ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ.
Ayla's POV :
Silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating. I barely registered the sound of the door clicking shut after Il-nam's departure, my mind still reeling from everything he had just told me. The truth clung to my skin like a cold, damp fog, seeping into every crevice of my thoughts.
I could still feel the ghost of Oh Il-nam's words lingering in the air, poisoning everything around me.
It was all real.
He had been part of this from the start, playing with our lives like we were nothing but pieces on a board. All those nights I spent watching him struggle, all the moments I thought we had—none of it had been real. It was all a lie.
My body trembled as I sat on the couch, hands gripping my arms as if that could hold me together. The betrayal sank deep, cutting through me like a knife. I should've known better. Nothing in this place had ever been fair.
A heavy silence filled the room, pressing down on me. But then—a shift in the air.
I had been so caught up in my own thoughts that I forgot he was still here.
The Front Man.
His presence loomed behind me, watching, waiting. He hadn't spoken a word since Il-nam left, but he was still here. And the moment I felt him move, a slow, deliberate step closer, my body tensed.
"I suppose this was inevitable," his voice finally broke the silence, deep and unreadable.
I whipped around to face him, my vision blurred with unshed tears. "You knew," I spat, my voice shaking with emotion. "You knew this whole time."
He didn't deny it. He simply stood there, silent, his unreadable mask giving me nothing.
And suddenly, it all boiled over.
"You knew we were being used! You let us think we had a chance!" My voice cracked, but I didn't care. "You stood there behind your mask and watched us beg for our lives! Was it fun for you? Watching people die?"
The Front Man didn't react at first. He merely tilted his head, as if observing me, letting me pour out every ounce of rage and grief that had been clawing at my chest.
"You let me think he was just another player," I whispered, my voice barely holding together now. "And all this time, you knew."
Finally, he took another step forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. "I did what had to be done."
I let out a bitter laugh, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. "That's all you ever say, isn't it? That's your excuse for everything."
His shoulders tensed slightly, but his voice remained steady. "It is the truth."
I exhaled shakily, my entire body exhausted from the weight of it all. The betrayal. The lies. The fact that I was still here, trapped in this place with him.
And for what?
I looked up at him, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Why am I still alive?" My voice came out quieter now, almost broken. "Why didn't you just kill me like the others?"
For the first time, the Front Man hesitated. Just for a moment. But it was there.
Then, in that same cold, unwavering tone, he said, "Because you were always a part of this."
My stomach twisted.
Not again.
I clenched my fists, shaking my head as frustration bubbled up inside me. "I'm sick of this," I snapped. "Sick of you saying that over and over without ever explaining what the hell it means!"
The Front Man didn't respond right away. He simply stood there, his masked gaze locked onto me, his posture unreadable. The silence only made my anger flare hotter.
His silence was a sign that I wasn't going to get my answer. Im stuck here and i should just accept my fate.
I let out a sharp breath, forcing myself to stay in control. I couldn't fall apart now—not in front of him. Not when I was already trapped here with no way out.
A thought struck me then, something I hadn't fully let myself consider before. If I was stuck here, if there really was no escape... then I needed to survive. I needed to make things easier for myself.
I swallowed, forcing my voice to steady. "If I'm going to stay here, then I need more freedom."
The Front Man tilted his head slightly. "Freedom?"
"Yes." I squared my shoulders, pushing past the fear tightening in my chest. "I can't just sit in that room all day. I need to move. I need fresh air. I need to—" I hesitated, then pushed forward. "I need to feel like I'm still human."
He remained silent, but I could tell he was listening.
"I want to be able to walk around on my own, without those scary guards following my every move , but if its Sharpy I don't mind ! " I continued. "I want to go outside sometimes. And—" I hesitated, knowing this next request was pushing it. "I want my phone back."
At that, his shoulders stiffened. "No."
My stomach sank, but I pressed on. "I just want to be able to watch something and read books on it. You said I wasn't a prisoner, right? Then why am I being treated like one?"
The silence stretched between us. I knew he wouldn't give in so easily, but I wasn't going to stop trying.
Finally, he exhaled. "I will allow some freedom."
Relief flickered through me, but I stayed cautious. "What does that mean?"
"You may walk around—under supervision. You will not leave the premises." His voice remained firm, unwavering. "But a phone is out of the question."
I clenched my jaw, knowing I wouldn't win this argument. "Fine."
There was another pause before he spoke again. "You will also have a television in your room."
I blinked, surprised. I hadn't even asked for that, but... I wasn't going to argue. It was something.
I nodded slowly. "Okay."
For the first time since this conversation started, the tension in the air seemed to shift, settling into something quieter, heavier. It almost felt like... an understanding.
And maybe that was why, before I could stop myself, I spoke again.
"If I'm going to live here," I said, my voice softer now, "then at least let me see your face."
The Front Man went still.
The air grew thick between us, charged with something I couldn't quite place. My heart pounded as I watched him, waiting.
Then, finally, he answered.
"Not now."
Disappointment curled in my chest, but before I could say anything. The conversation was over.
I exhaled slowly, my mind spinning. I had won something—not everything, but something.
For now, it would have to be enough.
The silence between us stretched, thick and suffocating. Swallowing, I lifted my gaze toward him. "Can you take me back to my room?" My voice was quiet, but steady.
He didn't hesitate. "Come."
I pushed myself up, my body still weak from exhaustion, and took a shaky step forward. Before I could steady myself, a gloved hand caught my wrist, stopping me.
I tensed.
The Front Man didn't speak as his fingers curled slightly around my wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. A silent reminder that I was still under his control, whether I liked it or not.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then, with a small tug, he guided me forward.
I followed him out of his room, the warmth of his hand lingering even as he released me once we were in the hallway. The air outside was cool, the lighting dim, casting long shadows along the sleek, sterile walls.
I tried to memorize the turns, the doors, the paths. But everything looked the same—endless corridors of polished black and deep crimson, the only sound being the soft, rhythmic steps of our feet against the floor.
Halfway down the hall, I hesitated.
Without thinking, my pace slowed, and I nearly stopped walking altogether.
The Front Man noticed instantly. He turned slightly, glancing down at me. "Keep walking." His voice was calm, but edged with something unreadable.
I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself forward again. But I didn't even know why I had stopped. Maybe because this moment—this walk beside him, with no threats or games or life-or-death decisions—felt surreal.
Maybe because, for the first time since the games ended, I felt like I was stepping into something unknown.
When we reached my door, I stopped in front of it, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
I felt him behind me—his presence looming, but not suffocating.
Slowly, I turned to face him. He stood there, motionless, his mask hiding whatever expression he might have had.
For a fleeting second, I wanted to say something. Maybe ask him again what this all meant, what he truly wanted from me. But the words never came.
Instead, his gloved hand lifted once more, this time reaching for my shoulder.
The contact was brief. A single, solid press of his palm against me, like an unspoken reassurance—or a warning. Then, just as quickly, he let go.
I stepped inside, the door shutting behind me with a quiet finality.
And just like that, I was alone again.
I let out a slow breath, turning to take in my surroundings. My new room.
It was nothing like the dorm I had once shared with the other players. Nor my apartment before joining the games. This space was mine—clean, modern, unsettlingly comfortable. The bed was soft, the lighting warm, the air carrying a faint, sterile scent. A dresser stood neatly against the wall, along with a small seating area, and a bathroom door just to the side.
I ran my fingers over the smooth wood of the dresser, my mind racing.
This was my life. For now.
I didn't know how long I'd be here, what he truly wanted from me, or if I would ever get real answers. But one thing was certain—escape wasn't an option.
Not yet.
I sank onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
What was I supposed to do now?
ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ.
AN- sorry for the late story update !
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