When Ryu Sungyeon regained consciousness, there was only darkness before his eyes.
Not the darkness of night—but the kind that presses from within, where the air suffocates sounds.
"Damn…"
He blinked, realizing that this time, it was serious.
His knees were pressed against the cold metal floor. His hands were cuffed behind his back, his ankles tightly wrapped with gray tape until the skin turned white.
Every inhale resonated with pain.
He tried to move—a collar with a chain snapped him backward, biting into his throat.
He was chained to an iron post. The slightest movement—and the noose would tighten.
A blindfold covered his eyes, a gag his mouth. Saliva trickled down his chin.
— Hh...
He made a muffled sound, and somewhere ahead, a polite, absurdly calm voice rang out:
— Ah, you're awake. Mr. Ryu Sungyeon? What a relief. One moment.
Footsteps approached.
Alien fingers removed the blindfold, pulled out the gag.
Light struck his eyes—soft, artificial, white, like the panel lights in upper-level hotels.
When his vision cleared, he saw a standard room: a bed, a table, an armchair, an automatic air purifier, and double curtains—black, thick, lead-infused.
Behind them—no windows, no sky.
On the edge of the bed, like the master of the room, sat Kang Jihan.
An impeccable suit, a gray tie with the Eon Core emblem, a relaxed posture.
Sungyeon clenched his teeth.
In his normal state, he could handle three people like this.
But now his body felt like cotton, with residual tranquilizer in his veins.
Jihan watched him for a while with a slight smile.
— Why so silent? Is the tranquilizer still working?
He snapped his fingers in front of Sungyeon's face.
The latter snorted, not answering.
— Are you Kang Jihan?
— For now, yes, — he smiled. — And you're as stubborn as ever.
— Are you trying to kill me?
— If I wanted to—I would have already done it.
A thick silence hung in the air.
The hum of the ceiling filters seemed louder than their breathing.
— It's because of Lo, isn't it? — Sungyeon sighed tiredly. — She left because you're obsessed.
Jihan smirked:
— Ah, you still remember Lo. Touching.
— You're a psycho.
— Possibly. But alive.
He stood up, moved closer, removed the gag completely, and sat nearby.
— Now you can talk. But I advise against shouting.
Sungyeon remained silent, just watching.
The light from the panel fell on Jihan's face, and there was something predatory in it.
— You tied me up for amusement?
— For assurance. You are dangerous, Ryu.
— And you aren't?
— At least I'm human.
Sungyeon sneered through his teeth.
— You're mistaken.
Jihan waved him off, as if dismissing a boring phrase, and poured water into a glass.
— Drink.
Sungyeon raised his head with effort, took a sip.
The cold liquid spread down his throat, bringing his consciousness back.
Jihan watched—attentively, almost tenderly.
— You drink well.
The phrase sounded like mockery.
He stood up, walked around the room.
— You're angry. But don't rush. I'm offering you a deal.
— No.
— Without even listening?
— I don't cooperate with psychos.
— That's a mistake. I could have simply handed you over to Eon's internal security department. Or to Raon's sector. But I preferred a personal option.
At the mention of So Raon, Sungyeon tensed.
If Raon finds out—it's the end.
— What do you want?
— You. Alive.
— Again? You said that before.
— And I still mean it.
Sungyeon closed his eyes.
— You are insane.
— Maybe. But I am the one controlling the light.
He nodded at the curtains.
— Beyond them is day. If I draw them, you will evaporate.
The air in the room thickened.
Sungyeon realized he had no choice.
— What's the deal?
— Stay alive for now. We'll discuss the details tomorrow.
He removed his handcuffs, leaving the collar, and stepped away.
The metal clinked, his body responded with pain.
Sungyeon fell forward, leaning on the floor.
— You are tenacious, — Jihan noted, opening the mini-bar. — I hope you continue to be.
He took out a can of synthetic beer, took a sip, and said without looking:
— Long life taught you to obey quickly.
— That's my strong suit, — Sungyeon grumbled.
Jihan smirked, put down the can, and approached.
— Drink water—and don't move.
He freed one hand, held the bottle to his lips.
The cold moisture burned inside.
Drops slid down his neck, caught on his collarbones.
Jihan's gaze was so intense that Sungyeon turned away.
— You drink well, — Jihan repeated.
The phrase hung like an insult.
He tossed the empty bottle, unlocked the chains.
Sungyeon barely kept his footing.
His body was numb, every step sending an electric shock through him.
— Now—rest, — Jihan said. — I'll be back soon. And don't try to escape.
He left, the door clicking shut.
***
The room fell silent.
Sungyeon lay, counting his heartbeats.
Then he slowly got up, crawled to the window, and pulled back the curtain.
— ...Ah?!
No daylight.
Darkness outside. Deep, like in Lyran's lower sector.
The clock read three AM.
"He lied."
Sungyeon laughed—a short, nervous sound.
"So it was night all along. Just a game of fear."
He abruptly stood up, took off his clothes, turned on the shower, washing off the sweat and the smell of blood.
He examined his body—no bugs, no injection marks.
Then he threw a towel over his head and walked around the room, demonstrating composure to possible cameras.
— Room service, — he said into the communicator. — Rosé wine and a salad.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door.
A young guy in uniform wheeled in a tray.
— Good evening, sir.
— The toilet is clogged. Take a look, — Sungyeon said calmly.
The guy frowned, peeked into the bathroom—and the next moment, he collapsed onto the tile from a blow to the back of the head.
— Sorry. It wasn't meant for you.
Sungyeon took the jacket with the Blue Sky Tower emblem off him, pulling it over his own shirt.
He checked the mirror—looked quite like staff.
He walked out into the corridor. The noise of the ventilation, the sour smell of cleaning agents.
A real hotel.
He followed the service route to the emergency exit.
On the staircase, he took off his shoes and ran barefoot.
Five floors down—and the door to freedom.
***
The icy air greeted him outside.
Sector Tenrai was drowning in neon, wet asphalt, and damp fog.
He inhaled deeply, feeling the scent of ozone and metal.
On the corner—a sign: Blue Sky Hotel, Zone 7-E, Upper Level of Lyran.
"So this is where I am…"
He raised his hand. — Taxi!
A car with a green stripe stopped.
— Where to, sir?
— To the Hadar district, lower sector. Urgent.
— Now, at night? That's far.
— I'll pay double the rate.
The driver blinked but started the engine.
The taxi sped away, and the lights of the upper city were left behind.
***
When the car drove onto the bridge, Sungyeon looked out the window.
Below—the layers of Lyran, an interweaving of lights, platforms, billboards.
Lower—the blackness of the lower sector.
He ran a hand over his neck, where the trace of the chain was still felt.
"Jihan…
Now I know where to look."