Ji Ah woke to the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the suffocating stillness of her quarters. The silk sheets beneath her felt damp, clinging to her skin as though trying to anchor her in place. Her body ached faintly, and her head throbbed with a dull, persistent pulse.

She groaned, turning her head slightly. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused, before settling on the ceiling above her. The events of the night before bled into her mind like ink spilled on paper, blurring the edges of memory and reality.

The room swayed for a moment as she sat up, her silk tank top clinging to her damp skin. Her fingers brushed against her arm, and for a fleeting second, she swore she could feel it again—the firm grip of his leather glove, the heat of his hand beneath the cold, unyielding surface.

Ji Ah shivered, her hands instinctively moving to her face, where the faintest trace of pressure seemed to linger. Her breathing quickened as fragments of memory returned, flashing in disjointed bursts.

The sound of gunfire. The weight of his presence as he loomed next to her. His voice—calm, unyielding, dripping with authority—whispering in her ear, "I did warn you about tests."

And then, the fall.

Her mind reeled, struggling to piece together the moments that followed. She remembered collapsing, her legs refusing to hold her weight. The world had spun violently before fading to black. But there was something else—a sensation that made her stomach twist.

Someone caught me.

Her lips parted as the faintest flicker of a memory surfaced: the feel of strong arms beneath her, cradling her. The sharp scent of leather mingled with the warmth of his presence, steady and unwavering.

Her pulse quickened. Him.

Ji Ah swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet touching the cool floor. Her gaze wandered to the door—locked. She clenched her fists, frustration and confusion warring within her. Why had he brought her back here? Why hadn't he left her to wake in the hallway like a discarded piece of furniture, as she might have expected? Or worse executed her?

Her eyes narrowed, the weight of the Frontman's actions pressing down on her. He had pulled the trigger without hesitation, executed Number 4 as though she were no more than a pawn in his twisted game. Yet, he had carried Ji Ah back here himself, his touch somehow both impersonal and uncomfortably intimate.

She ran her hands down her arms, trying to shake the phantom sensation of his gloves on her skin. It clung to her like a second layer, a memory she couldn't scrub away no matter how hard she tried.

Why? Why was he doing this?

Ji Ah rose to her feet, her legs shaky but determined. She paced the small space, her mind racing. He had said she was being tested, but what kind of test left her with this storm of conflicting emotions?

Her fingers curled into fists. If he thinks I'll break, he's wrong. Yet even as she thought it, her resolve wavered, the weight of his actions and her own uncertainty threatening to crush her. She turned to the mirror on the wall, catching her reflection—disheveled, vulnerable, and haunted.

But there, through the mask's narrow eyeholes, her gaze burned with something new: a determination to understand, to survive, and to unmask the man who held her fate in his hands.

—————————————

She dressed without incident, the ache in her head settling down to a dull throb. Glancing at the options, she was limited. Each dress designed to show off an indecent amount of skin, for her it was deciding what pound of flesh to sacrifice.

Settling on a black velvet number that covered her front her neck to mid thigh in the front, but had a large swooping back that ended just above her bottom, exposing her spine. The sleeves covered down to her wrists, but did little to disguise the discomfort she felt.

Scooping her hair into a simple ponytail, Ji Ah secured her mask and set about adding her lipstick, a reminder of her place.

Slipping her heels Ji Ah sat and waited. Whilst no clock was offered in this cold, steel prison, she was sure it would not be long now till she was summoned.

Taking a deep breath, rolling her shoulders to lessen the tension Ji Ah let her mind drift back over the events of the last few days. She was not sure when it happened, how she became so complicit, she needed to fight back, to escape and find Jun Ho.

Gi Hun's face flashed before her, guilt rising in her throat. What she be condemning him to if she left?

The banging on the steel door pulled her from her thoughts, "number 13, prepare yourself" he ordered shoving a tray of food through the hatch, "your duties will begin shortly"

Ji Ah stared at the food, no appetite, her gut twisting at the thought of what laid ahead.

———————————————

The cacophony of laughter grated against Ji Ah's nerves as she entered the VIP lounge, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. The air was thick with smoke and the pungent aroma of expensive liquor, their opulence a grotesque contrast to the grim spectacle unfolding below.

Her mask felt stifling, the velvet dress an unwanted reminder of her role in this charade. She moved with practiced grace, her chin held high, but her every step felt like a calculated risk.

The Frontman stood at the far end of the room, his imposing figure framed by the massive viewing window. His posture was rigid, hands clasped behind his back, the black leather of his gloves catching the light. For a moment, Ji Ah dared to hope he wouldn't notice her presence, but that hope evaporated as his masked head turned ever so slightly in her direction.

"Gentleman, we apologise for the minor disturbance last night. It has been addressed" he started, looking straight ahead "your money for any bets placed on player 111 will be refunded"

Ji Ah felt sick, is that all that man's life was worth, the cost of a bet?

"The games will continue on time, in line with the schedule" he continued, the happy murmurs of the VIP's filled the room.

"Allow me to introduce the next game" he flicked a switch and the screen behind him opened, displaying a small area designed to look like an old town.

"The game will be marbles, each player be asked to form pairs, those pairs will be given 10 marbles each. Which ever member of the pair had collected all 20 marbles from the opponent within the timeframe will be the winner" he explained simply, like he was talking about the weather.

The loud Texan spoke up "oh wee that is a sweet game, those sorry bastards have will more than likely pair up with someone they trust. Only to be stabbed in the back!" He ended laughing, the room full of VIP's joining in on the sick joke.

Ji Ah tried to keep her eyes forward, not letting any weakness show. She would not break.

The VIPs began placing their bets, their animated discussions punctuated with crude laughter. Ji Ah glanced briefly at the Frontman who was milling around the room, pretending she wasn't there. She was not sure if that was a good or bad thing.

"Gentlemen," his voice cut through the noise like a blade, commanding instant silence. "The next game is about to begin"

Ji Ah's stomach churned as VIPs drew their attention the large screen, revealing players being herded into the arena. The sight of the bags of marbles in their hands made her blood run cold.

Pairs. Trust. Betrayal.

The words reverberated in her mind, unbidden, as she watched the players exchange uneasy glances as the game was announced to them. Her chest tightened at the memory of Gi Hun's face, the desperation she knew he would feel in this moment.

Ji Ah stood silently at her assigned post, trying to keep her breathing steady, her eyes transfixed on the screen.

And then, she felt it.

A ghosting touch, so faint it might have been imagined, brushing against the exposed curve of her spine. Ji Ah stiffened, her breath hitching as the warmth of his gloved hand hovered just above her skin.

He didn't speak, didn't even look her way, but the message was clear: I see you.

Ji Ah forced herself to remain still, her heart pounding in her chest. She could almost feel his amusement, as though he were testing her resolve in plain sight of the oblivious VIPs.

Below, a contestant dropped to their knees, pleading with their partner for mercy. The first marble clattered against the floor, a sound that reverberated through Ji Ah's very soul.

The Frontman's voice cut through the tension once more. "This game will reveal the true nature of human bonds. Will loyalty prevail? Or will desperation triumph?" He still lingered, making sure Ji Ah could see him.

Ji Ah bit the inside of her cheek, the phantom sensation of his touch lingering like. Her mind raced with questions she couldn't afford to ask, not here, not now.

She swallowed hard, her hands curling into fists at her sides. If he was trying to break her, to make her falter in this sick game of control, he would have to try harder.

But as the screams and sobs from below echoed in the room, Ji Ah wasn't sure who was truly winning this battle of wills—or if she could afford to lose.

—————————————-

As the marble game wrapped up, there were only 17 players remaining. The number seared into Ji Ah's soul, she failed them.

Ji Ah was rooted to her spot, watching as the number of players slowly ticked down during the course of the game, a game she was powerless to stop. 'Is that how they felt?' She wondered 'the players'. The images of the surviving players being shown on screen, Gi Hun's smiling face staring back at her.

Lost in her own world she nearly missed the call of "number 13" and the clinking of ice against glass. Following the sound Ji Ah saw the glittering mask of the Texan staring back at her. Drink held up in the air.

Ji Ah quickly rushed over, all too aware of the eyes on her. The Texan's booming laughter cut through the lounge like an unwelcome melody as Ji Ah moved quietly along the edge of the room.

"Ah, there she is," he drawled, gesturing toward Ji Ah with his cigar. "Our little goddess of fortune, lucky number 13. Come, sit with me, sweetheart." He finished, tapping the seat next to him.

Ji Ah's stomach turned at the saccharine tone he used, hesitating only a moment before making her way over. Refusal wasn't an option—not in this place.

As she perched carefully on the edge of the luxurious leather couch, his hand was on her before she had a chance to settle. Thick fingers wrapped around her arm, pulling her closer, his breath reeking of whiskey as he leaned in.

"Don't be shy now," he cooed, his fingers grazing the exposed curve of her back. "You're my little good luck charm. What's the secret, huh?"

Ji Ah stiffened, her spine rigid under his touch. She forced a polite smile behind her mask, carefully disentangling her arm from his grip. "I'm just here to ensure you're all well taken care of."

"Taken care of, huh?" The Texan chuckled darkly, his hand now brushing her thigh. "Well, I can think of a few ways you could—"

"Number 13."

The Frontman's voice, cold and precise, cut through the Texan's lewd comment. Ji Ah's head snapped toward him, her heart racing as she stood abruptly, almost knocking over the drink table in her haste to escape the Texan's grasp.

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the Frontman's authority pressing down on everyone present. Even the Texan, for all his bravado, withdrew his hand, though not without a muttered curse under his breath.

"Yes, sir?" Ji Ah answered, keeping her voice steady as she approached him.

He didn't look at her, his attention fixed on the monitors displaying the game stats. "There's an issue with the observation reports. Retrieve them and bring them to me immediately. You will find them in my lounge"

Ji Ah blinked, confused. Observation reports? She'd never been asked to handle anything of the sort before. Still, she nodded. "Understood."

As the door hissed shut behind her, the Frontman allowed himself a moment to glance toward the Texan.

Though his mask betrayed no emotion, his stance was unyielding, his jaw tightened, and his hands curled tightening on the controls.