There are no cards tucked in her sleeve. In endgame - there are no secrets.

It is a moment suspended in time - Yoo Myung Sun hears the echo of her own exhale. She reaches the endgame faster than she would have believed. Deceit could only take her so far - she feels her palms clammy as she raises a hand to ring the doorbell. There is no doubt about it, the girl would know. But she likes playing the odds, the subtle shifts of human emotions. Myung Sun could play people like a symphony and only that skill would take her through the endgame.

Ha Jin was their Charon and she would pay in fears.

She sees it in the eyes of the girl that opens the door, in the tremble of her lips, in the clutched fist that she hides in her pocket. Myung Sun allows herself a little air, perhaps it would not be as hard as she thought.

The entire drama of repenting, reconciling fools no one - she plays it only for the benefit of any men the senior Hwang might have employed to keep an eye on his precious son. The conversation strained and smiles tight lasts only until Jun disappears into the kitchen.

Ha Jin puts down her wine glass untouched.

“Where is he?” Her eyes burn but Myung Sun smiles.

“I thought you were smarter than that…” she allows her words to trail - and swirls the last remnants of liquid in her glass.

“If anything happens to him - if anything -”

“It’s all in your hands…” she licks at her lip, gathering the last traces of rich sweetness before allowing an ice cold smile. “You’ve known me for a while Hae Soo - you know I don’t like odds in hands of other people. You -” she sets down the glass. “Are the biggest odd in my plan.”

“You think I’ll hold my tongue?” A dark chuckle accompanies her words.

“I believe I can persuade you to,” she nods, seriously. “You see, its rather easy for you to send Jun to his rightful place. I’m sure all you need is one phone call - but then - will you ever find So? What would you think I would do to him?”

With satisfaction she traces the effect of her words along the path of the girl’s harsh inhale, the way her throat tightens around the air.  

“That’s right Hae Soo - if you want to keep your lover alive, you know what you have to do.”

“He went to save you…” Her voice is soft, her eyes sparkle with unshed tears.

Her words barely move her, instead Yoo Myung Sun reaches for her untouched glass.

“It’s rather a good wine to waste,” she comments offhandedly, picking up the glass. The shiver that passes down her spine is quite visible and her lips tug at the corners. Whoever said the same trick does not work twice had not played the game as long as she had. Myung Sun thinks - rather amused. She had coaxed another woman by similar means - her daughter it seemed had inherited a similar spirit.

She pats the girl on her hair, a gesture that seems motherly, but instead crushes her soul under the weight Myung Sun places on it.

“I won’t hurt you..” she coos. “You are my Charon, you will take me out of this mess unscathed. I think I’ve made a fair bargain.”

Ha Jin holds the napkin in a white knuckled grip.

“What do you want me to do?”

She closes her eyes instead of watching the victory flashing across Yoo Myung Sun’s gaze and swallows thinking of Yo’s instructions.

“Play along…until I find him.”

There is a pain that burns her from inside out when Ha Jin thinks how it had came around to the same place where everything had ended thousand years ago. Where they stood apart, drowning in agony - never to see each other again.

But she wants to see him - she wants and she will. Ha Jin holds into that thought as hard as her mind would allow. Yoo Myung Sun wants to play play they shall, but the rules of this particular game has long since changed.

The woman continues to tell her their plans of escaping the country - her indifferent tone loud enough to keep the conversation private. But inside her pocket her mobile blinks the red light of a recorder.

It is the beauty of the one way journey of a pawn, the brutality of the blow of a man who has nothing to lose. Even if it is the ending - she thinks with a sinking heart - she would take the monster down with her.

“Noona?”

The unexpected voice makes both woman jump and her eyes snap open. It is Jung with a box of pizza and a frown between his brows. “Omma?”

**

So never believed in going silently to the night.

From the deep hazy folds of his mind he retrieves the voice of Coach Park. Instead of Wook’s hand he imagines the old man, tying the knots - another day at training. The tension lifts a little and his mind clears.

“If you are conscious when they are binding you - there is no bond that cannot be undone. It all comes down to the wrists, how you keep them…”

Wook checks all his knots mechanically, his own breathing is laboured and loud in So’s ear. Agitation - anticipation - he picks out the tension that simmers just behind his eyes. This is not how Wook would have planned it, or there is something about this ending that he does not agree with. So wonders what it could be that Wook tries his best to come in terms with.

Before he finds a conclusion he could settle with, Wook’s gaze is boring into his once more.

“Well then,” his voice rasps. “I believe this is the farewell brother.” He walks backwards eyes holding his gaze and fetches the mask he has brought for himself. “What?” He chuckles. “Did you think I’d just leave you to your fate? What kind of a brother would that make me? No - dear brother, I’m going to stay and watch you suffer…I’m going to enjoy it!”

Still holding Wook’s gaze, So adjusts his wrists to their original position, his thumb rests against the first of Wook’s many knots and the ropes loosen around his wrists. He has done this countless times with Coach Park that his arms do not move a single fraction as he works his hands around each tie that binds them in place. The room is dark enough for Wook to not see the bounds loosening.

He needs just the few seconds that Wook takes to turn around and find the valves that would release the gas to undo the bounds on his ankles and when the man turns around he is already there to face him.

“Success of the first shot never depends on the technique - it depends on the force behind the punch. It depends on the desperation - fear - of the alternative. Your first punch is how badly you want to walk out unscathed.”

Coach Park’s words are etched in his conscious and he is all that - So realizes, afraid, desperate and in pain. He wants it to end quickly and he knows when it boils down to self defense. Wook is no match to the blow that he deals on him unexpectedly, his knuckles reaching and sinking into the underside of his jaw. The man is thrown backwards, splattering a mouthful of blood. When he bares his teeth in a growl, blood drips from his teeth.

He doesn’t wait. So sweeps a leg beneath his feet, making him lose his footing and kicks the stumbling man. Only his leg wobbles under the weight he puts on it and brings him down on his knees. Wook is there to take advantage of the misstep, his hands choking his breath while his knee contacts with his ribs. They collapse upon each other, in a heap on the swaying ground and Wook’s fingers dig into his throat.

Blood rise and block his airway, the force of the blow burns in his eyes. Wook leaves him to splatter blood on the floor and straightens up, panting himself as he catches his breath he wears the mask.

The valves hiss when he releases them one by one - his vision swirls as he gasps for breath and unwilling hand clutched around his throat - So tries to hold his breath. It is a useless thing - he knows as Wook walks towards the exit.

But then the waters turn murky.

Wook turns the knob, rattles the frame, kicks it twice for good measure. The door remain closed. Through his drooping eyelids So notices the agitation taking hold of him - the first tendrils of fear licking at his feet. It is a desperate effort that raises him to his feet. There is but a matter of few seconds, but he wants to live. A part of him knows even in the end someone has betrayed Wook - used him like a weapon and left him at the mercy of his own fate. He wonders if Wook has realized it yet, but So would not wait for that.

Instead he locks it arm around the man’s neck, dragging him backwards away from the door. His own airway tightens, but he clutches his jaw - willing to tolerate another moment of agony. Twisting their positions he peels the mask off Wook and relishes that he feels no guilt to snatch that lifeline. Perhaps the darkness that roots inside him is more powerful than he had originally thought. His greed for life roars through and through the mask he gulps for air.

Wook’s blow sinks into his ribs, the pain shots through his shoulder where the old, half healed injury starts to bleed afresh. The force takes him down to his knees but he strikes at him at the same time, seizing him by his knees - they topple in a heap once more as his elbow finds the gap between Wook’s collarbones.

His vision swims and he cannot find the energy to lift his arm. His exhale resonates with disappointment as he collapses atop Wook, who knocks him on the ground, his fingers digging into the edges of the mask. But his fingers are trembling too and So struggles beneath him.

Neither of them hears the door opening or the silent footfall of the man walking in. His presence is known only when he deals the blow on the back of Wook’s head. Before darkness drowns his vision completely So sees the man bending over him, his blurry vision is filled with the man’s face.

“You…” his lips move, making no sound.