Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“— Let’s end this!”

In-ho switched off the walkie-talkie and adjusted the strap of his weapons over his shoulder. Then, he headed to the control room. As soon as he entered, the directors with square masks present bowed to him. He answered with a discreet nod. His Frontman uniform awaited him: clean, cold, devastating, and completely soulless—exactly as he was.

In the discreet room, he hurriedly changed clothes, tossing his bloodied, sweat-soaked Player 001 uniform into the basket. The moment he put on the mask, he was no longer Young-il or In-ho. He was the Frontman now. Feared, respected, merciless.

Leaving the room, he looked at the monitors. Gi-hun and Jung-bae were relentlessly firing at the triangle soldiers.

“If you wish, sir, I can take them both out. There’s no need for you to go.” The black square said.

Something inside him lit up, like a beacon in the dark. He looked at the man before him—someone beneath his rank—and a humorless smile formed behind the mask.

Of course that bastard would like nothing more: eliminate Player 456 and take control of everything.

In-ho wasn’t a fool. He knew the filth they did with the corpses—he didn’t care about that—and he also knew the black square was aiming for his position. This world was no different from his old one.

The bastard was just waiting for him to slip. Just once.

“I’ll take care of it myself. He wants me.” His voice carried authority. A dark, unexpected satisfaction lingered in those words.

With his usual coldness, he left the control room and walked through the corridors. The purple walls gave off a strange sense of calm—until he reached the combat zone. Blood splattered across the walls and soldiers, grotesque and suffocating, fitting the place perfectly. Gunfire still echoed in the distance.

When he arrived at the confrontation corridor, Player 456 finally surrendered alongside his friend. Both were on their knees, heads lowered.

“Player 456,” the Frontman called, receiving his gaze in return. That defiant look that had intrigued him from the beginning… for a moment, he expected some reaction, some attack, but nothing. Seong Gi-hun was completely subdued.

“Did you enjoy playing the hero?” he asked, grabbing the black square’s weapon and aiming it at them.

The leader knew he had to do it. It was the right thing: preserve the balance of the Game and punish those who broke the rules. Disorder was unacceptable.

Something inside him faltered. He remembered the moment when, still as Young-il, Gi-hun had handed him his last full magazine.

Damn it!

He trembled for a second, staring into Seong Gi-hun’s eyes. His head felt like it was about to explode. He couldn’t do it… no, he wouldn’t!

“Now stay there and watch the consequences of your little game.”

The weapon shifted toward Jung-bae. Should he kill him or not? The darkness inside urged him to shoot. Just one shot and it would all be over…

Then, a shot rang out.

A strangled scream escaped Gi-hun. He turned to his friend, who cried out in pain, blood gushing from his right leg. He wasn’t dead, but it was enough to keep him from competing in the next games. If he survived, it would already be a miracle.

“Lock them both up. Keep them separate.” He ordered the triangle guards.

“You son of a—” Gi-hun tried to lunge forward but was struck in the head and knocked unconscious.

A protective instinct surged in In-ho. He almost intervened… almost. But he had already done too much; his vulnerability was there, exposed. He stepped back before he could reveal himself further.

“Sir…?” the black square called before In-ho could head to his quarters. “Why didn’t you kill him? I told you—”

Still holding the weapon, In-ho spun around quickly and fired two shots. The sudden violence silenced the man, who pressed himself against the wall beside the bullet holes.

“You’re questioning me now? Why?” His voice was deathly cold. “Remember your place. When I ask for your opinion, you speak. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut. I won’t be so tolerant next time.”

“My apologies, sir.” The black square bowed. “I meant no offense, but… won’t leaving them alive be a problem?”

“You really think Player 390 can survive the next game with that leg?” he retorted. “Player 456 has no plan left. Enough questions!”

“Yes, sir.” Another bow.

The Frontman continued his way to the elevator. He needed to get out of that place, back to his refuge, his comfort zone, where he could think clearly.

Inside the elevator, he passed the security codes. When he reached his floor, he felt the chill of the corridor. Dark, solitary.

In-ho entered his private room, removed the mask, and set it on the table beside the armchair. He walked to the bar and poured himself a glass of his favorite whiskey.

As he drank, he went over everything. Gi-hun needed a lesson, proof that his rebellion had consequences. The plan was foolish, but still… he didn’t understand why he hadn’t killed him.

In-ho took another sip. From the very beginning, since the first time he laid eyes on Seong Gi-hun, he had been intrigued. That man buried in debt, crushed by capitalism, could never be considered a winner. And yet, he had become the center of his attention. Gi-hun impressed him and puzzled him more and more.

How could someone go through all that, feel firsthand what people were willing to do for a few scraps of money, and still believe in goodness?

How could he still have hope?

In-ho wanted to strip that from him: the faith, the kindness… even the love. He himself had once been like that. But his soul had been corrupted, burned away in that world. People change; the Game does that. And he wanted to prove it to Gi-hun.

Yet, remembering the rescue during the feather shuttlecock game, on the carousel (Mingle Game), In-ho realized everything was under control. He wanted to keep Gi-hun in the Game; there would be no fun, no point in taking him out now. He wanted to prolong that sensation, that daring no one else dared offer there—only him. From the very beginning, Gi-hun had defied him without fear. Or at least, that’s what In-ho wanted to believe.

But during the rebellion itself—when he fired against his own soldiers to save Gi-hun—that had been the first genuine impulse to protect him. And as soon as it passed, he buried it, forcing himself back into the plan. If he hadn’t been quick… that careless fool would have been dead on the spot.

Still, the worst feeling was yet to come. When Gi-hun handed him the last magazine, something awoke. Something long dormant in his soul, stained with pain, hatred, and blood… broke open.

For a fleeting second, In-ho wanted to be Young-il again. To feel the urge to help him, to protect him. That man, even in chaos, never stopped showing courage and humanity.

He didn’t want to betray him. He didn’t want to hurt him. He just wanted to take Gi-hun and drag him out of the Game as fast as possible.

He closed his eyes. When he opened them, something warm was rolling down his cheeks: tears.

No… that was impossible.

He hadn’t shed a tear since the death of his wife.

He rushed to the bathroom. In front of the mirror, Hwang In-ho looked at himself for the first time in years. He wasn’t the Frontman—the merciless, insane leader ruling over that macabre place—nor the false Young-il, created solely for Gi-hun.

His brown eyes were bloodshot, his whole body trembling. The man he had once been, long abandoned to the fate of that place, was there again—desperate, suffocated, and crying.

Something inside him was breaking, and he didn’t know how to contain it.

What had Gi-hun done to him?

Chapter Text

Gunshots. Screams. Blood.
And… Young-il.

“Are you sure?” The soft, yet strangely familiar voice echoed in his mind.

Why did that man affect him so much? He barely knew him, and yet it felt like they had been connected for years. There was something between them… even after the initial awkwardness during the vote.

Gi-hun didn’t want Young-il to get hurt. He needed him to go back to his wife. He deserved to go back.
Gi-hun knew, from the moment he proposed the rebellion, that he wouldn’t survive. He was willing to sacrifice himself if necessary. He had nothing left.

His daughter, Ga-young, still appeared in his thoughts, but he couldn’t drag her into his ruin. He didn’t want her to see the monster he had become. It was better for her to stay away.

As for Young-il and Jung-bae… they had somewhere to go back to. Someone to go back to.

And Young-il was strong. He knew how to handle himself. Gi-hun remembered the cold, precise expression when the man fired his gun during the rebellion. He would survive.
That’s why Gi-hun had given him his own ammunition.

But then…

“Gi-hun… it’s over…” Young-il’s voice came weak, hoarse. A cough, a choking sound. A gunshot echoed. Silence fell like a verdict.

“Young-il! YOUNG-IL!” Gi-hun’s scream was lost in the void.

No! It couldn’t be…

“Young-il…” he woke with a start, screaming, his head about to explode.

He was somewhere else. Dark. Cold. A lamp illuminated only the bed he was on. One of his wrists was restrained.

“What the hell is this?” he murmured, breathing shallowly.

A guard entered. The circle brought a tray. The triangle stood at the door, gun pointed.

“I want to see your boss!” Gi-hun demanded, firm despite the exhaustion.

“You still don’t understand that you have no right to ask for anything,” the triangle replied, dryly.

“I just want to talk to him!” Gi-hun’s voice exploded, full of determination.

The circle moved too close. Gi-hun took advantage: a precise kick sent the tray crashing to the floor. Gunshots rang against the wall. The triangle raised his gun, aiming at his head.

“One more stunt and the next one goes through your skull.” The coldness cut the air.

Even so, Gi-hun stared at him as if he were the Frontman himself.

“Take me to your boss. I want to know about my friends.”

The triangle sighed, exhausted. “Ah, you want to know? Fine.”

He turned the gun and struck. The butt slammed into Gi-hun’s already injured head. Darkness swallowed him whole.

---

When he came to, Gi-hun blinked several times. Dazed, his head throbbing, dizziness running through every vertebra.

“You took quite a hit,” a robotic voice echoed.

He lifted his eyes. There he was.
The Frontman. Impeccable, cold, standing by the bed. The woody scent of his cologne felt out of place in the suffocating room. The air was heavy, almost solid. The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was charged, as if the very atmosphere waited for the first move.

Gi-hun tried to get up. He staggered. Two firm hands gripped his narrow waist, helping him sit on the mattress. Even through his clothes, Gi-hun felt the icy touch of the leather gloves. A shiver ran down his spine.

He didn’t like the touch. And he didn’t understand why the other man had done it.

“Don’t touch me… What the hell…” he growled, cutting himself off as the pain in his head pulsed again.

“You better stay still. Two heavy blows aren’t a joke.” The warning was icy.

Gi-hun laughed bitterly, without humor.
“Worried about me now? What’s your problem?”

The Frontman simply tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle.

“What did you do with my friends?” Gi-hun shot, rage and stubbornness burning in his eyes.

“Nothing. They’re in the dormitory.” The reply was dry.

“Jung-bae… you shot him…”

“Player 390 is still alive,” he cut in. “Better off than you, actually.”

Relief washed over Gi-hun. Jung-bae was alive. For now.

“And Young-il?” His breathing accelerated, heart racing.

The Frontman remained silent, studying every reaction. Finally, he spoke:
“Why ask if you already know the answer? You handed him to me yourself. Alone. Why do you care?”

“You…” Gi-hun lunged forward, but the handcuff held him back. Still, he stood, rage supporting his exhausted body. “You’re a damn sadist! These people just wanted to go home. Young-il wanted to go back!”

“So what?” the leader retorted. “Everyone knows the risks and still chooses to play. Am I to blame? How can you still believe in people?”

“Because they’re people!” Gi-hun shouted, hands trembling. “Weak, flawed… but alive! That doesn’t justify a massacre game.”

The Frontman let out a brief, humorless laugh.
“You are fascinating, Player 456.”

He nodded toward the tray.
“Eat. After that, it’s over. Time to stop.”

The air in the room was nearly suffocating. The silence that fell was sharp, charged.

“I want back in the game.”

“I don’t trust you with that,” the Frontman said, tone dry. “Maybe you need to learn some behavior first.”

He stepped back, his footsteps echoing through the room.

“Why didn’t you kill me? Why keep me alive?” Gi-hun shouted, chest aching, adrenaline burning every nerve.

The man stopped, but didn’t answer. He just left, leaving Gi-hun alone in the darkness. The heavy silence wrapped around him. Every second reminded him that he was vulnerable. Totally at the mercy of the Frontman and his monstrous games.

But now Gi-hun had no choice. He understood the message. His intention had changed: he didn’t want to end the games, he wanted to save his friends.

Tears of rage fell from his eyes… Young-il was dead because of him. If he had stayed with them… if only he had given up on that plan…

“I’m sorry, Young-il. Forgive me!” His voice came out desperate, sobs echoing through the closed room.

|---|

In-ho stood for a moment at the door, head bowed. The weight of the mask had been suffocating him ever since he put it on, and his breathing could be heard from several meters away. He heard Gi-hun’s sobs in the distance.

Again, he felt his eyes burn, his shoulders wobble, tilting slightly. No! He wasn’t going to cry again.

What the hell was happening to him?

Through the hidden camera, he saw and heard Gi-hun. He knew very well that man didn’t fall easily. That stubbornness was irritating and challenging… and exactly why he hadn’t left 456 with the others. 456 wouldn’t give up so easily. But the surprise came when the player asked to see him.

In-ho was confused. Should he go or not? He was avoiding a direct confrontation now. After what happened the night before, with Gi-hun so vulnerable, he didn’t know what could happen next.

The last time he felt so exposed was when his late wife was in the hospital. Before he entered the game.

Curiously, Gi-hun evoked that same feeling in him. And only him.

Upon entering the room and seeing Seong Gi-hun so weakened… something dead and frozen inside him melted again. He ran his hands over his head, noticing the dried pool of blood.

Gi-hun had been struck hard; another hit and he could have suffered a serious brain injury.

In-ho asked one of the circle guards to bring a first aid kit. No one questioned him. They just did it. He cleaned the wound himself. Luckily, the cut hadn’t opened much; only a few stitches were needed.

As he applied the stitches, he watched the man, trembling and half-asleep. Sometimes he mumbled incoherent things, Young-il’s name slipping out. But his body was so exhausted that he barely felt pain. Impressive.

In-ho administered painkillers. Threw the syringe into the disposal container and observed Seong Gi-hun. He had already done so much for him, and now, he was personally taking care of him.

He didn’t even understand why he had that… preference for Gi-hun. But he understood the old man’s fascination with him and why he had asked to see him on his last day alive.

“What’s so special about this guy?” he thought, reflecting on everything that had happened.

The guards present remained at attention, waiting for orders.

“Sir, the VIPs are waiting for you in the room,” announced the black square.

Frontman took a deep breath and straightened his posture. The next game would start in a few hours, and he had a lot to handle. Mainly enduring a few hours with the VIP bastards.

Oh Il-nam would still pay— even dead— for leaving him alone with them. When he was promoted to Frontman, it wasn’t in the contract that he would also have to deal with the VIPs.

“Bunch of sons of bitches. Fucking assholes.”

With all his natural coldness, he hid his disgust and replied:
“All right, I’m going.”

Two guards positioned themselves at the door where Gi-hun was.

In-ho walked down the corridor toward the VIP room.

“And what about player 456? Will he stay there?” asked the black square.

In-ho just turned his head.

“Sorry, sir,” the guard replied quickly.

“He will be punished at the right time. For now, leave him there. Anyone who approaches without my authorization will be shot.”

It was a veiled warning. No one touches him. The black square understood perfectly.

They separated down the corridors. In-ho went straight to the room where the VIPs usually gathered, the stage for their most bizarre atrocities.

Those people loved BDSM orgies and blood. He had been invited a few times but always refused… even he had limits.

He stopped at the door, took a deep breath twice, trying to ignore the thoughts that always surfaced: kill them and run. Run far away.

Yet, he knew he couldn’t. When he accepted being Frontman, Il-nam had warned him: never turn against the VIPs. Doing so meant condemning not only his own life but everyone around him. They were an elite far beyond the games, spending fortunes just to entertain themselves with other people’s suffering. Once inside— especially in command— there was no way out.

Upon entering, the heavy smell of sex and alcohol hit him like a wave. Thick velvet curtains muffled the room, trapping the saturated, humid, almost viscous air against his skin. Expensive tapestries displayed dark stains— dried wine or rust— attempting to mask the odor of sweat, cigarette, and blood.

He could be crazy, but he’d a thousand times rather watch players killing each other in silence than witness this.

A VIP with a dog mask was brutally fucking a kneeling man, the gag muffling the screams, teary eyes pleading for mercy. With every thrust, lashes tore new cracks into already raw skin. On the floor, a crimson pool mixed with the inert body of someone who hadn’t survived.

“I’m not paid enough to deal with this,” In-ho thought, turning his gaze. Who was crazier here? The masked ones laughing, or the bodies willing to be consumed?

The golden masks reflected the red light, turning the faces into diabolical caricatures. They didn’t need this—they were demons by nature.

The game itself was just a façade: while players killed each other, guards trafficked organs, and the rich celebrated each atrocity. There was no morality, no justice. Only a spectacle of cruelty.

No humanity.

And for the first time, it bothered In-ho. More than ever. He didn’t know if it was rage, disgust, or fear. He only knew that something inside him was beginning to crack.

Laughter echoed like snaps, mixed with muffled cries and desperate moans from some dark corner of the room.

“That one won’t make it either,” a woman said, amused.

“But at least his little ass is tight,” laughed the VIP, continuing until he reached his climax.

Applause, whistles, and screams ruled.

“He finally did it…”

“Yes, but I’m not satisfied.” The VIP took the knife and slit the partner’s throat as if nothing had happened. Blood gushed onto the floor, making the victim choke; he noticed the relief in his eyes before life completely left him.

More applause. The VIP with the dog mask bowed with exaggerated reverence.

“Thank you!” He adjusted his clothes and snapped his fingers, calling a staff member. “Have the circles clean up the mess.”

“Yes, sir.” A guard turned and saw In-ho. “Sir, he…”

“Do as he asked,” In-ho replied in a hoarse voice.

“FRONTMAN!” a VIP with a lion mask shouted. “Come, sit with us.”

In-ho sat, keeping some distance.

Everyone watched him for a few minutes until one spoke:
“We heard about player 456’s rebellion… bringing him back was incredible,” said the VIP with a goat mask.

“Don’t even get me started, you talked about him so much I got curious. He’s really handsome,” commented the VIP with a tiger mask, taking a sip of whiskey.

“Why didn’t you punish him as you should have?” asked the VIP with the lion mask, bored with all this; he was the only one who remained quiet amidst the chaos.

“Black square, what did you do?” In-ho thought, feeling completely anxious.

“You know the proper punishment for Gi-hun would be death. Losing your touch?” asked the VIP with the dog mask. “But we know you’d never disappoint us. You left him for us, right?” He smiled.

“We had an idea,” said another VIP, cat mask.

“What idea?” In-ho’s voice came out deadly cold, jaw clenched, short breath, sweat running behind the mask.

“We all have interest in player 456. And since he came looking for it himself, let’s hold an auction now, to decide who gets him and what we’ll do.”

“I won’t miss this one,” said the VIP with the dog mask, making his intention clear.

“I’ll fight for him too,” said the VIP.

“Or we could all use him together, for our own show. Think he can handle it?” said the VIP with the goat mask. “The amusement park is ready.”

In-ho’s stomach churned. Biting his lip hard, he tasted blood.

He knew exactly what they were talking about: the black BDSM room, where players were used for sick fantasies. Padded walls, chains hanging from the ceiling, the smell of leather and iron permeating the air— a hell reserved for the most disturbing fantasies.

Imagining Gi-hun in that place, being violated and killed in the end, he shuddered and could only see red. No. Not him! No one touches him.

“Then let’s begin…” said one of the VIPs.

“No!” In-ho’s voice emerged, cutting through laughter and chatter. “Player 456 is not available.”

“And why not?” asked the VIP with the dog mask.

“Because he’s mine!” In-ho said, voice low, firm, and cold. A deadly silence fell over the room. Even the clinking of ice cubes seemed to have stopped. All eyes turned to him, and for the first time, it wasn’t the Frontman speaking: it was the man behind the mask.

Chapter Text

Silence fell over the hall before the VIP’s voice broke the tense atmosphere: "What did you just say?"

In-ho stood up from his chair, controlling himself so that neither his trembling hands nor his killer instinct showed. If only he could…

"I said he’s mine!" he repeated, his voice heavy with ferocity, fists clenched, breathing hard. "Player 456 is not available to any of you."

The VIPs exchanged glances, surprised for the first time by his reaction. A soft but intense laugh filled the room.

"Ah, I suspected it," said the woman, laughing with a hint of provocation. "I was wondering why you refused me since the previous games…"

In-ho remembered how much that woman insisted on having a moment alone with him… Not that she wasn’t attractive, but he hadn’t indulged in carnal pleasures for years. Sure, he sometimes felt aroused when alone or had some improper dream… he considered it a natural physiological response and resolved it quickly, without needing anyone.

Other than that, he was fine… he didn’t want anyone. He had politely refused that VIP, making his position clear.
"It could only be that you’ve been refusing me all this time," she continued, laughing as if she had solved a great mystery. "You’re gay! You’re in love with Player 456."

Those words left In-ho breathless. He had said that Gi-hun was his, but not in that way. The anger he felt dissipated slightly, replaced by surprise.

Where did she get that from?

An explosion of laughter echoed through the room, transforming the tension into a dark amusement as always.

"Ah, it makes so much sense now," laughed the goat VIP. "You really are a surprise, Frontman."

"I can understand," said the dog VIP, laughing. "You play on the same team as me, and most of us, that’s why we get along so well."

"I even found it cute in a way," continued the VIP woman, laughing. "You two match. Alright, can’t mess with your man." She rolled her eyes. "Let’s choose another toy."

In-ho still tried to process everything. He swallowed hard and, before he could deny it, paused, realizing that the situation wasn’t entirely bad. He regained his impeccable posture, though sweating more than ever behind the black uniform.

"When did your relationship with Player 456 start, Frontman?" asked the lion VIP. "This sounds like a movie; hunter falls in love with prey."

They wanted a show, and he would give them one… they were entertained, and that was enough. He would maintain the fantasy for a while.

"For the first time in a long time, I’m truly entertained. I’m curious," insisted another VIP, the quiet and observant snake-masked one. "I didn’t know you were gay. After all, you had a wife, right?"

In-ho rolled his eyes, perplexed. How did this conversation about BDSM turn into a debate about his sexual orientation?

"Well, I don’t like to talk about my personal life," he began, heading to the drinks table. He filled a glass with a shot of imported Russian whiskey. "Player 456 and I…" He took a deep breath, needing the VIPs to believe his story perfectly. "…have been together for a year, and I recently proposed to him. He’s never been truly in the game; we were just having fun to create more tension… and it worked, didn’t it?" He lied blatantly, with conviction.

All eyes were on him, eager and expectant for more than that.

"When he won the games, I took him home…"

"Stop! Stop!" said the female VIP, standing and facing In-ho. "I have a better idea… if you’re going to tell how it all happened, why not bring Gi-hun himself here tomorrow night for dinner? Only two games left. That would attract more attention than the game itself."

"Great idea," laughed the dog VIP. "Now I’m more interested. Surely this man has something special to deserve your attention, Frontman."

The others agreed, excited.

In-ho gripped the glass tightly; this was slipping out of his control, and he hated it, hated it deeply. They waited for his answer; refusal would be even worse.

"Fine, I’ll bring him here for dinner with us," he said, jaw tight, regaining his natural irritability.

The VIPs toasted, celebrating the decision, while another, quiet and observant, approached just enough for only him to hear:

"I hope it’s true. If you’re lying, you know what will happen to you and Player 456," he said seriously. "We’ve all noticed your favoritism toward him; I just never imagined it would be this much. Il-nam trusted you; I hope you honor that until the end."

"I will bring my fiancé here tomorrow," he repeated firmly.

He didn’t know which VIP hated him more, but this one observed everything, which irritated him profoundly.

"Well, I think we’ve had enough fun today," said the goat VIP, voice sleepy. "See you tomorrow, Frontman. We’ll be waiting eagerly."

In-ho stayed a few more minutes before saying goodbye to the rest of the VIPs. He needed to leave immediately. The mask felt more suffocating than usual; his uneven breathing echoed through the silent corridor.

In the elevator, he pressed the button for his floor. He quickly scanned his face to open the doors. He hurried to his room, locked the door, and tore off the mask, throwing it on the floor. His breath was still rapid, sweat streaming down his temples, sliding in drops along the collar of his uniform.

In-ho couldn’t even comprehend his own act. Why did that protective instinct drive him toward Gi-hun? No! That’s not protection! It’s possession and control.

Anger rose, and the more he thought about what he had just done, the more irritated he became. His intention was only to divert attention from Gi-hun; he never imagined committing so much, nor that the VIPs would interpret it so distortedly.

After all, he wasn’t gay. He had never felt attraction to men before. He didn’t know if he should be angry or find it amusing. Finally, a low laugh escaped.

He ran his hands through his sweat-soaked hair and began undressing, heading straight to the bathroom. He threw his sweaty uniform into the laundry basket and stepped into the shower.

Cold water slid over his hot skin. Slowly, his body began to calm, but his mind remained in turmoil. The scent of expensive shampoo and soap filled the room.

As he bathed, In-ho reflected coldly on everything…

Damn it!

When he started noticing Gi-hun in the game, seeing how he bonded with people, cared for Il-nam, and surprised everyone… In-ho knew he was different. Almost all players were captivated by Gi-hun, but he, In-ho, had his attention exclusively. Frontman had never believed people could be like that; they were trash to be swept from the world. But Gi-hun proved otherwise. His light didn’t fade, even in the face of despair and greed.

That player was purely driven by survival. Even when he asked to return to the game, his intention was noble and innocent. It was enviable. Gi-hun had never been corrupted by the horror around him, neither the first time nor now.That’s why In-ho truly wished he could board the plane and be happy with his daughter.

However, he did nothing of that and was only in this situation due to a wrong and impulsive decision. And now… there was no turning back. He would have to keep his promise to the VIPs, or everything would be in vain… and not only he and Gi-hun would be dead.

Well… having Player 456 by his side wouldn’t be entirely bad. Something inside him desperately longed for it. In-ho believed his obsession with Gi-hun’s unwavering goodness was genuine. He wanted to understand that man more.

He finished the shower, dried quickly, wrapped a towel around his waist, and went to the phone, calling the game’s central office.

With a decisive voice, expression full of control and command, he ordered:
"Send Player 456 to me, now!" The icy, relentless voice left no room for refusal.

————

Gi-hun felt pressure in his head. He had already noticed someone had given him points, but that had to be one of the guards or the Frontman. He let out a humorless laugh. Not at all. That man was incapable of any act of kindness.

He shook his head, refusing to believe it. He hadn’t taken any of the medicines given to him, nor touched the food or water. He didn’t want any of that. His concern was different: Was Jung-bae alright? Had the other games already happened? Were his friends alive? And Kim Jun-hee, was she okay?

Remembering that sweet girl in the middle of all that horror, still pregnant, a protective instinct took over.

Oh, God! Meanwhile, he was trapped in darkness, unaware of what was happening outside.

Tears began to form in his eyes. Gi-hun tried to piece everything together. Would his friend have survived if he had gone with Young-il? Would they have had a better chance? Maybe it had been too soon for that? Perhaps it would have been better to stay alone with Frontman… and then he could…

Now it was useless. His rebellion plan had failed. And it was his fault.

If only no one had followed them and Young-il was alright, together they would have had a much better chance to get through the games.

One of the things Gi-hun admired most about Young-il was his obstinacy. He was the only one — besides Jung-bae —who truly believed in him without reservations. Of course, there were misunderstandings, silent looks carrying messages Gi-hun felt on his skin, making him shiver in a way he didn’t fully understand.

A small smile appeared on his lips, even through tears, recalling the spinning top game. Young-il had made so many mistakes, panicking, and Gi-hun felt every hesitation. But in the shuttlecock juggling… if it weren’t for Young-il… or when he nearly panicked not finding another player in the mingle… only seeing him again brought relief, mixed with something unexpected: a kind of warmth rising up his spine.

He didn’t know exactly what it was, but he couldn’t deny it: Young-il affected him in a unique way. Not just for the safety he provided, but for the silent intensity he carried, which made Gi-hun’s heart beat strangely.

But now… before guilt arose, the door opened abruptly. Two triangle guards entered.

"He wants to see you," said a softer, almost bored voice. It wasn’t the same guard who had struck him before; this one was shorter. "Behave, please," he instructed.

Gi-hun widened his eyes as he realized it was a woman. Until then, he had only dealt with male guards. The shock was still evident as the handcuffs were removed.

"Let’s go!"

"Why does he want to see me?" he asked, rubbing his sore wrists.

"I don’t know, I’m just following orders," she replied briefly.

They passed through the door, followed by two more guards, until the elevator. Only the female guard entered with him. She pressed the floor button and remained silent, her weapon lowered, her breathing audible through the mask. Gi-hun looked sideways, wondering if it wasn’t uncomfortable. For some reason— crazy or intuitive —he didn’t feel threatened by her.

"This isn’t a bit uncomfortable?" he pointed at the mask.

"I’m used to it. I’ve been through worse," she replied simply.
"How did you end up here?" he asked genuinely.

The elevator stopped. The doors opened with a metallic sound, revealing the black corridor lit by golden lights.

"I only have permission to come this far. Walk to the door; he’s waiting."

Gi-hun took a deep breath, hesitating for a moment. Curious about why Frontman had called him, he exited the elevator. Before the doors closed, he looked at the guard.
"I was rooting for you, again," she said simply. Then the door closed.

He stood for a few seconds, then walked calmly down the corridor. His steps echoed. When he reached the door, he thought to knock, but the robotic voice said from inside:

"Come in."

He wasn’t surprised; he always saw everything. He opened the door and stepped in.

Frontman was seated in a large, imposing brown leather armchair, like a throne. The room exuded power and sophistication: dark walls illuminated by strategic lights, geometric patterns emphasizing modern luxury. A chandelier shone in the background, scattering golden reflections. Ahead, a low table held glasses and bottles — traces of private meetings and conversations laden with secrets. His posture, relaxed but firm, conveyed absolute command: a man in control, master of the tension filling the air.

"Close the door, I think this will take a while. Sit. It’s just the two of us here; no cameras."

Gi-hun obeyed, walking to the small table and sitting. Being face to face with him was unsettling. They studied each other, trying to decipher the next moves. Only Frontman’s breathing behind the mask filled the silence.

"You’re so quiet," he said. "Surprising."

"I’m deciding whether to kill you now or not," Gi-hun retorted teasingly, but his tone carried real tension.

"Ah, no one would stop you," Frontman raised his hands, signaling he was unarmed. "But before making any decision, you need to know: everything has a price you can’t imagine."

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow, wary but curious.

"What are you talking about?" he asked disdainfully.
Frontman placed a paper on the table.

"Read carefully. Every word here could change your life… or cost it. Any questions, I’ll explain."

Gi-hun picked up the paper. As soon as he read the beginning, his eyes widened in disbelief. He looked at the man in front of him as if he were from another world.

"You can’t be serious… This is real?" he laughed nervously, breath short, gripping the paper. He couldn’t believe it.

"It’s a contract," Frontman replied quickly.

"It doesn’t look like… is this a… common-law marriage between us?" Gi-hun frowned, incredulous.

Frontman tilted his head, studying him.

"Yes. It’s the best option for you right now… and to get out of all this alive."

Gi-hun placed the paper on the table, ran his hand over his face, feeling the stubble prick his fingers, and laughed nervously.

"Alive? What are your sick mind and the VIPs planning? What kind of marriage agreement is this… and you… of all people!" he growled, as if it were the most forbidden thing in the world.

Frontman remained impassive, flawless.

"Yes, for the first question. As for the second… my mind may be sick, but you have no idea what the VIPs are capable of. They are worse; they don’t just want fun, they want you to become something… My intention wasn’t marriage, but it became necessary. If you don’t accept, it won’t just be you in danger."

"What do you mean?" Gi-hun asked, disbelieving. "Everyone I love will die?" he whispered, thinking of Ga-young. "You’d be capable of killing my daughter? She has nothing to do with this!" he shouted, almost advancing.

"No, not her. My responsibility is the games, the soldiers, and the players. But the VIPs… they don’t care. Everyone you know could die. If you’re lucky, they won’t become VIP toys. I didn’t want this, but it was the only way to keep you alive."

Gi-hun felt the sincerity in his tone. He slumped over the chair, staring at the contract.

"This is really a marriage contract?" he asked incredulously, trying to find some morbid logic.

"Yes," Frontman replied dryly.

"Why?" he pointed at the paper.

Frontman hesitated, evaluating him.

"When you understand better, you’ll see… but the VIPs are cruel and addicted to BDSM. If you think the games are intense, you haven’t seen what they do when using people for their desires. They wanted you… because they didn’t punish you as they should have."

Gi-hun swallowed hard.

"I just said you weren’t available… and they assumed we had a romantic relationship."

"Those bastards are crazier than I expected… but you are crazier." Gi-hun rubbed his forehead, trying to organize his thoughts.

"Perhaps. But that’s the only reason you’re here, intact," Frontman said firmly.

"Now there’s no turning back, right?"

"No."

"I really wanted to kill you."

"I know."

Gi-hun crossed his arms.

"But I can’t… for now."

"No." replied the other. "By the way, the VIPs want us to dine with them."

"What?" Gi-hun startled.

"Maybe it’s good for you to have an idea of what you’ve been fighting for. As my 'fiancé,' it’s normal to participate in most things," Frontman said coldly, but with a hint of provocation.

Gi-hun looked at the contract. He hadn’t wanted to enter this, but now he had to impose his terms. If he couldn’t save Young-il, at least he could save his friends.

"Answer me honestly. Are my friends still alive? All of them?"

"Yes."

"And here are your terms, right?" Gi-hun pointed to the paper.

"Just the basics."

"I want mine too."

Frontman laughed genuinely.

"Your terms?" The masked man asked in an almost amused tone.. "Alright, let’s hear them."

" It’s simple: I want all my friends released. Every single one of them."

Frontman tilted his head. A fragment of skin appeared, reminding that he was still human, flesh and blood.

"You still don’t understand… they’re here for"

"Ah, cut that talk. I want my friends free or nothing," Gi-hun interrupted.

His greatest 'enemy' fell silent, breathing deeply.

"I… I can't…" he hesitated. "I can't free them all… it would draw attention… and just for having saved the VIPs already…" he fell silent.

"Aren't you the owner of this mess?" Gi-hun crossed his arms.

"I am, but what you're asking of me is too much."

"So you don’t control shit, you’re just another puppet of theirs." Gi-hun provoked, noticing the other man clench his fists immediately.

"Alright, Seong Gi-hun." said the Frontman, with veiled impatience, standing fully from the chair: "I’ll see what I can do… but remember: every demand of yours comes with a price. Not always visible."

Gi-hun felt a shiver run down his spine. Before he could ask anything, the door closed behind him with a metallic click. The echo of that sound seemed to promise that nothing would ever be the same again. He was alone with the contract… And into the hands of the man who now completely controlled her life.

Chapter Text

Puppet? Him?

In-ho locked his bedroom door, leaving Gi-hun alone for a moment. As he pondered his next move, he noticed something strange: despite having been manipulated by Player 456, he didn’t feel anger.

In fact, he almost enjoyed seeing him like that — defiant, provocative. A shiver ran down his shoulders. Part of Gi-hun’s personality was irresistibly compelling, and In-ho found it disturbingly fascinating.

He stepped into the elevator, feeling a subtle tension on his shoulders. He hoped the man would behave while he was gone. There was much to consider, and a moment alone was perfect for that.

What In-ho had told his “fiancé” was true: his life was at risk. Since rescuing him, he had taken huge risks, including endangering his own life and that of his adopted brother. The VIPs knew everything about him — after all, he had been on the other side before, and he had survived, catching the attention of his late friend Il-nam.

Now, he needed a solid alibi to fulfill Gi-hun’s request. And well… when it came to strategy and problem-solving, he was exceptional. That was why he had been such an effective officer.

He walked to the control room. Upon entering, he glanced at the screen, watching all the players resting after the previous game and the rebellion, then approached a soldier.

“The next game will start in an hour,” the soldier reported.
“I want to see Player 390,” In-ho ordered.

The square soldier obeyed, showing Jung-bae sitting on his bed, looking lost and defeated.

In-ho almost laughed but held back.

That son of a bitch is lucky as hell.

“Report what happened… and how he’s still alive,” In-ho commanded.

“Well, sir, during the night he was very ill. Player 120 assisted him with first aid, along with Player 149. They improvised a dressing, but I believe ”

“Enough. I understand,” he cut him off.

The shot he had given in the leg had been precise. That man needed stitches, and it wouldn’t take long for the wound to get infected. He wouldn’t survive the next game.
In-ho felt tempted to leave him to die, but… ah, Seong Gi-hun, this would cost far more than he imagined.

Quickly, a plan formed in his mind: Jung-bae would be sedated and hidden. The others would be moved through the underground before the next game. 011 would coordinate everything and alert Square 045 when ready. The VIPs would be distracted during dinner — it would be their chance.

It was a risky plan that required someone trustworthy to execute it.

“Prepare everything for the next game. I’ll return before it starts,” he ordered, leaving the control room, breathing slow and controlled.

He glanced at the triangle guards standing at the door.

“Ask guard 011 to come to my room."

“Yes, sir,” they replied, picking up the walkie-talkie.

In-ho quickly returned to the room. When he opened the door, he found Gi-hun sitting there, holding his half-empty whiskey bottle.

“You’re still sober?” he asked, curious, observing the sharpness in the other man’s gaze.

“More than I’d like to be,” Gi-hun replied, irritated.

“You don’t eat anything, yet you want to drink the whole bottle? That’ll counteract the meds.” His voice sounded more reproachful than controlled.

“Ah, stop nagging. I deserve this after everything,” he said, pointing at the paper on the small table. “So, you saved my friends… and Jung-bae — how is he?”

In-ho’s jaw tightened. Jung-bae… what was his deal with those two? When he had posed as a player, like Young-il, he remembered how they always stuck together in the game, whispering and laughing. It was annoying. He had often resisted the urge to shoot Player 390 in the head.

Friends my ass… this looks more like an old case.

“He’s dead,” In-ho replied, somber, a faint smile failing to reach his eyes.

Gi-hun’s eyes widened, and he straightened in his chair, his heart racing.

“What? You’re…”

“He’s fine,” In-ho clarified, looking away for a moment, “just badly hurt.” A slight squeeze of his fingers betrayed a flicker of jealousy and concern.

“I still want to beat the hell out of you for this.”

In-ho tilted his head.

“Now you want to hit me? Didn’t you want to kill me before?” he asked provocatively. “Progress is being made.”

“Shut up, I still want to kill you,” Gi-hun retorted, frowning in irritation. “So he’s alive and well. What about the others? Jun-hee?”

“They’re fine too. Everyone is,” In-ho reported. “But the next game will start soon, and Jung-bae might not survive…”

He smiled, satisfied at Gi-hun’s look of anguish.

“Please, save him,” Gi-hun begged, his voice trembling and hoarse.

“And if I said you could only choose between him and Jun-hee? After all, she’s pregnant.”

Gi-hun’s eyes widened, blood rushing to his face. He stared at him as if he were from another planet.

“You’re a huge son of a bitch!” he exploded, hands shaking with rage and fear.

“Am I really? Speak!” In-ho ordered.

“I hate you!” Gi-hun snapped. “With all my strength! I told you to save them all.” His lips trembled, eyes red with fury.

“Choose. I can only take one from the next game. Jung-bae or Jun-hee,” In-ho insisted firmly.

Gi-hun’s eyes widened, his body trembling, knuckles white as he shouted:

“Jung-bae!”

In-ho lowered his head, already expecting that answer.

“Alright.”

“I said I want all my friends alive!” Gi-hun was still in full fury.

“Uh-huh. I’ll honor your request, but not the way you want. I can’t take them all at once. Whoever survives the next game among your friends, I’ll free.”

Something in Player 456’s eyes softened.

“What’s the next game? At least give them a hint… please, just for them,” Gi-hun pleaded, fragile.

In-ho sighed deeply. Seeing that broken look again, part of his coldness melted, letting out a heavy breath behind the mask. A strange warmth rose in his chest, throbbing like something forbidden. His hands, firm just seconds ago, now moved unconsciously. His gaze shifted, unable to meet Gi-hun’s eyes.

Why is this happening? He couldn’t refuse for long — not when being looked at that way.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he muttered, lowering his head, staring at the floor for a few seconds, avoiding that gaze, brow furrowed behind the mask, heart racing.”

“Young-il…”

“What about him?”

“Is he really dead?” Gi-hun lifted his head, doubt written across his face, watching him.

In-ho raised an eyebrow at the other’s insistence about his fake persona.

“Ah, your other boyfriend. Why are you so interested in him? I already told you what happened, and you made that choice yourself, didn’t you?” he teased, reminding him that he had chosen Jung-bae, not Young-il.

Gi-hun faltered, ignoring the sarcasm, sinking back onto the sofa, lost in thought.

“I didn’t think this would happen… God, he had a wife waiting for him. She was sick.” Gi-hun swallowed hard, eyes brimming with tears. “Can you tell me what happened to her?”

In-ho swallowed the flood of emotions. Even though he had used the tactic of talking about the wife to get closer to Gi-hun, it was still the truth.

“His wife died,” he controlled his voice to keep it from trembling. “While he was in the game.”

“What? But…”

“She had acute cirrhosis, Gi-hun, and there was no hope left. And honestly, if Young-il were still alive, can you imagine how he’d react if he knew? Would he thank you for surviving if your rebellion succeeded? His wife died alone, while he was here.”

Tears escaped Gi-hun’s eyes.

“I didn’t want him to die… Why didn’t he kill me too?”

“Good question. I still don’t know the answer,” In-ho sighed. “But I can say this sincerely: I didn’t want you to come back here. You could have had a good life, Gi-hun.”

“How can I have a life after everything I’ve seen and been through here?” he asked. “I have nightmares every day because of this place, because of that damn old man, and all these twisted games. I couldn’t move on.”

“Not even for your daughter? You had someone.”

“I don’t think my daughter even remembers me,” he said painfully. “I even tried, but I realized I couldn’t let her see me like this: rich, but unhappy.” Gi-hun gave a weak smile. “I was happier when I was broke, living with my mom, running from loan sharks.”

In-ho turned his head to the side, studying the man. He really was more fascinating than he had imagined. He had never met anyone who preferred being poor to rich.

“My mother died while I was here,” Gi-hun added, wiping his tears. “I found her body at home, alone. It must have been lonely.”

In-ho remained silent, recalling a similar scene: returning from the games rich… only to lose everything immediately upon learning of his wife’s death. She had been alone, in pain until the end, while he was there, amidst it all.

“Something inside me completely died. I had no will to live anymore, I just wanted…”

“I understand,” he finally said. If it weren’t for Il-nam, he wouldn’t even be here. “I know how it feels.”

Gi-hun’s eyes lifted to him.

“You know?”

“Yes. I was a player too,” he answered. “And I won.”

Gi-hun’s eyebrows shot up in deep astonishment, mouth opening. He tried to stammer something, and…

“But why… you also came back here and judged me…” Gi-hun shook his head. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“If you’ve played, why did you join…”

“Because I lost hope in everything and everyone. Until I met you.”

A silence fell between them. Again, that warmth from before surged, penetrating every pore. Both Gi-hun and he kept their eyes locked on each other, the air becoming unbearably tense, their hearts racing.

A knock on the door interrupted whatever was brewing.

“It’s 011, sir.”

“Come in,” he replied.

Gi-hun quickly adjusted himself on the sofa, embarrassed and slightly blushing, while In-ho, thanks to his mask, managed to hide his own flustered expression.

“You called me,” the Triangle Guard said as she entered. “Hello again,” she added, addressing Gi-hun.

“Hello.”

In-ho drew his gun from his pocket and pointed it at the guard, startling them both.

“Answer everything now. Lie, and I’ll blow your brains out.”

The guard raised her hands quickly. Gi-hun froze.

“Hey, what the…”

“Do you want to save your friends?” In-ho asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Gi-hun replied quickly.

“Then stay quiet,” he ordered, his voice icy. “What’s your relation to the Black Square?”

“None, sir,” she replied.

“None…” he cocked the gun.

“We’re both from North Korea. He helped me settle here,” she replied quickly. “And put me here too.”

In-ho already knew about the defectors, but he didn’t care. As long as they did their job, it was fine.

“If I ordered you to kill him, would you?”

“Yes. My boss is you, not him,” 011 replied almost bored, as if it were obvious. “I only needed him to find someone.”

“I’m aware,” In-ho lowered the gun. “Do you know which soldiers I can trust?”

“A few, sir. We don’t socialize much. But I can check.”

“Good,” he nodded. “I need you to do one thing for me. It’ll show your loyalty, and in return, I promise to help you with whatever you need.”

“Just say what you need, sir,” 011 replied.

“I’m taking Gi-hun’s friends out of here,” In-ho’s voice came firm, leaving no room for doubt. “There’s a secret passage to the underground. A boat waits there.”

011’s eyes widened, pausing for a moment.

“A boat…? So you really… want to get them out?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “But first we need to handle Jung-bae.”

“How?”

“I’ll sedate him,” In-ho stated bluntly. “You’ll bring him to the same place Player 456 was, keep him under watch. Only then will we deal with the others.”

The guard took a deep breath, still processing.

“And the rest?”

“Tomorrow. Before the next game.” The pause in his tone added weight. “The others will be taken care of tomorrow, before the next game. Player 120 and Player 246 will help. Dress them in Triangle outfits—they’ll get sick after eating, but the pregnant woman, the lady, and the child will be safe. When everything is ready, inform Square 045.”

“Okay, sir. Leave it to me.”

“I’m trusting you, 011. Don’t disappoint me.”

“Jung-bae should be out cold by now. Time to act.”

“You can count on me, sir.” The guard left the room, leaving them alone again.

“So that’s your plan… but the VIPs?”

“They’ll all leave tomorrow while we’re having dinner with the VIPs. Their attention will be on us. You can bet on that,” In-ho said.

“And if everything goes wrong?”

“Then everyone dies. Including us,” In-ho teased again. “Want to back out now?”

“No!”

“Then it will work. I have to go… You can stay here. Take a shower and eat something, please. You look like you’re about to collapse at any moment.”

As he was leaving, he heard Gi-hun whisper, just loud enough to be heard:

“Thank you.”

A smile lit In-ho’s face. Even if he didn’t yet understand what it meant, it was enough to warm his heart.

————

Seong Gi-hun remained there, engulfed in a flood of emotions all at once: relief, fear, disbelief. He could hardly believe he might be able to save someone amidst this nightmare. If everyone were safe… maybe he could convince that man to end it all. For the first time, Gi-hun felt something human behind the mask. A shiver ran down his spine, and he stood up, determined to act.

He reflected on the last three years, questioning how those people had become what they were, and how Frontman himself had broken before assuming that relentless role.

“Until he met me… what did he mean by that?” he murmured softly, still trying to process.

He stood still, staring at his reflection on the TV: pale, sweaty, exhausted. Those years had left deep scars.

“He said I could take a shower… and we’re already ‘engaged,’ so… it’s okay,” he said, trying to convince himself, as if words could soothe the inner chaos.

In Frontman’s bathroom, everything was too luxurious: black walls, golden details on the sink and bathtub. He grabbed the robe and neatly folded clean clothes, changed, and stepped into the hot shower. The scent of expensive soap seemed to numb the tension, each drop of water washing away the accumulated anxiety.

After drying off, he put on simple black pants and a matching top. Everything was perfect for him. He slipped on the slippers and looked at his face in the mirror. The stitches on his head throbbed, a consequence of hunger and stress, but nothing that would stop him from moving forward.

When he returned to the room, an unusual silence hung in the air. A soft creak on the floor made Gi-hun freeze. Then, standing at the door, was the Black Square. Each step seemed to echo through the room.

Then came the laugh — short, cold, humorless.

“Hm… I should have expected. He didn’t kill you. Means something, right? Right in front of me: he’s in love with you.” His sarcasm was cutting, almost painful. “Lucky son of a bitch.”

Gi-hun swallowed hard, feeling a chill run down his spine. It wasn’t just the implicit threat, but the perception that this man saw every tiny weakness of his. Every beat of his heart seemed to echo in the room. He knew any wrong move could be fatal. And yet… he couldn’t look away.

Chapter Text

The black square stepped into the room. Silence hung heavy, almost suffocating. Gi-hun kept his gaze raised, bold, despite his trembling legs. The other man laughed, a harsh sound that carried more contempt than humor.

“What the hell did he see in you?” The black square stepped closer and grabbed Gi-hun’s face aggressively, squeezing the skin of his thin cheeks, sending immediate pain through him. “What fascinates him so much? Frontman has never been like this before.”

He shoved Gi-hun against the wall with force, producing a hollow thud, and Gi-hun collapsed immediately.

He laughed despite the pain, looking up.

“Fuck you!” he shouted.

“I should have killed you already.” The black square lowered his head and laughed with approval. “But… I think you might come in handy someday. Frontman finally has a weakness.”

What was that idiot talking about? Gi-hun thought, trying to endure the pain from the shove and his burning cheek. But before he could fully react or understand the nonsense the man was saying, the black square was thrown to the ground with force.

“Touch him one more time and I’ll kill you! Not even the VIPs can save you from this, you piece of shit.” His voice was a raw, cutting growl, sharper than a knife.

The door slammed against the wall. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

Frontman stood there, every muscle tense, fists clenched as if ready to crush the man on the floor. His short, harsh breaths escaped through the mask, his chest rising and falling violently.

What was up with this guy? It all still seemed absurd. Just yesterday, Frontman wanted him dead. Now, he seemed ready to kill anyone who got close. Gi-hun didn’t know whether to laugh or feel fear.

The black square raised his hands. “Sorry, sir, I was just curious. I wanted to see if what they said was true. You’re engaged to that worm.” He nodded toward him.

Gi-hun froze. His heart raced. He almost forgot about the pain. “Engaged”? Right? Even knowing it was just because of the paper, hearing it out loud was unsettling.

“Yes, I am. Is there a problem with that?”

“But… sir…”

“You need to stop questioning me now!” Frontman took a deep breath. “Do you think you’re more important than him?”

The black square stayed silent.

“According to our hierarchy, married to me, he’s your superior. Don’t you dare touch him again. Or better yet, don’t come near hi— or this place. That’s an order!”

“As you wish.” The black square got up. “Sorry for the intrusion.”

As he passed, Gi-hun exhaled the breath he’d been holding. The door closed, and Frontman crouched beside him, holding his face with a gentleness that startled him. The cold gloves pressed against his warm skin.

“I can’t leave you alone for a minute. Should I give you a weapon?” he asked, then laughed at his own question. “Terrible idea. You’d shoot me.”

“Without a doubt,” Gi-hun agreed. “My intentions are clear, but I still don’t know yours.”

“I’ve said it, we’ll find out.” Frontman replied. “I brought fresh food.”

The smell of hot jajangmyeon filled the room. Gi-hun’s stomach growled loudly, earning a short laugh from Frontman.

“Come… you look hungry, and at least you’ve showered.” The leader said, placing his hands on Gi-hun’s shoulders and helping him stand.

Gi-hun shivered; he couldn’t tell if it was from hunger or something else. That feeling was uncomfortable — yet somehow pleasant.

It could only be hunger. That’s all. Missing a good meal.

Once upright, he freed himself from Frontman and went to sit in the armchair. He grimaced; now all the pain seemed to hit at once, and his tired muscles begged for relief.

Frontman simply set the plate on the side table, along with a juice box.

Gi-hun didn’t waste a second. He mixed the black sauce into the noodles with his chopsticks and shoved a generous portion into his mouth.

“Whoa, take it slow.” Frontman said, satisfied. “From now on, starving yourself won’t help; you need energy to kill me, right?”

Gi-hun barely finished chewing before grabbing another portion.

“Absolutely.” He replied, mouth full and messy with sauce. “I’ll do that.”

Frontman chuckled softly.

“After eating, take the medicine and rest. You need sleep urgently.”

Gi-hun dropped his chopsticks, remembering something: the game should have ended already. And Jung-bae… did 11 survive?

“And Jung-bae? And my friends?”

“Jung-bae’s fine. Medicated. Don’t worry. Your friends are fine too; all survived.” Frontman answered dryly.

“How many players are left?” he asked.

Frontman sighed, shaking his head.

“You don’t need to know. Why torture yourself like that?”

“How many?” he pressed.

“You’re unbelievable.” The man shook his head. “Excluding your friends, thirty remain. Gi-hun, our agreement was to take only your friends; the games must continue.”

“Right.” He said quietly, melancholic.

“It’s not your fault. You tried. I saw everything.”

Gi-hun stayed silent. He didn’t want to argue; he felt if he did, he might vomit everything he had eaten or faint. As long as he was alive and sane, he would never stop trying to end this. Tomorrow, he would try again.

Taking the medicine Frontman had placed on the table, he swallowed it all.

The phone rang. Quickly, the leader answered.

“Go ahead.” He said calmly. Seconds later, he turned to Gi-hun. “No need to kill anyone. Stick to the plan. It will be over soon.”

Gi-hun’s eyes widened. His mind raced. Had something gone wrong?

Frontman hung up and watched silently, prolonging the suspense. He crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the furniture.

The pose wasn’t intimate, but it made him flustered. Finally, Frontman spoke, calm, almost gentle:

“I still don’t know if I’m amazed by your effort to end the game or irritated. Tell me, Seong Gi-hun, which should I choose?”

Gi-hun shrugged.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Frontman walked slowly to him, placing his hands on either side of the chair, lowering himself to be at the same height. He cornered him like prey about to escape.

The gesture could have caused many feelings, but Gi-hun didn’t expect one in particular. Furrowing his brow, he felt a chill in his stomach. The atmosphere changed: what had been cold and lonely now felt warm and…

A strange sensation!

He held his gaze, undeterred.

“Don’t provoke me. You know exactly what I mean: you and that cop had a plan B. Bringing him here was it.” The leader’s voice wasn’t angry; it carried amusement. “You really thought it would work? Your innocence is…” He paused, choosing his words carefully “commendable.”

“Don’t even think about doing anything with Jun-ho.” Gi-hun shot back sharply, staring at the mask. “Leave them alone!”

“If I wanted to do anything,” Frontman commented acidly. “I would have already done it. And I’ve already done what I wanted.” He laughed and straightened his flawless posture. “Take your medicine; the bathroom has everything you need. Sleep a bit now; the room is on the right.”

“You really won’t do anything?” He asked, still doubting the gesture of kindness.

“Apparently, we have to work on trust…” Frontman stepped toward the door. “My word is my honor, Gi-hun. I keep my promises; I thought that was obvious.” And with that, he left the room.

Gi-hun heard the door click. It was locked. Considering he had almost been attacked minutes ago, it wasn’t bad. Air returned to the room. He took the pain medicine and went to the bathroom, feeling full but still tired.

He did what he needed, returning with a clean face and fresh mouth. He opened the bedroom door and entered. It was a nice space, with a bed, wardrobe, and another bathroom in the corner.

He looked at the large bed, sheets more expensive than anything he’d ever owned. He sighed and crawled onto it. He removed his slippers and lay down. The soft mattress soothed his aching skin.

Sleepiness grew stronger. Suddenly, a phrase echoed in his mind:

“ He is in love with you.”

His mind, foggy from painkillers and exhaustion, projected only Young-il’s image.

Then he fell into a deep sleep, a genuine smile lighting his face.

—————

He ran as fast as he could through those corridors, sweat streaming down his forehead. He had to find him; he couldn’t leave him alone, and the machine gun in his hand was ready.

Turning a corner, Gi-hun found Young-il on his knees, hands raised in surrender, facing Frontman, who aimed his gun at his head. Their eyes met instantly, and what he saw took his breath away, making his heart ache…

His friend’s eyes were watery, bordering on despair, fear, and pleading.

“Gi-hun, I’m sorry, I tried…”

“No!” he shouted.

The trigger was pulled, hitting Young-il directly in the head. He collapsed lifelessly to the floor, a hole in his forehead, while Frontman stood there, cold and unyielding.

“Young-il!” he screamed. “Young-il!”

The guilt and anguish crushed him completely. He fell to the ground as the soldiers advanced, trying to calm him.

“It’s your fault!” he yelled at Frontman, utterly distraught. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” — staring at his friend’s body. “Young-il!”

“Gi-hun!” That robotic voice called him repeatedly, echoing through the place.

He felt a slight jolt as the voice continued calling him. When he opened his eyes, the black mask in front of him acted like a trigger. Still halfway between dream and reality, there was no doubt in his mind: he was facing the killer. And without thinking, he lunged at him violently, throwing him with fury onto the bed.

“You killed him! It’s your fault! You killed him!”

He repeated disjointed phrases as adrenaline took over his body. Hot blood coursed through him, his heart pounding fiercely. A raging fire consumed every part of him.

“Gi-hun, you need to calm down, it was just a dream.” The robotic voice said, dodging only the relentless attacks, never hurting him a single moment.

“Damn it! You killed him!”

Gi-hun climbed on top of him and grabbed his neck, squeezing hard. His trapped breath burned his lungs, his vision blurred at the edges, but he resisted. The other man turned on the bed, and they both fell to the floor.

He immobilized Gi-hun with ease, wrapping him in a known wrestling hold, the headlock. Strong arms pressed against his neck and torso while legs held him firmly to the ground. Every movement Gi-hun made was restrained, his body pinned, no space to escape. Yet blinded by rage and despair, he continued struggling, kicking, trying to break free, while the enemy’s strength kept him completely subdued.

“Young-il…”

He called out, desperate.

“Gi-hun, calm down.” The robotic voice commanded, steady. “It was just a dream! Only that.”

The grip remained firm, calculated, but the voice by his ear felt out of place: calm, almost affectionate. As if two people were speaking at the same time inside that mask.

Gradually, Gi-hun returned to reality, realizing he was in Frontman’s room, and all the events became clear. His heart was still racing, anguish over Young-il lingering.

Then he began to cry.

“You killed him!”

“Gi-hun!”

“You killed Young-il, I…”

The hold around his legs loosened, but the arms remained strong, as if keeping the embrace.

“Did you… care for him more than yourself?” a curious voice asked.

“He shouldn’t have died… it should have been me.”

“Gi-hun…”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you killed my friend… and my friends. I want to be alone. Leave me alone, please!”

Frontman loosened the embrace and let him rise first. He stayed for a few seconds, still, observing the broken man before him. But he said nothing. He just stood, straightened his posture, and left silently, closing the door behind him.

The anguish didn’t leave Gi-hun’s chest. Every time he thought of Young-il, guilt consumed him. He should have gone with him or kept him close.

Tears and sobs flowed, exposing all his vulnerability. But he felt no shame; on the contrary, it only made him feel more… human.

——————

In-ho stepped into his office bathroom and locked the door. His hands trembled as he removed the mask; his face was soaked with sweat and… tears.

This had been happening more often than he wanted. There he was, crying again — always for the same reason: Gi-hun. But this time, the pain felt much more intense.

The anguish Gi-hun had felt just seconds ago seemed to have transferred to him, and he didn’t know how to handle the weight. He felt suffocated.

This man continued to stir emotions he had thought long forgotten, making him capable of feeling everything again, with an intense precision — something he had never imagined possible. Regret hit him with a painful sharpness at that moment. For a brief instant, he wanted to go back to the room and tell him that he was Young-il. But he couldn’t do that. Not now.

Not when Gi-hun hated him.

When he disguised himself as a player, he had never imagined it would end like this: the two of them bound to each other, and that he would manage to affect Gi-hun so deeply, so devastated over Young-il, whom he had known for only two days.

Gi-hun was far more emotional and sensitive than In-ho had assumed. And paradoxically, that was exactly what made him captivating.

In-ho turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. Some strands of hair stuck to his forehead, but he didn’t mind. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he saw Hwang In-ho again: vulnerable, sentimental, confused, and full of hope.

After so many years of feeling nothing, experiencing those emotions again was almost… invigorating. And worse: he couldn’t stop.

Yet, to survive, he had to contain himself. If he let those feelings in again, he wouldn’t be able to handle them. Both he and Gi-hun depended on his calculated coldness to stay alive.

Taking a deep breath, In-ho put the mask back on and stepped out of the room for some air. In the distance, Gi-hun’s sobbing only unsettled him further.

On his orders, two triangle guards remained stationed in front of the elevator. He placed them there instead of the bedroom door, ensuring privacy — nothing happening inside would be overheard.

Almost leaning against the wall for balance, In-ho drew in a deep breath and collected himself. After a few moments, he re-entered the office.

The room was silent. Apparently, Gi-hun had returned to sleep. In-ho moved carefully, grabbing a clean set of pajamas and a fresh uniform — the other one was soaked with sweat.

After his shower, he put on the pajamas and went straight to his office, locking the door. Removing the mask was a relief; if he could, he would have been naked, but the improvised mini-bed on the chair was enough for a nap.

He set the alarm and let exhaustion take over, finally surrendering to rest.

———

"I want to see Jung-bae," Gi-hun asked him the next morning while having breakfast. He looked much better now, his expression relaxed.

In-ho almost groaned in disgust behind the mask. Why did that man always exist more for him than for himself?

Not this time. Not now. His weakness toward Gi-hun had already been exposed far more than it should have. There had to be a limit…

And hadn’t he done enough already? It was lucky that Player 390 was still alive.

"No," he said firmly.

Gi-hun stopped eating and stared at him, sharp gaze filled with resentment. Unlike him, the emotions of this man were as transparent as water.

"Are you going to deprive me of that too? Isn’t it enough that you killed one of my friends?"

"Ah, you exhaust me sometimes," In-ho retorted, rolling his eyes behind the mask. "Not this time, Gi-hun." He said it as if speaking to a spoiled child. Funny, coming from a middle-aged man, older than him.

"I hate you," Gi-hun repeated.

"Really? If you hadn’t said it, I wouldn’t have noticed," he commented sarcastically, adding, "I need to leave now, so behave yourself."

"As if it’s possible to do anything locked up here all day," Gi-hun shot back, returning to his meal.

In-ho ignored him and left, heading to the control room. The players were having a small meal and chatting. He focused on Gi-hun’s friends, quiet and tense.

Well, it all ends tomorrow. He could finally leave this place — at least until next year. Now, with Gi-hun by his side, some things would change: he wouldn’t feel so lost and lonely anymore.

The mere thought excited him… and at the same time, scared him.

He pushed those thoughts aside and returned his attention to the monitors. The VIPs were enjoying themselves in their crazy way, but at least they hadn’t tested his patience yet. Not until tonight.

He needed to prepare Gi-hun for what was coming, because even for him, it was hard to digest. Imagine for someone carrying emotions.

The day passed slowly; he barely went back to the room. But when he did, he saw Gi-hun asleep. Which was good, because he really needed it.

By nightfall, he was already preparing everything for dinner. He looked at Gi-hun’s suit: white, different from what he usually wore at the end of the games. His hair was slicked back with gel.

That outfit fit him perfectly and… he looked amazing, and smelled so good.

In-ho swallowed hard at the realization. There was nothing wrong with a man admiring another… right? Gi-hun was very handsome.

During that moment, they hadn’t talked much since the morning. That bothered In-ho; he preferred hatred, audacity, a talkative Gi-hun over silence.

"After dinner, I’ll let you say goodbye to them," he said, referring to Gi-hun’s earlier request.

Gi-hun’s eyes lit up.

"I’ll be able to say goodbye?"

"Yes, for a short while, but I’ll allow it."

"Thank you," he said sincerely, with a softer look. "I thought…"

"Ah, forget it… I could change my mind," In-ho said.

"No, no. Just… thank you."

In-ho grabbed a golden fox mask and placed it over Gi-hun’s face.

"Everyone will be masked and… I don’t want only you to be exposed." He adjusted Gi-hun’s suit and paused. "Gi-hun, you need to be prepared for what you’ll see there. You cannot interfere in any way; they’re not like me… and they won’t tolerate it. Understand?"

Gi-hun nodded.

"Good. Then let’s go. You’re my fiancé now, not a player. Relax more. Remember: any questions about us, I’ll handle." In-ho said, taking his hands with the gloves and leaving the room.

Chapter Text

The place where Gi-hun was heading with the Frontman was more brightly lit, yet it still carried that same luxurious and sinister atmosphere. The walk there was eerily silent, broken only by the sound of the other’s breathing. He noticed there weren’t any guards around.

As they moved down the hallway, the air grew heavy, as if something dark lingered in the shadows. Laughter echoed in the distance, mixed with faint music, filling the space.

The VIPs… he was finally about to meet the bastards behind all of this.

When they reached the door, Gi-hun felt the gloved hand holding his tighten suddenly, stopping him.

“The VIPs only speak English. Maybe one or two understand Korean. That’s why I told you to let me do the talking. Don’t think of using this to say whatever you want — someone might understand. Are you ready?” the Frontman asked, though his voice carried an uncertainty that betrayed his own nerves.

Gi-hun didn’t know if learning that the people funding the games were foreigners made the whole thing worse.

“You can translate for me. I want to know everything,” he answered irritably, but then something struck him. “Wait — I just realized I don’t even know your name yet. If we’re supposed to be…” He gestured between the two of them. “…engaged, don’t you think I should know it?”

The Frontman’s breathing hitched, heavier and uneven, before a small chuckle escaped him.

“That might come in handy another time, but for now, identities stay hidden. Names aren’t needed. You’re the Frontman’s partner.”

“But they know my name,” Gi-hun shot back.

“No. To them you were just Player 456. For now…” The Frontman adjusted his mask. “…you’re the Fox Mask, or the Leader’s fiancé. Get used to it. And please — fix that look on your face.” His tone turned mocking. “You don’t look like a man madly in love. You look like you’re ready to stab me with the first sharp object you find.”

“Not my fault, I’m too expressive,” Gi-hun grumbled. “Let’s just go already, Frontman.”

He was the one who opened the door with his free hand — and what his eyes captured inside wasn’t anything he could have imagined.

The space was larger, more colorful. On one side, masked figures dressed in outlandish costumes danced extravagantly across the room. On the other, some were practically having sex in the open. Waiters, all men, wore black suits with masks concealing their faces.

In the center stood a VIP with a snake mask, holding a silenced gun. Against a wall riddled with bullet holes was a circle guard, stripped of his mask, clad only in pink, eyes shut as if resigned to his death.

The VIP tapped the gun and shouted something Gi-hun assumed was a curse.

So the guards were just young men… why the hell were they letting themselves be used like this?

The other VIPs lounged lazily on golden sofas, their luxurious masks hiding faces twisted with laughter. One of them, dripping with gemstones, used a golden fork just to spear chunks of meat and drop them carelessly to the ground, as if the act itself was entertainment. None of them looked at the workers as people — only as disposable playthings.

Gi-hun’s gaze swept across the masked faces. His mouth went dry, tongue heavy, as though every word he might try to speak carried an impossible weight. His heart pounded so loudly he feared the VIPs might hear it.

And behind it all, beyond the massive glass wall, was the arena of a game. Perhaps the final one? Circle, triangle, and square symbols lit across towering buildings.

What the hell is this? These monsters laugh while people die.

A shiver ran through him. The Frontman seemed to notice his unease and squeezed his hand, urging him to stay calm.

Gi-hun took a deep breath and squeezed back, clinging to that touch for some kind of grounding amidst the chaos.

The Dog Mask VIP shouted, raising a half-filled glass. Spotting them, he said something in English, practically bouncing with excitement as he approached.

Every VIP turned their heads to look, their eyes fixating on the joined hands between Gi-hun and the Frontman.

The Frontman leaned in close enough that Gi-hun could smell his cologne, feel his body heat, his breath ghosting against his ear.

“He said you’re the special guest. No need to be shy — you’re one of us.”

No. He would never be one of them. The comment twisted his stomach.

The Dog Mask VIP raked his gaze over Gi-hun like he was a slab of meat to be devoured, biting his lip hungrily before adding another comment that made the others laugh.

Gi-hun felt the Frontman’s hands tremble, his breathing sharp and quick.

“What did he say?” Gi-hun whispered, still pinned by their stares.

“That you’re… desirable.” The Frontman’s voice was low, icy, strained.

“Desirable? Are you translating that right?”

His stomach churned again, but he held firm. He wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of seeing him crack. He knew what he was walking into when he agreed to come here.

“Control yourself,” the Frontman muttered.

“You’re the one who needs control — you’re shaking,” Gi-hun whispered back, then let a sly smile play on his lips as he leaned more into him. “Let’s go, darling.”

The man’s body eased just slightly, while the VIPs’ stares stayed glued to them. Then a woman’s voice rang out, clapping her hands. The Snake Mask VIP added something, and the group erupted in laughter.

“She said we make a beautiful couple. And he… suggested our sex must be incredible.”

Gi-hun froze. Sex? These people were imagining them having sex? A pack of sick perverts.

And how could he even be sure the Frontman was translating everything truthfully? What if he was leaving things out? Every word of English he didn’t understand pressed down on him like a hidden threat, like invisible knives aimed right at him.

A gunshot cut through the air. Every head turned. The Snake Mask VIP was smiling as the circle guard’s body hit the ground. Applause followed.

Gi-hun swallowed hard, his stomach twisting violently as his eyes fixed on the lifeless guard slumped against the wall, a thin stream of blood trickling across the floor, staining it in dark streaks.

Gi-hun barely had time to process what had just happened before the Dog Mask VIP laughed.

“A true work of art,” he said — and this time Gi-hun understood. This one spoke Korean. “You should put him to learn English.”

“I intend to,” the Frontman replied.

“Perfect!” The Dog Mask VIP glanced at Gi-hun’s backside and winked.

Gi-hun stayed close, glued to the Frontman.

The leader guided him to a quieter room, away from the chaos. They sat together on a sofa, and the Frontman leaned close enough to whisper into his ear:

“You’re handling this better than I thought. Just hold on a little longer.”

Gi-hun didn’t answer, just stayed firm. Soon the VIPs joined them, settling into the room. The Snake Mask VIP looked different now — expression neutral, carefully studying both Gi-hun and the Frontman.

“When exactly did this great romance begin?” he asked. He, too, spoke Korean.

The woman VIP lit up with excitement, saying something to the Snake. Gi-hun didn’t catch it, but it felt offensive. He raised his middle finger in reply. She turned to the Frontman, making a gesture, and Gi-hun noticed how calmly he responded, pausing occasionally as laughter erupted among the others.

Gi-hun felt like he was trapped in a circus act — and he was the star attraction. While his “fiancé” chatted with the VIPs, they laughed and applauded. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they were talking about; their enthusiasm was unsettling.

Only the Snake Mask VIP kept studying him the entire time.

Shit. This bastard looks like he’s into me.

That’s when Gi-hun realized he was still far too tense. If the man knew anything about body language, they were screwed.

Well, if he had to play the part, he might as well do it right. The Snake looked far too suspicious. For a moment, Gi-hun imagined Young-il at his side, along with the rest of his friends. A smile broke across his face, warm and real—because his thoughts were flooded with them. That was the only reason he could manage his next move.

Leaning toward the Frontman, Gi-hun smiled and rested his chin on his shoulder. The man’s body went stiff as ice, but he kept speaking, until Gi-hun caught a glimpse of exposed skin—the pulse in his neck visible, tempting. He closed his eyes, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his cologne, and pressed a kiss to that bare spot. He felt the Frontman jolt, fall silent.

“I can’t wait until we’re alone in our room,” Gi-hun said in a teasing voice.

The Dog Mask VIP whistled. Gi-hun flashed a playful grin in return.

“Wow, you’re lucky, Frontman,” he said, biting his lips with a lustful gleam.

Gi-hun noticed quickly that the VIPs loved his little display. Every time the Frontman tried to answer something, Gi-hun found a way to distract him — brushing his nose against exposed skin, trailing fingers across his shoulder or chest, pressing soft kisses to his neck. Each time, the man trembled and let out a shaky breath. Clearly, his neck was a sensitive spot.

Was Young-il like this too?

He thought so. During the games, whenever they were under tension, his neck vein had always stood out. Gi-hun had felt the urge to touch it even then.

What am I thinking? Am I really letting this fake relationship get to me?

He forced himself to refocus. The VIPs were delighted now, and even the Snake seemed to relax slightly, his gaze breaking away as though intruding on something too intimate.

Public affection makes people uncomfortable.

“Sir, dinner is served.” A masked waiter bowed toward the Frontman.

The leader simply gestured for him to leave, announced it to the VIPs, and everyone rose to go to the table.

Gi-hun glanced around, noticing the guard’s body had been removed — but the wall still bore bloodstains.

The table was lavish, covered with both Western and Eastern cuisine. But Gi-hun couldn’t feel hunger, not in this place, not with these people. Instead, curiosity gnawed at him: How the hell does the Frontman eat with that mask? He never takes it off… is it emotional attachment, or is he just hideous underneath?

The woman VIP asked a question. The Frontman responded politely.

The Dog Mask VIP took the seat beside Gi-hun, while the Frontman sat on the other side. Conversation flowed intensely. A Lion Mask VIP snapped his fingers, and a waiter immediately appeared. His voice was harsh as he spoke to the Lion, until the Dog Mask VIP cut in with a grin.

“I’ll do the honors of translating for him, Frontman. Our friend with the lion mask is furious because the meat isn’t cooked the way he likes it. There’ll be punishment.”

Gi-hun swallowed hard as the waiter stripped down to his underwear, revealing his muscular frame before kneeling at the VIP’s side. A collar was brought out and fastened tightly around his neck.

The Lion stroked his hair like a pet, then laughed, adding more comments.

“That’s his new toy. And a disobedient dog needs a master.”

The VIP laughed, biting her lips as she watched the waiter’s body. She and another VIP exchanged a few tense words before returning to serve themselves, as if nothing had happened.

A lump formed in Gi-hun’s throat, and the air seemed to drag through his lungs, thick and difficult to swallow. He lifted the glass and took a gulp at once, trying to regain his composure.

— Interesting, the way you treat your employees… must be a family tradition. — He said sarcastically, unable to hold back, to the Lion VIP.

When Gi-hun looked at Frontman, he was already watching him, maintaining his impeccable posture. Gi-hun held his hands and squeezed them, making it clear he was offering some comfort; then he slowly released them, keeping his gaze on the VIPs, who didn’t even notice — perhaps they even interpreted it as a compliment. The way they were… crazy.

Dinner dragged on. The Dog Mask VIP was the most playful of them all, but Gi-hun didn’t see any humor. Every smile, every laugh he gave felt forced, for he knew he was under constant scrutiny. Inside, all he wanted was to run far away.

Something in him dimmed the moment he stepped into that room. It was too macabre. Happiness felt distant, hope impossible.

His stomach churned. These men knew no fear, no limits. They laughed, they gambled, they touched people like they were animals. Surrounded by armed guards, gold, and wealth worth more than any human life, Gi-hun finally understood: winning one game or escaping wasn’t enough. The organization was too big. Even if he killed every last one of them, there would always be more. The VIPs weren’t the top — they were just the face of something much larger.

The crushing weight of reality settled on him: he and his friends could never take this down alone.

Then the Dog Mask VIP leaned closer. The Frontman was answering something, applause breaking out among the others, but Gi-hun didn’t dare ask what it was about. It had to be about the games.

“You look tense,” the Dog Mask whispered, his hand sliding onto Gi-hun’s thigh. “I know exactly how to make someone relax. You look so sweet — I bet the sex between you two is insane. I’d give anything for a moment alone with you and the Frontman.”

The hand crept higher, his breath hot as he whispered every obscene act he wanted to do to him.

“You’ve been turning me on all dinner… come on… the three of us.”

Gi-hun fought the nausea and rage boiling inside. His face flushed red — not with embarrassment, but fury. The man was harassing him. And just before the hand could reach its limit, the Frontman seized it, shoving it away with force.

The leader rose sharply, yanking Gi-hun to his side. Their bodies collided, and Gi-hun felt the man trembling.

“I thought I made myself very clear when I said this man is mine.” The voice was calm, yet sharp as a blade — icy, deadly.

Gi-hun didn’t know if he felt relief or fear. One thing was certain: the man holding him protectively could kill anyone who dared touch him.

On the outside, Gi-hun felt the warmth of the Frontman’s grip, grounding him.

On the inside, In-ho burned. Every nerve screamed to slice the VIP’s hand off with a blade. His claim over Gi-hun was primal, irrational — and, for the first time, he had no desire to hide it.

——————

In-ho could “endure” when people messed with him; but Gi-hun? No. No one was allowed to touch him. That man was something sacred, something that should never be stained by those despicable creatures. He had noticed the dog-masked VIP’s perverse look earlier, but with him right there, it seemed impossible that the man would dare lay a hand on Gi-hun.

The dog VIP laughed, clearly entertained, while In-ho felt utterly destabilized. His breathing was unsteady, his thoughts consumed by violent impulses.

Kill them all. Grab Gi-hun and run. The irrational part of his mind screamed for release. It was absurd. He, the man who had sacrificed hundreds in the name of order within the Games, now shaken to the core because one disgusting VIP had dared touch Gi-hun.

“ That shy little look of yours… I bet Frontman has fun with you every single night.”

The dog VIP’s words were aimed directly at Gi-hun.

Don’t you dare speak to him, too! In-ho wanted to roar it out loud.

“It’s obvious he’s jealous,” the woman VIP remarked with glee. “Our Frontman is completely in love with this man.”

In-ho’s murderous thoughts fractured for just a moment. Wait… jealous?

Jealous?

His whole body seemed to vibrate under the mask, a heat rising inside him that he could no longer conceal. Jealousy was a sentimental luxury. What he felt was something far more primal, irrational — possession, protection. But still, that single word jealousy echoed inside him, an accusation he couldn’t shake.

He just needed to get Gi-hun out of that place and leave as well. More and more, "kill them all" seemed like a viable and sensible option.

Gi-hun took a deep breath before speaking, weighing each word. “ Don’t get so nervous… you don’t like losing control, do you? “ he said, trying to sound light, though his heart was racing. “I know how nervous you are.”

In-ho stared at him for a moment, fighting against the anger rising inside. Part of him wanted to push him away, but another part… couldn’t. His hands trembled slightly, betraying the fury he was trying to keep in check.

“Look at that… even the almighty Frontman lowers himself to the silly game of love,” the lion VIP sneered. “Think we can make him snap right here at the party?”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m taking my fiancé and leaving, I need...”

“To mark your territory,” the goat VIP cut in with a laugh. “Go have some wild sex, that’ll calm you down.”

The other VIPs laughed louder, delighted at In-ho’s protective display. He didn’t argue. He grabbed Gi-hun’s hand and pulled him along, his breath ragged, ready to explode at any second if he stayed another moment in that room.

Once they slipped through the doors, they hurried until they reached a quieter, safer place. In-ho released Gi-hun’s hand and braced himself against the wall, struggling to breathe.

His breaths came in short, jagged bursts, searing his throat as if his body was protesting against him. The nightly shivers he often endured when Gi-hun was near were nothing compared to this.

He pressed a gloved hand to his throat, suffocated, dry. Am I sick?

Then Gi-hun stepped closer, placed his hand over In-ho’s chest, and then guided In-ho’s hand to rest over his own. His voice was steady, low, soothing:

“Breathe slowly. In and out. My heart is steady. Just follow that rhythm.”

In-ho didn’t argue. He obeyed. Slowly, his breath evened out, though his heart still thundered violently inside him. Adrenaline, he told himself. Just adrenaline.

But the heat of Gi-hun’s palm burned through the layers of uniform like molten metal. And with every steady beat of Gi-hun’s heart under his hand, the sensation was less of control and more of surrender.

For the first time, Gi-hun wasn’t looking at him with hatred. There was kindness there, even a flicker of compassion. Of course — it was Gi-hun. Even to his worst enemy, he was still that man.

“You did very well in there,” In-ho said, remembering how brilliantly sharp Gi-hun had been under pressure.

He quickly averted his gaze, irritated at himself for noticing the details he shouldn’t: the way Gi-hun’s chin lifted in defiance, the tension still knotted in his shoulders, the uneven breath. Not the time. And yet, he noticed.

“Unlike you… you looked like you were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Is that a common thing for you?”

 “Sometimes.”

“If I don’t kill you, the VIPs will — out of sheer frustration or from a heart attack.” His lips twisted in a mocking smile.

“Kill me?” In-ho’s voice rasped, calmer now. “You didn't just help me?”

“That was pure payback. Don’t expect me to do it again.”

“Alright.” In-ho’s lips curved into a smile hidden beneath the mask. “It won’t happen again. Just once.”

“Never again,” Gi-hun insisted firmly.

“Alright,” he repeated, softly.

“I'm serious .”

 “Didn’t say otherwise.”

And then both realized — they were still standing with their hands pressed over each other’s chests, feeling the frantic pounding of their hearts. Almost in unison, they pulled back, awkward, flustered.

 “Come on. You need to say goodbye to your friends.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” Gi-hun stepped toward the elevator, In-ho following silently behind.

Down the corridor, their footsteps echoed softly, breaths oddly in sync. For a fleeting second, anyone passing by would have mistaken them for lovers, covering up an intimate moment.

But In-ho smothered that thought with a stifled laugh. Impossible.

Impossible… he repeated to himself. And yet, the more he said it, the weaker that word became.

Chapter Text

As soon as Gi-hun entered the cell that the other liked to call a room, he took off the fox mask, went into the bathroom, and removed the rest of those clothes. He remembered the VIP’s touch on his thigh; an unpleasant shiver, accompanied by nausea, ran through his core.

He felt filthy just because of it, but there was no time for a proper shower.

He put on only pants and a black hoodie and then stepped out, still adjusting the sleeves.

Frontman was at the door, watching the corridor; the guards had left.

"Ready? There isn’t much time… so be quick," Frontman said.

"Yes, I won’t take long," Gi-hun whispered, feeling the discomfort fade and a strange emotion rise. "Which way will they pass here?"

"Ah, no… I’ve done enough, I won’t tell you that," Frontman moved from the doorway to a corner.

Gi-hun huffed, rolling his eyes.

"I’m not running away. Now I understand the gravity of the situation; it’s far more complex than I imagined. That was naive of me," he said.

The leader tilted his head and stared at him.

"Now you understand?"

"No, I didn’t say I understand, it doesn’t justify it," Gi-hun replied. "I just said I know what you meant: ending the games isn’t easy. It’s a sacrifice for me to admit this, but they are worse than you."

Frontman remained silent. The elevator stopped; Gi-hun’s heart raced as he saw his group of friends. They all looked exhausted and frightened. Jun-bae was in front, supported by two square-shaped guards — one tall, the other short.

It must have been 11 and Cho Hyun-Jun.

His protective instinct kicked in; he ran from the room to the elevator to help them.

"Gi-hun, you’re alive," Jun-hee said as he approached.

"Are you all okay? Everyone?" Gi-hun asked.

They nodded, still not fully understanding the situation.

He quickly glanced at each one, noticing Dae-ho nervous, Jun-hee holding her belly, Mrs. Geum-Ja, and Yong-Sik. And, dressed as a guard without a mask, there was Gyeong-seok.

He breathed deeply, relieved; it was a shame he couldn’t save everyone, and he couldn’t help feeling guilty for that.

"Are you okay?" Hyun-Jun asked through the mask. "It’s 120."

"I know, I’m sorry, everyone. You’ll get out of here soon, leave it to me," Gi-hun said, silently asking Hyun-Jun to support his friend with 11.

They walked to the room.

"Gi-hun…" Jung-bae said weakly. "You’re alive."

"Yes, for now. Lucky strike or something else," Gi-hun replied.

"You look terrible," he said with a weak smile, trying to joke.

"You idiot, you’re much worse," Gi-hun retorted, his eyes watering as he watched his friend hobble in pain, wincing.

As soon as everyone entered the room, the door closed behind them. They turned and saw Frontman with his arms crossed.

The friends were startled and stepped back; it was the first time they had seen the master of the games.

"I hope you’ll be quick. Minutes are passing, and it’s becoming more dangerous," he said, looking at Gi-hun.

"He?…" Jung-bae looked at Gi-hun, his eyes dark with fatigue and lips dry.

"He is Frontman, and he allowed only your escape," Gi-hun explained.

"Yours?" Dae-ho asked. "You’re not coming with us?"

Jung-bae focused all his attention on Gi-hun. He dropped 11 and held him tightly.

"No way, you’re coming with us? What are you trying to do?" he asked anxiously. "I’m not leaving without you."

"You need to go, friend," Gi-hun held him firmly. "You need to survive, return to your family."

"And you?" he replied, tears in his eyes. "You have Ga-young… Gi-hun, come with us."

"Sir…" Jun-hee said, holding her belly. "Why are you staying?"

He grimaced, looking at Frontman, who remained neutral. There was no way to explain that he was trapped by this man in such an unusual way.

"I… we made an agreement," Gi-hun indicated Frontman with a nod.

"Gi-hun, no!" Jung-bae exclaimed, taking a deep breath. "Are you sacrificing yourself for us?"

Gi-hun smiled at his friend as the others prepared to protest.

"It’s not exactly like that, everyone. I’ll be fine," he assured them. "If he wanted to kill me, he would have already."

"And what about Young-il…?" Dae-ho asked.

The mention of that name hit like a punch. The air scratched his throat; for a moment he nearly choked. Young-il’s face appeared vividly in his mind, as if standing right in front of him — the calm smile, the eyes that always seemed to see beyond. “Perfect,” he thought. The pain was unbearable.

"He… is fine."

They were silent, understanding. Except Jung-bae; his gaze shifted to Frontman. He approached Gi-hun and whispered in his ear:

"Be careful, Gi-hun. There was something strange about Young-il, and don’t trust them. Please."

"There was nothing strange about Young-il," Gi-hun replied, slightly offended. Comments about another friend always irritated him. As for not trusting them… he agreed.

"Enough, you need to leave now!"

Gi-hun hugged Jung-bae and the others firmly, spending a little more time with Jun-hee.

"Keep the baby away from here. Look for a place called Pink Motel; I have a friend there who will help you with any trouble, find him."

He heard an impatient sigh from Frontman, almost telling him to fuck off, as he didn’t know if he would ever leave this place or see them again.

Frontman opened the office door; 11 and Hyun-Jun entered with Jung-bae, and the others followed. Jun-hee gave him a smile before leaving.

"Will we see you again, sir?"

"We will, stay strong!" He gestured with both hands. When he thought about entering the room, a gloved hand from the leader touched his chest, keeping him there.

"Stay still right there."

"Ugh, you’re a pain in the ass," Gi-hun muttered, moving away from the door.

When the door closed, silence fell heavily. The room seemed larger and emptier. Gi-hun stood still for a few seconds, heart still racing, before turning to the bar.

"If I’m going to drown the pain, it might as well be in style…" he murmured, picking up a bottle of whiskey.

At the small bar in the room, he poured the liquid into a glass, feeling the warmth slide down his throat.

"Uh! This is better than the other one," he said, leaning against the counter, drinking and watching the office door.

A few minutes later, Frontman entered alone, and Gi-hun noticed the bottle was already half empty. He felt slightly drunk, his body reacting to the alcohol and accumulated tension.

"They’re gone and safe," Frontman said.

"Hm… thanks!" Gi-hun raised his glass and drank it in one go.

Frontman let out a long sigh, almost choking. He quickly approached and grabbed the bottle.

"Hey! That’s my best whiskey. Only for special occasions."

"I totally agree, this is a special occasion," Gi-hun said, slightly unsteady.

"Your stomach is empty, it hits fast; I’ll ask for something for you to eat," the other man informed him. "Answer me something that made me curious."

"What?"

"It’s about Young-il… you defended him earlier and even seemed a little irritated," he pointed to Gi-hun’s nose and ears. "They got red, you really cared for him, didn’t you?"

"Yes, almost like a brother," Gi-hun replied, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

"A brother?" Frontman laughed, as if it were a joke.

"Yes, a brother. I think Jung-bae was jealous of him."

Frontman analyzed him from the side.

"You really were close, but it was just two days; impressive how attached you got."

"Young-il was special. He deserved all the best in life and was among the people I wanted close."

"Really?" The robotic voice sounded amused.

"Yes, very different from you. I want you to stay away," he pointed at Frontman’s chest. "Too close."

"Does it bother you?" he asked calmly.

Quickly, Gi-hun’s mind went back to Young-il. But now the feeling was reversed: being near him didn’t bother him. Quite the opposite with the man in front of him.

"Yes, it bothers me. Don’t invade my personal space."

"You started it, barging into mine earlier," the Leader shot back, reminding him of how he had calmed him down, even going as far as to touch him, and he smiled as if he had just won the argument.

Gi-hun felt his blood boil with embarrassment. This was completely different — the Frontman had been on the verge of a panic attack, and he had only wanted to make sure he was okay so he could help his friends.

"That was different."

"Of course."

"Want to die? I’m serious."

"I didn’t say otherwise, just agreed; you’re getting worked up for nothing," Frontman countered.

"Blame the alcohol," he muttered, leaving the bar and heading to the bathroom; his bladder was already full.

"Gi-hun?" Frontman called.

"What is it?" He stopped and turned.

"This farewell won’t come for free…" he said, dragging his voice through the mask. He let the silence stretch, savoring Gi-hun’s unease. "One day… I’ll collect."

Gi-hun sighed, crossing his arms. Did this man still want to charge something? He already had control over his life.

"Say it already, what do you want from me?" he said impatiently. "Do I have to eat someone’s liver?" he joked naturally.

"Hmm…" Frontman fell silent, pondering. "It’s not that; I don’t know yet what I’ll ask, I’ll think about it."

"Since that’s the case, I want a cigarette. Your bar is full of alcohol, but no cigarettes," Gi-hun needed to smoke to calm down.

"It’s not good for your lungs," Frontman warned.

"You have no right to lecture me," he retorted, pointing to the bar.

Frontman raised his hands in surrender.

After that, Gi-hun entered the bathroom, restless. He would only feel calm when 11 returned, bringing good news that his friends were safe in Seoul.

Meanwhile… he would have to find out what plans Frontman wanted from him this time.

—————————

In-ho held the half-full bottle and put it away. Some time later, a soldier knocked on the door, bringing the food he had requested. He entered with the cart and trays; In-ho’s stomach growled.

He was starving. He could never eat anything in the presence of the VIP's. At least, not here.

He went to the bathroom door and knocked three soft times, letting Gi-hun know the food had arrived. Then he grabbed a plate, served himself, and headed to his office.

He locked the door, removed his mask and hood, feeling the relief of finally being able to breathe easier that night. He sat in the chair and ate his meal. He heard the noise of furniture being moved outside and a curse. He rolled his eyes.

Clumsy as ever.

An involuntary smile appeared on his face. At least Gi-hun was eating.

In-ho shook his head, still unable to understand why he felt so concerned. All this care… and jealousy?

The word still echoed in his mind as if haunting him. Jealousy, my ass!

Everything was about possession. He had always hated it when someone touched what was his.

Then he remembered the friendly, even tender look Gi-hun had given Jung-bae. His stomach twisted as if a bunch of needles had pierced him.

The sensation was unpleasant, and watching it made his blood boil, increasing his impatience. Even more so when he remembered how Jung-bae had looked at him before leaving, accompanied by the threat:

“If you dare touch him, I swear I’ll find you even in hell and kill you.”

In-ho almost laughed at the guy’s audacity. He had to count to a thousand to avoid grabbing his gun and shooting Jung-bae in the head.

“He’s mine now, idiot. I can do whatever I want.”

Now, watching Jun-hee, the young pregnant woman, In-ho felt genuinely sensitive toward her. He wasn’t sure if it was because of her situation, but since his wife, he had never interacted with a pregnant woman again.

This was different. Of everyone there, she was the one he liked the most.

“Sir, thank you for letting us go,” she said in a trembling voice, bowing as much as she could in his direction. “Please, take good care of Mr. Seong Gi-hun for us.”

“All right, go quickly,” he replied coldly but sincerely.

She passed through the secret passage, and last came Hyun-jun. In-ho was quite impressed with her; she would make an excellent soldier.

“I believe 11 spoke to you before about the proposal,” he said. “You’re an excellent shooter.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll think about it… but you won’t have me killed if I refuse, right?”

“Should I?”

“No.” She answered quickly and entered the passage.

Finally, In-ho closed the secret door.

Returning to reality, he took a brief glance at the door. Surely, Gi-hun would try to find the passage. He chuckled. That would be interesting. Let’s see if he can find it.

Another thing he found peculiar was that Gi-hun had given the address of that motel he called home. The fact that he truly believed In-ho had never known where he was or what he was doing was so innocent. But it was all part of his personality.

The place was depressing and neglected, yet he knew the money was there.

In-ho completely understood what Gi-hun meant. He would give his money to those in need, and that irritated him. But… it didn’t matter now.

He continued eating, ignoring any feelings. After finishing, he went to the office bathroom to freshen up. He put his mask back on, grabbed his plate, and left the office, entering the personal room, which was empty. The bedroom door was closed.

In-ho locked the main door, went to his office, also locking it, and removed his clothes before taking a bath to sleep. Unlike the other night, he wore only pants, no underwear, and lay down in the comfortable armchair.

Number 11 would return by another route he had indicated. As for the captain with his brother, he managed to shake off Jun-ho. Everything was back in place.

Sleep came quickly, but not peacefully. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Gi-hun's face — the stubbornness, the sarcasm, the unbearable way he smiled. When he finally fell asleep, these fragments fused together into something that seemed more real than wakefulness itself. 

The scent of the air freshener made the air completely seductive. The room was dimly lit, with only two lamps on, maintaining the somber and sexy mood. 

The man sat on the stool, completely naked, with his hands tied behind his back and a black blindfold covering his eyes. Wet strands of hair fell across his forehead, making him even more beautiful. 

He's mine, I can do whatever I want… 

Reality excited In-ho absurdly. He picked up a glass and approached his husband, cupping his face with his free hand and slowly pouring the liquid into his mouth. 

"Drink," he commanded in a calm, sensual voice. 

Gi-hun obeyed. This gave In-ho enormous satisfaction. His hard cock was fully stretched out in his black pants, but that wasn't the moment for relief yet. He wanted to see it writhing, moaning, and begging for him.

In-ho ran his finger over Gi-hun's lips, letting the liquid drip down, hearing his first moan of the night.

"You're so obedient, love. Where's your stubbornness?" he asked, amused, watching every reaction his body made to the sound of his voice, without the robotic mask. "Does this turn you on?"

Another sigh, almost a plaintive moan; his cock throbbed achingly in his pants.

In-ho bent down to his level, drinking the rest of the liquid, tasting the alcohol slightly sweetened by honey. He placed the glass on the floor and tossed it away. With his lips still wet, he cupped Gi-hun's face and gently brushed his lips against his, then ran his tongue over it, savoring the taste of the drink and his own — but without actually kissing him.

In-ho pulled away, smiling, watching Gi-hun lean forward with a growl, almost begging for his pleasure.

"Stop torturing me," he begged impatiently.

Oh, no, he wasn't going to stop… he was just getting started.

Then In-ho began to gently kiss Gi-hun's chin, moving down his neck, licking and absorbing the natural body scent mixed with the perfume. He gave a little suck, leaving a red mark there, another under his ear, and another near his collarbone.

"You're mine! And everyone needs to know just how much," he whispered in his ear, lightly biting the lobe. Hearing the other's gasp.

His fingers found his nipples, peaked with pleasure. He squeezed lightly with his thumb and forefinger, hearing Gi-hun's moan, making them even more sensitive.

In-ho smiled, knowing exactly what to do to tease him and make him lose himself completely. He replaced his fingers with his tongue, giving small sucks.

Gi-hun writhed, his hard cock throbbing, aching for touch.

In-ho fulfilled Gi-hun's desire with one hand, massaging his lover's hardened, luscious member up and down, spreading pre-cum all over his flesh. He paused only to watch his reaction.

"In-ho… love!" Gi-hun moaned, distressed and writhing. "Please."

The moan of his name and the "love" made In-ho nearly combust. He lowered himself even further, staring at the pulsing flesh.

"Say it again!" he commanded hoarsely.

"What?" Gi-hun asked. "Love…"

Then In-ho swallowed him with his mouth, sucking Gi-hun masterfully; precise movements, sometimes slow, sometimes fast. With one hand he massaged his husband's balls, while the other went to a place that begged for attention and touch.

It was delicious to see him like this, surrendered, head thrown back, lips parted in disconnected moans.

In-ho explored his every reaction, attentive to every shudder and every gasp of pleasure. His fingers slid until they circled Gi-hun's tight ring, eliciting an involuntary shiver.

With each touch, his body responded without resistance, surrendered to In-ho's desire and dominance. The air between them grew heavy, charged with lust, eliciting suppressed moans and shivers, while time seemed to dissolve with each gesture.

He felt the man partially come undone in his mouth, moaning in a whimper. It was profane, lascivious — and Gi-hun was completely surrendered.

Finally, their lips met in a deep, lustful kiss, tongues licking each other with maddened desire.

In-ho woke breathless, his forehead dripping with sweat, his heart racing, his hands trembling. A sore, wet part caught his attention: his cock, fully hard and straining against his pants.

Fuck!

He let out a groan, bewildered and surprised… how long had it been since he'd felt such an intense erection? Especially aching and throbbing, begging for release.

No… he wouldn't do it.

No…

But the more he refused, the more the dream seemed vivid in his mind. He felt everything, even the taste of Gi-hun in his mouth, his defined abdomen contracting, his member throbbing again. Moans, surrender, touch… all too real.

The explosion of desire overtook In-ho, obliterating all rational thought. A primal, utterly erotic side emerged. He surrendered to his erection, feeling every pulse and every tension.

His hand came up, squeezing firmly, and he threw his head back, letting out a deep sigh. His thumb circled the glans, spreading the sticky liquid, while the up-and-down movements became slow, then precise, exploring every reaction in his body. Each touch, each pressure, made the pleasure intensify, almost painfully.

His mind clouded; all he could think about was him. In that moment, there was no shame, only the lust that consumed him.

He remembered the depraved dream, which had seemed so real that each imaginary touch of Gi-hun's on his lips, body, butt, and cock made his member harden even more, making it almost unbearable to maintain the slow pace. In-ho sped up his movements. A sharp heat surged through his body, leaving him breathless. Each imaginary thrust made his body writhe, begging for more.

Sighs turned into low moans, bitten back by his lips. All he saw or imagined was Gi-hun there, sliding on his cock, grinding her ass, moaning for him, driving him wild.

The orgasm came with unprecedented intensity, his lips parting in a silent scream, his body arching and trembling. Hot jets exploded, smearing his chest and abdomen; a tear ran down his face, the force of extreme desire.

In-ho remained there, an arm over his eyes, waiting for his breathing to return to normal. But the memory wouldn't fade — the taste and smell of Gi-hun still haunted him. Shame mixed with an absurd desire to relive it all again.

"What the fuck did I just do?" he murmured, still panting, trembling between pleasure, desperation, and inhibition.

Chapter Text

Don’t Think About It Anymore!

In-ho pressed his hands against the wall as the cold water poured over his heated body, washing away the traces of desire. He scrubbed the soap vigorously, leaving his skin red — a desperate attempt to rid himself of what he felt, even punishing himself for what he had done.

Now, his rational side had returned, and he was trying, at any cost, to understand why this had happened. After all, nothing like this had ever occurred before — not with that purely primal side of him surfacing. He felt like an uncontrollable animal, seeking nothing but pleasure, and even more disturbing, thinking about another… man…

Just a man. 

He felt like a teenager discovering himself for the first time: shame, confusion, and guilt consuming him.

"Forget it, it’s nothing. This never happened!"

In-ho repeated this to himself as he stepped out of the shower. He put on clean sweatpants and a loose shirt. The room had grown slightly colder, and he lay back on the sofa, closing his eyes.

The images from the dream lingered, vivid and unrelenting, the shadow of Gi-hun’s taste persistent. He remembered licking his lips, tasting, sucking, and kissing. The flavor still burned in his mouth — sweet and provocative — while shivers ran down his spine, arms and legs tingling involuntarily. Every nerve seemed electrified; every cell alert, as if his entire body had suddenly awakened.

A new tingling surged, renewing the insistent desire.

"What the hell is this?"

He closed his eyes tighter, trying to focus on anything else. He needed to stop thinking about that damn dream.

"Some idiot is going to win the game tomorrow," he muttered to himself, while memories of Gi-hun’s moans invaded his mind. He clenched his fists, gripping the thin sheet over his body — "and the VIPs will…"

" In-ho… love…"

That moan echoed, haunting him along with the most libertine expression he had ever seen.

In-ho’s heart raced like never before, hammering against his ribs. His mouth went dry instantly, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, hands trembling as they sought to hold onto something — anything — to avoid completely losing himself.

No matter how much he wanted to rationalize, something inside refused to obey logic.

Each memory of Gi-hun, every sensation awakened by the dream, pulsed through his body like an incessant warning that it wasn’t just momentary desire. It was something deeper, disturbingly real, and In-ho felt, for the first time, the weight of an emotion he didn’t know how to name.

With an irritated growl, he got up from the armchair, kicking the sheet and everything else aside before it could get any worse. Since it was impossible to sleep and all these symptoms persisted, he needed to do something useful.

"I must be sick."

He opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, fingers squeezing it tightly, feeling the cold plastic. He snapped the cap open and drank in big gulps, feeling the liquid rush down his throat and calm, for a few seconds, the fire inside his chest.

He went to his desk, sat in front of the PC, put on his reading glasses, and with hesitant fingers opened the search bar. He typed almost in a whisper:

"Recent symptoms… racing heart, wanting the person just for me, recurring thoughts… and… erotic dream."

He hit enter and began reading the results, frowning. He stared at the screen as if it were something strange.

"Symptoms of what the hell?" he muttered.

Every result seemed more absurd than the last:

"Infatuated? Obsessive? Erotic hallucinations?" In-ho frowned. "Is this some rare disease or am I going crazy? What the hell is this?"

Everything seemed clinical, almost pathological, and a shiver ran down his spine.

"I’m not like this, this can’t be happening to me," he continued talking to himself. "This doesn’t feel like me. Everyone must be wrong, it must be some rare illness."

Out of curiosity, he clicked on a more emotional website, discussing people in denial about their feelings. A therapist stated:

"It’s very common for people to feel confused about their own emotions, especially when there’s trauma or distorted self-image. These individuals tend to become overly attached and can develop obsessive behavior toward their partners, which sometimes may evolve into abusive tendencies."

In-ho laughed to himself, nervous and incredulous.

"Obsessive… me?" he muttered, throwing his head back. "No… that’s not me… it can’t be…"

But the more he laughed, the more that flutter in his stomach persisted, and his smile became tense. Deep down, he knew it made sense… admitting it, however, was another story.

Reason told him to close the laptop and move on, but his impulsive side wanted more.

"For me, I’m sick… let’s call these feelings a disease."

He exited the site and typed only: "about another man" into the search bar.

The same sites as before appeared, now with bright colors and rainbows. In-ho’s laugh grew louder and more nervous. It was becoming… pathetic.

He clicked on a company site:

"We are an LGBT organization. If you want to understand your feelings and sexuality, contact us."

"Alright, since I’m this deep in this mess, let’s see more absurdities."

The site was all colorful, with flashy letters. There was a search section explaining the LGBTQIAPN+ community and the meaning of each term.

Two terms made him tense: gay and bisexual.

His eyes glued to the words, his breathing heavy and almost irregular, as if each letter were an invisible punch to his chest.

There was a final, inviting message.

In-ho closed his eyes for a moment, but the words “gay” and “bisexual” blinked on the screen, vibrating in his mind. His throat dried, his stomach twisted, and a chill ran down his spine. Part of him wanted to throw the laptop at the wall, but another — smaller, more dangerous — almost believed, feeling a strange tingling in his chest and hands.

"If you are discovering yourself or questioning your sexuality, come talk to us. We help explore and understand your feelings. We are here with you and united!"

There was a chat for talking and another for therapists.

In-ho laughed, feeling too old for all of this, yet… before he could scold himself, he clicked on the chat.

He chose an anonymous name, obviously.

Therapist 1: "Welcome! Don’t be shy, introduce yourself to all of us."

In-ho hesitated while others welcomed him. Without many comments, he typed:

"I know my sexuality well, I’ve been straight for as long as I can remember, I’ve been married, but I have some kind of rare disease. My heart races, I want him close all the time, I hate when others touch or look at him, and recently I had an erotic dream."

He hit enter and waited for responses. Some users laughed.

Beautifulcat: "Why is there always someone who tries to assert they’re straight and ends up being gay?"

Mansummer: "Brother, you’re gay… welcome."

McDream: "Accept it quickly, it hurts less… and, by the way, is it mutual?"

As he read, he tried to laugh, but the image of Gi-hun biting his lips returned vividly. His heart raced, and his hand clenched into a fist on the table, fingers trembling. Even typing “rare disease,” his body already reacted as if it knew the truth before his mind accepted it.

Therapist 1: "Take it slow, folks. Confusion is common and it can be unsettling at first. We all go through denial."

Therapist 1: My dear, anonymous sir, I noticed you called it a rare disease; no, this isn’t a disease, it’s just happening. It’s not your fault, it’s part of who you are… I don’t know your story, I’d like you to share more about this relationship."

Beautifulcat: "I’m sorry, anonymous. Count on us, we’ll help you."

"There is no relationship; we are just pretending it exists for both of us. And he hates me, of course. But I’ve been feeling this way and dreamed about him."

Beautifulcat: "Ah! The best romances come from this. I don’t think he hates you that much, or he wouldn’t have agreed."

McDream: "You feel attracted to him, it seems. That’s normal; the dream is already a strong indicator."

Therapist 1: "It must be difficult, but I partially agree with Beautifulcat. Stay calm, this is normal. Not all of these feelings necessarily mean you’re gay or bisexual. Sometimes it happens; we don’t control our thoughts. People sometimes masturbate thinking about the same sex, but it’s just momentary desire."

In-ho breathed deeply; maybe it could be… but he couldn’t forget and even wanted more…

"But I don’t feel it’s normal, it’s impossible for me."

Mansummer: "Calm down, anonymous. To be sure, how about you kiss him? He needs to give permission; don’t do anything without consent. If you really feel attracted, you’ll know."

In-ho exhaled, reading the others agreeing. He ran his hand over his forehead and laughed at himself.

"I really don’t have the age for this anymore, I’m too old."

He shut down the PC forcefully, determined to forget that entire night. "I’ll never think about it again," he repeated like a mantra. But as he lay down, the first image behind his closed eyelids was Gi-hun, smirking insolently. In-ho turned to his side, muttering under his breath, realizing he had already lost that battle with himself.

————

He would kill anyone who dared interact with him first. His mood was terrible, darker than usual. Not even the Black Square dared test his patience, and the VIPs kept a careful distance, as if they knew it was best not to provoke the volcano about to erupt. His body language betrayed someone on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

All because of Gi-hun and that damned dream. In-ho couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, his heart raced uncontrollably, pounding against his chest. His hands clenched into fists over the thin sheet, fingers trembling as if his body were betraying him. A tingling ran through his arms and legs, every muscle alert, ready to react to something he couldn’t comprehend. No matter how many times he repeated that it was nothing, he couldn’t convince himself: mind and body screamed conflicting messages.

He wasn’t in love. That word felt like poison. Love was calm, light — and what he felt was fire, an inferno, a heat consuming every nerve. So, no… it couldn’t be.

Obsessive and possessive? Yes, perhaps. That was why he was in this storm of loss of control, caught between reason and instinct. A shiver ran down his spine, his skin prickled. He needed to stay calm and in control. That was the only way not to lose his mind completely. That was why he would test the “solution” they suggested: a kiss. Just one kiss. An experiment, nothing more.

But deep down, the mere thought of Gi-hun’s mouth pressed against his already made his stomach churn, his chest tighten, and his fingers tingle involuntarily. A chill ran down his neck, mingled with the internal heat consuming him.

And perhaps, when that kiss happened, he would finally have the answer. But knowing himself… even if his body ignited, even if every cell screamed for touch, his mouth would still refuse, his mind would invent excuses. That was the true hell: wanting but not allowing oneself to want, every trapped breath, every tense muscle, every heartbeat reminding him that he was completely vulnerable.

————————

Gi-hun was bored, pacing back and forth across the room. He had no idea what time it was, each step echoing lightly on the cold floor. He thought of his friends, hoping they had left the island safely.

The door unlocked, and for a moment, Gi-hun thought it was Frontman. He hadn’t seen him since waking. A strange chill ran down his spine. Weird.

Then the short Black Square guard entered, pushing a tray cart; Gi-hun knew who it was: Number 11. She was the only one allowed in there.

"Finally."

"Hello, Gi-hun," she greeted in her robotic voice and set the tray near the chair. "I brought your lunch."

"Hi. Are you okay? And my friends?" He completely ignored the last question.

She laughed and shook her head.

"Everyone is fine, far from here," she replied.

"And what about my injured friend?" Gi-hun asked, his voice slightly tense.

"He will be fine, sir… Don’t worry. I personally treated his wound; I’m used to gunshot injuries."

Gi-hun breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. They made it. One less worry. Now, regarding the game… had it already ended?

"Thank you. And can you tell me what’s happening? Are the games already over?"

"The last game must be happening now," Number 11 said.

He ran his hands through his hair, a little anxious.

"This will never stop, will it?" Gi-hun sighed, melancholic. "The games, I mean."

Number 11 remained silent for a moment.

"Honestly, I didn’t believe it," she said, watching him closely, "but after what the boss did for you… I think he touched you somehow. Since I’ve been here, I’ve never seen Frontman act like that."

"Since we’re being honest, do you think we seem… in love?" Gi-hun asked, showing all his disdain for this place and the man who put him there.

She laughed and shrugged.

"I don’t like to interfere in others’ romantic affairs. Whether you are or aren’t… it doesn’t matter. The only thing I know is that if you stay by his side, like you are now, you might have a chance to get what you want." She approached and spoke softly. "Everyone fears Frontman because he’s ruthless and doesn’t tolerate mistakes, but when it comes to you… it’s different."

Though Gi-hun found that impossible, he enjoyed talking to the guard.

"What’s your name?" he asked.

"Eleven."

Gi-hun rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"Your real one, the one you are without the silly jumpsuit and mask."

She laughed again.

"I’m not allowed to say here. If we revealed our identities to anyone, even among ourselves, we’d die. It’s a rule: taking off the mask is forbidden."

Gi-hun made a face. "He’s more meticulous than I thought."

"Alright, I won’t insist."

"See you soon, sir." She bowed. "Enjoy your meal."

She went to the door and locked it.

Gi-hun stayed there, his turbulent thoughts spinning. He finally relaxed his shoulders and breathed deeply… but what would happen next was still a mystery. Would he remain in that isolated room forever?

———— 

"More like hell! There’s nothing good to do in this damn place!" he exclaimed after a long period alone.

Gi-hun was irritated. Hours had passed, and the boredom intensified every minute. Not even the idiot Frontman had appeared.

He had eaten lunch, taken a nap, showered, and waited impatiently until his irritation grew.

Looking at the office door, a thought occurred to him for the first time:

"Maybe I can find out what that secret passage is."

Ignoring all instincts telling him not to, he got up and went to Frontman’s office. He observed the place, perfectly organized, as if no one had been there.

The furniture was minimal, always in dark, sophisticated tones. Seeing it now, it seemed almost impossible for a passage to be hidden there…

"There must be some button around here." He searched under the desk, beside the furniture, around the door, finding nothing. "Is he messing with me?"

He stomped on the floor, jumped around ridiculously, banged his hands on the desk trying to find a hollow sound or different noise, and nothing…

"Ah, damn it!" Gi-hun cursed. "I can’t see, but something’s here…"

He continued searching, attentive to any sound, kneeling again beside the desk, frustrated.

"It’s impossible… that bastard hid the passage on purpose."

A low laugh echoed through the room. He froze.

Turning slowly, he saw a dark silhouette leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching him with a calm that felt even more threatening.

"Looking for something, Gi-hun?" Frontman’s robotic voice sounded deep, loaded with irony.

Gi-hun dropped to the floor from the shock.

Where did that man come from? And without making a sound? Can he fly now?

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow at Frontman.

"So what? You think I’d be waiting for you, sitting obediently like a helpless maiden?"

"Hmm…"

Frontman tilted his head while observing him. He entered the office slowly and grabbed a chair.

"Remember I said I’d collect what you owe me… sit in the chair."

"What?" Gi-hun was about to argue.

"Just do as I said," Frontman said, impatiently.

Somehow, he got up from the floor and did as ordered, going to the chair and sitting. It wasn’t long before his eyes were blindfolded and his hands tied behind the chair.

"For what?"

"I’m not an idiot. If I don’t do this, you’ll try some trick." The robotic voice appeared in front of him. "No need to be scared of what’s about to happen…"

"What…"

"I chose what I want in exchange for freeing all your friends. I can do what…"

"Just do it already," Gi-hun exclaimed, irritated.

He tensed, waiting for a punch, the pain of a broken limb, or anything dark… even for what was about to happen next. Every muscle was taut, fingers clenched on the floor, breathing fast, anticipating pain.

After a while, he felt hot breath against his face, the warmth of a body so close it seemed to merge with his. Then, a soft pressure collided with his lips, gentle yet firm at the same time. The touch caught him completely by surprise, making his body shiver involuntarily. Every nerve seemed to scream. Tied, blindfolded, unable to react… perhaps that’s why the shock of the kiss penetrated so deeply: there was no escape, no way out.

The pressure vanished, but the warm breath remained, vibrating against his face. The subtle smell of soap, mixed with the natural scent of the other, ignited Gi-hun inside. It was an explosion of sensations he couldn’t decipher — confusion, shock, desire… all mixed.

He should have reacted, said something cheeky, or shown disgust at what was happening. Turn his head, spit, curse. But instead, he parted his lips. His body betrayed him before his mind could give any order. The other’s tongue brushed against his, exploring, teasing, learning the contours of his mouth. Gi-hun shivered down his spine, arms and legs tensing then relaxing for seconds, betrayed by pleasure he didn’t want to admit.

His mind screamed, trying to set limits, but his body seemed to know before his brain. Every touch, every pressure, every breath of warm air on his skin made him more vulnerable — and at the same time, more alive. Instinct won. And that was what scared him the most.

When their lips parted again, Gi-hun gasped as if he had run miles. The taste of the other still burned in his mouth, the memory of the touch running through every nerve, every cell of his body. He wanted to deny it, spit, curse… but there was no way to erase what had already happened. And the worst part? A part of him — an uncontrollable part — wanted more.

Then their lips met again, this time with an intensity that could no longer be ignored. He felt the heat spread through his chest, his hands and arms tingling, his heart beating as if it would explode inside his chest. His scent, the texture of his lips, the teasing tongue… everything blended into a dizzying ecstasy.

The moment his lips moved on their own, the image of Young-il appeared in his mind: the messy hair, the shy smile. It was as if he were kissing him — and that made everything ignite even more.

He returned the kiss with intensity, feeling every inch of the other, every shared breath, every sigh mingling with his own. The muffled sound of desire escaping the other’s lips reverberated inside him, making his chest ache and his fingers grip the invisible supports of the air.

They separated, panting, their breaths mingling between sighs, moans, and swallowed curses. Gi-hun should have said something, anything, but he could only feel his heart hammering against his ribs, his whole body betraying his mind.

And then their lips collided again, hungrier, more intense, more desperate. There was no retreat left, no lie to cover this up. Only heat, dizziness, desire running like fire inside — and the certainty that nothing, absolutely nothing, would ever be the same after this kiss.

Chapter Text

It was supposed to be just a tiny collision of lips, a small test to understand what was happening inside him. But the moment his lips met Gi-hun's, his entire plan to stay in control collapsed.

A peck wasn’t enough; he wanted more… much more.

Damn… does this have a technical name? If it does, I should have researched it better. A normal kiss? An experimental kiss? A “holy-shit” kiss?

What kind of kiss would fit this? He didn’t know…

But he went completely insane when Gi-hun started responding to the kiss; Gi-hun’s tongue touching his, the sound of his moans, the wonderful taste — everything exactly like in his dream. His breathing became uneven, almost suffocating, his heart pounding so fast it felt like it would burst out of his chest.

In-ho’s hands clutched Gi-hun’s neck and shoulders, unable to hold back, as if he wanted to feel every inch of his skin.

The kiss grew much wetter, hotter, and more desperate.

No… I can’t want this. But damn, how I do.

Every touch, every kiss made his muscles twitch involuntarily, and a sharp tingling ran from his stomach up to his chest, leaving him breathless and completely shivering. The bulge in his pants pressed painfully and arousing, reminding him how badly he wanted it, even as he tried to control himself.

He sucked Gi-hun’s lips hard, hearing the delicious, incredibly sensual sound the other man made in response. It shattered any remaining shred of sanity he had left.

The wet, shamelessly licked kisses trailed down Gi-hun’s jaw to his neck, making his entire skin shiver with excitement. The smell of soap mixed with the natural scent of his skin made him even more aroused.

Then, a low moan of a name completely different from his caught him off guard, coming from Gi-hun’s lips at that moment.

“Young-il!”

It was like a bucket of cold water had been poured directly over his body. He froze, lips and hot, ragged breath pressing against the curve of his neck.

Hatred. It could only be hatred. It couldn’t be desire… but then, why was his body trembling for more?

The pleasure was so intense he felt his muscles contracting on their own, as if his body was about to cross a line from which there was no return. The throbbing heat between his legs almost made him lose control right there, but with superhuman effort, he held himself back.

The panting breaths and cold sweat on his forehead betrayed just how close he had come.

In-ho used all the reason he could muster at that moment to pull away from Gi-hun, his trembling, aroused body revealing the pleasure he’d felt and how much he had enjoyed it.

He stood up, sweaty and still carrying traces of pleasure from the kiss, controlling his heavy breaths and his painfully hard, throbbing erection in his pants as best as he could.

After stepping away, In-ho couldn’t help but look at Gi-hun’s lips, still red and swollen, reminding him of the taste he had just experienced. The mouth open and panting like his, the confused expression, the flushed cheeks… and looking down at the exposed bulge, Gi-hun was too beautiful and as aroused as he was. A small, involuntary smile escaped, full of restrained desire.

Those images were enough for In-ho to notice something else: his pants were quite wet.

Hell!

He needed to get out of there as fast as possible.

Adjusting his mask and hood, In-ho felt his fingers still tingling, as if every touch reminded him of the kiss. A shiver ran through his body, reminding him he wanted more, even as he tried to stay in control. He untied Gi-hun and left him blindfolded, removing it himself.

In-ho left his office, heading straight to his room and slamming the door, locking it behind him. He removed the mask, feeling the sweat running down and the arousal that wouldn’t fade.

Shit!

This can’t be!

No!

He didn’t even bother taking off his sweat-soaked clothes; he just removed his shoes, threw the mask on the bed, and went straight to the cold shower. He closed his eyes tightly, refusing to masturbate again because of Gi-hun. The persistent erection begged for attention…

No! He was in control of his body; he wasn’t a teenager anymore, reacting desperately to impulses.

Every inch of his skin burned, scorching his mind, yet he tried to convince himself he didn’t want it.

He stayed there, irritated and frustrated, letting the cold water wash over his senses and calm the desire. After a long time under the icy jet, until his fingers turned purple, he finally managed to compose himself.

He took off the wet clothes, tossed them in the laundry basket, took a quick shower, and put on another Frontman uniform. He donned the mask and left the room, finding Gi-hun sitting in the armchair, a bottle of whiskey beside him. He avoided looking at him and didn’t want to comment on what had happened; if he spoke, he wouldn’t know how Gi-hun would react.

“Be ready, we’ll leave as soon as I come back.”

Gi-hun raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Leave? We’re going to leave here?”

In-ho turned just slightly, avoiding direct eye contact.

“Yes, do you think we were going to stay here forever?”

When Gi-hun didn’t reply, he let out a restrained sigh.

“Just be ready, the trip might be a little long.”

With that, he left the room as quickly as possible, walking down the corridors, his mind still playing tricks, going straight back to the kiss he couldn’t forget.

Terrible idea, why did I go through with that? Especially knowing how curious I am. And the other thing that made it even more unusual: Gi-hun had moaned the name Young-il.

He didn’t know how to react to that; his stomach twisted painfully. He didn’t know if he felt jealousy, anger, or a strange kind of hurt he didn’t want to name. Immersed in those thoughts, all filled with Gi-hun, the other man was there, distracted, thinking about his alter ego. In-ho felt his heart race, his chest tighten, and a throbbing heat climb through his body. Every memory of the kiss, every touch, every shared breath blended with the frustration of seeing Gi-hun desire someone who was actually him.

The painful erection hadn’t fully subsided, and imagining Gi-hun sighing Young-il’s name, moaning for him, made everything even more unbearable. He wanted to pull away, but his mind and body wouldn’t obey. Every step toward the elevator felt like a knife stabbing him with desire and rage at the same time.

He let out a deep sigh, stepping into the elevator, trying to convince himself that none of it mattered, but he knew it was impossible. Gi-hun was attracted to Young-il — or what he believed to be Young-il — and it was eating In-ho alive. It shouldn’t matter… after all, Young-il was just a mask, his own invention. But the simple fact that Gi-hun desired that side and not the real In-ho drove him mad.

And worse, something that made him completely irritated with himself… he wanted Gi-hun to moan his name, just like in the dream. But if that really happened… with his body in that state, something beyond that could have happened.

As he walked toward the VIP room, his mind was racing, still full of doubts. So Gi-hun was gay too? But he had been married and had a daughter… in that case, it would be the same situation as his…

He was about to explode; these games had been more of a nightmare for him than for the participants.

If only Gi-hun knew who was behind the mask… maybe it would be him who went insane.

The elevator stopped, In-ho took a deep breath, and stepped out, still completely ignoring the shivers and heat radiating from every point of his body. The pleasure from before had left him in tatters; his muscles still twitched involuntarily, almost dragging him back to the limit from which there was no return…

When he reached the VIP room, they were more sober and almost entirely satisfied with the outcomes of this year’s games. In-ho was so immersed in his own hell that he didn’t even care about the winner of the year.

“None of us won this year.” The VIP woman laughed.

“That’s because Player 456 wasn’t there.” The lion VIP said.

In-ho’s growl came out more guttural than intended, as if his irritation had blended with the suffocating heat still burning between his legs.

“Excuse me, Frontman, your fiancé wasn’t actually competing, I forgot that.” He raised his hands.

“Too bad 222 died.” The dog VIP sighed melancholically. “My bet was entirely on her.”

“Who would have imagined Player 124 winning the games?” The other VIP said. “The ending was tragic, him pushing 333.”

While they commented on the finals, In-ho stayed silent. He just wanted to leave with Gi-hun; the place was suffocating him, and he needed clarity. He couldn’t even muster excitement or entertain himself with what they had planned for next year.

He still felt the involuntary muscle contractions, a cruel echo of the near explosion of pleasure he had earlier. The damn stiff, throbbing erection insisted on staying, not letting him think of anything but Gi-hun’s mouth.

It wasn’t just lust, it was anger. It could only be anger. But the body didn’t know the difference.

“Frontman, I’m eager to see what you’ve prepared for next year,” said the lion VIP. “But I believe there will be other viewers; how is your schedule?”

“Full. For now, I’ve come three years in a row; maybe I won’t next time.” The VIP woman smiled. “But I’ll try.”

“I’ll come.” The Dog VIP laughed. “I love this place.”

The snake VIP approached him.

“In any case, we’ll all be together at the ball. Frontman, your fiancé is required to attend; after all, the rest need to acknowledge him as your husband.” The VIP spoke, then continued quietly in Korean, so only he could hear: “It’s better that this is actually true; I’m not convinced, or we can discard him whenever we want. Il-nam is no longer here. We’ll be watching your every move; everything you do, we know.”

In-ho rolled his eyes, feeling even more irritated than before. In his mind, the snake VIP was the first to die — and in multiple torturous ways.

“With that, you can rest assured, we’ll be there.” He replied calmly, not letting himself be threatened.

After saying goodbye to everyone coldly, In-ho went to the control room, dismissed all the soldiers, paid them, and activated the button to empty the island.

Well… now he had something else to do, far more dangerous than those games, yet infinitely more tempting: dealing with the man who had almost made him cum in the uniform — and who still set him on fire just by existing.

———————

What the hell is happening? What was that?

That was what Gi-hun kept thinking, over and over. No matter how much he tried to convince himself not to dwell on that strange, wet, and delicious kiss, he couldn’t.

Sitting on the couch, with the bottle of whiskey untouched beside him, he ran his hands over his lips, still feeling the force, the tongue, the scent, and the touch of him. Closing his eyes, the only person he could feel was Young-il. The warmth rose through his chest, making his muscles tense and alert.

It made everything even more complicated. He had never thought of him that way. Of course, he liked him, but it shouldn’t be like this.

He put his hands on his face, feeling remorse wash over him, unable to fully comprehend everything. Gi-hun didn’t know what shocked him more: thinking about Young-il or having been kissed by Frontman, his greatest enemy.

So he liked men? And me too?

Gi-hun had no problem with that. Men or women… it was only the person that mattered, regardless of gender. But this had never happened before.

And why now? Young-il wasn’t even here anymore… and Frontman…

No, impossible! No… I can’t feel this… and yet, every thought of him sets me on fire.

He refused to be attracted to him. His body had reacted out of instinct and shock, but remembering the other man, everything had been so delicious… His body wanted more, he wanted to feel so much more than that. The way he had held him, the warmth of his mouth on his… it still burned on his skin. The almost unbearable pleasure made his heart race. He hadn’t felt that in years. And the memory of being desired, completely without reciprocation, was exquisite.

Maybe all of this had to do with that near-death situation, which had brought him so close to Young-il: the calm way, the knowing glances, the tension, and the protection.

He couldn’t say for sure yet, but it could be that.

Gi-hun leaned his head against the back of the couch, running his tongue over his lips, tasting him. His body shivered, revealing that he was still very aroused. The heat between his legs pulsed like a cruel reminder. He wanted more. He wanted to feel it again.

How long had it been since he’d masturbated?

He didn’t even remember. Since he had won that damn game, three years ago, he had never touched anyone again. Sex had become distant, almost nonexistent. Depression, misery, a ruined life… there was no room for pleasure. Then, his life had revolved around finding that place. It didn’t matter if he was going to die — a part of him knew it and was ready, as long as it ended those games.

And then he met those people who brought new emotions, almost making him return to what he had been before: playful, full of life. Now Young-il brought that… the desire, the pleasure…

Gi-hun let his mind wander, imagining that man there. What would have happened? Would they have made love?

For a moment, his traitorous mind showed the scene: his body over his, soft moans, warm breaths brushing against his ear, firm hands holding his waist while moving slowly, hearts beating in sync. It wasn’t just sex, but something deeper, more intimate.

Gi-hun chuckled quietly at the thought… making love.

How long had it been since he’d done that? Perhaps since the early years of marriage. After that, everything was lost in silence, in distance.

Now, that sweet side within him — dormant for years — was waking up. He wanted this. Not just sex. He wanted to be desired again, to be loved again.

Tears came without warning, burning his eyes. Unanswered questions: Would Young-il desire him like that too? Could he feel the same?

He would never know. But even so, his heart raced just imagining it, and he was shivering and aroused again.

Sweat ran down his neck. He needed a shower; if he drank alcohol, the arousal might intensify even more. Gi-hun went to his room and locked himself in, Frontman’s scent still lingering.

As he took a cold shower, his body began to calm. Why did Frontman do that? he asked himself, but somehow it didn’t matter. He needed to forget and never let it happen again.

He hated that man. Period!

The cold water made him shiver, and as he stepped out of the shower and grabbed clean clothes, his eyes fell on Frontman’s wet uniform. A sudden heat surged through his chest, reminding him of the touch that still pulsed on his skin. A shiver ran down his spine, and for a moment, his body reacted on its own.

“What a weird guy! Shower with clothes on.”

Gi-hun wanted to joke, trying to distract himself, but it was almost impossible with Frontman there, even just in memory.

Clean, smelling good, and dressed, he could finally think clearly. The games were over. Who had won? Where would they go?

His mind began to occupy itself, analyzing all possibilities: would he be locked in the dungeon? Or something more sinister?

Gi-hun heard the siren and the robotic voice announcing that everyone should evacuate the island and that the games had ended.

When the door opened, Frontman stepped in, holding a pack of cigarettes. He tossed it to Gi-hun, who grabbed it quickly. The phone rang; he answered promptly:

"You can go! Everything’s fine." He hung up and went to the bedroom. "We’ll leave in five minutes."

Gi-hun glanced at the pack. It was a good brand. He wanted to open it and put one in his mouth, but seeing Frontman’s hurry, he gave up.

He noticed the tense shoulders, the slightly trembling hand as he picked up clothes from the wardrobe. He had never seen Frontman like this…

"Who won the games?" he asked.

"Player 124," came the curt response.

Gi-hun’s eyebrows rose.

"Thanos’ friend… but how…?"

"Yeah, it’s part of it, Seong Gi-hun. The games are surprising, aren’t they?" A sharp, irritable comment.

"What’s wrong? Got scolded?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Why?"

"Seems like it. You’re irritated, lacking your usual calm and superiority."

Frontman muttered something under his breath in English.

"No, I wasn’t," he replied quickly. "I’m just in a hurry."

The leader passed by him. Each step seemed measured, avoiding any contact. But Gi-hun felt the heat radiating from him, almost impossible to ignore.

"And my things?"

"You can say goodbye to them. They’re useless. Unless you want to take your Player 456 uniform. Want it?" The robotic voice sounded hoarse at the end.

Gi-hun noticed Frontman’s heavy breathing, as if he were at his limit. Just like the night before, but now it felt different… Frontman wasn’t even looking at him through that mask.

Why is he like this? Why does it turn me on so much?

"Get out of the way, because I’m going to want that thing," Gi-hun muttered.

"That’s what I thought," Frontman replied curtly.

He packed the laptop into the bag with the other things, his breathing altered, almost making Gi-hun stop.

When he finished, he only took the necessary items.

"We’ll buy new things for you."

"No need. I have my own clothes; we just need to pass…"

"What? We’re not going to that rundown motel you call home."

"You know where I live. Were you there?" Gi-hun asked, unsure whether to be irritated or curious.

"Yes, I knew the whole time. Never took my eyes off you… I found it… impressive, you trying to hide from me."

Gi-hun shivered, but his irritation increased.

"And what were you doing all this time?"

"Fishing." He responded.

Ah, great… I was doing my best to find him, and that son of a bitch was fishing and still knew where I was the whole time.

Gi-hun had to count to a thousand not to lash out at Frontman.

"You knew I was looking for you?"

"Yes," he mocked. "You seemed obsessed."

"Look who’s talking… you were the one watching me the whole time."

"Hm…" He shrugged. "And you were looking for me the whole time." Before Gi-hun could respond, he added: "By the way, my name is Hwang In-ho."

Hearing that, Gi-hun froze. The name echoed in his mind like thunder. Hwang. He knew that surname. A cold shiver ran down his spine, his heart racing, as if he had just opened a door that should never have been touched.

"Why…" His voice came out hoarse and almost failing. He cleared his throat. "Why did you tell me your name?"

"Because, after all, you and I are more than enemies, aren’t we? We’re… engaged. Away from here, you don’t need to call me Frontman." He replied, carrying two suitcases, heading to the office.

Frontman pressed a badge in his pocket. The passage opened with a soft click, revealing a dark corridor. Gi-hun’s chest tightened. Entering there was crossing an invisible line — a mixture of danger and excitement he didn’t want to admit.

"Let’s go…"

"And where are we going?" he hesitated.

"We’re going to my house. I mean… our house." In-ho turned his face to him, voice low, almost a whisper muffled by the mask. "You’re mine now, Seong Gi-hun. All mine."

Again, Gi-hun felt shivers and heat he shouldn’t… perhaps a consequence of the kiss, a physiological reaction. He denied it was because of him.

When they passed through the passage and the secret door closed behind them, swallowing them in darkness, Gi-hun knew: the games were only just beginning.

Chapter Text

As they followed the narrow, damp, and dark tunnel, each step seemed to echo louder than it should, as if the silence itself was watching them. Gi-hun noticed that Frontman was still very tense: rigid shoulders, muffled breathing behind the mask… every muscle seemed like a barrier against something about to overflow. Everything about him screamed restraint, perfectly measured actions to avoid touching. Everything in Frontman was absolute control, and perhaps that was exactly why Gi-hun couldn’t stop thinking about how he had lost control, even if just for a moment.

Gi-hun didn’t know if it was just his imagination, but even the air between them seemed heavier, as if each step was crossed by what they hadn’t said—or by what they already had. He hated realizing how every stolen inch of space seemed to reignite a memory that should have been dead. The stiffness of his body reminded him, against his will, of the pressure of another stiffness—the urgent touch of lips that should never have met.

He didn’t know whether to run or simply approach; something had changed in that kiss, and he still didn’t know what it meant.

Hwang In-ho.

The name sounded like a stolen secret. Gi-hun laughed at himself, a silent, humorless laugh, mocking his own naivety. It was Jun-ho’s brother—the reason the police officer had risked so much, the reason he had extended a hand. Of course it was.

He had always made his hatred for Frontman clear, one of the things Gi-hun couldn’t stop thinking about now: if Jun-ho came back to them again, would he let him kill his own brother? That was his goal, and he had never hidden it.

Observing the man in front of him, who Gi-hun now knew had a name, a family, and someone close to both of them, could he kill him?

Could he hate him with all the strength of his being? Or was what burned in his chest something even more dangerous—desire.

Gi-hun still found all of it strange, almost insane. Engaged to the most unlikely man in the world, carrying the weight of all that mess he hadn’t asked for, and, at the same time, thinking far too often about another man he would never see again.

His depressive side almost surfaced; if not for Frontman’s voice.

"Almost there."

The sound of waves crashing against the rocky wall grew closer, and soon he saw the sunlight just a few meters away.

When they finally reached the end, Gi-hun realized it was the entrance to a cave; the waves broke gently there while a speedboat awaited them.

So this was how he would leave.

Gi-hun stepped onto the boat, followed by Frontman. He placed the luggage in its spot, started the boat, and began maneuvering. It didn’t take long before they were out at sea.

With the boat rocking against the waves, Gi-hun felt quite seasick. He wasn’t used to it; he hated boats. Frontman had to stop so he could vomit.

"Take this," said Frontman, opening a small bottle that looked like a tonic. "It’s for nausea. The feeling should pass; we still have a long trip ahead."

He held the bottle and drank it all at once, unable to refuse, the bitter taste sticking to his throat. Strangely, trusting him in that moment was easier than admitting it.

"I’ll continue, trying to go faster," he informed.

Gi-hun simply nodded, closing his eyes and feeling the sea breeze on his face, accompanied only by the sound of the boat’s engine. Slowly, the nausea passed, and by the time they reached the dock, he felt much better. While Frontman grabbed the luggage, he observed the deserted place; a black limousine was parked there. He knew this well; it was the same as when he had been “kidnapped” and brought back to the game.

Once inside the car, they remained silent. Gi-hun sat on one side, Frontman on the other, both distant, like strangers.

The vehicle moved, and Gi-hun held the cigarette pack in his hand.

"Ask, I know you’re holding back," Frontman was the first to break the silence.

"You’re Hwang Jun-ho’s brother, the police officer who was with me," Gi-hun stated.

Frontman nodded calmly.

"The bond of brothers must be powerful. That’s why you didn’t kill him, right?"

"I shot him once," said the leader. "When you first played, Hwang accessed the system impressively and found me. I let my guard down. I should have killed him, but I couldn’t; he shot at me too."

Gi-hun stared at him seriously.

"I don’t understand why Jun-ho was also obsessed with the island. I had a reason, but he… now I know it was you."

"It doesn’t matter. Jun-ho can’t find me, and I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice," the robotic voice sounded harsh.

Gi-hun analyzed him coldly.

"You shot your own brother and couldn’t shoot me. Why? Tell the truth."

He saw the gloved hands clench into fists with force; his breathing shifted again.

"I already said: I don’t know, Gi-hun. You’re right. I couldn’t kill you and I won’t be able to. That’s the truth."

Gi-hun stared at him; for some reason, he believed it.

"And what about you? We’re alone here again… why haven’t you killed me yet?" — teased Frontman, tossing a gold lighter to him. "You had many chances."

Gi-hun took the lighter, ignoring the sudden heat in his chest and the slight blush on his cheeks. He took a cigarette from the pack and lit it. His hands shook, and it wasn’t just nerves: for a moment, the heat of the other’s presence burned more than the flame of the lighter.

The window opened slightly; the sound of waves breaking in the background was pleasant, even cooling the heated atmosphere.

"Because I don’t want to yet. I decide the time and when," he replied, taking a drag and exhaling the smoke.

"I’d like to be informed beforehand, so I could at least leave a signed will for you," came the sarcasm in Gi-hun’s voice. "Since we’re practically married."

"Why did you enter the games? I mean, you said you won… but why participate? Be the leader?"

He let out a long sigh.

"I told you: I had no hope left… I won 45 billion wons, but lost everything. I lost the person I loved… and couldn’t return to my family, not like that, not after everything I saw. You think you saw everything in those games?" Frontman laughed without humor. "I went through the bloodiest games; you made friendships, but in my game there were no alliances or knowing glances. Only screams, blood, and piled corpses. It was kill or be killed—and I survived."

Gi-hun listened quietly; deep down, he knew he couldn’t blame or judge him. Living that was hell; something was lost, he couldn’t be as before, but his hope and humanity remained.

"It was Il-nam who invited me. He found me at the bottom, about to end my life. I was ready; then he offered me the job. I didn’t start as a leader, I started as a square," he explained. "Gradually I grew, I started as leader the year you participated."

"Unlucky for me," Gi-hun scoffed. "If you wanted to stop being leader, would you have chances to leave?"

"There are…" He paused dramatically and replied coldly, morbidly. "Being killed."

Gi-hun ran his hand through his hair.

"As I thought, you have no autonomy; you’re just their puppet," he replied with a sigh.

"Are you trying to irritate me on purpose?" he asked.

"No, Frontman, that’s a fact. You yourself said the VIPs could kill you if they discovered you let players leave alive and still lied to save me." Gi-hun sighed. "It’s not sarcasm, just stating that you control only the game, but you have no power to end it."

Frontman nodded cautiously.

"Yes, you understand. I only run the games. That’s it. But if I honored your request to stop everything, I couldn’t; everyone would die. And nothing would stop, they’d just replace me."

Gi-hun muttered under his breath and took another drag of the cigarette.

"Alright… and how will we handle this from now on? I don’t agree with any of this; I don’t want to go back there, but just knowing good people are participating…"

"I can…" His voice faltered, as if unsure whether to continue. "I can’t end the games, but I can see what I can do to change it, within the system."

Gi-hun looked at him, feeling a thread of hope appear.

"H-How?"

"We’ll find out. Honestly, I still don’t care; I just do my job, but I know you won’t leave me in peace about this…"

"Definitely not."

"For now, let’s not talk about the games…" — he paused to look at him — "there’s another thing we need to worry about… a ball where all the VIPs will be. It’s not just a party, Gi-hun. It’s a spectacle. And they want both of us at the center."

Gi-hun put his hands on his forehead, remembering those damned people.

"Why do I feel like they’ll pick on me…"

"Because they will, We will have careful from now on; they watch everything."

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow, mocking.

"Worse than you?"

"I don’t watch everything, but I know everything," he said simply.

Idiotic and arrogant.

"How far until we get there, do you know?"

"Ah, far. So if you want to rest, feel free," Frontman grumbled.

"I have another question first," Gi-hun asked.

"Go ahead."

"You won’t take off the mask?" he asked, curious. "If we’re engaged, I need to see your face too, don’t you think?"

"No," he said sharply.

"You won’t take that thing off then?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Hm, why so interested in seeing my face? And if I’m deformed? Ever thought of that?"

Gi-hun laughed a little.

"Deformed, my ass; for me, you’re just hiding."

"You’re right, I’m handsome and very sexy… but don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to take off the mask; I don’t know how much I can trust you to show my face like that."

Gi-hun rolled his eyes. He’s arrogant, indeed.

"Whatever, your choice," Gi-hun lay back on the seat, muttering. "Seems like you also have sex with that crap on your face…"

"I heard that," Frontman informed. "Now you’re interested in how I have sex too?"

Gi-hun suppressed the urge to strangle him.

"Why would I want to know? And if that’s the case… the one who kissed me earlier was you." — he whispered the last part, but from Frontman’s reaction—rigid posture, slight swinging of legs, chest rising and falling quickly—he had heard.

Gi-hun leaned back in the seat, letting out a short, teasing laugh. He could swear that even without seeing his face, Frontman was brooding silently over it. Just the idea of being able to rattle him was enough to ignite something in Gi-hun that he still didn’t have the courage to name.

The car continued in silence, but the air seemed heavier than before, charged with everything left unsaid. Gi-hun turned toward the leather seat, trying to sleep a little and ignore the weight of Frontman’s presence next to him.

On the other side of the mask, In-ho turned to the window, yet the space between them still felt too small.

———

Gi-hun stared at the Western-style mansion, completely stunned, eyebrows raised, mouth open, eyes wide. He still couldn’t believe what he was seeing. They had arrived just five minutes ago, and the limousine had parked in the driveway in front of the house. “Is he mocking me?” he thought, frowning as he looked at the imposing façade.

The place was very isolated, far from Seoul, in the mountains.

He’s what? Batman’s cousin? he wondered, staring at the gloomy mansion, without a trace of joy. Ultra-gothic and intimidating, the dark walls seemed to swallow the little light that came in. Gi-hun had the strange feeling that the place was alive—cold and impenetrable, just like the man who lived there.

But what to expect? A Barbie house? This was Frontman, an almost soulless leader. The place matched him, an extension of his own persona.

"You have no right to talk about me!" he muttered, noticing that Frontman was by his side.

"You complain too much. It’s a nice house."

"This looks like a funeral, for God’s sake. Just seeing it makes me want to cry." — He crossed his arms. "I already thought you had serious psychological issues; now I’m sure."

"Funeral? Interesting. I can arrange yours first, if you want," Frontman retorted.

"I highly doubt it." — Gi-hun raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Alright, let’s go in."

As they entered the mansion, Gi-hun analyzed every inch, expecting to find something that could kill him. But he found only archaic architecture and gothic features.

"And I thought I was the depressed one."

"Let’s establish new terms…" — said Frontman. "The west wing is mine, and the south wing is yours. You can do as you please, go wherever you want… except the west wing."

Gi-hun looked curiously.

"Why? What’s there? Dead people?"

"I’m just not used to having people wandering around here."

"How do you manage to keep all this clean?" he asked, observing the perfection of the place, not a speck of dust. "Just imagining it gives me a headache."

"I hire people to do that," he replied calmly. "The kitchen is over there, easy to find. There’s also a small gym in the back; feel free to use it."

"Why work out? You just sit there watching people kill each other." — That wasn’t meant to be loud, but it was. He received a heavy sigh from Frontman.

Something told Gi-hun that this man was at his limit. Okay, this time he was going to stop with the jokes, at least for now.

They went up the stairs leading to the other floors. Frontman left him in the west wing.

"You can choose any room you like."

"And if I use all of them, one per day?"

"Your choice… By the way, your money, will you leave it as is?"

"That’s not mine, I just used it to find him. Now that I’ve achieved my goal, I see no reason to keep it."

"Then why not give it to your daughter?"

"I made an account for her too." — He replied. "It’s a lot; I won’t give everything to a child… not to mention her mother would think I robbed a bank. I just don’t want that for me."

This time, Gi-hun heard a laugh.

"Alright, that makes sense." — Frontman smiled. "You really are different."

"And you’re very lonely," Gi-hun replied, melancholic, looking around the gloomy place, everything in dark tones.

He realized too late that he had spoken out loud. Almost bit his tongue, but it was already too late.

A low laugh echoed behind the mask. Not loud nor exaggerated, but enough to make his skin tingle. The sound, muffled by the mask, was hoarse, almost dragged, vibrating deep within him, as if made to provoke.

Gi-hun hated how that simple laugh seemed to slide into his stomach, tightening his muscles without permission.

"Well, now I’m not anymore." — His voice came out calm, yet with a different weight, a slow cadence, almost seductive.

Gi-hun averted his gaze, irritated with himself, but couldn’t avoid the strange heat rising to his face. He realized that, as wrong as it was, something inside him had truly shifted.

————————

In-ho noticed something that left him both terrified and irritated: he was smiling too much, giving in too much, wanting too much…

That shouldn’t sound like flirting, but rather a threat.

But Gi-hun managed to break the coldness he had built over all these years. His peace and quiet were in ruins. And he didn’t know how to react to any of it for the first time.

"Well, I’ve told you everything I needed. You won’t get lost around here, don’t worry, and just don’t go into the west wing," Frontman reminded.

"Alright."

As he said that, he left hurriedly, as if fleeing to the west wing would be enough to escape what was burning inside him. But it was useless—the thing running from him was himself.

In-ho realized he was almost running. As he walked, his hood fell, revealing his slicked-back brown hair, damp with gel, some strands already drying and falling over his forehead. His heart raced as if wanting to leap from his chest. Knowing Gi-hun was there, in his space, weakened him more than he had ever imagined. Each beat seemed to compete with the very air he breathed.

Once he reached the west wing, he removed the mask and went to the last room. Locked the door, breathed deeply, set the luggage down, and approached the large mirror. Though his features remained cold, the mirror returned not only his image but the confession he refused to accept. In his eyes, what was once discipline was now desperation. He seemed like a man cornered by his own desire.

In-ho began slowly taking off the Frontman uniform coat and gloves, leaving everything in the basket beside him. He took off his boots and felt the cold floor under his feet.

“Alright… let’s go.”

“This can’t be happening just because of him… I’m still turned on by a woman, right?” he murmured to himself.

He went to the office inside the room, turned on the PC, opened the drawer, and grabbed his reading glasses. He typed in a porn site, scrolled through the videos… nothing sparked anything, nothing awakened that desire. He clicked on anything… nothing.

The images passed like a parade of soulless bodies. Nothing. Not a single muscle reacted. What used to be enough now seemed grotesque, ridiculous. Irritated, he slammed the tab shut, the click echoing through the room. He clenched his fist, feeling his skin burn.

In-ho had never been into pornography, except in early adolescence, when he couldn’t control his body. Other than that, it never really excited him.

Then he closed his eyes and thought of the woman he had loved for years, and how they made love—slow and delicious… that always worked before. But now, nothing.

He looked down; the volume was still minimal.

“Alright… since that’s the case, let’s go.”

The sheer presence of Gi-hun in his mind made In-ho lose his footing. A shiver ran down his spine, his skin prickled, and he felt heat concentrating in a way he could barely control. The desire was almost physical, heavy, palpable.

He bit his lower lip, took a deep breath, and forced himself to look away, trying to trick his own physiology. But every thought of Gi-hun kept pulsing inside him, insistent and dangerous.

“Damn it all!”

How could he desire that, hating himself for feeling it?

He sighed, touching his erection over his pants, letting out a moan of longing.

“Fuck!”

He breathed deeply and pulled his hand away, as if burning himself would be preferable to touching himself while thinking of Gi-hun. His breaths came short, almost faltering, as he tried to regain composure. Typing seemed safer than feeling. Then he went back to the same gay forum, where the colorful screen was the only place he dared let out what he could never admit aloud.

He opened the chat and logged in as the anonymous user again. He received the welcome:

“I’ve been here, and I did what was suggested, a kiss.”

Beautifulcat: “Ah, you’re back, anon.”

Mansummer: “Hello, anon! So… did it work?”

In-ho sighed, feeling sweat run down his neck. His erection throbbed, and the images he wanted to forget returned with force. Licking his lips helped ease the dryness between them.

“I can’t say… he responded eagerly.”

Mcdream: “He wants you too.”

“No, I think it’s more complicated. He thought I was someone else and even moaned his own name, but that person is also me. I approached him for other reasons, not romantically… but I believe he wasn’t attracted to me.”

Beautifulcat: “No way! You made a fake account to get close to your crush?”

Mansummer: “Anon, tell me: were you thinking of the crush, or was the crush thinking of you? 🤔”

Crush? What the hell is that?

—These young people’s terms… — In-ho rubbed his forehead, rolling his eyes. Seriously, why did he even join this mess? If they started responding with emojis, he would shut down the computer immediately.

“What’s a crush?”

Mansummer: “Confused old guy level hard, I love it.”

Beautifulcat: “That’s why I like this guy; he reminds me of my confused grandpa.”

Mcdream: “😂😂😂”

Fluffypopcorn: “Guys, stop! You’re scaring the old man. I wasn’t here last time; was it this guy you guys were talking about?”

Mansummer: “Feels like adults trying to use TikTok lol.”

Mcdream: “Exactly, Fluffypopcorn! He’s the late-blooming bisexual, he’s awesome, you know.”

“I’m not bisexual.”

Mcdream: “Not? I guess you just don’t want to admit it, still in denial phase.”

In-ho banged his head against the chair’s backrest, letting out a heavy sigh. Why the hell did he even enter this forum?

Mansummer: “If he’s not bisexual… what kind of magic made him want another guy like this? 🤔”

Beautifulcat: “Get out of the fake account, anon. If he returned your kiss anyway, he feels something for you, even unconsciously. He’ll freak out if he discovers it’s really you.”

Fluffypopcorn: “Courage… you can do it! Accept that you’re gay and go after your man!”

He huffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. Facing bullets and blood was easier than those colorful words blinking on the screen. There, behind anonymity, he had no mask to hide behind.

“These kids know nothing… where’s that crazy therapist?”

His mind already wandered to a dangerous place: he wanted to invite these people to play the next game. It would be fun; he wanted to see all that sarcasm in the arena… maybe one of them would survive just by their sharp tongues. It would be interesting to watch.

Therapist1: “I’d like to speak with you privately, anon. Sorry about the youngsters… they’re like that. Call me privately.”

In-ho clicked private and closed the ridiculous group window. Staying any longer would only make the invitation the best option.

“I’m anon.”

Therapist1: “I’m sorry about them, forgive them, they’re young and find humor in everything. Most who come to us are in this age group, but you can talk to me here.”

In-ho read and felt slightly calmer; this seemed like a sensible person. For the first time that night, the tension in his shoulders eased. Someone finally spoke a language he understood.

“I followed the advice and kissed him, but… he hates me so much. I don’t know how to react to that.”

Therapist1: “I understand. And how is it for you? You said you’re not bisexual, are you sure? Or are you just afraid to affirm it?”

“I’m not afraid, I can’t. My intention was never that. Being with him was just necessary. But my body still reacts with that stupid physiology… my mind says something else.”

In-ho waited for a reply, fingers drumming on the desk.

Therapist1: “You’re in a huge conflict. But I can only say it’s a matter of time… He kissed thinking it was someone else, but it was you. He feels something for you even unconsciously. As for you…”

In-ho continued reading each sentence eagerly.

Therapist1: “You have to figure out what you want, whether to fight it or just go with the flow…”

“I just want to extinguish the lust.”

Therapist1: “I understand. You’re attracted to him to the point of losing control. I suggest exercise, running, or working out. Or, if you prefer, masturbation. There’s nothing wrong with that, it’s your fantasy.”

“I think it’s wrong. I’ll try those options. Thank you.”

Therapist1: “You’re welcome. I’m here if you need me.”

In-ho closed everything, hoping he wouldn’t need to return to the forum. He removed his glasses, letting the frame hit the desk. The best option at that moment was to run. His body was still on fire…

He changed clothes: black sweatpants, sleeveless t-shirt, sneakers. It was already past midnight. Gi-hun was probably asleep, but he made sure the mask was on.

In-ho went out through the back of the mansion and ran around the grounds. The cold wind hit his face but did nothing to calm the inner fire. The run was fast, grateful for the years of police training that had given him agility.

Out there, in the vast darkness of the night, he tried to rationalize: he couldn’t be bisexual, couldn’t want Gi-hun romantically. He tried to convince himself it was just physiology, but his mind screamed otherwise.

If I did...

When he returned home, he put on the mask as soon as he noticed the still silhouette on the porch. His heart raced. He paused on the steps for a moment, hearing his own blood pounding in his ears, before climbing slowly. At the top, smoke spread through the cold air — Gi-hun was there, dragging in the silence of the night.

The shadows of the room stretched as if following every forbidden thought.

“Why are you awake, Gi-hun? It’s still four in the morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep and… fuck, even like this you don’t take off this co…” Gi-hun’s voice vanished when his eyes landed on In-ho.

In-ho noticed how Gi-hun was looking at him. His bright eyes fixed on his strong arms, as if wanting to memorize every exposed muscle, lingering on the visible pulse of his neck vein.

That tempting mouth was slightly open, and his tongue licked his own lips, as if thirsty for something.

This was more skin than Gi-hun had ever seen. It was the first time seeing him without the Frontman uniform; even as Young-il, he had kept covered, showing little skin. His chest rose and fell too quickly to be just surprise. It was something much hotter than he could have ever dared expect: desire—raw, alive—burning in his eyes.

And In-ho knew: Seong Gi-hun would be his ruin.

Chapter Text

Gi-hun stirred his coffee endlessly with a spoon; only the sound of the clock ticking in the kitchen echoed, revealing how quiet the place was. He had woken up late that morning—finally managing to get some sleep—completely disoriented.

His mind was still processing the fact that he had seen Frontman without those morbid, pathetic clothes. Now he knew that man was real flesh and blood, just human like him. And so humanly… attractive.

The shock of seeing him like that unsettled him. He couldn’t explain it… but that drop of sweat sliding down his thick neck seemed like an invitation. The throbbing vein called to his mouth in a twisted way. Bite, lick, suck—thoughts he should never have, yet there they were, all too alive.

The tight chest under the short shirt left Gi-hun breathless… Every muscle was a sin, and involuntary shivers ran up his spine.

He wanted more than that: to feel the skin, the heat, the taste… he wanted it all. A shiver ran down his spine, making him flinch involuntarily. He took a deep breath, trying to push away the thoughts burning in his mind, reminding himself that Frontman kept his distance, controlled and rigid as always.

Even so, his body wouldn’t obey reason. His erection stubbornly appeared, an annoying reminder of how every gesture, every look, had affected him. Gi-hun closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to regain some logic before moving inside.

The contact with reality was immediate: he needed to think about practical things… any distraction was welcome to try to ignore the flame still burning inside him. And, as much as he hated himself for feeling it, he had to move forward, at least for now.

He fidgeted in his chair, trying to hide the blush dominating his face, when a deep voice came from behind him.

“Something wrong?” asked Frontman.

Gi-hun almost choked on his own breath. Of course, he had to show up now. And with that damn mask.

He huffed, rolling his eyes. Apparently, he wasn’t going to take that mask off, not even if he begged.

“No, why?”

“I don’t know, you seem a little off,” he said, entering the room holding a tray with a cup and a plate. “I signed you up for English lessons. I think it will be useful, besides helping you speak with the VIPs.”

Gi-hun opened his mouth to retort, but thinking better, he realized the man had a point. The last time he had spoken with his daughter, she used a lot of English phrases mixed with Korean, which had caused him some difficulty and a bit of fear.

If she lost her native tongue, he wouldn’t be able to communicate with her. Speaking English would make that much easier.

“Ga-young,” he muttered.

“Yes, I’m curious too. You went to the United States that time with that bright red hair, without knowing any English, right?”

He shrugged.

“I might have hired a guide,” he explained, frowning. “My plan was just to get there. Were you there that day?”

“No, it was for the chip, and you took it off right after,” he replied.

“And even so, you found me later…” Gi-hun rolled his eyes in frustration.

“I never took my eyes off you for a second,” Frontman commented.

A shiver ran up his neck at that. Gi-hun shook his head, trying not to pay attention to the strange reactions of his body.

“When do the lessons start?” he asked.

“It’s an online platform. I’ll give you a laptop so you can study and do whatever you want. The important thing is to be sharp by the ball; it will be useful to understand what the VIPs are saying,” Frontman said, finishing the dishes and cleaning everything, leaving it as he had found. The guy really was crazy about organization. “Did you like the clothes in your closet?”

Gi-hun was startled when he entered the room and saw that there were new clothes in his size. He was currently wearing a sweat suit, which was comfortable.

“But I’ll choose my own clothes,” he said.

“Of course, it was just to replace what I threw out. Do you want anything else?”

“I’d like a phone and to be able to communicate with my friends and my daughter,” he replied. “I miss her so much and I think she hates me.”

Frontman stopped what he was doing to look at him.

“You’re her father, she doesn’t hate you, maybe she’s just upset.”

“I understand,” he said, his voice pained.

“But you can do that later. For now, we’re kind of in a honeymoon phase…” He cleared his throat to continue. “I mean, the VIPs are watching us, and we have to present the image of a happy couple for now.”

Another shiver ran through his body. This had to stop happening immediately.

“Honeymoon… your way of seeing it is really strange,” Gi-hun raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever had one?”

“Yes…” Frontman replied hoarsely.

“Does this seem like one to you?”

Frontman leaned against the sink and crossed his arms. More skin was exposed; the short black shirt had a perfect cut and molded his body. His muscular, defined arms tensed, veins standing out.

“Stop looking at him, you idiot!” his mind screamed.

“Do you want a real honeymoon, Gi-hun?” There was a slight sarcasm in his robotic voice and something else Gi-hun couldn’t identify.

Gi-hun clicked his tongue, feeling his cheeks heat up, staring at him indignantly. Those words echoed in his head. Honeymoon… with that man? The mere thought made his blood boil and his mind spin.

“You’re crazy… I was just referring to your strange way; who said anything about a crazy honeymoon was you,” he defended himself, irritated.

“All right, angry. Relax,” Frontman raised his hands. “Well, if you need anything, just call me. You know where not to go, right?”

“Yes, in the west wing, where you sleep in a coffin and keep bodies.”

“Interesting image you have of me,” Frontman said sarcastically.

“Not even that damn manipulated voice of yours are you going to take off?”

Frontman laughed and moved closer behind him, his strong arms cornering him. Gi-hun tensed, his body rigid; the man was so close he could feel his heat. Then the mask brushed his earlobe.

The warmth, the mask’s touch, the heavy breathing… every inch of Gi-hun filled with tension. A confusing and overwhelming desire dominated him, and he hated himself for it.

“Now you want to hear my voice?” he asked, twisting the mask’s pointed nose near him. “What’s your interest in hearing me for real?”

A shiver ran down Gi-hun’s spine. His heart raced as if it would jump out of his chest. It wasn’t just attraction; it was a twisted mix of desire and fear.

Gi-hun couldn’t let him notice what he was causing, nor did he fully understand these reactions.

“You’re quite annoying when you want to be.”

“Careful what you wish for… Gi-hun, want to see me without the mask and hear my voice? You always seem curious about what I do… isn’t that strange?” Frontman teased, with mockery and curiosity.

That simple question exploded in his mind. Good grief… he didn’t care at all about what he was doing.

“I have no idea what you mean, Frontman,” Gi-hun forced his voice to sound firm, not trembling.

“No?” He laughed, undeterred. Then the mask brushed his neck, rubbing softly there. “You’re red… is it just me, or does that mean something?”

Frontman leaned closer. The cold, metallic contact with hot skin made Gi-hun shiver; he closed his eyes, his breathing altered, and almost let out a moan.

Heavens, what was happening to him? His body reacted against his will, and he barely knew how to control it. A noise outside broke his concentration.

Frontman stepped back just to say:

“Interesting how you always want to challenge me, but do you know why?”

Then the man left, leaving him sitting there, his body still trembling, breathing ragged, feeling the effects of that provocation.

“Son of a bitch, scoundrel,” he muttered to himself.

Looking down, he saw an erection forming in his pants. He ran his hands through his hair, messing up the short strands, trying to push away the heat rising in his body.

“I’m going to kill that bastard yet,” he muttered, trying to ignore his body’s reactions. “And you go down now! Stop getting turned on for no reason,” he ordered, referring to the erection.

———

The day dragged on. In the afternoon, bored, Gi-hun went to the library in the center of the mansion and picked up a book on Korean history, but by the fifth page, he was already yawning. He tried talking to the cook, but she just shook her head.

He doubted she even spoke Korean. At least the food was very tasty and had a Western influence. He shaved, which had grown quite a lot, took another shower, fiddled with his clothes… in short, he was extremely bored. Not even that bastard Frontman showed up to provoke him.

He went to the backyard to smoke and heard soft classical music. He approached the gym area, took a deep breath before entering, trying to compose himself.

“Damn, he said this was small,” he muttered, observing the extensive exercise area.

An idea struck his mind: Frontman knew how to fight. He remembered the move he had used on him during an outburst.

Gi-hun entered the place, attentive to the sounds of the machines mixed with the environment. At least there was enough light here, he thought, while analyzing everything.

In the corner, Frontman was lying on a machine, holding a bar up and down with weights. Drops of sweat ran down his neck, tensing the muscles with every repetition.

Gi-hun tilted his head slightly, completely captivated by that image. He was impressed by the strength, discipline, and agility with which he exercised.

“I must be going crazy, I’m admiring him now.”

When he looked again, Frontman was sitting, staring at him. Gi-hun ran his hands down his neck, trying to hide his discomfort at nearly being caught looking like that. Again!

“Do you train listening to classical music? How different.”

“Yes, it calms me,” Frontman replied, taking the radio remote and stopping the music. “You look like you want something but don’t know how to ask.”

Gi-hun bit his lips softly.

“Tell me…” whispered Frontman, in a soft voice, “what do you want?”

That tone sounded strangely familiar; he frowned.

“All right…” he hesitated but finally sighed and said, “Could you teach me how to fight?”

———————

In-ho had been trying to stay in control since the night before. When he returned from the run, he hadn’t slept well, completely haunted by Gi-hun’s expressions. What remained was taking a few shots of whiskey and watching the sunrise. Everything was new and terribly exciting. No matter how much he denied it, no matter how much he tried to stay away, that attraction was growing stronger.

And he was like that only with Gi-hun; no one else awakened that kind of feeling. It made everything even more desperate and ironic. The man he had once wanted to destroy so badly was now the one he protected at all costs — fate seemed to mock him cruelly.

In-ho ran his hands over the back of his neck, watching Gi-hun, noticing that he had shaved. Not that it looked bad before, but now it gave his face extra charm; he seemed younger and more playful. Simply beautiful.

“So you want to learn how to fight?” he asked, standing up from the machine and picking up a towel from a bench to dry his damp neck.

“Yes, I do,” Gi-hun replied enthusiastically.

“No.”

“Why not?” Gi-hun asked, crossing his arms. “I’m bored to death, and this will help keep me busy.”

“Do you think learning fighting moves is that simple?” He moved closer, circling around Gi-hun to analyze his body.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“First, your body looks fragile. If I teach you any move, you could hurt yourself badly. You don’t have much stamina, you’d get tired easily, and in the end… you’d probably have bruises, like any beginner.”

All of that was true; learning to fight wasn’t simple. Physical preparation was needed, and In-ho didn’t want Gi-hun to get injured.

“All right, I want this.”

“N—”

Before he could finish, In-ho remembered that Gi-hun had enemies, and the black square was one of them. Maybe it wasn’t so bad for him to learn to defend himself. With that argument, In-ho couldn’t object.

“All right.”

Gi-hun’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Really? I thought we’d have to argue about this for years,” he replied sarcastically.

In-ho understood the metaphor: he was comparing their long dispute to an endless fight to finish the game.

“If you want, I can change…”

“No… all right,” Gi-hun gestured with his hands in surrender. “When do we start?”

In-ho smiled behind the mask.

“Change clothes. Surely there’s something for sports and a pair of sneakers. Put them on and come back here,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

Gi-hun ran off, excited, from the gym and disappeared from In-ho’s sight. In-ho let out a long sigh, quickly removed the mask only to wipe his wet face, drank water from the nearby bottle, and put the mask back on.

“He’s going to drive me crazy. I’m sure of it,” he muttered, smiling.

Ten minutes later, Gi-hun returned wearing appropriate clothes.

“All right, what do we do now… what’s the first move?” he said, moving his arms and legs, throwing a few punches in the air. “Is it like in the movies?”

In-ho wanted to laugh at his enthusiasm; it was truly contagious.

“Gi-hun… answer me one thing. Let’s suppose you’re being chased or kidnapped and you manage to escape. What’s the first thing you do?”

Gi-hun thought.

“I look for something to defend myself?”

“No… you run,” he said dryly.

Gi-hun rolled his eyes, deeply irritated.

“I know how to do that very well.”

“Really? That’s why you almost fell in your first game, tripping over your own feet?”

His cheeks turned red.

“Ah, that was…”

“No, don’t come saying it’s different. The adrenaline is the same; the survival feeling… you need more endurance and learn to run.”

In-ho took a stopwatch out of his pocket.

“Let’s go, I’ll go with you today.”

Then they started running. One lap around the mansion was enough for Gi-hun to ask for help, hands on his chest, completely out of breath. Sweat ran down his face, his cheeks were red from the effort, and his legs felt weak.

In-ho stopped the stopwatch. They hadn’t even run three minutes.

“See? Without adrenaline, you have no preparation at all. And stop smoking,” he warned.

“I’ll stop if you stop drinking.”

“I can control myself, I’m not addicted.”

“That’s not what I saw back there…” Gi-hun retorted, with a mocking smile.

“That little mouth of yours has an answer for everything, huh? Funny guy.” That wasn’t meant to sound sensual, but it did.

In-ho ignored the momentary effect.

“Come on, one more lap. Watch out for the mud; you almost slipped.”

“Ah, damn it!”

They continued, but at a slower pace.

“Stop complaining… old people run faster than you.”

“You’re an idiot!”

“No, I am delicious and run faster.” He showed off, running backward in front and looking at Gi-hun.

“You’re absolutely cra—”

“Stop staring at me and keep the pace, you’re falling.”

“What is this? Am I in the army again?”

“You can call me General In-ho if you want.” In-ho kept running behind, firm and controlled, while Gi-hun was still awkward and breathless.

Gi-hun let out a curse, throwing several insults at him.

“Breathe, you’re not breathing right.”

“Fucking hell! How annoying you are.”

“Regret it? Want to give up?” he teased, smiling at Gi-hun’s irritation.

“Never.” Gi-hun increased the pace, passing In-ho.

“Look…”

Before In-ho could react, Gi-hun slipped. The protective instinct kicked in: he grabbed Gi-hun by the waist, pulling him against himself. The shock of their bodies made them roll across the wet grass, mud splattering, breaths ragged.

When they stopped, Gi-hun was on top, straddling In-ho. The closeness was so intimate that In-ho felt his entire body respond. And while his body screamed for more, his mind tried to maintain control. His trapped hands accidentally slid to the firm, rounded buttocks he had been trying to ignore for days.

In-ho also noticed something: Gi-hun’s lips had touched his, separated only by the mask. Even so, the warmth of the contact penetrated the fabric, and Gi-hun seemed to freeze, sensing the danger of it.

In-ho let out a hot sigh against his skin, shivering as if his body had decided to surrender before his mind.

His fingers gripped tighter on the curve, as if fearing he might slip away.

The silence fell heavily.

Chest pressed to chest, hearts out of sync, breaths mixed. Every fiber of In-ho’s body wanted to push him away… but at the same time, he couldn’t move.

He knew he needed to back off. He needed to — but he couldn’t. The heat, the smell, the pressure of the chest against his… it was unbearably addictive.

And another thing crossed In-ho’s mind: that damn mask was getting in the way.

As he tried to pull back, he felt Gi-hun close his eyes and slide even closer to his body.

The warmth, the pressure, and the unexpected movement made something inside him explode without warning.

Gi-hun gasped softly, his body reacting in a way impossible to control, and In-ho noticed, absorbing every tremor, every sigh, every microgesture — every piece of him consumed him completely.

Chapter Text

The world seemed to stop. Only the here and now mattered.

Breathless and trembling, he was there, lips pressed against that ridiculous mask. It was symbolic, even sensual… even though he couldn’t see his expression, Gi-hun felt everything: every inch of In-ho’s body, including where his hands rested.

The strong, lean physique fit perfectly with his own.

And Gi-hun felt every detail, every touch.

The scent of Frontman—expensive cologne mixed with wet earth and natural sweat—was intoxicating, utterly aphrodisiac, consuming him whole.

His mind screamed danger. His body begged for the opposite. That’s when he felt the bulge in his pants. A blush spread across his face, breathing quickened, and an electrifying tingling focused directly in his groin, sending shivers of excitement through his body. An insane urge to grind and writhe overtook him.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Raindrops began to fall—tentative at first, then relentless. Cold, as if the sky wanted to snuff out any flame about to ignite there.

Panting, they kept staring at each other before rising, wet and hurried, as if nothing had happened. But the heavy silence betrayed the truth: it had happened, and neither would forget it anytime soon.

“Done for today,” Frontman said in a perfectly calm voice as they returned to the gym. He kicked off his sneakers, grabbed his things, and vanished into the mansion.

Gi-hun exhaled, leaning to keep from collapsing. The room seemed lighter now, the dark, sensual tension still burning on his skin slowly dissipating.

The control that man had was admirable: unshakable, impenetrable, as always. Meanwhile… he was in pieces.

Fuck!

He needed to control himself. He couldn’t let it show how much this affected him. Distance was the only safe path.

But how to explain the way his body reacted? Hot. Visceral. Insane. He wasn’t supposed to feel attraction…

A cold shower. Yes, that would be enough to erase everything. Pretend it meant nothing. Then everything would go back to normal: eternal enemies bound only by necessity. One day, the peace treaty would end. One day, they could kill each other again.

Or at least, that’s what Gi-hun tried to believe.

But deep down, he knew that heat wouldn’t go away. That sensation of In-ho’s body against his would haunt him every damn silent second.

And no matter how much he denied it… the war between them was no longer just about survival.

————————

Two weeks passed. And, well, nothing extraordinary happened; everything was so calm, and there was a peace he hadn’t felt in three years. The nightmares and insomnia were minimal. The sleeping pills he had started taking were effective and necessary.

English classes had begun, and he was excited, barely able to wait to speak with Ga-young in English. Knowing his sweet little girl, she would be thrilled, even emotional.

He missed her so much; her laughter filled his mind.

“Pay attention! You’re hitting wrong, want to break your wrist?” The robotic, stern voice snapped him back to reality.

Sweat ran down his face, and in the gym mirror, he saw Frontman beside him, truly looking like a military general. Perfect posture, strict discipline, no time for play. Relentless and dominant.

And Gi-hun… well, he wanted to punch that face behind the mask nonstop. Sometimes he bitterly regretted asking for this training.

Here, that man became a ruthless executioner, not letting him breathe for a second, correcting him at every move.

Every session was torture pushing him to his limit…

“Run properly. Keep your posture. Breathe. Hit with less force. Now use a bit more. Empty your mind.”

Gi-hun almost felt like this was the seventh round of the games.

Though his trainer was a crazy psychopath who didn’t let him rest, his strength and agility had improved. Even in running, he no longer tired; now he could do seven laps in five minutes.

“When am I gonna start punching you?” he asked, hitting the heavy bag with force.

Frontman laughed.

“Take that out of your head; it’s not happening anytime soon.”

Gi-hun hit the bag harder. The gloves were safe, preventing injuries. He liked imagining it was Frontman there, especially when he prowled like a vulture.

“Stop!” the leader ordered. “Drink some water.”

He stopped, took off his gloves, hung them in the corner. Went to his bottle, drank, splashed some on his hot face and longer hair, grabbed a towel, and dried off.

“For the bar…” Frontman nodded. “40 reps of three, slow.”

Gi-hun went there, lay down, and grabbed the weights. Lifted quickly, feeling his muscles burn, but what really bothered him was something else: the presence of that man. The calm gaze, the impassive tone. It seemed nothing affected him. Damn… why did I want to see that iron mask crack so badly?

“Slowly, Gi-hun,” warned his trainer, approaching, arms crossed, watching. “Answer me something, I’m curious.”

“What?” he asked, finishing a set.

“What caught your attention in Young-il?”

Gi-hun thought of Young-il. A smile appeared before he could stop himself—it was always like that when he remembered that man.

He closed his eyes, images of Young-il, smiling or awkward, flooded his mind. The intense, controlled way he looked at him sent shivers down his spine. That calm, seductive voice made him sigh repeatedly…

“Speak… What’s the next game… Does it bother you… Gi-hun.”

A shiver ran through his body.

“I think everything.”

“Everything?” Frontman mocked. “Explain.”

“Everything: his little gestures, how he got shy when complimented and someone touched his hair, the way he spoke to me, the way he looked at me…”

“The way he looked at you…” he asked, amused, tilting his head. “And how was that?”

“As if…”

He stopped himself. Couldn’t say what he wanted… as if he wanted to devour him at any moment.

“As if…” Frontman insisted.

“Forget it… it was just intense and protective. I felt very safe with him.”

Gi-hun returned to the bar. Unintentionally, he brushed his shoulder lightly against In-ho. A small grunt escaped the mask, but nothing more.

“And it seems you paid quite a lot of attention to him,” Frontman said, displeased. “And what about me? Do you feel safe with me?”

“What do you mean by that?”

Frontman held the bar with one hand, exerting pressure. Gi-hun flinched as he struggled to lift the weight.

“Hey, what are you doing?” he asked, arms shaking, sweat dripping.

“Answer,” he growled.

“No, right now it seems like you want to kill me.”

Frontman released the bar, nearly making Gi-hun fall. He felt the other’s arm tense, almost imperceptibly, sending a shiver through his body. He caught his breath as the man stepped back, arms crossed again.

A provocative smile appeared in his gaze. He noticed the minimal but real change in In-ho. A shiver ran along the other’s arm, almost imperceptible, yet enough. A squeeze, a shadow of jealousy. Then he felt it. The discovery was sweet as revenge and dangerous as fire.

“If I didn’t know you, I’d say you’re jealous… but I doubt you’d admit it.”

“Jealous?” His voice came out hoarse, but he quickly looked away.

Gi-hun didn’t know why, but it gave him enormous satisfaction. Provoking him that way was fun; seeing the reaction was even better…

“Yes… I don’t know.” He shrugged, feigning indifference. “It just seemed like it. Besides, what I found cute and adorable was the little mole on his neck,” he licked his lips, showing intent.

A grunt escaped Frontman.

“Plank Abdominal… five minutes.” He ordered, anger in his voice.

The sarcastic smile vanished; he let out a moan.

“That’s exactly why I don’t like you…” he said, lying face down, body supported by arms and legs. “Young-il would never treat me like this.” He whispered, breathless.

“You think he would treat you differently?”

“With care.”

“With care? I highly doubt it.”

“Then don’t say you’re not jealous. You asked. If you can’t handle it, don’t ask.”

He wanted to laugh inside, imagining how In-ho would react if he realized every move of his was almost an invitation.

“Eight minutes there,” Frontman said.

“I hate you, Frontman.” He whispered, out of breath.

Gi-hun trembled, sweating, yet a smile escaped the corner of his lips. He should hate it, hate him… so why the hell was he grinning like an idiot? It was like poking a caged beast and delighting in the roar.

“I have a name, it’s Hwang In-ho.”

Gi-hun closed his eyes, face red, arms and legs trembling. How much time had passed?

His whole body shook; he couldn’t hold the position any longer. With a panting sigh, he collapsed to the floor, turning onto his back, feeling his tense abdominal muscles.

“Congratulations, four minutes,” he said, humorless.

“To me, you’re just Frontman,” Gi-hun said, tone oscillating between mockery and affection, like an intimate nickname.

He knew he was cruel, touching where he shouldn’t. But the pleasure of seeing the perfect wall waver, even with the mask covering half the face, was irresistible. He noticed every slight tension in In-ho’s shoulders and every tiny contraction in his arms.

Delighting in that was a gift for Gi-hun, one few had.

“If that’s how you want it, we’re done for today, Player 456,” Frontman teased. “Put everything away before leaving.”

It had been so long since he was called that that hearing it brought back old anger, reminding him of his ancient hatred and all the bad things that had happened.

That idiot called me that just to piss me off… and he succeeded.

He was an idiot for letting himself be affected so much.

He watched In-ho walk away, punching the air, imagining it was Frontman there.

“I saw that!” Frontman exclaimed, irritated.

“Fuck off! It was meant to be seen, asshole.” He whispered.

——————

At dusk, for the rest of the day, Gi-hun had taken every precaution not to bump into Frontman. For a moment, he wanted to cross over to the west wing and mess up whatever was there; his perfectly organized way drove him crazy.

But, surprisingly, they didn’t meet. Which, deep down, left him frustrated. The loneliness in that house had been intense; without Frontman, he had no one to talk to, which brought a bit of anxiety.

He let out a sigh, lying down on the bed. Closed his eyes and thought of Young-il. Not for a single second during that time did he stop thinking about him.

He remembered when the two had been annoyed with each other, tension firing between them, and then he came over shyly to apologize.

So cute!

Gi-hun laughed. If he could go back, at that exact moment, he would have done something that might have scared them, but he would… without judgment, without shame. What mattered was only there, just the two of them.

And with those thoughts, and everything they would do together, Gi-hun fell asleep…

The way his body moved over his was erotic and slow; as if savoring it, making him moan and beg for more. Brown strands intertwined with the heat of the room, forehead furrowed in pleasure, and bitten lips letting out hoarse grunts near his ear.

As Gi-hun threw his head back, completely lost in those wonderful sensations…

They were making love, sweet and perfect.

“Young-il…” he moaned loudly, as his man held him and began to masturbate him. “I’m gonna cum…”

“I want it all,” he demanded, that seductive voice making him shiver all over. “Don’t hold back, love. Let it come…”

That was enough to make him collapse even more. Gi-hun threw his head back as the thrusts grew stronger and faster, hitting the exact spot and charged with tension, sending waves of pleasure through every nerve ending… along with his hands moving up and down. It was all so delicious. Fuck, he knew exactly how to…

The tension rose, and he couldn’t hold back. He came forcefully into Young-il’s hands, moaning his name.

And watching his man collapse afterward, expressions of pleasure on his face, was wonderful. That was where he wanted to be, and no one could take him from there. Their sweaty foreheads met, breaths panting, desire fulfilled.

Young-il kissed him hard, slower this time.

“I love you, Young-il. Took me long to say it, right?”

“I know, no need to say it. You’re mine. Always have been! From the very first moment.” He smiled. “I love you too, Player 456.”

Gi-hun woke up panting, heart racing, chest rising and falling like it wanted to escape. He looked around, searching for Young-il, but reality hit hard: first, he was in love; second, it was too late; and third… he was turned on.

He relaxed his body, feeling tears forming involuntarily. It was the first time in years he had a dream like that… so intense, so real.

Young-il…

The heat rose quickly on his skin, muscles trembling, hands and knees quivering. Every memory of the dream pulsed inside him, burning, reverberating through every nerve, every sensitive spot. He needed more. He needed to feel. He needed to scream silently the desire consuming every fiber.

His hands sought his body, hesitant at first, then firm, exploring, squeezing, teasing every reaction that reminded him of the dream. A moan escaped, low, hoarse, almost shy… and a shiver ran down his spine.

The lust grew, fast, uncontrollable. Gi-hun pulled down his pants, agile hands, strong, feeling every movement intensify the memory of Young-il. Soon he was naked, on the bed, lost in ecstasy, breathing fast, panting with every touch.

“Young-il…” he moaned loudly, unable to contain himself, each syllable a flame of pleasure burning in his chest.

But then his mind played a trick: Frontman appeared. Mask, tense body, dominant presence. The shock between desire and fear paralyzed him for a moment. The impact was immediate: heart racing, body reacting involuntarily, pre-cum dripping between his fingers.

Feeling audacious, he spread his legs — and then realized his presence. A shiver ran through his entire body. He brought a hand to another sensitive spot, circling his hole, feeling waves of pleasure explode with every touch. The moans grew louder, hoarse, desperate, echoing through the room.

Then he saw Frontman standing in the doorway, leaning there. Chest rising and falling under the mask, heavy breathing, hands gripping the frame firmly. Every moan of his seemed to reflect on In-ho’s rigid posture, feeding the desire in a cruel, delicious, almost unbearable way.

His hands trembled involuntarily, as if the mere gaze of Frontman ignited every inch of his body. His breath shortened, his whole body tensed. Every step of his seemed to measure Gi-hun’s desire, almost like a delicious punishment.

Gi-hun should have stopped. Maybe said something. But he couldn’t. One finger penetrating, the other hand circling the swollen, wet glans, body on fire. The pleasure of being watched was sharp, devastating, almost torturous.

“In-ho… In-ho…” he moaned, the name escaping between plea and challenge, every syllable loaded with need, every breath panting, ragged.

The orgasm exploded, intense, coursing through every fiber, every sensitive point, shaking his body, leaving him dizzy, breathless, trembling. When he finally opened his eyes, Frontman was no longer there. But the strong scent of cologne confirmed: it was real. He had been there.

—————————

In-ho ran through the corridors, hands down his pants, squeezing hard. His desperate moans filled the place. He had only gone to Gi-hun’s room to apologize for earlier; maybe he had gone too hard on him.

But, upon hearing Gi-hun’s moans as soon as he reached the hallway, he thought he was having another of those dreams.

But it was something sweeter, hitting him like a strong blow, making it impossible to compose himself.

And he thought he would never recover.

That was one of the most beautiful and erotic scenes he had ever seen. Watching the man causing a hurricane inside him masturbate slowly, still moaning his name so… sweetly, was filthy. It filled him with lust.

“In-ho…” That whiny moan echoed in his mind.

It was so much better than in a dream, better than he had imagined.

He pulled the mask off as he entered Gi-hun’s room, closed the door, and headed to the bathroom.

In-ho leaned on the sink frame with trembling hands, panting. He observed his reflection: his eyes dilated, a dangerous gleam in them, expression full of absolute pleasure, lips parted, gasping for air.

He fought with his own body and his mind at that moment. Control… control…

In-ho closed his eyes and let out another suffering moan, struggling against his own body.

The only thing he could see and hear was Gi-hun and his whiny, hoarse moans.

And another moan of his name, coming out like a prayer, surrender, and plea.

“In-ho…”

And his control collapsed. In-ho pulled down his pants, not caring about anything else; the only thing he could think about was Gi-hun.

In full despair, he grabbed his member and began rapid, precise movements, completely crazed, representing his loss of control. The blind pleasure made all his reason collapse.

“Ah…” he began a session of long, deep moans, transmitting all his animal side.

He squeezed his own member as if punishing himself, while his body moved in thrusts…

He closed his eyes, visualizing the entire image he had just had in Gi-hun’s room, but now participating there, in his fantasy: he was taking Gi-hun, sucking his cock, not caring about anything, putting him on all fours, holding that delicious waist, giving a smack on the soft ass that had driven him crazy for weeks, starting to fuck.

It was rough, completely primal and relentless, making him feel everything he had caused in him. A punishment for teasing him, for having released the beast trapped in the cage.

The rhythm of his hands was as fast as his thrusts, and he fell backward, leaning on the sink. The cold contact of the tiles against his feverish body caused a small shock, but he continued… and continued…

He let out a growl, feeling tremors running through his body. Gi-hun’s moans were loud and asking for more… In-ho came so violently that he groaned loudly; the sound echoed throughout the bathroom and maybe the entire west wing.

But he didn’t care…

As his body trembled from waves of pleasure, chest rising and falling rapidly, heart racing, He observed her distressed expression, still fully desperate, desire etched all over him…

Now that the uncontrollable beast inside him had been released, he would be incapable of putting it back in the cage.

And he was thirsty for… Gi-hun.

“Gi-hun…” he whispered low, voice heavy with desire, panting, still trembling. “Run from me! Before I lock you in for good.”

And, alone, he felt his own body boil with the promise of something he could no longer contain.

Chapter Text

Gi-hun drank his coffee in silence, his thoughts stuck in memories of the previous night. Every detail still throbbed in his mind, as if it had happened just minutes ago.

He should feel ashamed, maybe even repulsed. But he didn’t. On the contrary—being watched by Frontman had given him a strangely addictive sensation: of being desired, of being in control, of being… perverse.

And he couldn’t deny what he had seen. Hwang In-ho was affected just as much as he was. Heavy breathing, trembling fingers clutching the doorway, his whole body on the verge of collapse.

The most disturbing part was admitting that, for the first time, that damn mask hadn’t pushed him away—on the contrary, it had made him even harder. It wasn’t just the mask. It was Frontman himself.

And against that, his body no longer obeyed reason.

“Is there more coffee, Mr. Seong?” A familiar voice asked.

Gi-hun was startled, raising his hands to his chest, setting the cup on the counter, and turning. There, in the middle of the hallway, was Player 120, Hyun-jun.

“What? Hyun-jun…” Gi-hun stared at her, completely stunned.

“You look great.” She smiled as Gi-hun ran to give her a strong hug. “Wow, hey!”

“I’m glad you’re okay, I was worried. But h-how?”

“Oh, I was hired, by… well, Frontman.”

“You can call him Mr. Hwang here.” Another woman said. “No fear, now I told you.”

“But he still scares me.” Hyun-jun admitted, a bit embarrassed.

The other woman shrugged and observed her carefully.

“We meet again, sir.” She smiled.

For a moment, Gi-hun frowned, then realized the situation, the tone in her voice. It was Guard 011 right there in front of him, without the mask and in more comfortable clothes.

“011.” He murmured, more to himself than to them. “But what’s going on? Why are you here?”

“We’ll be your new bodyguards.” She said, smiling. “Mr. Hwang asked us to stay with you so you wouldn’t feel so lonely.”

At that moment, his heart raced, and even he couldn’t explain why. Gi-hun placed his hands on the back of his neck, completely awkward.

He had complained several times to In-ho about this; he wanted someone to talk to, since he locked himself in the west wing, and they only saw each other during training or occasionally running into each other somewhere in the mansion.

Gi-hun missed his friends, missed talking to someone.

“Oh, he did that, huh?” His cheeks warmed.

“You’re blushing, Mr. Seong?” Hyun-jun asked.

“No… no!” He quickly composed himself, a shy madman for the first time in his life, trying to control these new sensations.

Well, he had never been shy before… so why now? Especially at 50. He wasn’t a teenager or anything like that.

Frontman wouldn’t do this just because he was being “nice,” right? There had to be something dark there. That was it.

“Listen, he didn’t invite you to the games…” He asked Hyun-jun, immediately defensive, ready to jump at any moment.

“Oh, calm down, Mr. Seong, it’s not like that.” Hyun-jun laughed. “Of course, he offered me a job, I was hesitant to accept, but when I heard it was for you, I called the card and spoke with him. Besides, I still need money.”

Even though his mind found the act strange, his heart was in shreds and racing. Gi-hun smiled.

“And you?” He pointed at 011.

“He promised to help me find my daughter. I’m from North Korea.” 011 explained.

Gi-hun wasn’t surprised, observing the woman now; she seemed North Korean.

“She stayed there?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “We were separated when…”

Gi-hun noticed the pain in her words and sighed, placing his hands on her shoulders, offering comfort.

“If it’s painful, you don’t have to tell me now.”

“Thank you. By the way, in this world, I’m known as Kang No-eul.” She smiled, formally introducing herself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you without that thing on your face.” He smiled.

“I can imagine.” She laughed, rolling her eyes.

“And tell me, how is everyone? Have you spoken with the others? Found the Motel?” Hyun-jun asked. “Was it enough for you?”

“Well, sir… we found the place, but…”

Hearing the other woman clear her throat, Hyun-jun stopped. This raised Gi-hun’s suspicion… what was she going to say?

“Is everyone okay then?”

“Yes… Jun-hee had a baby.” Hyun-jun grabbed her phone and showed him a picture of the little girl. “Her name is Jo Yu-ri.”

“What a beautiful name.” He replied, looking at the baby, feeling his protective father instinct return. His eyes filled with tears. “She’s beautiful, reminds me of my daughter.”

“And the others? Have you seen them? Jung-bae?”

“They’re all fine, and Mr. Hwang di…”

Another sound from Kang No-eul made Hyun-jun stop. For Gi-hun, it felt strange; something wasn’t being told, and he would find out, even if he had to pull it from Frontman himself.

“But you’re not happy to see us?” Hyun-jun asked. “Is there still coffee? I’m starving.”

“You just had a hotdog.”

“That doesn’t fill me up, hm… there are cookies here.” Hyun-jun said cheerfully. “They’re my favorite.”

Kang No-eul shook her head and looked at him.

“She ate three hotdogs.” She whispered, making a face.

Gi-hun laughed like he hadn’t in a long time.

Then, a shadow in the hallway caught his attention.

“If you’ll excuse me, ladies.”

Gi-hun left the kitchen and ran. When he reached the main entrance, he found In-ho halfway up the stairs.

“Hey, you!” He called quickly, climbing slowly.

Frontman stopped in the middle of the stairs and turned to him. Gi-hun just hugged him tightly and warmly; the act wasn’t sexual, it was simply… affection.

Gi-hun smiled as he felt the man’s body stiffen and kissed his neck, directly on the pulsing vein, making him shudder and release a low groan.

“I don’t know why you did that, what your evil plan is, but I liked it. Thank you.” He whispered, his voice hoarse already affected by the closeness and the pleasant smell of his body. “You’re pretty short, huh?” He teased.

Gi-hun couldn’t resist and kissed his warm neck again, lightly tracing the tongue over the pulsing vein.

Frontman’s body stiffened suddenly, a low groan escaping through the mask. Gi-hun was satisfied, convinced he had disarmed him for a moment.

Descending the stairs, still tasting him in his mouth, he didn’t notice how much the other trembled. For Gi-hun, it was just a dangerous game he was learning to enjoy. But deep down, something told him he was poking at something he wouldn’t be able to control later. And he was more than willing to find out.

——————

His body was sweating, but he didn’t stop doing push-ups for a second. At first, it had been difficult, but now everything felt easier and faster. He stopped and moved to another machine. In-ho was sitting in a corner, quiet, as far away from him as possible.

Gi-hun was almost certain it was because of the recent events. It seemed like someone couldn’t control themselves. A thrill ran through his entire body; knowing he left Frontman like that excited him even more.

And he wanted to give his all in today’s training, he wanted his approval. When he went to the bar, he picked up slightly more weight than usual.

“Careful…” In-ho stood from the bench and approached. “You’ll hurt yourself like that.” His robotic voice didn’t sound scolding, but calm and concerned.

“I can do it.”

“Really?” Frontman teased, placing both hands on the bar. “Try.”

Gi-hun strained to lift it, giving his maximum, but his shoulders began to tremble. He dropped the bar, leaving all the weight for the other man.

Frontman laughed, took the bar with one hand, and put it back in place.

“You’re a show-off son of a bitch.”

Gi-hun shrugged and crossed his arms, showing his muscles. As always, they were doing this again, without commenting on anything, acting as if nothing had happened. But something always changed—or at least changed for him.

Gi-hun could feel more like before, could see In-ho through the mask. He didn’t know if it was because of desire or not. But… he didn’t feel that deadly hatred.

What arose there was something more provocative, softer, dangerous… and hot. It was dark and irresistible.

But that’s how they were: one provoked, the other withdrew. They maintained that almost… erotic game, almost to see who would surrender first.

Yet the limit of that game was reaching its end. And he didn’t know who would surrender first. Of course, he loved Young-il, his heart belonged to him—that was undeniable. But every time he was with Frontman, something like that happened… and he wanted more.

“I have a reward for you!”

“What?” He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s simple…” His voice came out hoarse and seductive, in a gentle tone.

Frontman approached very slowly, and he instinctively took a few steps back. His movements were like a cat cornering its prey; everything about him vibrated predation. His back hit a cabinet full of dumbbells of all kinds and weights.

Gi-hun wanted to see what he would do, even though his stomach was twisting, his breathing altered, and his heart racing. He maintained a challenging expression.

In-ho’s scent invaded him as he came closer. The sound of the music in the background didn’t help; it was an American sensual song, perfectly matching the intimate atmosphere. His whole body trembled, his mouth went dry, and the desire to touch him grew stronger… and now the mask, which had previously been macabre to him, took on a sexy tone, and he couldn’t feel anything but desire.

Which made everything so… delicious.

“Let’s play a game now.” In-ho placed both hands on the cabinet, trapping his waist. He came close, almost pressing his face, and pressed the mask to his ear as if it were his lips. “If you win, I’ll let you leave a bit from here. Now, if I catch you…” He brushed his lips against his ear. “…there will be punishment.”

Punishment? That was supposed to sound threatening? Gi-hun didn’t notice when he started wriggling and biting his lips, but he was… imagining intense punishments in his mind.

For the first time, he thought losing wouldn’t be so bad. But the idea of leaving that “prison” seemed tempting.

“What’s wrong? You want to lose?” In-ho asked, stepping back, playing with his watch, pretending nothing had happened.

Sexy, bastard, jerk! Gi-hun thought, approaching, trying to disguise the bulge in his pants.

At times like this, the visceral hatred for him returned. How could he act so in control?

“So, what will it be?”

“You run around the mansion and I’ll catch you.” The naughty tone in his voice made him shiver. New images flashed in Gi-hun’s mind. “I’ll give you a few seconds head start, starting with…”

“Do I really have to run?” He whispered, his voice hoarse, biting his lip again.

“Want me to catch you here?” Frontman watched him, tilting his head.

Gi-hun almost nodded. The naughty tone it had taken was messing with his mind, and since yesterday… his arousal was on edge.

“Then you’ll get a chance to leave here and maybe see your…”

And that was enough incentive. He was already running like the world was ending… didn’t look back, just ran.

“Faster, I’m almost catching you!”

Gi-hun ran, his lungs not burning as before, but the air was quickly running out due to the desire coursing through his body. Sweat ran down his neck, and before In-ho almost caught him, he managed to complete the first lap.

“Very good! In 20 seconds.” In-ho praised, crouching beside him and caressing his face. “Your trainer is proud.” He got up quickly.

The touch of his fingers on Gi-hun’s cheek made him shiver and blush.

“So can I leave?” He asked, getting up quickly as he noticed In-ho was returning to the gym.

“Yes, but you would have gone anyway.” He laughed.

“What? You were just teasing me?”

“Giving you encouragement.” He explained. “That was your best run so far.”

“I hate you…” Gi-hun grimaced.

“Yeah, I know.” He replied. “You make sure to say that every day.”

“But tell me… why are you letting me go?” Gi-hun asked. “Don’t you get tired of saying how dangerous it is and blah blah blah…”

“It still is, that’s why I gave you two bodyguards… and the VIP ball is on Friday, you need to be flawless. A perfect, high-quality tuxedo.” He sighed. “I’ll give you all the stores to try. You have to go, Gi-hun, and no cheap stuff, okay?”

“So you’re not coming with me?” He asked, disappointed, unwillingly.

“No. I have some things to handle, but you’ll be safe. Enjoy the day.”

Gi-hun shook his head. Even if he didn’t admit it aloud, he wanted him to go. He felt completely safe near him. Thinking about In-ho alone in that large place, with no one around, made him anxious. There was a certain fear he still couldn’t comprehend…

“You’ll be alone here, right?”

“Worried about me?” In-ho asked, hopeful and surprised.

“Yes… it’s not worry, it’s…”

“Alright, I understand.” He approached and pinched his cheek. “I won’t leave, I’ll wait for you.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Gi-hun retorted.

“No need, I’ll wait here.” He said, turning off the radio and leaving the gym.

Gi-hun stayed there, looking at the lawn, trying to understand when he had started caring so much about Hwang In-ho.

—————

“Mr. Gi-hun, this store is horrible. We better go somewhere else,” Hyun-jun advised.

They were back in Seoul, at the mall. They had already entered a few stores, but none like this one.

“What do you mean ‘go somewhere else’?” He checked the list In-ho had given him, and this one was heavily marked. “But it says here it’s one of the best.”

He looked at the Gucci store, frowning. Honestly, he thought it was all nonsense, but In-ho had insisted on being particular about the choice of outfit.

Do I really have to go to this damn ball?

“But this store is so expensive and—”

Hyun-jun was about to complain again when he interrupted her:

“The card belongs to Hwang In-ho.” He showed the unlimited Black Pass card.

“Let’s go in now.” She said.

Gi-hun laughed.

“I’d never spend my own money on this, but he doesn’t care,” he commented, still frowning.

“Not at all, sir. Hwang tends to be picky, you know… impeccable,” Kang No-eul remarked, making a grimace.

As soon as they entered the store, a clerk came to assist them.

“Are you Mr. Hwang’s husband?” she asked, her expression neutral but friendly.

“Yes,” Gi-hun replied awkwardly, placing his hands on the back of his neck.

Out of the corner of his eye, he observed Hyun-jun’s expression: no surprise. Kang No-eul seemed to know.

“All right, he called the store and asked us to take very good care of you,” the clerk smiled. “You’re a VIP client.”

“Ah…”

Gi-hun didn’t know what to say, so he just said:

“Follow me, I already know what to do with him, I just need to take measurements for the suit to be perfect.”

The clerk guided them to a separate room, with fitting rooms and suits. She took all his measurements and then went to find the right clothes.

His friends sat next to him, waiting.

“You didn’t look surprised…”

“I knew. When he called me to be his bodyguard, he mentioned that you were married. It was a measure to keep us off your back, right?” Hyun-jun asked.

Gi-hun nodded.

“Are you okay with that? I mean, you seem fine and…” Hyun-jun paused, analyzing him. “Different, more relaxed.”

“I feel like this,” Gi-hun shrugged in place. “At first it was a bit strange, but now I’m fine. It’s not a real marriage… we’re just living together. And what about you, Kang No-eul? You knew, right?”

“Yes,” Kang No-eul smiled. “All the guards knew. The boss made sure they took it easy on you during the game. Actually, we were already finding it strange… but when he killed a guard because of you, some suspected he was gay and obsessed with you; others thought… well, it was part of the game.”

Gi-hun jumped on the sofa, making Kang No-eul stop.

“He killed a guard for me? When?”

“When you were trapped, and the one who hit you hard… I got promoted because of that. I was 011 of the triangle,” she said indifferently. “He personally took care of you and set limits, saying it was forbidden to mess with you. That’s when suspicions grew, and then the info came that you were engaged to him.”

Gi-hun listened with his heart racing.

The clerk returned bringing various suits and formal clothes.

He tried them one by one, all in shades of black. Gi-hun didn’t notice much difference, after all he didn’t usually wear formal clothes—the only time was at his wedding, and even then something very simple.

No-eul and Hyun-jun made faces and clapped as a response to each outfit he tried. Although he looked elegant and handsome, Gi-hun didn’t feel like himself.

“Isn’t there anything simpler?” asked the saleswoman, loosening the tie of a suit.

“I don’t think so. Mr. Hwang made sure it would be perfect. These are—”

“If I may help, all these suits look impeccable, yes, but none of them suit my friend,” said Hyun-jun, looking at his body. “He needs something striking, sophisticated, but in the tone of boldness and sensuality. Is there anything like that?”

The clerk looked at Hyun-jun, impressed.

“I do have one piece that arrived recently, but it’s too provocative.”

“My friend is like that… he’s just shy.”

“All right, I think it will suit him perfectly. He has the perfect body for it.” The clerk left excitedly and, shortly after, returned with the outfit on a hanger, protected.

As soon as Gi-hun opened it, he liked it. When he put it on and stepped out of the fitting room, he did a little spin, and the three clapped for each other, celebrating.

“This is it… definitely,” Kang No-eul smiled.

Gi-hun smiled, noticing in the mirror how the outfit enhanced his firm rear.

“My advice, my friend: wear this, but surprise Mr. Hwang. He’ll lose his breath,” Hyun-jun suggested, speaking softly. “No man in love can resist going crazy over that.”

The last comment made his stomach twist, causing those famous “butterflies.”

“In love? Him? I highly doubt it,” he said awkwardly, his face flushed and heart racing.

“Well, that’s how it seems.”

“Drop it.”

When Gi-hun took the outfit off and returned to his comfortable clothes, he handed over the card and saw several packages.

“But it was only one…”

“Mr. Hwang told them to take all of them,” smiled the clerk.

Gi-hun rolled his eyes. Whatever, it was his money anyway. When they left the store, they were full of bags.

“Guys, I’m hungry,” commented Hyun-jun, placing her hands on her stomach.

“What’s new? You’re always hungry.”

They laughed.

“Let’s leave these things in the car and go get something to eat.”

“Actually, I’m dying to eat some good fried chicken with beer. I know a place nearby,” he smiled.

“We can’t stray too much from the schedule,” No-eul reminded, a little uncertain, looking around, always attentive.

“Relax, it’s close, won’t get off schedule,” he assured, looking innocent.

“All right, very well, let’s go… I also want some good fried chicken,” she laughed.

When they left the mall and got in the car, he excitedly pointed out the place. About ten minutes later, they arrived, parked in an empty park, and walked to the food stall.

Gi-hun sat down, ordering two servings of fried chicken and three bottles of soju. As soon as he took the first sip of the drink, he smiled with satisfaction.

“I missed this taste,” he said, taking another sip.

The plates arrived; the three of them ate, drank, laughed at some jokes, and at the messes Gi-hun had gotten into since he was young.

When they were finishing the last plate, Kang No-eul grew serious and looked at Hyun-jun. Gi-hun noticed the tense atmosphere and frowned.

“You…”

“Yeah, I already noticed,” Hyun-jun said. “Gi-hun, just stay low, okay?”

“Why?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“Things are about to get ugly here,” No-eul said, pushing the table along with Hyun-jun to form a shield.

Then the shots began, screams, and panic. Few people ran.

“So, 011…” said a man’s voice. “We didn’t know you were so cute. The black square says hi.”

More gunfire came. Both of them drew their weapons at the same time and started shooting.

“Let me too, I can handle it,” Gi-hun asked.

“You’re crazy! If anything happens to you, the boss will kill us. Stay down,” Kang No-eul said.

Then more shots fired. Gi-hun forgot how that mix of adrenaline and fear felt; his heart raced.

“Guys, there’s more behind us,” he said, spotting a group coming from the back.

No-eul and Hyun-jun quickly retaliated.

“What do we do? There are too many…” Hyun-jun said.

“Let’s try to run to the other stall. On my signal,” Kang No-eul said. “Now…”

They ran, but it wasn’t fast enough. More shots.

The greasy taste of fried chicken still clung to his mouth as the sting of a bullet burned his skin. The metallic smell of his own blood mixed with the spicy seasoning still lingering in the air.

“Shit!” he yelled, looking at his bleeding arm; the bullet had grazed him.

“Damn, are you okay?” Hyun-jun asked.

“Yes, don’t worry. I’ll survive. The blood is still warm. Let’s focus here.”

The two nodded.

“We can’t reach the car; we’ll need…”

A low growl of an engine tore through the street, drowning out the screams. The headlights cut through the smoke of the gunfire, and in an instant, a motorcyclist in a black jacket appeared, the helmet reflecting the neon lights. He sped forward as if the street belonged to him.

No need to see the face. There was something in the way he held the gun, the precision of the shots, the coldness of his movements. Gi-hun’s heart recognized him before his eyes: it was him.

————————

In-ho sat in absolute silence inside his office; it was time to start thinking about the next games, and he needed something good and creative. And he had also promised Gi-hun that he would try to find a way to help.

He rubbed his hands across his forehead. Why did he always let himself be swayed by that damn man? Would he ever be able to say no to Gi-hun, even if it destroyed him?

A smile formed on his lips at the thought of him, that clever way, the captivating smile, and kind, sweet gaze. And at the same time, how could he be so naughty? A warmth ran through his stomach; memories of the previous night resurfaced strongly: the way Gi-hun had touched himself, the way he moaned his name while staring at him.

A pleasurable satisfaction arose, and he moaned; Young-il wasn’t there—only him. Only him, his name:

“In-ho.”

Honestly, he was getting tired of having to hide his face. Gi-hun was ready for this. After that night, he was sure that he didn’t see him in such a bad way. There was anger, yes, but alongside desire…

And that was enough. He needed to say: enough with hesitation and fear. Deep down, he was afraid of what would happen when he revealed himself…

When Gi-hun returned from the shopping mall, he would finally take off the mask.

He looked at the clock anxiously and realized it was almost dark. Then, his phone vibrated… the Frontman’s phone.

“What now?” he asked, impatient and irritated.

What the hell do these sons of bitches want now?

In-ho grabbed the phone, irritated. He hesitated for a moment, heart racing. Every second felt eternal. His hands trembled as he held the device. As soon as he opened the message, he sprang from his chair, which fell to the floor with a loud crash that echoed through the room.

“Frontman, I hope you enjoy the surprise. Enjoy it while you can.”

Then came a photo of Gi-hun drinking soju with Kang No-eul and Cho Hyun-jun. In-ho’s heart pounded, and his hands shook; his jaw clenched. Again, he saw red.

He replied with a simple, icy message, a symbolic warning of death:

“You’re done, I warned you.”

He grabbed his gun from the drawer with a silencer. He took a deep breath, checked the weapon again. Every step toward the garage echoed louder than usual. He dashed to the garage. He saw the motorcycle, only used in emergencies, and took it; put on the helmet, pressed the button to open the garage, revved the engine, and sped off toward the city, following the GPS from the car.

At that moment, he forgot something, but nothing was more important than Gi-hun. Not even his identity.

If anything happened to Gi-hun…

It didn’t take long to reach Seoul. He maneuvered along the road, weaving between cars like a professional. The night cold bit his skin, but the heat of fear and rage burned inside. Every turn was a risk of losing precious time.

Though cold inside, his body panicked. He controlled his trembling hands and watched the GPS, noting the nearby location.

The echoes of gunfire crossed the park, and that’s when he sprang into action. He accelerated to the scene, executed a perfect maneuver with the motorcycle, spun it to stop, drew his gun, and fired without letting anyone escape. Fearless, with the aim of a professional marksman. An enemy appeared from the side, and In-ho had to dodge quickly, feeling the bullet pass close. Each shot seemed closer to ending him.

The bodies fell one by one, until no one was left. The gunfire was deafening, echoing through the empty street. Every movement demanded absolute precision, but adrenaline threatened to make his hands shake.

He saw Gi-hun lying on the ground and looked at Kang No-eul and Hyun-jun, who were also unharmed.

“Boss?” she asked, frowning.

“It’s me. Get out of here as fast as possible. And you, get on,” he looked at Gi-hun, shoulder injured and forehead sweaty.

Something in his gaze changed the moment he heard his voice, but In-ho didn’t care. He handed Gi-hun the other helmet while climbing onto the motorcycle.

“Hold me tight, okay?” he asked, wrapping Gi-hun around his waist as he settled on the back.

In-ho felt him cling tightly, then revved the motorcycle; they sped off. They crossed the city in record time. Every moment, he felt Gi-hun trembling, as if crying. The smell of blood was stronger, and that made him go even faster. He only stopped when they returned to the mansion.

He parked in the garage and turned off the motorcycle. Gi-hun released himself quickly, almost jumping off the back, removed the helmet, and threw it to the floor with a hollow thud, breathing heavily.

In-ho got off calmly, observing the man.

He knew. In-ho’s heart almost stopped seeing Gi-hun there, whole but wounded. An overwhelming relief mixed with fear of everything that could have happened.

“This is impossible… no…” his voice trembled. “That voice… you have the same… mark…” he pointed to the neck.

In-ho let out a sigh, a mix of relief and fear, but knew it was time to fully free himself.

With trembling hands and a racing heart, he removed the helmet…

Silence seemed to take over the garage. Every breath sounded louder, every heartbeat more intense.

And then, nothing separated them anymore. Gi-hun’s gaze met his—raw, deep, painful. No mask. No false name. Just Hwang In-ho.

Chapter Text

Gi-hun felt like he could break down right there in the middle of the garage, but he stayed firm. This wasn’t the moment to lose it—not yet. Not when the man he loved, the one he thought wasn’t here, was standing in front of him. Alive and very much so.

How could he be here, alive, and yet… my heart won’t stop racing?

At first, he felt relief. That voice… the moment he heard it, he knew it was Young-il’s voice. Initially, he thought he must be imagining things. This couldn’t be possible… could it?

He paused for a second, taking a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts while his heart pounded. Every beat seemed to echo through the silent garage.

Confirmation came when they were on the bike, when In-ho leaned into a turn, and the unmistakable mole—he had admired it so much during the games—appeared on his neck.

He just clung to him and cried. All he could do was that. But then… reality hit like a slap, almost making him stagger. Everything in his head clicked into place; it was like an explosion—this sense of safety, the way he spoke, how he touched him, and that unbearable attraction.

Young-il had been the Frontman the whole time.

How could I have let myself be fooled by him? By myself? By this feeling that should never have existed?

There were so many things Gi-hun wanted to know—and he wanted the truth now…

Without the helmet, their eyes met for the first time. Relief was still there, raw and strong, but it gave way to something else: disappointment, sadness, desire, and anger. All at once…

Gi-hun grabbed the gun from his hand and aimed it at him, pulling the trigger. Now without the mask, he could see his expressions. Cold and calm—but the eyes… those eyes looked just as broken as his own. And there were tears.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight, his heart leaping, hands trembling even more.

“You…,” his voice cracked, hoarse and tense. “You were playing with me this whole time? It was you!”

“No, it wasn’t a game.”

“You pretended to be a player! You approached me on purpose and deceived me!” He exploded, the echo bouncing off the walls, furious at having been fooled again and by another 001. “How did I not notice the signs? I hate you so much!” Tears fell in anger.

No, he didn’t hate him. He was trembling with rage, but looking at him now, he couldn’t…

“Hate?” Young-il stepped closer… no! The Frontman stepped closer, pressing his forehead against the gun and holding the barrel. His eyes, cold on the outside but utterly shattered inside, glistened with restrained tears, revealing the pain, regret, and desire he tried to suppress. A look that spoke more than any words could.

Gi-hun felt the air leave his lungs for a moment, every muscle tense, his body burning with emotion and fear.

He tricked me, manipulated my feelings… and yet, I still want to believe him.

“Do you want to kill me? Here’s your chance,” he whispered, his seductive voice making Gi-hun shiver. “Go ahead. Shoot.” He calmly held Gi-hun’s trembling hands. “But first, tell me you feel nothing for me. Tell me you don’t want me…”

His hands shook even more, and he couldn’t stop reacting to him. His body and heart recognized him before his mind. He felt everything, with overwhelming intensity. Now, it was impossible to kill him.

“Why did you do this… I… why did you let me be attracted to Young-il?”

“I didn’t, Gi-hun. It surprised me too, I…” His voice came out calm and controlled. “What will you do?” Frontman challenged.

Gi-hun shuddered, feeling weak. He would never be able to kill him, but all the pain, the anguish he’d lived—especially after Young-il’s death—felt too much. The taste of betrayal was bitter.

He dropped his hands in a sudden surrender and let the gun fall to the ground.

“You used me in the games, manipulated me, and played with my feelings…” he said, letting the anger spill. “You made me relive the grief of a person who wasn’t real. I don’t even know who you are, just one thing: you’re a horrible, unscrupulous person and yet…” He took a deep breath, looking at him again, noticing the tears falling. “…I can’t kill you.”

“Gi-hun… I never meant to hurt you,” In-ho said, his voice hoarse.

“Never? Then why did you go in there?” he asked. “Why did you make me… damn it.” He ran his hands through his messy hair. “I’m such an idiot, you must have had so much fun.”

He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, to release what he was feeling, but none of it seemed real. It was all premeditated by him. The plan from the start. And he fell for it like a fool.

“No, it wasn’t exactly like that,” In-ho said firmly now. “I didn’t choose any of this. I won’t deny I went in there to have fun and make you realize there’s no changing anything. But… this is how it happened, Gi-hun.”

“And you expect me to believe that? After now?”

“The choice is yours. But I’m telling the truth.”

“Why did you deceive me all this time? Didn’t tell me you were Young-il?”

“Because I was scared. I knew your reaction would be like this—or worse. I was going to tell you today when you returned… but it happened like this. My concern for you is real. I always wanted to protect you.”

Gi-hun stared at him, deeply hurt.

“Oh, that touches me now,” he mocked.

“Your arm is bleeding, you need to…” In-ho gestured to come closer.

“No… I don’t want you near me. I can’t even look at you… I’ll handle this, I just need to be alone.”

“Gi-hun, even if you’re angry at me right now, I ask that you don’t leave the mansion. Even if you hate me, I want to protect you,” he said, calm but firm. “Please…”

“And where would I go? I don’t even know how to leave here,” Gi-hun rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll remain your prisoner.”

“Gi-hun…” that tone came out as a warning, or an apology.

“Isn’t that right, Frontman?” he replied. “You trapped me and now I don’t even know if I want to escape.”

In-ho looked at him with a mix of hope and shock.

“I’ll respect your limits,” he said, simply.

Gi-hun said nothing, just walked out of the garage and into the house, his mind and heart shattered. Every step away from In-ho was a deeper fall into the abyss his own heart had thrown him into.

He went to his room and closed the door, collapsing. Tears came like an avalanche of strong, conflicting feelings.

He wouldn’t give in, but he couldn’t help feeling that love… which was there now, strong and deep, stabbing his stomach like a thousand needles… It had always been there. Always.

And a part of his heart had already known it from the start. He just didn’t want to see it, or even accept it.

Now, it was too late to turn back. Even if he hated him, he loved him.

————————

Upon waking the next morning, a little groggy from a mix of medications, he felt a mild sting in his perfectly bandaged arm… he didn’t remember doing it… just cleaned the wound, applied some stitches, took the necessary meds, and everything was fine. Then a soft but noticeable scent of cologne was in the air. The Frontman had been there.

Gi-hun was now irritated with himself. He couldn’t even stop his heart from reacting.

Rolling his eyes, he got out of bed with a soft grunt. He went to the kitchen to make his morning coffee. The house was quiet as always, until he heard a knock at the door—it wasn’t In-ho.

Turning, Hyun-jun was there, looking timid and unsure.

Could she have known too?

“Are you okay, sir?”

“I’ll survive,” he said seriously, but without hostility. “And did you arrive safely yesterday?"

She nodded as if embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry, we should have protected you better,” Hyun-jun approached.

Gi-hun slightly furrowed his brow.

“It’s not your fault, Hyun-jun, don’t worry. Sit with me, let’s have coffee.” He gestured to the table while preparing the traditional coffee. “Did you know who the Frontman was?”

“No, sir. He always spoke to me with that horrible mask,” she grimaced. “But I learned yesterday, and he said you already knew too.”

Gi-hun slammed the spoon down and leaned against the sink.

“That bastard tricked us!” he spat in fury.

“I know… I was angry too, but now… it doesn’t matter. What he did was wrong,” Hyun-jun sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Seong.”

Gi-hun took a deep breath, trying to calm the tremors in his body. After a few minutes, the wave of anger passed, and he seemed more composed.

“You can just call me Gi-hun. I won’t scold you.”

“Thank you. If you want to talk, I’m here—we’re friends, right?”

“Of course we are. I’m fine. I just need time to process everything and decide what to do with that bastard.”

“I don’t know if this will help, but… he really seems to be in love with you and… okay, I said it. We won’t mention his name again.” Hyun-jun paused when she saw the icy glare he shot her.

“Great. Tell me about something else, our other friends, how everything went… I need a distraction,” he almost begged.

She nodded and began talking about other matters. Gi-hun managed to distract himself a bit, even laughed. He really liked Hyun-jun.

“Hyun-jun, what about your surgery with…”

“It’s already paid and scheduled,” she said cheerfully while they ate. “Next month I’ll be away.”

“The money I gave then…”

She looked confused, then nodded in confirmation.

“Yes.”

“I’m glad. Can you believe I won the games?”

“Ah, yes, but not for the money. A little before, number eleven actually told us that the leader had changed the games on purpose because of the first game.”

Gi-hun let out a grunt.

“Sorry,” she clasped her hands and bowed. “I’ll go to the bathroom quickly, then come back to help you clean.”

“No need, Hyun-jun.”

“I insist.” She got up and left the kitchen.

Gi-hun stayed there, feeling even more irritated than before.

Then In-ho entered the kitchen, maskless and shirtless, each muscle defined by sweat. Gi-hun swallowed hard, his breathing accelerating, heart nearly jumping out of his chest. The scent of his cologne mixed with sweat filled the air, overwhelming Gi-hun’s senses and awakening desires he was trying to ignore. Every step In-ho took seemed to measure Gi-hun, provoking, testing limits.

That smell, that heat… it’s driving me crazy. I hate it, and I want it at the same time.

The air became hot and tense. Gi-hun clenched his fists, ready to attack if he said something.

“No training today, until your arm heals,” the firm, seductive voice vibrated against Gi-hun’s skin, making him shiver.

That voice… seductive and firm, it made him shiver all over. Then came the longing… he missed that tone.

“And who said I’d train with you again?” he snapped.

In-ho moved closer, the heat of his body pressing lightly against Gi-hun’s back. His warm breath brushed against Gi-hun’s ear:

“I know you want to attack me now… but it won’t help. Don’t you want to defend yourself better?”

Gi-hun shuddered, his whole body reacting uncontrollably. Every gesture, every subtle approach from In-ho was both a silent invitation and a provocation. He tried to stay firm, but the touch, the smell, the heat… everything conspired against him.

“Go to hell, Frontman,” he growled low, frustration-heavy, but Gi-hun could barely contain the desire burning inside him.

“I’m patient. I’ll wait for you.” His nose brushed Gi-hun’s ear again, followed by a hot whisper: “Wasn’t that what you wanted to hear?”

Gi-hun’s body tingled, every fiber electrified by the nearly imperceptible touch. His senses screamed: In-ho was there, provoking each reaction while maintaining control. The heat, proximity, and scent—everything was torture and fascination at once.

Gi-hun took a deep breath, fighting against the overwhelming attraction. He knew any movement was another play in In-ho’s silent game. Yet the excitement rose, his body responding, feeling the anticipated pleasure of every touch, every minimal brush of skin.

In-ho’s gaze, firm and absolute, seemed to challenge Gi-hun, making it clear: he could react, do whatever he wanted—but In-ho still ruled the game. And that, more than anything, drove Gi-hun wild with desire.

He needed to turn the game around. As soon as In-ho left the kitchen, he exhaled.

“You’re going to feel every second of what I felt. You’ll desire me, and I’ll never let you have me.” His voice was firm, but his muscles trembled, betraying his reaction. “And yet, you won’t be able to forget me. Prepare yourself, Hwang In-ho… you’ll beg, and I’ll never give in.”

——————

The gym was silent, except for the rhythmic music and occasional cracks from the punching bag. Gi-hun ignored all the intense sensations of seeing him there; whenever they met, it was like this. Now, without the mask, he could notice his facial expressions: always in control, enigmatic, cold.

“Gi-hun? Didn’t I say that…” In-ho began, trying to break the tension.

“Fuck it, it was just a scratch, it’s better now,” he cut him off, advancing with eyes locked, taking deep breaths to control the excitement.

“I thought you were going to ignore me longer,” In-ho said with a light smile, which only increased Gi-hun’s anger and desire.

“And who said I’m not?” Gi-hun replied, trying to stay cold. “That changes nothing.”

“We have the ball tomorrow, you’re going…” In-ho started, but Gi-hun looked away and breathed deeply as if saying, “let’s not get distracted now.”

“Let’s go to the ring today.”

“Yes, I’ll go to that bullshit. Now stop talking and let’s train…” His expression was rigid, but his body betrayed contained excitement. “Finally, I’ll give you a beating.”

They got onto the ring, face to face. In-ho, calm, put his hands behind his back, while Gi-hun cracked his fingers.

“No heavy attacks, I just want to see how…”

“Ah, you talk too much!”

Gi-hun advanced with all his street-fighting experience. Each attack was easily blocked by In-ho, almost disinterested, but everything was calculated. Gi-hun realized every block was a silent invitation to continue.

He tried a punch to the side of the head and he dodged; tried a kick from the other side, and In-ho blocked.

In this play, he never landed a hit. Rage left him breathless and exhausted.

“What the hell!”

“Why hesitate? Stop playing and try to hit me.” In-ho advised, watching each movement. “You’re not that bad.”

Gi-hun straightened up and went for him again.

“Why are you so mad at me? Weren’t you wanting me all this time? Desiring me…” In-ho provoked. Gi-hun breathed deeply, focusing on rage, revenge, and secretly, his attraction. “Weren’t you begging for me the other day… moaning my name, not Young-il’s?”

It started to take effect. Gi-hun focused, and when he tried to hit his face, In-ho blocked with one hand. He let go, and Gi-hun made an unexpected move, trapping him with his leg, ready to throw him down.

But In-ho was faster. He grabbed him, and they fell on the mat in a dangerously heated position.

Like on the grass that time, Gi-hun was on top, now perfectly aligned. His legs on each side of In-ho’s hips, his ass pressing directly against him.

He noticed the furrowed brow and the flicker of panic in his surprised eyes. This was where his revenge would begin.

Gi-hun pinned In-ho’s warm hands to the floor, feeling the pulse beneath his fingers, and began moving his hips in calculated circles. Heat rose through his body as he felt In-ho’s hard length against him. The friction was intense, hot, almost painful in its pleasure.

“Gi-hun…” It sounded like a warning, panting, exposing his thick neck and the bulging vein.

Gi-hun kept going, exploring every reaction. His hips moved in circles, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, increasing and decreasing the rhythm just to see him lose control.

In-ho was tense, but maintained his composure. Gi-hun smiled, biting his lips and letting out a low moan.

“Is that all you’ve got?” In-ho provoked, licking his canine and watching every movement of Gi-hun’s hips. “You’ll need much more to break me…” His breathing was slow and heavy, hot, cutting the air between them.

Gi-hun felt his body tremble. He tried to control his movements, dominate the situation, but it was impossible to ignore In-ho’s silent message in his eyes: do whatever you want… but I’m in charge here.

The music changed, sensual and provocative. He let himself be guided by the rhythm, moving his hips back and forth, exploring every reaction of In-ho. The scent of sweat mixed with cologne made the air heavy.

In-ho panted and moaned softly, but didn’t give in. Gi-hun’s body burned with desire and tension, excited by that control, by the game they were playing.

“Keep going… show me what you’re capable of,” In-ho whispered, and Gi-hun felt the weight of desire and anger merge. He could move freely, but In-ho’s dominance remained absolute.

Every gesture, every sigh, every pulse reminded Gi-hun that he was feeling everything intensely, but In-ho was still the master of the game. And that drove him crazy.

He’s trying to dominate me, but it’s impossible to ignore that my body is asking for it, asking for him.

“I make the rules here. I don’t want you to touch me… I’ll make you regret every second,” he teased, licking his lips.

Gi-hun continued sliding against him in wet, almost cruel friction. Both their erections pressed and increased pleasure. He wasn’t wearing underwear.

In-ho’s body responded involuntarily. His hips, previously still, lifted seeking more friction, while his face tried to maintain composure.

“Look at you… trembling beneath me. Is this how the powerful Frontman loses control?”

Gi-hun laughed mischievously, speeding up his movements. He loved feeling In-ho’s hot body, pulsating against his.

“Tsk… look at you,” In-ho murmured mockingly. “Squirming under me like a little boy.”

In-ho’s husky moans filled the room. His jaw clenched trying to hide it, but his body betrayed him. His chest rose quickly, panting, and his firm gaze wavered as his hips trembled under Gi-hun.

His expression of pleasure was exactly as Gi-hun had imagined: beautiful, vulnerable, almost humiliating.

“Gi-hun… Gi-hun…” he whispered, hips lifting involuntarily, seeking more friction.

Gi-hun knew he had to stop there, or he couldn’t continue his game. He approached only to lick the sweat from In-ho’s neck and laughed.

Then he stood up, aroused and wet, meeting In-ho’s desperate gaze and altered breathing.

“Use your hands now, and think of me every second. This is your punishment: wanting me and never having me. Frontman.”

Gi-hun left the gym, the sexual tension between them still palpable, leaving In-ho wild with desire. And this was just the beginning of that slow, deliciously vengeful burn.

——————

In-ho laughed while watching Gi-hun leave, shaking that hot ass, the effects of denied ecstasy still coursing through his body. He had entered his game, able to end it right there and then. Gi-hun didn’t yet know who he was dealing with, and in that torturous, yet delicious, game, he was very good.

For a moment, In-ho stopped and breathed deeply, feeling every reaction from Gi-hun’s body reflect in his own. A shiver ran down his spine, and he realized that, no matter how much he let Gi-hun believe he was in control, deep down it was he who dictated the pace.

A perverted smile appeared on his face. If this was the punishment, he would gladly accept it, letting Gi-hun play a little…

“You’re all mine, Seong Gi-hun. When I catch you, you’ll be the one begging.”

————

The Frontman mask was placed with his uniform to match that meeting. He returned to his cold, calculated posture, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“The black square hurt my husband, and I don’t accept that,” he said in a completely icy voice, measuring every word.

“We didn’t know that,” the snake VIP commented. “It’s forbidden to mess with one of the members.”

“This time I also don’t agree,” the nervous goat VIP said, pausing to control her nerves. “If this happens, second-tier guards will think they can dominate like this, and Frontman is the highest authority.”

“Maybe not so much,” the snake VIP smiled, tilting his head. “We also like the black square, and he did an excellent job. Let’s talk to him, this won’t happen again.”

“Obviously not, but it won’t stay like this. He can’t mess with my husband and think he’ll live.” Her voice sounded cold and controlled, pausing before adding: “I’ll kill him! I’m warning you.”

“As far as I’m concerned!” The goat VIP shrugged, looking at the others, waiting for reactions.

“Don’t do anything yet. Wait for our consent,” the snake VIP said. “But I look forward to seeing you tomorrow at the ball. Seong Gi-hun will be there, right?”

“Yes, we’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Perfect, I hope his English is good.”

In-ho shook his head and said goodbye, closing the notebook and letting out a sigh. At least those sons of bitches seemed to be disagreeing anyway. No one touches what’s his, especially his husband.

——————

In-ho looked at his reflection in the black limousine mirror waiting for them and smiled. The mask covered only his eyes, the rest of his face exposed. His suit was flawless, fitted to his body. Finally, the night of the ball.

He fiddled with the little box with two rings in his pocket and smiled again, thinking about that day. For a moment, he let himself be carried away by the memory of Gi-hun’s touch, feeling arousal grow even before seeing him.

Seong Gi-hun was all dressed in black, trying to provoke him. Subtle touches had occurred during that day’s training, not returning to the ring, but doing some exercises. The movement of his ass was more apparent, and there was a slight brush when he left a machine, making In-ho feel the tension in his body again. He let Gi-hun do everything without complaint, just following his rhythm.

He insisted on calling him Frontman, and to retaliate, Gi-hun called him Player 456. In-ho loved seeing his expression all red, nostrils flaring with anger. Those little provocations kept them on very horny. 

The rest of the day went like that, and he just enjoyed every moment, feeling each one as a prelude to what was coming.

In-ho noticed a movement, and when he turned to look… he wasn’t prepared for what was about to follow.

When Gi-hun came into his field of vision, time seemed to falter. Dressed entirely in black, he carried an imposing aura that no one would dare ignore. The transparency of his shirt suggested more than it showed, a whisper of skin behind the light fabric, while the tie descended elegantly across his chest. The structured blazer highlighted his broad shoulders, and the tailored pants shaped his firm posture, every line radiating authority and desire.

His polished shoes reflected the lights around, capturing the essence of the night in each step. For a moment, In-ho was breathless, unable to look away. Every detail, every movement, seemed made to seduce him, and for a second, the entire world disappeared around them.

Nothing in the world compared to this, not even seeing his late wife in her wedding dress. For him, nothing mattered more than this man in front of him. All fears and anxieties went to hell… and he accepted and understood.

In-ho admitted to himself in silence that he was hopelessly in love with Seong Gi-hun. And there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for him.

Chapter Text

Gi-hun looked at himself in the mirror and smiled, licking his lips. That outfit had been made for him, hitting all the right spots. He felt sexy and gorgeous. There was a touch of power in it that made him even bolder and irresistible.

He turned in the mirror, noticing how the pants—though black—fit perfectly on his ass. He had already caught In-ho's furtive glances at it several times over the past few weeks.

During those two days, he had teased the Frontman in various ways, watching him stay in control while his body wavered. And, worse of all, he was being affected just as much as Gi-hun. He enjoyed the teasing, the looks in that naughty little game.

But he couldn’t give in. Not yet. Every torture was for In-ho to pay for what he had done to him.

Let’s see if he’s really so unshakable.

He spritzed some more perfume in strategic spots and checked himself one last time: hair wet with gel, a sensual gaze, a highly seductive outfit. Seong Gi-hun was dressed to kill that night, and he was ready for it.

As he descended the stairs and headed straight for the garden, Gi-hun trembled…

Hwang In-ho wore the suit like he was wearing power. The impeccably tailored jacket molded his broad shoulders, the vest accentuated the firmness of his posture, and the dark tie ran over the black shirt like a stroke of pure authority. Even the pocket square seemed calculated, a refined detail that only intensified the magnetism of his presence.

With hands in his pockets and that smile mixing charm and provocation, he exuded silent dominance. He didn’t need to raise his voice or step forward to impose himself—it was enough just to be there, elegantly wrapped in himself, to make the air feel heavier.

Gi-hun, seeing him, felt his whole body react even before he could breathe. His heart raced, his lungs faltered for a moment, and all that remained was the inevitable realization: this man wasn’t just attractive. He was built to dominate, and even the most restrained look was enough to undress him from the inside.

Why does he have to be so damn hot?

And that mask under his eyes… made him dangerously sexy.

Gi-hun scolded himself for reacting to him as well. He was the one who had to seduce, not be seduced.

The look In-ho gave him made his heart leap again; it was as if he were naked in front of him.

“You look splendid,” he whispered, his voice a little husky and calm, yet his breathing was altered, as if he had just been running.

He’s affected. Perfect, I want you writhing for me!

“Is this a masked ball?” Gi-hun asked, pointing to the mask around his eyes.

“Yes, I have one for you too.” He took a mask from his pocket. “Turn around.”

Gi-hun obeyed, a discreet smile forming on his lips as he felt In-ho’s warm breath against his neck. When he felt the fabric on his eyes, he also felt In-ho’s lips against his earlobe.

“We still protect our identities, even at a fancy ball like this,” he murmured, slowly and seductively. “Everyone will be there, even those with interest. Be ready, and let’s do our best. Tonight, Seong Gi-hun, you are my husband.”

That last part was said so deliciously that he gasped, even more when a kiss was placed on his neck.

He shivered.

“Turn around for me,” In-ho ordered.

Again, Gi-hun obeyed. He noticed In-ho holding a small ring box in his hands.

It’s just theater, it’s not real.

He repeated it in his mind and heart.

“You can’t have a real marriage without this. And since almost everyone has a Western background, it’s best done perfectly. Everyone will know you’re mine!” He placed the ring on Gi-hun’s left hand. “And I’m yours!”

Gi-hun felt his heart weaken and a rush of emotion took over him at that moment, an impulsive act—or not entirely, part of him wanted this too. He took the ring from In-ho’s hands, held his hand, and placed it exactly as he had before.

“And what if I decide to give it back later?” he asked sharply, hiding how much the moment had affected him.

“Your choice,” In-ho shrugged. “Do whatever you want. Shall we?” He opened the door for Gi-hun to enter the limousine.

Gi-hun got in and settled in his seat; In-ho did the same beside him.

“Where is the party?” he asked.

“Next to the American embassy.”

Gi-hun felt uneasy and shifted in his seat. If it was there, then it was way more complicated than he had imagined.

“Does the government know?” he asked.

“Not everyone. In fact, they don’t know what kind of games are actually involved; only those interested participate in this ball. It’s like a farewell and a restart.”

Gi-hun felt a knot in his stomach.

“I’ll never get used to this. It’s too twisted.”

“I’m seeing what I can do about changing the games,” In-ho said, opening a champagne glass.

“Really?” Gi-hun asked with a sigh.

“Yes. It won’t be easy; it has to convince the VIPs, and everyone has to like it. I’ll try, Gi-hun. But I can’t promise it’ll work,” he said, handing him a glass. “Here, drink a little so you’re not so nervous.”

Gi-hun didn’t refuse, drinking it all at once, savoring the sweet, sparkling liquid.

“Thank you.”

“Thank me in another way if I succeed,” In-ho smiled sideways, dangerously charming.

Gi-hun felt that delicious chill in his stomach.

“What way?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Find out…” He gazed at Gi-hun with an intense, naughty look, licking his lips and lingering on his visible chest under the fabric. “How’s your English?”

“Not perfect, but I manage, I understand, and I can say some things.”

“Really? Then let’s test it.” In-ho leaned toward him; his eyes sparkled, naughty and dangerous. “You’re delicious, Gi-hun. I just want to send these people to hell, stop this car, and fuck you all night right here.”

Gi-hun controlled the rush of excitement that surged through his body at that provocation. In slow, firm English, he replied:

“Try me.”

His eyes shone with an explicit, bold challenge, showing In-ho he wasn’t entirely under control. The shiver running down his spine from touching In-ho’s arm only reinforced how dangerous—and delicious—the teasing was.

The chuckle he let out was delightful, almost a whisper mixing fun and pent-up desire. The air between them felt charged, every breath hotter than the last. In-ho leaned just a little closer, and Gi-hun felt the heat of his body invade his space, the elegant scent mingling with almost tangible sexual tension.

“When I try you, I won’t be able to stop… is that what you want? Isn’t it?”

Gi-hun felt a shiver run down his spine, every word from In-ho an ardent invitation, his fingers itching to touch, to test limits, but he held back, savoring every second of the dangerous game. A wicked smile formed on his lips as he watched every movement of In-ho, catching any reaction, any weakness he could exploit.

The game had just begun that night, and both knew control was an illusion. Who would give in first… neither knew.

—————

When they arrived at the ball, In-ho held Gi-hun’s hands and showed the Black Platinum invitations to the guards, and they entered the venue.

The hall was bathed in a golden aura, illuminated by immense crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling like sparkling jewels. The light from hundreds of candles reflected off mirrors and polished floors, multiplying into shimmering dances with every movement. The long, elegant tables were covered with impeccable arrangements and surrounded by gleaming glasses, creating an atmosphere of absolute sophistication.

Heavy curtains of fine fabric fell to the floor, shaping the space with elegance, while voices blended into low murmurs, toasts, and restrained laughter. Every detail seemed designed to exude exclusivity: from the golden reflections on the walls to the light scent of fresh flowers lingering in the air.

It was the kind of environment that made any entrance a spectacle—where all eyes inevitably turned to those daring to cross the doors.

And when they entered, all attention was on them. In-ho, with his dominating, confident presence, was overwhelming; his mere presence changed the entire environment. Gi-hun held onto his hands tighter, noticing the glances.

Then In-ho released his hands and took him by the waist, guiding him to an empty table. He stared at him and noticed the tension in his shoulders, though his expression was unreadable.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered. “Why did you do that?”

“They’re looking at you,” In-ho said, turning his body toward Gi-hun. “I don’t like it.”

“For me?” he laughed, thinking it a joke.

“I already told you, you’re too delicious,” he said, serious, glancing around. “They’re giving you indecent looks.”

Gi-hun laughed again, starting to enjoy it.

“Does it bother you?” he returned, mischievous and with a hint of sarcasm, subtly retaliating.

“Yes, it bothers me,” In-ho gave a slight smile and moved an arm toward his waist, leaning close to his ear: “Because I give you these looks all the time. You’re all mine.”

At that moment, it was as if the entire hall had vanished. The golden lights, clinking glasses, even the curious glances—all dissolved. Only his voice remained, firm and low, burning like hot iron on his skin.

Gi-hun’s heart raced at the sound, and warmth spread across his chest.

He opened his mouth to make a joke, but his low, firm voice burned in his ear, as if each syllable marked his skin with possession. The words died in his throat.

A waiter came to serve them. In-ho handed them two glasses of champagne, giving one to Gi-hun, who took a sip, disguising his nervousness.

Jazz music filled the room, and some curious, lustful glances were cast at them. The ring on his finger burned, signaling anyone not to approach or cross boundaries.

Then a group approached… even with masks, Gi-hun recognized them.

And here are the VIP idiots.

“Our Frontman and his wonderful husband,” a VIP said. “You two are a spectacle.” He continued praising, casting glances at their bodies. “You… I don’t know how your husband let you leave the house.”

The VIP woman laughed.

“I must admit, you’re both stunning. But you, Frontman…” she smiled, biting her lips, “always drives me crazy, stronger than before. Don’t you want to try a night?”

This time, Gi-hun could understand everything, slightly confused but connecting the dots. He didn’t like it. The lascivious looks that woman and another gave In-ho made his stomach churn.

Before his husband could respond, Gi-hun acted impulsively—maybe. But he didn’t care.

“I’m sorry, but this man is all mine,” he replied in their language, smiling confidently, holding In-ho’s hands and showing his rings.

“Wow!” she laughed, raising her hands. “You don’t need a translator, and that’s very good.”

“Your man learns fast,” an older VIP said. “Some position in the games? A second Frontman.”

Gi-hun tensed again. They had to touch on that bizarre thing, and he would never return to that place.

“My husband will sit this one out,” In-ho said, holding his hands and stroking his thumb. “We already did enough in the last game.”

“But we loved your tension during the game. We wanted to see more… much more…” the VIP laughed. “Even forbidden things, it would be so interesting in the middle of that place. Admit it, Gi-hun, wouldn’t it be arousing?”

Gi-hun almost choked. He had never thought about sex there… with all that horror, the only thing he wanted was to survive and save everyone.

Everyone expected a response from him, even In-ho, who had a curious look and a mocking smile.

“I don’t… that wasn’t…”

“Ah, not even once? You and Frontman there, lying in the dark or going to the bathroom together… all that tension,” laughed a VIP, followed by others. “I’m sure he thought about it.”

In-ho smiled and took a sip of champagne. Gi-hun stared at him, wide-eyed. He thought? You mean he actually thought about them having sex there? He’s sick…

The rational, kind part of Gi-hun reacted to it as an anomaly; the other, full of desire for In-ho, was intrigued by the idea—curious about what he had thought, at what moment, when, and how…

“Do you remember those bastards who had sex in the bed while everyone was sleeping? And two assholes killed them with forks because of the noise?”

“Yes… that was pretty fun,” another replied.

The group got excited about the sadism of the game, and the conversation evolved as more VIPs approached, curious about the game.

“The games this year were a show in themselves. You’ll enjoy the next ones.”

“I need to get out of boredom, are these games really good with that?” asked a tall man.

“Of course, I was like that too,” said an older VIP. “It’s totally addictive, and the winner isn’t always who you bet on. Terrible!”

The conversation started to make Gi-hun anxious. They really saw people as racehorses, not as human beings. Gi-hun urgently needed another distraction, or he would collapse right there.

A tall, blond man with blue eyes approached and looked Gi-hun up and down.

“This is one of the new VIP members, Frontman. He wants to wear the phoenix mask,” said a VIP.

In-ho just shook his head and greeted him.

“Can I have a dance with him?”

“No,” said In-ho, taciturn. “He’s my husband.”

“Frontman…” a VIP scolded him. “It’s just a dance; he won’t steal your man.”

In-ho’s jaw clenched tightly. Gi-hun noticed his ears turning red; that always indicated something. He was at his limit, and this time it wasn’t because of desire.

“All right, love,” Gi-hun said, placing his hands on In-ho’s. “I can defend myself; you’ve taught me well.” Then he leaned toward his ear and whispered in Korean: “This is part of your torture, just watch while another dances with me.”

He stepped aside and allowed himself to be led to the dance floor by the man. The guy didn’t say a word, just stared intensely. Gi-hun only felt repulsion. But when he glanced at In-ho’s expression, his gaze was burning, full of anger—and Gi-hun enjoyed it.

He can’t stand anyone touching me. Perfect.

A bitter, exciting laugh rose inside him. If he wants torture, I know exactly how to do it. Let’s see how long he can watch me in someone else’s arms.

That was In-ho’s weak spot: he hated anyone touching what he considered his.

Gi-hun smiled at the man and moved a little closer. The man’s hands went to his waist and held a bit tighter while moving him into his arms.

“Your waist is impressive, what do you do?” the man asked, trying to break the ice.

“Nothing…”

“You’ve got a nice ass too,” he said, spinning him to check him out. “Your husband looks like he wants to kill me.”

“He does, but don’t worry, he won’t do anything,” Gi-hun replied with a smile.

“He’s beautiful too, that body under the suit must be crazy.”

“Absolutely, but he’s mine,” Gi-hun said simply.

“Have you been married long?”

“Recently married,” he replied, taking another turn. His eyes found In-ho, who had a woman whispering near his ear. “We’re still on our honeymoon.”

That knot in his stomach returned; Gi-hun hated that feeling. He’d never felt this with anyone else—not even his ex-wife—but with In-ho… he was jealous.

The music finally ended. He gave a small smile to the man and returned to the table, ignoring the looks. The woman was still nearby, and Gi-hun positioned himself between them, forcing her to step aside.

“All right, he’s back… relax,” said the VIP. “Now you two can satisfy my curiosity.”

“What do you want?” In-ho asked, impatiently playful.

“For you two to kiss… I’ve been imagining it since I heard, and I want to see at least one kiss.”

This seemed to excite the VIPs, and soon came a chorus of “kiss… kiss…”

Gi-hun glanced around briefly. The crowd was shouting, but it all seemed muffled, distant, as if the hall had dissolved. He still had a choice. He could step back, laugh, refuse. He could maintain the distance he had been playing until now.

But when he locked eyes with In-ho—dark, hungry, burning with desire and restrained anger—he felt a shiver run up his spine. The air between them was pure electricity.

Fuck it, he thought. There was no avoiding it anymore; as much as he wanted In-ho to regret everything, he couldn’t. He had wanted this for a long time. Just thinking of those lips on his made him feel everything.

He leaned toward his ear and whispered:

“I hate you.”

Then he grabbed In-ho’s face with both hands, drew close, closed his eyes, and kissed him.

At first, slow, with a gentle brushing of their mouths; then several little pecks were given. His body trembled, hot, heart racing. The tingling sensation in his stomach was intense.

The crowd was still present, shouting for more… much more.

“No, you don’t hate me,” In-ho whispered against him, low, just for Gi-hun to hear.

Then In-ho’s tongue invaded his mouth. He took control. The moment it happened, a moan escaped Gi-hun’s lips. In-ho’s hands gripped Gi-hun’s nape, finding the perfect angle… and it was explosive. The kiss was open-mouthed, tongues meeting and sucking in a delicious struggle for dominance. Totally lascivious, erotic, and sensual.

The moment their tongues met, the audience erupted. Nervous laughter, hysterical screams, and applause echoed through the hall. Some clapped as if watching an obscene show; others, bolder, even moaned aloud, egging them on to see how far they would go.

But none of that mattered. Gi-hun only felt the heat of In-ho’s mouth, the taste of champagne mixed with raw desire. His firm hands on Gi-hun’s nape anchored him, holding him as the world around them lost all sense. It was as if they were alone—and at the same time, forced to devour each other in front of everyone.

Gi-hun delighted in noticing the warmth emanating from In-ho, the slight sigh he gave while kissing him… they completely forgot where they were, as if only they existed, devouring each other as if the world would end.

When the air ran out, In-ho sucked Gi-hun’s lower lip and licked it.

They heard the screams and applause…

“Wow! If the kiss was like that… imagine what happens in the room,” the VIP laughed, clearly entertained and approving.

“Wow… what a kiss,” said another VIP. “I’m hot.”

“Well… let’s toast, everyone… to the end of this year’s fantastic games,” said a VIP, raising his glass while everyone at the party followed.

But Gi-hun and In-ho were still there, clinging to each other, completely aroused, with passion overflowing and unresolved feelings they could no longer deny…

In-ho held Gi-hun’s hand firmly, his heavy breath burning against his neck.

“Come with me,” he said, his deep voice dragged and loaded with desire. It wasn’t a request, but it wasn’t just an order either — it was that rare mix of command and need.

Gi-hun felt a shiver run down his spine, his body reacting instinctively. He didn’t need to think; he just wanted to lose himself in In-ho, in that moment when everything else seemed to vanish.

Curious glances, the sparkle of the glasses, the VIPs, and the applause… none of it mattered. There was only them, and the desire consuming them, about to explode into something neither could control for long.

——————

Hwang In-ho strode away from the ballroom. None of that damn place mattered; the only thing he wanted and needed with such intensity was Gi-hun, the man who had driven him insane since the games.

Back then, he hadn’t fully understood his fascination. At first, he had been drawn to his kindness, compassion, and humanity. He had lost all that; he didn’t know how to be that way anymore, didn’t even remember it existed. Watching that simple man, all battered, do everything to save and care for others during the games was inexplicable.

And, without realizing it, he was obsessed with Gi-hun. He wanted to understand him better, to figure out why this man refused the wealth that had been granted to him. What was the problem with that? But the closer he got, the more he fell… and the games, with him around, were explosive. He couldn’t go back to the way he was… Gi-hun had achieved what he wanted, not by changing the games, but by changing him.

And In-ho realized even more: Gi-hun was his salvation, his light in the darkness, the love he had lost.

He couldn’t take it anymore; running, denying… it was useless. He could only accept: he loved him deeply.

That feeling was intense, explosive, but also warm and comforting. Just like Gi-hun.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor with Gi-hun, each step echoing like a sentence. The empty hallway seemed made for them — silent, shadowed, secret. Perfect. If anyone dared to appear, In-ho swore he would kill without hesitation.

He rushed into the bathroom, locked the door, and didn’t waste a second. Their lips collided as if trying to devour each other — hungry, fierce, desperate. Gi-hun’s back slammed against the wall with force, the sound echoing off the cold tile.

Their tongues met in a voracious clash, licking with urgency and desire — In-ho’s mouth devouring every inch of Gi-hun, pulling him closer as if he wanted to merge them right there. In-ho’s hands tangled in his hair, tossing his head back; Gi-hun moaned, breathless as a palm gripped his waist and lifted him, pressed against In-ho’s chest, body against cold wall. He arched, low moans spilling as his body burned.

His legs wrapped around In-ho’s hips, the initial movements shallow, teasing — just to feel him hard, pulsing, testing. In-ho smirked, outwardly controlled, inwardly consumed by hunger. Gi-hun squirmed slightly, biting his lip and moaning even louder.

“This is how you leave me, all the time…” he murmured, brushing lips along Gi-hun’s neck, hearing sighs and pants.

Gi-hun arched, inhaling the mix of sweat and perfume, teeth grazing in a short bite. “You provoke me too much.” He moaned, panting, grinding his hips against In-ho.

With brutal ease, In-ho dragged him to the sink, turned him around, pressing him up against it. He removed the belt with a sharp movement and tied Gi-hun’s hands behind his back, firm enough for him to know he wouldn’t be leaving.

“You wanted to teach me a lesson,” In-ho growled, his voice deep. “I let you play. Now it’s your turn to pay.”

He chuckled mockingly and bit his lips.

“Fine, show me your best,” Gi-hun teased naughty, writhing and moaning softly, his hips grinding against him.

He turned him again, taking in the red face, shallow breaths, pleasure written all over him. His hands roamed over his chest, devouring him with his eyes.

“This body has driven me crazy for weeks…” he said, slowly undoing the shirt buttons and sliding his hand down to the waistband, pulling the pants. “I saw you touching yourself for me. It was beautiful. So… good.”

He trailed hot kisses down the jaw, licking the neck, sucking the collarbone. A subtle nibble on the nipple made Gi-hun whimper low, grinding harder against him. When he opened the pants, what he saw made his head spin: Gi-hun’s cock standing hard, glistening, dripping with need.

In-ho didn’t think: he grabbed it, took it into his mouth. Sucked hard, deep, slow, and voracious; the sound of Gi-hun’s moans fuelled him, going deeper, sucking until he heard the scream. He played with the balls, licked, bit the tip with ferocity and release. He swallowed every moan, every desperate sound escaping him, feeling Gi-hun writhe, moaning louder with each pass.

“You intend to make me more jealous, now?” he asked, giving a grotesque yet delicious suck.

Gi-hun writhed, gasping, pressing hands against the binds; In-ho forced him to take it all again. When Gi-hun collapsed into a long orgasm, he swallowed it all, then rose, panting, to kiss him with his own pleasure, leaving his taste. Gi-hun moaned quietly into the kiss, gripping his thigh and writhing even more.

“You’re so sweet…” he whispered, smiling, devoured.

He turned Gi-hun to face the mirror, bent down to press his face against that round ass, sucking voraciously, leaving a hot mark. Gi-hun arched, moaning, raising higher. In-ho spread the cheeks with his hands and licked the taut ring, feeling him shiver; inserted a finger, circling, then another. Gi-hun moaned loud, spine arching, hips rolling.

“Can you take more? My cock is bigger,” he teased, that naughty tone observing Gi-hun writhe madly.

“Fuck me… fuck me now,” Gi-hun begged, completely exposed, humiliated, pleading.

In-ho pulled out a tube of lube from his pocket — always prepared — and applied it cold, carefully. A caress that made Gi-hun even wetter. He opened a condom, put it on quickly, and slid in slowly. The tight, familiar grip, delicious, made him moan low — it had been a while, and he remembered, writhing desperately.

The first thrusts were slow, measuring, adjusting. Then, when Gi-hun found his rhythm, In-ho picked up pace, firm, dry, hard. Movements so good they hurt. He kissed the neck, bit shoulders, gripped the waist tightly. Gi-hun writhed, aroused, moaning louder, legs moving with In-ho’s rhythm.

“Is this what you wanted, to leave me like this?” he asked in his ear, hoarse voice.

“Yes,” Gi-hun moaned, tied and surrendered. “Young-il… harder.” He started rolling even more, moving with his thrusts, biting In-ho’s shoulder, teasing.

The name struck In-ho. A low, animal laugh escaped. His gaze dark and hot; he accepted the nickname as a whip, as domination, as sin.

“You’re calling me Young-il?” he repeated, dragged out, spitting seduction. “You have the nerve to call me that while I’m fucking you.”

And he began punishing him: brutal thrusts, marking, tattooing skin with desire. Between each, whispered, cutting words: confessions, accusations, surrender. — From the first moment when I saw you, you were already mine… — another thrust. — You made me feel human again… made me love you. — thrust. — I’m yours, Gi-hun. Do whatever you want. I’m your slave. — He took a hand to his cock and began stroking him.

In-ho watched a tear roll from the corner of Gi-hun’s eye; the sound of his whiny moans fed him. He continued until he came hard — a broken moan, his name choked between teeth — Gi-hun exploded, trembling, screaming, surrendered, writhing and moaning like never before, planting multiple kisses on his neck.

When their breathing returned to normal, In-ho left slowly, removed the condom carefully, cleaned them, loosened the belt, undoing the ties. He adjusted his shirt, ran his fingers through his wet hair, and held Gi-hun’s face between his hands, kissing him with filthy tenderness.

“Let’s go home,” he murmured, with a naughty smile. “I told you that when I caught you, I wouldn't stop. I’ll fuck you all night.”

Chapter Text

Gi-hun still felt all the aftereffects of ecstasy in his body. In-ho’s words sounded like a sincere promise, making him even more eager and aroused. Wow, he never imagined it could feel this way at this stage in life. At least when it was with his wife, one round was usually enough… or with other people.

But with In-ho… he couldn’t explain what this man did to him. He just felt bolder, naughtier, exuding sensuality. It was like going back to adolescence, that constant craving impossible to erase.

Gi-hun smiled, holding his husband’s hands as they left the bathroom. From In-ho’s heavy breathing and the sweat dripping down his handsome, mature face, it was clear he was just as eager as Gi-hun. At the end of the hallway, there was a man… a VIP.

He recognized most of them, but that one was impossible to ignore. The dark aura floating above him was insane; the calm expression, but eyes utterly perverse. He was the most dangerous VIP, in Gi-hun’s view—the one with the snake mask.

“Ah, ah, if it isn’t the couple of the year,” said the snake-masked VIP in Korean.

“Not now!” In-ho replied, his voice hoarse and impatient.

“Is that so, Mr. Hwang?” the VIP smiled sarcastically.

In-ho glared at him abruptly and viscerally. Gi-hun noticed the shift in his body: shoulders once relaxed now tense, fully alert.

“Breaking your own rules, huh?” he snapped in the same tone. “What do you want?”

“Nothing, I was just checking. I confess I had doubts about you two. From my side,” said the VIP, looking with interest, “but it’s fine. You passed the test. No pretense, not after seeing and hearing—” he pointed toward the bathroom down the hall. “I’ll enjoy watching you, Mr. Hwang… much more than the games.”

Gi-hun raised his eyebrows, annoyed. His intimate moment with In-ho being exposed like that… Damn, was it that hard to have privacy even here?

“Of course not. Respect our privacy. I wouldn’t want this to become the next topic,” In-ho shot back sharply. “Now you’re disturbing my night, and I really want to be alone with my husband. If you’ll excuse us—” he gripped Gi-hun’s hands tighter and pulled him away without waiting for a reply.

In-ho walked like some sort of avenger, ready to eliminate anyone who dared interrupt them again. His steps were firm and hurried, his posture radiating authority. That’s what made him even more charming.

Gi-hun wanted to ask more, but he didn’t want to ruin the mood now. Maybe tomorrow, when they could think clearly without desire taking over.

Once they finally left, they waited for the driver in the hall. In-ho was completely restless; though his expression showed calm, his body said otherwise: his thumb stroked Gi-hun’s hand in circles, shifting his weight from foot to foot constantly. Now Gi-hun could read him.

He leaned closer and whispered in In-ho’s ear:

“Who would’ve thought the Frontman’s tough calm would be broken by me,” he teased with a sly smile.

“I always get like this when it comes to you,” In-ho replied, raising an eyebrow. “All my peace and calm disappeared the moment you stepped into that place. You seem happy about that.”

Gi-hun laughed, noticing the mole on his neck. Unable to resist, he planted a small kiss there, savoring the sight of In-ho’s skin shivering. The neck was truly his weak spot.

“It’s mutual, you know,” In-ho replied. “Although, at first, it was only hatred.”

In-ho smiled and turned to him.

“And now?” he asked, intrigued.

“Less hatred,” Gi-hun shrugged, feigning disinterest.

“Less? Wasn’t that what you told me about Young-il?” In-ho commented, slightly offended.

Gi-hun wanted to laugh but restrained himself. It was funny to see In-ho jealous, and he would use it to his advantage while he could.

“Young-il was different.”

“How so?” In-ho frowned, crossing his arms, the suit stretching over his muscles.

“Different. He didn’t have this aura,” Gi-hun pointed out.

“What aura?”

“This one you have: dark. He had charm, you know… spoke with that sexy voice in my ear, and was more fun…”

“Fun?” His dry tone was almost a warning.

Gi-hun bit his lips. He had to admit it but would never say it: In-ho was far sexier when angry. And he’d seen it during the games when they clashed. But now, he just wanted to strip him completely and take him, seeing how far this badass facade would go.

When the limousine arrived, In-ho opened the door for him to enter first. As soon as they settled in and the car moved, Gi-hun smiled at the neon lights flickering outside, the dark purple glow reflecting inside.

He noticed In-ho reaching for the champagne in the ice bucket, grabbed him, and pushed him back against the seat, climbing onto him without delay. Warm hands held his waist as Gi-hun began grinding against him, slow and torturous.

“Why so jealous, if he’s you?” he teased, yet tenderly.

In-ho opened his mouth to say something but lost it, closing his eyes behind the mask. Gi-hun circled his hips, forming a perfect “O.” It was so sexy.

“Hmm… you really like this, don’t you? When I grind like this, Young-il?” he asked with a mischievous smile, feeling him hard beneath him, calling the name so naughty… “or do you prefer Frontman?”

In-ho opened his eyes, panting, holding Gi-hun’s waist with both hands, bouncing on his hard member. His ass slapped against the cock.

“You drive me crazy,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Not enough yet,” Gi-hun said, moving toward his neck and kissing the mole.

In-ho’s moan and shiver confirmed what Gi-hun suspected: the neck was truly his weak spot. Taking advantage of the moment, he traced a trail of kisses along the pulsing vein, giving a small lick. Gi-hun removed his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt, feeling the warmth of his body under his hands. His heart raced.

Their eyes met briefly; he almost got lost in that deep, burning gaze full of love. He felt hands holding his face so gently.

“Sorry, I got so crazy I forgot your arm. Are you okay?”

“All good,” Gi-hun reassured, pressing his forehead against his. “Don’t break the mood”—and kissed him passionately.

Gi-hun slowly unbuttoned his black shirt, feeling the warm chest under his hands, sliding across every muscle. He noticed In-ho’s smile between kisses and pulled back to remove the shirt entirely.

“Like what you see, huh?” asked his husband arrogantly.

“Shut up!” Gi-hun ordered. “Now I’m in charge, and you’ll stay quiet. Try anything, and I’ll stop.”

In-ho nodded, biting his lips:

“I’m all yours. Do whatever you want.”

Gi-hun kissed his neck again, watching him shiver all over, got off his lap, and knelt in front of him, starting a trail with lips and tongue across his body: collarbone, defined chest, over the hard nipple, sucking, hearing the grunt of response.

He sucked, slid, bit, licked every ridge of the perfect abdomen, while his hands worked on the hardened member, massaging gently.

He unbuckled his belt and fly, pulled down the pants, and smiled at the wetness of the pre-come.

Gi-hun thought: how can this man be so perfect? And started stroking, spreading the liquid over the member, sliding his thumb over the glans, studying every reaction of In-ho.

When his hands weren’t enough, he swallowed him whole, dripping with saliva, making his mouth glide along the delicious back-and-forth. The lewd sounds were even more erotic.

“Ah… suck me!” In-ho moaned loudly, throwing his head back.

In-ho’s taste was intoxicating, half salty, half sweet. He’d never done this with a man and loved it, especially hearing the hoarse moans.

In-ho’s hands went to his hair, pulling slightly just to hold. He seemed to really like Gi-hun’s rhythm.

“Sweet mouth, suck my cock all over,” In-ho whispered, sometimes disjointed, sometimes calling his name.

Gi-hun licked, circled the glans with his tongue, gave strong sucks, making In-ho moan and throb even more. He saw his desperation, forced his head to continue.

He tortured him with licks and small sucks. Meanwhile, his own cock throbbed painfully; with one hand,  he took out his own dick, beginning to touch.

In-ho dug his fingers into the leather seat, jaw locked, but Gi-hun sank deeper, sucking with malice.

“No… I won’t…” he tried to contain it, but a treacherous moan escaped.

Gi-hun squeezed his thigh, looked up at him with a teasing gaze. That was enough to break all control.

With the other hand, he held him tighter and swallowed him whole until the end. In-ho went insane.

Both hands held his head in place, thrusting hard, delicious, and relentless.

“Ah… yes, fuck! I’m gonna fill you with my cum.”

Gi-hun smiled, even with tears streaming, taking all he could in his mouth. When about to choke, he gave a signal. But the controlled In-ho disappeared, replaced by a completely insane and horny man… and he exploded, cumming down Gi-hun’s throat, fulfilling the promise, filling him entirely, letting out a moan so long and loud Gi-hun thought it echoed through the whole car.

To Gi-hun’s surprise, his own orgasm came early, violent, and delicious, making him moan. He stained the leather seat and car floor.

Then In-ho released him, panting and trembling, still under the orgasmic effect, arched his spine, bent down, and kissed him, tongue invading his mouth.

“I told you to stay quiet,” said Gi-hun, recovering, cleaning himself, and laughing. “Seems your control isn’t that strong?”

“When it comes to you, I even surprise myself,” In-ho smiled, caressing his face. “It’s okay, I was…”

“I provoked this, it was exactly what I wanted,” Gi-hun laughed, sitting on his lap.

“You swallowed me… liked it? Didn’t even give you a chance to spit…”

“Not that bad. I feel depraved with you.”

Then In-ho kissed him again, tasting himself. His hands went down to the member…

“Wow… you too.”

“Yes, I came just seeing you coming in my mouth,” Gi-hun said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t start thinking you’re the…”

He couldn’t finish; In-ho grabbed him by the ass with both hands, pulling him up so his face was in front of Gi-hun’s semi-hard cock, and devoured it too, sucking and cleaning the remaining cum.

Gi-hun writhed, completely sensitive, holding his shoulders. In-ho sat him back on his lap, and they stayed there a long time, kissing, unaware the car had stopped and they had arrived home.

“Ah, damn, In-ho, I forgot the driver… he must have…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, embarrassment taking over.

“Ah… sucked me so much and now you’re embarrassed?” teased In-ho, receiving an indignant look.

" And you…? Who would’ve thought the Frontman would melt over a blowjob?" Gi-hun retorted, raising an eyebrow.

In-ho laughed.

"I'm not melting. You’re the one who does this to me," he said, grabbing Gi-hun by the waist and turning him on the car seat, laying him on his side. He removed his mask and did the same with Gi-hun’s.

"You're going to fuck me here?" Gi-hun asked.

"Not just here," In-ho smiled, pulling off the rest of his clothes. "But it’s a start, we’ve got the whole night. Can you handle it, old man?"

"Look who’s talking," Gi-hun laughed. "You don’t seem that young either. How old are you?"

"You're only a year older," In-ho replied with a smile, leaning in to kiss him.

Gi-hun swallowed any insult he might have offered; In-ho’s kisses had the power to throw him off balance.

They stayed like that for a while, kissing and caressing each other until they were ready again. He grabbed a condom from his pocket along with some more lube.

"I want it without a condom," Gi-hun requested. "Strangely, I trust you."

"Are you sure?" In-ho asked, kissing all over his neck.

"Yes…" Gi-hun moaned, throwing his head back.

In-ho didn’t wait, applying a generous amount of gel and massaging his anus, inserting a finger. Gi-hun’s spine arched and his mouth opened.

"You receive me so well," In-ho said, adding two more fingers and starting a slow in-and-out. "So good…"

"Fuck me… fuck me, In-ho, please!" Gi-hun begged, moaning and rolling his eyes nonstop. "In-ho…"

His name escaped his lips like a prayer. Soon, Gi-hun felt the first thrust; the pleasure was sharp and dizzying. The slow beginnings quickly turned into fast, hard thrusts. In-ho held his waist firmly, keeping him in place while fucking him hard and fast.

"Do you like it like this, love?" he asked, completely aroused.

"Yes… yesss," Gi-hun moaned, grinding his ass endlessly.

In-ho stopped, receiving a disapproving look from Gi-hun.

"Come on, bounce on me!"

He sat up and placed Gi-hun on his lap, penetrating him again. His hands gripped Gi-hun’s waist. Gi-hun started bouncing strongly, moving up and down with force, while In-ho reached down to masturbate himself.

Throwing his head back, Gi-hun picked up more momentum, grinding with abandon against In-ho’s thrusts. He felt as if something was tearing inside him, while waves of pleasure ran through his body, making his cock rock hard.

"Ah… that feels so good…" Gi-hun moaned.

Gi-hun’s hands held In-ho’s face as he bounced and ground. With a precise movement, he drove him to climax. In-ho let out a hoarse groan, his body twisting in pleasure until he exploded in a powerful orgasm. Gi-hun followed, shivering.

When the peak passed, Gi-hun collapsed onto his body, completely spent.

"Let’s go to the bedroom…"

Gi-hun’s eyes widened, shocked; now he couldn’t handle anything more.

"In-ho, if you…"

In-ho bit his lip, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.

"I’ll give you an hour’s break… but soon enough, you’ll beg for more," he whispered against his mouth, pulling him into a voracious kiss, licking his lips.

"You're going to kill me," Gi-hun replied.

"Only with lust," In-ho joked, picking him up and carrying him out of the car. "Let’s go, Mr. Hwang, we have a lot ahead, and I want to try you in every corner of this house."

"I’m fucked," Gi-hun whispered, sleepy, smiling.

"Literally and completely, but now let’s head to our bedroom."

And then he fell asleep, exhausted, in In-ho’s arms.

————

Gi-hun woke up slowly, staring at the ceiling of the room. Gradually, the memory of the previous night returned: the party, all that tension and… moans, sighs, sweat, and In-ho.

He turned to the side and saw the man asleep; his forehead was slightly furrowed. Gi-hun placed a finger there to smooth out the tension, and soon In-ho’s expression returned to serene. Looking like this, he seemed so harmless. Gi-hun traced every line of his face carefully.

Then he felt a soreness at the back, exactly where he had been touched, rolled over, and thoroughly used all night. Although it was a little painful, he didn’t regret anything that had happened.

"I’ll get a painkiller," In-ho said in a hoarse voice, suddenly hugging him and startling him.

"You were awake?"

"Kind of," he replied, opening his eyes groggily and pulling Gi-hun toward him. "Does it hurt a lot?"

"A little, but nothing I can’t handle."

In-ho kissed his shoulder while caressing his waist.

"Your English is perfect. How about calling your daughter…?"

Gi-hun sat up in bed, tense. Yes, there wasn’t a day he didn’t think about Ga-young, but he didn’t have the courage to speak to her. She probably hated him.

"Gi-hun?" In-ho called.

"My daughter must hate me. I… I can’t."

"She might be upset, Gi-hun, which is normal. But she doesn’t hate you; it’s hard for that to happen."

"I can’t," he shook his head.

"It’s okay, I won’t force you, but think about it, alright?"

"Alright…" he said, half unsure. "You’re not going running?"

"That can wait. Now I have another kind of exercise to do," In-ho pulled Gi-hun back into bed, nibbling all over his neck.

"You’re crazy! You fucked me all night and still want more? What are you, a machine?"

"A fucking machine, Seong Gi-hun," In-ho grinned wickedly. "I like that."

"You’re insane…"

"You said it wasn’t hurting much. Can you handle one more?"

"I’m going to hit you," Gi-hun laughed, trying to push him, but eventually gave up. He climbed on top of In-ho, pinning him to the bed. "Very well then, Hwang In-ho… I’ll make sure you get tired."

"Go ahead… this is our honeymoon."

"Is it?" He rubbed his ass against his cock.

"Yep, we started last night, so let’s enjoy it…"

And then… they began their long-awaited… naughty honeymoon.

——————

In-ho had never imagined he could experience such intense and happy moments like this. It had seemed impossible before, but now… it was as if all the darkness surrounding his life was something distant. What Gi-hun made him feel no longer scared him; it was something he simply accepted, and he didn’t want to stop feeling it anymore.

This honeymoon phase was wonderful.

He smiled as he spotted Gi-hun after finishing his daily run around the grounds. His husband was sitting on a bench in the garden, in front of the gym, eating an ice cream with his "bodyguards."

In-ho walked past him and gave a wink, noticing his husband’s flushed cheeks, and headed straight to the gym. As he felt Gi-hun’s eyes on him, and when the two women stepped aside, he gave a naughty smile, pulled off his sweat-soaked shirt, fully aware of the effect it had on Gi-hun, and started doing exercises on the bar right in front of him. It was quite a sight. He moved slowly, showcasing the tension in his muscles.

And he got the attention he wanted.

What came next hit him immediately: Gi-hun began sucking the popsicle provocatively, staring at him intently, making mouth movements so explicit it was like saying, "This is what I do with you."

In-ho trembled on the bar, losing strength and breath. There was no way not to imagine his husband sucking his cock. And Gi-hun had found exactly the rhythm he liked. His body reacted instantly.

He let go of the bar, chuckled, and turned to try to regain his composure while drinking some water.

"I'm ready," Gi-hun said, entering the gym and pretending nothing had happened.

In-ho played along:

"I'm in a good mood today. You choose what you want to do," he replied, looking at him.

"Wow… I get to choose? My cruel trainer disappeared?" Gi-hun feigned surprise, opening his mouth. "And still in a good mood? Who should I thank for that? Your husband?"

A half-smile formed on In-ho’s face at the tease.

"I believe his husband knows very well what he does to make you happy, and he’ll like it even more after seeing some results here."

Gi-hun raised his hands in surrender:

"Alright, General Hwang," he said, placing his hands on his forehead as if thinking. "I want the ring today."

In-ho let out a chuckle and raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, let’s see what you’ve got…"

"If I knock you down, do I get a reward?" Gi-hun asked, stepping into the ring.

"If… you manage to knock me down, you’ll have… you can choose," In-ho said, climbing into the ring.

Gi-hun assumed an attack stance while In-ho, completely calm, just provoked him with hand gestures.

When Gi-hun lunged at him, In-ho dodged the attacks and laughed:

"Slow down, you’ll hurt yourself," he warned, blocking the blows.

"I want to hit you at least once," his husband said, frustrated. "There’s no way you’re this wall; I’ll put an end to it!"

In-ho laughed again, dodging another attack:

"Your agility improved, love, you just need to be faster…"

"Faster? Alright then."

Gi-hun charged with everything, trying to land a hit. In-ho laughed and pulled him close, pressing his cock against Gi-hun’s ass…

That delicious ass!

Then Gi-hun took advantage of the distraction and placed his hands on In-ho’s cock, squeezing. In-ho moaned, and then Gi-hun brought him down to the ground.

"I did it!" he shouted, making a victory gesture.

In-ho laughed, propping himself on his elbows on the mat:

"You cheated."

"Well, do you think the fight is fair?"

"Alright, smarty, you got me. And now? What reward do you want?"

In a quick move, In-ho wrapped his legs around him, taking him down as well, and immediately went on top of him.

Gi-hun smiled, biting his lips:

"How about going out?"

"Going out…"

"Yes, I want to see my friends, please. And also get out of here for a bit."

In-ho rolled his eyes and rubbed the tip of his nose against his:

"What wouldn’t I do for you? Alright…"

"Really?" Gi-hun asked.

"Yes, but with one condition too," In-ho paused. "I want you to call your daughter."

"In-ho, we talked…"

"Gi-hun," he interrupted, "no need to be afraid, she’ll understand, even if she reacts strangely. Talk to your daughter."

For a few seconds, Gi-hun remained silent, his breath still heavy. He seemed lost in his own thoughts. He swallowed hard.

"You’re right… I need to call her," he said in a low voice, full of weight and longing. "I’m scared, but I’ll try."

In-ho kissed him, smiling:

"Closed deal then?"

"Yes… but I said I’ll try…"

"Perfect. Now let’s seal it another way," In-ho said, kissing his neck, discarding the rest of his clothes, and pulling Gi-hun close.

Chapter Text

Gi-hun felt his sticky hands as he stared at the laptop in front of him. Anxiety was through the roof. He tried to get up from In-ho’s office chair, but felt his husband’s large hands push him back down, keeping him seated.

"This was a bad idea, let’s give up," he said, staring at the photo of Ga-young for the international call. He had convinced In-ho to make the video call and now he was panicking.

They waited for the scheduled time. Five minutes to go.

"No… we’re not giving up," In-ho said, kissing the top of his head. "You’re going to be fine."

He tried to move away, but felt Gi-hun’s hands holding his.

"Stay with me. Please."

His eyes were completely pleading, full of worry and fear. In-ho smiled, stroking Gi-hun’s hands with his thumb.

"Alright, I’ll just get a chair."

Gi-hun nodded and released him, watching every movement closely. Meanwhile, he thought of his little girl, how much she must have grown… and how much of her life he had missed. Did she remember his face?

In-ho placed the chair beside him and smiled, pointing to the time.

"I’m here by your side, it’ll be okay," he said confidently.

Gi-hun took a deep breath and clicked to start the call. One ring… two rings… three…

She answered, and the camera turned on. In-ho straightened up, keeping a neutral expression. Gi-hun, on the other hand, trembled, moved, and felt emotional seeing his daughter transformed into a young lady.

"Appa?" The sweet voice of his little girl melted any fear in his heart.

Wow, how he had missed her. She had grown so much in these three years.

"Hi, my love," he said, smiling as tears escaped.

Ga-young crossed her arms and made a pouty face, the same she used when she was angry at him. Gi-hun laughed; he saw so much of himself in her. Ga-young’s mother said something in English to make her behave.

"Hey, he leaves me for three years, promises to come… and I have to smile. He seems fine, no loan sharks around," she said, sticking her tongue out at someone. They heard laughter, and then she looked at the screen, right next to Gi-hun. "There’s an uncle beside him… is he the new loan shark?"

Gi-hun almost hung up quickly but controlled himself.

"He’s not a loan shark, he’s my…" he replied in English, almost laughing at his daughter’s surprised expression. He glanced at In-ho, unsure how to introduce him; they hadn’t talked much about their relationship.

"I’m your father’s best friend," In-ho said, stepping closer. "Not a loan shark." He gave a teasing smile.

Gi-hun bit his tongue to avoid saying the truth, but smiled.

"Dad can speak English, Mom. And the uncle next to him can too," Ga-young said, laughing and raising an eyebrow, then returning to a serious expression. "I thought your best friend was Uncle Jung-bae."

Clever girl… Gi-hun ignored In-ho’s reaction at the mention of Jung-bae.

"Yes, he is too. This is Hwang In-ho. My… best friend, along with Jung-bae."

"Alright, nice to meet you then… but you look like a rich loan shark."

"Ga-young…" he heard her mother scold.

"Sorry, just kidding," she said, lowering her head, letting her hair cover her face. "When are you coming to see me?"

"Soon. I promise."

"I don’t believe your promises, Dad, I need you here," she crossed her arms again. "Maybe I’ll start forgiving you if you come."

In-ho laughed.

"Alright then… smart girl. When you least expect it, I’ll be by your side."

"But you’re speaking English to me," she said excitedly. "When did you learn?"

"Some time ago, thanks to this uncle here. And I agree with you, he does look like a rich loan shark," Gi-hun joked.

"Yes…! I saw a horror movie recently about men like that; they can lure you into dangerous things…" She made a face and shivered.

Gi-hun laughed, and even In-ho smiled, unaware that the tension in his shoulders was easing. Still, Ga-young reminded him at every moment that he had left her.

"Forgive me for everything, baby, I really am sorry. I promise I’ll do my best to make up for lost time," he said tenderly, emotional.

"It’s okay, I hope you come soon and call me every day," she requested with a small smile. "And Dad… you’re really good, you’re amazing."

"I’m amazing? What do you mean by that?"

She laughed and rolled her eyes.

"I’ll teach you some slang. I mean you look handsome."

In-ho laughed softly.

"I agree with her," he whispered.

Gi-hun tapped him discreetly, out of camera view. The conversation lasted a few more minutes, and they said goodbye reluctantly. Ga-young had dance class, and he promised to call every day until he could visit her.

When he closed the laptop and looked at In-ho, calling him to sit on the office sofa, he sighed.

"When will I be able to go to her?"

"When it’s safe. I can’t do it in the black square. But you’ll see her soon, I promise," In-ho assured with a smile. "See? It wasn’t so bad."

"No, but she seemed very upset. I understand, I’d be the same in her place…"

"It’ll pass soon, you two have a very strong bond," In-ho smiled.

"In-ho, what about your brother?" Gi-hun asked, analyzing him.

His expression changed abruptly; his jaw tightened, shoulders tense, eyes sharp.

"My situation is very different from yours, love. We both shot at each other," he said calmly.

Here In-ho was right, but… they had both also tried to kill each other and were now in this crazy kind of relationship.

"But he wanted to find you, he was really trying," Gi-hun argued.

"Gi-hun is different," In-ho replied, firmer, a gloomy humor in his tone.

"Alright, I won’t insist," he said quickly, putting his hands on his shoulder. "Sorry."

"It’s okay," In-ho pulled him into his lap and hugged him.

There was nothing sexual there, just a moment of tenderness. Gi-hun sighed. They still needed to talk about everything… they needed to define what they really were.

"In-ho, everything you told me about your wife and the games… it was true?"

"Yes, everything… I lost her when I played the first game, and if it weren’t for Il-nam, maybe I wouldn’t be here today."

Gi-hun pondered for a moment, trying to process it all. For him, it was still hard to accept the games. He would never understand how they could do that to others.

He noticed the ring on In-ho’s hand, after he had taken off Gi-hun’s a little before the video call. He didn’t want to do it, but how could he explain to Ga-young…

They finally needed a serious conversation. Gi-hun got off his lap and sat beside him, adopting a more serious position with sharp, yet affectionate eyes.

"In-ho, you know I’ll never accept the games, right?" he began.

"Yes, I know."

He sighed.

"And what are we, really? I know you didn’t want this and we entered this forced relationship to save me."

In-ho laughed.

"You’re so smart and innocent," he said, placing a hand on his face, stroking Gi-hun’s cheek. "Do you really think I didn’t want this?" He tilted his head slightly, sweet expression. "My body wanted you long before… my heart was taken when we were in the games together, even if my mind hadn’t realized it yet. It wasn’t forced…" He paused to look at him. "I love you, Gi-hun."

His breathing changed, eyes filled with tears. He laughed while In-ho helped wipe them quickly.

"I don’t know exactly when it happened, but I already loved you when I proposed this, just trying to understand my feelings," In-ho said affectionately. "I thought it was obvious; I confessed to you when we made love so many times."

Gi-hun’s cheeks turned red, remembering every declaration of In-ho, often on the brink of climax.

"Tch!" he rolled his eyes. "I thought it was just lust talking."

"I didn’t say these things when I was lustful and having sex, no. But with you… I do things I never imagined," In-ho said, raising an eyebrow, expression serious. "Did you?"

"I… n…"

"Gi-hun, you don’t say this to just anyone…" In-ho’s face darkened, he growled irritatedly and went to the office liquor cabinet.

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow. This was fun; seeing In-ho jealous over a guess.

He got up, slowly walked behind him, hugged him from behind, wrapping his hands around In-ho’s waist, kissing the little nape and prominent vein, hearing his husky sigh.

"No, I never did that with anyone," Gi-hun reassured.

Though he hadn’t done it with In-ho either, he would save that for a more appropriate moment. For now, everything was fine.

Their hands joined, and In-ho turned, wrapping his hand around Gi-hun’s slim waist, bringing him to the office desk, standing between his legs.

He took the ring from beside him and put it back on Gi-hun.

"You’re my husband, that’s the truth. It’s not about pressure or saving… it’s just what we really are, honestly, without lies or survival urges."

Gi-hun smiled and pressed his forehead to his.

"Then would my husband do something for me?"

In-ho gave a charming smile, keeping a warm expression and penetrating gaze.

"Tell me, what do you want?" he asked, low and seductive.

Gi-hun ignored the reactions of his body.

"Well, there’s no way to stop being the Frontman, right?"

In-ho’s sensual expression faded, surprising Gi-hun, and became careful.

"I told the truth, only dying."

Gi-hun frowned, looking at him seriously.

"You hate the VIPs as much as I do. So why insist on this, In-ho? For what?"

In-ho took a deep breath, looking away for a moment, weighing every word.

"Because, while I’m in there, I still have some power. Even if small. If I leave now, they’ll replace me in minutes… and then I won’t have a chance to change anything."

Gi-hun replied immediately:

"And is it worth submitting to them for that?"

In-ho sighed, staring at him intensely.

"It’s not worth it… but it’s the only way I found to not make things worse than they already are."

"But…" Gi-hun’s heart raced, remembering the games and everything they went through. "I’m scared, that place… why do you need that? Let them deal with that horrible place, get out of it for me."

In-ho stayed quiet, shook his head, pressing his forehead to his, watching Gi-hun’s panic form.

"Calm down, come here," he hugged him tightly, kissing his neck.

"Please, In-ho, get out of that. I know you’ll find a way. I don’t want you there either. Stay with me, we can run far away."

"I’ve thought about that many times, but…" he sighed. "If I were alone, it would be ideal. But if I do that with you, they’ll go after who you love anyway. I’ll think of something, don’t worry."

"Could you sleep peacefully while in that hell?"

"It’ll be okay, Gi-hun, stay calm."

Gi-hun held his face.

"Then just promise me one thing… don’t lose yourself in that game."

"I promise," In-ho kissed him gently and firmly. "Now, about you seeing your friends, how about tomorrow?"

Gi-hun smiled.

"Can I really go?"

"Of course, I’ll go too. It’s safer with me there; even if someone from the black square is following, they won’t be able to do anything. I’m still the top authority among them."

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow and ran his hands down his body, reaching the waistband of his pants.

"You know, talking like that…"

In-ho bit his lips, trying not to moan, as Gi-hun slipped his hands inside his pants, massaging him, making him fully hard.

In-ho raised an eyebrow and shoved him hard onto the desk. Gi-hun fell and smiled as he felt In-ho’s hand on his neck, squeezing, but not really hurting.

"I want to hear you beg, player 456." he whispered seductively, as if he were the Frontman.

That shouldn’t have sounded so sexy… but his entire body shuddered, as if every expression of pain had turned into pure forbidden desire. His member stiffened so much it throbbed, and he gasped.

In-ho didn’t say anything, he just stripped him and fulfilled what he promised: strong, rough… and delicious.

Making them forget all the worries that had been tormenting them. There, between moans and ragged breaths, nothing else existed except the two of them.

———————

In-ho heard laughter around them. There he was, with Gi-hun at that gathering with friends. He slipped back into the Young-il persona; his husband had questioned earlier how he would appear beside him, and of course, he couldn’t reveal that he was the Frontman. It was enough that Hyun-jun knew, and by the looks of it, she kept the secret. It was so easy to get back into character that he ignored Gi-hun’s half-narrowed glances as he began telling the story of how he survived.

What impressed him the most was seeing everyone happier to see him than Gi-hun himself. Later, he wouldn’t miss the chance to rub it in. They were all at a restaurant, a small get-together.

“Sir, I’m still so glad you’re alive,” Dae-ho commented, smiling at him.

“It wasn’t easy, that Frontman seems to have a heart,” In-ho said, glancing at Gi-hun next to Jung-bae.

“I still think it’s all very weird,” Jung-bae sighed, whispering something to Gi-hun.

In-ho tried to ignore the unfriendly thoughts about him; he hated seeing him so close to his husband, hated that Gi-hun was so playful… with him, it wasn’t like that. His expression began to turn irritated when Jun-hee appeared with the baby in her arms.

“Do you want to hold her for a bit?”

“M-me?” he seemed surprised but couldn’t refuse.

Jun-hee handed him the baby. Holding that tiny little being, In-ho’s heart almost melted. For a moment, he felt tears threaten to fall, and he controlled himself as best he could.

“Kim Yu-ri is a beautiful name,” he said, looking at Jun-hee.

“Yes… are you okay?”

“I’m…,” In-ho smiled, looking at the baby. “I was just thinking about what it’s like to have a baby in your arms.”

“Guys, I’m curious about something,” Dae-ho said, putting a piece of meat in his mouth. “Who won that shit? Do you know?” He turned to Gi-hun.

“No, I… I don’t know. The Frontman took me off the island before,” Gi-hun replied.

In-ho raised an eyebrow while looking at the baby.

“He helped you guys too?” Gyeong-seok asked.

“Who?” Gi-hun questioned.

“The Frontman. He helped all of us, paid my debt, and changed my daughter’s hospital, which received exemplary treatment.”

“Ah, mine too,” Yong-sik said. “I’m even working now.

“That wasn’t supposed to be mentioned,” the lady said. “He made that clear in the message. Can’t you guys keep your mouths shut?”

In-ho observed Gi-hun’s shocked expression and, looking at him, a small smile appeared on his face as he pretended to play with the baby.

“And he let you go, right?” Jung-bae asked, looking at Gi-hun.

“Y-yes…” he replied, still eyes on In-ho.

“And what are you two doing?” Dae-ho asked, curious, pointing at both of them. “You keep communicating with your eyes… we even bet that you were checking each other out, and now it really seems like you are…”

In-ho shot a challenging look at the guy.

“Alright, friend. Enough!” Hyun-jun interrupted, shoving a large piece of meat into his friend’s mouth.

Gi-hun laughed again.

“It’s so good to see you guys well.”

“Let’s toast, then, to the life we have now and our friendship,” the lady said.

In-ho raised his glass but didn’t take his eyes off Gi-hun. His husband kept smiling, relaxed, so different from the one who was always tense at home… There among friends, he seemed lighter… seemed happier. That hurt.

In-ho tightened his grip on the glass when the baby returned to her mother’s arms. He pretended to toast along, but Gi-hun’s laughter echoed louder in his ears than any clinking glasses. He laughed in a way that wasn’t meant for him. Never was. And he still had to endure Jung-bae touching him almost all the time.

Ah, couldn’t that man talk without touching him?

Hidden behind the Young-il persona, In-ho just kept a discreet smile, promising himself that later he would make sure Gi-hun remembered who was really by his side—and who deserved that beautiful, pathetic smile. Gi-hun was his. Only his.

When dinner ended and all the friends left, almost all drunk, except Jun-hee, Dae-ho insisted on the chemistry he and Gi-hun had. In a way, he wasn’t wrong, he just didn’t like being exposed like that. While the two stayed there a little longer, In-ho ordered two more bottles of soju.

“I think I owe you this, don’t I?” the husband asked, referring to the soju promised during the games. “You look cute when you’re jealous.”

He crossed his arms, watching Gi-hun.

“So you noticed?”

“How not? I know my husband,” Gi-hun replied with slight arrogance. “I know very well when he’s stressed, happy, emotional… but I still haven’t learned to read when he hides things from me and doesn’t want me to know he has a good heart.”

In-ho shook his head and picked up the soju bottle, pouring a little into a glass.

“I didn’t do it for them, I did it for you.”

“Is that what you think?” Gi-hun asked.

“They’re important to you, so automatically they’re important to me too,” he sighed. “I did it just to make you happy, but I don’t think I’ll ever get a smile like the one you gave me all night.”

Gi-hun laughed.

“I really want to kiss you now,” he whispered softly. “You accomplished much more, In-ho: you have me, I have fun with you too, and a lot,” he said, giving a smile that reached his emotional eyes. “You don’t know how hard I had to hold myself back from hugging you when I found out what you did. No need to be jealous, I’m yours; no one will take me from you.”

“Not even Jung-bae.”

“Ah, never!” He made a face. “No one, only you! By the way, Jung-bae isn’t even my type, and you made Young-il”—he teased.

In-ho huffed, taking another sip.

“You didn’t notice, but you are Young-il the entire time with me at home,” Gi-hun observed with a smile. “Well, finishing the soju, but I’m dying to go to our house, to our bed and…”

Before he could finish, In-ho grabbed his wallet and stood up abruptly, hearing his laughter. As soon as they finished paying, they left the bar and went to the motorcycle.

“I’m going to make you remember the name you moan when we’re behind closed doors.”

“Please! Do it,” Gi-hun said, giving a little kiss on his neck. “Tie me again?” he asked as In-ho put on the helmets.

“You’re going to be my end,” In-ho said, starting the bike, more eager than ever to get home.

————

In-ho heard the phone buzzing beside him and saw that it was 3:00 a.m. The VIPs had scheduled a meeting for 3:30. Next to him, Gi-hun slept clinging to him, his expression serene and satisfied. When they’d gotten home, they hadn’t wanted to do anything else — they’d gone straight to bed, giving in to a few doses of fiery sex.

A smile appeared on his face when he noticed the hickeys scattered across Gi-hun’s body. In-ho kissed the top of his head tenderly and, carefully, untangled himself from the embrace. Gi-hun mumbled, rolled to the side and grabbed the pillow.

“In-ho… don’t pull us apart like that…” he murmured sleepily. “In-ho, no, not here!”

He chuckled softly and curled up. In-ho stifled his own laugh, kissed his cheek and left the bed.

In the bathroom, he splashed water on his face and saw the big red mark on his neck.

“Damn…” he laughed, but left it. His clothes would cover it.

He went to the office, locked the door and put on the Frontman’s uniform.

———

Half an hour later, he was ready. The video came up and all the VIPs appeared. The meeting began. But something caught his attention: the black square. What the hell was it doing there?

In-ho tried his best to stay in control. His hands trembled in clenched fists, his jaw tight.

“Before you start wondering what’s happening, Frontman, we’ve made a joint decision,” began the VIP with the snake mask. “You and the black square are in conflict.”

“He tried to kill my husband.” In-ho’s voice was firm. “By our rules, he deserves to die.”

“I agree,” said the VIP with the dog mask.

“However… we like you both.” The female VIP smiled. “We love games, you know that well, Frontman. And to put an end to this awkward tension, we’re proposing something. All you have to do is accept.”

A chill ran down In-ho’s spine when the snake mask smiled almost like a human being. “What would that be?” he asked.

“So, Frontman… and black square,” she said, looking directly at him, “we’re eager for a death game. Whoever catches the other first wins. Whoever loses… dies.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Laughter and whispers echoed among the VIPs, and each masked gaze seemed to slice through In-ho like a blade.

He felt his rage rise, mixed with restrained panic. It wasn’t just a game; it was a ritual, a display of power. They weren’t there to have fun — they were there to crush any shred of freedom.

“And what does the winner get?” he asked, his voice low and firm but full of tension.

“The title of Frontman,” answered the snake VIP with a theatrical pause, “and the chance to go on living… or to watch everyone you love suffer.”

The cameras focused on each mask. Every expression radiated sadistic pleasure, as if the threat itself was pure entertainment.

In-ho swallowed hard. His heart was pounding, breathing was difficult. He wanted to scream, to smash the screen, to rip off those masks. But he couldn’t. He had to survive.

“No. If I win — and I will win — I want a different prize.”

“What would that be?” asked the VIP, intrigued.

“My freedom. I want to be completely free of being the Frontman.”

A deadly silence fell over the room. All the VIPs stared at him, motionless. And for a moment, it felt as though the entire world had stopped breathing.

Chapter Text

In-ho felt the entire world holding its breath—and knew that that request, so bold and audacious, had just angered everyone there. But the silence was also powerful, as if they were genuinely surprised by his demand.

A collective whisper swept through the room, almost inaudible, followed by short, cold, and sadistic laughs. Now, they had entertainment and began to enjoy themselves.

A VIP tilted their head, eyes visible through the mask, shining with pleasure.

"Freedom?" they repeated, as if it were the greatest joke in the world. "Do you think we will let you go?"

"What’s the difference from what you’re proposing then? If I die…"

"That’s quite different, Frontman," the VIP with the snake mask intervened. "Your friend, Il-nam, created the rules of the game, and the Frontman cannot be dismissed, nor anyone else, just because they want it. There is only one way out: dying."

"So you really want me dead." He leaned back in his chair, the mask hiding his rage.

"And why do you want out?" the female VIP with the cat mask asked. "You never showed interest in stopping, you even liked it."

"Because yes. My personal life is not up for discussion here like yours. I can suggest another Frontman, as capable as I am, it could even be Black Square… yet, I want him dead more than ever, and I myself want the pleasure of saying that."

The dog-masked VIP scratched his head.

"Has this happened before?"

"No," said the VIP with the bear mask, one of the elder assembly members. "But I believe we must consider his request. Il-nam trusted this Frontman blindly; I’m sure he would have given him what he asked."

Some VIPs still seemed to disagree; the others agreed.

"Let’s take a vote…" suggested the goat-masked VIP. "In all these years he has served us, we’ve had no problems, and the games were exemplary. It will be a shame to lose him; he was a wonderful strategist."

"Alright, we’ll be back in five minutes."

The screen went dark for him. In-ho stood there, lost, feeling each anguished beat of his heart. More than ever, he wanted to stop being the Frontman; he no longer feared for himself, but for Gi-hun. Every passing minute was relentless agony.

When the screen finally lit up, they all had a verdict.

"We agree!" said the eldest VIP. "If you win, you get your freedom."

Black Square leaned back. The snake-masked VIP leaned forward, studying him like prey.

"Interesting…" they murmured, their lips covering a voice of silent venom. "We’ll see if you can survive this."

The other VIPs remained motionless, but the gleam in their eyes showed that all of this could cost dearly. In-ho took a deep breath, feeling every muscle in his body tense. He knew there was no turning back — and that this battle for freedom would be even crueller than any previous game.

"Let the chase begin…"

"In one week…" said Frontman. "I’m still on my honeymoon, don’t ruin it." He showed the ring on his hand. "In one week, see you then, gentlemen."

Then he left the call without waiting for their response.

In-ho removed the mask, feeling everything even more suffocating. Sweat ran down his face from pure stress. He had one week to prepare and… to stay with Gi-hun.

Taking off his Frontman uniform, he unlocked the door and returned to the bedroom, watching his husband move and rub his face, trying to process everything.

"In-ho? What…"

"Shh… go back to sleep, it’s still early."

"Why weren’t you in bed?" Gi-hun asked, pouting.

"I went to the bathroom," he replied, lying down and pulling Gi-hun to him. His chest pressed against his, hands caressing his hair. "What’s up? Did you miss me?"

"Yeah. I’m getting used to sleeping with you; I don’t have as many nightmares." He said, embarrassed. "Sleeping next to you feels good."

"That’s your way of saying you love me," In-ho joked, kissing his head and resting his cheek on Gi-hun’s chest.

"Keep dreaming…" he laughed and hugged In-ho tighter.

Soon his breathing slowed, and when In-ho realized it, he had already fallen asleep. He allowed himself to fall asleep too, savoring those moments of peace and love.

—————

As the days passed, Gi-hun could no longer ignore it: something was different about In-ho. His husband was more melancholic than usual, carrying a sweet affection in his gaze while hiding a silent sadness. He spoke less, made fewer jokes, and seemed to live on constant alert.

The confirmation came on the mat, after a training session. Gi-hun applied, almost without realizing, a move that In-ho himself had taught him—and knocked him down easily, for the first time.

Breathless, still on the floor, he watched as In-ho approached, lifted him into his arms, and caressed his face with rare tenderness.

"You’ve improved a lot… I’m proud of you," he murmured, rubbing his nose against his before kissing him.

The kiss was slow, deep, loaded with a silent urgency. It was as if In-ho wanted to memorize every curve of his mouth, every breath. For long moments, they lost themselves in each other, pausing only to breathe before continuing.

"You’ve been acting strange lately…" Gi-hun said with nervous laughter, trying to figure him out. "You even seem more affectionate. It’s a little scary."

"And can’t I be?" In-ho raised an eyebrow, sliding his hand down Gi-hun’s back.

"Of course, you can. I like it…" he admitted, staring at him closely. "But I wanted to understand why these intense eyes carry so much sadness."

"It’s nothing serious, I won’t talk about it now." He smiled, caressing Gi-hun’s cheek.

"I knew it, so there’s something…"

Gi-hun was about to say more when he was interrupted again by a tender kiss. Alright, he wouldn’t ask anything else… for now. But he would find out why In-ho was so anxious.

"What do you think about watching a movie together?"

"A movie? Sounds good… with some snacks and beer." Gi-hun laughed, running his fingers through his hair.

"Anything you want." In-ho smiled, hugging him.

"Perfect, let’s watch something together that isn’t The Matrix. You traumatized me with that red and blue pill talk in the limousine, that time."

"I just wanted to explain that I was right. Simply." In-ho defended himself.

"Simply, In-ho? What’s simple about that movie?" Gi-hun raised an eyebrow. "And I was right; I showed you how things work, the rules were already mine."

"You always have an answer, don’t you, smarty?" In-ho smiled, shaking his head. "It made me go crazy and love you so much. You caught me there, wanting to come back."

"I have a question: did you want to let me return to the game?"

"No," In-ho said simply. "My idea was to put you to sleep, put you on a plane straight to the U.S., to your daughter’s address, a one-way ticket."

Gi-hun laughed.

"And what made you give up?"

"You. A part of me was eager to stay close to you," In-ho said with a sigh. "Well, now we know why."

"Yes, we do." Gi-hun kissed him deeply again. "So let’s take separate showers… because I know you too well, I know it won’t be a normal shower."

"I know myself too; it would never be a normal shower, just looking at you makes me hard."

Gi-hun laughed and teased him:

"You’re so horny."

"And you love it." In-ho countered.

"Really. But let’s leave that for later, let’s watch a movie; now I’m excited." Gi-hun got up with In-ho.

They headed to opposite bathrooms, but not without exchanging a few more passionate kisses along the way. And so went the rest of their day, filled with affection, movies, laughter, and teasing.

That night, they didn’t have sex, only enjoyed each other’s presence—for now, that was enough.

—————

"This damn washing machine!"

Gi-hun grumbled as he turned the laundry machine on again, suppressing the urge to kick it. He read the instructions and set the program.

He could never get used to that technological thing. Even though In-ho had already explained how it worked, he never got it right and preferred the communal laundries a thousand times over.

The program started, and Gi-hun breathed a sigh of relief. But as he was about to leave the laundry room, the machine shook, moving from its place, choked, and started throwing soap and clothes everywhere, soaking the entire floor.

"More than crap, no!"

He ran, almost slipping, grabbed onto the machine, and pressed the buttons to turn it off—nothing worked. On the contrary, it shook even more, and the soap shot out.

"What the hell! I just wanted to wash clothes," he muttered, trying to turn off the electric machine, swearing loudly.

"Love…" In-ho arrived at the door, out of breath, watching that chaotic and comical scene of Gi-hun, soaked, trembling, holding onto the machine, shouting insults at it, with soap bubbles covering his body and floating in the air.

Gi-hun wished a hole would open. In-ho simply approached carefully, wrapped an arm around his waist, and pressed a button—the machine stopped, releasing the last jet of soap.

"This thing hates me, it’s impossible."

In-ho laughed and turned to him.

"Come, let’s get cleaned up." He held Gi-hun firmly by the waist.

"Careful not to…"

Before he could finish, Gi-hun slipped while trying to walk, leaned on his husband, and he did the same. They tried to take a few steps, then truly slipped on the wet floor.

They fell, and In-ho only had time to place his hands under Gi-hun’s head to protect him and fell on top of him.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, shocked and breathless, then laughed amidst soap bubbles and water.

"My chaotic husband, what am I going to do with you?" he asked with a charming smile.

"I can give you an idea." He replied mischievously.

Gi-hun held both of In-ho’s hands on his face and kissed him. In-ho reciprocated with latent desire, and within seconds, the simple kiss became hungry, desperate.

Their clothes were hastily removed. The cold of the night mattered little; the heat of their bodies was enough to melt any surrounding ice.

In-ho’s mouth explored every inch of him—kisses, hickeys, long licks. It was as if he wanted to imprint Gi-hun on his skin, leaving him marked just for himself. When he reached his throbbing erection, he treated it with the same care, but with even more voracious intensity.

Gi-hun writhed under his tongue. He loved being sucked by In-ho, who always pushed him to the limit effortlessly. He was about to climax when suddenly, his husband stopped.

A teasing smile appeared on In-ho’s wet lips.

"Tell me something?" Gi-hun asked between moans, as his glans was sucked again, receiving flicks of the tongue that made him arch his back.

"Hm… say it…" In-ho replied, going back to take him into his mouth.

Gi-hun gripped the wet strands of his hair, arching his feet and moaning uncontrollably.

"I… ah…" His breath faltered as the suction increased. "I was wondering if…" he moaned harder, body on fire, "…if you thought about us… while we were at the games?"

Once again, In-ho stopped. The emptiness left him desperate, tears springing from frustration.

"I’m not letting you cum now," he said firmly, voice commanding. "I want this to stay in your head for weeks."

"Love… this is torture…" Gi-hun whimpered, arching his hips.

"Hold on a bit. You’ll see how good it’ll be." He caressed his face tenderly before moving kisses down his body. "I thought about you at the games, yes. Many times. I already desired you there… wanted to kiss that naughty mouth, went crazy with your angry side. Imagined taking you to the bathroom and fucking you hard, or even in one of the beds, with the players asleep. Covering you in kisses to muffle our moans."

The whispered words, loaded with desire, made Gi-hun’s body shiver. Images came one by one, so vivid that his cock throbbed painfully. He moaned loudly, lost between the excitement and In-ho’s deep voice.

"You liked it, didn’t you?" he teased, licking the hard nipples before biting them. "I wouldn’t have resisted anything else, if it were now. But… don’t cum yet, love."

"You saying that makes me…" Gi-hun arched, a deep moan escaping his lips, eyes watering from so much restrained pleasure. "In-ho…" he called, almost pleading.

Without further warning, In-ho lubricated his own fingers, found the path, and, in a sure movement, penetrated him. Gi-hun let out a silent scream, his whole body arching as he felt the thrusts—intense at first, then slow and torturous.

In-ho pressed his body against the soap-slick floor, giving fiery kisses to his neck while penetrating deeper and faster each time.

"Look at me, love…" he commanded, voice punctuated by pleasure. "Don’t stop looking at me."

Gi-hun obeyed, body trembling, lost between lust and that broken gaze that burned with intensity. Each thrust echoed in loud moans, mixed with the obscene sounds of bodies and urgent kisses.

The orgasm exploded inside him like thunder, ripping out a desperate, almost painful but delicious scream. In-ho came right after, cumming hard, filling him inside while pressing his forehead against his, panting his name in a deep moan.

They kissed, still trembling, exhausted from the ecstasy. Then Gi-hun noticed his husband’s wet face. Opening his eyes, he saw that In-ho was crying.

"In-ho, what’s wrong?" he asked, hugging him tightly. "Love, stop hiding it. Tell me what’s happening."

"I booked a ticket for you to see Ga-young tomorrow," he finally said.

Gi-hun almost cheered.

"We’re going to…" but the pause came quickly, chest tightening. "You’re not coming with me?"

In-ho shook his head, a sad smile softening his tear-streaked face.

"I’ll need to go…"

"The games?" Gi-hun asked, distressed. "Already?"

"Unfortunately, I couldn’t do anything." His voice broke along with the tears falling.

Gi-hun held him tighter, as if fearing he would disappear before his eyes. That broken, pained look tore at his heart.

"I don’t like this…"

"I know. I promise you: this will be the last time."

Gi-hun’s eyes widened.

"You’ll stop being Frontman?"

"Yes. For you." In-ho caressed his face gently.

Gi-hun pressed his forehead against his, heart racing.

"I wanted so much for you to be with me and Ga-young. I won’t be able to stay calm knowing you’re alone in that horror again." He shivered. "I have a bad feeling… especially with Black Square.

"Just give me a week. Everything will be fine, don’t worry."

"Do you really promise?" Gi-hun insisted, anxious.

"I promise, my love." he replied affectionately.

The hug that followed was full of contradictions: Gi-hun tried to be happy because he would see his daughter, but the emptiness already throbbed inside him. Just imagining In-ho returning to the island sent a suffocating shiver down him. He didn’t want to let him go.

"I want to tell Ga-young about us, in person. And I want you to be there. I’m serious."

"I’ll come back to you, Gi-hun." In-ho smiled, pressing his forehead against his.

"It’s good. I hate you… for making me want you so much." He sighed, a mix of anger and love.

In-ho chuckled softly, biting his lips and kissing down his chin and neck. Gi-hun tried to resist, but soon he pulled him closer.

"No, you don’t hate me." he murmured in his ear. "Let’s go to the jacuzzi. We’ll stay warm there."

He held his husband’s waist firmly, lifting him into his arms. Gi-hun wrapped himself around his hips, and In-ho walked slowly out of the laundry room.

"And this mess here?"

"Leave it for later. The water will run off… We have another mess to make upstairs." he replied, nibbling Gi-hun’s neck, eliciting a soft laugh.

————————

In-ho looked at the number on the screen and sighed. If there was a moment to send a message to his brother, it was now. Just a few words—a farewell, an explanation, an apology.

"I’m sorry, Jun-ho. Keep being a good cop. You’re doing a great job."

He pressed send, removed the SIM card, and destroyed it. The dry snap of the broken plastic sounded like a full stop. He walked to the office window. Outside, everything was calm. Too calm. The stillness only intensified the storm within him. The deadline had passed. The game would begin.

A knock on the door broke his thoughts. Gi-hun entered, ready and perfumed, dressed to leave. In-ho noticed the golden ring shining on his finger, and a relieved, satisfied smile spread across his face.

"You’re not even coming with me to the airport?" Gi-hun complained.

"If I went…" In-ho tried to joke, but his voice carried melancholy. "I know myself. I wouldn’t be able to let you go."

"Do you really need to do this game?" Gi-hun asked, eyes glistening with deep sadness.

In-ho’s heart nearly broke. Every time his husband looked at him that way, he almost gave up on everything. But this time, he had to be strong—for the both of them. Soon, they could be together, freely. No games. No VIPs.

But first, there was something he needed to do. Something he had been postponing.

"Are you happy with me?" he asked suddenly.

"What?" Gi-hun blinked, incredulous, as if he hadn’t heard correctly. "Of course I am, In-ho."

"Gi-hun… I know what I did wasn’t right. I imprisoned you with me, made you choose when you didn’t want to." In-ho’s heart raced. "You’re free from me now. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to."

"What? You’re breaking up with me?"

"No. Gi-hun. I’m not breaking up." In-ho’s voice came out firm. "I’m freeing you. From the agreement. From the prison I created. I want you to stay with me because you love me, not because you had no choice."

Gi-hun stared at him, mouth agape, tears filling his eyes. As he was about to respond, In-ho raised his hand, stopping him.

"You don’t have to say anything now. Spend some time with your daughter. Later… if you still want, message me. The number’s on your phone."

Tears streamed down Gi-hun’s face. "Why now?"

"Because that’s who I am. And I wanted you to know. If one day you choose me of your own will, it will be our story." In-ho felt his gaze, intense as it had always been. The same gaze that pierced him since the masked days, when he was still Frontman.

He took a deep breath. "No need to be afraid anymore. Everyone you love will stay safe. You too. I do this because I love you. Just wanted you to know."

He glanced at the watch on his wrist.

"Let’s go. You have a plane to catch." In-ho murmured, adjusting his posture like donning armor, while inside, everything screamed not to let him go.

When they reached the car, they said goodbye with a hug and a warm kiss. Gi-hun didn’t say another word, needing to process everything that had happened. In-ho remained there, standing, even after the car drove away. A cold shiver ran down his spine, the emptiness forming even before the game began. The fear wasn’t of danger itself, but of losing Gi-hun—the idea of not seeing him again pierced his chest.

His hands sweated, heart racing. He needed to control himself, to be cold again. The relentless Frontman needed to emerge. I cannot fail. Not now. He must come back to me.

Then his phone vibrated. In-ho picked it up, eyes scanning the screen with a chill contrasting the shiver running through his body.

"I found you!"

A malicious smile formed on his lips. The intention was to lure him right there. Inside that mansion, the game was all his. Every move had to be perfect. No hesitation allowed.

He pressed a red button hidden behind one of the paintings. The lights went out, and intense protections began lowering around the mansion, as if the outside world could no longer touch it. The heavy silence filled the space, broken only by the faint hum of the security systems.

He ascended to the west wing, each step echoing through the empty mansion, feeling the tension accumulate in his shoulders. Calm. Control. Gi-hun needs to trust me. In the room, he pressed another button, and a secret passage opened. Inside, an arsenal of weapons gleamed under discreet lights, every detail carefully organized. Cameras showed every corner of the grounds, even the main road, where armored cars passed slowly, harmless but ever-alert.

He put the vest over his clothes, adjusted the Frontman uniform, mask, and hood. He felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, but also the absolute power of control. Black Square will pay. Today, no one plays better than me.

The game would be interesting. Black Square wouldn’t stand a chance. He was a master of the game—and for the first time in a long while, he felt every muscle, every fiber, ready to prove no one was his equal. Gi-hun will come back to me. I have to make sure of it.

Chapter Text

Gi-hun looked out the car window as they drove through the streets of Seoul toward the airport. He didn’t want to go, at least not now; all his instincts were telling him to turn back… turn back to In-ho, stay with him all the time, go to the games again if necessary.

He was so melancholic, so devastated… something wasn’t right.

And what the hell was that stupid talk? “Freeing him”… did he really think he could set him free now? Did he think he didn’t love him?

On second thought, he had never said back that he loved him, not out loud… and In-ho needed to know — and now, he needed him to understand that he couldn’t live without him anymore, that he had already chosen him when he accepted that proposal.

Gi-hun smiled, feeling his heart race and ache with so much love and affection.

“Girls, I want to go back,” he declared, moving toward the front seat.

“What?” Hyun-jun drove. “But sir, your flight is in an hour.”

“I want to go back, I really want to see my daughter, but not like this. I can’t go without my husband,” he said with a smile. “Go back now!”

He noticed the look Kang No-eul gave Hyun-jun.

“Sir, we can’t go back… The boss was very clear that you had to get on the plane, and…”

Gi-hun frowned, feeling that bad premonition solidify even more.

“Why?”

No-eul sighed and lowered his head; no further words were needed.

“Go back now!”

“Sir, I can’t, that’s not the deal. You’re not supposed to be there.”

“He’s your boss, but he’s my husband. If you don’t do it, I swear I’ll make this car crash. I’ll get out of here one way or another. Go back now!” Gi-hun ordered, his voice firm and loud.

“Ah! Screw it!” Hyun-jun made a dangerous maneuver in the middle of the road, swerving around oncoming cars and taking the other lane, flooring it. “You guys will pay the fine.”

“I’ll pay anything, I just want to see In-ho.”

Every second felt like an eternity; he felt his heart pounding as if it would burst from his chest. A wave of nausea hit him from sheer panic.

Moments with In-ho came crashing into him, bringing tears to his eyes. Gi-hun had no idea how much he loved him until that moment. He never thought he could love someone so much and be loved in return. In-ho loved him too; he felt it in every look, every gesture, every word… everything about him radiated love.

Obviously, that decision had been stupid. But he understood it. He just would never let him sacrifice himself like that. Enough of that! Enough of In-ho holding everything alone. They would face any difficulty together.

Upon arriving at the mansion, he saw two black vans and the sounds of gunfire.

“Let’s go around the other side. There’s a secret passage,” No-eul informed.

“How do you know that and I don’t?” Gi-hun complained, rolling his eyes.

“Because he explained it to me.”

Hyun-jun stopped the car at the spot No-eul indicated.

“Sir, wear this vest,” said No-eul, taking a vest from the trunk. “He’ll try to kill us anyway, but it’s much safer if you have it on.”

Gi-hun didn’t argue, he just took the vest and put it on.

“Give me a gun, you know I’m good at this,” he said, nodding toward the machine gun.

Once the weapon was in his hands, he ran through the secret entrance where stairs led down. As soon as he entered, he observed the place: a hidden arsenal full of weapons and cameras.

Gi-hun just looked at one of the cameras and saw his husband on the terrace, shooting at one of the soldiers in black jumpsuits across the garden, wearing square masks. Wasn’t that damn outfit supposed to be pink? He rolled his eyes and left the gun’s safety off, exiting the room.

Gi-hun crossed the narrow corridor, the sound of gunfire pounding like drums in his ears. The air smelled of gunpowder and smoke, and the bitter taste of fear dried his mouth.

When he reached the terrace, the cold night wind cut across his face. He saw In-ho crouched, without the Frontman mask, his straight hair messy and soaked with sweat. He reloaded his gun with mechanical precision, his gaze fixed, body tense. Every movement was a cruel reminder of who he had had to become.

Gi-hun approached, his heart ablaze.

In-ho lifted his gaze for a second — and the world stopped. The shock, the relief, the anger. Everything mixed in that look he knew all too well.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” In-ho’s voice pierced through the noise of gunfire.

Gi-hun just took a deep breath, knowing this was where he needed to say what he had never said.

“I needed to come to you, needed to say that…” he was interrupted by In-ho, who quickly pushed him aside. A shot rang out, cutting the air, the dry metallic sound ricocheting off the walls.

“You want to die?” In-ho shouted, eyes burning with worry. “Get behind me.”

“No, it looks like you want to,” Gi-hun retorted, pointing down with his head, moving to his side. “What is all this? Is this what you were hiding from me? You’re sacrificing yourself, In-ho. That’s why the farewell. I understand everything, You thought you would die here."

“Gi-hun, I was like that because I was going to distance myself from you. I can’t stay away from you,” he declared, his voice a bit louder, shooting with deadly precision. The gun’s recoil made his muscles vibrate, and the smell of gunpowder spread in the dense air, stinging his nostrils. " I will not die."

If it weren’t for the completely chaotic and unstable setting, Gi-hun would have kissed him senseless. Adrenaline coursed through his veins — the same feeling from the games, the same stomach-churning thrill of rebellion. But unlike then, the fear he felt now had a name: In-ho.

“I took you away from here because I was afraid this would happen, damn it!” He paused to reload, fingers trembling as the metallic sound echoed. He leaned against the guardrail, chest heaving. “It’s harder with you by my side because I can’t stop worrying. I just wanted to keep you safe and away from this.” He looked over his shoulder. “If I had told you, you wouldn’t have left.”

“I love you, you idiot!” Gi-hun finally shouted, his voice breaking amid the gunfire. In-ho prepared to shoot again but froze, hesitating with the gun for the first time. “In what world do you think I wouldn’t choose you? How could you think I’d go anywhere without you? I love you, Hwang In-ho!”

Time seemed to stop. The surrounding sound faded — only the distant echo of their own breathing and the racing heartbeat remained.

“Gi-hun…” In-ho looked at him, mouth agape. The eyes that had burned with fury now glowed with another flame — relief, desire, and a love that could no longer be contained.

And if he were to die there, at least he would die telling the truth. Gi-hun thought, watching his husband still struck by what he had said. Nothing else mattered; he just wanted to be there, beside him.

——————

In-ho froze. The sound of bullets seemed distant, muffled by the echo of Gi-hun’s shouted words.

He quickly recovered from the shock. Damn it! How could that man say he loved him at that exact moment? Right there, for God’s sake, he couldn’t even rip his clothes off and make love properly now! But only Gi-hun could do that. Be so bold, chaotic, and human. Like that.

In-ho pulled his husband close by the vest, ignoring for a few seconds the intense danger they were in, and kissed him. Strong, burning, and… full of affection.

Gunfire still echoed; adrenaline ran through his veins, but he didn’t stop. Not yet. His tongue passed over his husband’s lips, tasting him.

And when they pulled apart, they pressed their foreheads together.

“I’m going to kill everyone, and be prepared, I won’t let you leave the bed anytime soon,” he said, holding the gun tighter.

Gi-hun laughed and nodded.

“That’s what I want.”

“And then we’ll go to Ga-young,” In-ho added.

“Together, I’m not going without you,” Gi-hun affirmed.

It was as if the husband’s declaration fueled him: In-ho rose, stepped out from cover like one crossing a calm sea, shooting with his usual serene, trained expression — cold eyes, steady breath.

Where are you, bastard? — his mind repeated, as sharp as metal.

He scanned the field for the Black Square. Didn’t see him. Beside him, Gi-hun fired, trembling hands, focused gaze — inexperienced, perhaps, but effective when it counted. Seeing Gi-hun there, sweaty and brave, struck In-ho like a spark.

“You know, I was just thinking…” In-ho said, shooting. “You holding that gun turns me on.”

Gi-hun looked, surprised, half-disbelieving, and smiled, a nervous grin amid the danger.

“Only you would say that now,” he laughed, the sound thin, nervous.

“And you like it, I know it well,” In-ho winked, a smile that he knew drove Gi-hun crazy.

And as he thought, he saw his cheeks flush and pupils dilate.

“Since we’re being honest, that Frontman outfit turns me on too.”

Bang. A wrong shot: instead of the head, it hit a soldier’s chest below. The dry impact sounded like a punch. Gi-hun shrugged and gave a cheeky smile, blushing, and In-ho knew he had him — the effect he had on Gi-hun was as lethal as bullets.

“Only you drive me crazy like this,” he murmured, unable to take his eyes off his husband. “Let’s finish this already!” In-ho exclaimed, adrenaline running.

“Of course. I love you, Frontman,” Gi-hun whispered, in a cheeky tone, almost a confession amid the gunfire.

Damn. The rest of the world fell away and In-ho thought only: this man is my madness!

He fired relentlessly; bodies in the garden fell like shadows. Then another black van stopped — people getting out, steps, the heavy sound of new boots. More shots ripped through the air.

In-ho scanned: it wasn’t just noise, it came from all sides.

The Black Square burst onto the terrace, his outfit soaked in blood, the mask stained. He removed the mask slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Finally,” he muttered, hoarse. “You two… your bodyguards are useless, Frontman.”

He aimed his gun directly at Gi-hun. In the same instant, In-ho pulled his and Gi-hun did the same. Two, three breaths shortened in silence.

“I’ll die, but I’ll take him with me,” growled the Black Square, tired, sweat and blood mixing on his face. “If I kill him, I’ll hit you where it hurts most. I’m done, damn it,” he spat, “why did you have to fall in love with him?”

“So what?” In-ho replied, his voice sharp. “If you were good enough, you’d be here instead. I would have chosen you.”

The Black Square sneered and aimed again; his fingers squeezed the trigger in a rhythm that seemed to decide fates.

Two shots — fast, brutal — cut through the air.

In-ho didn’t have time to think. His body moved first. Instinct and love, faster than reason. He pushed Gi-hun to the ground, body over body, turning the moment into a human shield. He felt the impact: a dull blow, burning heat, and a sound that split into silence around — as if the world had exhaled.

“In-ho… what?” Gi-hun murmured, dizzy from the fall, feeling him.

“Shhh,” he murmured, low and firm. “Stay still, love. I’ll handle the rest.”

He heard the Black Square rise, pick up his gun, aim again. In-ho, still over Gi-hun, took his gun with the less trembling hand and fired. The bullet found the enemy’s skull with a sickly, dry sound.

“Game over,” he repeated, as the body of the adversary gave way.

But the world took its toll. Brutal pain exploded in In-ho’s stomach — hot, alive, like metal under his skin. The taste of iron flooded his mouth in waves. He tried to breathe, and the pain stole his air.

Gi-hun panicked, his hands becoming wild instruments: he pressed the wound, carefully turned In-ho’s body, and laid him down. A horrified smile took over his face.

“You took the bullet for me, you idiot!” he shouted, tears cutting across his face. His trembling hands tore at the uniform, revealing the hot red bleeding.

In-ho laughed, a hoarse sound, bleeding: “Is there anything I wouldn’t do for you? I thought that was obvious.”

“You’re crazy.” Gi-hun cried as he tried to stop the bleeding, tearing off the vest. “Let’s go to the hospital, damn it, I…”

“Hey, love,” In-ho held Gi-hun’s hands tightly, “look at me.” His breath was a thread. “I’m sorry… I love you, you know…” the words escaping between groans.

“Shut up, you idiot,” Gi-hun yelled in desperation no one could contain, slapping his face with care and panic. “I can’t live without you anymore; if you die, I die too, understood?”

In-ho spat blood and laughed, and the laugh carried tenderness.

“I don’t know either… I love you, Gi-hun. I’d do it all again.”

In-ho’s vision spiraled — shadows, blinding lights, Gi-hun’s voice echoing far away. Pain erased colors and shapes; everything became heat, noise, and the acrid smell of blood. Before passing out, he focused on one point: Gi-hun, there, desperate, and the trembling certainty that, even in darkness, he had made the right choice. Then everything went black.

———

In-ho woke with a metallic taste in his mouth and scorching thirst. The white ceiling confused him for a moment — it wasn’t the house, nor the island. The heavy silence and the constant hum of machines brought him back. The last memory was Gi-hun’s gaze — desperate, broken — and the dry sound of a shot that seemed to take the air from the world.

He turned his head. Beside the bed, Gi-hun slept in a chair, body curled, face tired, forehead furrowed. Even asleep, he seemed at war.

A trembling sigh escaped In-ho. His chest eased. He was okay. He saw a bandage on his hand, a scratch on his cheek, nothing else. He wanted to touch him. Needed to touch him.

He tried to move. A sharp pain burned his side. The sound from his lips was more a moan than a groan.

“My love…” Gi-hun’s voice came sleepy, alarmed — “In-ho?” — in a second, he was beside him, eyes watery, breath caught. “You woke up…”

“Water…” he murmured.

Gi-hun hurried to the table, filled a glass, came back with trembling hands. He helped him drink, drop by drop, with the delicacy of someone afraid of breaking him.

When he finished, In-ho licked his dry lips and muttered briefly: “Thank you.”

“How long did I sleep?”

“Four days.” Gi-hun’s voice was weak, shaky. “I’ll call the doctor, let him know you woke up, and your brother is outside.”

His heart raced knowing Jun-ho was really there. He thought it was a mirage or something. But he really was there.

He didn’t want to deal with his brother now, nor the doctor. Gi-hun was enough and the only one he needed at the moment. They deserved to stay there a little while.

Later… he’d accept anything, including facing his brother.

“No.” In-ho raised his hand, ignoring the twinge in his stomach, and held his wrist. “Stay here. Just a little.”

Gi-hun hesitated, took a deep breath, and, defeated, nodded.

“Five minutes.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked, trying to touch his face, shoulders.

“Me?” he laughed, with a melancholic glint. “I’m fine. But you almost killed me, you idiot.”

The words came with tears. Thick, silent, uncontrollable.

In-ho stretched out his arms, with effort.

“Hey… come here.”

“I don’t…”

“Seong Gi-hun.” His voice was firm, deeper. “Come on. Or I’ll lift you.”

“No!” Gi-hun hurried, lying carefully beside him, avoiding wires and tubes, until they fit into each other, snug.

The familiar smell of Gi-hun’s skin calmed him immediately.

“It was the VIP game…” In-ho started, voice low. “They wanted one of us dead. The winner would get the Frontman position. But I proposed a deal — freedom in exchange for the spectacle. And they accepted.”

Gi-hun stared at him, wounded and reluctant gaze.

“So… it’s over? You won’t go back to that hell?”

He shook his head, a brief smile appearing on his lips.

“No. I made it. But I didn’t expect to see you there.” His fingers brushed through Gi-hun’s hair. “You’re my weakness. From the beginning. They always knew.”

“And you think you’re not mine too?” Gi-hun murmured. “I would’ve died there if… if I lost you.”

“Hey.” In-ho kissed his forehead. “I’m here.”

“And I’ll stay.” Gi-hun’s voice sounded almost like a prayer.

The silence that settled wasn’t empty — it was full of breath, heartbeats, unspoken promises.

The danger still existed, the debts with the VIPs weren’t paid, but for now nothing else mattered.

For the first time in many years, In-ho felt something he thought was extinct inside him: peace.

The same peace he always silently asked for, that never came with money or power.

Now, it had a name — Gi-hun.

Chapter Text

"Love, he’s outside and he’s not leaving. Please, you two need to talk." Gi-hun looked at him almost pleadingly. With that look, In-ho, as always, couldn’t say no. "I understood yesterday. You had just woken up and needed to rest a little more… but today, In-ho, he’s not going anywhere. He’s as stubborn as you are."

"And what am I supposed to say to him?" he asked, anxious. "I don’t even know what to say..."

"You made me talk to my Ga-young again, didn’t you? It’s the same thing. If you don’t want to say anything, just look at each other. Do that—just be together."

In-ho sank into the bed, still unsure. If it weren’t for Gi-hun insisting that he stay until the doctor released him, he would’ve left long ago. One thing he’d always been good at: running and hiding. Maybe… he could convince Gi-hun again. They could sneak out the back door, silently.

"There’s no way you can run forever, In-ho," Gi-hun said, crossing his arms, immediately seeing through his thoughts. He leaned in and gave several small kisses on his husband’s lips. "Do it for me, love. Hm?" he murmured, his tongue brushing lightly against his lips.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" In-ho asked in a low, hoarse voice, staring at Gi-hun, who now had a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Yes. And it’s working," he replied, laughing softly as his lips trailed down In-ho’s neck, leaving slow, teasing kisses. "If you behave and talk to your brother, I might give you a little surprise, Frontman."

Now she had his full attention. A soft laugh escaped his lips.

"You know exactly how to make me give in, don’t you?"

"What can I say?" Gi-hun shrugged, amused. "I know the man I love very well. And I know he’s going to do just fine with his brother."

For a moment, In-ho wanted to refuse. To pretend he was still too tired, or ask to talk another day. But that insistent look from Gi-hun —the one that always tore down any defense— made him surrender.

In-ho let out a sigh of defeat and caressed his husband’s face.

"Alright… I’ll do it only because you’re the one asking. Let him in."

Gi-hun smiled, gave him one more kiss, and winked before leaving the room.

Left alone, In-ho adjusted himself in bed. A sharp twinge from the bullet wound made him hold his breath for a moment. He looked at the IV, the wires, the bandages—silent reminders that he was still alive. The doctor had said he’d be discharged in a few days.

The door opened.

Jun-ho took two hesitant steps, and for a moment, the sound of the door closing was louder than In-ho’s own heartbeat. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words were stuck in his chest.

His heart was racing. For a second, he didn’t know if what he felt was fear or hope. Jun-ho was there—real, alive, breathing the same air—and it was almost more than he could bear. The time between them felt like an abyss that suddenly needed to be crossed. For an instant, he wanted to lower his eyes, like a child about to be scolded.

Jun-ho looked well—a little more mature than three years ago, but still the same brother with that steady gaze. And even so, In-ho felt an immense relief seeing him there.

The silence between them weighed as heavily as the years apart. They weren’t just brothers—they were two worlds that had drifted too far.

"Brother…? Why?" Jun-ho’s voice was harsh. "Why all that, In-ho? That hell?"

In-ho didn’t answer.

"That’s it? You’re just going to stay silent?" Jun-ho laughed bitterly. "It’s always the same! Silence! I don’t even know why I keep trying… you never change."

When Jun-ho began to turn toward the door, In-ho murmured,

"You think it’s easy for me? You saw what was happening on that island yourself. Why do you want to talk about it?" he asked, desperate. "Nothing I say will change what happened, Jun-ho."

His voice came out weaker than he intended, as if every word carried the weight of all the years he had kept quiet.

"I just want to understand!" Jun-ho turned back, his voice steady. "How could you—my brother, the man who always protected me, who was always so kind—how did you become a psychopath?"

"I lost the woman I loved and our baby!" he swallowed hard, as if even saying her name still burned his throat. The memory of her belly, of the muffled sound of a cry he never heard… it all suffocated him again. "How do you think someone stays the same after that? I was lost, without direction, with no will to live. I never thought I’d be found by you there."

Jun-ho laughed, but there was no humor in it.

In-ho looked away, jaw clenched.

"That’s not a reason," Jun-ho insisted.

"Not to you," In-ho’s voice came out low, almost a whisper. "You don’t understand… losing everything you hold dear, drowning in debt, no way out… Jun-ho, I wasn’t living anymore."

"And you think that place saved you?"

"It did," he said without hesitation.

"Why?" the brother pressed.

"Because I found love again. A reason to live. To come out of the darkness," In-ho’s voice faltered, but he kept going. "I found Gi-hun."

It was strange how that name—once spoken only in guilt and pain—now sounded like a prayer. A reminder that even in ruins, something could still bloom.

"You mean Mr. Seong?"

"Yes. Seong Gi-hun is my salvation. He’s the one who brought me back," In-ho sighed, silent tears streaming down his face. "He’s the only reason I’m still here."

His brother stayed silent for a long moment. Shock gave way to confusion… and then to something closer to understanding.

"I just want you to explain everything to me," Jun-ho finally said, calmer now. "I’ll try not to judge you."

"Alright…" In-ho took a deep breath. "I’m not saying my choices were right. But they’re what kept me alive."

Then he began to tell the story. From the beginning—the time he was a player, the moment he won and returned only to find his wife dead, pregnant. He told him about the despair, about Il-nam, about the position, the loneliness… and, at last, about Seong Gi-hun.

He poured it all out, word for word. And Jun-ho just listened—without interrupting, without reacting, with the heavy gaze of someone who, for the first time, saw his brother without the uniform, without the title, without the guilt—just as he was: human.

After that, Jun-ho let out a long sigh.

"I still can’t forgive you… or really understand it all," Jun-ho said in a lower voice. "But if you’re really out of all that, I guess… we can try to be a family again."

"Jun-ho…" In-ho started, but was interrupted.

"Stop running, In-ho," said the officer, his tone firm but filled with emotion. "It’s time to face things. I miss you, brother. I always have. I just wanted to have you back." He took a deep breath. "I just need to process everything you told me. And maybe… little by little, we can rebuild what we were."

In-ho nodded, throat tight. He knew nothing about this would be easy.

They looked at each other like strangers reuniting after a lifetime—and yet, there was something familiar, an old memory quietly binding them.

"What will you do about the island?" Jun-ho asked, breaking the silence.

"I have an idea," In-ho replied with a faint smile. "But it’ll be a surprise for my husband."

Jun-ho ran a hand through his hair and let out a short laugh.

"Husband," he repeated, testing the word on his tongue as if he still couldn’t believe it. "That one I really didn’t see coming." A tired smile appeared. "But you… always finding a way to surprise me."

In-ho shrugged, smiling back.

"I just fell in love. Deeply."

Jun-ho only smiled—and for the first time in years, the look between them wasn’t one of judgment, but of recognition. Two brothers scarred by pain, but alive. And maybe, that was already enough.

————————

The following days passed slowly, full of visits, medications, and impatience. Gi-hun watched his husband recovering well—perhaps even too well, considering his terrible mood and sharp tongue.
Jun-ho came by a few times, stayed a little, and then left; Hyun-jun and Kang No-eul also visited. Both had been hurt, but they were already in good spirits.

“I can’t take staying in this damn place anymore! I’m fine!” In-ho exclaimed, exasperated, lying on the bed.

“You’ll be discharged soon, grumpyhead.” Gi-hun approached and sat on the bed.

“I want to go home, I want to make love to you.” In-ho complained, his nose and neck flushed with irritation.

Gi-hun bit his lips, watching his husband with sleepy eyes and messy hair. How could he still be so damn irresistible?

“I get it, you’re irritated because we haven’t had sex,” Gi-hun said, amused, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly.” In-ho muttered, grumbling. “And you keep looking at me with that ‘Fuck me now’ face. It’s torture!”

Gi-hun tried to hold back a laugh but couldn’t. It was good to see him like this—alive, provocative, sarcastic. For a moment, he thought that peace could be exactly this: a warm body within reach and laughter slipping between kisses. His In-ho was back.

Suddenly, he climbed onto the bed and straddled In-ho, pinning him in that moment while the door remained closed. Gi-hun watched with that playful, teasing affection he always had. Between bandages and teasing, there was something deeply human in that room—the living proof that they had survived.

He started rubbing against In-ho’s half-hard erection, watching him moan and throw his head back.

“Fuck! It’s been so long,” In-ho said, gasping. “I missed you, love.”

“Me too, so much. You have no idea how much.” Gi-hun responded, as aroused as him.

In-ho positioned himself properly on the bed, gripping his husband’s slim waist with both hands and quickening the movements.

They kissed slowly, savoring this moment of calm and longing. Gi-hun’s hands went to In-ho’s hair, messing up the strands, while the kiss grew hotter and more intense.

“Take it off… come… I can’t take it anymore…” In-ho said, hands on his husband’s ass, driving him crazy.

“Neither can I.” Gi-hun replied, rising just to pull down In-ho’s pants.

Then they heard noises outside, unexpected laughter.

“Shit!” Gi-hun quickly got off In-ho, while his husband let out a stream of curse words.

Gi-hun settled on the sofa, placed a cushion on his lap, and pretended to read a magazine as the door opened. The doctor came in with Jun-ho, who seemed very happy.

“Ah, I have great news for the grumpiest patient I’ve ever treated,” the doctor said with a smile. “You’ll be able to go home tomorrow.”

In-ho exhaled in relief, and Gi-hun smiled, watching him.

“You already knew that?” he asked, clenching his jaw.

“Yes. He told me this morning.”

“So that’s it, huh? Then okay, Seong Gi-hun, don’t complain later.” In-ho crossed his arms and gave a half-smile.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Oh, at home, you’ll see.” Gi-hun replied, that mischievous, serious look sending shivers down In-ho’s spine and tingling in his belly.

“Oh, in front of us!” Jun-ho complained. “Go to a room.”

“But we’re in my room—you’re the ones invading.”

“In-ho!” Gi-hun scolded.

“Ah, Mr. Hwang, I said he’s discharged, not that he can do activities. Your husband told me he loves sports. Unfortunately, zero effort for you.”

“No effort? None at all? Not even sex…”

“In-ho!”

Gi-hun got up, blushing, and covered his mouth. Hearing Jun-ho laugh and make faces, he realized how embarrassing it was.

“I see… for you, no strenuous activity for now. Soon, you’ll be back to your routine.”

In-ho rolled his eyes.

“If I don’t see your face anymore, I’m happy.”

“In-ho.” Gi-hun scolded him again, giving a small pat on his husband’s shoulder.

“I’m used to it,” the doctor said, laughing.

“Doctor, would you like to participate in an interesting game?”

“In-ho!” Gi-hun and Jun-ho exclaimed simultaneously.

“Alright, alright… just kidding.” He smiled mischievously.

Gi-hun looked at his husband and smiled. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like a survival game anymore—it felt like a life they could finally live together.

———————

A week had passed since In-ho returned home. He kept up with his medical care, which was awful because all he wanted was to run to Gi-hun. But Gi-hun hugged and pampered him, forbidding any strenuous activity. In-ho felt like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment.

At the office, In-ho was ready for a video call with the VIPs. He wore his Frontman outfit while Gi-hun stood by his side.

The VIP assembly began.

“Frontman, it’s a pleasure to see you alive again,” said the eldest VIP.

“Ah, I knew that bastard could make it. Very well done, Frontman!” said the VIP with the dog mask.

“My deal—I won, as I said. Now I want my prize.”

The VIP with the snake mask shook his head.

“Well, if there’s no way…” everyone waited for the eldest VIP to speak. “You have your freedom, Frontman. This just proves we lost our greatest player and soldier. It will be a shame to lose you, but a deal is a deal.”

“Thank you!” In-ho nodded.

“If you ever want to join us… you know what to do.”

The room fell silent as the screen went dark. For a few seconds, the only sound In-ho heard was his own heartbeat. The weight of obedience, the mask, and the guilt that had consumed him for years seemed to dissolve into the air.

He removed the mask and the cape, looking at his husband by his side with a smile.

“Are you happy?” he asked, seeing Gi-hun climb onto his lap.

“Very. But do you think they’ll leave us alone now?”

“A deal is a deal. They usually don’t come back. Honestly, they didn’t expect me to survive.” In-ho looked at Gi-hun. “And now I ask you: I’ll do whatever you want. I thought about destroying the island for you, but that would be a direct affront, and maybe we’d lose the peace…”

“It doesn’t matter, love.” Gi-hun bit his lips. “And as they said themselves, I took their greatest Frontman away. That’s enough.”

In-ho laughed and rubbed his nose against his, affectionately.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever forget everything, but none of that is part of our lives anymore. What matters is what we’re going to build now. I want to have as normal a life as possible with you.”

Gi-hun burst out laughing.

“And we’re normal?”

“We can try to be.” In-ho replied. “Now…” — he quickly placed Gi-hun on the office desk and pinned him there. — “You’re not escaping this.”

“And who said I want to?” Gi-hun asked, licking his lips. “Fuck me, just the way you know how.”

“With pleasure, my love.”

They kissed, and soon the clothes were on the floor. The office was filled with moans, skin pressed together, and heated kisses. This was just the beginning of them.

————————

“Are you nervous?” In-ho asked, kissing Gi-hun’s trembling hands as the car moved through the streets. Finally, they were going to see their daughter. Gi-hun took a deep breath, trying to contain his anxiety.

“I’m very anxious.” he said, giving a shy smile.

“It’s going to be fine.” In-ho caressed his hands, conveying reassurance.

The car stopped, and they got out.

“Appa!” exclaimed Ga-young, running and jumping into Gi-hun’s arms. He spun her around, laughing.

“My love, you’ve grown so much! My God, how you’ve grown!” he said, still holding her carefully.

Gi-hun soon placed her on the ground but continued hugging her tightly, feeling his back complain slightly, but ignoring the pain.

“You’re really here?” she asked, emotional.

“Yes, I am.” he replied, giving sweet kisses to her cheeks.

“The moneylender is here too!” she said, looking at In-ho.

Gi-hun nodded to him, and In-ho approached with a smile.

“You’re obsessed with me.” he laughed, stopping next to him.

Ga-young looked at the two of them, and although a little shy, it was clear she already liked In-ho. Then they went inside, had breakfast, and Ga-young explained how American schools worked, sharing some slang she had learned.

Gi-hun laughed, enchanted by every word his daughter said, fascinated by her energy and curiosity.

The afternoon passed lightly, full of laughter and play. Ga-young teased everything In-ho said, and it was evident that she was a little jealous. But deep down, she had already accepted him as part of the family. Ga-young’s mother and stepfather were also kind and welcoming, making the visit enjoyable.

The sun began to set, and the laughter echoed across the veranda. For the first time, the sound felt like a real family.

In-ho watched—father and daughter laughing together—and felt something he couldn’t name. Perhaps it was peace. Perhaps it was love in its simplest form: being there, complete, and nothing missing.

When night fully fell, they returned to the hotel, exhausted.

“Dealing with teenagers is no joke. So much energy! She asks everything.” In-ho said, panting, throwing himself onto the bed.

“She takes after me.” Gi-hun said, smiling. “Did you like her?”

“There’s no way not to like her.” In-ho laughed. “She’s a part of you. Now she’s a bit jealous of me.”

“Yes, but she liked you too.” Gi-hun bit his lips. “She’s not used to sharing daddy’s attention.”

“But the attention was all hers!” In-ho defended.

“Maybe, but I kept my eyes on you the whole time.” Gi-hun smiled, giving him a firm peck.

They sighed together, exhausted but happy.

“Let’s order dinner and then go to bed. Tomorrow will be another busy day.” Gi-hun said. “We have to visit every place with her.”

“Don’t even remind me.” In-ho laughed, getting up to call room service.

They took a quick shower together, and the hotel bell brought a special dinner. While eating, they talked and laughed about past memories. Gi-hun enjoyed hearing about In-ho’s teenage years—nerdy, quiet, always avoiding the fan club—while he told stories of Gi-hun getting into all sorts of trouble. A delightful contrast: chaos and calm, light and shadow. They complemented each other.

“I have something to confess.”

“What?”

“When my feelings for you grew stronger, I went on an LGBT site to understand myself better.” In-ho said, sipping some wine.

“You what…?” Gi-hun laughed loudly, holding his stomach. “I can’t believe it was you looking up if you were gay, In-ho!”

“I had doubts… nowadays everything is scientifically explained.” he explained, remembering the conversations and online jokes.

“I never thought I’d laugh this much.” Gi-hun said, still amused. “And look, I’m chaotic!”

They sat closer, Gi-hun on In-ho’s lap, and kissed each other deeply.

“I love you so much!” Gi-hun said.

“I love you too.” In-ho replied, smiling.

They pressed foreheads together, feeling each other’s breath.

“You are my home, my salvation.” In-ho said. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“And you are mine, my love. Now I realize… I only went back to the games to get you.”

“I’m sure of it.” In-ho smiled, and they sealed their promises with a slow kiss, one that didn’t need words.

This time, the game was over. And for the first time, they had both won.

Game over!