The sky above Seoul was an endless canvas of darkness, punctuated by the glimmer of countless stars. Their faint light barely touched the sprawling city below, where the neon glow of signs and streetlights illuminated the metropolis in stark contrast.
On top of a towering building, a lone figure stood silently, his presence blending into the shadows. The man, dressed in a black hoodie, had the hood pulled low, obscuring much of his face. His stance was calm but deliberate, as if he had been waiting for this moment. From this height, he looked down at the city, the vast expanse of Seoul stretching out beneath him like a labyrinth of lights and concrete.
The wind ruffled his hoodie slightly, but he remained motionless, his gaze intense and focused. There was an unspoken purpose in his stillness, as though he were watching, waiting for something hidden to emerge from the night.
Seoul seemed peaceful from above, but the man knew better. His eyes, though concealed by shadow, reflected something deeper—an understanding of the layers of chaos that stirred beneath the surface. He stood as a sentinel over the city, anticipating the storm that was about to descend.
The man on the rooftop spoke softly into the night, his voice barely more than a whisper carried by the wind. "The game has begun," he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he looked over the sprawling city of Seoul below. The lights flickered like stars trapped in a web of streets and alleyways, a maze of life and secrets.
"But this time," he continued, his voice gaining a hardened edge, "I will conquer this endless abyss."
He straightened slightly, his presence now commanding, as if the entire city was nothing more than a chessboard laid out beneath him. The abyss, with all its unknown depths and shadows, would no longer be a force that consumed him. Instead, it was a challenge—one he was prepared to face and dominate.
The stars above shimmered like silent witnesses to his vow, and the city continued to pulse with life beneath him. Whatever lay ahead, he was ready. The pieces had been set, and this time, he would not be a mere player in the game. He would be its master.
The man's eyes gleamed beneath the shadow of his hood as he gazed down at the city, his voice filled with quiet resolve. "I'll rewrite our destiny," he murmured, each word heavy with purpose. The wind picked up, swirling around him, as though it, too, sensed the weight of his declaration.
"Of you, me... and us."
The city below seemed endless, a labyrinth of stories, betrayals, and paths that had all converged into this moment. His fate, intertwined with others in ways they couldn't yet see, was no longer bound by the rules of this game. The chessboard was theirs to shatter, and the future was no longer set in stone.
With one last glance at the horizon, he knew that this time, the outcome would be different. He was no longer content to play the role fate had chosen for him. He would seize control of the narrative—of every thread that connected them.
The stars twinkled like distant promises, and in the darkness, the man smiled. Destiny, after all, could be rewritten.
The man's gaze softened for a moment as he stood at the edge of the rooftop, the weight of his words carried away by the night wind. "So wait for me a little longer," he whispered, his voice barely audible, almost as though he were speaking to the stars themselves. "Soon, we will meet again... just the same way we did before."
He paused, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips. "But this time... there will be a little change for us."
His voice dipped into a quiet, intimate murmur as he spoke a name—one that seemed to dissolve into the night, a name that could not be written or heard. It lingered, heavy with emotion and meaning, yet lost to the wind as if it belonged only to him and the one he called for.
He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the weight of the past and the promise of the future converging in that fleeting moment. Then, with a deep breath, he stepped back from the edge, his resolve unshaken. Soon, the game would continue, and this time, the rules would be his to break.
With a final glance at the city below, the man's presence seemed to blur, fading into the shadows that clung to the rooftop. His figure, once solid against the night sky, became nothing more than a whisper of movement. The stars above flickered as if they bore witness to something profound, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone.
The wind carried the faint echo of his whispered promise, but the rooftop was now empty, the city continuing its restless hum far below. It was as if he had never been there—an enigma swallowed by the darkness.
But the sense of something inevitable lingered in the air, like a storm brewing just beyond the horizon. The game had only just begun, and somewhere in the heart of the city, he moved unseen, waiting for the moment to strike.
The sun rose slowly from the shore, casting a soft golden hue across the waves as the light began to touch the edge of the city. On the beach, two figures stood side by side, both wearing the Na-Seong High uniforms, their silhouettes framed against the glowing horizon.
One of the figures stretched lazily, yawning as if the beauty of the sunrise meant little more than the start of another day. His posture was relaxed, his demeanor indifferent to the world around him. The other figure, however, stood in silent contemplation, his gaze fixed on the rising sun. The wind tugged gently at his hair, making it flicker and dance in the morning breeze.
Without a word, he continued to eat his lollipop, the candy stick shifting from one side of his mouth to the other, unfazed by the grandeur of the moment. His expression remained calm, almost distant, as if the sun rising over the ocean was just another inevitable part of the day, much like the game they were all unknowingly playing.
The silent understanding between them needed no words. While one remained carefree, the other's stillness held a quiet intensity, a reflection of the unknown battles yet to come. Together, they stood at the edge of something larger, the sunrise signaling not just a new day, but the beginning of something more profound.
As the sun's warm rays began to bathe the shore, the figure who had been watching the sunrise without a word finally spoke, his voice quiet yet firm.
"Sang-ji," he said, the lollipop still in his mouth, but his tone more serious now. "No matter what, don't ever get involved with anything that involves the game of carnage."
Sang-ji, the figure who had just yawned, turned his head slightly, his carefree expression faltering for a moment. He glanced at his companion, seeing the seriousness in his eyes. There was something deeper in those words—an unspoken warning, a line drawn between them and the chaos that seemed to loom on the horizon.
The wind continued to sweep through the quiet morning, but the weight of that statement hung in the air between them. Sang-ji's laid-back demeanor returned as he shrugged, stretching his arms lazily again, though there was a flicker of acknowledgment behind his eyes.
"I hear you, Yin-Shin," Sang-ji replied, trying to keep his usual tone light. But deep down, he knew that once the game began, no one could truly remain untouched.
Yin-Shin said nothing more, the lollipop in his mouth shifting as his gaze returned to the horizon. Despite his calm exterior, there was a storm in his mind—one that Sang-ji wasn't ready to face. Not yet.
Sang-ji's tone carried a hint of curiosity as he turned to Yin-Shin, who remained focused on the horizon, the lollipop still in his mouth. "But I wonder," Sang-ji began, his voice less casual now, "why are you so concerned about this game, Yin-Shin? What does this game mean to you?"
Yin-Shin's gaze remained locked on the rising sun, the golden light reflecting in his dark eyes, but his expression gave nothing away. For a long moment, he didn't respond, as if weighing the question carefully, or perhaps deciding whether to answer at all.
After a pause, Yin-Shin slowly removed the lollipop from his mouth, letting the stick dangle between his fingers. He spoke softly, almost as if the words weren't meant to be heard by anyone else.
"This game…" He exhaled, the wind carrying his voice just slightly. "It's not just about control, or power, or survival. It's about something deeper. Something... personal."
Sang-ji raised an eyebrow, surprised by the shift in Yin-Shin's usually detached demeanor. He had always known Yin-Shin to be calm, almost indifferent, but this was different—there was a weight to his words, a history Sang-ji didn't fully understand.
"It's not about what it is," Yin-Shin continued, his voice steady but laced with something darker, "it's about what it does. The way it changes people. It's taken too much already."
He finally turned to look at Sang-ji, his eyes serious, as though daring him to ask more. "That's why I don't want you involved. It's not a game you walk away from unchanged."
Sang-ji stared back, feeling the gravity of Yin-Shin's words settle around them. For the first time, the carefree veil he wore faltered, and the reality of the stakes became clear. There was more to the game of carnage than he had ever imagined—more than either of them could fully escape.
Yin-Shin's sudden movement was almost imperceptible, but the way he rubbed his forehead with a pained expression caught Sang-ji's attention. The serene morning seemed to pause for a moment, the silence deepening as Sang-ji's concern grew.
"Are you having those visions again?" Sang-ji asked, his voice laced with a mix of worry and curiosity. His casual demeanor faded, replaced by genuine concern for his friend.
Yin-Shin didn't immediately respond, his fingers pressing against his temples as if trying to stave off the onset of a headache or an internal struggle. The visions were something Sang-ji had only heard fragments about—glimpses of torment or premonitions that Yin-Shin seemed to suffer through, though he rarely spoke of them openly.
Finally, Yin-Shin looked up, his eyes reflecting a vulnerability that was seldom seen. "Yes," he admitted quietly. "They're becoming more frequent. More vivid."
His voice was tinged with frustration and exhaustion. "They're not just memories or dreams. They feel… real. Like they're happening right now. And it's getting harder to distinguish what's real from what's not."
Sang-ji's gaze softened as he stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on Yin-Shin's shoulder. "You don't have to face this alone," he said gently. "Whatever's coming, we'll figure it out together."
Yin-Shin gave a faint nod, appreciating the gesture but still clearly troubled. "Thank you," he murmured. "But this isn't something easily fixed. These visions… they're a part of this game, and they're pulling me deeper into it."
The two stood there in silence, the weight of Yin-Shin's struggle hanging heavily between them as the sun continued its ascent, casting long shadows over the beach.
Yin-Shin's words carried a deep resonance as he looked out over the horizon, the weight of his visions pressing heavily on him. "Sang-ji," he said, his voice steady despite the underlying strain, "just like I thought, that fight with Gyeon-Suk High came true. It was all there, in my vision."
Sang-ji, still with his hand on Yin-Shin's shoulder, watched him intently. The pieces were starting to fall into place, connecting the dots between Yin-Shin's unsettling experiences and the recent events.
Yin-Shin continued, his gaze distant, as if replaying the scenes from his vision in his mind. "I saw it all before it happened—the moves, the outcomes, even the part where those two unexpected students turned the tide. It was like watching a twisted version of reality unfold before my eyes."
Sang-ji's expression grew more serious, the casual attitude fading as he absorbed the implications of Yin-Shin's words. "So, these visions aren't just random," he said thoughtfully. "They're showing you things that are bound to happen. But if you knew about the fight, why didn't you say anything sooner?"
Yin-Shin's shoulders slumped slightly, the frustration evident in his posture. "I tried to warn you, but the visions are fragmented and often cryptic. It's hard to piece them together in a way that makes sense. I knew something was coming, but the details were always out of reach until it was almost too late."
He turned to face Sang-ji fully, a serious determination in his eyes. "But now, it's clear. The game isn't just a game anymore. It's pulling us into its depths, and the visions are just a part of that. We need to be prepared for whatever comes next."
Sang-ji nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation.
Yin-Shin's expression grew resolute as he turned back to Sang-ji, his eyes reflecting a mix of determination and resolve. "But no matter what," he said firmly, "I won't ever get involved with this game. I can't. It's too dangerous, and it takes too much."
Sang-ji looked at him, a mix of concern and understanding in his gaze. "I get it," he said, his tone steady. "You've seen the cost firsthand. And I respect your decision."
Yin-Shin nodded, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. "It's not just about staying out of it for my sake. It's for everyone's. This game is more than just a series of events—it's a force that corrupts and destroys. I can't let it drag me in any further."
Sang-ji remained silent for a moment, absorbing the weight of Yin-Shin's words. "But what if the game comes to us anyway? What if we're forced to confront it?"
Yin-Shin's expression hardened, his resolve unwavering. "If it comes to that, we'll face it with our eyes open. But until then, I will stay away from the game as much as possible. I've seen enough to know where it leads."
Sang-ji nodded, understanding the gravity of Yin-Shin's stance. "Alright. We'll do our best to navigate through this without getting pulled in deeper."
The two stood together, the rising sun casting a warm glow over them as they faced the future with a newfound clarity. Despite the uncertainties that lay ahead, they were united in their resolve to confront whatever challenges came their way, while staying true to their own boundaries.
The visions of destined Future…