The silence between them lingered well past Ji-hwan's response.
Seong-min reclined in his seat, eyes expressionless now—less flame, more darkness, like a hunter biding time before striking.
"I see," he said finally, tone low. "Then next time… play better."
Ji-hwan didn't blink, but the words bit deep. He bowed slightly, saying no more.
Seong-min didn't require one.
"Go," he said, waving a hand. "Rest. I'll call you when I'm ready."
Ji-hwan rose, robes rustling softly. As he turned to go, Seong-min's voice halted him once more.
"Oh—and Ji-hwan?"
He turned back.
Seong-min's mouth curled into something between a smirk and a smile. "Don't think of trying to get away. You're already too far in."
Ji-hwan's breath caught. But he gave only a calm nod before vanishing into the corridor.
Once alone, his facade cracked. He braced against a column, eyes narrowing.
Seong-min recalled enough to be formidable—but not everything. Not yet.
And if Ji-hwan wished to safeguard the delicate future now taking shape before them, he would need to maintain it thus.
But as he strode again through the moon-lit corridors, a voice resounded in his mind—low, velvet-soft:
"Don't dream of escaping."
Ji-hwan bunched his fists.
He hadn't been attempting to flee.
He'd been trying to stay alive.