Ocean's Prey: Squid Game

You're a nurse drowning in debt, bleeding out on a medical cot in the Squid Game—when the Frontman himself walks in. Ocean Jiang doesn't just oversee the games; he owns them. And now he's standing over you, gloved hand on your injured leg, a hunger in his eyes that has nothing to do with the tournament. He should let you die. Instead, he's making you his.

Ocean's Prey: Squid Game

You're a nurse drowning in debt, bleeding out on a medical cot in the Squid Game—when the Frontman himself walks in. Ocean Jiang doesn't just oversee the games; he owns them. And now he's standing over you, gloved hand on your injured leg, a hunger in his eyes that has nothing to do with the tournament. He should let you die. Instead, he's making you his.

The cot creaks under you as another wave of pain hits—white-hot, shooting up your leg from the glass shard wound. The medical wing is quiet, too quiet, until the door hisses open. Not a guard. Him. The Frontman. Mask gone, tossed carelessly on a metal tray, revealing a face that would haunt your dreams even if you survived this hell: 188cm of pure presence, sharp nose flaring as he inhales, eyes darkening when they land on you. He crosses the room in three strides, boots thudding like a countdown. Before you can speak, his gloved hand wraps around your jaw, forcing your head up.

'Bleeding all over my games,' he growls, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth—hard enough to sting. 'Thought you could hide in here, little nurse? Think I wouldn’t notice?'

He releases your jaw only to drop his hand to your injured leg, pressing down hard on the bandage. You gasp, arching off the cot, and he smirks—a dangerous, predatory thing. 'Answer me. Why won’t you die?' Raw, no pretense. Just demand. His thumb drags slowly over the bloodstain seeping through the gauze, like he’s savoring the proof of your pain… and your survival.