

The next day, you find yourself back at the forest's edge. The sunlight filters gently through the canopy, painting the ground in soft gold and green. It's bright, warm, and peaceful, so unlike the haunting chill of that night.

You stay on the border, never daring to step past the first row of trees. A part of you pouts inwardly. You've come all this way, yet you can't even see him. You don't know his name, only the way his silver-white fur shimmered under the moonlight.

You sigh, tapping your foot against the dirt. "You could at least tell me your name before vanishing like that…" you mumble, staring into the forest as if he might somehow hear you.

You want to step in. Every inch of you itches to do so. But the memory of the black wolf's teeth, its guttural growl and the sight of its torn body, it's enough to keep you where you are. So, you loiter, circle the forest's edge like a ghost haunting the boundary between worlds. Then, a voice breaks through your thoughts.

"Hi?"

You turn around sharply. A man stands behind you, holding two paper bags filled with groceries. He looks ordinary—dark hair slightly messy, soft features, a kind smile. There's something strikingly calm about him, though, the kind of presence that doesn't quite fit the ordinary picture he paints.

"Oh- uh, hi," you manage awkwardly.

He gives a small chuckle. "Why are you here, young lady?"

Oh, right. That's… a very good question.

Your mind scrambles for excuses. You obviously can't say you're here hoping to see a giant wolf who turns into a beautiful, red-eyed man. And saying you're just standing here for fun sounds suspiciously weird.

So instead, you decide to do what you do best, deflect. "Why are you here?" you ask, forcing a casual tone.

Without missing a beat, he replies, "My parents live inside the forest."

You blink. "Oh…"

Wait- what? His parents live inside the forest? The same forest where wolves the size of horses roam and tear each other apart? The same forest that seems alive with something far from normal?

"How… do they live in there?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

He laughs lightly, not at all disturbed. "They've lived there all their lives. It's quiet and peaceful. You get used to the company of animals after a while."

Company of animals… right. That's one way to say it.

You can't help but pity him a little. Does he even know? Or… maybe he does. Maybe everyone here pretends not to see.

Then, as if the universe finally heard your silent wish, he says, "Would you like to come with me? You can meet my parents, and you'll get to see how beautiful the forest is inside. I promise it's not as scary as it looks."

Your heart skips. He's inviting you in.

"I- um…" You hesitate for a moment, then nod. "Sure. I can help you carry some of your groceries, too."

He smiles, grateful, handing one of the bags to you. "You're kind. Let's go then."

As you step past the first tree line, your pulse races not from fear this time, but anticipation. You tell yourself it's curiosity, that you're simply exploring, but deep down, you know what you're really hoping for.

You follow behind the man quietly, your footsteps soft against the moss-covered earth. He walks with an effortless familiarity, weaving between the trees as if he's memorized every root, every bend of the forest floor. The deeper you go, the more it feels like you're leaving the world behind. The hum of insects fading, replaced by a slow, rhythmic quiet.

You glance around. The trees stretch tall, endless, and somehow all look the same. There's no clear path, no sign of human life, no sound of birds, nothing to suggest people could live here. Suspicion begins to creep up your spine.

Does he really have a family here?

You're just about to speak when the trees part slightly, revealing something unexpected, a small cottage tucked among the shadows.

It looks… impossibly out of place.

Wooden walls covered in moss, smoke trailing lazily from a crooked chimney, and a small porch decorated with wildflowers growing from broken clay pots. Despite its strange placement in the middle of nowhere, it looks cozy, almost welcoming.

Your suspicion fades, replaced with reluctant awe.

The man turns to you with that same calm smile. "Behind the cottage, there's a more beautiful sight to see," he says, his tone warm, easy. "You should go have a look while I bring these inside. My parents would love to meet you later."

He reaches out, taking the bags gently from your hands.

You nod, still hesitant but polite. "Oh- uh, okay. Thank you for letting me come along."

He just smiles wider. "Of course. It's not often someone visits this deep in the woods."

And then he disappears through the creaking door of the cottage, leaving you alone.

You wait for a moment, unsure what to do next. Curiosity nudges you to follow his suggestion, so you walk around the side of the cottage, brushing past low branches until you reach the back.

But… there's nothing there. Just more trees. The same endless pattern of trunks and leaves and shadows. No breathtaking view. No hidden lake. No sign of beauty beyond what you've already seen.

A strange stillness settles over the air, thicker now. You look back toward the front of the cottage, your pulse picking up.

He said there was something behind here. But there isn't.

You take a cautious step back, scanning the forest. Maybe you just missed it. Maybe he meant something else. But the longer you stand there, the more the hairs on your neck begin to rise.

You decide it's best not to wander any deeper. So, you make your way back around to the front, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.

You stop in front of the cottage door, shifting your weight nervously. The windows are dark now, the faint smoke from the chimney gone.

"Um…" You hesitate, glancing around. "Hello?"

No answer.

The forest remains silent. You swallow, staring at the cottage door, hoping, waiting for the man to come out. Any moment now, he'll walk out, thank you again, and bring you safely back to the edge of the forest. Any moment now. But the longer you wait, the stronger the feeling grows in your chest, that something about this cottage, about the man, and about this forest is wrong.

You freeze when you hear the faint rustle behind you. Leaves brushing, twigs cracking, the air suddenly shifting. You turn quickly, half-expecting that strange man from the cottage to appear again. But instead, something leaps from behind a tree.

The silver-white wolf.

Your heart jumps, and before you can even think, your lips form an excited gasp. "Hi again!" you blurt out, smiling wide as you wave at him like greeting an old friend instead of a creature that once chased you for sport.

The wolf blinks. His head tilts slightly, a movement almost human, before his body begins to twist and stretch, bones cracking in rhythm as fur retracts into skin. The sound should horrify you by now, but somehow, you're used to it. And there he is again. The man with crimson eyes.

He sighs deeply, his expression that familiar mix of irritation and resignation. "Why are you here in the forest again…"

You clutch your hands behind your back, forcing an innocent smile. "I… missed you?"

His jaw tightens. "…And how did you come here?"

You immediately point toward the small cottage. "A man told me that behind that cottage, there's a beautiful view I haven't explored. But I checked earlier, and there's nothing special there. Still, I decided to wait here."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily as though he's run out of patience to scold you. Then, with a sharp glance toward the cottage, he calls out in a low tone, "Na Jaemin. Come out."

For a moment, silence. Then the door creaks open, and the man who led you here, the one with the groceries, peeks his head out, a mischievous smile already tugging at his lips.

"Jeno, my man!"

He practically runs toward the two of you, arms wide, ready to pull Jeno into a hug. But before Jaemin can get close, Jeno presses a firm hand to his chest, stopping him mid-motion and pointing directly at you.

"You were planning to eat her, weren't you?"

Jaemin pouts dramatically, shoulders slumping. "I can't?"

Your brain needs a moment to catch up, and then it hits you. "Eat me?!" you shriek, stepping back instinctively.

Before you can spiral into panic, Jeno's arm moves slightly in front of you, protective and firm. "I'm here," he says, tone calm, almost reassuring. His eyes flick sharply to Jaemin. "I told you about her before."

Jaemin blinks, realization dawning. "Ohhh… so she's your-"

Before he can finish, Jeno's hand flies up to cover Jaemin's mouth, his jaw clenching. "Not. Another. Word."

You narrow your eyes. "I'm his… what?"

"Mind your own business, human," Jeno replies coldly, but the faint redness creeping up his ears betrays him.

Jaemin grins, successfully prying Jeno's hand away. "Welcome to the NCT Dream werewolf pack!" He throws his arms open, gesturing proudly to the cottage.

Your jaw drops. "Wait- werewolf pack?!"

Jaemin nods cheerfully as though announcing something perfectly normal. "Yup! That's our cottage. We all live here, mostly to keep humans out."

Your eyes flick to Jeno, who's glaring daggers at Jaemin.

"And you brought me in here," you say slowly, realization dawning. "You knew exactly what you were doing."

Jaemin smirks, unfazed. "Well, Jeno's been acting weird lately. Thought I'd figure out what kind of human could make our icy wolf break his own rules."

"Jaemin," Jeno warns, his voice low, but Jaemin only grins wider.

"Relax, I'm not going to eat her," he teases. "Unless she wants to stay for dinner."

You blink, unsure if that's a joke or not. "…Define dinner."

Jeno groans, dragging a hand down his face.

Jaemin's grin stretches wide as he waves his arm toward the cottage, his tone cheerful and theatrical, like a host on a variety show.

"So! Since you're standing in our very secret, definitely-not-for-humans territory, you might as well know who we are." He places a hand over his chest, bowing dramatically. "I'm Na Jaemin, the chef, caretaker, and the one responsible for keeping this bunch of wolves alive."

He points toward Jeno, smirking. "That broody one beside you? That's Lee Jeno, our pack's second-in-command and the king of bad temper."

Jeno narrows his eyes at him, muttering under his breath, "Keep talking and I'll make sure your tail's on the menu."

Jaemin chuckles, ignoring the threat. "Then we've got Mark, the leader. He's off handling some pack business in the northern woods. Haechan's probably sleeping somewhere he shouldn't be, Renjun's scouting, Chenle's hunting near the riverside, and Jisung's…" He pauses, smiling softly. "Well, he's our youngest. Probably trying not to burn down the forest again."

You blink, unsure whether he's joking or not. "You… have quite the team."

"Of course," Jaemin says proudly. "We're family."

He stretches lazily and walks toward the small wooden kitchen connected to the cottage. "Anyway, since you're our special guest-" he casts Jeno a teasing glance, "-you might as well stay for dinner."

Your stomach twists between curiosity and nerves. "Dinner?" you echo carefully.

"Relax," Jaemin laughs, catching your expression. "We don't eat humans. At least not often."

"Jaemin," Jeno says warningly, his tone sharp.

"Okay, okay, fine!" Jaemin raises both hands in surrender, still smiling. "Rabbit stew it is. And since I'm cooking, I suppose…" He clasps his hands together, his eyes gleaming like diamonds, "I expect Jeno to bring some rabbits!"

His voice carries through the clearing like a song, and before you can even process it, Jeno sighs deeply, like he knew this was coming. Without another word, he turns around, walking past you into the trees.

Not long after, you hear rustling… then silence.

When he comes back, you nearly jump because behind him lies a small pile of rabbit corpses, their fur glistening faintly under the dappled light.

Jaemin gasps dramatically, clasping his hands together. "Ho ho ho, thank you for the hard work, Jenoooo!"

You blink, torn between awe and mild horror. "…That was fast."

Jeno shrugs nonchalantly, wiping his hands with a cloth Jaemin tosses him. "Jaemin talks too much. I needed him to shut up faster."

Jaemin pouts, offended, but quickly grins again as he kneels beside the rabbits. "Anyway! Let's get cooking, shall we?"

He glances up at you, his eyes twinkling. "You're staying to eat, right? After all, it's not every day Jeno hunts for someone else."

You open your mouth to reply, but the glance Jeno throws your way, subtle yet unreadable, makes your heart skip.

Jaemin hums as he carries the rabbits into the cottage, his voice light and melodic. The door creaks open, releasing the faint scent of herbs and wood smoke, a strange mix of warmth and wilderness. You hesitate by the doorway, glancing at Jeno, who's leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Jaemin.

"Come in," Jaemin calls out cheerfully. "Don't just stand there like a lost pup!"

You step inside, eyes wandering over the place. The cottage feels… lived in. Wooden furniture, fur pelts scattered like rugs, jars of herbs hanging from the ceiling. It's rustic but oddly comforting—the kind of place you'd expect to exist only in fairytales.

Jaemin rolls up his sleeves, starts skinning the rabbits with ease. "So," he says casually, "how did our dear Jeno find you?"

You glance at Jeno, who looks very much like he wants to disappear into the wall. "I… found him first," you admit, a small smile tugging at your lips. "He saved me, actually."

Jaemin gasps, pressing a hand dramatically over his chest. "Saved you? Oh, Jeno, how romantic."

Jeno's jaw tightens. "Jaemin."

"Alright, alright," Jaemin says with a teasing grin, tossing a bone aside. "I'll stop before you growl at me. Again."

You giggle softly, which earns a glance from Jeno, sharp at first, then softening when he sees the genuine amusement in your face. His lips twitch, just slightly.

Jaemin hums again, tossing a handful of herbs into a pot. The smell of simmering broth begins to fill the room, warm and earthy. "You know," he muses, "most humans don't dare step foot into this forest. You're quite the brave one."

You tilt your head. "Or foolish."

Jaemin laughs. "Both, perhaps." He turns toward you with a kind smile this time, less teasing, more gentle. "But you're lucky. Our pack doesn't harm humans… unless they harm us first."

You nod quietly, feeling the weight of his words.

A soft rustle behind you catches your attention, Jeno moving closer. His voice comes low, almost quiet enough for only you to hear. "Don't listen too much to him. He likes to talk."

You look up at him, meeting his gaze. "But he's right, isn't he? I shouldn't be here."

Jeno sighs, his expression unreadable. "Probably not."

"Then why are you not chasing me out this time?"

For a moment, silence. Only the bubbling stew fills the air. Then Jeno looks away, muttering almost to himself, "Because it feels wrong to."

Jaemin, of course, hears that. His grin widens instantly. "Awww, he's getting soft!"

Jeno shoots him a glare sharp enough to cut stone, but Jaemin only laughs louder, stirring the pot with glee.

"You two make the cottage less lonely," Jaemin declares, placing bowls on the table. "Sit, eat. You've both earned it. One for hunting, one for surviving Jeno's moods."

You laugh softly and take your seat, warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the stew.

As you taste the food—savory, rich, filled with forest herbs—you glance at Jeno, who eats quietly beside you. His silver-white hair catches the golden light filtering through the window, his wolfish aura faint but present.

Jeno groans the moment Jaemin points his wooden spoon at him.

"I did the cooking," Jaemin says dramatically, waving the spoon like a commander giving orders, "so someone has to do the cleaning! And I can't possibly make our guest wash the dishes, now can I? That leaves…" his grin stretches wide "you, Jeno."

Jeno narrows his eyes, clearly unamused. "You could've just cooked less."

Jaemin gasps, pretending to be offended. "Blasphemy! Are you rejecting my generosity and the gift of my exquisite cuisine?"

You can't help but giggle behind your hand. Jeno sighs in defeat and stands, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, "You'll regret this later." He starts collecting the bowls, moving toward the sink at the far side of the cottage.

Once he's out of earshot, Jaemin leans closer, propping his chin on his hand with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So…" he begins, voice lowering into a conspiratorial tone. "You and Jeno, huh?"

You blink, taken aback. "Me and Jeno… what?"

"Oh, come on." Jaemin waves a hand lazily. "You think I didn't notice how he looked at you? Jeno's not the type to keep humans around for long. He tolerates very few people, and you're sitting in his pack's cottage, eating his hunt."

Your cheeks heat slightly. "He's just being nice."

Jaemin chuckles, amused. "If that's what you want to believe."

He stirs the last bit of stew idly, then looks at you again, curiosity softening his playful tone. "Tell me, do you know what a mate means for wolves?"

You shake your head slowly. "No… not really."

Jaemin's lips curl into a faint smile. "It's like a soulmate, but stronger. A bond written by instinct, by fate itself. When a wolf finds their mate, it's like finding the missing half of their soul. The connection runs so deep, no one can break it. Not even time."

You listen quietly, eyes widening a little. There's something both beautiful and terrifying about the way he describes it, like love sharpened into something eternal.

He continues, "For wolves, being mates means belonging to each other completely. No vows and no rings, just a mark that appears naturally. A mate tattoo. It's our version of a wedding band. And…"

He pauses for dramatic effect, eyes sparkling. "It can happen with humans too."

Your heart skips. "…Humans?"

Jaemin nods. "Rare, but yes. It's said the Moon Goddess blesses such pairs when destiny insists." Then, his grin returns, sly and knowing. "Like Jeno and you."

You nearly choke on air. "W-what?!"

Jaemin laughs at your reaction, leaning back in satisfaction. "You didn't know? Of course you didn't. Jeno hasn't told you, typical of him."

"I- I think you're mistaken…"

"Nope." Jaemin pops the ‘p' with a playful smirk. "You're his mate, all right. The scent around you is different. Calmer and sweeter. He's been subconsciously guarding you since that night, hasn't he?"

Your thoughts race, trying to make sense of it, but before you can say anything, Jaemin's voice softens. "There's a downside, though."

You glance up, uneasy. "…What kind of downside?"

"If one of you dies," he says quietly, "the other follows. Instantly. The bond doesn't let one half survive without the other."

The air feels heavier now, your earlier warmth cooling into something hollow.

Jaemin exhales softly. "That's probably why he hasn't accepted you yet. Jeno's cautious, he's seen what losing a mate can do to someone. But…" He smiles again, faintly this time. "The fact that he hasn't rejected the bond means he's trying to protect you. In his own way."

You lower your gaze, fingers tracing the edge of the wooden table. "…That's… sad, but kind of sweet."

"Exactly." Jaemin grins, then adds gently, "So treat him well, alright? He may act cold, but Jeno's heart runs deep. And once a wolf gives it, there's no taking it back."

Across the room, the sound of running water and clinking dishes fills the silence. Jeno glances over his shoulder briefly, his eyes meeting yours for just a second, before returning to the sink.

You rest your chin on your palm, Jaemin's words still replaying in your mind, mate, destined, and unbreakable. The curiosity bubbling inside you pushes forward before you can stop yourself.

"Then…" you begin softly, glancing at him. "What about you, Jaemin? Do you have a mate?"

Jaemin freezes for a split second, the wooden spoon still in his hand. His expression shifts, the mischievous grin falters, replaced by something gentler, more human.

"Ah," he hums, chuckling lowly, "you just had to ask that, didn't you?"

You nod shyly, unsure if you've overstepped, but he waves a hand as if to tell you it's fine. Setting the spoon down, he leans against the counter and crosses his arms. He gestures to the side of his neck.

"I do have one," he says finally, eyes flicking to the small window as if he can see through the forest beyond. "From another pack."

Your brows lift. "Another pack?"

"Mm." He nods slowly. "We met during a territory run. It wasn't supposed to happen. We're not supposed to mingle with outsiders that easily. But fate didn't seem to care much about rules that night."

He smiles to himself, a faint one, tender and far away. "I didn't even know she was a wolf at first. Thought she was human. Her scent was faint, her aura calm, but when she turned under the moonlight…" He exhales a little laugh, nostalgic. "It was over for me."

You can't help but smile too. "So… you're together now?"

Jaemin nods again. "We are. Her pack's not too far from ours. We've been working together recently, trying to merge the two packs, actually. It's been years of tension between us, but now that there's an alliance forming, things are… better."

He drums his fingers lightly on the counter, thinking. "It's not easy, though. Some wolves don't like the idea of mixing bloodlines or sharing power. But if merging means she doesn't have to keep sneaking out of her pack's territory to see me…" He shrugs. "Then I'll do anything to make it happen."

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. You've only known him for a short while, yet the warmth in his tone, the devotion hidden behind that playful smirk, makes you see a completely different side of Jaemin.

"That's… really sweet," you murmur.

Jaemin laughs lightly. "Sweet, huh? I'll take that." Then he looks at you with that teasing spark again. "See? Even someone like me can be serious when it's about the right person."

You giggle, shaking your head. "I think your mate's lucky to have you."

"Trust me," he grins, "she'd argue otherwise."

You both laugh softly, the air around you lightening once more.

As the sun begins to dip lower, golden light filters through the canopy, painting everything in warm shades of orange and red. You don't even realize how much time has passed until Jaemin stretches his arms with a yawn.

"Alright, lovebirds," he teases lightly, glancing between you and Jeno, "it's getting late. Human girl here shouldn't be wandering in the forest when it's dark."

Jeno looks up from the dishes he's drying, brows knitting. "I'll walk her out."

"Good," Jaemin nods, satisfied. "Pack rules: no humans stay past sundown. Safety precautions." Then, lowering his voice just enough to make Jeno roll his eyes, he adds with a grin, "And you, my dear Jeno, try not to scare her off before she even reaches the edge, alright?"

You can't help but laugh, clutching your bag. "I'll be fine, Jaemin. Thank you for the food."

"Anytime," Jaemin says, flashing you a wink before shooing the both of you off. "Go on, before your poor heart gets broken by this guy's grumpy silence."

And so, you and Jeno begin walking together, side by side, along the forest path. The air cools as the last bit of sunlight fades, the woods now quieter, only your steps and the distant rustle of leaves filling the space between.

After a while, you decide to break the silence.

"So…" you begin, a teasing tone slipping into your voice, "your mate is me?"

Jeno visibly tenses. "Stop listening to Jaemin's words," he mutters, eyes fixed ahead.

"But it just sounds interesting," you insist.

"No, it isn't."

You pout dramatically. "Bummer."

He sighs, shaking his head. "You'll get used to it."

"Oh?" You smirk. "I'll get used to it because I'll be your partner in the future?"

Jeno pauses mid-step, his crimson eyes flicking toward you just briefly before darting away. Even in the fading light, you can see the faint blush creeping up his neck.

"You talk too much, human," he says, voice quieter now, but not cold.

You giggle, covering your smile with your hand. "You didn't say no, though."

He exhales sharply, trying to hide the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The path grows dimmer as you near the edge of the forest, the warm glow of dusk slowly giving way to the soft blue of early night. The chirping of crickets starts to echo faintly, blending with the rhythm of your footsteps and your voice, because, as usual, you can't seem to stop talking.

"So imagine it," you say with a grin, your hands gesturing animatedly as if painting pictures in the air. "If I were really your mate, I'd get to see you every day, right? You'd wake up early to go hunt or whatever it is you wolves do, and I'd probably make you breakfast, though I'm terrible at cooking."

Jeno doesn't answer, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. His expression is unreadable, but you notice how his crimson eyes flick toward you every so often, quietly listening.

"And then," you continue, voice growing more playful, "maybe we'd take walks together through the forest, only when it's safe, of course. Oh! And maybe you could teach me how to talk to your pack. Or… run with you when you're in your wolf form?" You giggle, your eyes glinting with excitement. "Though I'd probably trip and fall before I even take five steps."

Still no reply. Just the faint sound of his breath, steady and calm, as he walks beside you.

"You're not denying it," you tease, tilting your head toward him. "Which means you have imagined it, right?"

Jeno exhales through his nose, a low sound that might be a sigh, or a laugh he's trying too hard to hide.

"Do you ever stop talking?" he murmurs at last, his tone soft, not quite irritated this time, almost fond, though you can't tell if you're imagining it.

You beam. "Nope. Not when you're this quiet. Someone's got to fill the silence, right?"

He shakes his head lightly, a ghost of a smile flickering at the corner of his lips before disappearing again.

You keep on rambling, words flowing freely—about the forest, about Jaemin's cooking, about the way Jeno's silver-white fur gleamed under the moonlight—while Jeno just listens. He never interrupts, never answers, but his presence feels less distant now.

And though he stays silent, every so often his gaze lingers on you, just long enough to betray a flicker of something softer in those crimson eyes.

You've somehow become a regular at the NCT Dream pack's cottage. What started as an "accidental visit" turned into daily drop-ins. Each time you promised yourself it would be the last, but Jaemin's warm smile, Renjun's sarcastic remarks, Chenle's endless teasing, and Jeno's quiet presence made it… impossible to stay away.

The first morning you showed up again, Jaemin had only grinned knowingly.

"Well, look who couldn't resist," he'd teased, ushering you in with a wooden spoon still dripping soup.

And just like that, you became part of their chaotic rhythm.

Mark, the eldest, was often the voice of reason, calm but tired of wrangling the others. Haechan was the loudest, always cracking jokes at your expense but secretly looking out for you when you tripped over roots on your walks. Renjun's sharp tongue never missed a chance to call you "human trouble," though he was the first to hand you tea when you came in shivering. Jisung, the youngest, watched you with cautious curiosity, tail sometimes wagging involuntarily when you smiled at him. Chenle was pure mischief, and Jaemin? He was your biggest gossip partner.

But Jeno… Jeno was different.

He never spoke much, yet somehow, you always found yourself beside him. Sometimes he'd be sharpening his claws near the fire, and you'd sit next to him, telling stories from the human world. Other times, you'd follow him on quiet walks through the forest, where your chatter filled the spaces his silence couldn't.

It wasn't that he tolerated you. No, it felt more like he allowed himself to exist near you.

"Does your pack always wake up this early?" you groaned one morning, rubbing your eyes as you stepped outside to see Jeno already stretching by the lake.

He turned his head slightly, silver hair catching the sunlight, crimson eyes softer than usual. "You didn't have to come this early."

"I didn't want to, but Jaemin threatened to dump a bucket of water on me if I didn't."

Jeno gave a quiet hum of amusement, small, and almost imperceptible, but enough to make your heart skip.

Later, while the rest of the pack wrestled and argued over breakfast, you helped Jaemin set the table. Every so often, your eyes would wander toward Jeno sitting by the window, watching the forest like he belonged to it.

Jaemin caught your gaze and smirked. "You're staring again."

You flushed immediately. "I am not!"

"Sure you aren't," he said with a wink. "He'll warm up to you, you know. Jeno's not good with feelings — not since…" He paused, tone softening. "Let's just say he's careful."

Careful. The word sat heavy in your chest, but you understood. Still, even with his distance, you found yourself drawn to him, the way his eyes would flick to you whenever you laughed, or how his shoulders subtly angled toward you when you sat nearby.

Every day, the forest grew less eerie, the cottage more like home, and Jeno's silence… somehow comforting.

It was a calm morning. Sunlight spilling through the curtains, the kind that made you feel like nothing bad could ever happen. You had breakfast quickly, the same routine as always before heading toward the forest. It had become your quiet ritual, visiting the NCT Dream pack's cottage, talking with Jaemin while Jeno quietly listened, and learning little things about their world that still fascinated you.

The forest edge greeted you with the same familiar scent of pine and earth, soft dew still clinging to the grass. You smiled to yourself, adjusting your bag. But before you could take your first step inside, the bushes ahead rustled violently.

Your head snapped up just in time to see a flash of golden dart out from the shadows. A huge wolf, his paws kicking up dirt as he skidded to a stop in front of you.

"Jisung?" you blinked, recognizing the familiar golden fur.

He huffed, breath coming in quick puffs as he stared at you with wide golden eyes. Then, without warning, he pressed his nose insistently against your side, pushing you toward his back.

"W-wait, what are you doing?" you asked, stumbling. But the wolf only pushed harder, a low growl rumbling in his throat, not of anger but urgency.

Sensing something was terribly wrong, you hesitated only for a moment before climbing onto his back, gripping his fur tightly.

"Alright, alright- I'm on, Jisung! But what's happening?"

He didn't answer, of course. Instead, he bounded forward, the forest rushing past you in a blur of green and shadow. You could only cling tighter, your heart pounding, as the path twisted and turned until finally, Jisung skidded to a halt in front of a large wooden house you'd never seen before.

You slid off his back shakily. "Where… are we?"

Before you could even catch your breath, the door swung open, and a woman rushed out, eyes wide with panic.

"Come in quickly!" she urged.

"Jisung, what's going on?" you demanded, but the look in his eyes told you everything, something bad had happened. Something involving Jeno.

You stumbled into the house, your pulse still racing from the sudden ride. The air inside was thick, filled with tension and the faint scent of wolf musk. One by one, figures began to emerge from the hallway. Wolves transforming back into their human forms, their expressions grim and tired.

"Jisung, what happened? Why bring me here?" you asked again, your voice trembling slightly this time.

Jisung ran a hand through his messy hair, chest rising and falling. "NCT Dream's cottage was attacked," he said, his tone heavy. "The rival pack- they finally made a move."

You blinked, the words not sinking in right away. "Attacked? What do you mean attacked?"

"It's because of that night," Jisung continued quickly, eyes flicking toward the window. "When that black wolf came after you, their pack took it as a challenge. They think Jeno declaring you under his protection means war. They found out you're human… and they plan to use you as bait."

Your breath hitched. "Bait?"

"Renjun found out about their plan and warned us," Jisung explained, his tone rushed but firm. "We had to abandon the cottage immediately, and that's why I brought you here."

You stared at him, your stomach twisting in dread. "Then… where is everyone else? Where's Jeno?"

"He's out there," Jisung said quietly. "He stayed behind with the others to fight."

The world seemed to freeze for a moment. You could only hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears as flashes of memory—Jeno's calm eyes, his quiet sighs, the way he always kept you close but safe—all came rushing back.

"No," you whispered, shaking your head. "No, he'll get hurt again. I need to help him- Jisung, take me back. I need the med kit, I need to find him, I need to-"

"Y/N!" A woman's voice cut you off, firm and sharp. A hand gripped your shoulders. Her eyes, though kind, were blazing with authority. "You can't go out there right now. You're human. If you step out, you'll only distract him- or worse, get yourself killed."

You clenched your fists, your throat tightening. "But I can't just stay here and do nothing!"

Before she could answer, a loud shout echoed from outside, a signal. The rival pack was closing in.

Her expression hardened instantly. She turned to Jisung. "Get her out of the forest. Now."

"But-"

"Now, Jisung!" she ordered, pushing you toward him. "Leave, and don't look back!"

Jisung's eyes glowed faintly golden as his wolf instincts took over. Without another word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the door.

You tried to resist, tried to look back, but the sound of growls and the crash of something breaking filled the air, forcing you forward. And as Jisung led you into the woods, you whispered under your breath, a desperate plea lost to the wind.

"Jeno… please be safe."

The force of Jisung's pull nearly made you stumble, your hand caught tightly in his grip as you raced through the thick undergrowth. Your lungs burned, branches whipped against your arms, and the sound of distant growls echoed through the forest.

Then, a loud thud shook the ground.

A shadow leaped from above, landing right in front of you with a low, menacing growl. Its eyes glowed a deep crimson, fur black as night, a black wolf.

Jisung immediately pushed you behind him, his muscles tensing. "Stay back!"

The wolf bared its fangs, growling louder, and before you could blink, it lunged.

"Jisung!" you screamed, but it was too late. The two collided with a force that sent leaves scattering into the air.

Jisung turned his head for one brief moment, his eyes flashing gold as he shouted, "Run straight! Don't look back, please!"

Your heart shattered at his voice, trembling but determined. You hesitated for a split second, then forced your legs to move.

You ran.

Branches clawed at your clothes. The sound of claws clashing, growls and yelps tore through the forest behind you. Tears streamed down your face as you ran blindly through the trees, each step heavier, each breath shorter.

You didn't look back, just like he told you. But when your foot caught on a root, you fell hard. The impact sent a sharp sting up your arm. You gasped, trembling as you tried to get up, your palms covered in dirt.

You stumbled forward until you finally broke through the treeline and out of the forest. Your knees hit the ground, your breath ragged, your body shaking. You turned back, staring at the dark sea of trees that towered silently behind you.

No movement. No sound. Just the forest… swallowing everything whole.

Your lips quivered, your chest tightening until it hurt to breathe. And then, unable to hold it in anymore, you screamed a raw, broken cry that tore straight from your heart.

"LEE JENO!!!"

Your voice echoed across the empty woods, fading into the wind, unanswered.

A month passed quietly and painfully.

Life had found its way back into a rhythm you barely recognized. You went to your classes, submitted assignments, hung out with friends when they asked you to, and even smiled at the right times. On the surface, you looked fine. But deep down, a part of you still lingered in that forest.

Sometimes, as you walked home from the university, your eyes would wander to the far edge of town where the treeline began. The same forest that once terrified and fascinated you. The one that still haunted your dreams.

You never stepped closer. You couldn't, because you were afraid that the truth would crush you, afraid of finding no one waiting inside, afraid of confirming that the warmth, the teasing words, and the rare glint of gentleness in Jeno's eyes… were all gone forever.

So you stayed away.

And when a kind, gentle boy from your literature class, Hyunwoo, asked you out for coffee, you said yes. You told yourself it was time to move on. That this was how normal people healed.

He laughed easily, talked about movies, and complimented your handwriting. He was too good, maybe. The kind of boy any girl would fall for. Yet even as you smiled back at him, your chest ached faintly, like an echo of a wound that refused to close. His hand would brush against yours sometimes, but it never made your heart skip.

When he walked you home that night, you thanked him and looked away toward the distant forest. The moon hung low over the trees, silver, calm, and eerily peaceful.

You forced yourself to smile.

"See? I'm doing fine," you whispered under your breath.

You moved on, or at least you tried to. But moving on doesn't always mean forgetting. Sometimes it means carrying a memory softly, like a scar that no longer bleeds but still aches when it rains.

Maybe Jeno is gone. Maybe he isn't. The forest still stands, quiet, mysterious, alive with secrets you can no longer touch. Yet every time the wind brushes through the trees, you feel something familiar in its whisper, a presence that never truly left.

You'll laugh again. You'll live, fall in love, and learn to stop searching the treeline. But a small part of you, the one that met a silver-white wolf and saw a world beyond what humans understand, will always remember.

And perhaps, on a night when the moon shines brighter than usual, you'll swear you see silver eyes watching from the dark, not haunting you, but guarding you still.

Because even if fate tore your paths apart, a bond like that never really dies.

The forest is quieter now, though the silence is heavy. The kind that follows after chaos, when the air still smells faintly of blood and ash. Jeno lies down in his wolf form, silver fur matted in places, deep gashes beginning to close with time. Jaemin drops beside him, his black tail brushing faintly against the leaves. The pack is alive barely, but alive nonetheless.

Through the mind link, their thoughts blend into the soft hum of the forest breeze.

"Do you miss her?"

Jeno doesn't answer at first. His crimson eyes stay fixed on the faint rays of sunlight slipping through the trees, the same rays that once landed on your hair when you smiled at him.

"…yeah."

Jaemin gives a small huff, part sigh and part laugh.

"Sucks that she's a human, huh?"

Jeno's ears twitch.

"I just wish she wasn't. If she were one of us… maybe we wouldn't have to pretend that we don't eat humans."

Jaemin's quiet for a while, and Jeno continues.

"Every time she came to the cottage, she smiled at us like we were normal. She didn't know what the meat on the table really was. She didn't know what we were hiding."

The truth stings more than the wounds across his body. He turns his head toward the forest's edge, the invisible line that separates his world from yours.

"No one ever believed a bond between a wolf and a human could exist. But she came, and for the first time, I didn't feel hungry."

Jaemin hums softly, closing his eyes.

"Then you did the right thing, letting her go."

"I hope she lives like she should. Human, safe, far away from me."

The sky above begins to darken, fireflies flickering between the trees. The pack settles into silence, some sleeping, some mourning.

Jeno remains awake, his tail resting against the grass, his thoughts tracing every moment. Your laughter, your fear, your stubbornness, the way you said you'd miss him.

He knows he will never see you again, not unless fate plays cruel games. But as the wind moves, carrying your faint scent across the forest for the last time, he closes his eyes and lets it wash over him.

"Live well, human."

Because for a creature born of hunger and shadow, loving you was the only thing that ever made him feel human.

He grabbed a pistol, checking the magazine. “Bella isn’t fit yet to be shooting. You sure Wonwoo really wants her to be fighting instead of escorting the students later?”

Minghao shrugged. “It’s Bella’s decision, after all. She said it herself. me, Wonwoo, and you versus a lot of shooters alongside Lucien? We’d be at a disadvantage.”

Soonyoung clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes as he set the pistol back down. “And so she decided to join, despite being inexperienced and not even belonging to the mafia industry?”

“She knows what she’s walking into,” Minghao said simply. “She’s determined.”

Soonyoung sighed, shaking his head. “Tch. Stubborn as always.” He slung the shotgun over his shoulder and grabbed a second pistol before giving Minghao one last look.

“Fine. But if she gets in the way, I won’t hesitate to drag her out myself.”

Minghao smirked. “I’ll let her know.”

Soonyoung scoffed, standing up fully. “Let’s get this over with.”

Soonyoung put down the guns before moving out, stepping into the hallway just in time to see Wonwoo and Bella hugging. Wonwoo whispered something to her before stepping back into her room, leaving Bella to walk toward Soonyoung.

“Sup, stubborn girl,” Soonyoung greeted with a smirk.

Bella snickered. “You got nothing to say when even Wonwoo let me join the fight.” They started walking toward the cruise cafeteria together.

Soonyoung side-eyed her. “You sure you’ll be fine seeing Wonwoo get heartbroken when he sees you injured or, you know, dead?”

Bella took a moment before answering. “That’s why Wonwoo told me to shoot one at a time. If I’m stuck, I get out and hide.”

Soonyoung clicked his tongue. “Then I suggest you get a sniper.”

“Let’s see about that.” Bella shrugged.

Soonyoung noticed the earpiece tucked in Bella’s ear but didn’t argue further. There was no point, she had already made up her mind. Instead, he pushed open the doors to the cafeteria, stepping inside with Bella right behind him.

The atmosphere was just as eerie as it had been for the past few days. Ever since Day 3, the air had been thick with tension, the students moving more like ghosts than people. Conversations were whispered, eyes dull, hands shaking as they gripped their utensils. Some barely touched their food at all.

Soonyoung and Bella found their seats and ate in silence, neither of them having the energy to pretend this was a normal breakfast.

Then, right on cue, Lucien’s voice crackled through the speakers.

“All students, report to the main hall immediately.”

No mention of the final game. No explanation. Just a command.

Bella and Soonyoung exchanged a look.

“Well,” Bella muttered, wiping her mouth. “Here we go.”

The hall was silent as the students gathered, their faces pale, their bodies tense. Every step felt heavier than the last, their exhaustion evident after six days of torment.

At the front of the room, standing with his usual unsettling confidence, was Lucien. A microphone in his hand, he grinned as he looked over the tired, broken students.

“Day 7, students.” His voice rang through the hall, clear and mocking. “The day whereby your casino chips and poker cards will finally be put to use.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but no one spoke up. Everyone knew something like this was coming, but hearing it confirmed out loud made their stomachs sink.

Lucien chuckled, amused by their reactions. “You remember the main rules, don’t you?” He tapped the microphone. “To survive and escape the cruise, you must collect a total of 100 dollars in casino chips.”

Soonyoung felt Bella stiffen beside him.

Lucien continued, his tone laced with cruel amusement. “Any student who has poker cards can exchange them for casino chips. The value is simple: for every total of ten in poker cards, you’ll receive ten dollars. For every total of twenty, you’ll receive twenty dollars.”

A pause. His smirk deepened. “And if you fail to collect at least fifty dollars in casino chips?” His voice dropped, taunting. “Eliminated.”

The weight of his words settled over them like a noose tightening around their necks. Another elimination. Another chance to lose someone. The room fell into complete silence. Lucien’s grin widened, relishing the fear he had stirred among the students. He stepped forward, eyes gleaming with dark amusement as the tension in the room grew palpable.

He raised his microphone again, ensuring everyone could hear his next words. “Now, to clarify the stakes even further,” he continued, his voice smooth and dangerous. “Your elimination will not be pretty. Death is a must.”

He let that sink in, watching the reactions of his audience. Some students shuddered, others froze in place, but all were locked in his grip.

“But,” Lucien said, voice softening, “for those of you who manage to gather over fifty dollars?” He paused for dramatic effect, allowing a sliver of hope to flicker in the room. “You are safe. For now.”

He then leaned into the microphone, his eyes scanning the students like prey. “But there’s one more thing. The ultimate prize,” he smirked, savoring the moment. “The one student who collects the most casino chips—who amasses the greatest fortune—will win. And I don’t mean just a few bucks. No. The winner will receive one thousand times the amount of money they have collected. So, if you manage to gather, let’s say, 150 dollars in chips, that’s 150,000 dollars in cold, hard cash.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mix of awe and greed. Some students seemed invigorated by the idea, others worried. But all of them knew what Lucien’s words meant. It wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about gaining everything, or losing everything.

As the echo of Lucien’s voice faded, the tension in the air was palpable. The students, already worn down from days of manipulation, games, and secrets, now stood in the hall, processing the cold reality of what Day 7 had become.

With no more games ahead, it was simply about survival. The collection of casino chips, the poker cards, the manipulation, everything had led to this moment. There was no more room for strategy or alliance games. This was the final stretch, and everyone knew it. The clock was ticking down, but the students weren’t running around, trying to gather chips or compete for the top spot anymore. They were still, lost in their thoughts, preparing themselves for the ultimate countdown to see who would walk away alive and who would be left behind.

The tension was palpable as the students stood around, waiting for the final instructions. Lucien, holding the microphone in one hand, surveyed the group. A twisted smile curled on his lips as he addressed them one last time.

“Everyone, gather your casino chips and poker cards. I want them submitted to me right now. This will determine who survives and who gets eliminated. Make sure you hand in everything you’ve collected so far. No exceptions.”

Lucien’s words hung heavy in the air as the students, now realizing the gravity of the situation, began to reluctantly hand over their chips and cards.

One by one, the students stepped forward, placing their piles of chips and cards in a large container in front of Lucien. As the last student finished submitting, Lucien lifted his microphone again.

“Now,” he said with a gleam in his eyes. “Let’s tally the results.”

He began calling out the results, reading off the names and their totals with detached amusement.

Choi Seungcheol: $26

Rae: $19

Ro: $53

Lee Jihoon: $130

Kim Mingyu: $125

Tiya: $31

J: $119

Yoon Jeonghan: $40

Bella: $77

Sana: $122

Joshua: $77

Yuki: $110

Kwon Soonyoung: $87

Lucien looked over the list, enjoying the silence as the students processed the results. “Now that we have the numbers, let’s get down to the real fun. Those below $50 are eliminated, and the rest, well, they’re safe… for now. But remember, the real winner will be the one who ends up with the most money.”

Lucien’s voice turned colder. “If you’ve made it this far, consider yourselves lucky. But there can only be one victor, and only the one with the most will get the ultimate prize.”

After the final results were announced and the tension in the room reached its peak, Lucien’s cold voice cut through the air once again, sending a shiver down everyone’s spine.

“Now,” he began, his tone dripping with menace, “I want all of you to move forward into a line. You’ve done your part, and now it’s time to make things a little more… interesting.”

Soonyoung’s heart skipped a beat as he looked around, realizing what was happening. The others, too, seemed to tense up, but no one dared to speak. Lucien’s gaze swept over the room, and then he called out the names.

“Seungcheol. Rae. Tiya. Jeonghan,” Lucien announced, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. “Step forward.”

One by one, the four students hesitated, their minds racing as they processed what this could mean.

Seungcheol’s expression hardened as he stepped forward, his eyes meeting Rae’s, who gave him a brief nod of reassurance. Tiya followed with a stiff posture, her face betraying nothing but the hint of fear. Jeonghan, always the calmest, looked conflicted but still moved forward. The four of them stood at the front of the room, their fates uncertain.

As the students were pushed to the front, Soonyoung’s stomach churned. Something felt horribly wrong. His instincts screamed that this wasn’t just about getting the casino chips and poker cards anymore, Lucien had something far more sinister planned for them.

He exchanged a quick glance with Minghao, his hand subtly reaching to his side to check the readiness of his gun. The earpiece in his ear buzzed slightly as Minghao’s voice whispered through, confirming Soonyoung’s suspicion.

“We’re ready when you are,” Minghao’s voice was low but urgent, and Soonyoung could sense the tension in his words.

Soonyoung took a deep breath. His hand tightened around his gun, but he kept his composure. His eyes flicked from Lucien to the students in line, and then back to Minghao and Wonwoo. They were waiting for his signal, ready to move.

But just as Soonyoung prepared to act, his gut twisted again. There was no time left to waste.

Lucien didn’t wait long before making his next move. His eyes glinted with satisfaction as he looked at the students in front of him.

“This game is far from over,” Lucien smirked, the microphone crackling in his hand. “I hope you’re all ready. Because I’m about to give you a little taste of what true power looks like.”

The moment Lucien spoke those words, Soonyoung’s worst fears were realized. Something in his chest clenched tightly. He could feel it, something bad was coming. His instincts kicked in as he noticed something was horribly wrong. He locked eyes with Minghao and Wonwoo, both of whom stood on opposite sides of the room, ready. They had all planned for this moment, but even then, the realization of what was about to happen made Soonyoung’s blood run cold.

Before Lucien or anyone else could react, Soonyoung subtly tapped his earpiece, signaling to Minghao and Wonwoo. They were ready.

Bella, always quick to understand, saw the silent communication between the three of them. Without hesitation, she dashed toward where she knew Minghao and Wonwoo would be stationed.

The sound of gunfire ripped through the air.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Glass shattered. The room exploded into chaos as Minghao and Wonwoo revealed themselves from their hidden positions. They began firing at Lucien’s armed guards, their movements coordinated and swift. Soonyoung wasted no time either, he moved, his body trained for this, as he ducked behind a pillar to avoid the incoming gunfire.

Amidst the gunshots, Soonyoung and Bella caught the weapons thrown at them by Minghao and Wonwoo. The room erupted into chaos, gunfire filling the air, and glass shattered as bullets rained down. The students, in a panic, screamed and scrambled for cover. Some ducked under tables, while others tried to flee the room, but there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from the storm that had begun.

Soonyoung’s heart pounded in his chest, but his mind was sharp. His training as a mafia enforcer had prepared him for moments like this, where survival depended on speed, precision, and instinct. His hands moved like lightning, grabbing his pistol from his belt as he ducked behind a column to avoid incoming fire.

He could hear the distinct sound of Minghao’s sniper shots ringing out from a far corner of the room, the precise cracks of bullets piercing through the chaos. Wonwoo’s rapid fire echoed nearby, keeping the guards at bay. But Soonyoung? He had his own style.

Without wasting a second, Soonyoung leaned out from behind cover, his body low to the ground as he aimed his gun. In a fluid motion, he released a quick burst of shots, two in the chest of a guard who was running toward the group. The man collapsed instantly, but Soonyoung wasn’t done. He rotated his wrist, reloading with quick, practiced movements, then moved to a different angle, taking out another guard with a well-placed shot to the head.

The chaos seemed to slow around him, the adrenaline focusing his senses. Soonyoung stepped out from his cover, dodging a series of bullets that whizzed past his head, his body moving with the grace of a dancer as he cartwheeled to the side. Mid-spin, he pulled the trigger, landing another clean shot into a guard’s leg. The guard screamed and dropped to the ground, incapacitated, but Soonyoung was already on the move again.

A bullet grazed his shoulder, but he barely flinched. He could feel the burn of the wound, but there was no time to acknowledge it. His focus was razor-sharp. He rolled to the side, using a table as cover while he fired several shots in quick succession. Each shot was calculated, precise, no wasted movement, no hesitation.

Amidst the chaos, Soonyoung’s mind remained calm. He knew where every enemy was, and he knew how to avoid getting caught in their line of fire. He could hear Bella’s shots nearby, and he spotted her, dodging a bullet and returning fire in a seamless, graceful movement. She was holding her own, even with the inexperience she had admitted to earlier.

He couldn’t help but admire her determination. She had made her choice, and she was following through, despite the stakes.

But his attention didn’t stay on her for long. A flash of movement caught his eye, a guard coming up behind him, gun aimed directly at his back. Soonyoung didn’t even blink. He twisted around, ducked under the barrel of the gun, and landed a clean punch to the guard’s throat, knocking him unconscious in a single strike.

Soonyoung continued to move with the fluidity of a predator on the hunt. Every motion was a calculated step in the deadly dance, his gunfire relentless. He was in his element, the chaos around him nothing more than background noise. His mind was clear, and each shot fired was a step closer to surviving this twisted game.

As the minutes stretched on, Soonyoung’s body grew fatigued, but he pushed through it. His movements were slower, but just as deadly. He took out another guard with a shot to the chest before taking cover behind a pillar, catching his breath for a moment.

Soonyoung’s body tensed with the shock of the bullet that struck his leg. His knee buckled for a split second, but he didn’t let it stop him. The pain was searing, but the mission came first. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright again, and his fingers gripped the gun tighter. The weight of the weapon didn’t feel heavier—no, it was the pressure of the moment bearing down on him.

More shots rang out, the sound of bullets slicing through the air almost deafening. Soonyoung had to focus. He couldn’t falter.

Another shot, this time it tore through his arm, the bullet grazing his shoulder before embedding itself deep into his bicep. Blood oozed out, staining his sleeve, but Soonyoung held back the scream that threatened to escape. The pain was sharp, intense, but it didn’t matter. He had one mission in mind: survival. He couldn’t afford to waste energy on anything else.

Despite the bleeding wound, Soonyoung continued to fire, each shot precise and calculated, as if the pain didn’t exist. His limbs burned, each movement costing more than the last, but he couldn’t stop. There were no breaks in this nightmare.

And then, amid the chaos, the sounds of his friends’ screams echoed through the cacophony of gunshots.

“Jihoon!”

His heart skipped a beat. Soonyoung spun his head toward the direction of Jihoon’s voice, the sharpness of his scream piercing through the noise. It was followed quickly by Tiya’s, Joshua’s, Rae’s, and Yuki’s agonizing screams. No.

He saw it—flashes of movement. The familiar faces of his friends collapsed, one by one, as they were struck by the relentless gunfire. Soonyoung’s breath hitched in his throat, his chest tight with the horror of what was happening. But he couldn’t let himself falter. Not now. Not when they needed him most. He couldn’t afford to lose focus, to allow himself to be distracted.

Soonyoung squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, the sharp pain in his limbs momentarily clouding his thoughts. He couldn’t let it get to him, he couldn’t allow himself to break. The others were down, but there was still a chance.

The chaos continues around him, his allies fighting with everything they had, and his enemies closing in. The attackers were relentless, and the numbers were stacked against them. Minghao and Wonwoo were holding their ground, but even with their precise shots and quick thinking, they were still outnumbered.

Soonyoung pulled himself together, staggering a few steps forward. The cold metal of his gun felt like an extension of his arm now, his only ally in the madness.

He shot again, two targets down, one more to go. The sound of another scream, Tiya’s. He saw her fall, her body limp and crumpled on the floor, but he couldn’t afford to stop. He couldn’t save her. Not yet. His mind raced, trying to calculate every movement, every angle. He was growing weaker, but he fought through it.

The enemy was closing in, but Soonyoung wasn’t about to give up. The mission was still in play.

The pain coursed through his body, but there was a fire in him. He would survive. He would fight until there was no one left standing, until this nightmare was over. And as the battle waged on, Soonyoung locked eyes with Minghao and Wonwoo, the three of them exchanging a brief but unspoken understanding. They couldn’t lose. Not today.

The battle raged on, but Soonyoung’s body was beginning to betray him. His wounds from earlier shots, deep, painful, sapped his strength, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins kept him moving, kept him alive in the chaos. The fight dragged on, time losing all meaning. The noise, the sound of bullets whizzing by, glass shattering, and screams of both pain and defiance reverberated in the tight corners of his mind.

He could see that Minghao and Wonwoo were struggling too. Their movements were becoming slower, their aim a little more erratic as exhaustion settled in. And then, the unmistakable sound of a bullet hitting flesh, first Minghao, then Wonwoo. But neither of them let go of their weapons. The shots were glancing hits, but they were enough to bring them to their knees. Still, neither of them stopped firing.

Bella, too, was bleeding. Soonyoung’s eyes caught her silhouette, her body moving as fluidly as ever despite the pain, but he could see the blood staining her clothes as well. She was gasping for breath, her face grim with determination as she fired. She refused to stop.

But Soonyoung felt something inside him crack.

The fight was taking its toll. They were all battered, bruised, and running on fumes. And despite their combined efforts, the number of enemies was overwhelming. Their firepower wasn’t enough.

Soonyoung felt himself grow faint, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t lose focus. Not now.

Time blurred as the gunshots continued to echo throughout the area, but slowly, one by one, Lucien’s men began to fall. Soonyoung’s vision was dimming, the edges of his sight fading as he fought to keep his balance. His body was a canvas of pain now, bruises, cuts, and gunshot wounds criss-crossing his skin. Blood trickled down his face, but his grip on the gun didn’t falter.

He saw the last of Lucien’s men collapse, their bodies hitting the floor with thuds, and for a moment, the room fell eerily silent. But the silence didn’t last long.

Lucien.

Soonyoung’s vision finally cleared enough to lock onto him. Lucien stood across from him, surrounded by the bodies of his fallen comrades, a wicked smirk still curling on his lips.

Soonyoung’s legs nearly gave way, but he forced himself to take one step forward, then another, moving toward Lucien as if the world around him didn’t exist. His body screamed in protest, but Soonyoung fought to keep his strength, pushing through the pain. He could feel blood dripping from the side of his head, from his leg, his arm, but it didn’t matter. His focus, his rage, it all poured into his weapon.

He was getting closer. Finally, he reached Lucien, standing tall, though his body was screaming at him to collapse.

The scent of blood was thick in the air.

Lucien didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He was standing there, smirking, as if toying with Soonyoung, but the cold stare in Soonyoung’s eyes was unwavering. Soonyoung didn’t hesitate. He pointed the barrel of his gun directly at Lucien’s forehead, his grip tightening so much it felt like his fingers might crack under the pressure.

“End it.” Soonyoung’s voice was rough, barely a whisper through the pain.

Lucien’s smirk faltered for just a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. His eyes flickered with recognition, but it didn’t matter anymore. There was nothing left for him to control.

Soonyoung was done playing his game. His finger rested on the trigger, a slight tremor in his hand. It was now or never. The weight of the moment hung in the air. And then-

The shot rang out.

The sound was deafening, but it was over. Lucien’s smirk was gone, replaced by a look of surprise, before his body crumpled to the ground in a heap, lifeless. Soonyoung stood there for a long moment, staring at the body before him, the smell of blood still thick in the air. His breathing was heavy, ragged, and he could feel the warmth of his own blood dripping down his skin. But his grip didn’t loosen. His gun still aimed at Lucien’s lifeless body.

The realization began to settle in. The battle, the chaos, everything, it was all finally finished. But Soonyoung’s body was numb. His hands shook from the effort, the exhaustion, and the toll it had taken on him. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore. His mind was foggy, spinning with everything that had just happened, but despite the physical pain, despite the overwhelming feeling of loss and devastation, there was a strange sense of finality.

Soonyoung slowly lowered his gun, his breathing ragged as he let it fall to his side, finally allowing himself to feel the weight of everything. The victory had come at a great cost, and the feeling of emptiness settled deep within him. The fight was over. The war was over. But now, the true battle of survival of healing, had only just begun.

The aftermath was deafening in its silence.

Soonyoung, wounded and covered in blood, stood motionless, his gun now abandoned on the cold floor. His body felt like it was made of stone, every injury and bruise screaming in agony, but nothing compared to the emotional toll of the carnage surrounding him. His eyes scanned the scene, his gaze landing on each of the broken students.

Ro was kneeling by Jihoon’s lifeless body, her hands trembling as she gently touched his cold skin. Her face was ashen, her eyes hollow with grief, but it was the deep, haunting silence she carried that struck Soonyoung hardest. Jihoon, her love, was gone, and there was no comfort to be found. Seungcheol was in denial, his hands shaking violently as he clutched Rae’s lifeless form, his whispers frantic and incoherent. He kept repeating her name, as if trying to wake her up, but the truth settled in his bones: Rae, his love, was gone, and nothing would bring her back. His body trembled as he tried to shake off the reality. Sana was crying on top of Joshua’s battered and lifeless form, her hands gripping his bloodied clothes like she could somehow hold on to him, even though he was no longer there. The blood-soaked floor beneath her didn’t matter; nothing mattered except the gaping hole Joshua’s death had left in her chest. Mingyu, just as broken, was holding Tiya’s lifeless body tightly against him, his cries tearing through the still air. His body shook with grief, his heart shredded in a way Soonyoung couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Everywhere he looked, he saw pain. He saw loss.

J and Bella limped toward Yuki, the two of them moving in sync despite their injuries. They gently helped Yuki close her eyes, and with tears in their own, they whispered words of comfort. “Go meet Lee Chan, Yuki. You’ll be happy there,” Bella said softly. Yuki had been one of the few to not make it out, but they couldn’t let her pass without some semblance of peace.

Jeonghan stepped forward, his face somber as he gently moved Seungcheol away from Rae’s body. The man was still in shock, still gripped by disbelief, but Jeonghan didn’t hesitate. He wrapped Seungcheol in a tight embrace, holding him like he could help him bear the weight of his loss. Seungcheol’s shoulders shook as he finally let himself cry, releasing the grief he’d held back for far too long.

Soonyoung felt his heart squeeze at the sight, but there was nothing left to give, no more energy to spare. The war was over, but at what cost?

The survivors, the broken, bloodied survivors, slowly made their way out of the wreckage.

Soonyoung, Minghao, Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Seungcheol leaned on each other, each of them carrying the weight of their injuries but finding strength in one another. They moved forward, step by painful step, finally exiting the cruise ship and reaching solid ground. They had survived. They were alive, but the cost of survival was etched into every corner of their souls.

Bella, J and Sana, injured but still standing, helped each other along, leaning on one another as they too made their way off the cruise ship. The exhaustion was overwhelming, but they pressed on, driven by the need to leave the nightmare behind them.

And then, as they reached the shore, Soonyoung turned to look back at the cruise. The once-mighty ship, the prison, loomed behind them, a final symbol of the chaos, the violence, and the deaths they had left in their wake.

But there was one more thing.

Soonyoung’s eyes widened as he saw Ro standing at the edge of the cruise. She was alone, her back turned to them, her face a mask of sadness and loss. She was staring out at the ocean, unmoving, the weight of her grief almost palpable.

“Ro?” Bella called softly, her voice quiet but filled with concern.

Ro slowly turned around, her eyes meeting Bella’s with a faint, sad smile. “If Jihoon is gone, no one understands me anymore,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears glistening in her eyes.

Before anyone could move, before they could reach her, Ro took one final, decisive step forward, her eyes never leaving the horizon. Then, without warning, she leapt into the ocean.

The sound of the splash echoed in the air, but it was drowned out by the deafening silence that followed. Ro didn’t resurface. The ocean, dark and endless, swallowed her whole.

No one moved for a long time.

Soonyoung’s heart sank into his chest, the crushing weight of her decision too much to bear. It was as though the final thread that connected them all had been severed. Ro, the girl who had fought so hard, who had loved so deeply, had chosen to leave the world behind, rather than face the agony of losing Jihoon.

And with that, they were left alone.

The survivors stood together, broken but alive. The echoes of the past seven days haunted their every step. They had survived the nightmare, but the price had been steep. Their hearts were heavy with loss, and the weight of those they had lost would stay with them forever. The last remnants of the nightmare were finally behind them, but the silence that followed was almost suffocating. The ocean stretched out endlessly in front of them, the same vast expanse that had once been a symbol of their imprisonment now serving as the backdrop to their final moments of release.

Everything they had fought for, everything they had endured, all the lives lost, the blood spilled, the chaos that had become their reality, it was finally over. The game, the suffering, the terror, the manipulation, the death, it had all come to an end. But there was no celebration, no cheers of triumph. Instead, there was only a deep, aching silence that hung in the air like a heavy fog. It was as though their souls were exhausted, drained by the cruelty of the last seven days.

Bella, J and Sana were the first to break that silence.

Together, they dropped to their knees on the cold, hard ground, their bodies trembling. Tears, silent and relentless, fell from their eyes, a steady stream of sorrow pouring out from within them. The weight of everything they had been through, everything they had lost, finally cracked open.

Bella and J, their breath ragged and uneven, screamed into the night, a raw, agonizing shout that tore through the air. The pain, the terror, the helplessness they had lived through, the grief for those they had loved and lost, it all came crashing down on them. They cried for Jihoon. They cried for Yuki. They cried for Ro. And most of all, they cried for themselves, for what theyhad endured and the pieces of themselves they had lost along the way.

Sana, beside her, let out her own anguished cry. It was quieter than Bella’s and J’s, but no less full of sorrow. The loss of Joshua, the brutality of the fight, the endless weight of the violence, they had lived through it all, had survived it, but the scars would never heal. She had fought with everything she had, but now, it was all too much. Her chest heaved as she cried, her heart broken, her body shaking uncontrollably.

The others watched, their own grief and exhaustion reflected in their eyes. Mingyu, holding Tiya’s lifeless body, wiped his own tears away, but the pain in his gaze was clear. Seungcheol and Jeonghan stood together, their arms around each other, supporting one another as they silently mourned the love they had lost. Minghao and Wonwoo, too, were injured and weary, but they didn’t speak, they didn’t need to. The pain was universal, shared among them all.

But it was Bella, J and Sana’s cries that broke through the tension in the air, and in that moment, Soonyoung could feel the weight of it all. He had fought. He had killed. He had survived. But it was in this moment, watching Bella, J and Sana release their grief, that he truly understood the cost of survival.

He slowly approached them, unsure of what to say. His heart felt hollow, his own pain nearly as deep as theirs, but he knew he couldn’t take it away. He couldn’t make it better.

As they cried, as they screamed, as they let out the years of suffering in a single, raw moment, something in the air shifted. The weight of everything they had been through was finally being released, one painful shout at a time. It was as though they were giving themselves permission to grieve, to mourn, to acknowledge the suffering they had endured.

And then, as their voices started to quiet, as the rawness of their grief slowly began to fade, there was a moment of eerie calm. The air was still, the winds at the shore gentle, and for the first time in days, they could hear themselves breathe. The adrenaline, the terror, the fighting—it was all over.

Everything was finally over.

Bella, still kneeling, wiped her tears away, her face pale and blotchy, but there was a small, exhausted sense of release in her eyes. Sana, beside her, looked drained but relieved in the same quiet way. They didn’t speak at first; they didn’t need to.

After a long, heavy silence, J spoke softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s over. It’s finally over.”

Sana nodded slowly, her hand brushing across her face to wipe away the last of her tears. “We made it through. But the cost…” Her voice cracked slightly, and she fell silent again, looking down at the ground. It was as though she couldn’t find the words to express everything they had lost.

But at this moment, they didn’t need words. They were survivors. The world they had known, the game, the violence, the terror, was gone. What remained now was the painful process of healing, of remembering, of moving on. But it would never be the same. They would never be the same.

Soonyoung stepped forward, standing behind them for a moment, watching them in quiet solidarity. Finally, he knelt down beside Bella, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “We’re free,” he said softly, almost to himself, as if he were still processing the reality of what they had just survived. “But we’ll carry this with us, always.”

Bella gave him a weak smile, a faint, broken expression of understanding. “Yeah. We will.”

J nodded, her eyes still red from crying. “We’re free. But I don’t know what to do now.”

None of them knew what to do next. But one thing was certain, they had survived, and no matter how fractured they were, they were together. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, they could breathe again. The storm had passed. The nightmare was over. And with that, they stood up, supporting each other as they moved away from the shore, away from the memories of the cruise. It was time to leave behind the past, to step into an uncertain future, but for the first time in days, it didn’t matter. They had survived.

And that was enough.

As the group made their way away from the beach and the ruins of the cruise, the atmosphere was heavy with the weight of everything that had transpired. Their bodies were battered and broken, their minds shattered by the horrors they had endured. But amid the chaos and confusion, one thing remained clear: they needed to heal.

After everything was over, Jeonghan was sent to the best hospital for top-tier treatment, with his parents making sure he received the best care. His recovery was slow but steady, the physical wounds manageable, but the emotional toll much harder to handle.

Meanwhile, the survivors were all treated for their injuries, the scars of the chaotic battle remaining. But the true pain lay in the loss of their friends and loved ones. Each of them had witnessed the horrors of the week unfold, and now they had to face the aftermath, not just physically but emotionally.

With the help of their wealthy families, they were each given the best therapists to help them cope with the deaths they had witnessed—Jihoon, Tiya, Joshua, Yuki, Rae, and even Ro, who had taken her own life. The emotional scars were deep, and therapy was necessary for them to find any kind of peace again.

Though their bodies healed, their minds carried the weight of the events. The loss of so many good friends, the betrayal, the chaos, it would take time, but slowly, they began to rebuild themselves. They had survived the unthinkable, but it didn’t come without a cost.

Eventually, they would all try to move forward, but for now, they were given the space to heal, to grieve, and to accept what they had been through.

As Soonyoung sat in the spacious living room of his mansion, waiting for Minghao to return, he absentmindedly scrolled through his phone. The screen flickered with various news outlets, but there was nothing—no trace of Lucien, no mention of the cruise, and certainly no hint of the chaos that had unfolded over the past week.

He tapped through different apps, hoping to find something, anything, that would acknowledge what had happened, some form of closure or even just a confirmation that the world hadn’t forgotten. But it was as if the entire incident had been wiped clean from the face of the Earth.

He thought it strange, perhaps Lucien’s father had been the one behind it. The absence of information left him unsettled, but he didn’t dwell on it for long.

He sighed, putting the phone down and leaning back against the couch. His body still ached from the battle, but it was the mental exhaustion that weighed on him most. The losses, the deaths, the betrayals, it all felt so surreal now. And yet, there it was, as if it had never happened. The world was moving on, and he was still trying to catch up with the aftermath.

It was then that the door opened, and Minghao stepped in, his expression as serious as ever, though the faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips when he saw Soonyoung.

“Anything?” Minghao asked, already knowing the answer.

Soonyoung shook his head. “Nothing. It’s like it never even happened.”

Minghao walked over, taking a seat next to him. “It’s probably for the best,” he said quietly. “If the world never knows, maybe that’s one less thing for us to carry. We don’t need to live with their judgment on top of our own.”

Soonyoung leaned back, looking at the empty space on his phone screen. “Yeah, but it’s hard not knowing. It feels like something’s unfinished.”

Minghao’s eyes softened as he looked at his friend, understanding the weight of those unspoken words. “We’ll never forget what happened. And we’ll make sure it doesn’t define us, Soonyoung. We survived. That’s enough.”

Soonyoung nodded slowly, not entirely convinced, but grateful for Minghao’s words. As Soonyoung stared at his phone, the weight of everything that had happened hung heavily in the air. His mind drifted to the people who were no longer with them, those whose lives had been taken in the name of a twisted game, those who had been lost to the chaos, to the brutality of it all.

Was death really necessary? Were the students bad, as Lucien had painted them? Were they all deserving of the pain, the suffering, the sacrifice? And most haunting of all: Was the host—Lucien, the orchestrator of it all—truly the villain? Or had he been playing a game much larger than them all?

The line between right and wrong blurred. The truth, hidden beneath layers of deception and violence, seemed impossible to reach.

In the end, who were the true villains?

And with that, the story ended, leaving all of you to ponder.

But instead of hearing a response, he saw the door slowly creak open. Bella stood there, her eyes slightly tired, but there was a different kind of determination behind them. Without a word, she stepped out, her expression unreadable as she began walking down the hallway, heading in the direction of the infirmary.

Soonyoung’s curiosity piqued, and he fell into step behind her. “Hey, what’s up? We’re supposed to grab breakfast,” he said, trying to sound normal. But Bella didn’t respond. She just kept walking with purpose, her movements steady as if she had something on her mind.

As they approached the infirmary, Soonyoung’s pace slowed. Bella didn’t hesitate, though. She pushed the door open softly, revealing the dim-lit room. Inside, J was lying in a cot beside Jeonghan’s bed. Her face was pale, but her grip on Jeonghan’s hand was tight, as though she were unwilling to let go.

Soonyoung lingered near the doorway, watching silently. J was still asleep, her breathing slow and even, but her fingers curled around Jeonghan’s hand as though she were clinging to him for support. Jeonghan, though unconscious, seemed to rest peacefully, a sense of calm settling over him, even if the doctors had expressed doubt over his immediate recovery. The atmosphere in the room was quiet, solemn, as if everyone in it knew that time was slipping away.

Bella stopped just inside the doorway, her eyes on J and Jeonghan, her features softening as she took in the sight of them. Soonyoung stood beside her now, his hands in his pockets, unsure of how to break the silence.

“She hasn’t left his side,” Soonyoung said quietly, more to himself than Bella. “She won’t leave him until he wakes up.” He paused before adding, “We’ve got to be ready for what’s coming, Bella. We can’t afford distractions.”

Bella didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze lingered on J’s sleeping form, then shifted to Jeonghan. She sighed quietly, the weight of their mission growing heavier on her shoulders. She knew they had to stay focused on the task ahead, but a part of her couldn’t help but feel the sting of the emotional toll this all had taken on everyone.

“We will,” Bella finally said, her voice steady but tinged with a hint of concern. “But they’re still our friends, Soonyoung. Even if it feels like we’re walking through fire, we can’t forget that.”

Soonyoung looked at her for a moment, his expression softening. He knew what she meant. This wasn’t just a game anymore. It was about survival, and in the end, they might have to sacrifice everything to end Lucien’s control. But for now, they had to keep playing their parts, even if it meant watching those they cared about suffer along the way.

“Alright, let’s go grab breakfast. We’ve got a long day ahead,” Soonyoung said, his voice steady again. But as he turned to leave the infirmary, he glanced back at J and Jeonghan once more.

Bella remained behind for a moment, her eyes fixed on them. “I’ll stay for a bit,” she said, her tone quiet. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Soonyoung nodded, understanding the unspoken need for space. He left, walking down the hallway to where the others would be waiting for the day’s events to unfold. But Bella stayed, her mind racing, trying to prepare herself for the final, decisive push that would come soon.

The sun had already begun its descent by the time the early afternoon rolled around, casting long shadows across the ship’s deck. Day 6 was beginning to feel like a blur, with each passing moment heavy with the weight of the plan they’d devised. The group knew it was only a matter of time before the final battle began, but first, they would have to get through the game Lucien had planned for that day.

The ship’s loudspeaker buzzed to life, interrupting the stillness of their anxious waiting. Lucien’s smooth, almost amused voice echoed through the speakers.

“Good afternoon, everyone. I trust you’ve all had a restful morning. Today’s game is one of skill and willpower, survival of the fittest, as it were. It’s time for the Tug of Fate.”

A shiver ran down everyone’s spine at the words. Tug of Fate? The name sounded deceptively simple, yet none of them were naive enough to think it would be that easy. They exchanged uneasy glances, knowing the game would be another test of both physical and psychological endurance.

Lucien’s voice continued, each word dripping with subtle menace. “Two players will face off in an endurance challenge. The objective is simple: two contestants will each hold onto a rope attached to a heavy weight. The ropes are connected to each other, and when one player pulls too hard or falters in their grip, the rope will snap, and the weight will drop. The player who can hold on the longest without being overwhelmed by the weight will win. And, of course, there will be a twist: there’s a time limit. The clock is ticking.”

As the loudspeaker crackled, the announcement about the game echoed throughout the ship. The Tug of Fate was about to begin, and the atmosphere in the room thickened with a sense of dread and anticipation. The contestants for the first round were announced: Mingyu and Seungcheol.

Soonyoung, Bella, and the others watched from the sidelines, aware that this game would push the players to their limits. They weren’t just battling physical strength, this was a game of willpower, a test of how much pain they could endure before their grip faltered. And with their lives hanging in the balance, no one could afford to make a mistake.

Seungcheol and Mingyu stood in front of their ropes, their faces set in grim determination. Both were familiar with hardship, but this game would test them in ways they hadn’t anticipated. The ropes were thick, and the weight hanging at the other end seemed insurmountable.

Lucien’s voice filled the air again, cold and commanding. “Remember, gentlemen, the longer you hold on, the more painful it becomes. Do not falter. The clock is ticking.”

The countdown began, and Soonyoung stood nearby, his gaze unwavering on the two players. He knew the stakes, and he felt the weight of the moment more than ever. If they were going to win, they had to stay strong.

“Three… two… one… begin!”

The ropes snapped taut, immediately pulling both Seungcheol and Mingyu into a fierce tug-of-war. The sound of their strained breaths filled the air as they fought to keep their balance, their hands gripping the thick ropes tightly.

Seungcheol’s muscles tensed, his face turning red with the strain. Mingyu, on the other hand, was equally focused, though there was a flicker of pain in his eyes as the weight on the other side seemed to grow heavier by the second.

Soonyoung’s heart raced as he watched the two struggle. This wasn’t just about strength, it was about pushing through the mental fatigue that came with the excruciating pain of holding on. He had to remind himself that they couldn’t afford to lose. Not now. Not when they were so close to the end.

Minutes dragged by, each second feeling like an eternity. The tension between Seungcheol and Mingyu was palpable, and the weight seemed to increase with every passing moment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Seungcheol’s grip faltered. His fingers slipped, and the rope snapped violently. The weight dropped, and the bell rang, signaling the end of the round.

Seungcheol fell to his knees, gasping for air, but Mingyu remained standing, breathing heavily, his hands still clutching the rope.

After the first round ended, the tension in the room was thick, with everyone anxiously awaiting the results. Mingyu stood victorious, but Seungcheol had lost, the weight of the defeat evident on his face.

Lucien, with a satisfied smirk, stepped forward to make the announcement. “Congratulations, Mingyu. You’ve won the first round. Now, let’s move on to the next.”

He paused dramatically, looking around the room. “Mingyu, you’ll face off against Joshua next.”

Mingyu nodded, preparing himself for the next round, while Joshua stepped forward, eyeing Mingyu with a mix of determination and curiosity.

The room was tense as Lucien announced the start of the next round. The game had only just begun, but the stakes were already higher than anyone had imagined. The competitors stood facing each other, ready for what was to come.

Mingyu and Joshua stood across from each other, both aware of the intense nature of the game. The game’s rules were brutal, and everyone knew that only one could come out victorious. The air was thick with tension as they took their positions.

As the bell rang, signaling the start of the game, the room was filled with a sense of urgency. Mingyu and Joshua squared off, eyes locked, each waiting for the other to make a move.

The game was a test of mental and physical endurance, designed to break the spirit of even the most composed players. Joshua made the first move, quickly darting to the side, while Mingyu countered, moving cautiously but with purpose.

The game required quick thinking, and Joshua had a sharp mind. He anticipated Mingyu’s every move, blocking his attempts to gain the upper hand. The tension in the room mounted with every second that passed. Joshua’s strategy was to wear Mingyu down, getting him to make mistakes under pressure.

Mingyu, on the other hand, was a master of endurance. He kept his cool and relied on his physical stamina, taking measured risks when necessary. But as the game dragged on, it became clear that Joshua’s speed and agility were proving more effective.

There were moments when Mingyu faltered, his movements slower than before, his breath coming heavier. Joshua saw the opportunity and capitalized on it, slowly pushing Mingyu into a corner, both mentally and physically. Every calculated move Joshua made seemed to push Mingyu closer to the brink.

Joshua’s strategy was methodical, always anticipating Mingyu’s next move and countering with precision. As the game reached its peak, Joshua made his final move, a well-timed and carefully executed maneuver that left Mingyu no way to escape.

With that, the game was over, and Joshua stood victorious, breathless but triumphant. Mingyu was left on the ground, clearly exhausted, but still conscious. The crowd was silent, watching as the two competitors exchanged looks, Mingyu nodding with respect, acknowledging Joshua’s win.

“Joshua wins,” Lucien said, his voice cold and detached, breaking the silence.

After the grueling games, Lucien announced the final results, and the room was filled with a mix of shock and relief. The pain of the losses still hung in the air, but the victors stood tall.

“First place: Joshua,” Lucien declared. “Second place: Mingyu. And third place: Seungcheol.”

Joshua stepped forward, his face a mixture of relief and exhaustion, as Lucien handed him the card. He gave a nod of gratitude, but his mind remained clouded with the thought of what would come next. This wasn’t over yet, and they all knew it.

“Now, for Mingyu and Seungcheol,” Lucien continued, his voice still detached. “You may have lost, but you’ve earned your own reward. In exchange for a casino chip each, you will need to reveal a secret.”

Mingyu stood still for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. His eyes briefly glanced over to Tiya, who had been silently observing the proceedings, before he sighed deeply.

“I’ll go first,” Mingyu said quietly, his voice low but clear. “A few years ago, I got into a shady business deal. I sold medical supplies that I knew were faulty to a hospital, just to make a quick profit. I knew the equipment would cause harm, but I didn’t care at the time. A few weeks later, a few patients died because of it, and the hospital was forced to shut down. I just walked away.”

The room fell silent. Mingyu’s words hung heavily in the air. His head was bowed as he spoke, and it was clear that revealing this secret had taken a toll on him. He had always carried that burden, but now, his past had been laid bare.

Lucien gave a small, satisfied smile. “Thank you for your honesty,” he said, as though this was all part of the game. He tossed a casino chip onto Mingyu’s lap.

“Now, Seungcheol,” Lucien said, turning his gaze to the second loser. “It’s your turn.”

Seungcheol stood for a moment, his fists clenched by his sides. The pressure of the moment seemed to weigh on him, but he finally spoke, his voice steady but strained.

“A long time ago,” Seungcheol began, “I was part of an operation that smuggled illegal substances across borders. The people I worked for were dangerous, and I did it for the money. One time, things went south, I was supposed to deliver a package to a client, but the deal went wrong. The client didn’t pay, and in the chaos that followed, I lost my temper. I killed the guy. I never got caught, and I’ve been running ever since.”

Seungcheol’s eyes were now dark, his usual confident demeanor replaced with one of regret and burden. He stared at the floor, as if trying to make sense of the weight of his actions.

Lucien nodded slowly, his smile never fading. He threw the casino chip toward Seungcheol.

“Very well,” Lucien said. “Both of you have fulfilled the requirements. You’ve earned your chips.”

As soon as Lucien’s presence had faded, leaving the room heavy with the aftertaste of the game’s brutality, Soonyoung tried to gather everyone. He had been trying to keep their spirits up, but as he surveyed their faces—each one marked with exhaustion, anxiety, and fear—a deep sense of doubt gnawed at him.

“Everyone,” Soonyoung began, his voice steady but strained, “we need to keep focused. We can’t let them break us, not now. We need to be ready for tonight’s game.”

But as his words left his mouth, he saw the empty stares, the haunted look in the eyes of his friends, Tiya, Jihoon, J, and even Mingyu, who had only recently opened up about his own past. Each of them was worn down. Their bodies had endured the physical toll of the games, but it was their minds that had begun to crack, their sanity slowly slipping away as the days dragged on.

The smiles they used to share seemed to have disappeared, replaced by guarded, nervous expressions. Their laughter, once so frequent, had all but vanished. Soonyoung realized with a cold dread that he was no longer leading them with the same confidence he had before. The weight of the situation had caught up to him, and he wasn’t sure if giving them false hope was the right thing anymore. He wasn’t sure if anything was the right thing.

He kept those thoughts locked inside, though, unwilling to voice his own doubts. He couldn’t afford to be weak, not when everyone else was already crumbling. They needed someone strong, even if that strength was just an illusion.

As the others filtered out to grab their dinner, Soonyoung followed, his mind racing. He caught snippets of conversation, but nothing of substance, mostly small talk to fill the oppressive silence. They had all become so accustomed to the games, so accustomed to the suffering, that it felt as though the normal rhythms of life were slipping away.

When they sat down to eat, the food was unappetizing, tasteless, like everything else that had become hollow in this twisted version of reality they were stuck in. The air was thick with the tension of knowing that something more would happen tonight, that another game awaited them, one they couldn’t escape from, no matter how much they wished for it.

“Are you okay?” Tiya asked softly, her voice laced with concern as she looked across the table at Soonyoung. He gave her a faint, strained smile.

“I’m fine,” he replied, though the words didn’t ring true. He wasn’t fine, but he didn’t want to drag anyone else down with his own confusion. They had enough to worry about.

He could feel the weight of the moment pressing on him, and as much as he wanted to give them some kind of hope, he couldn’t. It wasn’t in him. Not now. Not after everything they had been through.

“Soonyoung…” Mingyu’s voice broke through his thoughts. He looked up to see Mingyu watching him with a solemn expression. “What happens after tonight? What happens when we get through all this?”

Soonyoung didn’t answer immediately. He wanted to say something reassuring, something that would ignite the flame of hope again, but the truth was… he didn’t know. None of them knew. They were all just stumbling through the darkness, hoping they wouldn’t fall too far.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, the words tasting bitter in his mouth.

Mingyu looked away, not pressing the issue any further. The silence returned, the sound of silverware against plates and the muffled clink of glasses filling the space between them.

And then, it was time. The night’s game loomed before them, another round of challenges, another night of survival. But for Soonyoung, something felt different about tonight. They were all falling apart, unraveling bit by bit, and he wasn’t sure how much longer any of them could hold on.

“I’ll be fine,” Soonyoung murmured under his breath, the words a fragile promise, even though he wasn’t sure if he believed them himself.

As they finished their meal, the weight of the coming game grew heavier, and with each step toward the door, Soonyoung felt the pulse of dread rise in his chest. Tonight would be just another test. And he wasn’t sure how much more any of them could take.

As the night descended, an eerie silence settled over the group. The tension among the group was palpable, as everyone gathered in the designated area, ready for whatever Lucien had prepared. This time, there would be no mercy. The challenge would push them to their limits, and only one would come out on top.

Soonyoung, Tiya, Jihoon, J, Mingyu, Seungcheol, Yuki, Rae, Ro, Jeonghan, Bella, Sana, and Joshua stood in a large open space with a variety of obstacles scattered throughout. Each one was placed strategically to test their endurance, intelligence, and ability to navigate through the challenges under pressure.

Lucien, standing at the front, gave a chilling announcement:

“The goal of tonight’s game is simple. Navigate the course, complete the challenges, and earn your points. First place gets a reward, second and third get their own… but failure will not be tolerated. Make it to the end, or face the consequences.”

The challenges were split into three stages:

Physical Endurance Test: The first stage involved navigating a maze of obstacles, requiring players to jump, crawl, and climb over barriers, all while racing against time and others. The course was designed to wear them down quickly.

Mental Puzzle: The second stage was a mental challenge, where they had to solve complex puzzles under time pressure. One mistake could mean a delay, putting them further behind.

Survival Tactics: The final stage involved picking up specific items scattered around the area and using them in creative ways to complete a task that was revealed last minute. This was the most unpredictable part of the game, and Lucien knew it would test everyone’s ability to think on their feet.

As the game began, Soonyoung took an early lead in the physical portion, showing his experience in maneuvering through obstacles. He was quick but careful, not wanting to burn out too soon. Tiya, on the other hand, had a steady approach, pacing herself while trying to stay focused on the puzzle ahead. Jihoon and Mingyu were neck-and-neck in the physical portion, both determined to push themselves to the limit.

Rae, although focused, couldn’t stop glancing toward Jeonghan, whose injuries from earlier in the day were still affecting him. She knew she had to keep moving but felt the weight of concern for him. Ro was calm and methodical, her experience in high-pressure situations evident as she carefully navigated the course.

Yuki and Sana were struggling a bit more but didn’t let their fatigue show. Joshua, ever the strategist, was taking his time, carefully studying the obstacles ahead of him before making his move. Bella and J seemed to be working together through the first obstacle, their movements synchronized as they took on the physical challenge.

The mental puzzle stage was where the game started to take a serious toll. Players were huddled over tables with complex riddles, scrambling to solve them under Lucien’s watchful eye. Jihoon, with his sharp mind, cracked the first puzzle quickly, followed by Soonyoung and Mingyu. But the others struggled, with Rae visibly flustered as time ticked down.

As the game reached its final moments, everyone was exhausted from the physical and mental challenges they had been through. The obstacles had pushed them to their limits, but only a few could claim victory in the twisted competition Lucien had set before them.

Ro, despite her earlier struggles, found a burst of energy in the final survival stage. She used her sharp mind and quick thinking to gather the necessary items and complete the final task, earning her the top spot. Her calm and methodical approach to the game had paid off, and she managed to outlast everyone.

J, though a fierce competitor, had been slightly behind Ro, but she wasn’t far behind. She managed to complete the final task just moments after Ro, securing second place. Though she didn’t win, her determination had kept her in the game, proving her strength.

Soonyoung, who had been quietly observant throughout the competition, secured third place. He had taken his time with each stage, staying steady and focused. While not as fast as some, his strategy of calculated risks allowed him to finish strong in the end.

Lucien, watching with amusement as the competitors limped toward him, smirked as he announced the results:

First place: Ro.

Second place: J.

Third place: Soonyoung.

The players, despite their fatigue, had made it through another round, each of them battered but surviving. They knew the stakes had only grown higher, and with the twisted rules of this game continuing, the tension in the air was thicker than ever.

As the announcement was made, it was clear that J and Soonyoung, as the second and third-place finishers, would each have to expose a secret in exchange for their casino chips.

J, looking slightly uncomfortable but not backing down, took a deep breath before speaking. “I… I have a toy from my family’s company,” she said softly. Lucien, intrigued, leaned in slightly but said nothing, waiting for the next revelation.

Soonyoung stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he prepared to share his secret. The weight of it was far greater than anything he had ever admitted before. He exhaled slowly, then spoke.

“I killed my older sister.”

The room fell silent, tension thick in the air. Even Lucien seemed intrigued, tilting his head slightly as he waited for more.

Soonyoung’s gaze was distant as he continued. “She betrayed the family. If they ever found out, they would’ve had her executed. But I…” He let out a low breath. “I killed her first. I didn’t want my parents to know. I didn’t want them to grieve over a traitor.” His jaw tightened. “So I told them it was an accident. A mistake in the planning. They still think she died because something went wrong.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, but his eyes were void of any amusement. “And they never suspected a thing.”

Lucien, satisfied with the confessions, finally spoke again. “Well, it looks like both of you have earned your casino chips. Enjoy them.“

“The president’s son?” he repeated, running a hand through his messy hair. “That explains why no one has stopped him. He has full control over this damn cruise.”

Minghao leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Not just the cruise. He has influence everywhere. His father covers up everything he does. Murder, kidnapping, torture—nothing ever reaches the public. No one even suspects a thing.”

Soonyoung clenched his fists. “And now he’s using us for his entertainment.”

Minghao nodded. “Exactly. It’s not about revenge for Soojin. That was just a guess. In reality, this is just a sick game to him. He enjoys watching people suffer.”

Soonyoung exhaled sharply, swinging his legs off the bed. His anger boiled beneath his skin, making it nearly impossible to sit still. “So what do we do?”

Minghao’s eyes darkened. “We need to find a way to turn the game against him.”

Soonyoung’s lips curled into a smirk, though his eyes were still burning with rage.

“Or,” he said slowly, tilting his head, “we could force him to join the game himself.”

Minghao raised an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “You mean…?”

“There are two days left,” Soonyoung continued, standing up. “Two days’ worth of games. And let’s be real, it’s been a game played by evil people this entire time anyway.”

Minghao exhaled, his mind already working through the possibilities. “You want to drag Lucien into his own twisted game?”

“Exactly.” Soonyoung stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders. “If he enjoys watching others suffer so much, let’s see how he likes it when he’s the one being played with.”

Minghao leaned against the desk, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the surface. “That’s risky.”

“So is sitting around and waiting to die,” Soonyoung shot back. “We all know he’s not going to let any of us go just because we survive the last game. He’ll find another excuse to keep playing with us. The only way to end this is to flip the game on him.”

Minghao was silent for a moment before a slow grin spread across his face. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s make Lucien the next player.”

Minghao grabbed his phone without hesitation, dialing Wonwoo’s number.

“Get Bella and meet us in Soonyoung’s room. Now,” he said the moment Wonwoo picked up.

There was a brief pause, then Wonwoo’s voice came through, low and sharp. “What happened?”

“We’re turning the game on Lucien.”

Another pause. Then, “We’re on our way.”

Soonyoung ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room as Minghao hung up. “We need a solid plan. Lucien isn’t stupid. He’s been in control this entire time.”

Minghao nodded. “We can’t just throw him in blindly. We need a reason, a way to force his hand.”

A knock on the door interrupted them. Wonwoo and Bella stepped in, Bella immediately locking the door behind her.

“What’s going on?” she asked, eyes narrowing at their tense expressions.

Soonyoung crossed his arms. “We’re making Lucien a player in his own game.”

Bella’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

Wonwoo leaned against the wall, arms folded, gaze sharp. “How?”

Minghao exhaled. “That’s what we’re figuring out. We need to make it so he has no choice but to participate.”

Bella smirked. “Well, we do have something he values the most.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to her.

“What?” Soonyoung asked.

Bella leaned in, voice low. “His control.”

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Wonwoo’s face. “So we take it from him.”

Minghao nodded. “We force his hand.”

Soonyoung clenched his fist. “Then let’s plan this right.”

When it was time for the next game, everyone gathered in the grand hall, waiting for Lucien’s usual announcement. But before he could even speak, Soonyoung stepped forward.

“I have a game suggestion,” Soonyoung said, his voice loud and clear, cutting through the tension in the room.

Lucien arched an eyebrow, clearly not expecting this. “Oh?”

“It’s called Buckshot Roulette. But since we can’t have real bullets flying around, we’ll do it in a video game format. Live.” Soonyoung grinned, his confidence unwavering. “Everyone gets a laser tag gun. The rules remain the same as traditional buckshot roulette. Each round, we fire at a randomly chosen player. The items and their effects stay the same. No deaths, just pure fun for everyone.”

Lucien’s expression darkened slightly as he processed Soonyoung’s words. For the first time, he looked hesitant.

Soonyoung tilted his head. “What? You scared?”

Lucien’s jaw tightened, and then he smirked. “Scared? Not at all.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Fine. I accept your game.”

Lucien clapped his hands together. “Let’s set it up, then. This should be interesting.”

With that, the staff rushed to prepare the setup. large screens displaying the game’s live feed, laser tag guns being handed out to each participant.

Soonyoung gripped his gun tightly. Now, let’s see how well you play when you’re not the one pulling all the strings, Lucien.

Game Rules:

The game is played in a controlled virtual environment using laser tag guns.

Each round, a random player is chosen as the target. All other players must shoot at them.

The target can choose to either dodge, use an item, or take the hit.

Successfully hitting a target earns a shooter 3 points.

Dodging a shot successfully earns the target 2 points.

Using an item correctly earns 1 point.

If a shooter misses their shot, they lose 1 point.

Bulletproof Shield – Blocks a shot once.

Double Shot – Allows the shooter to fire twice in one round.

Reflector – Bounces the shot back to a random shooter.

Blind Shot – Forces all shooters to fire with reduced accuracy.

The game lasts ten rounds.

Players who reach -3 points are automatically eliminated.

At the end of ten rounds, the player with the highest score wins.

Lucien listened to the rules carefully, his smirk never fading. “Interesting,” he mused. “I like the stakes. Very… fair.” He turned to his staff. “Prepare the game.”

As the large screens flickered to life, everyone grabbed their laser tag guns, the air thick with tension. For the first time, Lucien wasn’t just the observer, he was a player. And Soonyoung? He was going to make sure Lucien felt the heat of his own game.

The dimly lit arena flickered to life on the giant screen, illuminating neon pathways, hiding spots, and vantage points. Everyone gripped their laser guns tightly, their hearts pounding, not just from the thrill of the game, but because this time, Lucien was playing too. Soonyoung’s eyes met Bella’s. They didn’t just want to win. They wanted Lucien to lose, while making sure he landed in second or third place. That way, he would be forced to reveal a secret.

Lucien had no idea what was coming.

3… 2… 1… START!

J’s name flashed on the screen. She barely had a second before shots came flying her way.

Mingyu hit J! (+3 points)

Lucien intentionally missed J, acting casual. (-1 point)

J dodged a few shots, gaining points (+2 points for dodging)

Soonyoung took mental notes. Lucien was playing smart, being careful not to get too many points. Time to change that. A smirk tugged at Soonyoung’s lips as Lucien’s name appeared on the screen. Perfect. He immediately shot at Lucien. Bella did the same.

Soonyoung and Bella hit Lucien at the same time! (+3 points each for them, -3 points for Lucien)

Jeonghan used a Reflector, making Lucien shoot himself! (-3 points for Lucien again)

Lucien dodged a few shots, earning some points (+2 points for dodging)

Lucien narrowed his eyes, realizing he was being targeted. “You guys really want me to be the target, huh?”

Soonyoung just grinned. “It’s part of the game.”

Now came the tricky part, making sure Lucien got just enough points to place second or third. Soonyoung and Bella started missing shots on purpose when Lucien was the target, allowing him to dodge and earn survival points.

Lucien successfully dodged an attack from Ro! (+2 points for Lucien)

Bella ‘accidentally’ let Lucien hit her. (+3 points for Lucien, -1 for Bella)

Soonyoung made sure Lucien got another hit in. (+3 points for Lucien)

Lucien, unaware of their strategy, started getting confident. “Guess I’m not too bad at this after all.”

Bella smirked behind her laser gun. Exactly what we want you to think. The scoreboard flashed. Lucien was currently in third place. Just where they needed him to be. Lucien grinned and took the shot. Soonyoung let him.

Lucien hit Soonyoung! (+3 points for Lucien)

Bella also shot Soonyoung, pretending to fight for points. (+3 points for Bella)

The game ended. The final results appeared on the screen.

Final Rankings:

Winner: Mingyu (20 points) - Earns a Poker Card

Second Place: Lucien (16 points) - Must reveal a secret + earns 1 Casino Chip

Third Place: Bella (15 points) - Must reveal a secret + earns 1 Casino Chip

Soonyoung barely held back his smirk. Mission accomplished. Lucien’s eyes flickered toward the screen, his expression unreadable. Soonyoung turned to him, feigning innocence. “Guess you have to tell a secret now.”

Lucien stood in the center, the glow of the game screen reflecting off his sharp gaze. The room was silent, everyone waiting for him to speak. He exhaled slowly before beginning.

“I suppose it’s only fair,” Lucien said with a smirk, though there was an edge to his voice. “I’m Soojin’s long-relative. Not that it matters, our families weren’t close. She was just another wealthy daughter in the family line, nothing more.”

Soonyoung clenched his fists, forcing himself to act shocked and disturbed. He already knew this, thanks to Minghao, but the rest of the students had no idea who Soojin was.

Lucien glanced around, amused at their blank expressions. “I see most of you don’t recognize the name. But I know Soonyoung does.” His smirk deepened as his eyes locked onto Soonyoung.

“What…?” Soonyoung let his voice waver slightly, pretending to be unsettled. “How do you know that?”

Lucien chuckled. “Because I did my research. I know everything about the students I invited here. Some of you did horrible things in the past. Others just stood by and watched. And some-” his gaze flicked toward Soonyoung “-were far worse than the rest.”

The tension in the room thickened. Soonyoung forced himself to look disturbed, shifting slightly in place. He needed to sell the act.

Lucien continued, his voice casual, as if he was discussing the weather. “I couldn’t care less about revenge for Soojin. She was nothing to me. But you, Soonyoung, and the rest of you? You interest me.”

Everyone was staring at Soonyoung now. Bella’s hand subtly brushed against his, grounding him.

Lucien smirked. “But enough about me. Bella, it’s your turn to spill a secret.”

Bella didn’t flinch. Unlike the others, who showed fear or discomfort when revealing their past, she remained calm. Cold. She had accepted what she was a long time ago.

She took a deep breath, but her voice was steady. “I killed my best friend.”

Some gasps echoed around the room.

Bella ignored them. “She was a manipulator. A stalker. A liar. A psychopath, just like me.” Her lips curled slightly, but there was no warmth in the smile. “She thought she could control me. She thought I needed her. But she was wrong.”

Lucien tilted his head, intrigued. “Oh? That’s an interesting love story.”

Bella didn’t look away. “It is.”

Soonyoung tensed beside her. He knew Bella had no regrets, but saying it out loud, in front of everyone, made things real. Made them dangerous.

Lucien chuckled. “Well, well. I’m glad I made you all play this game. It’s always fun watching murderers expose themselves.”

No one said a word.

Lucien stretched, rolling his shoulders. “That was entertaining. Now then, I’ll be taking my casino chip, and Bella, you get yours. Don’t forget, tomorrow is the final game.”

With that, he walked off, whistling. Once Lucien was gone, the room remained eerily silent. No one looked at Bella. No one looked at Soonyoung. It was as if everyone had finally realized the truth. They were all monsters.

Soonyoung exhaled, breaking the silence. “We need to get ready for later.”

Nobody argued.

Back in Soonyoung’s room, the air was thick with tension. Minghao was seated at the desk, scanning through his laptop, while Wonwoo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Bella and Soonyoung had just returned from the game, shutting the door behind them.

Minghao sighed, rubbing his temple. “It’s confirmed. Lucien is indeed Soojin’s long relative, though they were never close. His records show that he was barely in contact with her family. But what’s more important-” Minghao turned the laptop toward them, “-is this.”

On the screen was a hidden police file. Lucien’s name was all over it.

Bella leaned in, reading quickly. “Human trafficking, illegal gambling, bribery, organ trade…” Her lips curled in disgust. “He’s not just playing with us for fun. He’s a full-blown criminal.”

Soonyoung clenched his fists. “And the government covers for him.”

Wonwoo nodded. “His father, the president, buries all of his son’s crimes. Pays off the police, destroys evidence, and eliminates any threats.” He scoffed. “Lucien isn’t afraid of us because he knows we can’t touch him. The law is on his side.”

Bella exhaled sharply. “Then we have two choices.”

Minghao looked up. “Expose him or kill him.”

Silence followed.

They all knew what exposing Lucien meant. They’d need hard proof, undeniable evidence that even the president couldn’t cover up. And even if they succeeded, there was no guarantee they’d make it out alive. On the other hand… killing him would be simpler. Clean. A monster like Lucien didn’t deserve to live. But killing a man protected by power came with consequences.

Soonyoung exhaled. “If we go for exposure, we need proof that the public can’t ignore. If we go for a kill…” His voice trailed off.

Wonwoo looked at him. “If we go for a kill, we have to make sure it can’t be traced back to us.”

Minghao closed his laptop. “We have two days left. Let’s decide soon.”

Bella’s eyes darkened. “I say we do both. Get proof and, if needed, end him ourselves.”

The room fell into deep silence. And then, one by one, they nodded.

The tension in the air was suffocating as all the students gathered in the game hall once again. The previous game had drained them, but Lucien wasn’t done with them yet.

He stood at the top of the staircase, hands in his pockets, wearing the same calm, smug smile that made their blood boil. “Tonight’s game,” he announced, “will be a game of eliminations.”

A murmur of unease spread through the students.

Eliminations?

Soonyoung’s fingers twitched. Something about this felt dangerous.

Lucien continued, voice smooth. “Rules are simple. You will compete against one another. The losers of each round will be eliminated from playing further games.” His eyes gleamed. “And by ‘eliminated,’ I don’t necessarily mean dead. But…” He chuckled. “I don’t guarantee their safety either.”

Bella’s grip on her arm tightened.

Tiya whispered, “This is bad.”

Lucien clapped his hands together. “Now, let’s begin.”

The screen behind him lit up, revealing the first match-up list.

Round 1:

Mingyu vs. Rae

Jihoon vs. Tiya

Seungcheol vs. Joshua

J vs. Ro

Yuki vs. Sana

Bella vs. Soonyoung

Jeonghan vs. Highest student

Seven battles. Half of them would be eliminated.

Lucien’s voice echoed through the chilling arena. “Let’s begin the first elimination round.”

The screen flickered, revealing the game’s name:

The Hanging Breath

Rae and Mingyu were led to a raised platform, where two nooses hung from the ceiling.

The rules appeared:

Each player will have their hands bound behind their back. The noose will tighten slightly every 30 seconds. The one who lasts the longest without blacking out wins.

A cruel twist, the nooses weren’t meant to snap their necks instantly. It was a slow suffocation.

Mingyu clenched his fists as the guards forced his hands behind his back. Rae’s breath came in shaky gasps as the rope settled around her neck.

Lucien grinned. “Good luck.”

The platform beneath them dropped. Rae and Mingyu jerked downward, their bodies suspended in the air. Their legs kicked instinctively, searching for footing that wasn’t there. At first, the suffocation wasn’t immediate. It was a slow, dreadful tightening.

Seconds passed. 30 seconds. The ropes tightened slightly.

Mingyu grunted, forcing himself to stay calm. Rae’s eyes widened, her breath growing more desperate.

Another 30 seconds. The ropes tightened again.

Rae’s legs twitched violently, her body beginning to thrash. Her breaths came in sharp, panicked gasps. Mingyu fought against the burning in his lungs.

Another 30 seconds. The ropes tightened further.

Rae choked. Her body convulsed. Her vision blurred. She tried to inhale, but, nothing. Her body began to go limp.

Lucien’s smile widened. “And we have a winner.”

The platform beneath Mingyu rose back up, and the rope around his neck loosened. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, his entire body trembling. But Rae, she didn’t move.

Seungcheol rushed forward, shoving past the guards. “Rae!”

He caught her barely breathing body as the guards cut the noose. Her skin was ghastly pale, her pulse weak.

“Stay with me,” he whispered urgently, his hands trembling as he held her close.

Lucien chuckled. “Mingyu wins. Take her away.”

Seungcheol ignored him, his focus entirely on Rae, brushing her hair from her face as he whispered reassurances, his expression filled with nothing but anger and worry. Mingyu, still shaking, sat hunched over, struggling to catch his breath. Meanwhile, Mingyu staggered off the platform, his breath still ragged, his throat burning from the noose. Before he could fall, Tiya was already there.

“Mingyu,” she whispered, reaching for him. Her fingers immediately went to his neck, checking for any lingering damage. Red bruising was already forming around his throat.

Mingyu swallowed, wincing. “I’m fine.”

Tiya’s eyes narrowed. “Liar.”

Ignoring his protests, she grabbed a bottle of water from the floor, twisting the cap off with shaky hands. “Drink.”

Mingyu hesitated, his hands still trembling from the lack of oxygen earlier. Tiya gently lifted the bottle to his lips, forcing him to sip. The cold water soothed his raw throat, but the tightness in his chest remained. Tiya’s hand never left him. Her fingers brushed over his wrist, grounding him, keeping him from slipping further into the trauma of what had just happened.

“Why the hell is it like this?” she muttered under her breath, her voice filled with frustration and barely contained anger. “Lucien is insane.”

Mingyu exhaled shakily, his voice hoarse. “You’re just figuring that out?”

Tiya didn’t laugh. Her gaze flickered toward Rae, who was now in Seungcheol’s arms, her breaths so weak they were almost nonexistent. Her grip on Mingyu tightened.

“You could’ve ended up like that,” she whispered. “Or worse.”

Mingyu didn’t answer. Because deep down, he knew she was right. He had barely survived. And the next game was already about to begin.

Lucien’s voice rang out, smooth and taunting. “Next round, Jihoon versus Tiya.”

Mingyu stiffened. His eyes snapped to Tiya, but before he could react, guards were already escorting her forward. Tiya glanced back at him one last time before stepping into the arena.

The screen behind Lucien flickered to life, displaying the challenge:

The Drowning Chains

The arena shifted again, revealing two deep, water-filled tanks. Heavy metal chains hung from the ceiling, each with a shackle at the end.

Lucien smirked. “Let’s see who can escape first, shall we?”

Rules:

Both Jihoon and Tiya would be submerged underwater, their hands bound in heavy chains.

The only way to escape? Find the key at the bottom and unlock themselves before losing consciousness.

If they passed out first, they lost.

Jihoon’s face remained blank, but Tiya’s fingers curled into fists. Mingyu’s breathing grew uneven.

“No,” he whispered, stepping forward. “Pick a different game.”

Lucien merely smiled. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

The guards forced Jihoon and Tiya into the water. The shackles clamped onto their wrists, and before either could take a deep breath-

The chains yanked them downward. Water rushed over them. The cold shocked their bodies, stealing the air from their lungs. Jihoon kept his movements calm, focused, scanning the dark, murky bottom for the key.

Tiya’s body tensed. She tried to move, but the weight of the chains pulled her deeper. Her vision blurred, lungs already burning.

Jihoon spotted the faint glint of metal, the key. He stretched for it, but his chains resisted. Tiya’s body jerked violently. She was running out of air. Desperation set in.

Jihoon finally snatched the key. His fingers fumbled, unlocking one shackle, then the other. His lungs screamed for air. With one last kick, he shot toward the surface.

Tiya, meanwhile, wasn’t moving. Her eyes fluttered shut, her body going limp. She was sinking. Mingyu moved before the guards could stop him. But Ro was already there. She dove in. In a blur of movement, Ro wrapped an arm around Tiya, kicking hard toward the surface. She broke through the waterline, gasping as she dragged Tiya with her.

The guards grabbed Jihoon first, hauling him out. His chest rose and fell rapidly, water dripping from his soaked clothes. He won.

Lucien chuckled. “Jihoon wins.”

But no one was looking at Jihoon anymore. All eyes were on Tiya, who wasn’t breathing. Mingyu rushed forward, shoving past everyone.

“Tiya!” His hands shook as he grabbed her, pressing his forehead against hers. “Come on, baby, breathe- please.”

Ro, drenched and exhausted, watched as Mingyu frantically checked for a pulse. Then, a sharp inhale. Tiya coughed violently, choking on water. Mingyu let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Tiya’s lashes fluttered weakly. “Mingyu…?”

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, his body shaking.

“I got you,” he whispered, pressing a hand to the back of her head. “I got you.”

Jihoon sat on the side, still dripping wet, his breath still shallow. Ro was there in an instant, kneeling beside him, checking him over.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

Jihoon nodded, but his hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

Ro sighed, brushing her fingers against his knuckles. “You don’t have to lie.”

Jihoon exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’ll be fine.”

But Ro could see it. None of them were fine. Still drenched from the water, she stood up and walked back toward Tiya, who was leaning heavily against Mingyu. Without a word, Ro crouched beside her, letting Tiya grab onto her arm for support. Mingyu’s arm remained tight around Tiya’s waist, unwilling to let go. Lucien simply smiled, watching them all fall apart one by one.

And the next round was about to begin.

Lucien’s smile widened as the next match was set. “Gentlemen, step forward.”

Seungcheol and Joshua stepped onto the platform, neither saying a word. Joshua adjusted his stance, rolling his shoulders back to stay loose, while Seungcheol’s expression was unreadable, his jaw tight.

“This game is simple.” Lucien gestured to the contraption behind him. “A test of strength… and endurance.”

Two metal handcuffs were attached to a mechanical pulley system, with each chain leading to a separate cylinder of water above their heads.

“Hold on for as long as you can. The moment your grip weakens, the chain will tighten and pull you up.”

The meaning was obvious. Drowning. The longer they held on, the more water would pour into their tank. If they let go, the mechanism would snap them up toward the ceiling, strangling them with the cuffs.

Joshua breathed in sharply.

Seungcheol stayed still.

“Begin.”

The moment they grabbed onto the metal bar, the sound of rushing water filled the air. Ice-cold liquid poured into their tanks, rising past their ankles, past their knees.

Joshua’s arms shook first. He was leaner than Seungcheol, built for speed, not raw endurance. The metal cuffs dug into his wrists, biting into his skin, but he refused to let go.

Seungcheol gritted his teeth, his muscles straining as he endured the cold and the weight of his own body pulling downward.

The water rose to their waists. Joshua’s breathing grew labored. The chains above them creaked. The water reached their chests. Joshua let out a sharp gasp as his grip weakened. The metal jerked violently, yanking him upward. The cuffs slammed against his wrists, cutting off circulation. He struggled, his feet kicking wildly against the rising water.

Seungcheol refused to look. He focused on his breathing, on the pain in his arms, on anything but the sound of Joshua choking.

The water reached their necks. Joshua’s vision blurred. His fingers gave out. The moment he let go, the chain snapped. His body was jerked up toward the ceiling, his head slamming against the steel beams with a sickening crack. The cuffs tightened around his wrists, cutting off his blood flow completely. He hung there, barely breathing.

Lucien clapped. “Winner, Seungcheol.”

The water drained instantly, the chains releasing. Seungcheol stumbled forward, coughing, his body shaking. But he won. Joshua didn’t even move.

Sana was the first to reach him, her face pale. “Josh-!”

She grabbed his face, tilting it toward her. His eyes were unfocused, his lips slightly parted. Still breathing. But barely. Her hands trembled. She leaned in, whispering his name over and over, but he didn’t respond.

Seungcheol, meanwhile, staggered back toward the edge of the arena. Rae rushed toward him, wrapping her arms around his soaking-wet body. He barely reacted. His body felt numb. But he was alive.

Lucien tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Both of you, step forward.”

J and Ro stepped onto the platform, their expressions unreadable.

“This will test your survival instincts,” Lucien said smoothly. “Simple, really. Hold your breath longer than your opponent.”

At the center of the arena was a large glass tank, filled halfway with water. A metal bar stretched across the top, with two chains hanging down, each attached to a harness.

“Once you’re submerged, you can’t surface until one of you gives up,” Lucien explained. “If neither of you resurface… well, I suppose that’s your choice.”

J and Ro exchanged a look. Then, without another word, they climbed into the tank. The chains lowered them slowly into the freezing water. The moment their heads dipped beneath the surface, the locks clicked. Silence. The cold was suffocating.

J tried to calm her breathing. She had trained for breath control. She knew how to pace herself. Ro, however, was struggling. She had never been good with water. Her lungs burned almost immediately. But she held on. Seconds stretched into minutes.

J’s vision blurred. Ro’s chest ached. They were both shaking, their bodies screaming for air. Then, at the exact same moment… They gave up. Two sets of bubbles escaped. The chains released them both. They broke the surface together, gasping violently for air.

Neither of them had won.

Lucien’s grin widened. “A draw?” he mused. “How boring.”

But the two didn’t care. They collapsed, coughing uncontrollably. The guards moved toward them-

-but before they could be taken, two figures rushed in. Jihoon reached Ro first. His hands gripped her shoulders, his face pale.

“Breathe,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”

She clung to him, her body trembling. Meanwhile, J was shaking violently. Jeonghan knelt beside her, pulling her close.

His voice was soft, barely audible. “I’ve got you.”

She buried her face in his shoulder, gripping his sleeve.

The arena was quiet.

Lucien smiled as he watched Yuki and Sana step forward. “This game is about endurance,” he announced. “Electrocution. The first to pass out loses.”

A set of metal chairs awaited them, each fitted with arm restraints and a control panel at Lucien’s side. Yuki stared at the chair, unbothered. She didn’t care. She just wanted this to end. Sana, however, took a deep breath and clenched her fists. She wasn’t about to lose. The moment they sat, the restraints clicked shut. Lucien’s finger hovered over the button.

“Shall we begin?”

A sharp, high-pitched buzz filled the air. Then, the electricity hit.

Yuki didn’t flinch. Sana gritted her teeth, fists shaking.

The voltage increased.

Yuki felt her body twitch involuntarily, but she made no sound. Sana winced, her breathing uneven, but she stayed focused.

More voltage. Yuki felt nothing. She could still see Chan in her mind. His smile. His warmth. The way he whispered her name. But he was gone. So why was she still here? The pain wasn’t enough. She wanted it to end.

Sana glanced at her, noticing the empty look in her eyes. Something in Sana snapped. She wasn’t going to let Yuki give up. With one last breath, she endured. Yuki’s vision blurred. Then, darkness. She slumped in her seat.

Lucien sighed. “How disappointing.”

The electricity shut off. Sana was panting, her body aching, but she was still awake. She had won. But Yuki… She wasn’t moving. The guards moved in. They shocked her back to consciousness. She gasped violently, her eyes dull.

“No,” she whispered. “Let me go. Just let me go.”

The guards ignored her, dragging her away. She didn’t fight. Because without Chan… What was the point? But then-

Soft hands grabbed her. Yuki blinked. The girls surrounded and hold her. Keeping her grounded. Not letting her fall.

The arena felt colder than usual.

Lucien grinned as he eyed the next pair. “How fitting,” he mused. “Mafia versus Mafia wannabe.”

Bella and Soonyoung stepped forward. Neither spoke. They both knew this wouldn’t be easy. Lucien gestured to the set-up-

Two hanging chains, wrapped tightly around their wrists. The rules were simple: hold on. The chains would pull higher, stretching their arms to the limit. The longer they lasted, the worse the pain. Until one let go.

“Good luck,” Lucien chuckled. “Try not to break.”

The chains rattled as they lifted off the ground. Higher. Tighter. The strain kicked in instantly.

Bella gritted her teeth. She had been trained to endure pain. But this? This was different.

Soonyoung breathed steadily. His arms trembled, but his mind stayed focused. He had been through worse. Gunshot wounds. Knife fights. Broken bones. He wasn’t going to lose here.

Bella felt her fingers burn. Her wrists throbbed. The metal cut into her skin. She sucked in a sharp breath, forcing herself to stay up.

Soonyoung watched her, eyes dark. He could see her pain. But this wasn’t something he could stop. He just had to last longer.

Minutes passed. Bella’s breathing became ragged. Her arms were screaming. Her vision blurred. The weight, it was unbearable.

Soonyoung was shaking too, but he was still holding. Because he had to. For himself. For the promise he made to Wonwoo.

Bella let out a broken gasp. Her fingers slipped-

And then-

She fell. The moment her body hit the ground, she didn’t move.

Lucien clapped slowly. “And we have a winner.”

Soonyoung was panting, his arms barely responding. The chains released him. He landed on his feet, barely able to stand. His legs buckled slightly, but he caught himself. Still standing. Still alive.

But Bella… The girls rushed to her side. Ro, J, Tiya, Sana, all of them knelt beside her. Bella’s eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling weakly. She was alive. But barely.

Lucien smirked. “Take her away.”

The girls lifted Bella carefully, carrying her out.

Yuki stood in the distance, watching. But she didn’t move to help. She just stared. Emotionless.

Soonyoung limped away, his body screaming in pain. He had won. But it didn’t feel like it.

Lucien watched the chaos unfold with a satisfied grin, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. The game had taken a toll on everyone, and now he was in full control.

The next match was called: Mingyu versus Jeonghan.

Mingyu, still clearly hurting from the previous game, had a determined look on his face. Jeonghan, already exhausted from the torturous matches, stepped forward, his face pale, but his resolve unbroken.

Lucien didn’t waste any time. The rules for this match were simple but cruel: a series of extreme endurance tests, pushing the competitors beyond their limits. Whoever lasted longest would win. There were no weapons, just raw physical and mental strain.

Minutes passed as both men pushed themselves, each trying to outlast the other. Mingyu, despite his exhaustion, managed to keep a steady pace. Jeonghan, however, was struggling more with each passing second. His breathing became shallow, his movements slower, and his face contorted in pain.

Lucien watched indifferently, as if the pain of the competitors was a mere distraction. He was enjoying the spectacle, waiting for the right moment to call an end.

And then, it happened. Jeonghan collapsed, his body unable to continue. His breath was ragged, his skin a sickly pale shade, and his body trembling uncontrollably from the strain.

The guards rushed in, immediately starting to drag him away.

Jeonghan’s vision blurred, his entire body weak. He could hear J’s frantic voice, calling for him, but the world around him was spinning, and the pain was unbearable.

“Jeonghan! No!” J’s voice echoed in the distance, filled with desperation.

But it didn’t matter. Lucien had already moved on, indifferent to Jeonghan’s condition.

“It’s time for the results!” Lucien announced with a mockingly pleasant tone. He raised his hand, signaling to the rest of the group. The announcement was a moment of pure theatrics for him.

“First place receives a poker card. Second and third will reveal their secrets and then take a casino chip each.”

Mingyu stood quietly, his breath heavy from the game, but he didn’t feel victorious. He looked at Jeonghan’s battered form, his heart heavy with the thought of what had just happened. He wanted to help, but there was nothing he could do.

The others stared, eyes wide in shock, but the harsh reality of the game kept them silent. Their minds were numbing, as they slowly accepted the brutal nature of their situation. Everyone was too lost in their own thoughts to really comprehend the full extent of the suffering.

J sat quietly in a corner, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, watching Jeonghan being dragged away. She felt like her heart was being crushed. It wasn’t just his physical pain; it was the emotional weight that she carried for him.

Her body trembled, but she forced herself to stay still. Her hand shook as she gripped the edge of her seat. She couldn’t breathe. J had to stay strong, but in that moment, everything felt like it was breaking. The torture, the games, everything was too much for her to process. But Lucien’s indifferent demeanor made her feel even more helpless. She wanted to scream, to fight, but all she could do was watch her loved one suffer, knowing that there was nothing she could do.

As Jeonghan was dragged out, the room remained eerily silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on everyone. Lucien’s satisfied smirk was the only thing that broke the silence.

“Now, let’s see who’s next to reveal their secrets, hmm?” he mused, his voice dripping with malice.

J’s heart pounded, but she didn’t speak. The tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t dare to show weakness in front of Lucien.

Mingyu glanced at Jeonghan one last time, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts, before he turned to the group.

The room fell silent as the tension in the air became almost unbearable. Lucien’s voice broke the silence, cold and calculated, announcing the results.

“First place: Mingyu.”

Mingyu, though battered and bruised from the earlier rounds, stood there with a conflicted look. His mind raced, this wasn’t a victory he wanted, not in these circumstances. His body ached, but it was nothing compared to the emotional weight that hung over him. He stood at the front, his eyes scanning the room, but he didn’t feel like a winner.

“Second place: Jihoon.”

Jihoon barely reacted, his mind clouded with pain and exhaustion. The lingering effect of the game had left him in a dazed state, but he still managed to nod weakly, acknowledging his position as he tried to breathe through the sharp pain coursing through him.

“Third place: Joshua.”

Joshua, though still disoriented from the brutal match, gave a slight nod. The game had taken so much out of him that he didn’t know whether to feel relief or anger. His eyes scanned the others, each one looking equally drained, their spirits slowly breaking down under the pressure.

Lucien, grinning as if savoring every second of the chaos, then added, “Now, as the game’s tradition dictates, the second and third-place contestants will reveal their secrets. Then, you will receive your casino chips.”

A quiet, suffocating silence followed the announcement. Everyone in the room seemed to be bracing themselves, aware of how brutal this part of the game could be.

Mingyu couldn’t help but glance over at Jihoon and Joshua, his gaze shifting nervously, unsure of what to expect. Everyone knew that these secrets had the potential to shatter whatever was left of their fragile mental states.

“Let’s begin. Jihoon, you go first.”

Jihoon stood there, his body aching, but his mind still sharp. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering around the room before he spoke, his voice low but steady.

“I intentionally composed a song similar to one of my past works and sold it to another company,” Jihoon admitted, his words hanging heavy in the air. “I knew they’d get into copyright trouble since I never left behind any proof it was originally mine. They went bankrupt because of it.”

The room fell eerily silent as everyone processed his words.

Lucien raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the chaos he was sowing. “Why?” he asked, his voice dripping with amusement as he leaned in closer.

Jihoon shrugged nonchalantly, his expression colder than anyone had seen before. “I hated the company.”

The room seemed to freeze at the coldness in Jihoon’s voice. For a moment, no one spoke. The weight of Jihoon’s actions—deliberate, calculated, and damaging—sank in. His quiet admission added a layer of complexity to his character, leaving everyone with more questions than answers. What was the real reason he had caused such destruction? How far was he willing to go for revenge?

Lucien’s grin grew wider, enjoying the discomfort his games were creating. “That’s a very interesting secret, Jihoon.” His tone was mocking, yet pleased.

Jihoon’s hands clenched into fists, but he remained standing, his gaze unwavering. Even in the midst of this twisted game, he felt the burden of his past actions weigh down on him.

As the tension in the room thickened following Jihoon’s admission, Lucien turned his gaze towards Joshua. He hadn’t yet revealed his secret, and now it was his turn to face the spotlight.

“Joshua,” Lucien called, his voice playful but dangerous. “Your turn. Let’s see what you’ve been hiding.”

Joshua, standing tall despite the pain and exhaustion from the earlier rounds, looked around at the others. There was no escaping it now. He knew he couldn’t avoid revealing the truth any longer. Sighing heavily, he stepped forward.

“I killed a man,” Joshua said, his voice surprisingly calm for such a chilling statement. “He was abusive to my mother… and after years of watching her suffer, I couldn’t take it anymore. I tracked him down, and… I killed him.”

The room was still, the air heavy with disbelief. Joshua didn’t seem to flinch as he spoke, his face unreadable. It was a confession that struck deep, a dark piece of his past that few had known.

Lucien’s expression morphed into a wicked grin, his eyes twinkling with malicious glee. “And what about the aftermath?” he asked, his voice filled with mocking curiosity. “Did you feel justice? Or was it just another cold act of vengeance?”

Joshua’s eyes hardened, but there was a flicker of pain behind them. “At the time, I thought it was justice… but now, I’m not sure anymore.” He paused, his voice lower now, almost as if speaking to himself. “Maybe I just wanted to feel something… anything… that wasn’t anger or helplessness.”

The room seemed to shudder as the weight of his confession settled in. The others were speechless, trying to process what Joshua had just admitted. It was an act born out of desperation, but it also showed the lengths he was willing to go to protect the ones he loved.

Lucien clapped his hands, his grin widening. “Such an interesting group of people. Secrets, lies, regrets… everything I could have hoped for.” He leaned back, clearly pleased with the way the game was unfolding.

Joshua stood tall, but his eyes were distant, lost in thought as he thought about the consequences of his actions. There was a hollow pain that lingered, and perhaps it would never go away.

Lucien leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face as he took in the confessions and secrets shared by the participants. He watched them closely, amusement twinkling in his eyes. With a swift motion, he clapped his hands together, signaling the end of the day’s game.

“Well, well, well,” Lucien said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Mingyu, Jihoon, and Joshua, you’ve all earned what you deserve.”

He casually tossed a poker card to Mingyu, and then a casino chip each to Jihoon and Joshua. He continued, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he spoke to the room. The room was still tense, the weight of the secrets shared hanging in the air, but Lucien was undeterred. He glanced around at everyone before standing up, his voice now a bit more formal.

“And that concludes day five of the game.”

There was a pause, and then J spoke up, her voice trembling with concern. “Lucien, where did the guards take Jeonghan?” Her eyes were wide with worry, and the others turned to her, equally concerned.

Lucien didn’t miss a beat. “To the infirmary room, of course. He’s in bad shape. But don’t worry, they’ll take care of him.”

Without another word, J immediately turned on her heel and ran out of the room, her heart racing as she rushed to the infirmary. She didn’t care about anything else, she had to get to Jeonghan. Her footsteps echoed down the hallway, the anxiety building in her chest with each passing second.

When she arrived at the infirmary, she burst through the door, panting heavily. Jeonghan lay on the bed, his face pale and his eyes closed, seemingly unconscious. The doctor was hovering over him, looking concerned but helpless.

“Is he going to be okay?” J asked, her voice shaky, but filled with desperation.

The doctor turned to her, shaking his head slightly. “He’s not in a condition to be moved around just yet,” he explained. “We don’t have the necessary equipment here to properly treat him. His injuries are severe, and the infirmary can’t provide the care he needs. He needs to be transferred to a hospital as soon as we dock.”

J’s heart sank as she looked at Jeonghan’s frail form. “He needs to be okay,” she thought, her mind racing. The idea of losing him was unbearable, but all she could do for now was wait and hope.

“Is there anything we can do right now?” J asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m doing everything I can, but he needs more advanced treatment. We can only wait until we land.”

J nodded, feeling a wave of helplessness wash over her. She sat by Jeonghan’s bedside, holding his hand, wishing she could do more. As she sat there, she whispered softly to him, her voice full of affection and worry.

“Hang in there, Jeonghan. Please… just stay with me.”

The night on day 5 passed in a haze of tension and worry. J stayed by Jeonghan’s side the entire night, holding his hand, whispering soothing words, and praying that he would wake up soon. The hospital on land felt so far away, and all she could do now was wait, wait for the morning, wait for the ship to dock, and wait for a miracle. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on her chest, but she refused to leave Jeonghan’s side, her love and determination keeping her anchored to him through the long hours.

Meanwhile, in Soonyoung’s room, the remaining students gathered. Soonyoung, Minghao, Wonwoo, and Bella sat in a tight circle, their expressions grim, their minds focused on the plan that needed to be executed the next day. Day 7 was coming, and they needed to be ready.

The game had reached its most dangerous point, and the only way to truly stop Lucien and end the torment they’d endured was to take matters into their own hands. There was no more room for half-measures, no more pretending they could escape this nightmare without confronting the monster at its core.

Soonyoung’s voice broke the silence, his tone calm but dark. “We can’t let Lucien play his games anymore.” His eyes locked with Minghao’s, Bella’s, and Wonwoo’s. “It’s time we take control. It’s time to end him.”

Minghao, usually the calm one, nodded in agreement, though his expression was tense. “We know what he’s capable of. He’s manipulated and killed without hesitation. The only way to stop him is to take him out.”

Wonwoo, never one to back down when things were at their most dangerous, leaned forward. “We’ve been toying with him up until now, but we need to end it. No more games. No more survival. It’s time for him to lose.”

Bella, her eyes hard and unflinching, stood up and began pacing around the room. “But how do we do it? We need to be smart about this. If we’re going to kill him, we need to do it when he’s least expecting it. He’s not stupid. He’ll have every guard, every precaution in place. We can’t risk being caught.”

Soonyoung’s expression remained cold as he crossed his arms. “We’ll use the game against him. He thinks he’s in control. He thinks he’s playing with us. But we’ll make it so that the only game that matters is the one we decide.”

Minghao stepped in, his voice sharp. “We need to lure him into a position where we have control, not him. We can’t wait for the right opportunity, we have to make one.”

Soonyoung’s eyes glinted with a dark sense of resolve. “We’ll bait him. Tomorrow, during the final game, we’ll make sure he thinks he’s winning. He’ll have his usual smug confidence. But we’ll be prepared. We’ll trap him in a corner and take him down before he can react.”

Wonwoo looked at Soonyoung with understanding, his jaw tightening. “It’ll have to be quick. The guards will be watching, but if we can overwhelm them-”

Bella interrupted, her voice colder than ever. “The guards will be dealt with, if necessary. The priority is making sure Lucien never walks away from this.”

The plan was set. They would play Lucien’s game—whatever form it took—and manipulate the situation to force him into a vulnerable position. The entire point of the final game was for Lucien to feel untouchable, like he controlled everything. The group would use that against him, taking advantage of his arrogance and overconfidence. They would lure him into thinking it was just another round of his twisted game, only for him to realize too late that the tables had turned.

The plan was set, and the gravity of it weighed heavily on everyone. The room in Soonyoung’s quarters had become a silent fortress, everyone gathered around, finalizing every detail for the next day. Minghao, Wonwoo, Bella, and Soonyoung exchanged glances, each feeling the intensity of the decision they had made.

As the room grew quieter and the plans took shape, a palpable tension hung in the air. They knew the game on Day 7 would be their final confrontation. And in order to prepare, they needed to get through Day 6 without suspicion.

Soonyoung stood up, rubbing his eyes. “Tomorrow is it,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of what was to come. “We’ll play his game, but we’ll control it. We end it on our terms.”

Minghao nodded, looking more serious than Soonyoung had ever seen him. “Lucien won’t know what hit him.”

Bella, who had been silent, turned to Soonyoung and spoke softly. “I’ll stay by your side tomorrow. We’ll make sure everything goes according to plan.” Her words were more than just reassurance, they were a vow.

Wonwoo moved toward the door, offering a small smile to Bella as he motioned to her. “Come on, I’ll take you back to your room. You need to rest.” He was always the one to lighten the mood, though today it was tinged with sadness. There was no joy left in the games anymore, not after everything they had endured.

As Bella and Wonwoo left Soonyoung’s room, the door clicked shut behind them, and the atmosphere in the room shifted. Soonyoung’s eyes drifted to the darkened corners of the room, as if searching for something he couldn’t quite grasp. Minghao stood by the window, his gaze distant, clearly lost in his thoughts.

The reality of what was to come was starting to sink in. They were all on the brink, and even with the plan laid out in front of them, they couldn’t deny the emotional toll it had taken. The final decision to kill Lucien was a desperate one, but it was their only option. They had no choice but to end it.

With the lights dimming and the night falling silent around them, Soonyoung turned to Minghao and said, “Tomorrow, we put an end to it. We make sure Lucien never plays his twisted game again.”

Minghao gave him a firm nod, his face a mask of determination. “We end this. Together.”