━━━━༻ ♦ ༺━━━━ red room 00100000 ━━━━༻ ♦ ༺━━━━

When she woke up, she was in a dimly lit room, a soft burnt orange glow radiating down on her from above. her body felt sore all over, especially her head, which had a dull, throbbing ache at the back that pounded even as she awoke. (Y/n) winced and sat up, reaching up to massage the pained area.

But she couldn't. Her arms were tied together behind her back. Wait, what? She thought in shock. Did I enter some horror movie or something? She tried moving and loosening her bonds to no avail.

Her movements drew the attention of her neighbor. "Are you alright?" (Y/) turned in surprise at the voice. It was Mr. Brooks, his face marred with smeared blood and grim. There was a long cut down his face and another on his lips, making her wince with sympathy. That's going to sting like a sandwich later.

"I'm alright," the (h/c)-haired girl replied after realizing he was still waiting for her answer. "Where...are we?"

A look around the room told her they were still in the library. I mean, come on. If Mr. Howards was trying to lock them up somewhere without escape, maybe make it a little less obvious they didn't move from their spot? The bookshelves were a real giveaway, you know. They were in a room towards the back of the library where people rarely visited. The old newspapers and movies section. Not many people seemed to be thrilled about those.

(Y/n) saw Elijah lying on the ground across from her. He was still tied up and sported new bruises since the last she's seen him. He caught her looking at him and smiled reassuringly, before wincing at the pain from his cut lip. "You alright there, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," but she didn't have the heart to really argue with him. "Where's Mr. Florence?"

His face twisted in anger and disgust. "Charles took her somewhere," he growled. "Goddammit, I should've noticed something was off about that guy!"

"He was always like that," Mr. Brooks added. "Innocent and a nice guy on the surface, but really a bloody sociopath beneath all that."

(Y/n) wiggled her hands. The duct tape around her wrists didn't yield. Despite being a sociopath-psychopath whatnot, she had to give it to him; Mr. Howards was thorough. On top of tying them up with tape, he also used rope. Totally extra, but one look at Elijah's straining arms made her think otherwise.

"Where is he?" She asked, craning her head to look around. "Why did he take only Ms. Florence? What happened when I wasn't there—"

"Woah, woah, slow down, kid," Elijah interrupted. "I can't think with all your questions—"

"That friend of yours saw something he shouldn't have," Mr. Brooks cut in despite the silver-haired man's protests. "A collection of sick photographs he had of Alice. If he didn't see anything, Charles might've just let them off. His real goal was Alice, after all."

"Ms. Florence?" (Y/n) raised her eyebrows. "What did she do to him?"

The black-haired teacher shook his head and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, regret was brimming in those dark orbs. "I saw the warning signs but I didn't act fast enough. It was the same with Lauren. I'm sure you've heard our conversation, correct?" She nodded. "Charles was obsessed with her when they began dating. And as her best friend, I supported their relationship, though his conduct felt a little off at times. He didn't like me, that's for one. I thought it was simple jealousy since I'm a man, but it was the same with her female friends. He didn't want her associating with any of them. So he killed them."

"K-kill them?" She echoed disbelievingly. Elijah spluttered something incoherent in the background.

"That is correct. Every last one except for me." A lock of his hair fell over his eyes, but he didn't seem to notice. "Lauren was devastated, and that led to her suicide. The police wrote it off as modern-day Jack the Ripper, but I didn't believe it. I knew it had something to do with Charles, but he acted too perfect, too much like the grieving boyfriend at the funeral, so no one believed me. He completely turned the tables on me."

"Then the 25th Game?" She prompted him. "The person who played twice and the Seeker...is it him?"

His nod was the only answer she needed. "Correct again," Mr. Brooks smiled humorlessly. "I always thought you were a bright student, despite being...slovenly."

Wow, thanks a lot, sir.

"I was also a player, I must admit. I was a Number at the time. The only two survivors were Charles and I. My wish was to partake in the 26th Game as the Tuner—if the law enforcement wouldn't convict the psychopath, I would take things into my own hands. I would personally remove him from society."

Elijah studied the floor beneath him seriously as he processed the other male's words in his head. "How does Alice fit into all this?"

"I don't know what happened in high school," Mr. Brooks sighed. "Whatever happened, it twisted his definition of love. He started seeing his partner as nothing more than an object for him to possess. The first was Lauren and the second..."

"Is Mr. Florence," (Y/n) finished with obvious disgust in her voice. "I'm not a feminist or anything, but that sh—um, that's insane. Wait"—she realized something—"What's Ms. Lauren's last name?"

"Winston. Why?"

"I might be wrong, but isn't Jason's last name also Winston?" She looked at the two teachers for confirmation. "Jason Winston? Green-haired dude? Do either of you have him in your classes?"

"He's a Winter Hall student, I believe," the black-haired male mused. "Yes, I remember Lauren having a brother, though I never met him. I've been too caught up in hunting Charles down to remember that. Did he mention something like this before?"

(Y/n) didn't want to lie but also didn't want to tell the truth at the same time. A white lie should be fine, right? "Nothing much," she shrugged. "We were talking and he mentioned having a sister. I asked about her and he told me she had a boyfriend who he suspected forced her to...um, send herself to a happier place."

"That's the same Jason then," Mr. Brooks nodded in confirmation.

"Oh, I remember that kid!" Elijah lit up. "The funny one who came to watch Campbell and Briar at our games, aye? I tried persuading him to join, but that kid's a hippie. He doesn't do proactive barbarian activities, his words not mine."

"Has he spoken to you about it before?" She asked. "Or recognized Mr. Howards as the boyfriend?"

"He's smarter than that," the male shook his head. "If he left them alive, that meant they could pose no harm to him. It's been about eight years, after all. It was always her going to his house, not the other way around."

"Then, what was Mr. Howards' role in the last game—"

"Aren't you three getting along just fine?"

A smooth, voice laced with a subtle British accent broke through the tense atmosphere, cutting it like a knife. The door was open and there stood in the doorway the man himself, dressed like any other university student-turned professor, a totally casual wear. His glasses were fixed and he had really cleaned himself up. An innocent facade that hid the devil underneath.

His bluebell eyes were filled with amusement and contempt as he surveyed the scene before him. His lips widened into a humorless smile. "Edward," he said tightly. "Isn't it rude to talk about others behind their backs?"

The said male scoffed incredulously. "You're one to talk. Who's the one who spread the lie that I was the one who caused Lauren's suicide by threatening her to break up with you?"

"Is it not true?" There was a maniacal glint in his eyes as he regarded the other man. "We were happy. But you got jealous and wanted to ruin all that for us. You're the one who killed her, not me."

Mr. Brooks laughed bitterly and looked away. "Delusion. You've completely deluded yourself, sinking so low as to believe your own lies. You need help, Charles. You need it badly."

"I do not need help," the blond said through gritted teeth. "As I've said, you're the one who tore us apart. You're the one who took Lauren away from me. You're the one who—" He cut himself off as if just remembering there were two others in the room. "Nevermind my ex now. Long story short, I need you three to disappear."

He just casually called the girl he pressured to send herself to a happier place his ex-girlfriend? (Y/n)'s mouth dropped open. She was more shocked about that part than the whole "begone thots" part.

"You're f*cking sick in the head, y'know that?" Elijah spat venomously. "You can't get over your ex. Big deal. But you decided to take it out on innocent students instead? And you call yourself a teacher?"

Mr. Howards' pleasant smile was back and he merely shrugged. "I have nothing against them. They're getting in my way of being with Alice. The headmaster, for one"—his face darkened for a brief second almost as if it hadn't happened—"He's the biggest villain. On top of bankrupting my father's company, he doesn't allow dating among staff members? I wasn't kidding when I wanted to shut down the school. But I suppose I was lying when I said I'd instead vice headmaster Grayson as headmaster. I want that position for myself."

"So now it's about the money, huh?" Elijah snorted. "You're really changing your agendas fast, you filthy b—"

Without a moment to spare, the blond man nonchalantly walked up to the silver-haired male, and with actions faster than (Y/n) could follow, he slammed his foot into the tied-up male's face.

"Eli!" (Y/n) cried in surprise before she could catch herself. Her hands froze where they were busy peeling away at the duct tape around her wrists. "Stop that—Mr. Howards!"

"Mr. Howards, mhm?" Mr. Howards finally stopped with one last kick to Elijah's gut. He peered down at his polished shoes with disgust. "I'm surprised you still see me as your teacher, (Y/n). I didn't mind leaving you alive, actually. You don't seem to care about anything, and that's just the mindset I need."

"In all honesty, I wouldn't care if you started a killing spree," she admitted. "But you've involved my friends. You've killed Nick and Noves. You're an idiot if you think I'd turn a blind eye to that."

He shrugged, unfazed as he regarded her with mild amusement and pity. "What can you do? You're a little girl with nothing much to boast. I'm a teacher."

She smirked. "I can play a card you can't."

His brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"The tattletale card! I'm telling on you to Ms. Florence!"

Just kidding, that's not how it went. Because what good will that do?

(Y/n) looked unimpressed. "If I can't do anything, why did you tie me up? Heck, I can't even do a single push-up. Unless...you're afraid that I can do something? You're contradicting yourself now, aren't you?"

"Don't you dare try to play word games with me," Mr. Howards snarled, stalking up to the girl and seizing her up by the collar, making Mr. Brooks look up in alarm and Elijah yell out warningly. "Just because you're a student and a female, don't think I'm not afraid to hurt you, little kid."

Gone was the friendly aura Mr. Howards played and the awkward innocent guy look he had every time the female students started swarming him. Gone were his bad jokes and mugs of steaming coffee that filled his classroom with its aroma. Gone were his friendly greetings in the hallway whenever one of his students approached him. In its place was wild, unstable anger and desperation in his slightly crazed eyes, as if he was holding onto everything he thought he believed in by a single strand of spider silk.

Rather than hatred, (Y/n) started to pity the man. She started to see that he was just a lost soul that went down the wrong path and beyond the point of no return.

She started to pity him for what he's become and what he will be. Because she knew that even if she died here, his web of lies will soon become his undoing. The lies he's tied around himself...they will come to strangle him one day.

Of course, (Y/n) wasn't a patient person. She wouldn't wait for that day to come. All she could do now is provoke the blond teacher to buy Elijah and Mr. Brooks time to break free and hopefully come out of it with nothing more than a few punches. Just a few.

Her captor regarded her indifferent expression with anger before it morphed into one of mockery. "You don't understand the situation you're in, do you?" He sneered. "Alright, let me give you a wake-up call, brat."

When Elijah called her a kid or bug, she didn't mind. But when Mr. Howards did it, it made her feel inferior. And (Y/n) hated that feeling.

"Oh yeah?" Honestly, I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. Anything to stall for time. "How are you going to do that?"

The smug, victorious look on his face was world-ending. "Like this."

He pulled open the door and dragged two familiar-looking people through it, both tied-up and gagged the same way they were. Their eyes fell on (Y/n) instantly and they blanched in horror. Shock and disbelief hit the (h/c)-haired girl like a bullet.

The worst possible scenario that was buried in the depths of the darkest part of her mind had come true.

"Izzy? Lucy?"

Mr. Howards grinned widely as he pulled out a balisong. "Pick your poison, (Y/n). Isla Myers or Lucinda Summers. Who will it be?"

SPRING:HALL ━━━━━༻ ❀ ༺━━━━━ мєαηωнιℓє

Tristan never expected himself to go this far.

His initial plan was to go along with it lest Jaehyun blew a fuse and sent another one of his butlers to the hospital. Permanently. He didn't like the idea of another person sending the workers he personally hired away. Tristan was always in control; he wouldn't let an uncontrollable monster like Jaehyun ruin all that.

But somehow, he found himself doing more. Things that were unexpected of him to do. He wasn't the type to get his hands dirty or get into other people's affairs. If his father preferred to remain paranoid and superstitious without seeking treatment, then so be it. Even if that means continuing to kill countless students every year the Game occurs, as long as it doesn't affect Tristan's interests, he wouldn't give it a second glance.

And yet now he was facing the hardest decision in his life. To interfere with the current dilemma or do nothing? The logical part of him told him to do nothing. This was the Game, and he wasn't even a player. Who was he to step in? What would he get out of it? If Charles Howards gets his way and the school falls under his control, Tristan couldn't really care less. He could take it back at any time.

That was better for him, actually; if Tristan tried to seize control over the academy by force with his father as the current headmaster, people would start suspecting him of foul play. But with a teacher as the headmaster, no one would suspect anything if the youngest Knight son reclaimed the position out of "respect" for his father. So with that said, why was he hesitating? Why did he have the strangest feeling to step in and assist the hostages?

There was Elijah Johnson, for one. Tristan didn't really see any benefit he'd get out of saving the rugby coach. Sure, their team might suffer a few losses but a coach could be replaced. They were Fortuna Institute; highly qualified teachers were a dime a dozen.

Edward Brooks definitely had high net value, and losing him could ruin relations between the Knights and the Brooks. The old money family was still influential in the security services industry; countless top hitmen and bodyguards were trained by the Brooks. Perhaps aiding Brooks would be useful, but Tristan allowing Howards to succeed was more beneficial in the future. Deaths were easy to cover up, and murders even easier.

Those two were the only valuable hostages Tristan saw. There were two other girls but he didn't recognize them. That must mean they weren't important, so who was he to care if they lived or died?

But something still held him back. Something made him want to step in. It was a puzzling and new feeling for him: doubt. Tristan never doubted himself. He knew what was logically right and stuck to it. Everything he's done was for himself. Kindness? A necessity to get the soft-hearted on his side. Money? To lure in the right people and snuff out the wrong. Flattery? To butter up those he needed something from before squeezing them out of all their worth.

Emotions had no net value in society. It would only do more harm than good. As long as Tristan remained perfect and unfaltering in his steps, he'd rise above all the others. That's all that mattered, right?

His eyes narrowed as a particularly unpleasant memory came over him. A memory of one of his rare encounters with his mother as a child. That unpleasant woman's still alive the last time I checked, I believe, he frowned. I assumed Father would've disposed of her long before.

Disposing of people...huh?

If Brooks, Johnson, and the two girls were "disposed of," Tristan wouldn't bat an eye. But why did his chest fill with an uncomfortable sensation at the thought of her being hurt, wounded, or worse?

She'd nothing more than your mentee, he tried to reason with himself. Another person for you to use to achieve your goals. They had a strictly business-like relationship adhering to their contract. They weren't friends, but they weren't enemies either. So he shouldn't be feeling any attachment to her, right?

And yet, every time he tried to focus on his student council duties after their sessions he'd recall her dumb-looking face. She wasn't especially pretty or striking, but something about her piqued his interest. Perhaps it was her carefree attitude, or the fact her eyes seemed to see right into him. He didn't like that at first and tried to push her away before she saw too much.

But surprisingly, even if she saw anything, she didn't care. She didn't praise his excellence. She didn't shower him in pointless flattery. She didn't cower away under his brilliance. She wasn't a coward. A fool, but not a coward.

It made him remember Jaehyun's words. "We're friends!" The blond had chirped happily. That struck the blue-haired male as odd. He's seen Jaehyun sullen and expressionless, and sometimes even with that unsettling smile of his. But the blushing, truly happy countenance? No, he has never seen the blond like that before. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested.

So Tristan did what he did best; dig deeper into the source of the blond's happiness' deepest secrets. And guess what he found?

He nearly laughed at the irony of the situation. If only they knew...how would they react? But that was a card he'd keep to himself for now.

Perhaps that made him the same as Kieran, that embodiment of pure scum, who saw everyone as nothing but his playthings. Just the thought of being anyway similar to the white-haired male made Tristan shudder. I'd rather drink bleach than admit to being associated with that scum.

Then...what other explanation could there be for his hesitation? There was no way he'd ever doubt himself because of a single girl with nothing much to offer. No way. I must be feeling under the weather, he concluded. Simply nausea. Yes, that's it. I'm just not feeling well and as a result, I cannot think clearly.

Despite what he said, he found himself moving before his mind could even register it as the blond man spun his lethal weapon in his hands, and pointed it towards the two girls in front of him. Tristan found himself in the library, a few bookshelves away from the situation even before he could question himself. It only made him more confused.

Shaking off his bewilderment, he peeked from behind the shelf. Just as psychopathic as ever, Howards, he curled his lip at the sight of the said man. A simple Number in the 25th Game, yet also the one responsible for the most deaths. Now forcing a girl to choose between her friends? What a madman.

Then he smiled; it wasn't a kind smile. Not that we're much better.

"Is it really such a hard decision?" Mr. Howards was saying, a wicked grin dancing on his lips. "This one or that one. Pick one and I'll let her go. The other will die. You have ten seconds, my dear. Make your decision."

Tristan's pale blue eyes flickered to the (h/c)-haired girl, and his eyes widened. Her face was devastated, filled with an emotion he's seen countless times on his victims but never on the said girl. It was one of despair and desperation as she held back her pleading and begging, knowing fully well it would never work on someone with a mind as twisted as Mr. Howards'.

Tristan...liked that look on her. It's quite becoming. A strange thrill shot through him as his mind, trained and curbed under the strict leash called logic, began to run free. I can do worse than Howards. And when I do...how would her face look like?

He looked that crushed look—and he wanted to see more.

"Ten," Mr. Howards began to count in a singsong. "Nine..."

"Mmph!" The blonde girl tried to say through the duct tape covering her mouth. "Mmph!" The man raised an eyebrow at her struggles and removed the duct tape with a sigh.

Lucinda coughed and winced at the harsh motion of ripping the tape off her skin. "(Y/n), please," she begged, her voice cracked no doubt from screaming. Her mascara ran freely down her face in black streaks that mixed with the crystalline tears spilling off her eyes. "Save Isla. I'll be fine. Just pick her, please!"

The purple-haired girl's eyes widened and she shook her head furiously. When her gag was removed, her voice came out hysterical. "No, (Y/n), don't! Pick Lucy! Not me—"

"If you don't pick Isla I'll never forgive you," Lucinda cried in a broken voice. She calmed down, taking in a few ragged breaths before focusing her bright and steady eyes on the (h/c)-haired girl. Tristan had to admit he was impressed by the blonde's mental strength.

"Eight..." Mr. Howards drawled with a yawn.

"(Y/n), listen to me," the blonde hissed. (Y/n) obeyed and opened her mouth, but no sound came out. "Listen. I won't be mad at you if you don't choose me, but I will be if you don't choose Isla. It's fine what happens to me; I had it coming anyway."

"No, please!" Isla sobbed hysterically. "Not Lucy!"

"Seven..."

"I have a confession to make," the other girl plowed on determinedly. She faced the purple-haired girl and cracked a smile. "I like you, Isla. And not as a friend. I was never able to tell you, but I liked you ever since childhood."

Isla broke down in sobs. "Lucy..."

"I don't expect you to return my feelings, but I just wanted to let you know. I was tired of lying to myself and dating all those random guys. So Isla, I want you to live on. For me, please?"

Mr. Howards tapped his foot impatiently and twirled the balisong between his fingers. "Six..."

Isla shook her head, her voice now coming out in blubbers. "No...Lucy, don't do this to me..."

Lucinda returned her attention to (Y/n), her gaze steady and unwavering. "(Y/n), do this for me. Choose Isla, and win the Game. Then you can return everything to what it should've been."

At this moment, everyone was thinking the same thing. The blonde girl was beautiful, that's for sure, especially with her skills in makeup. But now, they had to admit it: Lucinda Summers could not have been more beautiful than right now, even with her makeup ruined and her face marred with blood and grime.

(Y/n) knew not making a choice would be the worst decision of all. So she closed her eyes, and made her choice.

"I'm sorry..."