The narrow ventilation duct pressed tightly around his body, metal edges scraping lightly against his shoulders as he tried to steady his breathing. Ahead of him, blocking the faint light he had seen moments ago, stood a figure.
A man.
Tall—far too tall for a place like this. Even crouched, he filled the duct unnaturally, his presence distorting the already suffocating space.
Around 190 centimeters.
A black mask covered his face. His posture was relaxed. Too relaxed.
Behind Louis, Canta remained still.
The air felt heavier.
"The other one should be behind you," the man said calmly.
His voice carried no urgency. No anger. Just quiet certainty.
He lifted a hand and scratched the side of his head, almost casually—as if this wasn't a chase, not an escape, but something expected.
Something planned.
Louis's hands trembled uncontrollably.
The faint light he thought he saw earlier—it was gone now.
Or maybe…
It was never there.
"Shit…" he whispered under his breath.
In the next instant—
The man moved.
"Forgive me… Mom," Louis whispered, his voice trembling but faintly calm.
"I won't resist this world anymore."
A sharp, controlled strike.
His fist drove forward in the confined space with brutal precision, slamming directly into Louis. The impact was short but decisive—there was no room for recoil, no space to soften it.
Louis's vision snapped white.
Then black.
His body went limp.
He didn't even make a sound.
Behind him—
Canta reacted.
Not emotionally.
Not loudly.
Just instantly.
The moment the strike landed—
The lights went out.
Complete darkness.
Somewhere deeper in the facility, a breaker snapped.
The ventilation system groaned as power cut off, and the steady hum that once filled the ducts collapsed into silence.
That single moment—
Canta moved.
He began crawling forward at full speed.
No hesitation.
No glance back.
I can't save him.
The thought came clean. Uninterrupted.
But I can save myself.
The metal surface scraped against his elbows and knees as he forced himself forward through the tight passage. Without the fan noise, every movement echoed louder than it should.
Too loud.
Too exposed.
Behind him, there was no immediate pursuit.
But that didn't mean safety.
It meant something worse.
Control.
The darkness pressed against his vision. The only guidance he had was touch—the rigid lines of the duct, the slight shifts in airflow.
Then—
Sound.
A low movement behind him.
Not fast.
Not rushed.
The man—Ragasa—was following.
Not chasing.
Tracking.
Canta crawled forward, panic surged—"I should run. If I don't run, I'll be killed. But suddenly—"
He moved.
The duct branched ahead.
Three directions.
And beside them—
A damper.
Canta slowed his breathing instinctively.
Think...you were supposed to be the best mind in your school.
Move.
A metal flap installed inside the duct to regulate airflow.
Canta reached it.
Without wasting time, he pushed it shut.
The movement was stiff, resisting slightly before locking into place with a muted metallic click.
One path—blocked.
He turned toward another section and found a circular structure ahead.
A ventilation fan.
Its blades were covered by a protective filter casing—meant to trap dust and pollutants before air passed through.
The power was still out.
No movement.
No rotation.
Canta quickly unscrewed the outer covering using his hands—loosened enough already from wear. He coughed once, quietly, as dust fell into the air.
He stopped himself immediately.
Too loud.
Too risky.
He pushed the casing aside just enough to create space.
Then—
He slid inside.
His body barely fit.
The metal edges pressed tightly against him as he twisted and adjusted his position. Every movement had to be controlled—calculated down to the smallest shift.
Once inside, he reached back and reattached the loosened covering.
Not perfectly.
But enough.
From the outside, it looked intact.
Still.
Normal.
Canta froze in place.
No movement.
No sound.
Seconds passed.
Then—
A faint metallic noise.
Ragasa had reached the junction.
He paused.
Canta could feel it.
Even without seeing him.
The silence stretched.
Then—
A sound.
A small impact.
The stone.
Canta had taken it earlier—from Louis.
He threw it into one of the duct paths before sealing the damper.
The stone hit metal—
But didn't travel far.
Blocked.
The sound echoed unnaturally.
Ragasa noticed.
A slight shift.
Then movement.
He followed that direction.
Exactly as intended.
Canta didn't move.
Didn't breathe deeper.
Didn't react.
Two seconds.
Three.
Five.
Then—
The power returned.
The lights flickered back to life.
And the ventilation system restarted.
The fan around Canta roared to life.
The blades began spinning.
Fast.
Violent.
Air rushed through the duct, carrying dust, debris, and dry particles across the system.
The filter began pushing air outward.
Canta's body stiffened.
Dust filled the enclosed space.
His throat burned.
His nose reacted instantly.
A cough rose—
Sharp.
Uncontrollable.
He pressed his hand tightly over his mouth, trying to suppress the cough, forcing the sound back down his throat. A warm, wet sensation spread across his palm.
For a moment, he didn't react. Then he looked.
Blood.
Only then did he register it—the sharp sting he had ignored earlier. When he had forced himself through the narrow opening, the metal had sliced into him. A cut along his right hand, another across his left knee, and a thin, shallow line at the side of his neck.
The pain surfaced all at once—but he stayed still.
His eyes watered, but he didn't move.
Didn't make a sound.
Because now—
There were more footsteps.
Multiple.
Voices.
Inside the ventilation system.
They had entered.
Search teams.
Systematic.
Closing in.
The airflow masked some sound—but not enough.
If he moved—
He'd be heard.
If he coughed—
He'd be found.
And where he was—
There was no escape.
Behind the fan—
There was nothing.
No exit.
No continuation.
Just a dead end.
A trap he had chosen himself.
Dust continued to circulate.
His lungs burned.
His body trembled—but not visibly.
Controlled.
Suppressed.
Outside—
Voices moved closer.
Inside—
Canta stayed still.
Not hiding.
Not escaping.
Just… waiting.
And for the first time—
The stillness wasn't calm.
It was pressure.
Because now—
There was nowhere left to go.
---
Chapter 4 — Part 2
Darkness still lingered inside the ventilation system, though it no longer felt empty.
Ragasa moved forward slowly.
His large frame barely fit through the narrow metal passage, his shoulders brushing against the sides with each movement. The confined space didn't bother him. His breathing remained steady, controlled.
But his mind—
alert.
He stopped.
"The damper…" he muttered quietly.
It was closed.
That alone was enough to tell him something was wrong.
Then—
a faint sound.
A metallic drop.
A spoon.
Ragasa's eyes narrowed beneath the mask.
"So… you went that way."
Without hesitation, he reached forward and forced the damper open. It resisted slightly, then gave way with a dull mechanical shift.
He moved through.
Silence.
No crawling sound.
No breath.
Nothing.
Only his own movement echoed through the duct.
For a moment, he stopped again.
"…troublesome," he whispered.
His body remained still, but a thin layer of sweat formed along his neck.
Then, without wasting time, he spoke into his communicator.
"I withdraw from the game."
A pause.
Then, colder—
"All units. Enter the ventilation system. He's still inside."
Within seconds—
movement.
From every direction, guards and soldiers began entering the ducts.
Metal rattled.
Boots scraped.
Voices overlapped.
The silence shattered.
The system was no longer a confined hiding place.
It became a hunting ground.
Then—
the lights came back.
The ventilation system roared alive.
And with it—
another presence entered.
Sam.
His red eyes reflected faintly under the dim lighting, calm and observant. Unlike Ragasa, his movements were almost effortless—as if the cramped space didn't restrict him at all.
"Spread out," he said quietly.
"Check intersections. Dead ends. Anything unusual."
His tone wasn't loud.
But it carried authority.
The guards followed immediately.
Far away—
Canta remained inside the fan casing.
Still.
Silent.
Blood slowly spread across his hand, soaking into the fabric of his shirt as he tightened it around his wounds. His breathing was shallow, controlled to the point of pain.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't cough.
Couldn't even adjust his position.
Only endure.
Back in the vents—
Ragasa's patience began to crack.
"Find him," he said, his voice low but sharp.
His body temperature rose, sweat now visible along his arms.
"He's here."
No one responded.
Only movement.
Searching.
Failing.
"Take that boy down," Ragasa ordered suddenly.
Louis.
Unconscious.
"Move him."
A guard acknowledged and disappeared with the body.
Meanwhile—
Sam moved forward alone.
Step by step.
Slow.
Unhurried.
"Where are you hiding… my boy?" he murmured softly.
It almost sounded like he was… singing.
Not searching.
Not chasing.
Just… enjoying the process.
Eventually—
he stopped.
In front of a ventilation fan.
He tilted his head slightly.
"…interesting."
The nuts holding the casing—
they were aligned.
But not naturally.
Too tight.
Too deliberate.
As if—
handled.
Inside—
Canta froze completely.
Even his heartbeat felt too loud.
Don't move.
Don't breathe.
Don't exist.
Sam reached forward.
His fingers touched one of the bolts.
Slowly—
he began to turn it.
The metal gave a faint sound.
Canta's vision blurred slightly.
A single thought passed through him—
Save me…
Then—
another followed.
…there's no one to save me.
The realization hit clean.
Cold.
Final.
Still—
he didn't move.
Just then—
another guard approached.
"Master Sam, why are you still here?"
Sam stopped.
His hand rested casually against the fan.
"…just resting," he replied calmly.
"A little tired."
The guard looked at the casing.
At the bolts.
Everything appeared… normal.
Tight.
Secure.
Unbroken.
Sam withdrew his hand.
"Let's move," he said.
And turned away.
Silence returned.
Slowly.
Gradually.
The search faded.
Footsteps moved away.
Voices disappeared.
One by one—
they left.
Canta remained there.
Still trapped.
Still bleeding.
Still alive.
The only sound now—
the steady hum of the fan.
And something else.
Distant.
Heavy.
Metallic.
Dampers.
Closing.
Sealing.
Every route.
Every exit.
Time passed.
Maybe an hour.
Maybe more.
Elsewhere—
inside a dim meeting room—
several figures gathered.
Ragasa sat down heavily.
His posture tense.
Frustration barely contained.
Sam stood nearby.
Calm.
Composed.
Erina was there too.
Her expression far less controlled.
"You did well, Ragasa," Sam said.
His voice was neutral.
Too neutral.
Ragasa looked up sharply.
"I didn't let him escape."
"He's still here," he said firmly.
"He has nowhere to go."
Erina stepped forward immediately.
"What if he finds a way out?" she snapped.
"What if he contacts the outside world?"
Her voice remained neutral but it clearly showed her frustration.
"Do you understand what that means?"
She pointed at Ragasa.
"This is your fault."
"You and your stupid game."
"You should have captured them , when you had a chance."
Her breathing grew slightly uneven , her face turned red.
"I even pretended my identity outside…"
Her voice trembled with anger.
"Erina, it's enough" Sam said quietly.
No force.
No emotion.
Just control.
She talked back.
"…then what do we do?"
Sam paused.
Then spoke—
"I have an idea."
All eyes turned toward him.
"We relocate part of the operation."
Silence.
Ragasa frowned.
"Relocate?"
"Yes," Sam continued.
"We're close to completion. Ten days at most."
He walked slowly around the room.
"We don't abandon this place. Not yet."
"But we reduce exposure."
One guard spoke.
"What if the police arrive?"
Sam didn't even look at him.
"That's why only a few stay."
"Minimal presence."
"If something happens—"
"They escape."
Erina hesitated.
"…I can't risk returning outside right now."
Then suddenly—
her expression shifted.
"What if he finds out… about him?"
The room went still.
Ragasa stiffened.
"He won't," he said quickly.
"There's no record. No connection."
Sam smiled faintly.
"…correct."
Then he turned.
"Bring that boy."
"Louis."
"He will be the next subject."
No one objected.
Ragasa remained seated.
Heavy.
Silent.
Erina glanced at him.
"You'll stay," she said coldly.
"You caused this."
"Take responsibility."
Ragasa didn't respond.
He just thought
Why are you so calm, Sam…?
In a situation like this… you shouldn't be.
Sam turned away.
Satisfied.
Inside his mind—
a different thought moved.
That went smoothly.
Even the mistake…
was necessary.
Canta…
I gave you one chance.
Your past was something.
Let's see if you survive.
If you —
you belong here.
If not…
you were never meant to.
And far away—
inside the sealed ventilation system—
Canta remained trapped.
Unaware—
that his survival…
was never accidental.