Chapter Text
He can’t remember the last time he was here.
Sure, he’d checked in on this place from time to time after he took up the role, but he’d been a bit... preoccupied as of late.
It was strange, adjusting, living on borrowed time to living on his own. Nearly five years he’d spent there, trapped on that god forsaken island. He’d been the one to chain his own hands, but if not him—who else?
He’d tried—oh, how he tried—to ignore it. That pull. It worked for a while, for years he’d turned Il-nam away, tried to rebuild his life away from the games. He refused to become part of his ‘game’, another cog in his cruel machine, ran only by greed and the cursed need for survival.
But guilt was a hand at his throat he could no longer ignore. Eventually he'd run out of air.
“Sir?” A familiar voice cut through his thoughts, sounding as startled as she looked.
“No-eul, I thought we’d agreed to drop the formalities. I may still be your boss, but I think we’re far passed that.”
Her scoff only solidified the smirk on his face. They’d dropped the titles long ago, since the first time he'd unmasked in front of her—willingly. A show of trust neither of them had forgotten.
She’d become something of a secretary over the years, his right hand both on and off the island. She’d handled everything from low level soldier work to putting on the mask in his stead. Although he’d come back from that particular trip vowing to never leave her unsupervised again. It had taken him far too long to dispose of the dead soldiers she'd left in his room.
Her 'welcome back' gift had been every soldier left still participating in the organ trade he thought he’d snuffed out. Her efficiency nearly boarded on disturbing.
“Please, you know as well as I do who runs this place. You’re free to stick around though, In-ho.” She’d already turned around, tossing a hand over her shoulder as she made her way to the bar. He could practically hear the eye roll.
He followed her over, settling on leaning against the counter rather than taking a seat. He didn’t plan on staying long, he just wanted to see what she'd been up to. It had been a few months since she'd taken over as manager here and he was curious to see what she'd done with the place. He let his back rest against the counter, arms folded over his chest as his eyes roamed over the space. The bar was mostly empty, save for a few regulars even he recognized—a stark contrast to the nearly full tables and booths surrounding the stage. He could hear the flow of conversation all around him, gentle laughs and soft jazz filling the room.
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen it so lively before, it’s… nice.
“It’s Dove, our—well, your—new songbird.” He turned around at the sound of her voice, shifting to fold his arms over the counter. No-eul had settled in behind the bar now, placing a glass he hadn’t even heard her fill in front of him. “He started a couple months ago. It was only a few nights at first, testing the waters.” She dipped her head to the stage, the golden glow of spotlights falling on the velvet red of the curtain surrounding it. “Now he’s here nearly every day. Not sure I could make him leave even if I wanted to, they adore him.”
“Dove?” He echoed, brow raised. Apparently, he’d missed more then he thought. Seeing this place alive again though? That was a welcome change. The last time he’d visited it had nearly been a ghost town, years of neglect had turned it into nothing more than an afterthought. He hadn’t realized how much he missed seeing it like this.
She waved him off, “You’ll meet him soon enough, I’m sure he’s curious to know who he’s working for.”
While he was fairly certain it was only a stage name, she didn’t seem particularly inclined to give him anything else. He smiled at the thought, it was a quiet comfort—knowing she hadn't changed too much in his absence—she was nothing if not evasive. It had taken him months to get her to tell him why she'd joined their ranks, nearly twice as long to admit why she wanted to take them down. He was as patient as she was secretive—though he was hardly an open book himself.
He'd kept quiet about his own mission in the beginning, simply put her to work like he would any of his soldiers. Except, she wasn't like the rest of them—she'd been different from the start.
Efficient, ruthless, followed commands with the deference only a genuine soldier could wield. She was professional, never questioning, never asking for more than what was given. She'd become his right hand over the years, someone he could trust to run things in his place when his own hands were needed elsewhere. Someone he never had to think twice about relying on.
...That was until she’d pinned him down in his own office and ripped off his mask. Yeah, he hadn’t exactly seen that one coming, especially when she’d taken off her own a moment later.
It was a death sentence in that place, a rule, if broken, was met with a swift bullet to the skull. Definitely not the trust he was met with instead, a quiet alliance he hadn’t even been aware of.
Apparently, he had not been as secret as he thought when he pulled those files. He’d kept it at minimum, only slipping out a few from time to time, not enough to be noticeable—or so he thought. It had only been a few months before she caught him—literally—forcing him to the ground with an arm against his throat. “I know what you’re doing. The files, the missing VIPs. Why?”
He knew who she was, her name, her history. A soldier, defected to the south, picked up by his officer not long after. Her eliminations spoke of her abilities far more than her vague background. She was more than capable, that much was clear, so why hadn’t she just killed him? Why bother with questioning?
He’d only sighed then, chalking it up to interrogation. She’d have to explain why she’d killed him if she wanted to live herself. Il-nam wouldn’t have taken too kindly to his sudden death after all that time spent trying to convince him.
He’d told her everything. Not out of fear or desperation, but because he really had nothing left to lose. He’d expected violence after that—the familiar bite of a bullet or the sharp finality of a knife.
He hadn’t expected indifference.
She just stared at him, piercing eyes taking him apart, looking for the lies in his words. Lies she wouldn’t find. Then she walked off without another word, leaving him with nothing more than a swift nod, and she'd gone about their work like nothing happened.
He’d thought he’d find Il-nam in his rooms after that, gun in hand, waiting to finish what he shouldn't have started. But he never did.
A week later he found her in his office again, each and every file he’d pulled from before stacked high on his desk, her mask right along with them. “Former winner turned Frontman huh? Talk about a promotion, I’m impressed.”
In her hands sat a crisp manilla folder, 2015 written clear on its label. A folder he’d destroyed the moment he found, one he was now realizing Il-nam kept copies of, probably because he knew he'd destroy any evidence of that year. Bastard.
He raised a brow under the mask, so this was her game? Fine, he’d play.
“Coming from a soldier turned soldier, I’m not sure that holds the merit you think it does.”
She only smiled at him, swapping the folder in her hands for another. “Even you know I’m much more than that. Now, are we doing this or not?” She’d reached a hand over the desk, handing him the file. “This one hasn’t been around for a while, I doubt his continued absence would be noticed.”
She sat back, tilting her head to look at him as he scanned over the words. He hadn’t come to watch in nearly four years, the last game he’d been present for was In-ho's own. Apparently, that did nothing to stop his hefty donations, it was clear his absence wasn’t meant to be permanent.
Well, it certainly would be now.
He took his mask off then, evening their playing field. If they were really doing this it was only fair. She looked surprised for a moment, eyes widening, before settling into a pleased look. She rose from his seat, smoothly stepping around the desk before standing before him, hand already outstretched in the space between them. “No-eul.”
He blinked, taken aback. They were both aware they knew each other's names—she’d literally been holding his winning file a moment ago and he was her boss—but this was more than basic knowledge.
This was trust.
He reached out a gloved hand to meet her own, “In-ho.”
They were laid bare here, maskless and vulnerable, in a place designed to exploit weakness. It was a shaky thing, trust. He should hate her, despise her for the role she played in this nightmare he'd come to end. But what would that make him? Who was he to judge? He’d killed in his games, long before he ever donned the mask.
It was survival. Selfish.
Human.
He’d killed because he had something to lose, not because he thought his life was worth more, but because he had something to live for. Someone to live for. He was many things, but he wasn't naive. They were one in the same.
“Mr. Hwang!” He nearly jumped, far too caught up in his thoughts to notice they weren’t alone anymore. “I’m so glad you're here! Can you play piano?” Dae-ho was at his side now, his words coming out so quickly they were nearly one. In-ho hadn't seen him in some time now, but even he knew that look never meant anything good.
“…I’m sure Gyeong-seok does, being our pianist and all.” In-ho replied, raising a brow at him.
“I-I know but he’s running late and the show starts in five minutes.” Dae-ho clasped his hands together, tilting his head at him, a plea if In-ho had ever seen one.
In-ho cast a questioning glance at No-eul, who only offered him a half-hearted shrug before walking off to tend to another patron. He let out a quiet sigh then, fine, if he must.
He picked up his glass, downing it in one go. He didn’t say he’d do it sober, not that one glass had nearly as much of an effect as he wanted.
“Lead the way.” He nodded at one of the backstage doors, the entries tucked into the walls on either side of the room. He didn’t need a guide, but it had been some time since he’d been here, he wanted to know who he’d be sharing a stage with and who better to introduce him than Dae-ho? He'd been around for quite a while now, though how he’d worked his way from bouncer to sound manager In-ho would never know.
“Thank you! I would’ve had to play myself if you said no.” He winced at that, he’d heard Dae-ho try his hand at the piano after hours, when the club had emptied and only staff remained. Suffice it to say, there was a reason he’d never joined the band. Although, he had always been a daft hand on the tech side of things. Maybe the switch to sound manager made more sense than he thought.
Dae-ho led him through the narrow spaces between tables, offering quick greetings and casual compliments to everyone he passed. Ever the extrovert.
Walking through this place felt like returning to a childhood home, opening the door to find that everything had changed, and yet nothing at all. The people were different, of course, the staff not quite the same since he’d last visited, but the place—his place—hadn’t changed at all.
He’d always been proud of it—loathe as he was to admit it aloud. He’d spent so long planning every detail of this place. The soft glow of the chandeliers he’d spent weeks deciding on, the wood paneling that complimented his wallpaper perfectly, all the way down to the drinks he—alone—decided deserved to be placed front and center on the glass shelves behind his bar.
He’d loved being a detective, that would never change, but this? This was his dream. Of course, he never thought it would be like this, never thought it would be at all. Dreams had always just been fantasies, something you long for, but never comes to fruition. This had been all he had then, for the years after the games, when the grief had nearly drowned him.
He’d been cleaning out the attic of his old home when he found them, old sketches he’d made with-
...With her.
He’d spent year after year building this place, the one thing he’d kept from that life. The one thing they couldn’t take from him. Even now, years after he’d left it all behind, it stood. Thriving, in spite of his absence.
It should feel like some cosmic joke, that this place didn’t need him, but it didn't. It never would, because it was never meant to be just his. This place was always meant to be shared. Even if it hadn’t been with who he expected. It was… comforting, knowing that this place would live on even if he wasn’t around.
“Have you met Mr. Park yet? Jung-bae this is Mr. Hwang.” He stopped alongside Dae-ho before they made their way through the backstage door, nearly colliding with an oblivious ‘Jung-bae’ leaving at the same time.
“Oh!” In-ho's hand was abruptly pulled, shaken far too vigorously, in a grip that was far too comfortable. “It’s so nice to meet you! Jeez, you’re practically a myth around here, I was starting to think you didn’t exi- ow.”
A swift smack to the back of his head cut him off, Dae-ho didn’t even bother hiding the side eye he shot at the man. “He’s new, forgive him.”
In-ho only gave him a flat look, shaking his head before making his way to the back. He put a hand up in a half-hearted wave behind him. “A pleasure, Mr. Park.”
He didn’t wait for a response, already making his way to his old dressing room, motioning Dae-ho in behind him. He just needed to hang up his vest and then he'd be ready. Those stage lights were the sun, shrunk down and focused solely on you, the last thing he needed out there was more layers. He undid the front buttons before sliding it off his back, handing it to Dae-ho’s outstretched hand before turning to his mirror.
He fixed his hair, slipping a few stray strands back into place, absently tossing a glance to Dae-ho behind him.
“You’ve got," Dae-ho glanced down at his watch, "two minutes.”
He doubted he'd need that much time, they’d done this dance before, he just needed to know what he was working with.
“Fly me to the moon, slightly modified. The music sheets are already prepared. Dove on vocals, Mr. Cho and Mr. Abdul on sax and trumpet, Jung-Bae on drums-” He couldn’t suppress the eye roll. “I know I know, but trust me, he’s good. Ms. Kang on bass and No-eul on violin.”
He closed his eyes, processing, most the names sounded familiar. He could work with that. “Alright.”
He gave himself a once over, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt, black, not like he really wore any other color. No-eul never let an opportunity slip to poke at the fact he was practically still in uniform—modernized as it was. Stood in front of the mirror now, covered in black from his dress shoes to his slacks—well, he wasn't blind, not that he'd ever admit there might be some truth in her statement.
“Looking good, sir. No jacket tonight?”
He scoffed. “Please, under those lights? God, no. Only a fool would subject themselves to that kind of torture.”
Dae-ho blinked at him, nearly frozen until he gave himself a jolt, abruptly turning around to the wardrobe to hang up In-ho's vest. He could’ve sworn he saw his shoulders shaking. He turned back after a moment, letting out a shaky exhale. “They should be ready for you now, you can head out whenever you’re ready.”
He nodded, making his way back to the door. Dae-ho all but shouted a "good luck!” as he made his way out.
Showtime.