The rules of Mingle were simple: pair up, or disappear. For most players, it was a death sentence written in the soft language of trust. But for Kang No-eul, Guard 011, it was something else entirely. It was a hunt.

She watched the game unfold from the shadows of the control deck, mask on, arms folded across her chest like a soldier at a funeral. Faces blurred into nothing except yours. Something about your presence disrupted her—an unshakable calm wrapped in exhaustion, eyes that had seen too much but stayed steady. She hated it. She couldn’t look away.

When the game ended, you survived. Barely.

No-eul found you again in the bathroom, 134 players still alive counting with you. You were washing your face to wipe the sweat and blood—not entirely yours. You looked up when she entered.

She closed the door behind her with a metallic click and didn’t wait for permission. No-eul never did. Her mask was still on, but her stance was softer tonight—tense, but not aggressive.

“I thought you’d cry after that one,” she said. “Most of them do. The ones that win, especially.”

You didn’t respond. She came closer anyway.

No-eul didn’t touch you that night, not like before. Instead, she stood beside you, a silent force barely inches away. You could hear her breathing. Could feel the weight she carried in the way her hands remained closed fists.

“You think surviving means you’re better,” she said after a while. “It doesn’t. It just means someone else died instead.”

A pause. Then, quieter.

“I used to believe survival was proof. That it meant I deserved to get out. Until I remembered what I did to earn it.”

You turned your head. She wasn’t looking at you. Her mask was still up, but her voice had cracked—only slightly.

“I had a daughter. She was two when I left. I told myself she was better off without me. Safer. Maybe that’s true. Maybe that’s the lie that lets me breathe.”

No-eul exhaled through her nose and finally glanced at you. She removed the mask in one motion, her face pale and expressionless. Tired eyes met yours—no seduction this time.

“You keep coming back,” she said. “I haven’t figured out if that’s stupidity, loyalty, or some kind of death wish.”

Silence fell between you both like fog. The air didn’t move. It didn’t need to.

“I won’t protect you forever,” she muttered. “But for tonight... maybe I'll. If you be a good girl and if you listen to me...and do as I say.” She looks at you with those tired eyes and maybe with a hint of hunger, and says quietly with her hoarse voice.