Front Row Ch. 1
Hwang In-ho x f ViP! Reader
Thanks to @xuntybitxh for inspiring me! 💌
Synopsis: The last thing you expected during your work as an undercover agent was to be reunited with the man that once left your heart in shambles.
Warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence and death
Notes: post-canon, no Y/N, gender is mentioned exactly twice, not proofread
"Never bet on a player that early on, dear. It's a waste of money."
You nod with a smirk that's the perfect mixture of polite and cocky, answering with nothing but an understanding hum before turning your eyes to the screen again.
"Rookie mistake" another VIP - a woman this time - interjects, enthusiastically throwing her head back as she gets comfortable in her seat. "See how fast they get sorted out?"
"It's just that those are my lucky numbers" you conjure a believable lie instantly. Not that you had to prove anything, but the fear of blowing your cover if you weren't performing properly was always lingering in the back of your mind. "Don't tell me you're afraid to lose?"
"Oh please..." Your companion and involuntary insider chuckles quite amused, leaning over the armrest of his chair until his proximity exceeded your comfort. "Those are peanuts to me. Hardly any money."
Right now he was still perfectly unaware, but gosh, how you'll enjoy his reaction once he finds out about your true identity - and that he unknowingly played a part in the downfall of those inhumane games.
Officially, the explosion that destroyed the old hideout two years ago was classified a 'natural disaster' far away from the mainland, so the general public stayed in the dark about the truth.
However, even those measurements weren't enough to erase all evidence from the island. It took months of effort to search the ruins, but combined with the wittness report of Jun-ho and his allies, the government finally decided to take action.
Sadly, out of personal reasons, the latter left out a crucial detail about one particular perpetrator...
Player 201 eliminated...player 101 eliminated...player 62 eliminated...player 007 eliminated...player 402 eliminated...
Each gunshot made you jolt internally, yet the way you presented yourself was composed, serene even. More and more player icons disappear from the side-display as you can only helplessly watch and pretend to enjoy this wicked entertainment.
"Well, so much about your lucky number" a VIP behind you scoffed, but you merely sigh and make a dismissing gesture without turning around to face him. You clutch your glass hard, the Champaign prickling against your lips a welcoming distraction from the sensory nightmare this room - and everyone in it - presented.
"This is getting boring..." Your 'friend' yawns exaggerated and you grit your teeth. Those morally bancrupt pricks and their indifference, no, callousness to the suffering they inflict on others - and now they even got the nerve to complain?!
"Same" another joins the conversation, but it all blurs together in your mind as you get more and more occupied with gloomy thoughts while you watch incomprehensible misery unfold live on the screen in front of you.
"Maybe we should change the opening game next year? Red Light, Green Light every time gets boring for us 'regular costumers'...isn't there another way to thin out their numbers?"
"I'm afraid this is not possible..." a distorted voice interrupts their self-absorbed bullshit, "The first game is a memoir to the founder."
Immediately all the attention shifted towards the doorway where a cloaked figure had appeared, tinted in all black with a mask to match.
This must be the mysterious 'Frontman' you heard so much about.
"Ah, seems like our host has finally arrived!" your acquaintance cheered with an intoxicated slur of his voice, stumbling towards their entertainer and swinging an arm around his shoulder.
The man seemed to be just as displeased by this invasive behavior as you were, but asides from yourself no one seemed to pick up on the slight shift in his body language. It was only brief and barely noticeable, of course, who knows how long he was accustomed their company already.
Evil or not, you'd almost pity the guy for dealing with them...if it wasn't for him being the literal mastermind that kept this place running.
Shit, being subjected to those obscenely rich freaks sure influenced your sense of humor for the worst.
"Meet my friend and business associate..." He almost blurted out your civil name in his current state - probably high on every drug known to man - but stopped himself before quietly pointing towards you.
Really, it's a miracle how those imbeciles managed to keep the games a secret for so long - but then again, they obviously got people to take care of this.
"A first time attendee, I see?" In-ho walked towards you with firm steps, swallowing the bile that came up whenever he had to interact with those pretentious snobs.
The tall man bows submissively, taking your hand with his gloved one and leading it to the lips of his mask in a symbolic gesture. "It's a pleasure to have you, Miss. I hope you'll enjoy the experience we have to offer."
"Oh..." You implement an oscar-worthy act, gifting the man an upfront flirty smile as your fingertips trail across the side of his bicep. "...the pleasure is all mine."
No.
It can't be. Please...
...not you.
An icy shiver went down In-ho's spine as your voice graced his ears, reminding him that despite it being broken, he in fact still has a heart - and right now it was racing, slamming, clawing against his ribcage.
You disguised yourself well: The dyed hair, contact lenses and thick fake accent would've fooled anyone that doesn't know you too intimately.
In-ho took a long glance at your features that peeked from the golden fox mask that shimmered in the bright chandellier light, silently cursing himself because even after all these years you easily break through his defenses without even trying.
"Excuse me" he instinctively pulled away and practically fled to his designated place among your midst, "But the game is still going."
"Trying to get into his pants, huh?" the female VIP whispered as she nudged your side, grinning mischievously. "You're by far not the first one to try...that man is unapproachable." She pauses with a melodramatic sigh. "Dedicated to his job only, they say..."
Well, seducing someone to get information was by far not your favourite part of the job - a necessary evil more than anything, really - but it would certainly make it easier.
"Mhh..." you absentmindedly listen to her explanation, reapplying your lipstick as you notice his oblique glance lingering on you from afar. He's not even subtle with how he tilts his head to get a better view, staring despite his best efforts not to. "Let's see about that..." you wink and he quickly turns away, "I like a little challenge. But for now..."
Out of a whim you grab the wrist of the next best butler standing nearby, his body-paint staining your palm as you lead the guy towards the exit. "Got enough already?" one of the VIP's calls after you. "Well, as you all said, this is getting boring really quick. I'll be off, enjoying some other...pleasantries."
In-ho is working his jaw at every single one of your words, his hands clutching the sides of his chair so tight he thought the frame might give in. He has to stay professional, has to fight the urge to go after and confront you right this instant.
If anyone would find out about a security breach of this extent, hell would break loose - and he'd be on the receiving end of punishment. So he straightens in his chair and ignores the suffocating way his chest tightens as he watches you leave with that little alibi toy-boy...for now.
It's not jealousy, he tries to convince himself - just business as always.
The click of your heels echoes through the narrow hallways leading to the VIP section where they spend the time in between games. It reeks of perfume, alcohol and sex, laying like a thick coat around your brain together with the horrid scenes you had wittnessed earlier.
You swing the door open, revealing your designated bedroom that outshined anything you ever knew about luxury. Feeling nauseated by basically everything, you quickly sprint towards the bathroom and empty your stomach.
When you returned, that butler was still rooted on spot, obediently waiting for orders, sure to at least vaguely know what you wanted based on experience. "Just...go stand in a corner or something..." you harshly turn down his advances, much to his confusion. He's seen a lot during his time serving here, but a VIP being in such distress over some lowlifes sure was new. Then again, it's not his place to judge or even care.
"And turn around, don't you dare looking at me!" you snap at the man once again and he does as he's told while you throw yourself onto the mattress, screaming into a pillow.
"Don't mess this up" you tell yourself, thinking back to those poor souls that would die in here over the next few days. "There's nothing I can do for them...I need to focus on the mission..."
After all, you literally died for this job - at least on paper. Your civil identity was declared dead overseas in order to built this persona and infiltrate their circle. It was rotten work, demoralizing in so many ways but eventually you were let in on this secret.
The rules to get here were strict, even for a VIP: Blindfolded, with no means of communication to the outside world as long as the games lasted. Throughoutly scanned for any weapons, trackers or wiretaps beforehand as well.
At least now you were here, amongst their midst but with no clue how to start collecting evidence. Sure, you had a photographic memory - the reason you got this position to begin with - yet it's useless if you can't infiltrate their network.
As terrible as it sounds, but you cannot help the current players let alone stop the games - their death's are a necessary sacrifice. There's nothing more to do for you than collect data and make it out unnoticed...
...but how?
The answer to your question would come earlier than anticipated, in shape of a visitor during the safety of the night.
Just shortly before, In-ho vented his inner turmoil by emptying a whole magazine into 'your' butler's chest. Taking care of someone who might've seen too much - nothing more, nothing less...or so he tells himself.
A deep sigh escapes his throat when he approaches you, now finally able to see you properly after all those years. You were dozing soundly yet your sleep was clearly restless due to today's events. He tentatively sits down on the mattress, taking in your features that are slightly illuminated by the dim nightlight.
The first thought he cannot help but notice was that you were still absolutely stunning. It was like no time had passed at all, and yet...
You look exactly the same and somewhat different at the same time - changed in a way only a person carrying a soulcrushing weight could understand.
Why was he even here to begin with? He should get this over with and kill you. There is no other way, he had spent his entire day desperately trying to find a solution to this predicament. He cannot assess how much you already found out, the risk is too high.
As much as it pains a small - but very loud - part of In-ho's conscience, he simply cannot let you leave this island alive. He'll do it quick, painless, for old time's sake...
"...oh." You squint your eyes at the man residing on the edge of your bed, adjusting to the lack of proper lighting, combined with sleep-dunkenness and adrenaline.
No reason to panic, you've met countless men like him before. It's obvious why he's here, and this might be your only chance to make any progress. "Not the proper time to wake a Lady, don'tcha think?"
You spoke confident, not a hint of fear but rather forcing yourself to sound alluring - a pathetic attempt to conceal your obvious disdain for this criminal sociopath.
It's such a huge contrast to how he remembers you: Naive, innocent, idealistic...always stumbling across your words whenever you'd address him directly, unable to even make eye-contact because you were so nervous...
...he hates what this cruel world has turned you into.
"Care to join me?" you chant, seductively positioning yourself while moving closer to him and he can't help but feel sick to the core. Because even you - the one and last thing he cherished in his empty existence - had been indirectly corrupted by those games.
There was no response to your invitation, the silence hanging thick in the air and with every passing second, your anxiety would increase. You see the Frontman bury his head in his hands, shuddered breaths falling from his lips one could easily mistake for the attempt not to cry.
Maybe you did worry, if not for him then out of self-preservation - but you could never bear seeing someone in distress, even if it's an alledged enemy. So with no other options left you shuffle even closer, placing a reassuring hand on the intimidating man's shoulder. "Umm...are-are you alright?"
There you were - the real you.
Your whole demeanour reverted back from that fake persona to the sweet, empathetic person that's always been too kind for her own good.
The Frontman keeps mutely facing the ground, unable to look into those bright eyes that could made him forget all the misery he intended to plague himself with forever.
"...why?" His voice is a hoarse whisper and yet you shudder at the implication. His hand slams against the headboard so hard that it cracked before he finally broke down. "Goddamnit, why are you here?!"
When your true name fell from his lips, there was no time to process or even react as the real nightmare followed immediately: His hand shakes violently as it lingers on his mask, hesitating briefly, fearful even, before ultimatively revealing himself.
Reality hit you mercilessly, like a fatal blow to what's remaining of your hope in humanity...
...and after all the madness you endured, this is what might actually throw you over the edge of your own sanity.
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[Next Chapter]
