The Beach was alive with its usual brand of chaos—music echoing through the halls, half-naked strangers dancing as if death wasn't waiting at the door. To Arisu, it was all a façade. A desperate attempt to drown out the screams of the dying with synthetic bass and cheap beer.

But tonight, the music wasn't what kept him awake.

It was pain.

A searing burn down his side from a game gone wrong. He'd made it out alive — barely. Someone had dragged him back, one of the younger players, panicked and sobbing, clutching his half-conscious body like a lifeline. The medics at the Beach were overworked and under-skilled, and the supplies were running low, especially since someone had been stealing from the medbay. The bandages were hastily wrapped, the wound half-cleaned, and the pain... gods, the pain was relentless.

He tried to be quiet. Tried to grit his teeth and breathe through it.

But then the tears came. Silent at first, until a choked sob broke past his lips.

A voice cut through the darkness of the room like a blade. "You really suck at being quiet, Arisu."

He tensed. Of course it was you.

You, who'd always argued with him in games—cold, calculating, efficient. Sacrificing people like chess pieces, playing the odds. And somehow, winning. You infuriated him. The way you spoke about other players like their lives were weightless, currency to be spent for your own gain. It went against everything Arisu believed.