"The Price of a Wrong Answer"

Takada drifted between consciousness and oblivion, his mind ensnared in the remnants of fear and exhaustion. His body, weak and unresponsive, was little more than a vessel dragged through the labyrinthine corridors of the facility. Shadows stretched long against the sterile walls, and the faint hum of flickering lights overhead did little to anchor him to reality. His thoughts were fractured, fragmented—torn between the lingering horror of Yoba Inu's death and the uncertainty of what awaited him.

When awareness finally returned in full, he found himself seated in a dimly lit chamber, the air heavy with an unsettling stillness. The walls were smooth, metallic, and devoid of any distinguishing features—designed, perhaps, to strip one of any sense of self. A single, flickering bulb cast an anemic glow over a table positioned before him, its surface adorned with a collection of peculiar objects: geometric puzzles, intricate patterns, and cryptic symbols etched into unfamiliar materials.

Then, a voice—smooth, deliberate, and disturbingly calm—pierced the silence.

"Welcome."

Takada's body tensed instinctively, his breath caught in his throat as his gaze shifted toward the source of the voice. Across the room, a lone figure sat in eerie composure. The man—if he could even be called that—was unsettling in appearance. His frame was unnaturally slender, draped in dark, flowing garments that only accentuated his spectral presence. Long, unkempt strands of white hair cascaded over his shoulders, a stark contrast against the abyssal blackness of his eyes—void-like, depthless, and unreadable.

There was something profoundly unnatural about him.

"I am known as Ideas," the man continued, his voice carrying no discernible inflection. "And you… you are fragile."

Takada felt his stomach tighten, his heartbeat an erratic staccato against his ribs.

"You have been conditioned to believe yourself weak," Ideas mused, tilting his head slightly, scrutinizing him with a gaze that felt as though it saw far beyond flesh and bone. "Timid. Incapable. A pawn to be discarded." A pause. Then, with quiet amusement, he added, "And yet, your mind tells me otherwise."

Takada's fingers curled into fists. He wanted to refute it, to insist that he had no extraordinary capabilities—that he was merely struggling to survive. But the words refused to come.

"Sit."

There was no choice in the matter. The guards behind him offered no room for hesitation, shoving him forward with an impersonal efficiency that sent him stumbling into the seat before the table. His body was sluggish, uncooperative, as though the weight of exhaustion and fear had rendered him inert.

"This is your test," Ideas stated simply, gesturing toward the collection of enigmatic objects before him. "A test of intelligence."

Takada's breath hitched. A cold dread slithered through him, coiling tight around his chest.

"I—I can't—"

"You can."

Ideas leaned forward slightly, resting his chin against his interlaced fingers. His gaze remained steady, unwavering.

"Fear," he murmured, "is a most insidious adversary. It clouds judgment, dulls the senses, shackles the mind. It convinces you of your own inadequacy." A pause. Then, his voice lowered, as if imparting a secret. "But when one is truly cornered, stripped of all pretense and expectation… the mind reveals its true nature."

The room fell into an unsettling silence.

Then, the trial began.

At first, Takada hesitated. His hands trembled as he reached for the first puzzle, his fingers brushing against its cold, unyielding surface. The symbols were unfamiliar, their arrangement nonsensical. His thoughts tangled in a web of self-doubt.

But then—something shifted.

A single thread of clarity emerged amidst the noise of his uncertainty, guiding his focus. His hands, previously unsteady, began to move with newfound precision, aligning pieces, deciphering patterns, unraveling the intricate logic hidden within each structure.

One by one, the puzzles yielded to him.

Minutes bled into an hour, yet Takada scarcely noticed. His mind, once burdened by fear and hesitation, now functioned with startling efficiency. Ideas watched in silence as Takada dismantled each challenge, navigating the labyrinth of complexity with an almost instinctual ease.

When at last he finished, his breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. His fingers, now motionless, hovered over the last completed puzzle.

Slowly, as the realization settled in, his eyes widened.

He had done it.

Every puzzle. Every challenge. Solved.

He had never considered himself intelligent—never dared to believe he was capable of anything beyond surviving. And yet… the evidence lay before him, undeniable.

Across the table, Ideas regarded him with quiet amusement. A slow, almost imperceptible smirk played at the corner of his lips.

"Fascinating," he mused, his voice barely above a whisper. "It seems the fool has awakened."

Takada's heart pounded violently against his ribs. He didn't understand what had just happened—how he had done it, how his mind had moved with such unnatural clarity.But for the first time since stepping into this accursed place… something deep within him stirred.

Hope.

Takada's breath remained uneven, his mind still reeling from the revelation before him. His fingers twitched slightly as if uncertain whether to move again, as if touching the completed puzzles would somehow undo the inexplicable feat he had just performed. The silence in the room was thick, suffocating, pressing down on him like an invisible weight.

Ideas had not moved from his seat, though there was now a discernible shift in his expression—something akin to curiosity, though still veiled beneath his detached composure. His jet-black eyes, void-like and consuming, studied Takada with a quiet intensity that made his skin prickle with unease.

Takada swallowed, the dryness in his throat making the action painful. He felt as though he had stepped into unfamiliar terrain, a world where the boundaries of his own limitations had been forcibly redrawn without his consent. This was not supposed to happen. He was not supposed to be capable of something like this.

The weight of his past self—the fearful, hesitant, and powerless boy he had always known—clashed violently with this newfound awareness, this unexpected aptitude that had surfaced without warning.

"You seem surprised," Ideas remarked at last, his voice smooth yet devoid of true emotion. His fingers tapped lightly against the table in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "As though you yourself are incapable of believing what you have just done."

Takada barely managed to nod. He could still feel the lingering traces of fear gnawing at the edges of his thoughts, whispering doubts, telling him that this was a mistake—that he was no different than before, that this was merely a fluke, an anomaly.

But the evidence lay before him, undeniable.

Ideas exhaled softly, the barest hint of amusement laced in the sound. "Your reaction is predictable. Those who are blind to their own potential often experience fear when faced with the truth." His gaze did not waver. "You have spent so long believing yourself to be small, insignificant, incapable of anything beyond survival… that the very concept of ability unsettles you."

Takada flinched, his jaw tightening. It was true. Every word of it.

"But ability is not something you may reject so easily," Ideas continued, his tone as measured as ever. "It does not disappear simply because you wish to deny it." He leaned forward slightly, the dim light casting sharp shadows across his face. "And now that it has been exposed… you will no longer be permitted the comfort of ignorance."

Takada's fingers clenched against the cold surface of the table. He didn't like this. He didn't like the way Ideas spoke, as if everything about him had already been dissected, as if his very thoughts had been laid bare and scrutinized. It made him feel vulnerable in a way he could not describe.

A deep, shuddering breath escaped him as he forced himself to speak. "Why…?" His voice came out hoarse, unsteady. "W-Why are you doing this? Why test me?"

Ideas tilted his head slightly, as though mildly entertained by the question. "Because," he said simply, "Knowledge must be extracted, whether one offers it willingly or not."

The words sent a cold chill down Takada's spine.

His pulse quickened. "Extracted…?"

Ideas gave no immediate answer. Instead, he reached forward with slow, deliberate movements, picking up one of the puzzles Takada had solved. His long, pale fingers traced the intricate patterns upon its surface, his expression unreadable.

"This was never about mere intelligence," he murmured. "It was about recognition." He turned his gaze back toward Takada, his black eyes piercing. "Recognition of what lies dormant within you."

Takada's breathing shallowed. "I don't—"

"You do," Ideas interrupted smoothly. "You knew it the moment your hands moved before your mind could protest. You understood before you allowed yourself to believe." He tapped the puzzle lightly against the table. "And now, whether you wish to acknowledge it or not, you are aware."

Takada's chest tightened.

This wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to be this way. He had spent his entire life being powerless, being nothing. He had always accepted that as truth. But now, with this undeniable proof staring him in the face, that truth was unraveling.

And he wasn't sure who he was without it.

The weight of realization pressed upon him like an unseen force, heavy and inescapable. His body trembled, though whether from fear or something else entirely, he could not say.

Ideas watched him carefully, as if observing the precise moment in which a foundation crumbled and something new—something uncertain—began to take its place.

Then, with a quiet hum of satisfaction, he placed the puzzle back onto the table and rose from his seat.

"That is enough for now," he said, his dark robes shifting as he turned away. "Take what you have learned and sit with it. Let it consume you."

Takada's breath hitched.

"Because the next time we meet…" Ideas cast him one final, lingering glance, his black eyes glinting with something unreadable.

"You will no longer be permitted to hesitate."

Without another word, he strode toward the exit, his footsteps eerily silent against the metallic floor.

The door hissed open then closed and just like that, Takada was alone.

His body remained frozen in place, his mind an unrecognizable storm of thoughts, doubts, and questions with no answers.

He didn't know how long he sat there, staring at the puzzles he had solved, staring at the proof of something within him that he had never known existed.

But he did know one thing. The world he had once understood—the world where he was weak, helpless, and insignificant— Had just been shattered.

-

The night air was thick with the scent of metal and rain, a biting chill seeping through the torn fabric of Ryuen's chinise traditional unifrom as he sprinted down the alleyway. The distant wail of sirens clawed at the silence, echoing through the maze of decayed buildings. They had only moments—seconds, maybe—before the police flooded the area.

He didn't have time for hesitation.

"Move faster," Ryuen snapped, barely glancing over his shoulder.

Nam Gyeol was right behind him, his breath labored but steady. His movements were practiced, precise—he knew how to run, how to disappear when needed. Erin, on the other hand, was struggling. She clutched her side, her breathing ragged. She had taken a hit earlier—nothing fatal, but enough to slow her down.

"Damn it, Erin, keep up!" Ryuen growled.

"Shut up, I'm trying," she shot back, pushing herself harder despite the pain.

They darted around a corner, nearly crashing into a pile of rusted crates. Nam Gyeol skidded to a stop, scanning the area. "We can't keep running in open spaces like this," he said, his voice lower now. "They'll have the streets locked down in minutes."

Ryuen wiped sweat from his brow, his sharp eyes flicking to the buildings around them. Empty warehouses, boarded-up storefronts, shattered windows—this place had been abandoned long before their arrival.

"We need somewhere to hide," Erin gasped, pressing a hand against the wound on her ribs. "Somewhere out of sight."

Ryuen's mind worked fast. No time for weakness. No time for doubts.

"There." He jerked his chin toward a skeletal-looking building at the end of the street. It was crumbling, vines creeping up its weathered stone, but the entrance was shadowed enough to go unnoticed.

Nam Gyeol didn't question him. He moved first, his footsteps silent, slipping into the dark like a phantom. Erin followed, and Ryuen took up the rear, his pulse hammering against his skull.

The moment they were inside, the city's chaos became muffled. The silence was unnerving.

Ryuen exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching with adrenaline. They weren't safe yet. Not even close.

"We can't stay here long," Nam Gyeol murmured, peering through a crack in the rotted wooden door. "They'll search every inch of this district."

Erin slid down against the wall, wincing. "Just—give me a second."

Ryuen crossed his arms, leaning against the frame. "You're slowing us down."

She shot him a glare, her eyes burning. "I'd love to see you take a bullet and keep running like nothing happened."

"Tch." Ryuen rolled his shoulders, unbothered. "I wouldn't get shot in the first place."

Erin's nostrils flared. "You're an ass."

Nam Gyeol sighed. "Not the time."

The three of them fell into tense silence.

Then, Ryuen's expression darkened. "This whole thing's a mess," he muttered. "And we still don't know where Takada is."

A flicker of worry crossed Erin's face, her anger momentarily forgotten. "Is he still alive..?"

Ryuen didn't answer immediately. He thought of Takada—the weak, stuttering fool who had somehow managed to survive this long. If Takada was captured, he wouldn't last long. He wasn't like them. He wasn't built for this.

But something in Ryuen's gut twisted.

"…I don't know," he admitted.

Nam Gyeol's jaw tightened. "Then we find out."

For once, Ryuen had nothing to argue with.

The air inside the abandoned train station was thick with the stench of rust and damp concrete. The dim glow of flickering overhead lights barely reached the cracked tile floors, where years of neglect had left grime caked into every crevice. Shadows stretched long between the skeletal remains of ticket booths, silent and forgotten.

Ryuen moved first, his footsteps light, calculated. His eyes swept over every corner, every blind spot—he had learned long ago that complacency got people killed. Behind him, Erin limped forward, her face tight with pain, while Nam Gyeol kept close to her side, his posture tense.

"This place is dead," Erin muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Better than the alternative," Nam Gyeol replied.

Ryuen ignored their voices. His focus was on the exits, on any potential threats lurking in the shadows. The station had been shut down years ago, left to decay like everything else in this city. No civilians, no guards—just dust and silence.

A safe place, for now.

They passed through the turnstiles, their rusted frames groaning under the slightest touch. Faded posters clung stubbornly to the walls, their colors drained by time. One advertised a train line that had ceased to exist years ago. Another bore the smiling face of a missing person, the paper torn and peeling.

Their footsteps echoed as they moved deeper into the station, past empty kiosks and shattered vending machines. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped from a broken pipe, the rhythmic sound unnerving in the heavy stillness.

Erin's breath hitched as she pressed a hand to her side. The wound had slowed her down, but she hadn't complained since they entered. Still, Ryuen noticed.

"You're bleeding through the bandages," he said bluntly.

"I'm fine," Erin shot back, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

Ryuen rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you look great. We should get moving before you collapse and we have to carry your dead weight."

Nam Gyeol sighed. "Let's just focus on getting out of here first."

They reached the platform, where broken benches lined the edges of the tracks. The rails were coated in dust and grime, stretching into the darkness like the path to some forgotten abyss.

"This way," Ryuen gestured toward the stairwell leading to an emergency exit.

As they ascended, Erin's fingers brushed the metal railing for support, her knuckles white. Nam Gyeol kept close behind her, his brows furrowed in quiet concern.

At the top, Ryuen pushed open the heavy doors, and the night air hit them like a wave—cold and laced with the distant sounds of sirens. The city was still hunting.

They stepped out onto the empty streets, the glow of streetlights casting long shadows behind them.

There was no turning back now.

Without a word, the three of them disappeared into the night. 

The streets were eerily empty as Ryuen, Erin, and Nam Gyeol moved through the city, careful to keep to the shadows. The sirens had faded into the distance, but tension still gripped their every step. They needed to find shelter—somewhere safe to regroup, plan their next move.

But fate had other ideas.

As they turned a corner, they nearly collided with a man—tall, well-dressed in a clean, dark uniform, his blond hair slightly disheveled as if he had been running. Papers scattered from his hands as he stumbled back in surprise.

"Oh—! Oh dear, I wasn't expecting to see you three here!" the man exclaimed, adjusting his thin-framed glasses. His voice carried an air of authority, but there was a clumsy, hurried energy to him. "I thought I had lost you for a moment! You should really stay closer."

Ryuen's body tensed immediately. His instincts screamed at him that something was off, but the man's words froze him.

"What?"

Erin, exhausted and still bleeding, just blinked at him. Nam Gyeol shot Ryuen a look, silently asking "Do you know this guy?"

Ryuen's mind raced. They had spent the last few hours running for their lives. Who was this man? And why did he think he knew them?

"Ah, no matter, no matter," the man sighed, shaking his head before giving them a smile that felt… unnerving. "Let's not waste time standing here, hmm? The patrols are tightening up, and we wouldn't want you wandering off again." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "We're far too deep in the operation for mistakes."

Ryuen clenched his fists. He didn't know whether to knock the guy out or play along. But one wrong move could get them caught.

Nam Gyeol, always quick on his feet, forced an awkward chuckle. "Uh, yeah… sorry about that."

The man sighed dramatically. "Honestly, I don't know what I'm going to do with you three." He gestured for them to follow. "Come along. The entry point is just ahead. The Heart is waiting."

"Heart?"

None of them moved. The man gave them a knowing look. "You do remember the protocol, yes?"

That was enough for Ryuen. He exchanged the briefest glance with Erin and Nam Gyeol before stepping forward.

"Of course," Ryuen said smoothly. "Lead the way."

The man beamed. "That's the spirit!"

And so, against every survival instinct, they followed. 

The route was bizarre. Instead of heading toward any known White Knights base, the man led them into a run-down subway station, past shattered ticket booths and rusted rail tracks.

But as they moved deeper, something changed. The air felt different—thicker, humming with an unnatural energy. The dim fluorescent lights above them flickered, then vanished altogether as the passage gave way to something new.

A metallic door hissed open at the end of the tunnel. Beyond it, a platform extended into vast emptiness.

The three of them stepped through—

And their breath caught.

Before them stretched an entire world.

It was underground—impossible, incomprehensible, and yet real. A massive sky, blue and endless, stretched above them, with a sun that should not exist casting warm golden light across the landscape. Rolling hills of white grass spread into the horizon, dotted with towering structures of gleaming silver. In the distance, a colossal building loomed, its sharp angles cutting into the sky like a monolith of control.

People bustled through the streets—residents, soldiers, figures clad in the pristine uniforms of the White Knights.

They had walked straight into the heart of enemy territory.

Nam Gyeol's breath came out in a shudder. His mind raced to put the pieces together. This agent—they had assumed he was some low-level officer, a nobody. But the way people moved aside for him, the way security let them through without question—

This man was no ordinary he is the one of White Knights.

His stomach twisted as realization hit. He leaned toward Ryuen and Erin, voice barely a whisper.

"We need to leave. Now."

Nam Gyeol's warning barely left his lips before Ryuen moved. In one swift motion, he grabbed the agent's collar, yanking him back with a force that sent him stumbling. The man barely had time to widen his eyes in confusion before—

"CRACK"

Ryuen's fist slammed into his jaw.

The agent let out a strangled grunt, his glasses flying from his face as he staggered backward. But Ryuen didn't let him breathe. He followed through—grabbing the man by the throat, hoisting him up, and slamming him into the nearest steel railing with bone-shattering force.

A sickening snap echoed.

The agent coughed violently, blood splattering against his pristine uniform. His body twitched, but he was already slipping, his mind unable to process the sudden, brutal betrayal.

"Y-You…!" he gurgled, his hands weakly grasping at Ryuen's wrist. "W-Why…?"

Erin stepped forward, eyes cold, determined. She didn't hesitate—didn't even blink. In one smooth motion, she grabbed the agent's own dagger from his belt, twisted it in her grip, and drove it deep into his chest.

The man's body jerked.

His breath hitched.

Then—nothing.

His eyes, once filled with false certainty, dulled. His body sagged in Ryuen's grip. Dead.

Ryuen dropped the corpse without a second glance. and then he muttered, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. "the White Knights have built a world under our feet…" His gaze sharpened.

"That means Takada is down here somewhere."

Erin nodded. "We've already infiltrated their stronghold without a fight." She lifted her eyes toward the tallest building in the distance, its monolithic form piercing the fabricated sky like a silent god.

"That means we take everything."

Ryuen smirked.

Nam Gyeol exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "You two are insane."

Erin turned, meeting his gaze with quiet intensity. "If Takada was here right now, what would he do?"

Nam Gyeol faltered.

If Takada was here…?

Takada, who was probably suffering under their control. Takada, who had never been given a choice. Takada, who had always been the one running away—

He wouldn't fight. He wouldn't kill but they would. Nam Gyeol swallowed his hesitation.

Then, he let out a slow, steady breath.

"…Fine." He turned his gaze toward the vast, impossible city ahead. White Knights' territory.

"I hope you two know what the hell you're doing."

Ryuen grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Not a damn clue."

And with that, the three of them stepped forward—deeper into the world that should not exist.

Nam Gyeol had always been quick to pick up on things. His mind worked in ways even he didn't fully understand—pieces clicking together faster than his mouth could form words. And right now, standing in the middle of this impossible world, with white grass beneath his feet and an artificial sun hanging in the sky, his blood ran cold.

This was White Knights' territory.

No. It was more than that.

This was their entire world.

Everything about it was designed to deceive—to imitate the surface world above. The buildings were eerily perfect, their architecture too precise, the wind that rustled the artificial trees too calculated. Even the sky itself, stretching endlessly overhead, was wrong. A massive, illusionary construct. A cage so beautifully crafted that anyone who lived here would never question its reality.

Nam Gyeol's breath hitched. His hands clenched into tight fists.

"This place…" His voice was hoarse, but he forced himself to speak, to confirm what he already knew. "This is their world." His teeth ground together, fury bubbling beneath his skin. "This is the White Knights."

Ryuen, who had been surveying their surroundings with mild curiosity, barely spared him a glance. "Figured as much," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. His voice held not a trace of fear, only impatience. "And? What's your point?"

Nam Gyeol snapped his head toward him, his eyes blazing. "My point, you arrogant bastard, is that we just walked into the deepest part of strange territory without realizing it." He exhaled sharply, his pulse hammering in his ears. "And if they figure out we don't belong here, we're dead before we take our next breath."

Ryuen only smirked. "Sounds like a challenge."

Nam Gyeol gritted his teeth. Why was he like this?

Erin, however, was the one who surprised him. She wasn't tense. She wasn't panicked. She stood there, completely composed, her piercing gaze fixed on the tallest building in the distance—the one that loomed over everything like a silent executioner.

She wasn't worried about where they were.

She was focused on who was waiting inside.

"…Takada is here," she murmured, voice quiet yet absolute. "I can feel it."

Nam Gyeol turned toward her sharply. "And what if he isn't?" His voice was sharp, laced with frustration. "What if we're walking into a—"

She cut him off before he could finish.

"He's here."

There was no hesitation. No room for doubt. She didn't even look at Nam Gyeol as she spoke, her grip tightening around the dagger she had stolen from the agent's belt. Her knuckles were white.

Nam Gyeol stared at her, his anger faltering slightly.

Erin had always been like this.

She wasn't reckless. She wasn't blinded by rage or impulsivity like Ryuen. No—when she was like this, when her voice carried that quiet, unshakable certainty, it was because something deep inside her knew.

Takada was here.

Nam Gyeol closed his eyes briefly, inhaling slowly.

"…If that's the case, then we don't have time to waste."

His voice had changed. It was no longer edged with frustration but with command. Focus. He turned to the both of them, and though Ryuen may have been the strongest in brute force, and Erin may have been the most relentless, Nam Gyeol was the strategist.

And right now, they needed a leader.

"We've been lucky so far," he stated, his voice firm. "That agent mistook us for assets. No one's questioned us yet, which means their internal communication might be weak, or they weren't expecting infiltrators." His mind worked rapidly, scanning every detail, every possibility. "But that won't last. The moment someone realizes a high-ranking officer is missing, they'll lock this place down."

His gaze flickered toward the sprawling city before them, analyzing every street, every possible escape route, every advantage they could use.

"We need to blend in," he said, his voice low but absolute. "No sudden movements. No unnecessary fights." He turned toward Ryuen pointedly. "That means you keep your damn hands to yourself unless we have no choice."

Ryuen scoffed, but Nam Gyeol wasn't finished.

"If we're caught, we don't fight our way out. Not yet." He exhaled sharply. "We gather intel. We find where they're keeping Takada. Then we move."

For the first time, Ryuen didn't argue.

Erin nodded once.

Nam Gyeol took another breath, steadying himself. His pulse had slowed, his mind had cleared. This was what he did best. They weren't just here to survive. They were here to win to save Takada. And for that, they needed to be smarter than the enemy.

With one final glance at the massive, oppressive tower in the distance, Nam Gyeol narrowed his eyes.

"Let's go."

And with that, the three of them stepped forward, vanishing into the belly of the beast.

-To be Continued..