FPIH Chapter 3 (Part 2)

“Hey, I should be the one asking. Why do you keep pushing me like I’m some kind of liar? Maybe you’re the one hiding something. Why do you keep staring at me? From the beginning, you’ve been watching me like a hawk. Thought I wouldn’t notice?”

Go Pyeonghwa was momentarily at a loss for words, then frowned as he responded.

“That’s not it.”

“You keep throwing accusations with nothing but gut feelings—should I throw some evidence back at you? ‘Cause I’ve got a few questions for you too.”

[ Remaining Chances: 4 ]
[ Relationship with Go Pyeonghwa: Barely acquainted university classmate / Same year, Computer Engineering major, Class of ’19, but practically strangers. ]

Jiho shoved her smartphone in front of Pyeonghwa’s face.
Since he had already seen her checking it, there was no point hiding it anymore.
If he tried to take it by force, Jiho had no way to stop him—better to get ahead of it and go on the offensive.

Pyeonghwa glanced at the screen and his face shifted to visible shock. A look of ‘What the hell is this?’ flashed across his features.

“Did you do this?”

Jiho scoffed.

“Does it look like I did that? It changed on its own right after the earthquake. That screen’s stuck—I can’t even get out of it.”

Go Pyeonghwa took the phone from Jiho’s hand.
He fiddled with it, trying different things, but all he managed to do was turn the screen off and on again.
The text remained exactly as it was.

“‘Remaining chances’? What does that mean?”

Jiho shrugged.

“No idea. It was just… there like that.”

She watched Pyeonghwa’s face carefully.
He did look genuinely shocked and confused.
But it could still be an act.

“Let me see yours.”

Without a word, Pyeonghwa pulled his phone from the pocket of his denim jacket and handed it over.
‘Finally, I’m getting a look at Go Pyeonghwa’s phone.’

Siwoon had said Pyeonghwa’s phone didn’t work either, but Jiho hadn’t trusted that completely.
She’d been looking for the chance to see it for herself—and now the moment was here.

With a pounding heart, Jiho operated his phone. But the screen stayed black.
Nothing changed. No message, no reaction.

Jiho’s eyes widened in confusion.
‘Why…? Why’s there nothing? This doesn’t make sense. Then it’s just my phone?’

Pyeonghwa watched her expression, then smirked and said with biting sarcasm:

“Siwoon told you—it’s useless. What, you thought mine would say something like ‘Relationship with Shin Jiho’ too?”

He’d seen right through her. Nailed her thoughts exactly.
Jiho, caught off guard, was momentarily speechless—but quickly snapped back with a question of her own.

“Your name showed up on my phone before I even met you. You seriously don’t know anything about that?”

“I don’t. It’s not even my phone doing weird shit. How would I know? From my side, you’re the weird one. Who even are you? What are you?”

Go Pyeonghwa stepped closer and grabbed both of Jiho’s shoulders, his tone sharp and fast.

“Are you a demon? Or working with them?”

“What the hell are you talking about?!”
Jiho slapped his hands away, irritated.

Pyeonghwa raised his voice.

“It doesn’t add up! Right after all this crap started, you just show up and say you’re my classmate?!”

He stopped, his face scrunching up like his pride had just been trampled.
It was the same expression he had when he snapped earlier—when he demanded how he could ever forget someone who looked like her.

Grinding his teeth, Pyeonghwa spoke in a low voice full of frustration.

“I… even if there were two hundred classmates, or a thousand, I would’ve noticed you. Even if I saw you for one second, I would’ve remembered you for life. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and you’re telling me I wouldn’t remember someone like you?”

“…What?”

“How could I not have seen you? It makes no sense. No matter how I think about it, there’s only one conclusion—you’re not my classmate. We never went to school together.”

Jiho’s mouth fell open. She was so dumbfounded and offended, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She almost cursed him out on instinct—but held back. Problem was, she didn’t know what to say instead. Her mouth opened and closed uselessly before she finally spat something out.

“Wait, what…? Are you seriously denying my entire life right now? I nearly died here studying my ass off, trying to keep my scholarship! That’s your excuse?! That’s insane!”

Whether Jiho jumped up and down in outrage or not, Pyeonghwa’s cold stare didn’t budge. He scanned her from head to toe.

“Everything about you is suspicious. It feels like you’re here just to mess with me. Like this whole thing’s a setup. All of it.”

He rattled it off like a madman, yet he sounded utterly convinced.
Jiho was furious. She punched him—right in the solid part of his upper chest.
Immediately after, she regretted it. Maybe that was too much.
But Pyeonghwa didn’t even flinch. He just glared at her, eyes sharp enough to cut.

Still, after hitting him, Jiho felt a little less pissed.
Holding her head, she collected herself and spoke calmly.

“Did you forget? If you hadn’t saved me, I’d be dead already—burned to ash by Amon. Why the hell would I be working with demons?”

Pyeonghwa didn’t respond, but his eyes wavered slightly. It looked like her words had reached him—at least a bit.

It had been his choice to save Jiho. No one forced him.
If he hadn’t chosen her, Amon would’ve killed her. That much was certain.

Jiho pressed on.

“And why did Siwoon say I was your classmate, then? What, is he a demon too?”
“……”

“And to be honest, I thought you were weird! I’ve never heard a single thing about you. A guy who looks like you? I should’ve heard about you. So don’t act like I’m the only odd one here—we’re even.”

“What do you mean, heard what?”

Jiho’s annoyance was written all over her face.

“Seriously? You’ve lived your whole life with that face and you don’t know? There’s no way there wasn’t a rumor in the comp-sci department about some ridiculously handsome guy named Go Pyeonghwa.”

Somehow, they ended up… complimenting each other’s looks. Jiho couldn’t believe it. This whole conversation was insane.

“……”

And then—shockingly—Pyeonghwa’s face turned a little red. He actually blushed and looked away.
Jiho stared up at him, completely stunned.

“…Are you kidding me right now?”

AAAHHHHH!

A gut-wrenching scream tore through the hallway—and was cut off, suddenly and completely.

Jiho and Pyeonghwa’s expressions changed instantly.
It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over their heads.

Jiho snapped back to her senses—reality crashing down hard.

“That scream… it was like earlier…”

Jiho trembled involuntarily, but Pyeonghwa grabbed her arm and shook his head.

“It wasn’t Gremory. It was Amon. Looks like someone tried to get past him.”

Now that she thought about it, that made sense.
The announcement had said Gremory left the girls’ dorm 7th floor.
Realizing it wasn’t her that had returned made Jiho’s trembling vanish almost instantly, like a switch had been flipped.

The fact that she couldn’t fully control her own body irritated her deeply. She was mad at herself—for being so pathetic.
Running a hand through her hair, Jiho bowed her head slightly and furrowed her brow.

Go Pyeonghwa said nothing. A heavy silence hung between them.

After gathering her thoughts, Jiho held out her hand. Pyeonghwa frowned, staring at it like it confused him.

“What are you doing?”

Jiho lightly waved her outstretched hand.

Then, after a brief pause, Pyeonghwa grabbed it for a handshake.

“No, I meant give me my phone back.”

Jiho’s voice was flat with disbelief.
Pyeonghwa’s ears turned red in a flash. He snatched his hand back like he’d touched a hot stove.
Jiho let out a soft laugh, air escaping like a deflating balloon.

She took his hand again and gave it a playful shake.

“Alright, let’s just call a truce for now, okay? We agreed to head to the boys’ dorm. I can’t do this alone.”

Pyeonghwa didn’t respond, just let out a sigh—but Jiho knew that was a yes. They both did.
After all, he had initiated the handshake.

None of the mysteries had been solved.
The message on Jiho’s phone remained impossible to decipher, and Go Pyeonghwa was still an enigma.

But Jiho decided—for now—to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Until something more concrete came along, she’d treat him like any other classmate.
Besides, he had saved her life. That alone was enough reason to stick together for now.

They exchanged phones and Jiho tucked hers back into her pocket, mentally running over their situation.
That’s when a problem hit her.

“…What do we do now? The plan we had before needed three people…”

Hwang Siwoon’s absence loomed large.
Arguing with Pyeonghwa had pulled her away from despair and grief, but it didn’t fill the hole Siwoon had left behind.

Pyeonghwa didn’t respond immediately either. Clearly, he had no good solution.

After a moment’s thought, Jiho suggested,

“Should we try finding someone else? There’s probably someone hiding in one of the rooms.”

Pyeonghwa blinked slowly, then shook his head.

“No point. A girl wouldn’t have the strength. And even if someone’s been hiding in their room this whole time, are they really the kind of person who’d risk joining this kind of plan?
…I’ll try to take down Amon on my own.”

Jiho shook her head in alarm.

“Alone? No way! We thought two people would barely manage—doing it alone is insane!”

“Siwoon was only ever meant to play a support role. You’re the real problem.”

“Me?”

Jiho looked puzzled. What was the issue?
All she had to do was run in and scan the door card, right?

Go Pyeonghwa stared straight into her eyes, his tone icy as he warned:

“Don’t betray me.”

Jiho was speechless. Pyeonghwa had this habit of always saying what she was thinking—before she could get it out. This time, she didn’t bother holding back.

“You worry about yourself, seriously.”

Pyeonghwa didn’t even scoff. He ignored her entirely.

He looked confident, but Jiho felt nothing but anxiety.
Whether or not he’d betray her wasn’t even the issue—it was the sheer danger of the plan.

‘Isn’t there a safer strategy?’

At its core, Pyeonghwa’s plan relied on resetting Amon’s 3-second delay.

Amon needed three seconds to breathe fire. The plan was to create a situation where he couldn’t breathe fire, buying enough time to escape into the lounge.

‘Pyeonghwa wants to physically restrain Amon to reset those 3 seconds, but… maybe there’s a safer way…’

Then—like a bolt of lightning—a piece of the puzzle she’d overlooked flashed in Jiho’s mind.

“Ah! That!”

She shouted without meaning to.
Pyeonghwa looked at her, confused.

“What?”

“The fire extinguisher…”

Jiho mumbled, not looking at him, her eyes darting around in thought.
Pyeonghwa frowned.

“Fire extinguisher?”

Jiho didn’t answer. She was busy calculating in her head.
A moment later, her face lit up. She turned to Pyeonghwa, eyes shining.

“Let’s use the fire extinguisher. We get past Amon without a fight.”

Pyeonghwa looked at her like she’d gone completely mad.

“With a fire extinguisher? You saw it—you can’t stop Amon’s fire with that. It’s useless.”

His voice was flat with disinterest.
But Jiho shook her head.

“I’m not saying we stop Amon’s fire—I’m saying we stop him from breathing it out in the first place.”

“With a fire extinguisher? How?”

“Okay, imagine this—you’ve got your mouth open. Then someone sprays a fire extinguisher into your mouth. What would you do?”

Pyeonghwa tilted his head slightly, thinking for a moment before answering.

“Most fire extinguishers use powder, so I’d probably start coughing.”

“No—before that, instinctively, you’d close your mouth, right?”

Pyeonghwa straightened, a serious look overtaking his face.

“But you wouldn’t keep it closed.”

“You don’t need to. Just 2 seconds is enough.”

“Two seconds?”

Jiho nodded.

“You said it yourself—Amon’s delay before breathing fire is 3 seconds. There’s no way we can get into the lounge in that time…”

“Yeah.”

“So I thought—how much time would we actually need to get through the lobby and into the lounge safely? At most, 7 seconds. Crossing the lobby and reaching the door with the card key takes 3 seconds. Card reader recognizing the key—1 second. Opening the door—1 second. Getting inside—1 second. Closing the door—1 second.”

She factored in time to close the door too—since the flames could reach inside if left open.

Pyeonghwa thought about it, then nodded.

“Yeah… that sounds about right.”

Jiho held up seven fingers.

“Here’s my plan. After Amon opens his mouth and about 2 seconds pass—right before he breathes fire—we blast him in the mouth with a fire extinguisher.”

She folded two fingers down, leaving five.

“Amon’s first reaction will be to shut his mouth. He’s gonna be confused, right? In that confusion, while he’s figuring things out and trying to avoid the extinguisher powder… that should give us at least 2 seconds.”

She folded two more fingers, leaving three.

Pyeonghwa stared intently at her remaining three fingers.

“If Amon wants to breathe fire again, he has to start over—open his mouth again and go through that 3-second delay. That’s 7 seconds total.”

“We’ll need to divide the tasks. One of us handles the fire extinguisher, the other uses the card key to open the lounge.”

“Yeah. Using the extinguisher takes both hands, so we both have to move.”

“……”

Jiho thought it was a pretty decent idea, but Go Pyeonghwa said nothing. His face was lost in thought, unreadable. Was he considering it seriously or preparing to shut it down? She couldn’t tell.
‘Come on, this is way better than charging at Amon empty-handed.’
She was just starting to think of ways to convince him when Pyeonghwa finally spoke.

“There are too many variables depending on how Amon reacts. But I do like the idea of using the extinguisher. So let’s do this—you handle the extinguisher. I’ll open the door.”

“Alright.”

“But if Amon doesn’t shut his mouth when we hit him with the powder…”

He let the sentence hang for a moment.

“And if that happens?”

“We stick to the original plan. Once the two seconds are up, we back off before he breathes fire. I’ll move in and restrain Amon. You drop the extinguisher and use the key card to open the door.”

Jiho understood why Pyeonghwa wanted her to handle the extinguisher—he needed his hands free to take down Amon if it came to that.

“Got it.”

She nodded, praying it wouldn’t come to a physical fight.
‘Please let this work with just the extinguisher…’

First, they needed to secure one. If someone else had taken the extinguisher from the 7th floor, or if it didn’t work, her plan was as good as dead.

Jiho carefully opened the door and scanned the hallway. Same as before. Amon was sprawled out in the elevator lobby, and the hallway was empty. Thankfully, she could see a red fire extinguisher near the emergency stairwell.

She and Pyeonghwa stepped into the corridor with caution.
Amon lifted his head slightly, black eyes locking onto Jiho. She instinctively stepped back—but Amon just lazily rested his head back between his front paws.

Like a cat, Amon stretched with fluid ease, let out a yawn, and smacked his lips before flopping down again.

‘How do I even describe this… He looks like an office worker at 3 p.m., desperate to go home.’

That’s how bored and disinterested Amon looked—like everything was too much trouble.

“I’m going first.”

While Jiho’s eyes were glued to Amon, Pyeonghwa started moving. Jiho checked Amon’s posture once more before following him. Amon didn’t even look their way, just flicked an ear in their direction.

The hallway stretched long, lined with 20 dorm rooms on either side. With no windows, the dorm corridor was always dark, even during the day. Normally, the lights would be on, but most of them were out now.

Light from the shattered window in the elevator lobby streamed in, casting long, narrow beams across the corridor. Jiho and Pyeonghwa’s shadows stretched beside each other, cutting into the darkness.

Jiho kept a wary eye on the closed doors around them.
Human or demon—anyone could jump out at any moment, and the thought set her on edge.

According to the announcement, Gremory had left the 7th floor. But aside from Amon, two more demons were still lurking somewhere nearby.

Jiho clenched her trembling hands into fists.
‘If anything gets in my way, I’ll take them down—no hesitation.’ She sharpened herself on purpose, using the edge to slice through her fear.

She focused intently on sound. She couldn’t hear movement behind closed doors, but she could react the instant one burst open. And she’d be ready.

The hallway was silent. Only the careful footsteps of Shin Jiho and Go Pyeonghwa echoed through the stillness, breaking the quiet.

In front of the emergency stairwell, the fire extinguisher lay on the floor.
Pyeonghwa picked it up and held it with both hands, turning it this way and that to check its condition.

“Looks fine on the outside.”

With the extinguisher secured, the two of them quickly returned to Room 704.
Amon watched them but didn’t move from his spot, still lying there, unmoved.

As soon as they stepped into 704, Jiho locked the door again.

“Is it a restriction… no, maybe a rule?”

Jiho murmured.

“What is?”
“All of them—Amon, Marbas, and… Gremory. All demons, all insanely powerful, right? Way beyond anything humans could handle. If they wanted to, they could wipe out every person in this building. So why don’t they? Isn’t that weird?”

“……”

“Take Amon for example. He never leaves the elevator lobby. If he’d just chased us into the hallway, we’d be dead by now…”

Marbas never touched anyone inside their rooms and never left the 8th floor.
As for Gremory—she didn’t pursue Jiho and Pyeonghwa when they ran from Room 701. She easily could’ve caught them… but didn’t.

“You’re saying it’s like a rule?”

“It feels like sports rules or something. Humans are weak, but they’ve got no limits. Demons are strong, but they’ve got restrictions… It’s bizarre, but in a way, kind of fair?”

“It’s not fair. Humans aren’t unrestricted, either. It feels like we’re being given choices, but there’s not a damn thing I’ve chosen with my own will.”

Pyeonghwa’s tone was sharp.

Jiho looked over and saw his brow furrowed in frustration, clearly irritated.

“If anything, we’re forced to choose—herded around like sheep… It’s disgusting.”

Rough as it was, he wasn’t wrong.
Jiho had been forced to make choices too, driven and cornered all the way to this point.
Even the mission to find Room 721 wasn’t from her own will—she had no real choice.

“Maybe there are rules… for both demons and humans.”

Pyeonghwa said it with a bitter edge, sighing before changing the subject.

“You know how to use the extinguisher?”

“Roughly.”

She’d seen it in a safety training video once.

Jiho pulled out the safety pin, then tested the extinguisher by firing into the air.
Thankfully, it worked just fine.

She and Pyeonghwa checked their key cards one more time.
Jiho tucked the extinguisher’s body under her right arm and gripped the nozzle with her left hand.

“I’m ready.”
“Me too.”

Go Pyeonghwa’s face was expressionless—rigid, almost—but that made it obvious just how tense he was.
‘If I looked in a mirror, I bet my face would be even worse.’
Jiho wiped the sweat from her palms onto her pants. She was worried she might drop the extinguisher if her hands stayed this slick.

She did her best not to show her anxiety. Fear was contagious, after all—and it seemed like Pyeonghwa was also working hard to control his own expression for the same reason.

He gripped the door handle and gave her a look.

“If Amon starts to move, we run.”

“Yeah.”

Jiho nodded, and Pyeonghwa opened the door. The air from the hallway rushed into the room.

In that brief instant, Jiho stared at the side of Pyeonghwa’s face.

‘We’ll pull this off, right…?’
They’d met thanks to Hwang Siwoon, but now here they were—just the two of them, without him. The irony stung.
They hadn’t even known each other an hour. From the start, they’d clashed—different thinking, different rhythms—but now they had to work together.

The fear crept up again, but Jiho shook her head.
Now wasn’t the time for doubts. All she could do was trust that things would work out—and give it her all.

‘There’s always an answer. Always.’

The two of them stepped into the hallway, cautiously making their way toward the elevator lobby.
Amon lay sprawled across the floor, ears twitching as his black eyes locked onto them.

As the lobby got closer, Jiho’s mouth went dry and her hands started shaking.
She gripped tighter. It felt like standing at the starting line of a stadium, under a blinding spotlight.

When they reached Room 702, Amon raised his head.
At the exact same moment, Jiho and Pyeonghwa bolted.

Amon twitched, then lifted his upper body with a low, growling rumble—like a warning.

Jiho ignored it and placed her hand on the extinguisher handle. Her thighs already felt like they were about to burst.

As soon as their feet hit the elevator lobby, Amon opened his jaws wide.
His red tongue, sharp white teeth, and the round roof of his mouth—all clearly visible.

Jiho didn’t slow down as she counted in her head.
‘One… two…!’

Now.
She aimed straight at Amon’s open mouth and pulled the trigger on the extinguisher.

‘Please!’

Amon winced and snapped his mouth shut, leaping backward in surprise. His snake tail slid past the edge of the white rug.

‘…It worked! Just like we planned!’

Jiho wanted to scream in triumph—but kept her focus.
They’d only cleared the first step. Now she had to stop Amon from opening his mouth again, for at least two seconds.

Gritting her teeth, Jiho kept the nozzle aimed at him.

‘Three… Just one more second!’