A white mist swathed the endless Void, drifting across an ocean of silent singularities. Amidst the stillness, a lone figure sat upon a throne - a skeleton draped in a dark trench coat, its high collar framing hollow eyes that gazed beyond existence. The coat flared at the edges like shadows unfurling in forgotten corners of creation. Beneath, his form was cloaked in black - boots silent against the void, a presence unseen yet undeniable.
Before him stretched the unseen theatre of all things - acts unwritten, scripts unborn, stories untold yet known. Endless cycles wove tapestries of repetition. Resets, returns, rebirths. Sacred texts flickered like dying stars, yet to those below, they burned bright - truth, fragile and fleeting, whispered as gospel.
And then, his gaze met yours.
"You're different from what I expected," she said softly.
"How so?" he asked, glancing at her.
"I don't know," she replied, searching for the right words. "You just... have this way of making people feel like they matter. Even here, in this... nightmare."
He was quiet for a moment before responding. "You matter, Y/n. Don't forget that."
OR
Y/n wakes up in the deadly Squid Game, surrounded by strangers and fighting to survive. What she doesn't know is that the mysterious Frontman is watching her every move through the cameras- and she's caught his attention.