V
Reese’s voice cuts through the general murmur, instantly recognizable. He is surrounded by a group of contestants, his laughter loud and free. He gestures wildly, his words carrying across the hallway. The scene is a strange mix of confidence and insecurity, a public performance meant for anyone within earshot. Rebecca observes him from a distance, her eyes narrowed. His need for attention feels almost desperate, a craving for validation that borders on sad. She thinks, uninvited and unexpected, that his behavior oddly resembles that of a small child whose mother is distracted by a drunken husband or unpaid bills—seeking attention, approval, any form of parental engagement amid a chaotic family breakdown.
A chuckle escapes Rebecca’s lips, a sound barely heard above the noise, yet it somehow seems to travel far. It is a sound of amusement, yes, but also something else—a low hum of ironic detachment.
From the corner of her eye, she notices a shift in the group around Reese. His attention seems to catch on her quiet laugh. He pauses mid-sentence, his gaze sweeping across the hallway. Does he see her? Does he recognize the source of the chuckle? His expression is unreadable, a carefully crafted mask of easy charm. He resumes his animated talk, but the brief pause and subtle change in his demeanor suggest that he might have noticed her after all. The question hangs unanswered in the air like the tension of this deadly game. The uncertainty feels unsettling, reminding her of the constant watchfulness and the ever-present chance for both danger and connection within the artificial world of Live.
The air, thick with unspoken anxieties from the contestants, feels heavy as Reese finishes his performance. His gaze, once scattered, settles on Rebecca. He pushes through the thinning crowd with a predatory grace that contradicts the childishness she has seen earlier. He approaches from her side, his voice a low purr—dramatically different from his earlier loud display. His words wash over her like a stream of carefully chosen phrases meant to disarm and entice. Rebecca can’t quite understand what he says—something about shared vulnerability and mutual understanding of the game’s cruel rules, an implied offer of protection. It is a drastic shift from his earlier public persona—a performative act of seduction aimed at breaking down her defenses.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Suddenly, an announcement cuts through Reese's carefully crafted charm. "Contestants, return to your designated quarters. Preparation for the nightly events starts in thirty minutes." The disembodied voice is emotionless and leaves no room for argument.
Rebecca rises quickly, her movements sharp and decisive as she ignores the weight of Reese's words. She doesn’t even glance at him as she turns and walks away, the metallic click of her heels echoing on the polished floor. The hallway empties fast, and the sudden silence amplifies the persistent hum of the building’s systems. The rush of adrenaline fades away, leaving behind lingering tension. She reaches her room as the door slides open with a soft hiss.
Inside, her room feels like it belongs to an entirely different building, a quiet refuge far removed from the hallway's busy energy. A minimalist design dominates—feminine but sterile. The only decoration is a small circular mirror on the wall reflecting Rebecca’s intense gaze. She stares at her reflection, trying to piece together Reese's words; fragments of his seductive approach cling to her memory like unwanted dust. The vague idea of an alliance flickers in her mind but is quickly dismissed. His offer feels less like genuine concern and more like a strategic move—a calculated attempt to exploit her guarded nature. Yet part of her remains unsettled. He has touched on pain still hidden beneath her built composure—a shared wound in the brutal arena of Live.
She walks to her small private balcony and gazes out at the sprawling cityscape. The city lights paint the night sky in millions of shimmering colors—a hypnotic display that does little to calm her unease. Reese's words hang in the air unresolved as another piece of Live’s puzzle shifts into place. The game reminds Rebecca of the dance world she once knew—filled with manipulation, alliances, and the constant threat of betrayal. She recalls how her so-called friends used her talents for their own gain, treating her like a tool rather than a person. Despite her fierce independence, she feels herself slipping into the same role again, becoming just another pawn in Reese's game for popularity. The thought makes her uneasy; she refuses to let herself be used again, not by Reese or anyone else.