My moon and stars.
     Though the voice was cracking over the radio, the message was loud and clear. Only one person had this nickname for her.
     My moon and stars.
     In-Ho is alive.
     Not dead, alive. Then why would he pretend to kill himself... If that only means—
A man dressed in black entered the room. Hyunrin couldn't see his face because of the black mask. This must be the Front Man, the man who lead these twisted games. The one Gi-Hun told them about.
The way he stood raised suspicion with Hyunrin. The way his presence filled the hall it felt all too familiar, yet her judgment was clouded with fury and grief.
In-Ho pretended to die, and the Front Man shows up. When all of a sudden, Hyunrin hears the Front Man speaking as if he is standing next to her.
     "Played 456," the Front Man breathed. "Did you have fun playing the hero?"
     That voice. A voice she knew, even though it filtered through a modulator. It doesn't add up, it makes no sense. A question flashes through her mind that makes her question every single thing she has done over the last eight years.
Oh.

The metal doors open, bringing out the voting system. Although it is obvious the X team is outnumbered.
     "Player 132," the guard calls. "Follow me." A wave of confusion rattles through her body as she rises to her feet. She is about to walk away when she feels a tug at her sleeve, looking down to see Jun-Hee.
     "Be safe, unnie," she mutters. Hyunrin sends her a warm smile, telling her she will. Jun-Hee releases her sleeve, and Hyunrin follows the guard through the halls. Countless thoughts are flashing through her mind on her way to wherever.
     The hall is cold and quiet, save for the rhythmic echo of boots against the polished floor. Hyunrin walks between two armed guards, her eyes blank with fatigue—until they stop in front of an ominous metal door.
     The guard opens the door and allows Hyunrin to step inside, in what seems like Gi-Hun wanted to find—the control room. A cold room, lit by the eerie glow of surveillance screens. Rows of masked guards sit at consoles, monitoring every corner of the compound. Dozens of camera feeds flicker across large wall displays — dorms, game arenas, hallways.
Above them, on a raised platform, stands the Front Man, watching in silence. His presence is imposing, detached. The room hums with quiet tension, like a machine running too smoothly — emotionless, efficient, and always watching.

Hyunrin freezes. Her speculation is about to turn into truth. Her heart pounds in her chest, threatening to leave her chest. It is something about the way he stands—too still, too familiar. That subtle shift of weight, the quiet tension in his shoulders. Her breath catches.
He turns to her with that same mask, the day he murdered Jung-Bae. "Leave us." His dark voice spreads through the room.
The guards obey, sealing the door behind them with a clang. Hyunrin watches his gloved hand move to his mask, her heart pounding in her ears. He removes the mask, revealing the man behind the mask.
And her speculations?
Are true.
...
...
In-Ho. Alive.
Right in front of her.

Her eyes flood instantly, but it's not just relief—it's rage, betrayal, grief, all tangled. She storms across the room and hits his chest—hard. Once, twice, again, and again. In-Ho was forced to take a step back to embrace her impact.
"How could you?" she cries, tears rolling down her cheeks. "You let me think I've lost you twice. You don't get to come back like this. Not after everything."
In-ho takes it—every hit, every broken word—without flinching. His mask dangles in one hand, his face unreadable except for the tremor in his jaw, the glint of tears in his eyes.
When her strength gives out, her fists fall to his chest, and she gasps for breath between sobs. Then he moves.
He wraps his arms around her—tight, desperate, as if he lets go now, she'll vanish. His hand presses against the back of her head, pulling her into his shoulder.
     "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Hyunrin-ah," he chokes. "I had to make them believe it. I never stopped looking for a way back to you." Hyunrin doesn't respond right away. Her body trembles against his. But she doesn't pull away.
     Instead, she breaks—entirely. In-Ho feels how her body is succumbing to gravity, so he sinks to his knees with her, holding her ever so tight. And in the silence of the control room, all she can do is sob into the chest of the man she lost twice... but now has to face in the flesh again.

Hyunrin pulls away from his embrace, eyes red and furious, tears clinging to her lashes as she rises. Her voice is low, trembling — but razor-sharp.
     "Is this it?" she asks. "Is this where you've been all these years?" She gestures around them — at the cold steel walls, the flickering screens, the black mask resting on the table. All the things that kept him hidden. All the things that turned him into someone she can barely recognize.
     "My moon and stars," he whispers, stepping toward her. But she moves back. Just one step — enough to pierce him. A sharp pain sears through his chest, but he lets it. He accepts it like an old wound reopened. He deserves it. He deserves all of it.
     "I was left behind," she snaps, the anger pulsing through her with every heartbeat. "I raised our child alone. I—" She stops. Her eyes go wide. The words hang in the air like smoke. Her hand flies to her mouth too late. The truth has already escaped.
     In-Ho freezes. For a moment, his heart stops—then crashes back to life, pounding like a war drum in his chest. Her words hit him like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. Hyunrin is the one who steps closer, closing the space between them inch by inch. But In-Ho remains still, rooted to the ground, eyes locked on the woman he once called home.
     Our child.
     My child.
     "Our child?" His voice is barely a whisper—fragile, hollow with disbelief. Hyunrin stares at him, her breathing shallow and uneven. For a moment, neither of them moves. Then, slowly, she nods. In-Ho's hand trembles as he lifts it, brushing her cheek with a gentleness that nearly undoes her. She leans into his touch, eyes never leaving his, watching as the first tears gather and fall. Something unspoken passes between them—too heavy for words. Too sacred for sound.
     ''Our son, Min-Ho,'' she whispers. ''He is eight.''
     ''Min-Ho,'' he breathes — the name falling from his lips like a prayer. In that instant, he already loves the boy he's never met. And then the weight of it hits. Eight years. Eight birthdays. First words. First steps. Laughter he never heard. Tears he never wiped away. It crashes over him like a wave, knocking the breath from his lungs. He sinks to his knees. Silence swells between them — thick, suffocating, pressing against the walls.
     His fingers twitch, as if trying to grasp something just out of reach. Her hand. A memory. Time he can never reclaim. His eyes are wide, stunned, already glistening. Then they fall shut, slowly. And he exhales — a long, shuddering breath, as though the truth has knocked the life out of him.
     ''I have a son...''  He turns away slightly — jaw clenched, hand pressed over his mouth. A man who's endured everything but was never prepared for this. Hyunrin sinks to his level, laying a hand on his cheek, staring into his eyes.
     ''He has your eyes,'' she whispers. The final thread snaps. In-Ho shatters — the dam he's held for eight long, brutal years, finally breaking. The man who buried every feeling under masks and commands collapses in the arms of the woman he thought he'd lost. He sobs silently at first, shoulders trembling, breath hitching as though he's forgotten how to breathe.
     Her arms come around him, hesitant at first... then tight. Familiar. Real. He pulls back, barely able to see her through the blur. His hands move to his face, wiping the tears quickly, almost ashamed. But there's no hiding now. Not anymore.
     He looks at her — really looks — and something cracks deeper. His voice comes out low, rough and cracked, but steady like a vow. "I should've come back. I should've found you. I don't care what it cost — I should've been there."
     ''Then why didn't you come home?'' Her voice is sharp — but beneath it, a tremor. It's the question she's carried like a wound for years. The one that haunted her through every sleepless night. Now it's out, hanging heavy in the air between them. The words hit him like stones. Not because they're unfair, but because they're true. Because they've sat buried inside her far too long. In-Ho swallows hard, visibly shaken. But this time, he doesn't look away. He tries to explain, to finally give her the answer she's owed.
     "Because I didn't know you were alive." His voice cracks under the weight of it. "When I won those sick games... they told me you were dead. And knowing what I did — killing all those people, surviving that hell — and then walking on earth without you in it?" He shakes his head, eyes burning.
     "I couldn't. I couldn't go back," In-Ho says, his voice hollow. "So I stepped into this role because it was offered to me. A way out. This mask..." He hesitates, then lets the weight of it fall. "Because without you, I thought there was nothing left of me to save."
     His voice drops — bitter, low, laced with shame. "Maybe I thought... if I stayed buried in this place, I wouldn't have to feel the weight of who I became." Hyunrin is silent — lost for words. This wasn't the answer she expected.
     "When I saw you on the screen," he continues, voice breaking, "I thought my mind was playing a cruel trick on me. Then I looked at the names. Yours wasn't there. But I was so sure it was you and I just knew. Because you're my woman." Hyunrin's breath catches.
     "I told you once, and I'll tell you again," he says. "Nothing will keep me from you. Not even death." It's those words — their wedding vows — that break her. It is Hyunrin who lets the tears fall now, silently, freely. Because she remembers. She remembers the way he said it back then — proud, certain, filled with love. And now, hearing it again in this broken place, after everything...
     It shatters her.

''And what now? What are you asking from me?'' He rises to his feet, pulling her with him — slower this time, more vulnerable than ever before. In-Ho holds her wrist a moment longer than necessary, fingers trembling against her skin. He doesn't have all the answers. Not anymore. Maybe he never did. But right now, with her in front of him — real, alive, crying — he lets himself want.
     "I'm asking you to stay," he says finally, voice rough. "Stay here. With me. Where I can protect you. I can get you out of the games, Hyunrin. You don't have to risk your life again. I'll erase your debt. No one will touch you."
     She stares at him — her husband, the man behind the mask, the one who vanished and rose again in the darkest corners of this world. He thinks he's offering her salvation. But she sees it for what it really is — a cage built from love and guilt.
     "And Jun-Hee?" she asks. "You'll erase her debt as well? Get her out?" In-ho's jaw tightens. The question pierces him. "I... I can't promise both," he says. "Not without drawing attention. If you stay, I can at least keep you safe."
     Hyunrin pulls her wrist free — gently, but with finality. "Then I can't stay."
     His eyes widen, pain flashing raw. "Hyunrin—" "I won't leave her behind. She's my friend. She stood by me. We made it this far together, and I'm not going to watch her die while I sit in safety. I survived before, I can survive again."
     She turns to go, but he steps forward, grabbing her again — not harshly, but desperately. Like he can't let go. "Don't," he says, almost a whisper. "Don't walk away from me again."
     Her heart lurches — because she's already lost him twice. And now, somehow, she's doing it again. "I'm not choosing the games," she says. "I'm choosing her."

Hyunrin gasps softly as he pulls her to him. His eyes are filled with something raw — panic, pain, love that's weathered two years of silence and loss.
     "I can't let you," he says, voice low, shaking. "Not again. I just got you back."
     Her breath catches. "In-Ho..."
     "You don't understand—if you walk through that door, I might never see you again."
     "And if I stay," she whispers, "I lose Jun-Hee." He lets out a choked breath. "I've spent every day imagining what I would say if I saw you again. And now you're—" His voice breaks. "You're choosing to go back into hell."
     She doesn't pull away. She can't. Not when he's looking at her like that. "I have to." His grip on her wrist loosens, sliding to her hand. Then—
     In-Ho leans in and kisses her.
     It's not careful.
     It's not clean.
     It's desperate — the kind of kiss you give someone when you don't know if you'll ever get another chance. His hand cradles the back of her head. Her fingers clutch his collar. There's no room for the years they lost between them — not now, not in this.
     When they break apart, their foreheads touch. Both of them were breathing hard. Both of them are broken.
     "I have never stopped loving you," he whispers. "Not for a second. All days you graced this earth with your presence, even the days I thought you were gone--I love you." Her eyes sting with tears, but she steels herself, holding them back. Slowly, she lifts her hands to his face, cupping his cheeks with trembling fingers. Her thumbs graze gently over the skin, memorizing him all over again. Then, without a word, she rises onto her toes and presses a soft, aching kiss to his lips — a kiss that carries years of love, grief, and everything in between.
     "Then love me enough to let me go." In-Ho closes his eyes. Just for a moment. Then he nods. But his hand lingers on hers until the guard opens the door. Hyunrin steps back into the light, into the chaos. Leaving him behind, again. Like he did to her.
     In-Ho watches her go — the taste of goodbye still on his lips. And for the first time in years, the Front Man lets himself cry.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
i'll be away to america for a couple of weeks so be patient. you got a kiss chapter, so think about that for a couple of weeks.
see you soon x