The transition from "predator" back to "prey" took exactly three seconds.

  Do-Hyun leaned against the marble pillar outside the grand hall and drew in a deep, ragged breath, forcing his heartbeat to settle. His shoulders sagged as the chronic ache in his ribs—ignored through sheer willpower—finally caught up to him. He let it show, his expression shifting from cold indifference to pained exhaustion.

  [Acting Skill: S-Rank.]

  [System Note: You look pathetic. It's perfect. I almost feel sorry for you. Almost.]

  Do-Hyun slipped back into the grand hall.

  The orchestra was midway through a waltz, and the air remained thick with perfume and denial. No one here had any idea what had happened in the West Wing.

  Isabella stood near the chocolate fountain, politely refusing a glass of champagne from a young heir of some shipping conglomerate. Her gaze kept sweeping the room, tight with worry.

  Do-Hyun moved toward her, limping slightly as he shifted his weight off his left side.

  "Isabella," he rasped.

  She turned sharply. Relief flashed across her face, quickly followed by scrutiny as her eyes flicked over him—searching for blood, torn fabric, anything out of place.

  "You're back," she whispered, stepping closer to shield him from view. "You were gone for eight minutes. My father asked where you were."

  "I was unwell," Do-Hyun said, loud enough for the shipping heir to hear.

  He drew a white handkerchief from his pocket and coughed into it, dry and harsh. Nearby guests recoiled instinctively, taking a step back.

  "I needed… air," he finished, lifting watery eyes to Isabella.

  The shipping heir looked at Do-Hyun with undisguised disgust. ""You should be in the hospital, Kang, not a banquet. You're spreading germs.""

  "My apologies," Do-Hyun murmured, bowing his head submissively.

  The heir sneered and walked away.

  Isabella glared at the man's retreating back, then looked at Do-Hyun. "Did you get it?"

  Do-Hyun didn't answer. He only tapped the breast pocket of his tuxedo.

  A hard, rectangular outline pressed against the fabric.

  The Sector 4 Master Keycard.

  "Good," Isabella breathed. "Now we just need to—"

  BANG.

  The grand hall doors slammed open.

  Music cut off. Conversation died in an instant.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  General Bak stood in the doorway.

  He looked unhinged—tie crooked, face flushed a furious red. His right hand was clutched against his chest, wrapped in a hastily applied bandage, swelling visible even from across the room.

  Three security guards rushed in behind him, confused and panicked.

  "General?" Chairman Han stepped forward, frowning. "Is something wrong?"

  Bak ignored him.

  His gaze swept the room like a spotlight, wild and furious, searching for the monster who had shattered his stone armor like glass.

  Then his eyes locked onto Do-Hyun.

  Do-Hyun leaned heavily against Isabella, pale and trembling, meeting the General's stare with wide, frightened eyes.

  Bak froze.

  He knew those violet eyes. He remembered the crushing grip.

  But now…the boy looked like a stiff breeze could break him in half.

  "You…" Bak snarled, stepping forward. "You little rat!"

  A collective gasp swept through the hall. A general shouting at a disabled young man in the middle of a banquet—scandal in the making.

  Kang Dae-Ho moved instantly, placing himself in front of his son. His expression was stone.

  "General Bak," Dae-Ho said, voice low and dangerous. "You are shouting at my son. Explain yourself."

  "Your son attacked me!" Bak shouted, pointing with his good hand. "He came into the VIP lounge! He assaulted my men and broke my hand!"

  Silence.

  Then, a ripple of murmurs.

  "Attacked him?"

  "The Kang boy?"

  "Isn't he the one who faints if he walks too fast?"

  "The General must be drunk."

  Tae-Soo, who was standing near the buffet, actually laughed out loud. "Father, he's lost his mind. Do-Hyun can't even open a jar of pickles, let alone break a General's hand."

  Bak's face turned purple. He realized the trap.

  Claiming Do-Hyun had bested him would be admitting the unthinkable: a nobody had shattered his reputation. One word, one gesture, and the National Defense Command would mock him for the rest of his life.

  But if he said nothing...

  Do-Hyun coughed again, a pitiful, wheezing sound. "General... I... I don't understand. I was with Isabella... I went to the restroom..."

  Isabella squeezed Do-Hyun's arm. "He was with me, General. He's been unwell all evening."

  Bak stared at Do-Hyun. He saw the mockery hidden deep in those violet eyes. The wolf grinning behind the sheep's mask.

  He knows, Bak realized. The boy knows I can't admit it.

  Bak lowered his hand. Pain pulsed through his crushed fingers in time with his heartbeat.

  "I…" he stammered, forcing the words out under hundreds of watching eyes. "I… must have been mistaken. The attacker was… wearing a similar suit."

  "A similar suit?" Chairman Han lifted an eyebrow. "At a black-tie banquet? Everyone is wearing a similar suit, General."

  Bak gritted his teeth so hard they creaked. "My apologies. The stress of the... 'gas leaks'... has me on edge."

  He turned sharply. "I am leaving."

  He stormed out, his guards trailing behind him like whipped dogs.

  The tension in the room broke. The orchestra, sensing the mood, hurriedly started playing a lively jazz number.

  "What a disgrace," Kang Dae-Ho muttered, straightening his jacket. He looked at Do-Hyun with annoyance. "You attract trouble just by existing."

  "I'm sorry, Father," Do-Hyun murmured.

  "Go home," Dae-Ho ordered. "Driver Kim is waiting. You look like a corpse, and you're ruining the mood."

  "Yes, Father."

  Do-Hyun turned back to Isabella. He took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

  "Thank you for the dance," he whispered.

  "Be careful," she whispered. "Sector 4 is crawling with them. Not just monsters. Cleaners."

  "I'm good at cleaning," Do-Hyun said.

  He stepped out of the grand hall, and cold air hit him. The stoop vanished, the cough gone. He straightened as the wind whipped through his hair, sharp with the scent of snow and ozone.

  [Vitality: 18.0%]

  [Quest Updated: 'The Midnight Snack'.]

  [Location: Sector 4 Subway Station.]

  [Status: Quarantine Level 5.]

  [Objective: Clear the Dungeon. Don't die. Feed the System.]

  Driver Kim was waiting by the curb, smoking a cigarette.

  "Home, Young Master?" Kim asked, tossing the butt into a snowbank.

  Do-Hyun opened the back door.

  "No," Do-Hyun said, his eyes glowing in the dark interior of the car. "Drop me off at the intersection of Gangnam-gu. I have an errand to run."

  "At this hour?" Kim frowned. "Your father said—"

  "My father isn't here," Do-Hyun cut him off. "Drive."

  Kim froze, checking the rearview mirror: That same unnatural gaze from the alley.

  "Yes, sir," Kim whispered.

  The car slipped away from the banquet lights, sinking into the city's darkened streets.