¡! ❞ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄

by Alexandrathefirst69, sakataaas

Summary:

☆— After getting kicked out by your father, you roamed the streets homeless without a cent to your name. You were taken in by a gang who used you as an errand runner for a few months before they vanished. but how sweet of them, they left you a present. Loan sharks. And then you enter a death game. Hurray.

 

Or..

 

[Name] is a 16 year old homeless teen who somehow joins a death game and finds a bunch of parental figures who actually give a fuck about them.

Notes:

I haven't wrote a fanfic in a WHILE man, I'm getting rusty. My obsession with squid game (and frontman) forced me to write this on gunpoint.

Chapter 1: Fuck around and find out

Summary:

*[Name] fucks around* :)
*[Name] finds out* :(

Notes:

Decided to pick up my hobby of writing after the tragedy of my aunt's divorce. So angsty it inspired me.

Enjoy.

✧

 

i'm fucked

 

That thought remained up for debate as [Name] sat between two dumpsters, holding their knees up to their chest in an attempt to seem smaller than they already were.

The sound of hurried footsteps passing by them caused them to shrink even further. If they could merge themselves with the wall, they would have without a second thought.

"Where the fuck is that brat?!" One of them yelled, standing at the end of the alleyway. The loan shark's crowbar slammed onto the dumpster on [name]'s right in frustration. they barely surpassed a flinch at the deafening sound by their ear.

Another loan shark ran after the other, "Sir..." He panted lightly while cautiously glancing around. "It's almost sunrise..and this is a police patrol area, we better get our asses outta here." He warned his boss, who clicked his tongue and started walking away with the rest of his lackeys trailing behind him. Their curses and grumbling were muffled as their footsteps faded away.

[Name] buried their head deeper between their knees while taking in deep breaths. They escaped yet another chase, just how cool are they?

Haha.

[Name] sat there for longer than necessary before slipping out of the alleyway, tugging their hood low to conceal their face. The coast seemed clear, but they couldn't be too careful after that run-in with the loan sharks. Best to keep a low profile for now.

Making their way through the bustling city streets of gangnam, [Name] found themselves at the train station, the familiar sound of trains rumbling beneath their feet. They stood there for a moment, watching the constant stream of people hurrying to catch their rides - businessmen in suits, students with backpacks, families with children in tow. 

[Name] stepped onto the platform, eyes scanning the crowd with a blank, empty stare. They found an empty bench and sat down, content to simply observe the flow of the station traffic. Trains arrived, disgorging their passengers, then departed, leaving behind a momentary lull before the next wave arrived.

As the hours ticked by, [Name] never moved from that spot, their expression never changing. They watched the morning rush hour give way to the lunchtime crowd, which in turn was replaced by the evening commuters. Through it all, [Name] remained, overthinking their last day.

By the time midnight approached, the station had become eerily quiet, save for the few last people waiting for the final train. [Name] finally stirred, stretching their stiff limbs as they rose from the bench. With a heavy sigh, they listened to the announcement of the approaching train.

[Name] stood at the edge of the subway platform, the eerie silence hanging thick in the air as they gazed down at the darkened tracks. As the announcer echoed through the station, signaling the arrival of the last train of the night, [Name] ignored the curious and somewhat concerned glances of the few people around as they took a step forward.

They can hear the distant rumble of the approaching train, the sound growing louder with each passing second.

[Name]’s heart beats a steady, almost bored rhythm in their chest. They've stared death in the face more times than they can count, and each time, that fucker just laughs and gives them a shove, sending them tumbling back into the waking nightmare of their life. But maybe, this time they'll be able to see what the hype is all about.

Just as they were about to leap, a figure stepped up beside them, his polished dress shoes coming into view. "[Name], is it?" a calm, pleasant voice spoke. 

Startled, [Name] turned to see a man in a well-tailored suit, a briefcase in hand, regarding them with a smile and inquisitive eyes. "I couldn't help but notice you standing there. You seemed troubled. Would you care to join me in a game of ddakji? It can be quite therapeutic."

[Name] stared at the stranger, baffled by his sudden appearance and casual invitation (didn't even think about how he knew their name). The man's demeanor was remarkably composed, seemingly unfazed by the precarious situation unfolding. Against their better judgment, [Name] found themselves curious. They fucked around and found out enough, what's with one more time?

Hesitantly, they nodded, and the man's smile widened. "Excellent. Let's find a more suitable spot, shall we?”

[Name] eyed the well-dressed stranger warily, their initial hesitation slowly giving way to a detached 'idgaf' attitude. If this guy wanted to play some weird children's game, who was [Name] to refuse? They needed a distraction, and an innocent game sounds decent enough.

The man gestured for [Name] to follow as he led them to a more secluded area of the train station. The man's calm demeanor is unsettling, given the fucked-up circumstances, but [Name] can't deny their sense of curiosity.

Maybe he's just a really fucking bold mugger, [Name] muses, a flicker of amusement in their eyes.

Pulling out a blue and red tile of ddakji, the man explained the rules - a simple game of flipping the tiles to see who could make the other's square flip over, while also getting ten thousand won from the other.

[Name] listened with feigned interest, their gaze distant and disinterested. When the man finished his yap session, he held out the tiles, inviting [Name] to take the first turn.

“Choose one.” He instructed.

With a casual shrug, [Name] selected the blue tile. They stood in front of the smiling man in somewhat of a stand-off, staring down at the red paper tile on the ground. they raised their arm and swung it down, flipping the man's red square with a hard flick of their wrist. The man's eyebrows raised in mild surprise, but his smile never wavered. "Well done," he acknowledged, reaching into his suitcase and retrieving a wad of cash. "Here's your winnings."

[Name] accepted the ten thousand won with an indifferent nod, pocketing the bills without a second thought. The game continued, with [Name] winning round after round. Each time the salesman would win however, he would simply give them a gentle tap on the cheek- a gesture [Name] had expected to be much worse after he suggested they pay with their ‘body’ if they cannot pay ten thousand won.

As the last train of the night pulled into the station, the man gathered the tiles, a glint of interest in his eyes as he regarded [Name]. "You're quite skilled at this. I must say, I'm impressed. Would you be interested in more opportunities like this?” He asked with a closed eyed smile.

[Name] owlishly blinked at the man for a while before ruffling their hair absentmindedly. Would they? It's easy money by playing children's games…but this man didn't exactly scream trust.

Well. Who cares? [Name] might as well sell their soul to the devil at this point of their life.

“Sure.” [Name] shrugged and accepted the card given to them by the funny man. The card was simple and it consisted of three different shapes with a phone number at the back of it. Sending him a suspicious glance, he just smiled wider (if that's possible?) and tipped an imaginary hat before walking away.

An opportunity, he said. More money, he promised. And he just so happened to have a card ready to go, hoping I'd bite?, [Name] scoffs, shaking their head. This guy's either a fucking idiot or he knows exactly what he's doing. And either way, he's probably not to be trusted.

But then again, when your life's already a dumpster fire, what's the harm in grabbing a can of gas and tossing it in? [Name]'s been burned so many times before that they've started to crave the pain of it, the agony of exploitation and betrayal. It's almost comforting in its awful predictability.

Fuck it, we ball, [Name] decides with a shrug, shoving the card into their pocket.

 

☆

 

With the stack of cash from the strange man's ddakji game filling their pocket, [Name] made their way to the nearest 24-hour restaurant. It had been ages since they'd had a decent meal - most days consisted of scavenging for scraps or settling for whatever meager handouts they could find in shelters.

The warm, savory scents wafting from the establishment almost felt foreign to [Name] now. They hesitated briefly at the entrance, half-expecting the kind-faced old lady behind the counter to take one look at their ragged appearance and turn them away. But to their surprise, she greeted them with a warm smile.

"Welcome, dear. What can I get for you?" she asked, her tone laced with genuine concern.

[Name] stared at her blankly for a moment, not quite used to such kindness from a stranger. "just... the biggest meal you've got, I guess," they muttered, cringing at how hoarse their voice sounded. They fished the crumpled notes from their pocket and handed them over.

The woman's smile widened as she took the money. "Coming right up!" She bustled off to the kitchen, leaving [Name] to find an empty table.

As they waited, [Name]'s gaze drifted around the nearly-empty restaurant. The few other patrons seemed content, chatting idly or absorbed in their phones. How nice it must be, they thought, to have a home to return to- to have people who cared whether you lived or rotted in some random ditch.

[Name] shook their head, shoving those useless thoughts aside. No use dwelling on what they couldn't- didn't deserve to have. At least for now, they could fill their empty stomach and maybe have the energy to outrun those damned loan sharks for one more day.

When the woman returned with a steaming plate piled high with food, [Name] eyed it hungrily. Without a moment's hesitation, they dug in, shoveling the sustenance into their mouth as if their life depended on it. They barely tasted the flavors, their body running in pure auto mode.

Once the last rice bowl had been devoured, [Name] leaned back with a satisfied sigh. The woman hovered nearby, watching them with a motherly concern. "Feeling better, dear?"

[Name] nodded mutely, not comfortable sharing small talk with a stranger- no matter how ‘kind’ they appeared to be. They simply wanted to get out of here, to return to the familiarity of the dark city streets before anyone could ask too many questions that could get them fucked up.

Pushing their chair back, [Name] stood and made their way to the exit, the woman's worried gaze burning into their retreating back. As the door swung shut behind them, [Name] felt the weight of the world settle back onto their shoulders. Time to look for a new place to get some sleep- after their last one was raided and destroyed by loan sharks..

“Cheol..” they murmured under their breath, shoving their cold hands into their hoodie's pockets while walking down the dimly lit streets.

Cheol, you fucking bastard, [Name] seethes, clenching their fists in the pockets of their hoodie as they stalk through the desolate streets. I ought to burn your fucking office to the ground, make you watch everything you own go up in flames like the piece of shit you are.

But even as the thought crosses their mind, [Name] knows it's just a fantasy. They're not stupid enough to think they could get away with something like that, not in this city. No, Cheol and his goons have the cops in their pockets, the judges eating out of their hands. They're untouchable, untouchable fucking pigs who thrive on the misery of people like [Name].

Like me, [Name] thinks bitterly, kicking a stray can down the alleyway as they walk past the grimy, graffiti-covered walls of the abandoned buildings. What am I doing, throwing myself into the jaws of another shark, thinking this time it'll be different?

But they know in their gut that they can't keep running forever. Sooner or later, they'll run out of places to hide, ways to scramble together enough cash to keep one step ahead of the vultures always nipping at their heels. Fuck, why did everything have to turn to shit so goddamn fast? It wasn't supposed to be like this…

The asshole, that fucking asshole, is the least of their problems. No, their problems are bigger, darker. The same problems that have been chasing [Name] since that gang of lowlifes, the same gang that was supposed to keep them safe from their father, decided to push their debts onto them and vanish like the pussies they were.

Some friends they turned out to be. they should've known better than to trust a bunch of overdosed junkies. Bitterness coats [Name]'s tongue like bile, threatening to choke them. They swallow it down, forcing themselves to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

[Name] felt the invitation card in their pocket, the strange man's words echoing in their mind. With a resigned sigh, they made their way to the nearest public phone booth, cautiously glancing around as they dialed the number printed on the back of the card.

The line crackled to life, a cool, disembodied voice answering on the other end. "Hello?"

[Name] took a steadying breath before speaking flatly. ”I was told to call this number.”

The voice had a detached, businesslike quality to it. "Are you interested in participating in the game?"

[Name] paused, their gaze flicking down to the invitation once more. What the hell did they have to lose at this point? "Yeah, I guess so."

"If you wish to participate, please state your full name and date of birth."

Without hesitation, [Name] rattled off the requested information, their tone clipped and devoid of any real emotion.

“Understood. Tomorrow night, at midnight, be at the bus stop near XXXX. A vehicle will pick you up.”

Before [Name] could respond, the line went dead, leaving them standing in the cramped phone booth, the dial tone buzzing in their ear. They stared at the receiver for a long moment, a strange sense of resignation settling over them.

“So welcoming...” With a heavy sigh, [Name] placed the phone down and stepped back out into the chilly night air. So, this was it - a chance at something, anything, to break the monotony of their meaningless existence. Whatever this "game" was, it had to be better than the endless cycle of running and hiding like a NYC rat.

 

☆

 

[Name] stands under the dim glow of the street lamp near the bus stop, the bitterly cold wind whipping around them. The night is darker than usual, a thick blanket of clouds obscuring the moon and stars above. The usual bustling sound of the city is replaced by an eerie silence, with only the occasional distant siren or barking of a stray dog breaking it.

As the clock ticks over to midnight, a sleek black van pulls up beside [Name], the engine purring softly. The vehicle is meticulously clean, with tinted windows that obscure the interior from view. The side door slides open silently, revealing a spacious cabin with plush leather seats and a small group of people who look to be in a similar predicament as [Name].

However they were all asleep. Who wouldn't be at this ungodly hour? [Name] stepped inside and the door automatically closed behind them. Before they could gather their bearings, smoke clouded their vision and mind.

Son of a..., They passed out.

 

✧

 

Notes:

First chapter is short I know don't throw rocks yet, second chapter (might) be coming tomorrow I mean you never know I don't know either man.

Chapter 2: Red light Green light

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

[Name] losing all hope in humanity after spending a few hours with adults.

Notes:

I've already read over this twice, and I'm SICK and TIRED.

If you see any glaring mistakes please scream to the heavens, and may they answer your pleas.

 

✧

 

my head…

Awoken to the strange and eerie sound of classical music, [Name]'s eyes fluttered open to bright fluorescent lights shining over them. Laid upon a bunk bed of sorts, their eyes snapped in every direction. they instantly took in the colors and multiple stacked beds of the room they were now in.

The first thing [Name] thought of was to find whoever was blasting this horrid music and give them a piece of their mind, but they didn't recall ever falling asleep…nor finding a safe place to do so. They were totally going to roam around till sunrise as usual, so what is…

Sitting up slightly, they glanced down at their new attire. An ugly blueish-green tracksuit was something [name] least expected to wake up to, they glanced down at a strange 443 marked on their chest. Are they a product now? Shit they're getting trafficked aren't they.

They already miss their hoodie…

Around them, people began to stir. Disoriented faces appeared as others sat up, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Low murmurs of confusion spread through the hall. Everyone was wearing the same green tracksuit with a white stripe.

Are we all getting trafficked? #humansbeinghumans? What am I saying?, [Name] furrows their eyebrows while having an internal battle with their last braincells to stop being cringe.

[Name] took a moment to take in their surroundings. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, giving the space an unsettling sense of emptiness. Rows of beds, stacked like bunk beds, lined the walls. [Name]’s bed was near the top, perched high above the others. In the center of the room, a large, open area stretched out, its cold, hard floor barren except for a pair of heavy metal double doors at one end. On either side of the doors, smaller entrances sat, unmarked. Above the double doors hung a massive screen, currently blank.

Soon, everyone started descending from their bunk beds, gathering on the floor while silently panicking at their bizarre predicament. [Name], being lazy, decided to stay on their high bunk bed. They've always wanted one, and this high? Fantasy. They can also look down on everyone.

It wasn't until a jail-like beeping sound blared out, grabbing everybody's attention. Lowering their eyes, [Name] looked at a small group of pink-masked-jump-suit people who walked inside through large doors which slid open.

Those who had been gathering in the middle of the hall shifted their attention towards them. [Name] and a few others remained on the beds, observing from outside the crowd.

About nine of those guards stood in a line, and the one in the middle with a square on their mask spoke, "I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you. Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome prize.”

“Excuse me,” an androgynous voice sounded among the participants. All eyes turned to the speaker, including [Name]'s. It was a woman with short hair and makeup. She added, “You said I’d be playing games, but you practically kidnapped me. So how can I believe that?”

“I apologize,” the square-masked guard responded. “Please understand that it was necessary to maintain the game’s security.”

“What’s with the mask then?” another female participant spoke up. “Is your face also a secret?”

“Yeah! Why are you hiding your face?” a male player asked warily. “Is this some kind of illegal gambling house?”

“Even the dealers don’t cover their faces in those places!”

bet you know all about dealers, huh?, [Name] thought.

A multitude of people nodded in agreement. The staff then replied, “To ensure fair gameplay and confidentiality, it is our policy not to reveal the faces and identities of staff. Please understand.”

Bunch of clowns, [Name] mused while staring at the circus scene happening underneath their gaze. Everyone is asking the most unnecessary questions on the face of earth- except that androgynous sounding lady.

A feminine voice then inquired, with the tracksuit jacket being held up, bringing [Name]'s bored gaze to a woman with her hair in a half up half down hairstyle. "Did you take off my clothes and put these on me?"

"What's with these shoes?" Another male interjected. He judgmentally observed the white slides you all wear. huh, as if they couldn't make this outfit any uglier.

"My shoes are limited fucking edition. They're hard to find! Are you going to replace them if they get ruined?" A guy with fucked up purple-dyed hair complained. 

"These don't fit and the color sucks. Can I just have what you're wearing? I like pink." The girl says in a sassy manner, pointing at the guard's uniform.

"I'm sorry, but that's not possible. You must be in your uniforms for the games." the guard replied blankly. The poor guy must be exhausted already.

"What about my phone? Why did you take my phone and wallet? Give them back, please." A man makes his way towards the front.

"We're keeping your belongings safe. We'll return them once the games are over." the guard responded monotonously as if he had to repeat these words to hundreds before you all. For some reason, [Name] doubts anyone here is getting their belongings back…this has been so obviously suspicious. They're all definitely getting trafficked.

"At least give me my phone, I need to check the crypto market. If I lose money, will you compensate me?" The man kept persisting. His voice was growing into a grating sound which made [Name] wish to pull his vocal cords out and feed them to him.

“Player 333, lee myunggi” the guard started and switched the screen on with a remote. It wasn't until the masked guard showed a video play of player 333 getting slapped across the face did he quiet down. [Name] then recalled playing the same ddakji game about two days ago. So then that must mean everyone entered the same way. That suited man’s job is actually just playing ddakji with randoms and slapping the living shit out of them when he wins? Hell yeah, Where can they sign up?

The guard continued, “Age 30, used to run a YouTube channel called MG Coin. After convincing subscribers to invest in a new crypto coin called Dalmation, causing losses of approximately 15.2 billion won, you shut down and disappeared. You’re wanted for fraud and for violating telecom and financial investment laws. Current debt levels, 1.8 billion won.”

Lee Myung-gi's face flushed in embarrassment as he hung his head low in shame. His eyes darted around the room, avoiding the stares of the other participants. He looked like he wanted to disappear and not be recognized at all.

That's crazy, [Name] raised a judgemental eyebrow.

On the large screen, footage of the players who had spoken up before was shown. Everyone was silenced right away. The staff’s decision to expose those who openly talked back to them only added to everyone’s hesitation and compliance; no one wanted to be publicly humiliated, that shit used to be equal to execution in the 80’s...or 70's, I don't know okay? Medieval times.

For some god-forbid-we-ever-know reason, even [Name]’s footage was shown on the screen- though they didn't speak at all. Noticing the different treatment from the suit man and his light, pathetic excuses of slaps, some people’s expressions twisted into dirty looks, glancing around for [Name] amongst the crowd.

What'd I do?, They thought with a deadpan at being put on the spot like that.

The staff ended, “Player 100, Im Jeong-dae. Ten billion won in debt.”

Even [Name]'s eyebrows raised up at that number. The quiet murmurs and shuffling feet of the players turned into a multitude of gasps and whispers. All eyes were darting around the room, searching for the player with the flabbergasting debt of ten billion won.

“What are you looking at?!” the exposed old man yelled in fury. He was player 100. “Do you think it’s easy to get a ten-billion won loan? They don’t lend that kind of money to just anyone! Only to those who are capable of paying it back!”

What a bitter old man, [Name] looked away from the physically painful scene.

The old man's passionate words seemed to sway the crowd, their initial shock giving way to a sense of admiration as some even nodded. It was as if they had all been hypnotized by a fascist, and now they were starting to believe him.

The staff continued, “All of you in this room have crippling debts and are now on a cliff-edge. When we first came to you, you did not trust us either. But as you know, we played a game and gave you money as promised. And so you trusted us and volunteered to participate according to your own free will. You have one last chance to decide. Do you want to live like a piece of trash, running from creditors? Or will you seize the last opportunity we are offering?”

Trash.

In a sense, [Name] agreed with the barbie pink guard. Everyone here looked like miserable adults with crippling debts and issues, it wouldn't be wrong to call them a raging dumpster fire. But [Name] wasn't like these depressed, hopeless adults. No, [Name] was a depressed, hopeless teen…and there's a huge difference that only they know about.

[Name] stared with an intense gaze at the crowd below, their nervous muttering made this whole scene look like the peasants in front of the tyrant king's messenger.

The guard pressed a button on a remote, and a section of the ceiling slid open. From it descended an empty piggy bank that cast a bright yellow glow over the crowd. [Name]'s eyes narrowed at the sight, they hated pigs. Under them, the other players’ faces lit up with curiosity and excitement as they stared at the enormous object hovering above them.

"What you see now is the piggy bank where your valuable prize money will be stored. After each of the six games you will play, the prize money will accumulate in this piggy bank." The music stopped once the piggy bank was settled into its place.

"How much is the prize money?" Player 007 asked.

"The prize money for the game is 45.6 billion won in total." the guard answered. that's a lot of money... And that's a lot of cheese they could buy with all that.

The room fills with gasps and whispers at the large cash prize money. "And one of us will get it?" The same player asked again.

“We will give you the details about the distribution of the prize money after the first game. For these games, you will be given a special new advantage. After each game, you will be given a chance to vote on whether to continue the games or not. If the majority votes to stop the games, you can leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point.” the staff member states.

“Are you saying we’ll still receive the money, even if we leave after the first game?” one player asked as he came down the stairs between the beds.

The staff took a while to answer. “That is correct.”

Out of nowhere, an old lady spotted her grown son and raced towards him through the crowd. [Name] watched the reunion unfold. Is there anyone they know here as well? they sure hoped the fuck not.

“Mom, why did you come here?” the son asked, pointing a finger at her as if he, too, was also not at fault. “Do you realize where you are? This is no place for an old woman!!”

“Why did I come here?” the angry mother hit his arm. “To pay off your debt, of course! Why ask such a dumb question?!"

The son then turned to the guards and shouted in anger, “Why would you bring an old lady here?! Will you take responsibility if my mom collapses?!”

“Yong-sik, I’ll stay and do this,” his mother tried to reason with him. “You go home.”

“Stop it! I’m already here. I can’t just leave,” exclaimed the son while shaking his head.

The staff suddenly spoke up, “If you wish to participate in the games, please sign the player consent form. Those who do not wish to participate, please speak up now. We always give you a chance to leave the games.”

[Name] finally climbed down from their high throne, not making much noise as their feet touched the cold floor, sending a small, pleasant shiver down their spine. Around them, others were doing the same. [Name] joined one of the many lines forming in the open area, falling into step behind a tall man. god everyone here stinks…

When it was [Name]’s turn, they stepped forward. A piece of paper was handed to them.. almost hesitantly by the guard. At the top of the page, in bold letters, were the words “Player Consent Form.” their eyes barely scanned the text.

 

1. A player is not allowed to voluntarily quit the game.
2.  A player who refuses to play will be eliminated.
3. The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. In case of a tie, players will vote again.
4. If the games are terminated, players will divide the prize equally.

Sign:

 

I'm too dyslexic and sleep deprived for this, [Name] blandly thought while signing anyway. They handed the paper back to the staff before they stepped out of the line.

[Name] was heading back to their bed when a sudden commotion stopped them in their tracks. Gasps went through the line of participants still waiting, their attention fixed on the right side of the hall. Curious, [Name] pushed through the crowd unapologetically to get a closer look.

There they were: the fucked up purple-haired guy and the MG Coin yapper guy. Player 230 had his hand wrapped tightly around player 333’s neck, his expression dark. The hall fell silent, making it look like a WWE match was going down or something.

“You said we’d be fucking idiots if we didn’t buy it!” player 230’s voice rose in rage, his face inches from player 333’s. kind of gay bud.

Player 333 didn’t shrink back. “You are responsible for the final decision on your investment. Didn’t you hear me say that at the end? You said you watched every day.”

The tension escalated as Player 230 grabbed player 333’s collar tighter, his other hand pulling back into a tight fist with no thoughts behind it. But before things could spiral any further, player 230’s friend with the horrifying who-the-hell-is-your-barber haircut, player 124, stepped in quickly.

“Hey hey! Calm down!,” player 124 said firmly, placing a hand on player 230’s shoulder with half a smile. The purple-haired man let go of MG Coin's collar sharply, his frustration still visible on his twisted expression. “People are watching. You don’t want to be on the news.”

Player 230’s fists were still clenched as he stood straight and faced player 333 head-on. “You’d better do well because I’m coming back to get my money,” he warned.

He finally turned and walked away, heading toward his bed. His lackey, player 124, followed close behind after a few words exchanged with 333. The participants around them exchanged uneasy glances before slowly resuming the form signing.

Are they muh luh muh?, [Name]’s gaze followed their retreating figures with a straight face before finally returning to their bed, already throwing this event to the back of their head.

 

 

☆

 

 

Once everyone had signed their forms, the staff led all of the players out of the hall. they were brought into another area, and the sudden change left some feeling disoriented. The new space was a massive, colorful hall filled with twisting staircases and walls adorned with squares, triangles, and circles. It felt more like a whimsical children’s playground than anything else.

what core is this?, [Name] looked around while blinking owlishly.

The group was directed to line up again, this time to take ID photos. As [Name] waited in line, they noticed the player 230, attracting a small crowd. From the snippets of conversation they've overheard, it turned out he was a rapper known as Thanos. The recognition seemed to earn him some fans among the participants.

We got SoundCloud rappers in here too?, [Name] glanced at 230 and the group of fans swarming him with judgemental eyes.

When it was his turn for the ID photo, a group of players eagerly joined him, treating it like a group shot rather than an individual one. Thanos didn’t seem to mind, either. relishing in the fame.

Then, he glanced at [Name]'s way. who immediately glanced away, not wanting to involve themselves with someone so embarrassing. But his voice cut through the chatter. “Heyy kid!”

relenting to their fate, [Name] turned back to his direction. He was gesturing at them, motioning for them to join the group photo. “Come here, join us."

"Hell no." was the teen's immediate, blank response. It earned them a glare and a muttered insult from some of his ‘fans’. Why are they so triggered??

As soon as the participant left the booth, [Name] stepped forward, relieved to have dodged any more interaction with the embarrassing rapper. Standing in front of the screen, [Name] pulled down at their eyelids slightly. their eye bags were as prominent as ever, what a trademark.

When the screen prompted them to smile, they straightened their expression as much as possible out of spite. The camera clicked, capturing their image anyway. The preview popped up, showing their photo. [Name] nodded at themselve in approval.

[Name] then followed the flow of participants up the winding staircases. The labyrinth of colorful stairs twisted and turned, making it feel like they were ascending to heaven at one point.

Finally, they reached the designated area. It was an open-roofed rectangular room with wallpapers resembling a blue sky and houses. with the actual sky being right above them.

“Welcome to the first game,” announced an A.I female voice as everyone filed onto the field. “All players, please wait a moment on the field. Let me repeat. All players, please wait a moment on the field.”

[Name] stepped onto the field, glancing up at the clear blue sky. Seagulls flew overhead before vanishing into the distance. For a brief moment, [Name] questioned their current location. they must be close to sea.

The loud clang of metal doors shutting behind them snapped [Name] back to the present. The A.I voice returned. “The first game is Red Light, Green Light.”

Huh, they really were playing children's games. looking around, [Name] soon realized that there was not a single person their age amongst these miserable adults...[Name] might just eat these games up.

“Red Light, Green Light?” someone near them whispered. shoulders relaxed and tension ease as the realization set in. It was just a children’s game.

“Cross the finish line in five minutes without getting caught,” the A.I voice continued. “If you do, you pass.”

Suddenly, a player rushed to the front and shouted in panic. “Everyone!” the old man exclaimed.

[Name] turned toward the source. It was player 456. His pale face and wide thousand yard eyes made him look as if he was there during the Korean war, “Everyone, listen up! Pay attention!”

The murmurs and whispers stopped as heads turned to him. His urgency silenced the field.

“Listen carefully!” he shouted. “This is not just a game! If you lose, you die!”

[Name] stood there, judgemental as ever, as the weight of player 456’s words settled over the group around them, confused chatter broke out, growing louder as disbelief and irritation spread through the players.

Lunatic. This group is pretty diverse, Name] thought to themselves while looking away from the embarrassing scene. Do adults enjoy humiliating themselves for attention? [Name] didn't get the hype.

“What are you talking about?!” an old woman scoffed loudly. “We’re going to die playing Red Light, Green Light?!”

Player 456’s face remained pale and tense. “Yes, that’s right! If they catch you moving, they will kill you! They will shoot you from up there! That doll’s eyes are motion detectors!”

[Name] stared at him, trying to gauge if this was some sort of ploy to stress players out. But his expression was dead serious. There was no hint of humor, just pure fear. The kind of fear that couldn’t be faked. Then again, insane people tend to be quite convinced by their own delusions.

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

“I think he’s trying to scare us so he can win the prize money."

“Don’t pull any tricks, asshole!”

Despite the growing skepticism, player 456 stood his ground. “You have to believe me!” how desperate. Even if he was telling the truth, it would be useless. Humans believe only what they see with their own eyes.

A sudden mechanical noise cut through the arguments, silencing the crowd. [Name] turned toward the sound and saw the massive eyesore doll at the far end of the field slowly spinning around, its back now facing the group. Two circle-masked guards stood beside it, motionless.

“Do not be alarmed or panic!” player 456 warned once again, turning back to the crowd. “No matter what happens, do not panic and start running!”

This time, the players stayed quiet. Maybe it was uncertainty, or maybe his tone had finally struck a nerve. Either way, the field grew eerily still.

The A.I female voice made a return, “Let the game begin.”

Man, my hands are cold. Name] mentally grumbled and shoved their hands into their tracksuit’s pockets.

The doll began singing a rhyme, a clear sign that they should start running. [Name] ran forward, weaving between the taller adults. This is easier than they thought- perhaps because most people here probably have scoliosis or something.

“Red light!”

“Freeze!” The same lunatic yelled, causing almost everyone to freeze per his loud command. [Name] furrowed their eyebrows slightly, he better not scream like that every single time the doll faces them.

Player 456 then proceeded to yell ‘Freeze’ three more times.

A sudden high pitched scream tore through the tense silence. It was a woman’s voice, piercing and terrified, cut short by the sharp crack of what sounds like a gunshot. The scream stopped abruptly, leaving an eerie silence. another one bites the dust? No, what's happening? [Name] couldn't tell what exactly was going on because they were almost at the lead, but they had a vivid idea.

“Nobody move!” player 456 screamed again, with more urgency and desperation. “You must not move!”

“Player 196, eliminated,” the A.I voice announced, almost cheerfully.

We're not getting trafficked? We're getting gunned down? What is this, a survival netflix show?. [Name] blanked out the noises threatening to break their focus.

Screams, gasps and panicked murmurs rippled through the crowd, but they were quickly muffled out by the sound of more gunshots.

Player 456 continued his elaborate screaming and pleading to stop moving, but people kept trying to run away despite the failed efforts of others. they were all like sheep, where does human intelligence go in these situations?

"Let me repeat. You can move forward while the tagger shouts, "Green light, red light." If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated."

The doll started its little rhyme song, but nobody moved. [Name] however immediately sprinted forward, a few meters in front of the motionless crowd.

Why are they not moving? are they retarded?, [Name] mused at the lack of footsteps behind them. good for them, they'll win this one then.

Behind them, the field was utterly still. None of the players dared to move. Fear had locked everyone in place, their realization sinking in. Player 456 had been right. This wasn’t just a game. One wrong move, and it's over. whoosh.

The field remained frozen, not a single person daring to move. It felt like everyone was holding their breath, unwilling to risk even the smallest sound of an inhale or a tremble of their limbs

[Name] finally heard the sound of footsteps. In the corner of their vision, they caught sight of player 456 sprinting forward, zooming through the terror frozen players.

the lunatic turned out to not be a lunatic? plot twist. [Name] then decided on impulse, and turned to face the players with a straight face.

"L-O-S-E-R-S." they mouthed, before quickly turning around once more just as the doll exclaimed 'Red light!'.

they heard a bristle behind them, which they wisely chose to ignore.

Everyone stopped again, as still as statues. The tension in the air was palpable.

Player 456 broke through the crowd, dashing ahead with a burst of speed. [Name] immediately took that as a challenge, was he trying to surpass them?

They decided to speed up a little and were already more than halfway through. just a few meters more..one more green light, and they'll finally satisfy their ego.

456 froze at the exact moment the chant ended, and shouted, “You’ll also die if you don’t make it there in time! That doll is a motion detector! But it can’t detect motion that’s not visible to it!”

He paused and demonstrated, clenching and unclenching his hand behind his back. True to his words, no sound followed. No gunshot. What is that even supposed to convey?

“Get behind someone bigger than you! Like you’re doing Follow the Leader! We’re running out of time! We’ve got to move!”

[Name] deadpanned at the shamelessness of the act. if shorter people get behind the taller ones, who's to say the taller people didn't also wish to hide behind someone? or perhaps they didn't even want the pressure of multiple people using them as a meat shield. [Name] would feel the same way at least.

“Green light!”

The chant began again, and everyone started moving. The sound of feet shuffling against the sand filled the air as players hurried to follow his advice. they quickly positioned themselves behind taller and bigger. From the corner of their eye, [Name] noticed others doing as 456 advised, forming multiple straight lines as they aligned themselves behind larger players.

“Red light!” Shit, they didn't reach the finish line- it was right there.

Crack!

Bodies continued to drop as an unfortunate few happened to move anyway. [Name] would have loved to see their faces.

Crack!

The gunshots continued for a while, wasting time. [Name] needed the thrill of being first place, even if it probably held no meaning in this particular scenario. It held plenty of meaning to their ego.

Crack!

Another body hit the ground with a dull thud.

When the doll turned its head toward the tree, player 456’s voice rang out: “Let’s go!”

Most of the players broke formation, abandoning their lines to sprint toward the finish line. [Name] was not having any of it, as they immediately zoomed through the short space they had to cross with their hands still tucked into their pockets.

Finally, they passed the finish line first and almost cheered, but they had to lock in. So [Name] simply stood there, eying one of the hot pink guards.

“Is your leader a preppy girl?” They whispered to the square guard, who didn't even move an inch.

“Tough crowd.” They murmured before walking away. Others who had crossed expressed their relief, lying, collapsing, or sitting down out of exhaustion.

[Name] turned their gaze back to the field. From where they sat, it looked like roughly more than half the players had made it across. The remaining ones were still on the field, their lines disorganized and all over the place.

The players who hadn’t yet crossed froze in place, their bodies stiff. Gunshots rang out again, and a few unfortunate players fell to the ground. One man, hit in the thigh, collapsed with an agonized cry of pain, clutching his leg as blood began to pool beneath him.

“You can do it!” player 456 shouted encouragingly. “You’re almost there!”

The man who had been shot whimpered. “Please- help me.”

[Name] half-lidded eyes shifted to player 456, who glanced quickly at the timer.

He sprinted past the finishing line, rushing straight toward the injured player. we got someone with a saviour complex amongst us. [Name] doubts the Injured man would be allowed to pass, he did move after all.

They watched as player 120 rushed to help, saving both 456 and the injured man. She propped them up, steadying the pair just as the chant ended. The three of them froze. Everyone in the finishing area watched with bated breath.

The timer beeped, signaling zero. [Name] raised their eyebrows as they saw player 456, player 120, and the injured player 444 collapse onto the ground, breathing heavily in the finishing area. Are they actually allowing this? The ones who were gunning everyone down just now??

“Are you okay?” player 456 asked, patting player 444 on the back.

“Thank you,” player 444 sobbed, his voice shaky as he turned to player 120. “Thank you-”

Crack!

Nope. Just as they thought.

Player 444’s head fell back, and his body crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud. to the Jordan river.

“Player 444, eliminated,” the female A.I voice announced.

 

 

☆

 

 

All of you who survived the first game were led back to the dormitory where you had first woken up. The atmosphere was heavy. Fear lingered in the air, and many players huddled together under the dim light of the empty piggy bank hovering above.

[Name] found themselves sitting near player 456 and his friend, player 390. Just close enough to hear their conversation, they were curious about how 456 knew so much about that game and its consequences, was he here before?

At first glance, he looked like a typical over 50 old man with crippling depression and insomnia. But when he was yelling so desperately in the field, [Name] realized he was also kind of crazy. And crazy people usually win.

“Gi-hun,” they heard player 390 say, addressing player 456. “What the hell is that creepy doll? It shoots people with its eyes.”

Player 456 glanced at him. “It’s not the doll. There are shooters.”

[Name] finally peaked from on top of their bunk bed, "And you know that..how? been here before or something?"

Both player 456 and player 390 turned to look up at [Name], as if noticing their presence for the first time. Before either could answer, a beeping noise cut through the air. [Name] frowned slightly, they hated interruptions.

The lights flickered on, brightening the dormitory. The double doors at the front slid open, and a group of pink-clad guards marched in. There were now eight triangle guards, armed, with a single square guard at the front. [Name] assumed the squares were high management. Triangles were the eliminators or something with their big scary guns, and the squares were…well, harmless enough.

People started to scramble away, tucking and hiding on, under, and behind beds. [Name] remained still on their bunk bed, keeping their half-lidded eyes trained on the hot pink guards.

"Congratulations on making it through the first game. Here are the results." The square guard announced, with the screen above where the guards stood counting down from 456 players down to 365.

"91 players have been eliminated in the first game. Three hundred sixty-five players have completed the first game. Congratulations again for making it through the first game." the guard continued.

Suddenly, the old mother, player 149, dragged her son, player 007, toward the center of the room. Tears streamed down her face. She dropped to her knees while her son stood awkwardly beside her. “Sir! Please don’t kill us! I beg you! As for my son’s debt, I will do whatever it takes to pay you back! Please forgive us!”

Then, she tugged at her son’s arm, pulling him down to the floor. “Don’t just stand there. Beg for his forgiveness!”

Her son reluctantly joined her, lowering himself to the ground and pleading for mercy. As their cries echoed in the dormitory, the square-masked guard spoke, “There seems to be a misunderstanding.” He looked so awkward it almost made [Name] experience second-hand embarrassment in his place.

But the mother and son weren’t alone. More players crawled toward the center, their voices rising in desperation as they begged for forgiveness. The sight of so many people pleading made [Name] scrunch up their face in disgust. The sight was awfully pathetic. Is everyone here mentally disabled? begging for one's life never works, have they never watched a single movie in their long miserable lives?

Then, player 456 stood up from the floor below them. “Clause three of the consent form!” he started.

The room fell silent as all eyes turned toward him. He stepped forward, walking to the center of the room as he inquired. “The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. Correct?”

The guard nodded. “That is correct.”

“Then let us take a vote right now,” player 456 demanded.

“Of course. We respect your right to freedom of choice.”

A wave of relief swept through the players. [Name] heard murmurs of gratitude, and some players visibly relaxed, hopeful at the chance to leave. If [Name] did leave, where would they even go? Back to running like a rat? They would rather bathe in shreds of glass.

“But first,” the guard interjected, “let me announce the prize amount that’s been accumulated.” that seemed to silence everyone.

He pressed a button on a remote, and the dormitory lights dimmed. Only the dim golden glow from the giant piggy bank above illuminated the room in a twilight. A jingle you'll hear after winning on a gambling machine played, signaling the arrival of money.

Stacks of cash began to drop into the transparent piggy bank, the bills piling higher with each passing second. The sight drew players out of their hiding spots. They moved cautiously at first but soon gathered around the center, no longer fearful. Everyone stared at the growing fortune in awe, including you. The golden light reflected in their eyes as all their previous thoughts of leaving vanished.

As the stacks of notes stopped accumulating, The piggy bank was filled up about 1/4 of the way. The guard then announced.

"The number of players eliminated in the first game is 91. Therefore, a total of 9.1 billion won has been accumulated. If you quit the games now, the 365 of you can equally divide the 9.1 billion won and leave with your share." 365 remaining, the number almost made [Name] laugh, like really? As in the days in a year? These people are comedians.

"How much is that?" Player 100 asked the masked guards.

"Each person's share would be 24,931,500 won." [Name] nodded, that sounds great- not. What will they do with that? they can't even rent a small apartment in this economy with that amount alone.

"You said 45.6 billion!" SoundCloud rapper exclaimed.

"The rule is that a hundred million won will be accumulated for each eliminated player. If you choose to play the neck game and more players get eliminated, the prize amount will increase accordingly." the square guard explained monotonously.

“How much will it be if you survive until the end?” player 100 inquired.

“As I already told you, the total amount of prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. Those who make it through all six games will equally divide the 45.6 billion won.”

“So if you’re the only one to survive, you get 45.6 billion?”

“That is correct.”

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the group as the players processed this. The sheer possibility of such a massive fortune left many in awe. Everyone here definitely thought they'd be the one to win. How egoistic, [Name] would never think like that.

no, seriously. [Name] is almost 80% sure that they'll die in the next game and that brings pleasant feelings, don't misunderstand.

“So we can take a vote again and decide to leave after the next game?” another player asked.

“As promised in the consent form, you can take a vote after each game and decide to leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point. We always prioritize your voluntary participation.”

A heavy silence settled over the room as everyone contemplated their choices. The explanation had made them question their own decisions, they all had no issue playing even with the high risk of death. did they just gather a bunch of gambling addicts here and never told [Name] about it?

“Now, let’s begin the vote.”

The guards moved swiftly, setting up the voting system in no time. A counter with X and O buttons was placed at the front. The dormitory floor lit up to indicate the voting areas: the right side glowed red for X, and the left side shone blue for O. Technically, it was left for X and right for O from [Name]'s perspective.

Almost every player stood at the back of the hall, sticking together like frightened bunnies, as the guard announced, “If you wish to continue the games, press the O button. If you wish to end them, press the X button. The vote will be held in reverse order of your player numbers. Player 456.”

[Name] glanced to their side where player 456 stood. After a brief moment, he stepped forward, leaving the crowd behind and heading toward the counter.

“It’s all pointless!” a grating voice suddenly called out, breaking the silence. Everyone’s attention shifted to player 044, perched on one of the highest bunk beds. “You didn’t decide when to come into this world, and you can’t decide when you leave it either. When and where you die were already decided by the gods the moment you were born. No matter how hard you try, you can never escape it!” 456 ignored her though.

however, [Name] kept staring daggers into her back. barely holding themselves back from pushing her off the bunk bed to hear her skull crack. They hate shamans.

Player 456 resumed walking, his focus on the counter ahead. When he reached it, he wasted no time pressing the X button. A deep ping echoed through the hall as the TV screen above displayed the updated vote.

X: 1   O: 0.

“Once you finish voting,” the guard started, “put the patch you are given on the right side of your chest and stand on the side you have chosen.”

From their position at the back, [Name] watched as player 456 fixed the red X patch to his chest and walked over to stand on the X side of the hall.

[Name] wasn't even surprised when they heard the next beep, damn, others actually wanted to stay. There must be nothing in the outside world waiting for them, just like [Name]. That or they're just greedy pigs.

X: 10  O: 8.

Well, it looks like the majority wish to leave. [Name] almost didn't want that to happen, if they leave now, they'll blend themselves.

Then, the guard called [Name]'s number. “Player 443.”

they stepped forward after climbing down from their bed. The weight of countless gazes bore into their back, but they kept walking until they reached the counter. [Name] decided to ignore the murmuring behind them, as well as the astonished looks they received... what's up with them? never seen someone with so much swagger?

Staring at the buttons, [Name] pressed the O button with a straight face. The guard handed them the blue O patch. [Name] fixed it to the right side of their chest before turning and heading toward the O area.

They faced the X area, and made eye contact with player 456, who had a strange pale look on his face as he regarded them with wide eyes. Seriously, what the fuck’s up with everyone and staring at them as If they Kentucky fried their families?

[Name] decided to play along and kept eye contact, staring into his soul. Soon, his friend arrived at his side which made him break eye contact with the teen.

Hah, [Name] allowed a ghost of a smirk to break on their face at the victory.

More and more players were called to vote, and the results seemed to be edging toward a tie. When the SoundCloud rapper [Name] already forgot the name of turn came, he jogged up to the counter like an excited kid and pressed the O button with a wide grin.

His enthusiasm seemed to set something off in player 456. it set something off in [Name] too, they thought he was the cringiest man alive.

“Wait a minute, everyone! Wait!” he called out, his voice cutting through the murmurs and turning every head. did he have a thing for attention?

Stepping out of the X area, he positioned himself in the center, between the X and O sides, facing the players who had yet to vote. “You can’t do this. Come to your senses! Don’t you see? These aren’t just any games. We will all die if we keep playing! We have to get out of here now. With a majority vote, we can! We must stop here!”

Before the tension could settle, player 100 burst out of the crowd of unvoted players, his voice booming. “Who do you think you are?! Why do you keep egging people on like that?! You scared us by saying they’d shoot us before the game even began!”

"didn't he also save your sorry ass though?" [Name]' monotone voice suddenly cut through the tense atmosphere, earning them a glare from player 100. his wrinkled face contouring in rage at being spoken to this way by someone who appeared to be five times younger than him.

"oh, sorry...did a little kid speaking back to you hurt your fragile ego? My bad." [Name] tilts their head to the side in a mocking manner while tutting, keeping their expression stoic while giving him a fake, demeaning pout.

“That’s right!” a female player who had already voted O stepped forward, interrupting the heated exchange between newgen and oldgen. “He was going on about how we’d die, and I almost did because I got so nervous!”

“How did you know they were going to shoot us?” another unvoted player, number 226, asked suspiciously. “Are you one of them?”

Player 100 pointed accusingly at player 456 and addressed the pink guards- he's ignoring [Name]? sad move. “Are you conning us all by pretending to be a player? Did you plant him to mess with our heads?!”

Player 390, who had been standing beside player 456, stepped forward to defend his friend. “That’s uncalled for. We wouldn’t have won the game and survived if it weren’t for him!”

Several players in the X area nodded in agreement, silently backing him up. Player 390 turned toward player 226. “And you! I saw how scared you were. Your legs were shaking. You should thank him, not treat him like a fraud!”

Player 226 glowered. “And who the hell are you? Are you conspiring with him?”

“ Rude,” player 390 shot back. “How old are you?”

“Older than you. What are you going to do about it?”

“Come on now, stop it!” player 149, the old mother, stepped into the center beside player 456. Her voice was gentle but firm. “Please don’t do this. Listen, everyone. None of us would be alive if it weren’t for this gentleman. So enough with the greed. Let’s put our lives first and get out of this place!”

The dormitory erupted into chaos as X voters raised their voices in a loud clamor.

“That’s right!”

“Let’s all get out of here!”

O voters weren’t backing down, shouting over them.

“No, we have to keep playing!”

“Yeah!!”

[Name] sighed inwardly and slowly facepalmed, covering their exhausted eyes. They were embarrassed to call themselves an O voter now. Voting X and leaving with a little money would be better than this humiliation.

Suddenly, player 456 screamed, his frustration spilling over. “I played these games before!”

The room fell silent as every eye turned to him. [Name]'s theory was proven correct, as expected. it was the most obvious, he couldn't have been an infiltrator- why would he help these pigs if so? shouldn't he at least try and pretend to be one of them? if anyone here used their brains for once, they'll figure it out. staying in this prison with these stupid motherfuckers was making [Name] lose precious braincells.

“I said I played these games before!” he repeated, his voice heavy with emotion. “I knew about the first game because I played it three years ago! Everyone who was with me back then… they all died!”

"All of them?"

"What?"

“Hold on,” player 226 asked, his tone skeptical. “If they all died, how did you survive? Are you saying you were the sole winner?”

Player 456 hesitantly admitted. “That’s right. I was the final winner.”

A wave of murmurs swept through the room, a mix of disbelief and awe. [Name] stared at him blankly, slowly shaking their head at his rather stupid decision to tell these idiots about his past victory. Player 456 declared, “If we continue these games, every single person here, just like everyone back then, will die in the end.”

Player 100 scoffed, his skepticism turning into mockery. “Bullshit. If you were the sole winner, it means you got 45.6 billion won. If that’s true, why would you come back here?”

“That’s right! He’s lying!” shouted a woman from the O area.

The soundCloud rapper came forward. “If you really won, it works better for us. You can give us tips on how to beat these games.” he pointed at 456 before crossing his arms.

“That’s right!” player 100 chimed in. “We have a previous winner with us, so what’s the problem?!”

[Name] couldn’t hold back a mirthless chuckle, drawing attention from those around them. Player 100 glared at his archenemies (feelings not mutual). "Are you so senile that you think every game will be the same as three years ago? That's a little too repetitive. I'm sure whoever made these games thinks the same.” [Name] decided to ignore the intense gaze staring at the back of their head from somewhere.

The room shifted as all eyes turned to the teen. [Name] continued in a flat tone. “They know there’s a previous winner here. unless you have room temp IQ, you'll realize that these games are designed for everyone to be treated equally. soo sickening, huh?"

some X voters nodded in agreement, their support growing louder as [Name]'s words sank in.

Player 100’s glare intensified, his frustration spilling over. how dare a little kid insult him like this? and more than once too! "Silence, child! How dare you speak to your elders this way, huh?! your parents clearly failed you, foreigner!" he shouted pathetically. he was just triggered at this point, he didn't even put a clear point for his argument.

“retarded son of a bitch..” [Name] rolled their eyes and decided to ignore the old man's barking for the sake of their peace of mind. This man is seriously arguing with a kid. [Name] will say it again..these adults have a humiliation kink.

Thanos stepped in with a casual shrug. “kid, you might be overthinking it. There is a previous winner among us. What else should we worry about?”

“And who are you? What are you even doing here?” player 226 interjected. “You're barely out of high school. You don't know what we've been through."

[Name] sent him a dirty look at that, “hey, i don't give a double doggy style damn about what anyone here went through,” they quipped back. Do these people think being young means a life of complete peace and happiness? how small minded.

Player 390 then interrupted . “hah, you all really got blind. the kid's got a point. At least they're thinking ahead, unlike some people who can’t see past their own greed.”

He shot a pointed look at player 100.

“Greed?” player 100 scoffed, his voice rising an octave. “I’m trying to survive! I don't give up so easily like all of you! I don't even think you all deserve that 20 million won share!"

The room quickly descended into chaos as X voters and O voters began shouting over each other. Accusations and insults flew from both sides, the noise growing louder and even more grating by the second.

[Name] sighed, boredom settling inside them as the shouting continued. The decision weighed heavily on the unvoted players, who stood frozen in uncertainty. Glancing toward player 456, [Name] observed him intensely. his expression was unreadable as if he couldn't believe just how greedy everyone here was. What did he expect? They'll see him as a godsend messiah?

Then he turned to the unvoted players, that same desperation etched into his voice. “Please, I’m begging you. We have to get out now! If we keep playing, more people will die. That could be you. We have to stop this now and get out of here.”

Before he could continue, a triangle-masked guard stepped forward, pressing the barrel of his gun against player 456’s back. The tension in the room skyrocketed through the roof as the shouting stopped instantly, you could hear a pin drop. Player 456’s body tensed, standing rigged at the center.

“From here on, we will not tolerate actions that disrupt the voting process,” the square-masked guard announced coldly. “Now, let’s resume the vote. Player 228.” 

They just want their paycheck, [Name] thought with amusement, how many years did these guards do this? they have more patience than [Name] thought possible.

The triangle-masked guard kept the gun trained on player 456, who slowly raised his arms in an universal sign of surrender. The rest of the players hesitantly returned to the voting, the silence now much better in [Name]'s opinion.

After an agonizingly long while, the votes were 182 to 182. The guard announced the last player, 001, to walk and take their vote. Everybody collectively looked back to see the last man walk up to cast his vote.

[Name] eyed him indifferently from where they stood at the edge of the O voters, not too keen at being squished between sweaty old men.

“Everyone, say O!” Thanos shouted suddenly.

“O!”

“X!” came the X voters' counter attack.

[Name] raised an eyebrow as player 001 walked between the chanting zones toward the counter, making eye contact with them for a second before looking forward once more. Why does everyone here have a staring problem?

The room went quiet as player 001 reached the counter. All eyes locked on the screen, waiting. Then, after a few quiet seconds, a lighter ping echoed through the room.

The screen was updated.

X: 182  O: 183.

the O voters erupted into loud cheers. They whistled and clapped, their earlier fear and terror forgotten in their celebration. [Name] had a deadpan look as they watched them, remembering how they were all scrambling away when the guards first entered, greedy pigs.

The X voters’ reactions were a stark contrast. Some sighed in disappointment, others shook their heads in frustration, and a few simply stood still, their faces pale and haunted. The fear in their eyes was apparent. No matter how they had voted, the realization that they would continue risking their lives because of others' greed weighed heavily.

As the O voters continued their celebration, players from the X zone began filing out quietly, heading for their bunks. [Name] glanced at player 456, who still stood frozen in place, looking defeated.

Glancing back at the last voter, [Name] stared blankly at player 001 who was just standing there, staring at 456. Does he knows he exists?, [Name] then looked away and climbed back onto their high bunk bed, it wasn't comfortable, but [Name] was so used to sleeping on cardboard and trash that this bed felt like heaven for a second.

 

 

☆

 

 

After the voting, the guards began distributing lunchboxes. [Name] reached the front of the queue and took one from a pink-clad guard. They stared at the guard for a while, before whispering.

“Am I actually allowed here?”

The guard remained silent for a long while, before very slowly shaking their head. [Name] wouldn't have noticed if they weren't standing so close.

“That’s what I thought..” They smiled and left the line, back to their bed while staring down at the contents inside the lunchbox. Not bad at all.

A shout made [Name] look up, “Hey!” it came from player 390, he was waving his arm high in the air in an exaggerated manner to capture their attention amongst the sea of players.

[Name] contemplated if it's worth leaving their bed for, before sighing and approaching anyway. They had some things to say to player 456 after all. [Name] headed toward a quiet corner between the bunk beds on the right side of the hall.

Player 456 was already sitting there, his eyes fixed on the floor. His meal and drink sat untouched beside him. how miserable he looked, he expected too much from these people.

He noticed the extra pair of legs standing in front him, causing him to slightly glance up. His eyes widened a fraction as he recalled it was the teen he saw earlier.

“You..how old are you?”

[Name] furrows their eyebrows slightly at that. first question and it's about their age? They already realized that they probably shouldn't be here from the guard’s vague answer.

“..sixteen.” they replied.

Player 456 seemed to be in even more distress as he dragged a hand down his face, “they're recruiting kids now..?!” He whispered through gritted teeth. 390 scoffed, “monsters, I tell you…do you even have any debts? You're not even in your senior year of high school!” He turned his attention to [Name] as he sat beside his friend.

“Does it matter?” They shrugged, taking a seat on the nearby bed. [Name] grabbed their spoon and started slowly eating. This was proving to be better then living in the streets…there is risk of dying in both situations, so fuck it. “We're still here at the end of the day.” They finished.

After a moment of tense silence between the three, player 390 turned to [Name] with a small smile. “uh, oh! I haven't introduced myself yet. I’m Jung-bae, and that is Gi-hun.”

[Name] nodded in acknowledgment, "[Name]" they introduced themselves curtly, no need for last names. it didn't belong to them anymore.

[Name] continued eating their lunchbox while Jung-bae turned to his long-time friend. “Look at this lunch. It’s just like my mom used to make. What’s in yours?”

Gi-hun didn’t respond. His silence hung heavy, but Jung-bae pressed on.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Jung-bae scooped a spoonful of rice with some fried egg and held it out toward him. “Look, you’ve got to eat. You know what they say, ‘Eat up, even on your deathbed.’ Just do your thinking while you eat, or afterwards. Here.”

Still, Gi-hun ignored him. Jung-bae sighed and pulled the spoon back.

he looks so pathetic just sitting there, are these really grown men?, [Name] chewed while staring at the duo blankly.

“Forget it then,” he muttered before taking the bite himself. With his mouth full, he added, “This might be for the best. I don’t know about you, but that 20 million wouldn’t even cover my interest. If we play just one more game…”

“Jung-bae,” Gi-hun finally spoke, his tone heavy. He stared solemnly at his friend with a gaze that told a tragedy. “Last time I was here, someone said the exact same thing. And in the end, that person died here.”

Jung-bae chewed quietly, his earlier enthusiasm fading. [Name] watched the two of them, a quiet curiosity growing. He lost many people, it appears, so why come back and watch as you lose more? Is he into it? 

“Help us then, sir.”

The voice drew the duo's attention. Jung-bae, and Gi-hun turned to see player 001 approaching your corner. Behind him were player 100 and a few others. Their presence immediately shifted the atmosphere.

“You said you’ve played these games,” player 001 started.

[Name] knew gi-hun shouldn't have told anyone about it, now everyone had high expectations for the previous winner. Then they'll dogpile on him once he says anything wrong.

Gi-hun stared at 001 for a second before lowering his head once more, as if retreating into himself. He really did look like a pitiful kicked dog.

“I pressed the O button because of you.”

Gi-hun looked up at him, surprised. Player 001 continued, “Honestly, I was scared. I wanted to quit and leave. But you made me think..maybe I could play just one more game.”

“Me too,” another player behind him chimed in.

“Same here,” added another.

What kind of nonsense is this? Why does everyone assume the games would be the same? did nobody comprehend a thing of what i said earlier?, [Name] didn't even bother speaking up and instead continued eating their food in silence.

“Sir,” player 001 said, leaning closer to Gi-hun. “You know which game’s next, don’t you?”

[Name] has completely given up on these people.

Several players leaned in, their curiosity obvious. Even Jung-bae put down his lunchbox and turned to his friend. “You’re a previous winner, so you should know. What are we playing next?”

Gi-hun avoided eye contact, his voice low as he finally answered after a sigh. “The second game...was Dalgona.”

The bed above [Name] creaked as someone shifted on it. they glanced over to see player 388 leaning toward their top corner. “Dalgona? The sugar candy with a shape you can carve out?”

“That’s right,” Gi-hun replied with a nod. “We had to choose one of four shapes and carve it out.”

“Four shapes? Which was the easiest one?” Jung-bae asked quickly.

“Triangle.”

“Which was the hardest one?” Jung-bae pressed further.

“Umbrella.”

“Umbrella?” player 001 scoffed with an almost mocking smirk. “Some people chose umbrella? Those unlucky bastards must have bitten the dust.”

At his words, Gi-hun stared at him silently, his expression unreadable. There was something in his gaze that felt like he took offense.

He chose umbrella, [Name] mused while giving gi-hun a long stare, which he pretended not to notice.

“So that means we should all just pick triangle,” player 388 suggested. “Everyone could probably pass with that.”

“Hushhh!” player 100 stepped forward, positioning himself beside player 001, god he looked like a pig. [Name] despised pigs with a passion. “If all 365 of us survive, the prize money won’t go up at all. Then we’ll have risked our lives again for nothing.”

“That’s true,” a few players behind him agreed, nodding along with the pig.

Player 100 continued, “Listen. We should probably keep this information to ourselves. What do you say?”

Player 001 stayed quiet, while others eagerly nodded in agreement. But before the discussion could settle, Gi-hun spoke up, his tone firm. “We can’t do that. I’m telling you this to save everyone’s lives.”

save everyone's lives? so he really does have a saviour complex. this is why he came back, [Name] sent him a judgmental glance, before taking a spoonful of rice and shoving it into their mouth.

Player 100 scoffed, rolling his eyes before turning and walking away while grumbling. The group of lackeys who had followed him quickly trailed behind, leaving the corner quieter and less tense. [Name] felt relief at the departure of the pig and his piglets.

Player 001, however, remained. He shifted his gaze to [Name], Jung-bae and Gi-hun.

“So, which shape did you pick?” Jung-bae asked with a curious raise of an eyebrow.

Gi-hun looked at him with a deadpan, offering no response.

“He picked umbrella.” [Name] blankly states while chewing on their food, staring at nothing in particular.

This earned them a stifled chuckle from jung-bae who nudged his friend teasingly. Gi-hun grunted under his breath and offered no response or confirmation.

It wasn’t until player 001 spoke that jung-bae realized he had been watching the interaction. [Name] has noticed him standing there the entire time.

“May I ask you something?”

All three of them – [Name], Gi-hun, and Jung-bae – turned their attention to him. Player 001 moved closer, sitting down on the stairs beside the group. He directed his question at Gi-hun.

“Why did you come back to this place?” he asked. “You said you won and made it out. Then you must have received 45.6 billion. Did you spend it all?”

Jung-bae’s eyes widened as realization seemed to hit him like a truck on a highway. He asked Gi-hun incredulously, “Did you bet on horses again?”

[Name] side-eyed the pair, judging Jung-bae’s immediate assumption. gamblers.

Gi-hun shook his head slowly in a solemn manner. “That money doesn’t belong to me. It’s blood money for the people who died here. The same goes for the money up there.”

[Name] raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, why did they fully expect that kind of response from him?

“You don’t have to think of it that way,” player 001 said, his voice calm and steady. Gi-hun looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, looking mildly astonished. Player 001 continued, “It’s not like you killed those people, and saving that money won’t bring them back to life.”

[Name] absentmindedly nodded in agreement, earning them a brief glance from player 001.

Gi-hun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His tone turned sharp and biting as he replied, “If you had pressed the X, everyone here would’ve changed their mind by tomorrow. All of us would’ve made it out alive.”

Player 001 held his gaze, his expression stoic. “That’s right. I was the last to press the O button. But there were 182 more people who wanted to stay.”

“And there were also 182 people who wanted to leave,” Gi-hun countered.

[Name] and Jung-bae exchanged a glance, with jung-bae searching for a way to stop them, and [Name] mentally dissecting their arguments.

Player 001 soon broke the silence. “Let’s say I pressed X and we all got a chance to vote again tomorrow. Would everyone have been happy? Do you think that if we met outside, they'll thank me and tell me about how happy they are?"

Gi-hun’s brow furrowed deeper, his frustration showing he was searching for a counter argument.

Are they…muh luh muh?, [Name] stared at the two and their ongoing staring contest.

Before things could escalate further, Jung-bae intervened. “Enough, you two,” he started. “There’s no point in placing blame now. You know the saying. A widow understands a widower best. Let’s just focus on the game tomorrow, okay?”

He gestured toward Gi-hun and said, “He has won all these games before. If we stick together, we’ll have nothing to worry about!”

“you can't always rely on him though,” [Name] interrupted the celebration flatly. “what If the second game is completely different? He'd be as clueless as all of us.”

Gi-hun and player 001 both turned to [Name], their gazes quiet but intent.

Jung-bae nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right, but he has the experience. Any advice he has will help."

“He’s right,” another voice chimed in. The four of you turned to see player 388, who had been eavesdropping from his bed. He hopped down and stood close with a grin, “We have to stick together. I’ll be with you all the way!"

Jung-bae frowned in skepticism, speaking dryly. “Who are you?”

The man came to a stop in front of you all and gave a quick bow. “I’m Dae-ho. Kang Dae-ho.”

Dae-ho extended his hand to Jung-bae, a clear offer for a handshake. Jung-bae didn’t take it, instead replying flatly, “Oh, Dae-ho. Have we met?”

Dae-ho’s expression faltered briefly before he glanced at player 001, who kept his head low, and then at Gi-hun, who looked at him with indifference. Finally, his gaze landed on [Name], expecting the kid to shake his hand.

[Name] lowered their head and continued eating the leftovers of their lunchbox calmly. Dae-ho pretend to be fine afterwards.

“Earlier during the game, Mr. 456 here was like,” Dae-ho began, pausing to mimic Gi-hun’s urgent warning style from the first game. “Freeze! And I became his fan.”

Gi-hun turned his gaze away, clearly embarrassed. Undeterred, Dae-ho continued enthusiastically, “I’d like to get to know you all better. Please give me a chance!”

Jung-bae stood suddenly as Dae-ho mimicked Gi-hun again. “Freeze! That was so cool!”

“Hang on,” Jung-bae said abruptly, grabbing Dae-ho’s sleeve and pulling it upward to reveal an ROKMC tattoo. Dae-ho looked at him, confused, as Jung-bae asked, “You were in the Marines?”

“Yes, why?”

“Class number?” Jung-bae countered, his tone sharp.

Dae-ho gave him a once-over before letting out a wheeze of amusement.

“Oh, you’re laughing?” Jung-bae challenged, unzipping his jacket and pulling up his sleeve. He revealed the same ROKMC tattoo on his forearm.

Dae-ho’s amusement vanished. He stepped back, clearly caught off guard, as Jung-bae stood tall, even combing his hair back dramatically with his fingers as If he was the shit.

Suddenly, Dae-ho snapped into a salute, raising his voice. “Victory at all costs! I was in Class 1140, sir!”

Jung-bae saluted back, his grin wide. “At ease! ‘Dae-ho.’ I knew there was something about you.”

[Name] stared at the two with a blank stare, how embarrassing. they didn't want to be grouped up with these morons.

Dae-ho, still stiff in his stance, screamed, “Yes, sir!”

Jung-bae laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Class 746 here. Let’s make a good team.”

“I won’t let you down, sir!” Dae-ho exclaimed back, standing straighter if that was even possible.

Jung-bae guffawed, patting him on the shoulder again, earning another resounding “yes, sir!” from Dae-ho. The exchange repeated a few more times, each louder than the last. [Name] and gi-hun stared at them with an expression that screamed agonizing second-hand embarrassment.

"I'm leaving back to my bed, I can't handle this." the teen interjected, about to stand up with their empty lunchbox in hand.

“...how old are you?” Player 001 suddenly asked, still staring at the teen. [Name] had the urge to slam their lunchbox on someone's head.

“Sixteen.” They replied curtly. Player 001’s eyes widened for a second before he returned to his previous default expression. He tilted his head slightly and continued giving them a couple glances.

The exchange between jung-bae and Daeho put [Name] slightly more at ease, even if it's for a reason such as how lighthearted they were acting in their current situation. player 001’s expression turned contemplative as he suddenly asked. “If you don’t mind me asking… Why did you come here? you're just a kid, you shouldn't be going through this with bitter adults."

[Name]'s eyes glanced away and caught Gi-hun turning his head just slightly, clearly eavesdropping. Straightening their posture, should they tell them? they'll die sooner or later anyways, so what's wrong with oversharing a little?, [Name] replied in a low tone, "... I'm homeless. My father kicked me out about a year ago."

The silence that followed after the reveal caused [Name] to keep their eyes on their lunchbox. Since when did talking about their issues feel so embarrassing? And why aren't they saying anything-

Looking up, [Name]'s eyes met with fallen and heartbroken expressions from both gi-hun and player 001. the two seemed to be pitying them.

[Name] didn't care however. pity, concern, worry.. they'll feel nothing about them soon, they probably won't even remember their face once they die in one of these games. and maybe that's for the best.

Noticing [Name]'s distant stare and their tightened hold on the lunchbox, player 001 spoke gently. “I’m sorry..”

[Name] hummed dismissively, before walking past the grown men to the comfort of their high bunk bed. gi-hun and player 001 followed their retreating figure with solemn looks before going back to their conversation after a moment of silence.

 

 

☆

 

 

“You motherfucker!”

The shout shattered the quiet, pulling [Name]'s attention to the other side of the dormitory. A commotion had broken out. yapper was brawling on the floor with SoundCloud rapper and his friend.

With player 124’s help, SC rapper delivered a hard punch to player 333. Even as player 333 lay injured on the floor, they didn’t stop. Kicks rained down on him mercilessly.

what in the korean manhwas. [Name] blinked.

“I lost all that money because of you, fucker!” player 230 snarled, ending his words with another vicious kick. “Be grateful and fucking eat what you’re given!”

Despite the violence, no one moved. Players stayed rooted in place, their expressions a mix of fear and apprehension as all they did was give gasp sound effects at every thrown kick. it was to be expected, nobody was here because they were upholders of justice. That includes [Name].

The teen continued watching the fight go down from their bunk bed, laying on their stomach as if they were watching a show and not an actual assault happening down there.

[Name] then noticed player 001 standing up. He walked past Jung-bae and Dae-ho with measured steps, heading straight toward the chaos. Gi-hun stood as well, his eyes narrowing as he watched the scene unfold.

“Boys, what are you doing in the middle of mealtime?” player 001’s steady voice carried as he approached SC rapper and player 124. “No fights during mealtime. There are elders present. Mind your manners.”

Player 230 and player 124 paused, letting go of player 333. They turned toward player 001, whose calm demeanor seemed to unnerve them. “And two against one? Shame on you guys."

The rapper sneered and stepped closer, his posture daring, “You’re lecturing me when you ended up in this shithole too? Grandad, stop yip yapping at me and go lecture your own damn kids.”

The dormitory fell silent as everyone watched. Player 001 silently asked in a menacing tone, “What did you say?”

Thanos leaned in, his tone mocking. “I said, save the lecture for your own damn kid—”

Player 001’s hand shot out, gripping thanos by the neck. The hold wasn’t a full choke, but his thumb pressed into a vital spot that made Thanos stiffen immediately. The calculated grip made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing. And it looked sick as hell.

[Name] briefly thought of asking him to teach them his moves, but thought better of it. It'll be pretty embarrassing.

"Son of a bitch-" 124 was cut off with a sharp and deliberate kick to the shin. Being kicked once more, he fell to the ground. 001 shoved thanos back, who immediately tried to come back up like a champ and throw a punch, but failing miserably as expected when 001 delivered an immediate strike to his chest.

"Wait-" Thanos started, but 001 grabbed his arm and twisted it, knocking him onto the ground. 001 kicked him again, sending him back.

[Name] brows raised, impressed. maybe I should just ask him…

001 grabbed Thanos' neck and held up a fist. "I'm sorry-" thanos choked out. 001 kept his hand around thanos' neck, and seeing him struggle to breathe [Name] almost thought he was about to kill him.

They saw 001 carry a large amount of thought behind his fist. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, player 001 let him go. Calmly, he stood up as if nothing had happened. A smattering of applause broke out, quickly growing into full-on clapping and cheers.

“You’re the man!”

“Nice!”

Player 001 looked surprised by the positive reaction. With a small, appreciative nod and a faint smile, he smoothed his hair, a bit embarrassed and shy by the attention.

Name] didn't clap, staring in a daze as player 001 returned back to gi-hun's side. [Name] followed his retreating figure intently.

 

[Name] didn't realize it yet, but the feeling of admiration that they thought they've long lost along the way, was beginning to spark once more as they intently stared at player 001 from their high bed.

 

✧

 

Notes:

I wrote this during a lecture, my English prof can suck my dick.

There, it's over 11k words. This is all because my beta reader said first chapter was too short, blame her or thank her idk.

Chapter 3: Six legs

Summary:

[Name] faces their most formidable enemy, positive emotions.

While also crashing out a little at the end, but it's nothin!!!

Notes:

Hello yet again.

English is not my first language and I don't want it to be. Any mistakes are made out of pure hatred and disrespect for this language.

Thank you, enjoy.

 

✧

 

The evening came quickly, marked by the familiar PA female voice announcing, “Bedtime will begin in ten minutes.”

The mechanical tone echoed through the dormitory, prompting players to stir and shuffle about. Many began moving toward their beds, some climbing up to the top bunks, others sticking close to the lower levels. Conversations continued quietly in the massive hall.

[Name] lounges on their bed, swinging their legs over the edge slightly. which earned them a bit of a scolding from the neighbour attempting to sleep under them. it went blatantly ignored.

[Name]'s focus was directed at the group of four men on the other side of the collosal hall. I want to sit with them.., [Name] blinked slowly. they thought of that, but their gaze was settled on player 001 instead of the entire group.

He's so cool..., [Name] plopped back on their bed with a huff. When was the last time they've ever felt so much admiration for someone they've only just met? they barely even conversed.

Looking around, [Name] found themselves contemplating. Would it be okay to ask for a bed near them? The thought lingered as they considered their relationship with the group.

[Name] didn't share more than a few words with them, not even a single one with dae-ho. A couple with gi-hun and jung-bae...and barely any with player 001.

Things have to change! [Name] mentally declared while raising their fist upwards. until tomorrow though, I'm dead…, their arm fell back with a dull thud onto the bed. They then glanced back at the lunatic’s group, noticing 001’s absence. No..! They looked away for five seconds..

As [Name] sat up a bit, they glanced around the dormitory, scanning the rows of bunks. their half-lidded eyes sought out player 001, wondering why he hadn’t claimed a bed near the others. [Name] thought he was one of them now, or however the fuck teaming up worked.

Finally, they spotted him quietly settling on a bed in the O zone. The thought crossed their mind that it might have been because of the voting zones – or perhaps his earlier argument with gi-hun.

Nevertheless, he was literally on their right. on the bunk bed in the middle. [Name] almost had the urge to call out to him and tell him all about how great he was in that one-sided fight, but held their tongue. What if he doesn't even acknowledge them? [Name] would rather eat chalk.

Just then, player 001 glanced up and caught their eye. His calm gaze met [Name]'s, and they owlishly blinked at him for a while. He responded with a faint, kind smile before lying down on his bed, his demeanor as composed as ever.

?!?!???, [Name] sprawled out on their bed, staring up at the ugly, glowing piggy bank illuminating their face with a faint orange glow. What is that smile supposed to mean? Does he think I'm weird? did I fuck this up already? Are we a team now?

The dormitory lights dimmed, the PA voice announcing, “Lights out in five minutes.”

The chatter began to die down, replaced by the sound of shuffling feet as players adjusted their bedding. Soon, the PA announced ‘Lights out’, the hall darkening with only the piggy bank's dim twilight washing over them.

 

☆

 

[Name] woke up to the sound of the same classical music from yesterday. The awful, familiar melody filled the dormitory, stirring players from their uneasy sleep. Sitting up, [Name] mentally swore to one day find whoever chose this horrid music and bury them under 11 feet of snow.

Minutes later, a sharp beeping sound cut through the air, followed by the metallic groan of the main double doors sliding open. The barbie guards filed in with their usual syncing as that fuckass PA female voice announced, “Attention, please. The second game will begin momentarily. Please follow the instructions from our staff.”

Players began to stir and move faster, grabbing their shoes and moving to line up. [Name] casually joined the queue alongside Jung-bae, Dae-ho, and Gi-hun. they sent the teen a brief glance, with gi-hun giving them a nod of acknowledgment and a small smile. player 001 silently joined the four, standing behind [Name].

The mood was heavy as everyone shuffled into place, the sound of nervous, apprehensive whispers filling the room. Under the guards’ guidance, they all filed out of the dormitory and into the colorful hall of twisting staircases. The vibrant hues and paths were as disorienting as they had been the first time. [Name] wanted to blind themselves at some point.

Gi-hun led the small group. Jung-bae followed closely behind him, muttering “triangle” over and over under his breath like a mantra. [Name] walked behind them, glaring at the back of jung-bae's head as if trying to make him mute out of sheer will, followed by Player 001. Dae-ho brought up the rear, his usual energy nowhere to be seen as he scanned the hall nervously while pulling at his collar.

The guards directed everyone upward. They soon arrived at a massive yard. The design mimicked the outside of a schoolyard, with a clear field at the center. Dominating the space were two enormous rainbow-colored circles, each made up of five vibrant bands. The music playing was almost mocking every adult in here, however [Name] found the music to be much more pleasant then whatever they tortured them with in the morning.

Looks like my elementary, what shitty memories. [Name] scanned the area with their hands shoved into their pockets.

“Welcome to your second game,” announced the familiar female PA voice. “This game will be played in teams. Please divide into teams of five within the next ten minutes.”

Jung-bae immediately turned to Gi-hun. “Is Dalgona a team game?”

Before Gi-hun could answer, pig 100 and his piglets approached, their presence irritating and heavy. He asked bluntly, “Aren’t we playing the Dalgona game?”

"No..it doesn't look like it." Gi-hun responded after a moment, his tone subdued.

[Name]’s gaze shifted to the sulking man, they already predicted this. Everyone will see him as a fraud now.

“Then what’s the game?” player 100 pressed further.

Gi-hun slowly and solemnly shook his head as he admitted, “I’m not sure.”

Player 100’s expression twisted into a look of frustration. He snapped, “What? You said you’d done this before! That triangle was supposed to be the easiest. Was that all bullshit?”

Gi-hun lowered his head. “I’m sorry.."

“Sorry won’t cut it!” player 100 glowered, his voice rising. “You acted like you knew everything.”

[Name] rolled their eyes, all they wanted was to quickly get this over with. Bro, I'm straight up not livin la vida loca right now.

“Hey, cunt. I don't like saying ‘I told you so’ but I told you so, didn't I?” [Name] interrupted, staring at the group of pigs with a bored gaze.

Player 100 widened his eyes at the crude way of speech this child has, his face turning red from fury. “Huh?!? What did you say you little-"

Player 001 suddenly stepped forward, positioning himself between the teen and player 100. His eyes locked onto player 100 with a warning glint in his sharp eyes, his tone firm and threatening “That’s enough.”

He defended me, I must be great, [Name] delusionally observed, standing there with a blank look.

Jung-bae sent them a judgemental side eye.

The tense moment was interrupted by the PA voice announcing, “Please divide into teams now.”

All eyes turned to the timer displayed on the wall above. Ten minutes remaining. What happens if they don't find a team? They'll get gunned down too?

Player 100 soon left after realizing that they cannot go against player 001, else they might end up like the rapper and his friend.

“Previous winner? Damn lunatic.” player 100 muttered while pushing through.

“Dalgona? Triangle? Fuck you.” player 226 added with a sneer.

“Watch the damn attitude, kid.” one glared at [Name], who returned the nasty look.

The tension lingered as Gi-hun, his head still hung low, avoided looking at any of his group.

“I’m sorry.." he muttered quietly.

“I still trust you, so don’t worry about it,” player 001 started, his voice calm. “I’d like to play the game with you, if that’s okay?”

[Name] didn't give any words of encouragement, but they nodded along with whatever player 001 said.

Gi-hun looked up, his expression a mix of astonishment and disbelief. He seemed genuinely baffled that none of them had criticized him. More than that, he was touched by the trust and support from player 001.

“That’s right. Let’s be real men and give it a shot,” Jung-bae said with confidence. He paused, glancing at [Name] and quickly adding, “And also be a brave kid. It’s a children’s game, right? We used to play games all the time.”

Dae-ho nodded enthusiastically. “That’s right, sirs..and kid. I’ll join you. I feel like I can do anything with you all.”

Jung-bae clapped him on the back, grinning earnestly. “That’s the Marine spirit! It’d be embarrassing for brave Marines to be carving Dalgona anyway. If we’re playing a game, it should be worth risking our lives for. Like Buck Buck or the Squid Game, right?”

“Yes, sir!” Dae-ho exclaimed with fervor. “I will certainly risk my life to win, sir.”

Player 001 stood there like a statue for a moment, before finally breaking the stillness. "Well, we already have five here," he said, gesturing toward [Name] with a small smile. [Name] slowly tilted their head, an unreadable expression on their face.

"Who said I'm grouping up with you guys though?" The teenager's words hung in the air, causing the others to turn and stare at them, speechless.

Gi-hun stared down at them with furrowed eyebrows, astonished.

Dae-ho was the first to find his voice, brows furrowed in confusion. "What- wait, what do you mean? Why not? Are there others you're friends with?" Jung-bae nodded vigorously beside him, equally perplexed.

"Wah, did we do something that made you-" Player 390's question was cut short as [Name] shook their head slowly.

"None of that bullshit. I want to find out what happens if I don't have a team." They shrugged nonchalantly, as if the decision held little weight.

Dae-ho let out a puzzled "Huh," while Gi-hun and Player 001 immediately started shaking their heads in protest. Player 001 reached out and grabbed [Name]'s shoulders, making them stand beside him.

"No no no no- are you insane?! Did you not get enough sleep?" Gi-hun poked [Name]'s forehead, who's eyebrows furrowed in apprehension.

"Cut it out, why are y'all overreacting-" [Name] began, only to be cut off by Player 001's firm words.

"Because it's a suicidal idea." The older man stared down at the teenager, frown etched on his face. "Get it out of your head. We won't stand here and watch you experiment with your life."

[Name] avoided the others' gazes, their head slightly lowered as they played with the zipper on their jacket. "Whatever," they murmured. The group collectively sighed, no one expecting to deal with a crazy teenager on top of the high-stakes game they were all facing.

Gi-hun shook his head, grumbling under his breath as he appeared to have aged ten years from the short argument.

The tense silence was broken by a soft, timid voice. "Excuse me.."

All eyes turned to see a petite young woman, Player 222, approaching the group. She couldn't have been more than early 20s, her demeanor making her seem even younger. She glanced around at the others before fixing her gaze on [Name].

"Please let me join your team," she said, her voice quivering slightly.

[Name] perked up at the opportunity, this could be their chance to break away from these overbearing adults and pursue their completely sane plan. They inwardly hoped she would join them.

However, Bastard jung-bae spoke up, his tone apologetic but resolute. "Sorry, we've already got five people."

"Please help me," Player 222 pleaded, a hand moving to rest on the subtle curve of her stomach beneath her jacket. "I'm pregnant."

The weight of her words hit the group like a truck. All eyes automatically dropped to her abdomen, the realization sinking in. She was carrying a child, and here they were, turning her away like MONSTERS.

[Name] blinked, processing this new development ...she did the bombayah?, as the expression went. Their gaze, like the others, kept returning to the visible swell of her belly shamelessly.

[Name]'s face suddenly lit up with an uncharacteristic smile as they reached out and rested a hand on the woman's arm. "Join them, miss. I'll look for another group!" they declared cheerfully, giving her an encouraging thumbs up.

"No no! I can't take your place," Player 222 quickly shook her head. "No one else would group up with you." As much as she needed the support, she knew the odds were slim for a lone teenager finding a team in this competition. Women were already being looked down upon for anyone to give a kid a second glance.

Gi-hun quickly intervened, pulling [Name] back. "Yes, [Name]. Sit still...one of us will go instead." Player 001 nodded in agreement. The fake smile immediately dropped from [Name]'s face at being denied their plan.

Dae-ho's hand shot up, his expression filled with determination. "I'll go!!" As a marine, the thought of turning away a pregnant woman went against every fiber of his being.

"Yes, that's how marines should be like!" Jung-bae chuckled, giving Dae-ho's shoulder a firm pat. The younger man puffed out his chest, letting out a loud 'Yes, sir!' in response.

The group had found a solution, but the weight of the situation still hung heavy in the air. [Name] sulked, disappointed their idea had been shot down as immediately as the first time, while the others felt pity for the pregnant woman's situation.

 

 

☆

 

 

“Time for team selection is up. The game you will be playing is Six–Legged pentathlon.”

The announcement echoed across the yard as the players settled into their teams, lining up according to the final decisions. Starting from the right, Gi-hun sat at the end, followed by Jung-bae, then Player 001, then [Name], and finally Player 222 - the pregnant woman they had welcomed onto their team.

The choice to include Player 222 had been an easy one given her condition, though it meant Dae-ho had to find another team. He insisted it was the right thing to do, prioritizing the women, especially the expectant mother. His selfless response prompted him and Jung-bae to launch into enthusiastic Marine camaraderie, saluting and shouting phrases of unity. [Name], on the other hand, seemed to be actively losing their mind at the situation.

The PA voice continued, outlining the challenges ahead. "You will start with your legs tied together. Each member will take turns playing a mini-game at every ten-meter mark. If your team wins, you may proceed to the next stage."

The voice listed the mini-games they would face: Ddakji, Flying Stone, Gonggi, Spinning Top, and Jegi. "Your goal is to win all the mini-games and cross the finish line within five minutes. Please decide the players for each event.”

I'm eating this up, [Name] blatantly thought with a slight smirk.

"It's a good thing that we have a woman," Jung-bae said, turning to Player 222 with an optimistic grin. "You can play Gonggi, right?"

Player 222 shook her head slowly, her expression falling with evident disappointment. She looked genuinely upset and ashamed.

Jung-bae let out a sigh and turned to Gi-hun, his tone bordering on exasperation. "Don't girls play Gonggi anymore?"

"I've never played it," Player 222 confessed apologetically, her voice barely above a whisper.

[Name] suddenly interjected, looking around the group. "I have."

"Oh!" Jung-bae exclaimed excitedly, shaking [Name] back and forth by their shoulders. "We have a kid between us, and we're playing children's games! Why didn't I think of that sooner? We're totally winning all the games now!"

[Name] deadpanned, "Release me.”

Player 001 nodded in agreement, humming to himself in thought as he intently stared down at the teen.

Gi-hun leaned in, bringing the conversation back to the task at hand. "Everyone, what game are you confident playing?"

Player 222 spoke up, drawing all eyes to her. "Ddakji for me. At the train station, I won more times than the guy."

"Okay, then. Miss 222, you play Ddakji," Jung-bae said with a firm nod. "I'll play Flying Stone. I was a pitcher for my baseball team, so I'm good at throwing."

Gi-hun then turned to Player 001. "Jegi and Spinning Top. Which one are you good at?"

Player 001 gave a small smile. "Well, I'll play whatever you pick for me, Gi-hun."

Gi-hun's expression faltered, brows knitting together as a suspicious glint appeared in his eyes. "You know my name?"

Player 001's eyes widened slightly, as if realizing his mistake. He gestured casually towards Jung-bae. "Oh, your friend was calling you by your name, so I thought I'd try it."

it's alright, everyone makes mistakes and you're definitely no one suspicious, [Name] glanced at the two.

Gi-hun stared at him, silent. Player 001 tilted his head, tone gentle as he asked, "Does it bother you?"

Blinking a few times, Gi-hun finally shook his head. "No, it's fine."

"So, Gi-hun," Player 001 continued smoothly, "which one are you good at?"

"I guess I'm better at Jegi," Gi-hun replied after a moment.

"Then I'll take Spinning Top," Player 001 said with a nod.

"Alright," Gi-hun confirmed, his initial wariness fading as the team solidified their strategy.

Jung-bae took charge, extending his hand to the center of the group. "Alright, guys, bring your hands together here."

[Name] visibly deflated, their expression dropping at the suggestion of the team cheer.

Gi-hun, sitting at the far end of the line, shuffled closer as everyone placed their hands atop one another. Jung-bae forced [Name]'s hand in between his own and Gi-hun's, determined to include the reluctant teen.

"Okay, one, two, three," Jung-bae said, "we say 'Victory at all costs.' Got it? One, two, three—"

"Victory at all costs!" the group chorused, their voices ringing out with varying levels of enthusiasm – none in [Name]'s case.

The teen appeared thoroughly unamused by the team-building exercise, their gaze impassive and unreadable.

They cannot be real, [Name] glanced at everyone with indiscreet judgement.

 

☆

 

The game commenced, with Team 1 and Team 2 stepping onto their respective rainbow-colored circles, all eyes fixed upon them as they moved with their legs bound together, each group struggling to maintain their balance.

The first event in the Six-Legged Pentathlon was Ddakji, a game of flipping paper tiles. The rules were straightforward, and Team 1 managed to pass the challenge on their initial try, earning exuberant cheers from their teammates. Team 2 followed closely, but the pressure was already building as both groups advanced to the next stage.

The second event was Flying Stone, where accuracy was paramount. The thrower had to ensure they didn't step over the line while aiming perfectly. Everyone watched with growing anxiety as Team 1 faltered on their first attempt, their stone missing the mark. They now had to retrieve the stone themselves, a hard time-consuming task given their tied legs.

Leaning back slightly towards Jung-bae, Player 001 commented, "A miss in Flying Stone will eat up a lot of time." His tone was measured, void of any concern.

Jung-bae gulped nervously, staring at Player 001, who turned back to watch the teams without a hint of unease, leaving the ex-marine momentarily speechless.

[Name] snorted at the exchange, quickly trying to disguise it behind a pathetic cough. Their reaction earned them a side-eyed glare from the stressed Jung-bae.

As Team 2 finally overcame the challenge of Flying Stone and moved on to the third event, Gonggi, Team 1 remained stuck, grappling with the precision required for the previous mini-game.

Watching the team's slow progress with growing concern, Jung-bae turned to [Name], pressing them to practice with the scattered stones on the ground. With a disgruntled grunt, the reluctant teen relented, scooping up a few of the small projectiles to rehearse their technique.

The air grew tense as the teams fought to coordinate their movements and execute each mini-game flawlessly. Time wasn't on their side, and the slightest misstep could mean death.

Gi-hun's brow furrowed in concentration as he observed Team 2 tackle the Gonggi challenge. Meanwhile, Player 222 fidgeted nervously, her gaze flicking between the competing groups and her own teammates, the weight of their situation bearing down upon her.

[Name] continued begrudgingly practicing their Gonggi technique, their nimble fingers manipulating the stones with a practised ease that belied their earlier reluctance. Jung-bae watched intently, offering occasional encouragement, earning him a 'Shut up' from the teen.

Player 001 observed [Name]'s practiced hand movements with intent eyes. "You're pretty skilled at Gonggi," he inquired softly. "Did you play it often at school?"

Instead of their usual sharp quips, [Name] slowly nodded, their expression uncharacteristically subdued. "Thanks, but we didn't play at my school. I learned it from my neighbor's daughter," they calmly recounted.

"Ah, I see," Player 001 replied and nodded, his brow furrowing slightly. "You don't play at your school? Why is that?"

[Name]'s grip on the stones tightened imperceptibly. "It was an academy. My...father, he wanted me to focus on my studies instead of 'unnecessary waste of time,'" they added, a stone slipping from their hand at the unpleasant thought of the man who had kicked them out of his house after their unfair expulsion.

A flicker of understanding passed through Player 001's eyes, his gaze softening with a hint of empathy. He seemed to sense the underlying tension in [Name]'s response, the resentment.

Turning his attention back to the ongoing games, Player 001 fell silent, allowing [Name] the space to collect themselves.

A sudden cheer erupted from Team 2, drawing [Name]'s attention. They had just succeeded in the Gonggi challenge. The circle-masked guard gestured by forming a circle with his arms, and the PA announcer's voice boomed, "Pass."

The victorious team erupted in triumphant screams as the guard quickly removed the small playing table, clearing the way for them to advance. They hobbled forward, legs still tethered together, towards the next event: Spinning Top.

Their first attempt at spinning the top, however, ended in failure. The small toy wobbled and fell before completing even a single rotation. In their rush to retrieve it, the team lost their balance and tumbled unceremoniously onto the ground, starting a wave of gasps from the audience of players.

Beside [Name], Jung-bae leaned in towards Player 001, his voice hushed. "With Spinning Top, it'll take even longer if you mess up."

The teen glanced at Player 001, who's eyes have narrowed sharply as he turned to Jung-bae, fixing the ex-marine with a pointed stare. Jung-bae quickly averted his gaze, feigning innocence. Player 001's penetrating glare lingered for a few more seconds before a voice broke him out of it.

"I'm sure you'll do fine," [Name] murmured to Player 001, their tone unexpectedly reassuring. "You're the calmest person here...unlike some lunatics." The comment earned them a small, grateful smile from the older man, and to [Name]'s surprise, his hand reached out to gently ruffle their hair.

[Name] flinched at first, And took a few seconds to process the unexpected, affectionate gesture, staring blankly at nothing like a lagging web page. The casual display of affection was unusual to [Name], leaving the usually sardonic teen momentarily at a loss for words.

Do I exist? [Name] fell into an existential crisis.

On their second attempt, Team 2 finally succeeded in the Spinning Top challenge, their shouts of triumph ringing out across the arena. At the same time, Team 1 managed to complete the arduous Flying Stone event, their relief palpable as they advanced. Both teams surged forward, only to be confronted by a line of triangle-masked guards blocking their path.

The pleading and begging began, growing increasingly desperate as the timer reached zero. [Name] leaned back, their expression neutral as they prepared for the inevitable.

"Your time is up," the female PA announcer declared, her voice devoid of emotion.

The guards wasted no time. They raised their weapons, and the air erupted with the deafening crack of gunfire. The failed teams fell instantly, their cries of terror silenced forever. The noise was overwhelming, shattering the room like thunderclaps.

Around [Name], players screamed, gasped, and sobbed, most crouching or tripping over one another in a desperate attempt to flee the raining bullets that were not even directed at them. [Name] nearly lost their composure when a panicked player bumped into them, threatening to send them all tumbling like a row of dominoes.

Fortunately, the teen was quickly steadied by the firm hands of Gi-hun, who regarded them with a soft, concerned look. "You alright?" he asked gently.

"...Yeah," [Name] muttered, their gaze fixed on the crumpled bodies of the eliminated teams. The sight was familiar in the worst ways possible, yet they found themselves unable to look away.

Gi-hun then reached up and gently covered [Name]'s eyes, shielding them from the gruesome scene. "Don't look," he instructed, his voice calm and reassuring.

[Name] grunted in slight annoyance but did not stop him, allowing the older man's protective gesture to ground them in the midst of the overwhelming situation at hand.

The air was thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder, mingling with the coppery tang of spilled blood. Shrieks and sobs echoed endlessly, a haunting chorus that seemed to seep into the very marrow of the players' bones.

The PA announcer's words listing the eliminated players' numbers blurred into the background, drowned out by the deafening silence that had descended upon the room. Suddenly, a lone voice cut through the tense quiet, shattering the fragile calm.

"We should have left! We're all going to die now! We're all going to die because of those who voted to continue!" The player's panicked shouts sent tremors through the remaining contestants, murmurs and hushed sobs rippling across the room.

[Name] lowered Gi-hun's hand from their eyes, glancing briefly at the yelling player before concealing the lower half of their face behind the oversized collar of their jumpsuit. A distant thought flashed through their mind, one that almost made them roll their eyes.

This almost looks like the fucked up games jiwoo's gang used to play with their victims. Minus the pretense of fairness, of course. The memory of their time spent scrubbing away at the aftermath of those brutal sessions resurfaced, the familiar scent of blood and the sight of lifeless bodies now matching with the gruesome scene before them.

[Name]'s eyes hardened, their gaze lowering as they took in the visual of the fallen players' corpses. 

[Name] had seen this kind of violence before, and had been forced to participate more than once. This was no different, they told themself, save for the ever-present cash reward after winning. which used to be nothing more than another day to live for [Name] back then.

But then, two booming gunshots suddenly shattered the tense silence. A triangle-masked guard had just finished executing an already fallen player, casually putting two bullets into the lifeless form lying in an open coffin.

Without a moment's pause, the guard turned and walked away, their movements efficient and dispassionate. 

You know what...hell yeah, [Name] dryly thought, their gaze fixed on the strange but discreet behavior of the guards. Observing this peculiar action, the teen found comfort in dissecting the vague ideas and implications that were laid before them.

Perhaps there was more to these proceedings than the surface idea. The guards' casual disposal of the already eliminated player was already strange enough.

[Name]'s mind went into overdrive. Was that player truly meant to be overkilled there, or was there some other fate in store for those who failed? The guards' actions seemed too calculative to be a mere act of elimination. Even when they ordered for the lid of the coffin to be opened earlier, the circle-masked guards hesitated for a second there.

As the din of panicked cries and sobs filled the air around them, [Name] found themselves focused on their mental exercise. It was a defense mechanism, a way to distance themselves from the situation and regain some of their previous control.

Gi-hun watched the teen's unreadable expression with his own worried one. He hesitated, unsure if he should interrupt their thoughts or allow them to process the events in their own way.

Player 456 sighed heavily, lowering his gaze. No kid should be going through this mess...he must get [Name] out of this hellhole, no matter the cost. Even if he cannot get out himself.

"The next teams, please get ready," the announcer stated.

The teams scheduled to play next rose from the floor. Among them was Team 3, a group with a few familiar faces. [Name] recognized player 120 from yesterday, the old nagging mother and her gambling-addicted son duo, and the shaman [Name] swore to sabotage. The remaining member was new to them, a petite girl with short hair.

[Name] almost hoped they would lose, simply for the joy of witnessing the shaman's demise. The teen then slowly shook their head, no. They wanted to talk to player 120.

At the Ddakji event, things didn't start very well for Team 3. They failed several times, and the tension among them grew palpable. Player 120 leaned toward player 095, who was handling the game, and said something quietly. Whatever she had said seemed to work, as the Ddakji tile finally flipped on the next try. The team cheered and advanced to the next event.

[Name] observed the interaction with a blank gaze, their mind already dissecting the relationship between them all. The teen's initial desire to see the shaman eliminated had given way to a more pressing curiosity – Player 120. She seemed cool as hell.

Team 3 reached the Flying Stone event next, where it was the son's turn to participate. His first throw missed the mark, forcing the team to retrieve the stone. However, they had clearly planned for this eventuality, moving forward in unison despite their tied legs. When they reached the stone, they swiftly reversed back to the starting line in perfect sync, saving precious time in the process.

"We could save some time walking backward like that," Player 001 pointed out, his brow furrowed in thought.

"They're actually faster going backward," Jung-bae added, his voice tinged with a hint of surprise.

"Hope you don't trip, old man," [Name] chimed in, their tone blunt. Jung-bae responded by jabbing them sharply in the side with his elbow, causing [Name] to clutch the affected area and shoot him a disgruntled look.

Returning to the starting line, player 007 on Team 3 succeeded in hitting the tombstone on their next attempt. Their collective scream of relief and excitement echoed across the field, sending a ripple of awe through the other players. Gasps of astonishment gave way to supportive cheers as the team celebrated their hard-won victory.

[Name] glanced around the arena, their eyes narrowing as they took in the unexpected display of camaraderie. What the fuck is going on?, they wondered, their mind working overtime to make sense of the abrupt shift in the once tense atmosphere.

Next came the Gonggi event, where it was the mother, player 149, who stepped up to take her turn. Her first two attempts ended in failure, and a hush fell over the spectating crowd, anticipation thick in the air. 

Undeterred, the older woman steadied herself, her brow furrowing in concentration. On her third try, she succeeded in the challenge, earning a roar of cheers not only from her own team but from the watching players as well. Beside [Name], Jung-bae had risen from the floor, his voice joining the chorus as he shouted "One, two!" in support of Team 3.

At the sound of Jung-bae's exuberant cries, [Name] felt a familiar dread begin to creep up their spine. No..! please lord I'm just 16, they thought in horror, their ears already bracing for the impending onslaught of noise.

The teen knew all too well the misfortunes of being in close proximity to an enthusiastic crowd. Their experiences at those illegal car races they were often dragged to had left a lasting bad impression.

This is why I hated those stupid events! [Name] lamented inwardly, their body tensing in anticipation of the inevitable sonic assault. The audience of players had no qualms about bursting eardrums in their fervor, a thought that filled the teen with a sense of dread.

As the cheers and shouts reached a crescendo, [Name] instinctively reached up to cover their ears, shielding themselves from the onslaught. The pounding in their head was already beginning, a painful reminder of the price they would pay for being in this damned place. They glared at their O patch.

Player 001 glanced at the teen with pity, but couldn't do anything about the loud noise which seemed to be killing [Name]'s mental stability. His hand reached out and squeezed their shoulder reassuringly.

This time, he noticed their inexplicable flinch, causing him to narrow his eyes and retract his touch.

Team 3 moved on to the forth event: Spinning Top. This time, it was player 044, the shaman, whose turn had arrived. An eerie hush fell over the arena as she picked up the top and began wrapping the string around it. However, it quickly became apparent that she lacked any real experience with this particular challenge.

The string slipped repeatedly as she muttered prayers under her breath, her chants growing louder and more frantic with each failed attempt. At one point, she stopped entirely, her eyes wild and distant as she began muttering incoherently about the gods abandoning them.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, player 120 – the familiar face [Name] had been so eager to speak with – raised her hand and slapped the shaman. Hard. Twice. The sound of each resounding slap echoed through the room, drawing audible gasps of surprise and shock from the watching players. A thin line of blood trickled from the shaman's nose, a testament to the force of the unexpected strikes.

"Fuck her up!" [Name] couldn't help the exclamation that escaped their lips, the words bursting forth before they could stop themselves. Realizing that half the contestants were now staring at them, the teen slowly sat back down, schooling their features into a more neutral expression.

I lost it a bit there, gotta lock back in. [Name] mentally chastised themselves, clearing their throat in an attempt to regain their composure. They hadn't expected the shaman to be bitch slapped so unceremoniously, and a huge part of them revelled. What a great day.

Their team gave the teen strange looks at their unexpected outburst, but didn't mention it. And It was probably for the best.

Player 044's eyes seemed to clear, the shaman snapping back into sharp focus in the wake of player 120's violent but necessary – very necessary, action. On her next attempt, she succeeded in spinning the top flawlessly, the smooth rotation earning a renewed eruption of cheers from the watching crowd.

The volume of the celebration grew even louder this time, with players 222, 001, and Gi-hun all rising from the floor to join in the chanting and encouragement. Even the often-aloof player 001 lent his voice to the chorus, the collective chant of "One, two!" echoing through the arena as Team 3 dragged themselves forward toward the final event.

[Name] eyed their cheering teammates with a betrayed gaze, their eyes narrowing into a death stare as they settled on player 001 in particular. Traitor, the teen thought, Why I oughta..!!!, They shook their fist.

The unexpected display of support from the other players only served to deepen [Name]'s sense of bewilderment. This was not how they had anticipated the game unfolding, the shared triumph and celebration was a stark contrast to the bleak, dog-eat-dog environment they had fully expected and prepared for.

everyone here isn't real, [Name] deadpanned.

They had reached the fifth and final event: Jegi. The announcer's voice rang out, the words echoing across the tense silence of the arena. "You must kick the Jegi five times."

It was player 120's turn, she requested that everyone present turn away, granting her the privacy she needed to complete the challenge. Respecting her wishes, [Name] and their teammates, as well as all the spectating players, dutifully spun around, their gazes averted.

A heavy, anticipatory silence filled the air, the tension palpable. Then, the soft sound of paper Jegi being kicked into the air broke through the stillness, [Name] mentally counting each strike. One, two, three, four... and on the fifth kick, the light thud signaled the completion of the task.

In unison, all eyes turned back, locking onto player 120, waiting with bated breath to see if she had passed the event. The circle-masked guard raised their arms, forming a perfect 'O' in tandem with the announcer's declaration, "Pass."

A wave of cheers and hollers erupted, the arena filling with pure, unbridled joy. Even [Name], try as they might to maintain their stoic composure, felt a slight prick of excitement at player 120's win. Team 3, their legs still bound together, began their final march toward the finish line, moving as quickly as their synchronized steps would allow.

The entire yard joined in the celebration, the chant of "One, two!" echoing in rhythm with the team's hurried progress. Only six seconds remained on the timer, the seconds ticking away as the players fought to reach the end, lest they meet their demise as the last two teams did.

As Team 3 finally surged across the finish line, the timer reaches zero with a resounding chime. Not only had they completed the grueling pentathlon challenge, but Team 4 had also managed to finish just in the nick of time. For this round, it seemed, no one was to be eliminated.

The cheers that erupted were deafening, an explosion of shared relief and unbridled happiness. [Name], to their own surprise, found themself joining in the applause, their hands coming together in a rhythm that matched the pounding of their heart. They didn't even register player 222 wrapping them in a celebratory hug, the pregnant woman bouncing slightly with pure elation.

The entire space vibrated with the sound of overly joyous voices – for people who aren't sure if they'll survive as well or not they sure are active –, a stark contrast to the palpable fear and tension that had gripped everyone just moments ago. 

As Team 3 and Team 4 emerged victorious, the arena seemed to come alive with a newfound sense of determination and strategy. Many of the other teams, inspired by the success they had witnessed, managed to navigate the challenges of the Pentathlon and reach the finish line.

Still, not everyone was so fortunate. Some teams, despite their best efforts, failed to make it in time, the relentless ticking of the clock their undoing. One team, in particular, came agonizingly close, their weary legs carrying them to within a handful of steps of the end before the timer mercilessly hit zero. The guards acted with ruthless efficiency, the sharp crack of gunfire cutting through the air as the entire team was promptly eliminated.

Each time it became clear that a team was running out of time, the other players instinctively cowered, bracing themselves for the inevitable sound of the fatal shots. Sometimes, [Name] felt the comforting weight of player 222's arm as the pregnant woman locked them in an embrace, though the teen couldn't discern whether it was out of fear or an attempt to shield them.

Even player 001, the aloof man, would occasionally reach out to cover [Name]'s eyes, while Gi-hun would deftly draw the teen's attention away from the team's unfortunate demise. It was a curious, almost endearing display of concern towards the only kid amongst the players.

This ain't so bad, [Name] found themself sighing inwardly, the semblance of comfort they derived from the adults' protective gestures surprising even them. The teen's initial cynicism and resentment were slowly being chipped away, replaced by a growing sense of confusion and something akin to trust.

Ew. No. Stop this madness, [Name] shook their head with distaste. Trust? They've barely spent a day with these adults.

Then, a certain team caught [Name]'s attention, drawing their gaze away from the unfolding events. The teen's previously bored expression shifted to a look of disturbed shock as their eyes landed on a familiar figure.

No.

It couldn't be– it shouldn't be.

It was a tall man, his white-streaked hair messily ruffled, his wrinkles seemingly more prominent than the last time [Name] had seen him. Father, the teen's mind raced, their world crashing down around them as they realized the presence of the man who had so thoroughly ruined their life – and now, he was here, participating in the same games as them.

The look of terror and disbelief that overtook [Name]'s features did not go unnoticed. Both player 001 and Gi-hun gave the teen worried glances, their brows furrowed in concern. [Name] did not react with that same level of horror even when they witnessed the eliminations

"[Name]...?" Gi-hun's voice was laced with worry as he rested a gentle hand on the teen's shoulder, giving them a soft shake in an attempt to pull them from their frozen state, causing them to flinch.

"h-huh?" [Name] blinked, their gaze snapping back to the two adults as they faced their worried expressions with a wide-eyed look. Clearly, the two had noticed something amiss, their shared look of concern underscoring their realization that the usually stoic teen was somehow deeply unsettled by something they had failed to perceive.

[Name] attempted to stop the tremor that overtook their hand, raising it to cover their mouth as bile threatened to rise from the depths of their throat. the teen stared blankly at the ground, refusing to acknowledge that man's presence – nor existence.

 

☆

 

Time seemed to pass in a blur, the events unfolding in the arena moving at a dizzying pace. Hour upon hour, the players took their turns, the eliminated contestants' bodies being cleared away with a growing sense of efficiency. Dae-ho had fortunately passed alongside his team, bidding them a heartfelt farewell and wishing them luck before retreating to the dormitory.

By the time it was [Name]'s team's turn, the teen found themself mentally drained, their focus wavering under the weight of the countless teams they had bore witness to. Finally, their group and one other were the last remaining, the room feeling eerily quiet without the usual audience of players watching.

The five of them lined up according to the games they were assigned to play – from left to right, it was player 222, Jung-bae, [Name], player 001, and Gi-hun. The guards moved with their usual methodical precision, tying their legs together in preparation for the upcoming challenge. As they worked, Jung-bae's voice suddenly broke the tense silence.

"It's a little sad without an audience cheering for us, isn't it?" the man mused, his tone tinged with a wistful melancholy.

“No.” [Name] bluntly states. On the contrary, the absence of a cheering crowd would have messed up their focus.

Jung-bae ignored the teen and turned to the opposing team, his gaze steady and determined. "See you at the finish line! Victory at all costs!" he cheered.

The other team erupted in a chorus of encouraging shouts, their voices brimming with a palpable sense of resolve. As one, they wrapped their arms around each other.

[Name] and their own team quickly followed suit, the teen wrapping their left arm around Jung-bae's right and their other arm around player 001's left.

It was then that player 001's calm, measured voice cut through the nervous energy that had permeated the air. "I believe in our team," he stated with unwavering confidence, his gaze sweeping across each of his teammates in turn.

Pausing for a moment, the man's sharp eyes settled on Gi-hun, a quiet sense of faith coloring his words as he added, "Plus, we have the previous winner with us."

[Name] hummed softly, the sound almost imperceptible. They couldn't help but feel a twinge of skepticism at that – after all, Gi-hun's past success hardly seemed a guarantee of their team's victory. Unless, of course, the man had spent the last three years meticulously practicing children's games in preparation for this return.

The teen highly doubted the likelihood of such a scenario, casting a critical eye over Gi-hun's demeanor and apparent lack of expertise. Still, as they felt the reassuring weight of their teammates' arms around them, [Name] found their reservations slowly beginning to fade.

The sharp crack of a gunshot rang out, the sound cutting through the tense silence and signaling the start of the five-minute countdown. As one, the team and their opponents surged forward, their tied legs moving in sync as they chanted "One, two!".

The first event, Ddakji, came upon them quickly. Without hesitation, player 222 stepped forward, her brow furrowed in concentration. With a decisive slam of her hand, she flipped the opposing Ddakji tile in a single, fluid motion. Cheers of triumph erupted from the team, [Name] offering the pregnant woman a thumbs up.

Next came the Flying Stone challenge, and it was Jung-bae's turn to step up. The man's background as a baseball pitcher was evident in his focused stance, his eyes narrowing as he drew back his arm. With a powerful throw, the stone struck the tombstone dead center, eliciting another round of excited cheers from the group.

Buoyed by their early successes, the team pressed onward, their legs moving in sync as they raced through to the third mini-game. [Name] could feel the adrenaline coursing through their veins as they soon reached their turn.

The guard crouched down, deftly setting up a small, low table for the ggonji game. Without hesitation, the team followed suit, lowering themselves to the floor to better observe the game.

Player 001 leaned in, his calm, measured voice cutting through the tension. "You can do it, just stay calm," he reassured [Name], his words carrying a quiet confidence.

Gi-hun chimed in next, his tone gentle and encouraging. "Yeah, we still have plenty of time. It's alright if you fail the first or second time." 

Player 222 offered a subtle nod of encouragement, while Jung-bae gave [Name]'s shoulder a reassuring pat.

Taking a deep breath, [Name] closed their eyes for a moment. Let me cook, they opened their eyes, their hand moving with impressive speed as they began tossing and catching the stones in the air. The motions were a blur, so quick that the rest of the team struggled to keep track of the movements.

As [Name] effortlessly caught all the colorful stones, player 001, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, and player 222 slowly turned their heads towards the teen, their expressions transforming from trepidation to sheer shock and astonishment. [Name] had breezed through the expectedly hard game, leaving their teammates in a state of stunned disbelief.

[Name] couldn't help but feel a surge of quiet pride at their own performance, the satisfaction of having exceeded the expectations of their team fueling their ego.

As [Name] opened their palm to reveal the stones, The circle-masked guard formed an ‘O’ with their arms along the announcer’s “Pass.”

The rest of the team hollered in excitement. As the guard cleared the table from their path, the team rose together, already chanting “One, two!” as they hobbled forward to the next challenge.

"We've got plenty of time!" Jung-bae pointed out, his voice carrying a reassuring cadence. The team pressed on, reaching the fourth event: Spinning Top.

With methodical precision, player 001 began wrapping the string around the top, his movements deliberate and focused. "There's no rush," Jung-bae reiterated, his gaze fixed on the other man's task. "We have time."

[Name] nodded in silent agreement, their analytical gaze studying the process with rapt attention. Once the string was wrapped tightly, player 001 threw the top forward, but instead of spinning gracefully, it clattered awkwardly to the floor, landing with a dull thud. The silence that followed was tense.

Gi-hun was the first to break the hush, his words laced with calm reassurance. "It's okay," he said, gesturing toward the steadily ticking timer. "We've got enough time."

Jung-bae responded with a quick nod, immediately locking arms with [Name] and player 222. "Yeah, let's not waste time. Let's go pick it up."

As one, the team began moving forward on their tied legs, chanting "One, two" in a steady rhythm. When they reached the fallen top, player 001 bent down to retrieve it, and the group reversed their steps, maintaining their coordinated pace as they made their way back to the Spinning Top zone.

"No fun passing everything without a hitch," Jung-bae commented, his tone laced with a surprisingly optimistic lilt.

Back in position, player 001 began wrapping the strings around the top once more, his movements precise and deliberate. Gi-hun and Jung-bae quickly stepped in, offering a steady stream of reassurance.

Why is he using his right hand? He's been using his left till now, [Name] narrowed their eyes.

"It's okay. Just stay calm," Gi-hun murmured, his voice low and soothing.

"Don't stress about it," Jung-bae chimed in, his hand reaching to give player 001's shoulder a reassuring squeeze from behind [Name].

With the strings secured, player 001 asked for a moment of space, and Gi-hun dutifully stepped back. Steeling his nerves, the older man drew back his arm and released the top, but instead of spinning gracefully, it defiantly flew backward, landing awkwardly in the ggonji zone. The silence that followed was deafening, a palpable tension settling over the group.

[Name] was already convinced that their chances of success had been irreparably compromised. It's joeover, they thought grimly.

"I'm sorry," player 001 muttered, his brow furrowed in a rare display of emotion.

Unfazed, Gi-hun swept his gaze across the team, his expression calm and reassuring. "Let's go pick it up," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Alright, come on."

With arms linked, the team shuffled backward, their coordinated movements carrying them back toward the ggonji zone.

"Are you sure you did this a lot as a kid?" Jung-bae quipped, a playful lilt coloring his words. "Throwing it backwards – now that's a skill."

As they reached the ggonji zone, player 001 bent down to retrieve the fallen top, but he remained hunched over for a few seconds longer than necessary. Jung-bae's brow furrowed.

"Get up, hurry. Are you taking a break or something?" the man pressed, his tone tinged with a sense of mounting urgency.

i can't keep defending you, [Name] lamented.

Player 001 straightened abruptly, quickly beginning to wrap the strings around the top once more. With arms linked, the team made their way back to the Spinning Top zone, the air thick with a tangible tension.

"Hang on, hang on," player 001 suddenly interjected, withdrawing his arms from [Name]'s and Gi-hun's. "Let me do this."

It was clear that the older man was growing increasingly frustrated. Ever since his first failed attempt, he had become noticeably quieter, his movements stiff and halting. The weight of the repeated mistakes was visibly wearing on him, making his throws more clumsy and his demeanor increasingly agitated.

As they arrived at the Spinning Top zone, player 001 rushed to throw the top forward. It wobbled briefly before clattering to the floor – another failed attempt.

We're all dead, [Name] thought, the teen's palm rising to cover their face in a gesture of despair.

[Name] couldn't help but notice player 001's increasing agitation, the older man running a hand through his hair in a visible display of frustration. While Gi-hun bent down to retrieve the fallen top, [Name] hesitantly reached out, gently patting the man on the back.

"Don't get them killed.." the teen murmured.

But player 001's response was anything but measured. "What the hell is wrong with me?!" he suddenly shouted, his voice raw with anger and anguish. The outburst startled everyone, causing [Name] and Jung-bae to recoil slightly, the latter instinctively clutching the teen's shoulders while hiding behind them.

Player 001's frustration continued to boil over as he screamed, and to everyone's horror, he suddenly slapped himself, hard, on both cheeks, berating himself.

[Name] couldn't help but watch the scene with a sense of fascination. He's actually crashing out, the teen thought, their eyebrows raised in disbelief at the older man's lil meltdown 

Gi-hun was quick to intervene, surging forward to grasp player 001's arms, effectively stilling the man's self-slapping actions. "No one is blaming you!" Gi-hun said, his voice firm.

The words seemed to have an immediate effect, the tension visibly easing from player 001's shoulders as he took a shaky breath. Sensing the opportunity, Gi-hun pressed on, his tone steadying. "Alright," he said, "take a deep breath, okay? Try to think back to when you had fun playing this."

Player 001 straightened up, his expression gradually shifting from one of frustration to a more focused one. Carefully wrapping the string around the top once more, he drew back his arm and threw it forward – [Name] noticed that he used his left hand this time –, the colorful spinning toy whirling gracefully on the floor.

The entire team erupted in cheers, their voices ringing out in pure delight – [Name]'s included this time, as the guard gestured for them to proceed.

Linking arms once more, the team hobbled forward to the final event: Jegi. It was Gi-hun's turn, and without hesitation, he began kicking the paper target, his movements steady and precise. He managed to reach four consistent kicks before the Jegi bounced farther than expected.

But before anyone could react, player 001 extended his right leg forward, pulling Gi-hun's left leg with him due to the tied ropes. The Jegi landed squarely on Gi-hun's left foot, eliciting a triumphant shout from Jung-bae.

"You did it!" the man exclaimed, his finger pointing accusingly at the Jegi before turning his gaze pointedly toward the guard, a proud grin spreading across his face.

The circle-masked guard raised their arms, forming an 'O'. That single, decisive gesture was all it took to send the team into an uproar of cheers and hollers, their voices echoing across the vast expanse of the yard.

Without wasting a moment, the group began marching hurriedly toward the finish line, their tied legs moving in perfect sync as they chanted "One, two!" in a steady rhythm.

As they crossed the finish line with just three seconds to spare, an overwhelming wave of relief and happiness swept over them. [Name] could feel the tension draining from their body.

"We did it!" Jung-bae shouted, his voice brimming with unsurpassed joy.

"Well done!" Gi-hun added, his face alight with a wide, genuine smile as he reached out to affectionately pat [Name]'s shoulder.

[Name] decided to forget about the fact that they were wishing to be gunned down just a few hours ago, this turned out to be fun in an agonizing way.

Player 001 reached out, giving [Name]'s head a gentle, reassuring pat. His voice brimmed with a sense of pride as he addressed the entire team. "We did. Every single one of us."

I'm so normal about this, [Name] pretended to be normal.

Gi-hun nodded in agreement, a warm smile spreading across his features. "Great job, everyone. Great job."

The team erupted into a collective celebration, their relief and joy palpable as they reveled in the fact that they had all survived the challenge. [Name] could feel Jung-bae shaking them enthusiastically, the older man's contagious energy threatening to pull the teen into the revelry.

These old men are too active, [Name] thought, their expression remaining relatively blank despite the team's exuberance.

But the joyous atmosphere was short-lived, as a sudden barrage of gunshots shattered the moment, the sharp, merciless sounds cutting through the room like a violent reminder of the true nature of these games. The team's heads snapped in unison toward the source of the noise, their expressions instantly sobering.

It was the other team – they hadn't made it in time. The guards stood over their motionless bodies, their guns still smoking as the final shots rang out.

The silence that followed was suffocating, the weight of the tragedy pressing down on them like a physical force. [Name]'s somewhat lighthearted expression shifted back to their default, neutral mask, reminded of their current situation.

The PA announcer's voice cut through the tense stillness, the tones matter-of-fact as they listed the numbers of the eliminated players.

 

☆

 

The five survivors were led back to the dormitory, the low murmur of chatter among the other players echoing through the space. But the moment their team stepped inside, the room fell deathly silent, every gaze turning toward them with an almost palpable weight.

[Name] could feel the burn of those eyes, the unspoken sentiment that their survival was somehow an inconvenience to the others.

Suck my dick, [Name] glared at anyone who made eye contact.

"They don't seem so happy to see us," player 001 remarked, his tone deliberately light, an attempt to cut through the stifling atmosphere.

With player 001 leading the way, the team made their way toward the familiar corner where they usually gathered. Yet the quiet tension lingered, an unspoken unease that seemed to permeate the very air around them.

As the group made their way across the dormitory, Jung-bae's enthusiastic wave suddenly caught [Name]'s attention. The teen followed the man's line of sight, their gaze settling upon the familiar figure of the mother and her son.

The moment the older woman's eyes landed on the team, her face was instantly alight with pure relief and joy. She and her son waved at [Name] and player 222 with a genuine warmth that was palpable, even from across the room.

"That sweet old lady," Jung-bae mused, his voice tinged with wistful longing. "I miss my mom."

[Name] sent a sidelong glance at the woman, their typically stoic expression softening ever so slightly in the face of the maternal tenderness radiating from her. Beside them, player 222 offered a respectful bow before continuing on, her stride matching [Name]'s as they moved through the dormitory.

But then, a familiar cheerful voice broke through the stillness. "Guys!" Dae-ho called out, his face lit up with a relieved grin as he approached the team.

Jung-bae turned, accepting the man's enthusiastic hug, while Dae-ho turned his attention to [Name] and player 222, his smile softening as he reached out to give their shoulders a reassuring pat.

"I knew you guys could do i!" he said, his words carrying a genuine warmth that seemed to push back against the cold, distrustful atmosphere.

[Name] couldn't help but feel a bit of gratitude, the teen's typically stoic expression softening ever so slightly in the face of Dae-ho's genuine concern and relief. In a world that had stripped them of their humanity, it was a small but significant reminder that not everyone in this place are pieces of trash.

Weirdo, [Name] shook their head and looked away, taking a seat on the stairs by the bunk beds.

The group settled in. Gi-hun took his usual spot at the far end, and player 222 sat on the lower staircases just in front of him. Player 001 sat beside Gi-hun, with [Name] taking the lower step in front of him, next to player 222. Dae-ho and Jung-bae sat nearby, completing the circle.

“I’m sorry about earlier, everyone,” player 001 spoke up, drawing the group’s attention. He was clearly referring to his struggles during the Spinning Top event.

“It was funny." [Name] bluntly commented.

Player 001 glanced at them, and smiled in amusement. Jung-bae patted his knee with a comforting smile, while dae-ho curiously tilted his head, unaware of what transpired since he wasn't on their team.

jung-bae pulled him aside, retelling the events of what happened earlier on their team's turn.

“Don’t be,” Gi-hun reassured player 001. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made the last kick.”

Player 001's attention shifted, the older man turning his gaze toward player 222, his tone gentle as he addressed her. "Ms. 222, are you feeling alright?"

"Yes," she replied quietly, a small smile gracing her lips. "Thank you all for letting me be on your team."

[Name] reached out, giving the woman's back a gentle pat. "We should be glad that you joined us," the teen said, their voice carrying a subtle warmth.

Player 222's expression shifted, her gaze meeting [Name]'s in evident surprise before she smiled softly, the bashfulness evident in the way she lowered her head slightly.

"She smashed that Ddakji and flipped it on her first try," Jung-bae chimed in, his tone light and admiring. "That was impressive."

Player 222's smile grew wider at the praise, though the bashfulness remained, her expression radiating a quiet sense of pride.

"She did great, even while carrying a baby," Jung-bae added, his words tinged with a hint of awe. "We were lucky she joined our team.”

"What about your Flying Stone play? You said you hit it with one shot," Dae-ho exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with admiration. "You must have been like Kim Byung-hyun! Ahh, I wish I saw it!”

Laughter rippled through the group, the infectious mirth drawing a chuckle even from player 001. Jung-bae shook his head, his own chuckles mingling with the rest.

Turning to [Name], Jung-bae asked, "And you? Were you a gonggi champion at school or something?"

The man then proceeded to dramatically mimic [Name]'s swift, precise movements during the Gonggi challenge, adding exaggerated sound effects as if reenacting a particularly fierce battle. "I could barely see your hands, it was like watching a martial arts movie!"

[Name] couldn't help but scoff under their breath, the teen's typically stoic expression betraying the slightest hint of amusement. "I'm just that good," they replied, their tone dry.

Jung-bae let out a boisterous laugh, his hand reaching out to give [Name]'s shoulder a hearty pat, a wide grin spreading across his face. "So humble too!" he chuckled, not noticing the teen's aversion to his touch.

“That good?” Dae-ho leaned forward with a wide smile, “We should play it together sometime, Let's see who's better, huh? I used to often play it with my older sisters, I'm a seasoned pro.” he challenged.

“I'm beating your ass small man,” [Name] replied swiftly, the team chuckled at the teen's immediate sharp response.

Jung-bae’s tone was light but his expression betrays a hint of genuine curiosity as he paused, "Oh, wait," he asked, "Do your parents know you're here?"

[Name]'s expression hardened at the dreaded question, the teen's typically stoic mask slipping for the briefest of moments as they steeled themselves to respond. "My mother is dead," they stated, their voice devoid of any outward emotion. "And my father... I'm not even sure if I could call him that anymore. He's here somewhere."

The shift in the group's mood was immediate, the laughter and levity that had just moments ago filled the air now replaced by an oppressive silence. Concern and disbelief etched across their features as they absorbed [Name]'s words.

Jung-bae tilted his head, his tone cautious as he spoke. "He's... here?" The man's gaze instinctively began to scan the dormitory, as if he might somehow be able to discern the identity of [Name]'s father from the crowd of players.

"I saw him during the game earlier," [Name] murmured, their fingers fidgeting with the zipper of their jacket as they spoke.

The group fell silent, their gazes fixed intently on the teen. The weight of their attention felt heavy, and [Name] couldn't help but glance around, catching the curious and concerned expressions etched across their teammates' faces.

"I'm not planning on approaching him, if that's what you're thinking," the teen stated in a monotonous tone. "His brain can paint the wall for all I care."

The blunt remark drew a few startled gasps from Jung-bae and Dae-ho, while player 222's eyes widened in evident surprise. Only player 001 and Gi-hun seemed to understand the deep-seated resentment in [Name]'s words.

"Wh-what?" Dae-ho hesitantly began, his tone uncertain as he debated whether to pry further. "What did he do...?" he finally asked.

"Kicked me out when I got expelled from the academy..and some other stuff," [Name] replied, their voice betraying a hint of detachment as they absentmindedly curled a strand of hair around their finger.

Player 001 furrowed his brow, thinking back on [Name]'s file with a slight clench of his fists. Gi-hun pursed his lips, seemingly agitated at [Name] vague last words.

The team exchanged looks of concern and barely concealed anger at the revelation. It was no wonder [Name] had become such a hardened individual at their young age.

Gi-hun lowered his head, his mind racing as he regarded the teen with a glance. They weren't even out of high school. this kid... just what have they gone through? What did that father of theirs do to elicit such burning hatred from his own child?

"That bastard…! where is he??" Jung-bae suddenly exclaimed, rising from his seat with narrowed eyes as he scanned the dormitory. "I'll give him a piece of my mind!" he declared, his dramatic outburst underscoring the depth of his indignation.

"Sit your ass down..!" [Name] hissed, quickly pulling the older man back down. "I'm not planning on grabbing his attention. I'd rather ignore his existence."

The teen's words, laced with a fierceness that belied their typically stoic demeanor, seemed to quell Jung-bae's righteous fury, the man reluctantly settling back into his seat. The group fell silent once more, the air thick with a palpable unease as they tried to process the weight of [Name]'s confession.

Suddenly, Dae-ho pushed himself up from his seat, his usual boundless energy radiating as he stepped confidently into the center of the group. "Listen," he began, his tone light, "Perhaps we should learn each other's names. I still don't know your names, gentlemen. Or yours, Miss, kid." He glanced warmly at player 222 and [Name].

Straightening his posture, Dae-ho continued, "I'll start. I'm Kang Dae-ho. 'Dae' means big, and 'ho' means tiger." He gestured by curling his fingers like claws.

Jung-bae chuckled lightly, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Oh, 'big tiger.' Cool name. My name is Park Jung-bae. 'Righteous' and 'twice.' My parents wanted me to be twice as righteous,"

Player 222 hesitated briefly before introducing herself, her voice soft yet clear. "My name is Kim Jun-hee. I don't know what it means, though."

The group greeted her introduction with warm smiles. Player 001's voice softened as he turned to address Jun-hee directly. "Jun-hee, when you get out of here, go see a doctor right away. You've been under a lot of stress. You need to get yourself checked out."

"Okay," Jun-hee replied, her voice small but tinged with a profound gratitude for the older man's concern.

As Dae-ho's gaze settled upon the teen, the man's usual enthusiasm was tempered by a hint of genuine curiosity. "And you, kid?" he prompted, his tone gentle. "What's your name?"

[Name] hesitated, their typical stoicism momentarily giving way to a flicker of uncertainty. But in the faces of their teammates, they found not judgment, but a quiet acceptance – a silent acknowledgment that they were more than just a player, that their identity still held value.

[Name] met Dae-ho's gaze, their voice measured. "My name is [Name]," they replied.

For [Name], the act of sharing their name was not just a formality, but a refusal to be reduced to a mere number, a faceless participant. They didn't like it anyway, Number 443.

And as the team welcomed [Name] into their fold, the teen couldn't help but lower their head. Am I supposed to be enjoying this? Should I? Can I?

Finally, player 001 spoke up, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. "I'm Oh Young-il."

[Name] couldn't help but stare at the older man, their gaze practically boring holes into him. This is the coolest man alive, the teen thought to themselves, their typically stoic expression shifting ever so slightly with a hint of awe.

"Young-il?" Jung-bae repeated, his brow furrowing in bewilderment.

"Yes," Young-il replied, his tone calm and measured as he gestured towards his player number. "Young-il sounds like 'zero one,' and that's my number. Easy to remember."

Dae-ho's eyes suddenly lit up, the man's face breaking out into a wide grin as he pointed excitedly at the number on Young-il's uniform. "Oh, that's true! Your name is your number!" he exclaimed, the realization dawning on him like a bolt of lightning.

[Name] couldn't help but shoot the older man a sidelong glance, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of their lips. "Yeah. What a coincidence, huh?" the teen murmured.

They're onto me, Young-il thought to himself, glancing at the teen.

Even his name is cool, the teen mused.

Young-il turned to the man beside him, his brow furrowing with a curious expression. "Oh, Gi-hun. What's your last name?"

Gi-hun replied, "My name is Seong Gi-hun." His gaze flicked briefly to the rest of the group, his introduction drawing nods and murmurs of acknowledgment from the others.

Young-il, however, tilted his head thoughtfully, a flash of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Oh," he remarked, his lips curving into a grin, "But 'Seong' literally means 'last name.'"

The man erupted into a hearty laugh, his mirth infectious as it filled the air. The rest of the group, however, stared at him with a mix of bewilderment and bemusement, seemingly not quite catching on to the dad joke.

[Name] couldn't help but blink blankly at the man, their typically stoic expression in place. Goofy ahh old man, the teen mused, their mental assessment tinged with a touch of exasperated amusement.

A blaring beeping noise suddenly echoed through the dormitory, its shrill tone cutting through the relative calm that had settled over the group. As if on cue, the main double doors swung open, and the familiar barbie pink guards marched in, their movements precise and mechanical.

At the front of the procession, the square-masked manager stood, his authoritative presence commanding the attention of the gathered players. [Name] and the rest of the group turned to watch, many rising from their seats or stepping away from their makeshift hangout spots, their expressions a mix of trepidation and anticipation.

"Congratulations to all of you for making it through the second game," the guard announced, his voice amplified by the dormitory's sterile acoustics. Raising a remote control, he continued, "Here are the results of the second game."

With a click, the dormitory lights dimmed, bathing the room in the eerie glow of the piggy bank suspended near the ceiling. The familiar sound of money dropping filled the air as stacks of bills cascaded into the transparent bank, the sight captivating the attention of nearly every player in the room.

[Name]'s gaze flickered across the sea of faces, taking in the greedy, hungry expressions that had overtaken the rest of the players. Pigs, the teen inwardly sneered.

When the flow of money finally ceased, the guard spoke again. "The prize accumulated to this point is 20.1 billion won. Since there are 255 players remaining, each person's share is 78,823,530 won."

The announcement was met with a sudden outburst of disgruntled murmurs and complaints. "Wait, what, that's it? That's not even 100 million!" a random player cried out.

"Only 110 people died? Is that seriously it? Did you count them right?" a woman nearby chimed in, her tone laced with a barely concealed frustration.

"That's all? But you shot all those people! Count them again!" More and more voices joined the chorus of discontent, the players vocalizing their unmet standards for the money accumulated.

Unfazed by the growing din, the square-masked guard started calmly. "I completely understand your disappointment. However, we keep the door open for you to pursue new opportunities. You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue or end the games."

The weight of the guard's words hung in the air, the players falling into a tense, contemplative silence as they grappled with the gravity of the decision before them. For [Name], the choice was a simple one – to end the game, surviving here or outside. It was the same fate either way, they might as well leave with the money they accumulated.

But as the teen's gaze swept across the faces of the contestants, they couldn't help but wonder if the allure of the money would prove too strong, their thirst and unresistable greed for riches blinding them to the true consequences.

Retards, [Name] rolled their eyes.

The circle-masked guards moved with practiced efficiency, swiftly setting up the voting equipment as the square-masked guard continued his address. "Whether to continue the games for a bigger prize or to stop here is entirely your choice," he stated, his tone neutral yet carrying a subtle weight. "Please feel free to exercise your right to choose in a democratic manner."

The players were given a brief respite as the final preparations were made, and [Name] found themselves gravitating towards the edge of a staircase, their fingers absentmindedly toying with the zipper of their jacket.

It was in this moment of quiet contemplation that Gi-hun's voice broke through the teen's thoughts. "[Name]," he called, drawing their gaze upwards.

Gi-hun stepped down onto the same staircase, positioning himself on [Name]'s left. The older man's expression was one of earnest concern as he spoke. "If the vote goes our way and we leave this game," he began, his tone sincere, "memorize my phone number. And contact me. I want to help you... you can even come and live with me, I can't leave you in the streets."

[Name] felt a subtle shift within them, a flicker of surprise and cautious curiosity at Gi-hun's unexpected offer. Yet, beneath the surface, a deep-rooted sense of skepticism remained. Why would this man, a virtual stranger, go to such lengths to help them? What could he possibly stand to gain from doing something so selfless?

Lowering their gaze, [Name] murmured, "...Why?"

Gi-hun tilted his head, a single eyebrow raised in mild confusion. "Hm?"

"Why would you do that?" [Name] elaborated, their eyes meeting Gi-hun's with an unwavering gaze, their expression betraying none of the emotions they were mentally battling. "You barely know me."

Gi-hun stared at the teen, his brow furrowing in a mix of astonishment and concern. "So what?" he responded, his voice tinged with a hint of indignation. "What kind of person would I be if I went on with my life, knowing a kid like you is sleeping on the streets?"

[Name]'s eyebrow arched slightly, their tone laced with a sharp edge. "But I'm not the only one, are you going to save all the other kids on the street too?"

Caught off guard by the teen's logical line of questioning, Gi-hun found himself momentarily speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish as he grappled with a response. For [Name], the man's sudden silence was more telling than any words he could have offered – a stark reminder that his altruistic impulse, while seemingly genuine, was likely rooted in a need to assuage his own conscience rather than a true, selfless desire to help.... but what do they know, am I right? they're just a homeless 16 year old.

"Appreciate the sentiment, but I don't need it," [Name] shook their head, earning them a frown from gi-hun.

[Name]'s gaze shifted away from Gi-hun, their eyes sweeping across the dormitory as they noticed the other players beginning to gather at the far end of the room. The circle-masked guards appeared to have completed the setup for the voting process.

Without uttering another word, [Name] rose from their perch on the staircase and left Gi-hun's side, making their way towards the growing crowd. The noise of the group and the steady hum of activity around them served to dull the turmoil swirling within the teen's mind, but try as they might, they couldn't quite silence the nagging doubts that continued to plague them.

What the hell am I even considering? [Name] inwardly scoffed, their brow furrowing in a mix of frustration and disbelief at themselves. Getting help from him? Give me a fuckin break, [Name].

It wasn't that Gi-hun had done anything to explicitly betray their trust – the man's offer had, after all, been tinged with a genuine concern and sincerity that had caught the teen off guard. But in [Name]'s experience, that kind of kindness often came with strings attached. And in this game, where friendly alliances and loyalties could shift in the blink of an eye, the teen couldn't afford to let their guard down, not even with their 'teammates'.

As they reached the edge of the crowd, [Name] found themself swept up in the charged atmosphere, the players' voices rising in a cacophony of speculation and debate. Some argued passionately for continuing the games, their eyes alight with the promise of wealth and paying off their crippling debts, while others begged for ending it, their faces etched with a mix of fear and desperation.

The square-masked guard's voice suddenly cut through the murmurs and chatter. "This time, the vote will begin with player 001," he announced, his tone authoritative. "Player 001, please cast your vote."

[Name] remained focused on the front of the room, their eyes trained on the unfolding events. Yet, the subtle sound of movement behind them did not go unnoticed. A familiar presence brushed past, and [Name] glanced sideways to see the imposing figure of player 001 – Oh Young-il – making his way towards the voting counter.

As Young-il passed by them, the teen couldn't help but notice the older man's gaze briefly settle upon them, his expression unreadable. To [Name]'s surprise, Young-il offered them a slight smile before continuing on his path, the gesture leaving the teen momentarily perplexed.

Raising a single eyebrow, [Name] contemplated the meaning behind Young-il's subtle smile, but ultimately decided to dismiss it, turning their attention back to the voting process at hand. At the counter, Young-il pressed the X button, the deep ping of the system echoing through the dormitory. The tally on the large TV screen updated immediately, and the man proceeded to remove his O patch, replacing it with the bold red X before stepping into the designated X zone.

It wasn't long before Gi-hun stepped up beside [Name], joining the rest of their team. The older man glanced down at the teen, his gaze briefly flickering towards their O patch, but he remained silent.

Glancing back at the man with the ugly taper fade, [Name] spoke up blatantly. “I'm voting X, I'm getting bored here…and everyone stinks.” 

Gi-hun nodded in understanding, relieved that [Name] wasn't voting to stay again.

“I stink..?” Dae-ho murmured, pulling at his jacket to sniff himself. Jung-bae discreetly doing the same thing.

Player 006 was the next to step forward, their stride purposeful as they approached the voting counter. With a decisive motion, they pressed the X button, the deep ping echoing through the dormitory as the tally on the TV screen was updated.

Then came player 007 – the son from the mother-and-son duo. Just as he was about to make his way to the counter, his mother reached out, gently grasping his arm.

"Yong-sik, don't get any foolish ideas," she warned, her tone laced with a mix of concern and pragmatism. "If we put our money together, it'd be over 150 million. We'll pay off your debt with it and use the rest to open a produce store or something. Okay?"

Yong-sik's gaze fell, his expression contemplative as he nodded wordlessly and stepped towards the voting booth. His eyes lingered on the buttons for a moment, a flicker of indecision playing across his features. With a glance towards the tally displayed on the screen, he finally pressed the O button, the affirmative chime ringing out.

[Name] couldn't help but inwardly scoff at the scene, their gaze shifting towards the mother's shocked expression. What a betrayal, huh? the teen mused. What did she expect from her gambling-addicted son? Of course he'll gamble his, and her life away for the slim chance of more money.

As the voting process continued, the numbers shifting on the screen, [Name] couldn't help but notice the growing absurdity of the tie that was beginning to form. Despite witnessing so much death, so many players were still willing to risk their lives for the promise of unimaginable wealth.

"The greed of humans never fails to disgust me," [Name] murmured, their voice flat and devoid of emotion. The comment drew a brief, nervous glance from Jung-bae

With a subtle shift in their stance, [Name] observed the unfolding drama, noticing the reactions of players at their friends' unexpected decisions.

Oh it's all coming together now, The teen hummed, crossing their arms.

As the voting process continued, [Name] observed with a detached interest as several more players stepped forward, each selecting the O button. The tally climbed steadily, the score reading X: 33 | O: 36 when suddenly, Gi-hun pushed his way through the crowd, the older man's movements urgent and agitated.

[Name] watched him with half-lidded eyes, a subtle flicker of exasperation crossing their features. Did he learn nothing from last time? the teen wondered, bracing themself for the inevitable disruption Gi-hun was about to cause–and the second-hand embarrassment that would come with it.

Emerging from the crowd, Gi-hun turned to face [Name] and the other unvoters, his voice loud and tinged with desperation. "Everyone!" he cried out, drawing the attention of the room.

Just as Gi-hun's outburst threatened to devolve into chaos, a new voice cut through the din, sharp and commanding. "Are you all out of your minds?!", [Name]'s gaze snapped towards the sound, and they were momentarily surprised to see the figure of Oh Young-il stepping forward from the X zone.

The man moved to stand in the middle of the X and O areas, his piercing gaze sweeping across the players. "You still want to keep going after watching all those people die?" Young-il shouted, his tone laced with a rare intensity. "Who's to say you won't die in the next game? We have to stop. We'll all die if we keep going! Come to your senses, and leave with that money. You've got to survive first, or there won't be a next step."

[Name] couldn't help but feel a flicker of admiration for Young-il's impassioned plea, the older man's words resonating with a logic that seemed to cut through the players' collective frenzy. Where Gi-hun's outbursts had often been fueled by emotion, Young-il's arguments were grounded in cold, hard pragmatism.

The tense silence that had settled over the room was suddenly shattered by the booming voice of player 100, the older man stepping forward from the crowd of O voters. "What do you think we can do with a mere 70 million?" Mr. 10 billion in debt yelled, his words laced with a palpable frustration.

[Name] couldn't help but inwardly scoff at the player's outburst. Speak for yourself, pig, they thought, their gaze narrowing as they observed the old man's self-serving display.

"I don't know how much you owe, but for most people here, that doesn't even cover 10% of their debt," player 100 continued, his voice rising with each word. "There's no next step for us! That money won't change anything!"

The teen's eyes rolled as another O voter chimed in, their tone equally desperate. "Yes, he's right! With that amount of money, I won't last long!"

Turning his attention towards the unvoters, player 100 pressed on, his argument taking on a more calculated edge. "It was 25 million after the first game, and now it's 76 million!" he exclaimed, the tally on the screen lending credence to his words. "After just one more game, the prize will be at least 240 million! That's the kind of money that can actually change lives!"

As the crowd erupted into a chorus of murmurs and nods, [Name] remained indifferent, their gaze sweeping across the players with a detached sense of amusement. They're all so transparent, the teen mused, their lips curling into the faintest of mocking smirks, which they slightly hid behind their palm. It's almost insulting how these people survived till now In life.

A petite woman suddenly spoke up, her voice trembling with a palpable anguish. "But I can't do this anymore," she cried, the tears streaming down her face as all eyes turned towards her.

[Name] recognized the woman from the Six Legs pentathlon, where she had been part of the same team as the mother-son duo and player 120. Her body shook with the intensity of her sobs, the gut-wrenching sound cutting through the tense silence.

"Please. Please let me out of here," she begged, her words laced with raw desperation. "I really want to go home. I don't want to die..."

As the young woman's cries echoed through the dormitory, [Name] regarded her with a blank, dispassionate gaze, their eyes distant and detached from the reality unfolding before them. What a sad scene, the teen mused, their thughts dry, It's quite unfortunate that nobody would give a fuck.

The heavy silence that followed her pleas was broken only by the sound of her quiet sobbing, a heart-wrenching sound that seemed to tug at the very fabric of the room. Then, another O voter spoke up, his expression etched with a palpable guilt, though his resolve to stay was clear.

"Young lady, you're young, so you'd probably have another chance," he said, his voice trembling with the weight of his own internal turmoil. "But I don't."

Clasping her hands together in a desperate gesture, player 095 begged once more, her cries gut-wrenching. "Please..."

The O voter continued, his gaze downcast as he struggled to find the words. "My family and I have no future," he admitted, his voice breaking. "My business failed, and now I owe over 500 million. I've got to make at least half of that here if I want a real shot at a fresh start.”

Young-il's voice suddenly cut through the tense silence, his words laced with a stark pragmatism. "What if you die?" he challenged, his gaze sweeping across the O voters. "If you die here, your family won't even get your body. Then it'd be the end for you and your family!"

The O voter stared at Young-il, his expression shifting as the weight of the older man's words began to sink in. Casting his gaze downward, he fell silent, prompting Young-il to press further. "Don't you see?" he urged.

But just as Young-il's argument seemed to be gaining traction, a sudden outburst drew the attention of the entire room. Player 226 – a greedy pig not unlike player 100 – stepped forward, his voice booming.

"Don't get fucking scared!" he spat, his eyes narrowed with a mix of arrogance and determination. "Ddakji, Red Light, Green Light, Spinning Top! It's not like the games are that difficult."

Pointing towards the tally displayed on the screen, he continued, "Look. There are still 258 players. Way more than half of us survived! We've made it this far, so let's do this one more time!"

A scathing scoff caught the man's attention, and all eyes turned to [Name] as the teen stepped forward, their arms crossed and a sardonic, mocking smile playing on their lips.

"Bitch please, I can paint with all the colors of your ignorance," [Name] drawled, their gaze fixed sharply on the player. "Do you really believe yourself to be so competent, that you could pass all the upcoming games like a champ? Give me a break, asshole, this isn't preschool, you're not getting a 'It's okay, try again!', you're getting a bullet through your fucking skull."

With confident strides, [Name] closed the distance between them, their voice dripping with venom. "And you know what? I'll watch as your brain matter paints the wall, and spit on your corpse," they hissed, punctuating their words with a rough poke to the man's chest.

The confrontation seemed to reverberate through the room, the players' expressions a mix of shock, fear, and, in some cases, a reluctant agreement with [Name]'s scathing assessment. Gi-hun quickly reached out, grabbing [Name]'s arm and pulling the teen back before they could incite further conflict. The older man's expression was one of concern, a silent plea for [Name] to exercise some restraint.

Player 226 looked furious, his face twisting with rage as he prepared to lash out. But before he could utter a word, he was met with a withering death stare from Oh Young-il, the other man's imposing presence effectively silencing the greedy player. Reluctantly, 226 stepped back, a sneer still etched upon his features.

Seizing the opportunity, player 100 stepped forward, his voice taking on a conciliatory tone. "Ignore that uneducated child," he said, his gaze flickering to [Name]. "You already made such a good point, young man. That's right! We've all played the games well and are still standing! Now, let's play one more game! Just one more, and that's it! Let's play just one more game!"

"Yeah, let's play one more game!" player 226 echoed, his earlier hostility seemingly forgotten in the face of the growing fervor.

"One more game!" player 100 began to chant, the phrase quickly spreading through the dormitory as a majority of the players picked up the rallying cry. The sheer volume of the chanting made [Name]'s head throb, the teen's expression one of barely concealed disgust.

These pigs will keep doing this forever, [Name] thought, their eyes narrowing as they observed the scene unfold. One more..one more..one more! Until there is no one left. And they'll probably still go on.

As the chanting reached a fever pitch, [Name] couldn't help but wonder if any of these players truly understood their shitty situation. Were they so consumed by their own desires and greed that they had lost sight of the true consequences of their actions? Or were they simply clinging to the faint hope of a better future, no matter the damnable risks?

Regardless, [Name] knew that they would have to bear witness to the aftermath of the players' choices, their own fate linked to the outcome of the vote.

I did the math, and everything is fucking stupid, [Name] bitterly thought as they stood between gi-hun and jung-bae. Arms still crossed and eyebrows furrowed.

Time seemed to drag on as the voting process continued, the cacophony of voices and the shifting tally on the screen blurring into a dizzying cacophony that [Name] had long since tuned out. Lost in their own thoughts, the teen's detached gaze swept across the room.

Suddenly, the brush of a passing body jolted [Name] from their contemplation, and they glanced up with an irritated look, a sharp quip on the tip of their tongue. But the words caught in their throat as they recognized the figure who had just brushed by them.

It was him again – the man they had once called "Father," his weary eyes locked resolutely forward as he approached the voting counter, his number called (046). A surge of visceral emotion welled up within [Name], their blood boiling at the blatant disregard for their very existence.

He knows damn well that I'm here, the teen thought, their disturbing glare burning holes into the back of the old man's head. Yet he refuses to even spare them a glance. It's the same as it's always been – just a lot easier for him to ignore them now that they barely have any connection left, after he so callously disowned and abandoned them.

[Name]'s fingers clenched and unclenched, the aching need to lash out coursing through their veins. They yearned to bash in his skull with a sledgehammer, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain and anguish he had inflicted upon them.

It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter-.

The refrain echoed relentlessly within [Name]'s mind, a constant mantra that threatened to drown out all else. It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter… The words looped endlessly.

Suddenly, a firm grip on their shoulders jolted [Name] from their internal spiral, and they turned to find Gi-hun's worried gaze locked upon them.

"[Name]!" the older man exclaimed, his voice laced with concern. "Are you alright..? Your number is being called."

[Name] stared at Gi-hun blankly, their expression devoid of any discernible emotion. Without a word, they simply pushed past the man, their steps measured as they made their way towards the voting counter. Something had clicked in their mind – or perhaps it had snapped.

[Name] didn't hesitate, their hand pressing the O button with a quiet conviction. They didn't so much as glance at their team, already aware of the shock and disappointment that would be etched upon their faces – especially gi-hun’s.

Turning, [Name] took their place in the O zone, their gaze trained on the wall, their thoughts a whirlwind of indifference and detachment. The world around them seemed to fade away, the voices and the shifting tally on the screen fading into a muted background as the teen retreated further into their own mind.

It doesn't matter. the mantra continued, a desperate attempt to compose themselves after that foolish slip-up.

Soon, the final vote from Gi-hun echoed through the room with a deep, resounding ping, and the TV screen flashed to life, the tally updated for all to see. X: 116 | O: 142. It was a complete and expected defeat for the X side.

The square-masked guard's voice cut through the din of cheering O voters – a sound that, save for [Name], seemed to reverberate through the room. "The results are 142 for O and 116 for X. Based on the majority vote, we will proceed to the third game tomorrow. Thank you."

As the players began to disperse, [Name] surveyed the scene with a detached gaze. In the X zone, Jun-hee stood alongside Dae-ho, their expressions etched with a mix of resignation and disappointment. Facing them, Young-il's posture was tense, the weight of the loss evident in every line of his body.

And there, by the voting counter, was Gi-hun, his disheartened expression making it painfully clear that he hadn't expected such a crushing defeat. But what seemed to sting the older man the most was Jung-bae's and [Name]'s unexpected decision to vote for O – a betrayal that had clearly shaken the team's morale.

As Gi-hun's saddened gaze met [Name]'s, a fleeting moment of guilt washed over them, which was quickly extinguished as they turned away, their footsteps carrying them back towards their bunk bed.

 

For [Name], the outcome of the vote, the reactions of their teammates – it all felt so distant, so inconsequential. They had made their choice for a reason significant to them only, a change of heart they had in the middle of the voting process, and they would have to live with the consequences, whatever they may be.

 

✧

 

Notes:

My hands are crushed under two elephants and a boeing 787-9 someone please.

 

Ohhh what a twiisssttt 😲 I sure hope [Name] isn't thinking of doing something real funny at the mingle game.

Chapter 4: Mingle

Summary:

[Name] gets a divine revelation or something.

Notes:

Hey, it's me again, after a day of posting the last chapter, haha.

You'd better enjoy.

 

✧

 

The dormitory buzzed with activity as the pink-clad guards busied themselves with setting up food stations, while the remaining players mingled and chatted, the tension of the recent vote palpable in the air. 

Amidst the flurry of movement, [Name] stood by their bunk, observing with a bored gaze as the guards began the task of dissembling the bunk beds belonging to the eliminated players. they watched the grim efficiency with which the mattresses were stripped and piled aside.

What a waste, [Name] mused, the thought tinged with a hint of wry amusement. Hopping down from their perch, the teen approached one of the guards, their hands coming to rest on the discarded mattress.

"Can I take it?" [Name] asked, their head tilting to the side in a gesture that was almost childlike, their expression strikingly blank.

The guard looked up, their invisible gaze just as blank as they slowly shook their head.

Undeterred, [Name] pressed on, their grip tightening on the mattress. "How could you say no? I'm already not supposed to be here, don't you think a poor kid like me deserves to have this at least? Give it to me," they insisted, their tone tinged with a hint of petulance.

The guard hesitated for a moment, and that was all the opening [Name] needed. With a swift motion, the teen yanked the mattress free, dragging it towards their bunk with a victorious grin.

Ignoring the baffled stares of the nearby players, [Name] set the mattress atop their original one, plopping down with a contented sigh. That hits the spot, they thought, relishing the added height.

Not that the bed was suddenly more comfortable, of course. But for [Name], the simple act of taking what they desired without regard for the rules or consequences, was satisfying enough.

Surveying the open area, [Name] couldn't help but notice the growing lines of players queuing up to collect their dinner. A cursory glance revealed that the food was different from the lunchboxes of the previous day.

Climbing down from their elevated perch, the teen joined the queue, determined not to let it grow any more agonizingly long. As it came to their turn, they accepted the plain milk carton and... whatever the curious-looking object on their hand was meant to be.

Shrugging off the uncertainty, [Name] turned and headed in a random direction, already unwrapping the bread-like item and taking a tentative bite. I've eaten worse, they mused, the faint shrug of their shoulders betraying a sense of indifference. Whether this was a culinary delight or a radioactive experiment, it hardly mattered.

But just as [Name] was about to continue on their way, a frantic movement caught their eye, drawing their gaze across the room. There, amidst the sea of players, was the old mother, her wrinkled face alight with a warm smile as she waved eagerly at the teen.

[Name] felt the faintest flicker of irritation, their instinct to look away and simply continue on their path. But before they could, their arm was suddenly seized, a surprisingly strong grip tugging at their sleeve.

"Young child, come here, join us!" Player 249 exclaimed, her voice tinged with a motherly affection that made [Name]'s skin crawl. "You're not eating all alone, are you? Come on, sit with us."

Release me, you old crone, [Name] silently lamented, the frown deepening on their features even as they allowed themselves to be dragged towards the cluster of players huddled in the corner between the bunks.

There, they found Player 120, Player 096, and Player 249's own son, Player 007, all sitting together like a group of misfits'.

They're still sitting together? [Name] couldn't help but raise a skeptical eyebrow at the sight, their gaze shifting from 007's O patch to 120's, before sweeping over the old lady and the petite girl with a silent, judgmental appraisal. Are these two just too forgiving? Or simply gullible? they wondered, a flicker of astonishment passing across their features as they reluctantly took a temporary seat amongst the group.

The old mother, Player 249, beamed brightly as [Name] was ushered into their small gathering, her wrinkled face alight with a warm, maternal glow.

"There you go, little one!" she exclaimed, her weathered hand coming to rest gently on [Name]'s shoulder. "I'm so glad you decided to join us. We were worried you might be sitting all alone...I was so scared when I saw you! You're awfully young to be forced here!"

Her gaze swept over [Name]'s face, a hint of concern creasing her brow. "You know... I couldn't help but notice your vote earlier. It must have been a difficult decision to make." Her voice dropped to a soft, soothing tone. "aren't you scared? is someone pressuring you?"

[Name] felt a twinge of irritation at the old woman's prying, their jaw tightening ever so slightly. They knew she meant well, but the teen couldn't help but bristle at the implication that their choices required explanation or justification.

Shifting in their seat, [Name] locked eyes with the old mother, their expression unreadable. "There's nothing to talk about," they murmured, their tone clipped and dismissive. "I made my choice, and that's that."

But despite their best efforts to shut down the conversation, [Name] could see the determination burning in the old woman's gaze. She was not one to be easily dissuaded, it seemed.

"I understand," she replied, her voice gentle and patient as she slowly nodded. "...no, I don't understand. What would a young child like you do with the money? I'm sure your parents are worried about you sweetie."

[Name] felt a flicker of something akin to discomfort at the woman's words, a tightness in their chest that they couldn't quite place. The notion of being seen, of having someone reach out with such empathy, was foreign to them. 

The low voice of Player 007 cut through the tentative exchange, the curly haired man nudging his mother with a concerned frown. "Ma, cut it out... the kid's clearly uncomfortable."

But Player 249 would have none of it, waving her son away with a huff. "Oh, hush! You don't get to talk." 

Refocusing her attention on [Name], the old woman's features softened into a gentle smile. "Here, take my milk," she murmured, her weathered hand reaching out to gently grasp the teen's. "I'm sure you need it more than me. At your young age, you need to grow stronger."

Without a word, [Name] found the milk carton being pressed into their palm, their fingers curling around the offering almost reflexively. Free food, they mused, the thought barely registering as they maintained their stoic expression. 

While they doubted they could actually drink the entire contents, the teen decided it was logical not to refuse the old woman's offer since sustenance was sustenance. Tucking the milk away for later, [Name] simply nodded their head in silent acknowledgment, their gaze drifting away to survey the rest of the group.

The others – Player 120, player 096 and even Player 007 – watched the exchange with varying degrees of concern and empathy etched upon their features.

But despite the silent plea in their eyes, [Name] refused to be drawn in, to open themselves up to the kindness that these strangers so freely offered.

[Name]'s gaze drifted away, drawn almost automatically towards Gi-hun's group huddled in the far corner of the massive hall. The players were seated together, their meals consumed in a heavy, contemplative silence.

As if sensing the teen's scrutiny, Dae-ho looked up, and suddenly raised his arm in an exaggerated wave, the motion causing the rest of the group to turn and follow his gaze. 

[Name] blinked, the brief moment of eye contact with the other team quickly severed as they glanced back at the group they had been forcibly associated with. "...Thank you for the milk," they murmured, the words sounding almost begrudging as they rose to their feet, giving a low, almost unnoticeable bow. "I'll be taking my leave now."

"Come to me if you ever need anything, alright sweetie?!" Player 249 called out, her wrinkled face alight with a warm smile as she waved enthusiastically at the departing teenager. The rest of the group also gave brief waves.

Are all old ladies this nauseatingly maternal? [Name] sighed inwardly, the faint hint of exasperation coloring their features as they made their way across the dormitory. They were starting to feel a modicum of comfort with their original group of five – it's really too bad that they don't actually give a fuck and hate me and probably want to kill me with hammers for no reason.

[Name] settled into the familiar spot beside Jun-hee, the pregnant young woman's gentle demeanor offering a sense of relative safety amidst the group. At least with her, the teen knew they could fold her if needed – the others, however, were a different story.

But would they lose? Nah, I'd win.

After a brief moment of awkward silence, Dae-ho cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the O patch adorning [Name]'s chest.

"Are you... not gonna explain yourself, or..?" he asked, his arm dropping heavily onto his lap, the gesture betraying a hint of unease.

The awaited question drew the attention of the entire group, all eyes now trained on the teen, their curiosity palpable.

[Name] took a measured bite of their bread, their gaze unflinchingly fixed on the metal staircase before them. "None of your business," they replied, the words clipped and dismissive.

"Ah..." Dae-ho lowered his head, the man's awkwardness palpable as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

"I thought you wanted to leave," Young-il interjected, his voice calm and measured as he leaned forward slightly. "What changed your mind? I know it isn't the money."

The murmurs of confusion that followed were quick to erupt, both Dae-ho and Jung-bae chiming in with their own queries. "Not the money? Why would you stay here then?" Jung-bae asked, his brow furrowed in bewilderment.

[Name] fixed the man with a pointed stare, their expression unreadable. "Of course it's not the money," they scoffed, the disdain in their tone barely concealed. "I'm not a greedy pig like some."

The barb struck its mark, prompting Jung-bae to cough and hastily attempt to cover the O patch on his chest, a flash of shame crossing his features.

Gi-hun's voice, heavy with a deep sense of disappointment and worry, cut through the lingering silence. "Then why? Why would you risk your life?" he asked, his brow furrowed as he fixed [Name] with a searching gaze.

[Name] scoffed dryly. "I've been risking my life," they muttered. "What's the difference? Here or outside, they're equally deadly to me. At least here, I get to sleep on a damn bed and eat edible food."

The teen's words hung in the air, prompting a palpable hush to fall over the group. Sympathetic glances were thrown in [Name]'s direction, the gravity of their statement casting a somber pall over the gathered team.

How shitty must life outside have been, the others quietly wondered, for [Name] to willingly choose to remain in these games? The notion was a sobering one, a reminder that for some, the horrors of the outside world were perhaps no less perilous than the deadly games they now faced within these walls.

Gi-hun opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat, his expression a conflicted mix of empathy and concern. The others, too, remained silent, their gazes downcast as they each grappled with the implications of [Name]'s admission.

The teen, for their part, simply sat there, their shoulders set in a rigid posture, their features carefully composed. They had laid bare half of their truth, they couldn't tell them the real reasoning of their choice to stay, lest they attempt to get in the way of their plan.

Young-il stared at [Name] with an intense gaze, his sharp gaze holding a knowing look. [Name] ignored him by taking a sip from their milk.

 

☆

 

The PA announcement echoed through the dormitory, the female voice cutting through the din. "Lights out in ten minutes. Please prepare for bedtime."

The group was in the midst of executing Gi-hun's plan – a strategic arrangement of the sparse furnishings to create a secure sleeping area, a fortified enclave beneath the elevated beds and on the floor in between. Though not without a few initial questions and doubts, the team had rallied together, each taking on their assigned tasks.

[Name] couldn't help but feel a modicum of respect for Gi-hun's forethought, the teen having entertained a similar idea themselves after making so many potential enemies with their sharp tongue. No regrets though.

The men handled the more physically demanding aspects, carrying and arranging the mattresses, their movements methodical and efficient as they transformed the open space into a protected fort. Meanwhile, [Name] and Jun-hee busied themselves with the lighter duties, gathering pillows and blankets and standing off to the side, observing the proceedings with a wary eye.

But not everyone seemed equally enthused about the plan, Jung-bae's voice tinged with doubt and exasperation as he voiced his concerns. "Is this really necessary? I don't like sleeping under there."

Gi-hun, ever the pragmatist, was quick to explain the rationale. "Once the lights go out, somebody might attack us," he stated matter-of-factly, his gaze sweeping over the group.

Dae-ho, crouched beside Jun-hee, looked up with wide, alarmed eyes. "What? Who?" he asked, the unease in his tone palpable.

"Who else, idiot?" [Name] interjected, their gaze fixing the man with a blank, unreadable expression. The implication was clear. Dae-ho simply 'ah'ed.

"The prize money still goes up if we kill each other," gi-hun continued, his expression grim. "It's part of the game they designed."

[Name] let out a soft, dismissive scoff. "I doubt they'll attack now, though. Nobody knows that killing also counts as elimination... unless some lunatics decide to kill each other, we're half safe for now," they murmured flatly, earning a curious glance from Jun-hee.

"You're so smart, [Name]... are you sure you're 16?" the young woman asked, a faint glint of wonder in her doe-like eyes.

"I'm just built different," the teen replied, their features neutral.

"Oh..." Jun-hee lowered her head, her brow furrowed in contemplation.

Young-il, having just finished arranging a mattress on the floor beneath one of the elevated beds, spoke up. "Gi-hun, I think you're overreacting. Even if that were true, people wouldn't do that."

Gi-hun's gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he fixed the other man with an unwavering stare. "In the previous games, dozens of people killed each other at night. Right here," he stated, his tone firm as he stepped closer to Young-il.

"You have no idea how people can change in this place," Gi-hun added, the weight of his words underscored by the tension in his posture.

[Name] observed the exchange with an air of indifference, their eyes cataloging the subtle shifts in Gi-hun's demeanor, the unease that now crept into Young-il's expression. 

After a brief pause, Young-il nodded, his voice slightly wavering as he offered an apologetic response. "Alright. I guess I didn't know what I was talking about. I'm sorry."

Strange man, [Name] mused silently, the teen recognizing the transparent falsehood in Young-il's beliefs. It was clear that young-il didn't believe his own words, what's the point of saying all that then?

Turning his attention back to the group, Gi-hun addressed them once more. "We need to take turns keeping watch after lights-out. I'll take the first watch. The rest of you should decide the order.”

Dae-ho was the first to speak up, his gaze sweeping over the group. "Other than that, we have to figure out who's sleeping where."

Jung-bae gestured towards the floor between the beds, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Jun-hee should sleep here, near the wall, surrounded by the beds. It'll be safer that way."

Dae-ho nodded, glancing over at the young woman. "Then I'll take the spot under the bed beside her," he said, his tone tinged with a hint of uncertainty as he sought Jun-hee's confirmation. "If that's okay with you."

Jun-hee responded with a warm smile and a simple nod. "I'm okay with that."

"And I'll take the spot under the bed on the other side of Jun-hee," Jung-bae added, a note of confidence in his voice. "It's best to have two ex-Marines covering your sides."

Jun-hee's smile broadened, the gesture conveying a sense of gratitude and security.

But as the group settled into their assigned positions, Jung-bae's brow furrowed in confusion, his gaze drawn to the extra mattress atop the middle bed. "Wait, we have an extra bed? I thought they were limited to the number of players."

Nonchalantly raising their hand, [Name] spoke up. "I got it."

Jung-bae's eyes widened, a flicker of suspicion crossing his features. "You didn't steal someone's bed, did you?"

The teen's lips curled into an empty smile. "Does it count as stealing if they're dead?"

"You KILLED someone for their bed?!" Jung-bae recoiled, his expression a blend of bewilderment and fear.

"No, you fucking degenerate," [Name] drawled, their eyes narrowing as they fixed the man with a withering stare. "It was an eliminated player's bed. The square guard let me take it."

"Ah, the guards sure are generous," Dae-ho murmured with a nod, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Jung-bae, undeterred, perked up. "Do you think they'll give me extra food if I asked politely?"

"I'm sure you'll manage without extra food," [Name] retorted, their gaze sweeping over the man's frame with an unsubtle implication, before turning to claim their spot on the elevated bed in the middle.

"Are kids always this rude..?" Jung-bae muttered, clutching his stomach in a gesture of self-consciousness. Dae-ho, ever the sympathetic soul, reached out to pat the man's back in consolation.

Noticing the empty beds flanking [Name]'s elevated position, Young-il spoke up. "I'll sleep under the bed on your left," he said, his gaze meeting the teen's. "That means Gi-hun will take the one on your right."

[Name] offered a curt nod, the arrangement satisfying their sense of security. As long as Young-il was nearby, the teen felt reasonably assured of their safety.

"Now we just have to decide the order for keeping watch," Dae-ho chimed in, his eyes sweeping over the group.

Jung-bae was quick to volunteer. "I'll take the second watch, after Gi-hun," he stated, a hint of determination in his voice.

Dae-ho raised his hand, a small smile playing on his lips. "Third watch here."

[Name] regarded the others with a blank expression. "Technically, I'm taking watch too, since I'm not sleeping either way, and you can't stop me," they declared, the matter-of-fact tone of their words eliciting concerned looks from the adults.

Young-il's brow furrowed as he studied the teen. "Insomnia?" he ventured, his voice laced with a touch of empathy.

[Name] nodded slowly, a flicker of surprise passing across their eyes. Am I that transparent? the teen wondered, their fingers unconsciously reaching up to pull up at their jacket's zipper.

No, [Name], your eyebags are just darker than the eclipse.

Soon, the dormitory fell silent as the six players settled into their designated sleeping arrangements, the announcer's voice cutting through the murmurs to signal the start of the designated bedtime.

Moments later, the harsh overhead lights blinked out, leaving the soft, golden glow of the half-filled piggy bank to cast a warm, muted illumination over the vast space. Dae-ho and Jung-bae had already nestled underneath their respective beds, while Jun-hee rested atop the mattress positioned on the open floor between them.

[Name], slightly elevated on their bed due to the extra mattress they had borrowed from the guard earlier that day, couldn't help but hope that the motherfucker had faced some form of repercussion for the 'generosity'.

Staring blankly at the shadowed ceiling, the teen felt a gentle tap on their arm, their gaze lowering to meet Jun-hee's, the woman now positioned on Gi-hun's empty bed.

"Can I... hold your hand?" Jun-hee whispered, her large eyes made all the more endearing by the dim lighting.

[Name] raised a curious brow, slightly perplexed by the woman's location. "Where did you come from? I thought you were sleeping between those morons?"

Receiving no response, the teen let out a soft sigh and offered their hand, a hint of bemusement flickering across their features. How curious, the adult woman seeking comfort from a teenager.

Feeling the woman's fingers intertwine with theirs, [Name] looked back at the high ceiling, not even attempting to sleep with the knowledge of the futility of it. Their insomnia was rather severe – especially after the days spent on the streets, unsure of who could find them and take advantage of their vulnerability.

This place was the same as sleeping in the middle of a highway, and [Name] isn't taking any damn chances.

 

☆

 

[Name] had spent the last two hours or so dreaming of a 100 ways to kill a man, their half-lidded eyes staring at nothing in particular.

Jung-bae's snoring was draining the already frayed sanity of the teen, and it took the willpower of a mountain not to wrap their blanket around his face.

After what felt like an eternity, [Name] sensed a shift in the air, their hand growing empty as they heard the gentle creak of footsteps upon the mattress. Glancing to the side, the teen's gaze fell upon Jun-hee, the woman's voice hushed and hesitant as she addressed Gi-hun, who still maintained his vigilant watch.

"Ahjussi, I need to use the bathroom," she whispered, her doe-like eyes imploring.

Gi-hun's brow furrowed with concern. "It's too dangerous to go by yourself," he murmured in response.

[Name] observed the exchange with a detached interest, their mind already whirring with potential solutions. Well, what other solution was there?

Shifting slightly, the teen cleared their throat, drawing the attention of both Gi-hun and Jun-hee. "I'll go with her," [Name] offered, their voice flat.

Gi-hun's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "Are you sure?" he asked.

[Name] responded with a curt nod. "We can't have someone wandering off alone." The teen paused, their eyes narrowing, "And I don't feel like listening to Jung-bae's snoring for another minute."

Gi-hun's features softened with a trace of amusement, the man recognizing the practical logic in [Name]'s words. Offering a silent nod of approval, he gestured towards the dimly lit hallway that led to the facilities. "Be quick, and keep your eyes peeled," he advised, his tone laced with a note of caution.

Wordlessly, [Name] slid off the bed, their movements lithe as they extended a hand to Jun-hee. The woman's expression was of gratitude as her fingers intertwined with the teen's.

A voice chimed in amidst the stillness. "Oh, let's go together."

[Name] and Jun-hee turned to find Player 149, the elderly woman, striding towards them with a wide grin. Her gait was relaxed, her demeanor conveying a sense of ease that seemed at odds with their precarious situation.

Jun-hee bowed her head politely as the woman joined them, while [Name] regarded her with a measure of skepticism, their brow furrowing ever so slightly.

The trio made their way to the restroom door, and Jun-hee gently rapped on the surface. When there was no immediate response, she repeated the action, her knocks growing more insistent.

Finally, the circular window slid open, revealing the impassive features of a triangle-masked guard peering out at them.

"We need to use the bathroom," Jun-hee stated, her tone polite yet firm.

"No," the guard answered. "Entry and exit are restricted at this time."

Jun-hee's brow furrowed, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. "Please. I'm not feeling very well."

The guard's response was unwavering. "No. Entry and exit are restricted at this time."

[Name] frowned. "Don't make me call your manager!" they exclaimed, Karen style, as they accusingly pointed at the guard.

The guard regarded them in silence for a long moment before closing the window with a resounding thud, and opening the door.

"Wow, it actually worked..?" [Name] murmured under their breath, a trace of disbelief coloring their words.

"Ahaha, thank you Mr. Triangle!" Player 149 nodded at the guard, her voice tinged with a hint of gratefulness.

As the trio stepped past the threshold, another presence approached from behind. They turned to find Player 120, her expression a mix of hesitation and hope.

"Can I come too?" she asked the guard directly, her gaze flitting between the three of them.

Jun-hee and [Name] gave her a long, pensive stare, the weight of her request hanging in the air. But before they could respond, Player 149 interjected, her tone warm and welcoming.

"Oh, that's okay. She's a woman. Her name is Hyun-ju," the elderly woman said, a reassuring smile gracing her features.

The four of them were guided by another triangle-masked guard towards the ladies' restroom, the dimly lit hallway casting an eerie shadow over their procession.

As they walked, the elderly woman – Player 149 – drew close to Jun-hee, her voice soft and soothing as she gently inquired about the younger woman's family.

Jun-hee paused, a distant look clouding her features. "I don't have any," she replied, her words tinged with a melancholic resignation. "I have no parents."

The weight of her statement hung heavy in the air, an uncomfortable silence settling over the group. Yet, the mother's expression remained one of unwavering compassion, her concern for Jun-hee's wellbeing undiminished.

Once inside the restroom, the elderly woman turned to Jun-hee once more. "If you need any help with anything, just let me know," she offered, her tone warm and reassuring.

Jun-hee hesitated for a moment before responding. "It's okay," she murmured, her gaze lowering as she slipped into one of the cubicles, the clicking of the lock echoing through the tiled space.

[Name] couldn't help but notice the subtle distance Jun-hee had maintained between herself and the mother, the teen's mind replaying the younger woman's earlier words. She's not used to being cared for, [Name] surmised, their own experiences allowing them to understand Jun-hee's discomfort.

Hyun-ju, the fourth member of their bathroom band, leaned in, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "Is she sick or something?" she asked, her gaze darting between [Name] and the mother.

The elderly woman stepped closer, her own voice hushed. "She's pregnant," she confided, her eyes holding a touch of concern. "I think she's almost due."

Hyun-ju's jaw dropped, her eyes snapping towards the cubicle where Jun-hee had disappeared, a flicker of bewilderment flashing across her features. The implications of this revelation were not lost on any of them.

The elderly woman let out a weary sigh before stepping into a nearby cubicle, the soft click of the lock echoing through the tiled space. [Name] shifted their gaze to Hyun-ju, who was still staring fixedly at Jun-hee's cubicle, her expression a mix of shock and what seemed to be a twinge of guilt.

Perhaps the thought of voting for O while a pregnant woman is here was weighing on her conscience, [Name] mused.

After finishing their own business, [Name] emerged from the cubicle to find Hyun-ju standing at the sink, her tall frame bent over as she meticulously washed her hands and face. The teen joined her, standing side by side as they too began to clean up.

The silence that hung between them was palpable, even as their bodies stood mere inches apart. [Name] could sense the unease radiating from the woman, her wariness of those around her – save for her own team – palpable. Being trans in South Korea must be a shitty experience, the teen inwardly hummed, understanding the issues Hyun-ju must face on a daily basis. She must think I'll look at her strangely too.

Clearing their throat, [Name] decided to break the tension. "I don't care," they stated matter-of-factly, their words drawing a startled look from Hyun-ju.

"Huh?"

"I don't care if you're trans, lady. I'm not in my 80's. And I can practically hear your self-conscious thoughts," [Name] continued, their gaze unwavering as they met the woman's widened eyes.

"Oh, ah... sorry," Hyun-ju murmured, her tall frame awkwardly shifting as she struggled to find the right words.

[Name] raised a curious brow. "Why are you apologizing?"

“...” Hyun-ju pressed her lips into a thin line, her eyes darting away as she stood there, unsure of how to respond to the teen's direct approach.

[Name] watched the play of emotions across the woman's face, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of their lips.

"I'm not about to run around telling everyone about it, though I'm sure you're not hiding it to begin with." [Name] shook their head, their tone neutral "We've got enough shit to worry about without adding in gender politics."

Hyun-ju's shoulders visibly relaxed,

a tentative smile spreading across her features. "Thanks, kid," she replied, her voice low and earnest. "I appreciate that."

As the two resumed their task of cleaning up, the air between them felt a little lighter.

Player 149 finally emerged from her cubicle, her weathered features etched with a pensive expression as she made her way to the sink, her hands meticulously cleansing themselves under the steady stream of water. As she finished, her gaze shifted towards Jun-hee's closed cubicle door.

"Is she still in there?" the elderly woman inquired, her voice tinged with a hint of concern.

[Name] and Hyun-ju both offered solemn nods. "Yeah."

It was then that [Name] realized Jun-hee had been sequestered within the confines of the stall for an unusually prolonged period. Does she have diarrhea? I haven't heard any explosions, though, the teen mused.

Stepping away from the sink, [Name] watched as Player 149 approached the door, her knuckles gently rapping against the surface.

"Miss? Are you alright?" she called, her tone laced with worry. When there was no immediate response, the woman knocked again, her voice growing more frantic. "Are you okay in there? Is something wrong?"

Pressing her ear against the door, the mother fell silent, her brow furrowed in concentration. And then, [Name] heard it – the faint, muffled sounds of sobs and quiet whimpers.

Slowly, Player 149 pushed the door open, and [Name] stepped forward, their gaze sweeping over the scene that unfolded before them. There, on the toilet, sat Jun-hee, her posture slumped and defeated, the tears streaming down her cheeks as she cried unabashedly.

The mother hurried to her side, her voice laced with concern. "Oh dear. What's wrong? Are you in pain? Is your belly hurting?"

[Name] lingered just outside the stall, their eyes narrowing as they took in the sight. Jun-hee, the woman who had sought their comfort earlier, now reduced to such a state of distress. A part of the teen felt a twinge of worry.

Yet, another part of [Name] couldn't help but feel a curious detachment, an almost clinical assessment of the situation. The teen knew that emotional attachments could prove to be a dangerous liability, yet jun-hee always seemed insistent on remaining close to the teen, breaking away slowly at their walls of steel, try as they might, [Name] was never able to properly push her away.

"Oh, no. Your baby must be coming," the elderly mother surmised, her voice tinged with alarm as she crouched before the distraught Jun-hee. Gently, she placed a weathered hand upon the younger woman's swollen belly, her other reaching up to rub soothing circles along her shoulder.

"Listen, tell me where and how it hurts," the mother implored, her brow furrowed with concern.

Jun-hee kept her gaze fixed resolutely downward, the tears cascading down her flushed cheeks in a constant stream. Her voice emerged as a broken whimper, laced with a palpable fear. "I'm scared..."

At those words, the elderly woman's expression softened with empathy. Leaning forward, she enveloped Jun-hee in a comforting embrace, her motherly instincts taking over. And finally, Jun-hee surrendered, her body crumpling against the mother's as she succumbed to her overwhelming emotions, her sobs muffled against the older woman's shoulder.

"It's okay. It's okay. Everything is going to be alright," the mother murmured soothingly, her fingers gently carding through Jun-hee's hair as she held her close.

[Name] watched the scene unfold with a furrowed brow, their gaze shifting away as the weight of the intimate moment became too much to bear. Crossing the tiled floor, the teen leaned back against the wall, their arms folded across their chest as they focused their attention elsewhere.

In truth, the display of raw emotions before them had stirred something within [Name] – a flicker of empathy, discomfort, and a nagging sense of uncertainty – which they absolutely refused to acknowledge.

Fuck me sideways, [Name] closed their eyes with a heavy sigh, tapping their foot slightly while waiting for the two to get it over with already.

Once Jun-hee had finally calmed, her face still flushed and streaked with the remnants of her tears, she and the elderly mother emerged from the cubicle. The four of them then made their way out of the restroom, the older woman keeping one comforting arm wrapped around Jun-hee's shoulders.

As they walked, Jun-hee held tightly to [Name]'s hand, the pregnant woman's grip conveying a silent plea for their continued support. Hyun-ju, meanwhile, lingered awkwardly behind the trio, her own expression etched with concern. Yet, the trans woman seemed hesitant, uncertain whether her presence would be welcomed or embraced by the vulnerable Jun-hee.

As they re-entered the darkened dormitory, the small group eventually parted ways, the elderly mother offering a few words of reassurance to both Jun-hee and [Name].

"If either of you need anything at all, please come find me," she said, her tone warm and maternal. With a gentle squeeze of Jun-hee's shoulder, the woman then turned and made her way back to her own designated sleeping area, her weary frame moving with a deliberate slowness.

[Name], their hand still clasped in Jun-hee's, felt a palpable sense of unease settle over them. The intimate moment they had witnessed in the restroom had been thrown to the back of their head for the sake of their peace of mind.

Gi-hun, who remained on watch duty, immediately took notice of [Name] and Jun-hee's return, his eyes tracking their approach. The man swiftly rose from his seat on the dormitory floor, his expression etched with concern.

"What's wrong? Did something happen?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

[Name] responded calmly, "Nothing you need to worry about," and beside them, Jun-hee offered a slow nod in agreement. The teen surmised that the pregnant woman likely wished to keep her earlier breakdown private.

Gi-hun sighed, unsurprised by [Name]'s vague response. His gaze followed the two as they made their way back to their respective mattresses on the floor, where Jun-hee instinctively latched onto [Name], the two settling down together.

The teen could feel the weight of Jun-hee's hand in their own, the desperation of her touch a stark contrast to the detachment they had maintained during her emotional outburst in the restroom.

As they lay there, Jun-hee's head nestled against their shoulder, [Name] couldn't help but wonder where they dropped their sense of self-preservation to willingly allow this attachment to happen.

 

☆

 

The hours had passed in a hazy blur, and [Name] remained unwillingly awake through it all. Their attention drifted in and out as they half-listened to Gi-hun and Jung-bae's muted conversation, the teen almost stifling a snicker at the thought of the brooding Gi-hun crying in his sleep – according to jung-bae’s probably far-fetched story.

When Gi-hun's watch finally ended, the man took up residence in Jun-hee's abandoned spot, a decision that [Name] could hardly fault. After all, the pregnant woman appeared far more content nestled beside the teen, choosing their company over that of the "two stinking morons," as [Name] so eloquently put it.

The respite, however, was short-lived, as Dae-ho's agonizing turn on watch soon followed. The man's constant muttering of white girl song lyrics had [Name] silently questioning their own sanity. Safe to say, [Name] was tweaking out by the time Young-il began stirring, signaling the shift in guard duty.

"... you're still awake?" Young-il asked, his voice laced with mild surprise as his gaze settled upon [Name], the teen's eye twitching in a subtle display of weariness.

"Send me to an asylum after this," [Name] murmured dryly.

Young-il let out a soft scoff of amusement, before sliding out from under the bed frame where he had been sleeping, beside the teen. "Excuse me," he muttered as he passed by them and made his way to the designated watch spot by their spot's sole entrance.

Slowly, [Name] sat up, gently unclasping their hand from Jun-hee's. They shuffled forward, coming to rest beside the older man, their movements deliberate and smooth.

Young-il glanced at them, offering a small, gentle smile, before turning his gaze forward once more. The two sat in silence for a while.

"When we get out of here..." Young-il began, turning to face [Name] with a resolute expression. "Let's set up a meeting. I want to help you."

[Name] lowered their head with a weary sigh, realizing this was about to be a repeat of the same conversation they had endured with Gi-hun during the last voting.

"What's wrong with y'all and wanting to help me?" the teen muttered, their tone uncharacteristically subdued. "I'm fine, I'm also getting my share of the money once I leave."

"Why? Because I want to," Young-il replied calmly, reaching out to gently stroke the teen's messy hair. "What, you're going to stop me?"

[Name] raised their eyebrows at that, recognizing a key distinction between Young-il's offer and Gi-hun's. Unlike the selfless, almost senseless altruism that had colored the other man's argument, Young-il's motivations seemed more grounded in simple personal preference.

"... That's it?" the teen murmured, their blank eyes locked in a pensive stare with the older man's.

Young-il nodded, a softened look replacing the usual sharpness in his gaze. "Yeah, I like you." he chuckled, playfully messing up [Name]'s hair even further.

The teen's eyes widened involuntarily, their thoughts racing. He likes me? But I'm just a... I was being such a...

[Name] continued staring at the man, a mix of confusion and astonishment etched across their features. "You're so weird," they finally scoffed, looking away and attempting to settle their unruly hair back into place.

Young-il simply maintained that infuriatingly calm smile, before falling into a comfortable silence alongside the teen.

Eventually, [Name] broke the stillness, their voice slightly muffled behind the collar they had pulled up. "... why are you here?"

The question seemed to pique Young-il's interest, the man perking up before letting out a weary sigh, his gaze dropping to his intertwined hands.

"My wife, she was sick," he began, his tone calm but carrying a distinct weight. "Acute cirrhosis. She needed a liver transplant, but we found out she was pregnant."

[Name] closed their eyes, exhaling softly as they listened, their heart sinking with the realization of where this story was headed.

"When the doctor suggested terminating the pregnancy, she refused." Young-il's voice grew heavier, tinged with a hint of pride and sorrow. "She was stubborn... She wanted to have the baby, even if it meant risking her life."

The teen remained silent, allowing the man's words to wash over them as he continued. "When her condition worsened and no donor appeared, I borrowed as much money as I could to find a solution. But it was not enough.”

Why does it almost sound like he said these same words a thousand times? Does he repeat them in front of a mirror every morning? [Name] thought, glancing indiscriminately at young-il with suspicion.

Young-il paused for a moment, the tense silence hanging heavy between them before he continued.

"I was desperate," he admitted, his voice laced with a raw vulnerability. "A criminal heard about my situation and offered me money. I borrowed from him. But my work found out and saw it as a bribe. They fired me." 

The older man let out a weary sigh, a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone. "I'd devoted my whole life to that job. It was one of the few things I truly loved."

[Name] couldn't help but murmur a "Motherfuckers..." under their breath, irritated on Young-il's behalf. Though the teen could only imagine the depth of the man's anger when he'd first learned of his termination.

At the teen's reaction, Young-il let out a light chuckle, seeming pleasantly surprised by their investment in his story.

"So you're here for the money, to save her," [Name] stated, their words more a declaration than a question. Their half-lidded eyes stared forward for a moment, contemplating the weight of the man's circumstances.

"You have a weird look in your eyes, Ahjussi," they continued, their tone monotonous as they slowly turned their gaze to meet Young-il's – though he didn't meet theirs. "It's almost as if you're telling me about a tale that happened decades ago."

Young-il's eyes remained trained on the floor, his expression invisible. "Why is that?" [Name] whispered, the question hanging in the air between them.

As [Name] waited patiently for Young-il's response, they found themselves overthinking the situation. Perhaps they were looking into it a bit too much, they should really stop being suspicious of every little thing that sets them off.

"Well, whatever.." they shrugged, before standing up and walking back towards their bed wordlessly.

Young-il's gaze remained fixed on the floor, his hands clasped tightly together, the strain evident in the pale hue of his knuckles. After a moment, he discreetly glanced back towards [Name], his expression unreadable and his gaze intense.

[Name]....

 

☆

 

The lights suddenly flared to life, burning [Name]'s eyes that had grown accustomed to the dimness of the dormitory. The teen hissed, rolling on their mattress in agony, jostling the slumbering Jun-hee beside them.

The pregnant woman stirred, blinking owlishly as she registered her surroundings. A mix of concern and amusement played across her features as she observed [Name]'s discomfort, before her gaze drifted towards the others, who were now emerging from their hidden spots beneath the bed frames.

The familiar, awful voice of the announcer then reverberated through the dormitory, commanding their attention.

"The third game will begin momentarily. All players, please get out of bed and prepare."

Sitting up, [Name] cast a sweeping glance around the room, taking in the bustling activity as the other players rose and began stirring. Dae-ho's gruff murmurs mingled with the rustling of blankets as Jung-bae shifted from the spot behind the teen.

Across from [Name], Young-il remained seated, his gaze fixed intently upon them. At first, his expression was unreadable, but then a small, gentle smile played across his lips.

[Name] blinked back at the older man, before slowly rising to their feet and stretching their arms overhead with a low groan. Despite the long hours spent awake, they could barely feel the effects of it – though the teen had no real way of knowing whether it had truly been night or not in this place.

The group of six got up and left their sleeping area, trudging towards the clear center of the dormitory. Meanwhile [Name] was having a battle with their hair, attempting to get it to settle down as they followed behind the others.

The players were herded out of the dormitory and into the labyrinthine halls, the winding staircases twisting and turning as they were led deeper into the complex. As [Name] ascended the steps, their mind began to race, sifting through a lifetime of memories, The childhood games they were forced to participate in by the neighborhood kids. Whatever game it was, there is just no way they hadn't encountered it before, in one form or another.

If I didn’t, then shoot me dead right now.

At the front of the group, Gi-hun led the way, his determined stride setting the pace. Behind him trailed Jung-bae, then [Name], with Jun-hee just a step behind. Young-il followed closely, while Dae-ho brought up the rear. Flanking them was the elderly mother's team, her son, Hyun-ju and player 095 keeping pace.

Eventually, the players were herded into a large room, a white curtain obscuring their view of what lay beyond. Four triangle-masked guards stood at the forefront, their weapons at the ready, and a tense silence fell over the crowd as everyone shuffled into place.

Once all the players had gathered, the white curtains began to slide open, and the female announcer's calm voice filled the space.

"Welcome to your third game."

The sight before them was... nauseating, for lack of a better word. The room was circular, resembling an arena, with a central platform that looked like a carousel. Ornate horse sculptures decorated the top of the platform, and colorful doors lined the walls in evenly spaced intervals – at least 50 of them. The doors were adorned with lights, bows, and intricate patterns, creating a carnival atmosphere.

As [Name] took in the scene, they couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. These marble floors would soon be painted red, and they couldn't wait.

The announcer's voice rang out, commanding the players' attention. "The game you will be playing is Mingle."

[Name] and their group paused near the edge of the platform, exchanging glances as the woman continued her explanation.

"All players, please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds."

As the instructions sank in, a realization hit [Name]. They had definitely played something similar during their childhood – a game involving forming groups by hugging. Nobody ever hugged [Name].

Jung-bae's voice cut through [Name]'s depressing thoughts. "Oh, this game? We used to play something like this on school trips. We'd form groups by hugging."

"Yeah," Dae-ho added, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Except now, instead of hugging, we're going into those rooms."

The teen couldn't help but feel a sense of dread wash over them. As the players began to step onto the central platform, [Name] shook their head, they wouldn't be left behind this time.

Right?

While the team was strategizing about how they'll work if the called number was less or more than they have, [Name] was overthinking their situation. The teen was snapped out of it when young-il initiated a team cheer.

This time, [Name] didn't hesitate as they also placed their hand above jun-hee's, and after a ‘one, two, thee!’. The team silently cheered ‘victory at all costs!’.

It was cringe.

The air crackled with nervous tension, the players' footsteps echoing across the cavernous space as they took their positions. [Name] immediately squashed down the anxiety threatening to surface, they weren't afraid of losing, but the thought of the small trust they had with their teammates being shattered because of this damn game…it brought unpleasant memories.

As the platform began to slowly rotate, the teen felt jun-hee clutch their left hand, while their right one was grabbed by young-il. What a bunch of touchy weirdos.

They had clustered near the platform's edge, a strategic positioning that would allow them to quickly descend and sprint to the nearest room once the game began. The tension in the air was palpable, the players shifting restlessly as they awaited the announcer's signal.

"Let the game begin."

The ground beneath their feet began to shift, the platform slowly rotating. Gasps and muttered exclamations of surprise echoed through the room as the movement threw everyone slightly off balance. [Name] planted their feet, lest they crumble, they could feel Young-il's steadying presence at their side, his firm hands gently gripping their shoulders.

And then the music started – a lilting, playful melody that immediately set [Name]'s teeth on a grind. The cheerful notes filled the cavernous space, their rhythm syncing with the increasing speed of the platform's rotation. Overhead, the lights cast shifting, kaleidoscopic patterns across the arena, creating a surreal, carnival-like atmosphere that felt deeply at odds with the life-or-death stakes of the game.

The sensory overload was dizzying, assaulting the players from all sides as they struggled to maintain their footing and focus. For [Name], the familiar discomfort of being thrust in a social situation they had never mastered threatened to break their carefully maintained composure.

But no, failure was simply not an option. They stayed in the games for a reason, and they won't waste their time dwelling on minor feelings of eons ago.

Then, the platform and the music abruptly ground to a halt, catching nearly everyone off guard. Thankfully, [Name] managed to maintain their balance, but they quickly reached out to steady the wobbling Jun-hee beside them.

Before the players could even process the moment, the announcer's voice boomed through the room.

"Eleven."

A fast-paced, almost frantic tune immediately filled the air, the overhead lights shifting into rapid flickers of red and purple that cast the arena in a dizzying blur of color. The atmosphere intensified around [Name], chaos erupting as players began shouting frantically.

"We need three!"

"We need six! Come with us!"

Young-il grasped [Name]’s hand In his own, keeping them safely beside himself. The teen's group sprang into action, [Name] instinctively glancing towards Gi-hun as the older man turned, his gaze landing on Hyun-ju's nearby group.

"How many are you?" Gi-hun asked, reaching out to pat the woman's shoulder.

"Four!" Hyun-ju responded without hesitation.

"We need one more!" Gi-hun shouted, whipping his head around as he frantically scanned the crowd for a lone player.

The air crackled with a palpable sense of urgency, the players jostling and shoving as they raced to form their groups of eleven.

"There's no time, Gi-hun!" Young-il exclaimed, his grip tightening on the older man's shoulder as the chaos swirled around them.

"We need one more!!" Hyun-ju's desperate shout pierced through the din, the woman frantically waving her hand before sprinting towards a panicked-looking woman standing nearby – Player 044, that conniving bitch.

"We've got eleven now!" Hyun-ju shouted, grabbing the shaman and roughly ushering her towards one of the rooms, the rest of the group racing to keep up. 

"Room 44! The green door!"

"This way, hurry!" 

"Run!"

The players rushed into the room, nearly tumbling over one another in their haste, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of shouts.

"Get in!"

Just as the 30-second timer threatened to run out, Young-il slammed the door shut, sealing them inside with a click. A collective sigh of relief rippled through the group as they took stock of their surroundings – eleven players crammed into the small, confined space.

[Name] could feel the press of bodies, the heat and the tension thick in the air. Beside them, Gi-hun panted as he slowly turned around, facing the closed door.

He slowly peeked outside through the small rectangular opening at the center of the door, his eyes hardening as he watched the triangle-masked guards swiftly eliminate the players who had failed to secure a spot within a group or make it into a room in time. He flinched instinctively as a player was shot with a brutal headshot right in front of him, the sound of the gunfire causing him to recoil. Lowering his gaze, a somber expression settled over his features.

[Name] stared at him, their face betraying no emotion. So disappointing, huh? Couldn't save everyone after all, they thought dryly, glancing over at Young-il, who was also observing Gi-hun with an unreadable gaze.

Suddenly, [Name] hears a grating, loud voice piercing the tense silence. "You're all alive thanks to me!"

It was the shaman, her finger raised in a self-important gesture, as if she hadn't been shaking in her spiritual aura just moments ago when Hyun-ju had grabbed her. The other players instinctively leaned back, creating a bit of space between themselves and the woman's wild-eyed intensity.

"God, she scared me..." Jung-bae murmured under his breath.

The shaman fell silent, fixing Hyun-ju with a long, unsettling stare before slowly turning her gaze towards Jun-hee, her eyes narrowing as they lowered to the woman's swollen belly. A creepy smile spread across her lips.

[Name] clenched their fists, their thoughts racing. I swear to God, if she says anything...

But the shaman's attention had already shifted, her focus now locked on Gi-hun. "So there's a reason you've lived longer than you were destined to," she began in a low, ominous tone, that unsettling smile still firmly in place.

"There's a reason you were brought here." she continued.

As she stepped forward, eying the older man with her wide, wild gaze, [Name] felt their temper flare. "Bitch, if you don't-" they started, surging forward while rolling up their sleeves, only to be quickly grabbed and held back by Gi-hun and Yong-sik.

"[Name]! Calm down!" 

"She isn't worth it, kid!"

"Let me at her!" [Name] struggled against their captors, desperate to get their hands on the shaman, who had retreated hastily, frantically muttering prayers under her breath.

"Ah! Ah! This child is under a curse! You'd better let me do a ritual on that thing, lest it starts eating you all!" the shaman shrieked, her wild eyes fixed on [Name] with an unsettling intensity.

Yong-sik, sensing the teen's fury, deliberately loosened his grip on [Name], discreetly allowing them to pounce on the irritating woman. Unfortunately, Gi-hun was still holding the teen back, preventing them from snatching the shaman's spine straight out of her throat.

"I HOPE YOU KNOW I WANT YOU TO DROP FUCKING DEAD IN THE MOST VILE, DISGUSTING, HORRIFIC WAY YOU LITTLE SLAG!!!" [Name] snarled, their finger pointed accusingly at the terrified shaman. The sheer hatred they had accumulated against this woman over the past two days was unfathomable to the rest of the group.

"Is [Name] even mentally sane...?" Dae-ho muttered, his bewildered gaze darting between the frothing teen and the cowering shaman.

"When did they ever act sane to you?" Jung-bae replied, equally perplexed by the intensity of [Name]'s outburst.

"Are they always like this..?" Player 095 murmured, glancing around at the others who knew [Name] well.

The group collectively shook their heads, unable to provide a definitive answer. The teen's outburst had caught them all off-guard, though also satisfying in a way, everybody held at least a little resentment towards the shaman.

Young-il observed the scene with varying levels of amusement and concern, his gaze focused intently on the teen as they seemed dead set on turning the shaman into a human soup bowl. Sensing the need to intervene, he stepped forward, resting a steadying hand on [Name]'s shoulder.

"[Name], come on," he spoke calmly, his tone soothing. "You can…deal with her, later." 

To the group's collective astonishment, [Name] actually seemed to respond to Young-il's measured words, the rage in their eyes dimming as they backed down, still shooting nasty glares in the shaman's direction. But as the tension in the room began to dissipate, [Name] allowed Young-il to guide them out, the first round of the game having come to an end.

"Wow, Young-il," Jung-bae chimed in, clapping his hands in a mixture of admiration and disbelief. "Were you a lion tamer before or something?" Dae-ho nodded in agreement, the two men seemingly awed by the older man's ability to calm the raging teen.

Young-il simply offered a wry smile, his hand still resting protectively on [Name]'s shoulder as they exited the cramped room.

As they all headed back towards the platform, [Name] looked around. The bodies were gone, but the bloodstains remained. It was a stark reminder of the carnage that had unfolded.

Young-il had stepped onto the platform, pulling [Name] up beside him as the rest of the group quickly followed suit before the platform begins spinning.

As the second round commenced, the platform once more began its steady, counter-clockwise rotation, the motion causing tension to prickle in the air. Most of the players stood rigid, their gazes darting about nervously as the looming threat of the game weighed heavily upon them.

[Name] tugged at the zipper of their jacket, their half-lidded eyes drifting from one player to the next, almost as if they were searching for a specific individual.

Where are you, you son of a bitch... the teen thought ominously, their gaze taking on a menacing glint as they scanned the sea of faces around them.

The platform continued to spin, the unsettling music filtering through the cavernous space once more, its lilting melody creating a dissonant backdrop to the players' unease.

[Name] knew that they could no longer restrain themselves, the time for mercy had long since passed. It had passed for you a decade ago, you dead man.

The song and platform abruptly ground to a halt, throwing most of the players off-balance, but [Name] barely faltered, their feet planted firmly on the spinning surface. 

The announcer's voice then boomed out the next number: "Four."

Panic erupted among the players as the platform came alive once more, the rapid tempo of the music and the flickering red and purple lights spurring everyone into a frenzied motion.

Young-il turned to [Name], his voice urgent. "You, Jun-hee, and two other men! Go!"

Gi-hun's voice quickly followed, the older man gesturing towards the others. "Dae-ho and Jung-bae, go with the jun-hee and [Name]!!"

Without hesitation, Dae-ho and Jung-bae sprang into action, herding [Name] and Jun-hee towards the nearest room across the way.

"Here! Quick! Quick!" Jung-bae shouted as he reached the door, yanking it open.

One by one, they all rushed inside, Jun-hee first, followed by [Name] and Dae-ho, with Jung-bae bringing up the rear and slamming the door shut behind him. The timer above the door instantly caught their attention - ten seconds remained.

Jung-bae and dae-ho heavily leaned on the door, keeping it closed from the banging players begging to be let in. Though if anyone enters, they'll all be dead, it's pretty stupid of them to ask to be let in.

The timer finally reached zero, and the door clicked shut, sealing its occupants safely inside - the last stragglers left out in the open now facing an unfortunate fate.

[Name] peered through the small rectangular opening in the door, their gaze scanning the chaos outside, searching for any sign of Young-il and Gi-hun. Technically, they hoped not to spot the two men, as that would mean they had failed to secure their own place of temporary safety.

The teen turned to face their small group. "I don't see them," they reported, shaking their head. A few relieved breaths were exhaled, though the lingering worry was evident on the faces around them. None would truly rest easy until they knew for certain that Gi-hun and Young-il had found a team and a room.

Finally, the door unlocked with a metallic click, and the four of them filed out cautiously, their senses on high alert. [Name]'s eyes immediately darted around, quickly scanning the crowd of survivors milling about the central platform.

"Young-il! Gi-hun!" Dae-ho called out, his voice cutting through the tense silence.

Jung-bae quickly joined in, raising his own voice. "Gi-hun? Young-il?"

[Name] stood there, hands shoved into their pockets, feigning nonchalance. They weren't worried, not in the slightest. The teen was absolutely certain that the two men had already found a room - it simply made no sense for them to have failed. Gi-hun and Young-il were clearly the main characters.

Then, a familiar voice suddenly called out [Name]'s name.

All at once, the tension seemed to bleed from the group's shoulders, relief washing over them like a soothing wave as they turned to see the two men jogging towards them, their expressions mirroring the same joy and relief that now filled the groups' hearts.

[Name] felt their own lips curving into a small, subtly relieved smile. Deep down, they had harbored a concern for their teammates' well-being, but seeing Gi-hun and Young-il safe and sound quelled those worries in an instant.

"You two!" Dae-ho exclaimed, his voice brimming with palpable relief. 

"Oh, thank God!" Jung-bae sighed, surging forward to wrap Gi-hun in a tight, grateful embrace. The man's eyes widened momentarily in surprise at the sudden display of affection, but he quickly recovered, offering a faint smile as he patted Jung-bae's back in a gesture of awkward comfort.

Meanwhile, Young-il stepped closer to [Name], the teen's gaze immediately snapping up to fix him with a pointed glare.

"...What? Aren't you glad to see me?" the man inquired, his lips curving into a small, tentative smile.

"I'm staying with you from now on." [Name] declared flatly, their tone held no room for argument. Not that Young-il was about to protest - the older man simply chuckled and reached out to affectionately ruffle the teen's hair.

[Name] huffed in feigned annoyance, but allowed the gesture to play out, just as they had the times before. This man simply couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself, and the teen found that, despite their best efforts, they didn't entirely mind.

Dae-ho, still catching his breath, placed a hand over his chest and let out a dramatic sigh of relief. "I'm so glad you two made it. I was really worried there for a moment."

Without warning, Jung-bae suddenly turned and enveloped Young-il in a warm, side-hug. The unexpected gesture caught the older man off-guard, and he stiffened momentarily before chuckling softly.

"I knew you two were going to be okay!" Jung-bae declared, his voice brimming with genuine cheer.

Young-il gave a low, amused laugh as he patted Jung-bae's back. The younger man then stepped back, his grin widening as he proclaimed, "I knew it. You two weren't just anybody!"

Gi-hun offered a small, reassuring smile, "We found two players we needed. We made it into a room just in time."

Young-il's gaze then shifted to Jun-hee, his expression softening as he glanced down at her belly. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked, his tone laced with genuine concern.

Jun-hee returned his worried look with a gentle smile. "Yes, I'm alright," she replied. "I'm just glad you two made it.”

Young-il's expression shifted, as if he had suddenly remembered something. He looked around at the group, his voice tinged with realization. "Wait a minute. If the next number is seven, we won't need anyone else, will we?"

The others stared at him, momentarily perplexed, as his words hung in the charged air, everyone trying to piece together the meaning behind his statement.

Dae-ho frowned slightly, glancing around at the rest of the players before asking, "Why not?"

A mischievous smile slowly spread across Young-il's lips, his gaze briefly landing on Jun-hee's belly. [Name] raised their brow in exasperation, an inkling of understanding dawning on them. "Seriously? Her baby?" the teen murmured.

Young-il let out a laugh, confirming [Name]'s suspicion.

"Oh!" Dae-ho suddenly exclaimed, clapping his hands as silent laughter shook his broad shoulders. "Yeah, that makes us seven already!"

The realization rippled through the group, and soon, everyone burst into light laughter. Jun-hee's hand came to rest protectively on her belly as she chuckled softly, the sound joining the chorus of mirth.

Gi-hun stepped closer, gently patting the expectant mother's shoulder, a small smile playing on his lips.

"What if it's twins?" Jung-bae chimed in, his voice laced with amusement. "Does that make eight?"

Dae-ho's boisterous laugh rang out, the contagious sound pulling even more laughter from the group, the tension momentarily forgotten as they reveled in this brief moment of levity.

Meanwhile, [Name] made eye contact with another player who was staring at them – specifically jun-hee. It was player 333.

What are you looking at, cunt. Was basically [Name]’s expression, prompting the man to look away.

The jovial moment was abruptly shattered by the booming voice of the PA announcer. "All players, please step onto the center platform."

[Name] found themselves standing at the edge of the spinning platform, Gi-hun positioned on one side and Young-il on the other. Behind them, Jun-hee stood protectively flanked by Dae-ho and Jung-bae, the expectant mother's hand resting gently on her belly.

As the third round commenced, the carousel platform beneath their feet began to rotate, the overhead lights casting playful, shifting patterns across the cavernous arena. And then, the familiar, whimsical children's song echoed through the space, its lilting melody creating a dissonant backdrop to the tense atmosphere.

[Name]'s gaze frantically scanned the dwindling crowd of players, their eyes narrowing as they searched for Him, hoping he was still alive. Hah, no, they weren't worried - they wanted to do the "unliving" themselves.

Ah, just the thought of what I'll do to him…, [Name] pleasantly shivered.

The teen's lips creeped up into a subtle, almost maniacal smile, their focus sharp as they continued to scan the faces around them while their palm rises to cover their lips.

As the platform continued its steady, counter-clockwise rotation, the air practically crackled with the intensity of the players' focus. [Name] could feel their heart pounding in their chest, the adrenaline coursing through their veins, it was making them excited.

The platform and music came to an abrupt, jarring halt, throwing the majority of the players off-balance. But [Name] and their group barely faltered, their feet firmly planted on the spinning surface.

The announcer's voice immediately boomed out the next number: "Three."

Instantly, the fast-paced music started up again, accompanied by rapid flickers of vibrant purple and red lights that cast an eerie, pulsing glow across the cavernous arena.

[Name] exchanged a quick, knowing glance with their companions, the unspoken understanding passing between them.

"Just like we planned!" Young-il reminded them in a firm, authoritative tone.

We planned??? [Name] raised a single, skeptical eyebrow at the older man's declaration, unsure of the details of this supposed "plan."

But there was no time to dwell on the specifics, as Gi-hun's voice suddenly cut through the deafening noise. "Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Jun-hee! Go!" he commanded, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Without a moment's pause, the three players sprang into action, darting off the platform and disappearing into the chaos to get in a room.

Wasting no time, Young-il swiftly grabbed [Name]'s arm, his grip firm but not uncomfortably so. "Let's go!" he called out to Gi-hun, his own movements urgent.

The trio bolted, weaving through the frenzied crowd of players as everyone scrambled to find the necessary numbers to secure their spot in the next round. [Name] was swiftly dragged along by Young-il, their gaze fixed blankly on the older man's back as he led them through the chaos.

Finally, they spotted an empty room, and the three of them rushed inside without hesitation. Young-il pulled the door shut with a solid thud.

A long, drawn-out beep signaled that time was up, followed by the familiar, ominous click of the door locking itself automatically.

Gi-hun and Young-il stood there in tense silence, while [Name] absentmindedly pulled at the zipper of their jacket, the repetitive motion serving as a grounding mechanism.

"...Why do you always pull at your zipper?" Young-il suddenly inquired, the question catching the teen off-guard with its randomness.

[Name] perked up, glancing at him with half-lidded eyes before replying in a flat tone, "...It grounds me."

"Ah.." Young-il nodded in understanding, his gaze then shifting to the rectangular opening in the door, his focus scanning the chaos outside.

Gi-hun ran a hand across his face, and [Name] was about to say something that they knew would prompt the older man to repeat the action. Their voice cut through the silence, cold and clipped.

"My father is still here, alive. I'm planning on going in a room with him, so don't get in my way." [Name] fixed a sharp, uncompromising look on both Young-il and Gi-hun, whose attention snapped up immediately in response to the teen's declaration.

"What are you saying..? Why?" Gi-hun asked, his eyebrows furrowing in a mix of confusion and concern, looking somewhat bewildered as well.

"I said what I had to say," [Name] replied, their tone calmer but no less resolute. "Just don't stop me."

Young-il remained silent, his gaze intently trained on the teen, his expression unreadable. The air in the cramped room grew thick with tension, the weight of [Name]'s words hanging heavy.

After a few tense minutes, the door finally unlocked with a faint click. Gi-hun stepped forward and pulled it open, holding it for [Name]. The teen stepped out first, their eyes swiftly scanning the cavernous arena.

Young-il followed closely behind, with Gi-hun emerging last from the room.

However, [Name] didn't bother lingering or standing around. Instead, the teen immediately approached the central platform, their arms crossed firmly over their chest, their head slightly lowered.

A blank, almost feverish expression settled over the teen's features as they stood there, their thoughts racing. It's finally coming, finally, finally, after so agonizingly long..., The teen thought, their pulse quickening with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

As time ticked by, [Name]'s teammates gradually shifted back to the central platform, their group now joined by Hyun-ju's group as well as the lone player 246.

From the far left, Yongsik and his mother stood hand-in-hand, their grips tightly clasped as if anchoring one another – for some reason. Beside them, Hyun-ju and Gi-hun positioned themselves at the forefront of the formation.

Behind them, player 095 and the expectant Jun-hee stood, while [Name] and Young-il took their places directly in front of the pair. Bringing up the rear were Jung-bae, Dae-ho, and player 246, forming the tail end of their united front.

As the platform began to rotate once more, the whimsical, irritating melody of the children's song started up, its lilting tones echoing ominously through the cavernous space.

To the collective surprise of the players, the platform came to an abrupt halt in its rotation, much earlier than anticipated, causing most to let out startled, off-balance noises as they struggled to regain their footing.

The booming voice of the announcer then echoed through the cavernous space. "Six."

Immediately, the fast-paced music and rapid, pulsing flashes of light started up once again, the frenzied sensory input heightening the tension in the air.

Instinctively, the mixed group of players gathered into a tight, protective circle, their eyes scanning the arena as they quickly assessed the situation. It was immediately clear that, with player 246 now part of their collective, they numbered a total of eleven.

Young-il turned his gaze to [Name], his expression decisive as he spoke. "[Name] stays with us. Four women go with two men-"

But the teen didn't allow him to finish, abruptly cutting him off. "No, take hyun-ju, I'm going with the others," they stated firmly.

Gi-hun accepted the adjustment without hesitation. "Okay, go!" he urged.

"Which two men?" Jung-bae asked, his voice tinged with urgency.

"I'm going with my mom!" Yong-sik declared, his hand tightening around the woman's.

Dae-ho raised his hand quickly. "I-I'll go," he offered.

"Go! Go!" Gi-hun pressed, his tone brooking no argument.

With that, Dae-ho, Yong-sik, the mother, [Name], jun-hee, and player 095 rushed off, leaving hyun-ju behind with Young-il, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, and player 246. Their group still needed one more player, but [Name] was sure that they would manage.

With [Name] bringing up the rear, the group ran swiftly towards one of the open rooms – but unexpectedly, a player who had been forcefully shoved out of a nearby door suddenly barreled into [Name], the collision causing the teen to stumble and fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

Unfortunately, they didn't manage to regain their footing quickly enough, as their group had already entered the room and hastily closed the door behind them.

"...Shit," [Name] muttered through gritted teeth, the sound of panic-stricken shouts from the other stranded players echoing all around them.

From the rectangular opening in the door, Dae-ho's panicked voice suddenly rang out. "[NAME]!!" he shouted, his tone laced with desperation as he scanned the chaos, frantically trying to catch a glimpse of the teen he had grown so fond of.

"[Name]!!?! [Name]!!" he continued, his voice rising in pitch as he grasped at the door, futilely attempting to pull it back open.

Shut up, idiot, I'm losing my sense of hearing enough already, [Name] thought, their gaze fixed blankly on the bloodied, marbled floor beneath them. The teen's body ached from the impact of the fall, but the overwhelming flood of adrenaline and the sheer weight of their situation had numbed the physical pain, leaving them feeling strangely detached.

Their gaze was drawn by the sudden appearance of a pair of black boots before them, [Name] lifted their head, their vacant stare meeting the impassive mask of the triangle guard.

Hallelujah, I guess, the teen thought dryly, bracing themselves for the inevitable – a bullet through the skull.

But to their absolute bafflement, the pink-clad guard made no move to raise their weapon, nor did they make any attempt to eliminate the teen. Instead, they simply turned and walked away, leaving [Name] to watch as they systematically dispatched the remaining players who had failed to secure their spot.

Huh. The teen's brow furrowed in bewilderment, before their lips involuntarily curling into a wide grin as the realization dawned on them.

Not only had the guard spared them, but [Name] noticed that no other triangle-masked figures were approaching to gun down the teenager. [Name]’s heart raced, a surge of elation coursing through them as they recognized the significance of this unexpected turn of events.

Ho is you dreaming?, [Name] mused, the grin on their face widening. It had been a far-fetched theory from the start, but now the teen felt vindicated, knowing that they had been right all along.

There must be a rule against killing minors. 

[Name] surmised, tilting their head back against the wall with a deep sigh. They couldn't help but feel a sense of... well, relief, if they were being honest with themselves. Why? Because they actually met people who seemed to genuinely care about them here, perhaps for the first time in their life? That's it?

[Name] found themselves nodding at that thought. Yeah, that's it.

[Name] perked up, realizing the predicament they now found themselves in – they would somehow have to explain to their teammates that they were, in fact, still alive, despite having been left behind.

Brow furrowing, the teen mulled over the implications of their group's apparent survival. If [Name] wasn't there, then how had their team managed to not get eliminated? Perhaps someone else had entered the room at the last seconds, that'd be great.

Shifting their gaze, [Name] watched as the circle-masked guards efficiently set about cleaning up the carnage, their movements swift and methodical as they placed the lifeless bodies into black coffins adorned with delicate pink bows.

So coquette 🎀, [Name] mused, a 'sweet' smile tugging at the corners of their lips.

With a resigned sigh, the teen finally pushed themselves up off the bloodied floor, unceremoniously wiping the crimson stains from their palms onto the fabric of their pants. The drama that was sure to unfold upon their return to the group was not something they were particularly looking forward to, but [Name] knew they had no choice but to face it.

[Name] blankly waved at the retreating circle-masked guards, and to their surprise, one of the figures discreetly waved back.

I hope you fall down those twisted stairs and break your neck, [Name] thought, a wide smile spreading across their lips as they continued the lazy gesture.

Finally, the doors clicked open, and the remaining players cautiously stepped out, those exiting the room beside [Name]'s visibly jumping at the teen's unexpected presence, assuming they had simply left their own room in a hurry.

Hidden behind the crowd, [Name] observed as Dae-ho stumbled out, his eyes frantically scanning the area, wild and tearful. Poor guy, he must have truly believed the teen had met their demise.

Nice to know someone gives a fuck, though, [Name] mused, a faint smile tugging at the corners of their lips.

"[Name]..." Dae-ho murmured, his voice laced with absolute despair as his shaky hands rose to cover his face.

The teen chose to ignore the heartbreaking scene, their attention instead drawn to the person who had taken their place in the room – player 333.

Jun-hee then emerged slowly, her cheeks stained with tear tracks as she stared blankly down at the ground. All while the elderly mother was gently comforting her, looking saddened herself. her son followed behind.

Dawg...this is making me feel kinda bad, and I did nothin wrong, [Name] observed, eyebrows rising as they watched the pregnant woman's evident distress.

Against their better judgment, [Name] relented to the pull of wanting to see everyone else's reactions – they simply wanted to know how everyone felt about them, that's it! Don't blame them for their skepticism.

As the second group finally emerged, Jung-bae blinked in confusion, his gaze immediately drawn to the tear-streaked faces and weighty expressions of Dae-ho and Jun-hee. Notably absent was [Name], and in their place stood the silent figure of player 333.

Alarmed, Gi-hun stepped forward, his voice laced with concern. "What's wrong?"

The group shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. The sadness emanating from Jun-hee was almost palpable, and it was clear that something terrible had occurred in the previous round. Finally, Dae-ho spoke up, his eyes fixed resolutely on the ground.

"[Name]... they..."

He didn't even finish his words, but it was enough to send the rest of the group into a state of shock and disarray. Gi-hun's expression morphed into one of pure emotional agony as he realized the implication of Dae-ho's unfinished statement.

Jung-bae solemnly covered his face with his palm, turning away from the group. Hyun-ju's features initially registered shock, but after a moment, a frown settled upon her brow – she had grown rather fond of the teen.

Young-il, meanwhile, scanned the area with widened, panicked yet hopeful eyes. He hadn't felt this level of sheer terror in years, and he prayed that his hope was not misplaced.

Fortunately, it was not.

Young-il's gaze finally landed on [Name], the teen standing by a nearby doorway, previously obscured by the crowd. The man breathed out a heavy sigh of relief, and slowly, his steps forward broke into a jog as he made his way towards the observing teen.

The rest of the group turned their attention towards Young-il's actions, their expressions a mix of confusion and resignation.

The moment he reached [Name], Young-il didn't hesitate for a second, swiftly pulling the shocked teen into a tight, desperate embrace, their face buried against his chest.

The relief and overwhelming emotion were clear in the man's embrace, his grip on [Name] speaking volumes of the fear he had grappled with at the possibility of their death.

[Name] stiffened for a moment, their body tensing at the unexpected physical contact. But soon, the teen found themself relenting, hesitantly wrapping their arms around the older man in return.

In Young-il's embrace, [Name] felt a sureness they had never experienced before. That this person truly cared for them.

"You scared me..." Young-il murmured, his hand gently stroking the teen's hair in a soothing, almost fatherly manner.

"Sorry," [Name] murmured back, their voice barely above a whisper as they melted shamelessly into the man's embrace.

The tender moment was quickly shattered as the rest of the group rushed over – after realizing who young-il was hugging –, already throwing themselves at [Name] in a flurry of relieved embraces.

"[NAME]!!!" Dae-ho's voice rang out, high-pitched and tearful, as he enveloped the teen in a tight hug after young-il let go of them. "I'm so sorryyy, I should have gone back for you!! awgghh!" he cried, his sobs punctuated by a string of fervent apologies.

Jun-hee joined in, her slender frame trembling as she softly wept into [Name]'s shoulder, clutching the teen as if letting go would mean the end of the world.

"Release me," [Name] deadpanned, though they made no effort to push the others away, their stoic facade cracking ever-so-slightly.

Dae-ho chuckled through his sniffles, while Jun-hee responded with a gentle but insistent series of fists against the teen's back.

As the group finally released [Name], the teen was about to sigh in relief when they found themself enveloped in yet another embrace. Just as they were about to tweak out, they realized that this time, the person was Gi-hun, the man's arms wrapping around the teen in a silent, firm hug.

[Name] could feel the shaky intake of his breath as Gi-hun held them close, the man's normally serious demeanor replaced with a profound sense of relief and gratitude at having the teen safely returned to the group.

Jung-bae also took his turn in hugging [Name] while muttering about how worried he was. The teen, however, was damn close to plucking out everybody's eyeballs.

After an agonizing while of their teammates fussing over them as if they were dead just a moment ago, the PA announcer's voice mercifuly arrived, “The next round will begin soon, please get on the platform.”

“We'll talk later.” Gi-hun sharply pointed at [Name] before grabbing their hand and gently pulling them towards the platform, with young-il following close behind, along with the rest of the group.

[Name] took their place on the edge of the rotating platform, the familiar group from before now re-grouped together as a united team. Joining their ranks were the newcomers, player 333 and Se-mi – who had aligned with the others in the previous round.

From the far left stood Hyun-ju, Young-mi, followed by the mother and Yong-sik, their hands clasped tightly together. Jun-hee and player 333 took up position behind them, while Gi-hun stood at the front beside [Name] and Young-il. Filling in the back row were Dae-ho, Se-mi, Jung-bae, and Gyeong-seok.

As the platform began to rotate, the familiar, cheerful children's music resumed, its upbeat melody now a cruel contrast to the heavy, anxious atmosphere that hung over the group.

Suddenly, the PA announcer's voice cut through the air, the words sending a ripple of tension through the gathered players.

"Now, the final round will begin."

[Name] let out a soft scoff, their eyes rolling skyward. "Finally," they muttered under their breath, staring forward with a bored gaze.

Jung-bae stepped closer to Gi-hun, [Name], and Young-il, his brow creased with concern. "What do you think the final round will be this time?" he asked.

Gi-hun furrowed his brow, his expression pensive as he mulled over the possibilities. Before he could respond, however, Young-il interjected with confidence.

"Two."

The rest of the group immediately shifted their attention to the older man, expressions ranging from confusion to dawning realization. Jung-bae's brows knit together as he pressed further. "Why?"

Young-il's gaze hardened as he explained, "There are 129 people left, and only 50 rooms. That means there won't be enough for everyone – the rest will be eliminated."

[Name] raised their eyebrows at this, their mind racing with the implications. This was their last chance to do what they had been contemplating from the very beginning.

"[Name], you're coming with me," Young-il suddenly announced, his tone brooking no argument.

"I told you earlier, don't get in my way-" [Name] began, their frustration evident in the furrow of their brow.

"Enough, [Name], please..." Young-il interrupted, his voice softening as he gripped the teen's shoulders gently. "Just stay close to me," he urged, the desperate glint in his eyes making [Name]'s resolve falter.

With a heavy sigh, the teen relented, nodding reluctantly. A soft smile tugged at the corners of Young-il's lips as he took [Name]'s hand, standing taller.

The rest of the group started pairing up early before the announcement, so they could be ready to sprint to the doors before anyone else- since they would soon be limited.

"Ring-a, ring-a, ring-a, ring-a, ring-a-ring-”

Suddenly, the platform came to a halt, the cheerful music cutting off abruptly. Almost immediately, the tempo shifted to a rapid, frenzied beat, accompanied by flashing lights of red and purple.

The announcer's voice cut through the chaos, delivering the fateful words: "Two."

Without hesitation, [Name] and Young-il rushed off the platform, their hands clasped tightly together as the older man led them towards a room. From the corner of their eye, [Name] caught sight of the rest of the group sprinting away, each pair desperate to claim one of the precious few remaining spaces.

As they ran, [Name] noticed someone making a grab for them – or perhaps trying to push them out of the way. Reacting quickly, the teen dodged by jumping forward, inadvertently causing Young-il to pick up his pace.

I'm not getting caught lacking like that again, [Name] thought, their expression straight as they burst through the yellow door, Young-il quickly shoving a random player who had attempted to enter, throwing him out roughly.

The two of them stumbled into the room, [Name] hastily slamming the door shut. But as they did so, they became aware of an unexpected presence – another occupant.

Stepping forward, Young-il's voice rang out, cold and commanding. "Out."

"W-we were here first!" the man defended, pressed against the far wall. While [Name] struggled to hold the door against the increasingly frantic banging from outside, Young-il swiftly approached the defiant player, locking him in a tight, merciless chokehold as the timer counted down.

Glancing back, [Name] watched as Young-il slid down the wall, the man's neck still firmly in his arms grasp.

Just as the timer reached its final seconds, a sickening crack echoed through the room, followed by the definitive click of the door locking.

[Name] let out a heavy sigh, finally releasing the door now that it was securely sealed. Turning their attention to Young-il, they found the older man still cradling the lifeless body in his arms, having broken the man's neck to ensure their own survival.

If he hadn't acted so decisively, all three of them would have met their demise anyway, for being over the limit.

[Name] studied Young-il with a neutral, unflinching gaze, their expression betraying nothing as they met the older man's intense stare. The way he had killed the intruder – so mercilessly, so devoid of emotion – it was pretty cool.

"What?" the teen asked, noticing the man's unwavering focus. "Am I next or something?" they inquired sarcastically.

Young-il scoffed softly under his breath before rising to his feet, allowing the lifeless body to drop to the ground with a dull thud. "Nothing.." he murmured, a faint, almost relieved smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Stop being so obvious, [Name] mentally sighed, turning their attention towards the rapidly ticking timer, their expression blank.

In truth, the teen was somewhat taken aback by the display of cold ruthlessness they had just witnessed. It was a stark contrast to the man's earlier displays of emotion and concern – a show of what one was willing to do to survive in this game.

[Name] couldn't help but feel a flicker of...admiration? Respect, perhaps? Whatever the sentiment, it was a far cry from the disgust or horror one might expect. After all, the teen themselves had done similar acts of desperation, their morals are questionable at best to be judging anyone else's.

 

☆

 

The third game had come to an end, and the players descended the labyrinthine, whimsical stairs once more. The line moved slowly, with the mother and her son Yong-sik leading the way at the very front. Just behind them were Hyun-ju and Young-mi, followed by Gyeong-seok. Player 333 walked close on their heels.

Next in the line came Jun-hee, with Dae-ho and then Se-mi trailing behind. Jung-bae brought up the rear. [Name] walked alongside Young-il, their voice barely audible as they grumbled under their breath about a plan ruined, earning a concerned glance from the older man.

Suddenly, Gi-hun glanced over his shoulder, his voice solemn as he addressed the group. "When we get back, let's count the number of people remaining.”

Young-il replied from beside [Name], his voice level. "Why?"

"If we count the numbers of Os and Xs, we'll be able to see who's likely to win the next vote," Gi-hun stated matter-of-factly.

Young-il responded, his expression unreadable. "We'll have to hope more people from the other side died." [Name] gave a subtle nod in agreement.

Jung-bae cast the two a worried look as they continued on their way back to the dormitory.

Upon reaching the dormitory, [Name] immediately noticed Player 333 discreetly yet gently pulling Jun-hee away from the group. The teen's eyes narrowed at the sight, observing them from a distance. If this guy is about to take advantage of her, I'll show him how long human organs really are, [Name] thought, their gaze hardening.

After a few moments of discreetly observing Player 333 and Jun-hee's quiet exchange between the bunk beds, [Name] began to calm down slightly. While the situation didn't appear overtly harmful, the teen couldn't quite bring themselves to fully trust the man's intentions. Satisfied that Jun-hee seemed unharmed for now, [Name] turned to catch up with the rest of the group.

[Name] noticed the disappearance of several mattresses, likely confiscated by the square-masked guards since their previous owners had been eliminated.

The reduced furniture allowed for more open space within the dormitory, but [Name] couldn't help feeling uneasy about the change. This place had never truly felt secure to begin with, and the altered layout only made the teen uncomfortable.

Beneath the stairs, a clear open space offered an ideal spot for the group to gather and settle onto the floor. Wasting no time, Gi-hun and Dae-ho claimed the prime location as their own.

[Name] and Young-il took a seat on the lower bunk tucked beneath the stairs, allowing them a clear vantage point to observe the group. Not long after, Jung-bae hurried over, ducking under the stairs to join the others.

"Gi-hun," he began, "there are 55 people who voted in favor of continuing."

Gi-hun straightened his posture, "Are you sure?" he pressed.

"I counted them twice," Jung-bae reassured him, his tone resolute.

From where he stood between the two men, Dae-ho pointed a finger at the prominent O patch adorning Jung-bae's chest. "What about you?" he questioned. "Did you include yourself in that count?”

Jung-bae glanced down at the prominent O patch on his chest, his expression momentarily blank. Then, looking back up at Gi-hun, he stated, "It's 56."

Dae-ho sighed heavily, closing his eyes as if mentally tallying the numbers. "We have 44 people on our side. That means we're outnumbered by 12," he murmured, the weight of the situation apparent in his tone.

Jung-bae leaned his head back, a hint of mock despair in his voice. "Shoot, that means we're likely to lose again," he lamented.

That's when Young-il rose from his seat beside [Name] and stepped forward, joining the group. "It may seem like a big difference, but if six of them change their minds, it'll be 50/50, all tied. If seven of them change their minds, we could even win," he reasoned calmly.

Dae-ho furrowed his brow, pointing out, "But those who pressed X might change their minds too."

Young-il met his gaze evenly. "They probably won't change their minds easily," he replied.

"Why not?" Dae-ho asked, his curiosity piqued.

All eyes turned to Young-il, awaiting his explanation.

"They wanted to quit even when the prize was smaller," he stated, his tone level and matter-of-fact. "Now they can leave with even more money. They wouldn't want to risk their lives playing another game."

[Name] nodded in agreement, their expression blank as they offered the group a thumbs up. "And if they do, I'm beating them up myself," they declared, earning a collective head shake from the others.

"What? Why not? It would work," the teen huffed, their brow furrowing in mild frustration.

Gi-hun's weary sigh cut through the tension. "No, you'll just turn all of the O and X voters against us," he explained, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

[Name] sulked, half their face hidden by their oversized collar as they watched the group continue.

Jung-bae spoke up, his voice tinged with determination. "I'm going to press X this time. That means we'll have a tie if five others change their minds. And with six more, we can win."

At this, Dae-ho perked up, turning his gaze towards [Name], the second O voter in their group. At this point, bearing the O patch had become a mark of shame and embarrassment. “Ah, [Name]..”

Sensing the shift, [Name] declared calmly, "I'm voting X too." 

Jung-bae's eyes lit up with excitement. "That makes it five more for a win!" he exclaimed.

Gi-hun immediately seized on the momentum, suggesting, "Then let's go over there and try to convince them."

However, Young-il's calm yet firm voice cut in, "No, that's too risky." Gi-hun turned to the other man, surprise evident on his face at the unexpected opposition.

Young-il continued, his gaze unwavering. "Most of them will want to continue the games. If we make a move, they won't just sit back and watch.”

Gi-hun's frown deepened, a hint of displeasure creeping into his voice as he turned to Young-il. "So you think we should just stand here and pray they change their minds?" 

He took a step closer to the older man, his body language almost daring Young-il to challenge his perspective. "What if we lose again? We march down, hand in hand, to play another game?"

Young-il met Gi-hun's intense gaze evenly. "I understand how you feel," he responded, his tone measured. "I also wish I could leave right now. But this is the moment to stay calm."

[Name] observed the exchange with a neutral expression, leaning against the frame of the bunk bed, their eyes flicking between them.

"Stay calm?" Gi-hun retorted, his scowl deepening. "We've already taken a vote twice." His voice rose slightly as he continued, "If we can't convince them, we'll have to bring them over to our side by force."

"If we provoke them now, we may end up in a big fight before we even get to vote," Young-il countered, his refusal to back down palpable. Though his demeanor remained relatively calm, a hint of frustration could be detected in his tone. "Is that what you want, Gi-hun?"

After a moment of tense silence, [Name] spoke up, their voice flat as they looked between the two adults. "And arguing while staring at each other like raging homosexuals will help us how?"

The teen's blunt words hung in the air, the group momentarily stunned into silence. [Name] maintained their neutral expression, unfazed.

Dae-ho broke the silence by snorting, before quickly covering his mouth and pretending to stare at the wall.

Jung-bae spoke up, his voice soft and measured as he tried to diffuse the growing tension. "Look, Gi-hun, I'm too scared to play another game. I'm sure there are more people who feel the same way."

Dae-ho stepped closer, his own tone calm and reassuring. "That's right. If it's just five or six people, we've got a shot." He paused, a hint of contemplation crossing his features. "I did the math, and the prize is now over 300 million per person. I think that gives us a pretty good chance."

It was clear from their words that both Jung-bae and Dae-ho were siding more with Young-il's cautious approach. Their reasoning seemed to chip away at the palpable tension that had been building between Gi-hun and the older man.

"Can you stop eyefucking each other now..?" [Name] asked in exasperation, staring at gi-hun and young-il, who were still locked in a staring contest.

Gi-hun and Young-il remained locked in their tense stare, but the palpable pressure between them had lessened somewhat, thanks to the combined efforts of Jung-bae, Dae-ho, and [Name]'s gay accusing comments probably. The argument had not entirely dissolved, but for now, it felt as though the two men were pulling back from almost making out in front of [Name]

Suddenly, the familiar blaring alarm echoed throughout the dormitory, and the double doors slid open, revealing the ever-present pink-clad guards. The square-uniformed figure in the middle stepped forward, commanding the attention of the players.

"Congratulations to all of you for making it through the third game," the guard announced, their voice carrying an air of detachment. "Now, here are the results of the third game."

The group fell silent, all eyes fixed on the guard as they proceeded to deliver the update. After much anticipation, the large television screen finally displayed the necessary details.

There were 100 players remaining. The accumulated prize money stood at an astonishing 35.6 billion won. Distributing all of that equally would mean that each player would earn a staggering 356 million won.

Here goes the pigs, [Name] rolled their eyes, their gaze drifting towards the people gathered under the piggy bank, watching it fill up with even more money, their gazes filled with greed and excitement.

Jung-bae's voice broke the momentary silence, his words tinged with hopeful optimism. "356 million. With that kind of money, some of them will change their minds."

Beside him, Dae-ho chimed in, his tone equally measured. "If we get five more people, it's a tie. If it's six, we win."

Gi-hun responded with a silent nod, his gaze fixed on the guard as they continued their announcement.

"The vote will once again be conducted in reverse order of your player numbers," the guard declared, their voice professional. "Player 456, please cast your vote."

Stepping forward, Gi-hun made his way towards the voting counter as the guard warned. "To ensure fair and democratic voting, we will not tolerate any disruptions from this point onward."

Without hesitation, Gi-hun pressed the X button, the deep beep echoing through the dormitory. He then moved to stand in the designated X zone, his posture resolved yet tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

As the voting progressed, the tension in the dormitory thickened with each passing player. The air felt heavy, charged with the weight of every decision made.

When the time came for [Name] to cast their vote, the teen let out a soft sigh before stepping out from the crowd. Approaching the counter with lazy strides, they pressed the X button with a decisive motion. [Name] then removed their O patch, replacing it with the stark X insignia.

Joining the X team, the teen took their place beside Gi-hun, who greeted them with a gentle pat on the head. The older man's approving gesture conveyed a silent acknowledgment of [Name]'s choice.

Next was Jung-bae’s turn. True to his promise, he pressed the X button, replacing the O patch on his chest with the X one. He then went to stand on the other side of Gi-hun.

Right after him came Dae-ho’s turn. He pressed the X button and joined them, standing beside them all in the X zone.

The next player was someone they must have gotten acquainted with during the last game when [Name] was busy almost dying– Se-mi. She stepped up to the counter and pressed the X button. After replacing her O patch with the X one, she headed toward the X zone.

As Se-mi approached the zone, Jung-bae reminded aloud, “Four more.”

The minutes ticked by, the voting continuing in tense silence. Then, Jun-hee stepped up to the counter, her decision swift as she pressed the X button without hesitation.

The voting continued, and when the mother's turn arrived, she too pressed the X button. Immediately after, another former O player, number 125, followed suit, pausing only briefly at the counter before committing their vote.

The renewed cheers from Jung-bae and Dae-ho were palpable, the two men turning to [Name] and Gi-hun with unbridled enthusiasm. "With three more people," they said in unison, "we win!"

[Name] stood silently, their hands shoved deep into their pockets as they contemplated the growing momentum. Were they truly leaving? And if so, what the fuck would they do? The teen couldn't help but wonder if the promised 300 million won was indeed real, or just a scam. They'll leap off a building if it was.

All eyes were trained on the voting counter as Hyun-ju approached, her movements deliberate and measured. The tension in the dormitory was palpable as the players waited with bated breath to see which way she would cast her vote.

Reaching the counter, Hyun-ju paused momentarily, her gaze fixed on the buttons before her. But without the slightest hesitation, she pressed the X button, the deep, resonant beep ringing out like a triumphant melody to the ears of the X voters.

Cheers erupted around [Name], the sound of celebration filling the air. Dae-ho clapped enthusiastically, while Jung-bae, overcome with excitement, threw an arm around Gi-hun in a joyous side-hug.

"Only two more now!" Jung-bae reminded the group, his voice brimming with renewed hope and joy.

Hyun-ju, her movements confident, replaced her O patch with the stark X insignia before joining the others in the designated zone. A faint smile graced her lips as she seemed to bask in the cheers.

The voting continued, each decision punctuated by either cheers or groans from the corresponding zones. When another former O player pressed the X button, the O voters let out loud, despondent cries, while the X supporters erupted into even louder, triumphant cheers.

"He switched to X!" Jung-bae effused, his excitement palpable. "That's six! It's a tie now! If we get one more person, we win."

Beside him, Dae-ho could barely contain his astonishment, a trace of disbelief coloring his voice. "Are we really going home?" he murmured.

The anticipation mounted as Yong-sik's turn approached. As the young man made his way to the counter, Jung-bae couldn't hold back, turning to his mother with a hopeful plea. "Your son will definitely vote X this time, right?"

The mother nodded reassuringly, her expression serene. "Don't worry. My Yong-sik will definitely press X this time."

True to her words, Yong-sik stepped up to the counter and pressed the X button with unwavering determination. In a swift gesture, he then ripped off his O patch, replacing it with the stark X one. The screen updated, displaying the tally: X: 49 | O: 49. The X zone erupted into a deafening chorus of cheers, the sound nearly overwhelming.

Jesus Christ..., [Name] sighed at the loud, brain splitting cheers. Still, they couldn't hold back a very slight twitch of their lips.

Yong-sik turned to the victorious X zone, his face alight with pride as he displayed his newly donned X patch. "Let's go home!" he exclaimed, his voice brimming with unbridled enthusiasm.

The cheers from the X voters swelled in response, the dormitory echoing with the deafening roar of their celebration. Glancing towards the back of the room, [Name] quickly counted the remaining unvoters – player 006 and Young-il, both of whom already sported the X insignia.

The teen narrowed their eyes, assessing the situation with a critical gaze. If that woman does anything to fuck this up, [Name] thought, I'm throwing hands.

And then, as if on cue, player 006 stepped up to the counter, her movements unsteady. With a collective held breath, the X zone watched in stunned silence as she pressed the O button, the screen promptly updating to X: 49 | O: 50.

The sudden shift elicited a cascade of gasps and groans from the X voters, their euphoric cheers quickly replaced by disbelief and dismay. In stark contrast, the O zone erupted into a raucous display of joy.

[Name] glared daggers at player 006, watching with barely contained fury as she brazenly removed her X patch, replacing it with the embarrassing O insignia. When I get my hands on you… the teen thought, cracking their knuckles.

The woman then proceeded to do something with her hands, bowing in the direction of…the shaman. [Name] stared up at where that woman was seated on a high bunk bed.

I hope that all worms hate you on an instinctual level and you would have to spend your entire life running away from their bloodthirsty chompers. [Name]’s eye twitches in an unhinged manner as they keep their blank eyes on the unsuspecting shaman.

All eyes turned to Young-il as the square guard's announcement echoed through the dormitory. "Lastly, player 001. Please cast your vote."

The dormitory fell silent, the tension palpable as Young-il began his solemn march towards the voting counter. Dae-ho couldn't help but whisper-call the man's name, raising a supportive fist and offering an encouraging "Fighting!"

Young-il spared Dae-ho a brief glance, but remained silent, his attention fixed resolutely on the path ahead. Leaning in, Dae-ho murmured to Jung-bae, Gi-hun, and [Name], "It's going to be 50/50, so it's still a tie, isn't it?"

[Name] nodded, their gaze neutral as they watched Young-il approach the counter. The air seemed to grow thick with anticipation, the tension almost palpable as the man paused, standing silently before the voting buttons. The teen could see his eyes fixated on the large screen above, his expression unreadable.

What the fuck is this guy doing? [Name] narrowed their eyes, their frustration growing with each passing second that Young-il remained motionless.

The dormitory fell deathly silent, the weight of anticipation so palpable it seemed to press down upon the occupants. Young-il, his expression stoic, locked his gaze on the voting buttons before him, his hand hovering indecisively over the options.

Seconds stretched into an eternity as the room held its collective breath, the tension mounting with every passing moment. Then, at long last, Young-il made his move, pressing the X button with a decisive finality. The deep, resonating beep that followed cut through the stifling silence, eliciting a loud exhale from [Name], who slowly shook their head in a mixture of relief and disbelief.

Around them, the X voters erupted into a cacophony of cheers and applause, their earlier anxiety giving way to unbridled joy. Young-il, his face breaking into a wide, genuine smile, turned to face the group. Lifting his hand, he formed an 'OK' sign, his gaze locking with theirs as a visible sigh of relief escaped his lips.

Young-il began his walk towards the X zone, the voters at the front parting for him. He stood beside [Name], giving their hair a gentle ruffle.

"The vote has ended," declared the square-masked guard, his voice cutting through the atmosphere.

Confusion laced the voice of player 100 as he spoke up, "Wait, it's a tie. What happens now?"

[Name] eyed the man with a mixture of exhaustion and exasperation, This pig is still alive?

The guard calmly reminded the players, "Clause three of the consent form. In the case of a tie, players will vote again."

From the X zone, a voice rose up, the voter's urgency evident. "So when are we going to vote again?"

Addressing the group, the guard explained, "To give you some time to think, the vote will be conducted tomorrow. Until then, please think carefully about your future."

A hush fell over the dormitory as the players began to process the guard's announcement. Quiet conversations and contemplative sighs filled the air. Slowly, the X and O factions dispersed, the players retiring to their respective zones to ponder the implications of the tie.

[Name]’s gaze turned towards their group, staring at them with a pensive look– before their hand was grabbed by young-il, who smiled down at the teen, before gently pulling them along towards their hangout spot. The teen glanced up at him, then at the O voters gathering in their respective side.

 

We're definitely killing each other.

 

✧

 

Notes:

Listen, HE was supposed to be at the gates of hell on this chapter. But I thought, maybe I should keep it for the slumber party everyone will be having that night!!! Trust, HE WILL be dealt with.

I Wanted to save young-mi, okay?

Chapter 5: Friend or Foe

Summary:

[Name] crashes out.

Are they a boy? Are they a girl? It doesn't matter, they're going to burn your house down.

Notes:

Hey.

I'm taking a break after this, I've been posting 10k+ chapters for the past few days and I'm TIRED okay? Leave me alone.

Said break will probably be three days, I'm hopeless, I can't stop writing.

Also I'm having an exam that will determine my life, like next week. I might be cooked gang

 

✧

 

The maid's footsteps echo down the hall, her tread heavier than usual.

She enters, tray laden with food - more than the meager rations I've grown accustomed to. Her eyes, filled with pity, meet mine for a brief moment before she quickly averts her gaze.

My body aches, a dull throb that pulses through my muscles, a reminder of last night's torment. Yet, I know the cycle will repeat, the tradition continuing unabated.

Weeks have turned into months, and now, I realize with a start, it's been nearly a year since my descent into this personal hell.

Hell. 

The word echoes in my mind, a harsh truth that I cannot escape. This place, these walls, hell.

I am a demon, they say, and demons belong in hell.

My tormentor's footsteps approach, heavy and deliberate. I shrink back, trying to will myself into nonexistence. I'm not here, I'm not here, I'm not here, here, here, here-

The door creaks open, a sound that sends shivers down my spine. Any semblance of pride or dignity evaporates, leaving me raw and exposed.

For the first time in a year, I beg. 

The words taste like ashes on my tongue, but I cannot stop them from pouring out.

He watched, standing there, his face was blurred in my eyes, his silhouette dark, a defense to keep whatever sanity I still had left.

He grabbed the tray from the maid's hold, before setting it down on the small side table by my bed. It smelled nauseating.

My eyes peaked at him from behind my arms, my body trembling uncontrollably as pleas of mercy escaped my lips in strained murmurs.

He didn't acknowledge them, however.

He picked up the spoon from the bowl of soup, before his hand reached out, earning a violent flinch from me. His hand grabbed my chin, forcing the sustenance down my throat.

I gagged, attempting to spit the disgusting, inky black liquid out, it was futile. His hand clammed my mouth shut, forcing me to swallow.

It continued like this for a while, before he finally let go of my face. My skin burned with the invisible imprint of his hand, I felt filthy.

“Eat.” He ordered me, before standing back up and facing the maid.

“Call the shaman to resume the ritual tonight, this isn't working fast enough.” His words, laced with disgust as he glanced back at me, caused a strain of blood curling fear and fury to surge inside me.

Again? That shaman had only just done the ritual last night, yet he wants me to endure another one of those? That wasn't a ritual, that was a torture method to break me.

I should have known, I knew, I always did, it wouldn't stop. It would never stop.

It'll go on, over, and over, and over, and overandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverandoveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroveroverover-

 

☆

 

[Name] jolted awake, their body convulsing as they tumbled off the top bunk with a resounding thud. Pain exploded in their skull, a thousand needles pricking at their brain. 

Heart pounding, skin crawling, eyes struggling to focus, they clutched their head, trying to ground themselves in the present.

What a great nap, they thought bitterly, their mind still foggy with remnants of that atrocious nightmare. I feel totally disoriented, and I'm frothing with hate. They stared blankly at the high ceiling, fingers gripping the zipper of their tracksuit so tightly their knuckles turned white.

A soft, familiar voice penetrated the haze. "[Name]? Are you okay..?" Jun-hee's concerned face swam into view as she leaned over [Name], who was still sprawled on the cold, hard floor. 

[Name] blinked, their tongue feeling heavy in their mouth. "Yeah," they murmured, sitting up slowly and running a shaky hand through their disheveled hair.

–

The time for dinner arrived. The lines moved steadily as [Name] collected their meal - a solitary roll of gimbap with a fork, neatly wrapped in aluminum foil, and a glass bottle of what appeared to be soda. Not suspicious at all.

Seated on the staircase of their group's corner, [Name] stared at their meal and glanced around at their fellow captives. Young-il sat to their left, eating quietly, with Dae-ho beside him. Behind them, Jun-hee, Hyun-ju, Young-mi, and Gyeong-seok were seated on the upper stairs, engaged in hushed conversations. To their right, the mother and Yong-sik had settled in.

As [Name] took a bite of the gimbap, Jung-bae and Gi-hun returned with their meals.

Jung-bae grinned widely as he addressed Young-il. "I'm glad Young-il gave us another chance to vote again," he said, his voice laced with hope.

"Same here," added Dae-ho, his voice tinged with nervousness. "I was nervous, though. I thought he might vote to stay, like on the first day.”

"No, I just wanted to live," Young-il said, chuckling slightly, "The money's enough for me now. So it's time to get out of here. Alive."

Gi-hun settled onto the lower staircase in front of the elderly mother and Yong-sik, his gimbap untouched.

Gyeong-seok leaned forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "But do you think we'll be able to win the second vote?"

Young-il's gaze drifted to the O players gathered on the other side of the dormitory. "We'll have to go for broke. Like Gi-hun said earlier, we should try to convince some of them to change their minds before the second vote."

The group stole furtive glances at the O voters, their faces were a mix of arrogance and greed, the group turned back to each other.

Yong-sik spoke up, his voice tinged with disbelief as he leaned forward. "Will they, though? They seem to have lost their minds over the money."

His mother, ever the voice of reason, waved her hand dismissively. "The way I see it, we're more likely to win. All we've got do to eat is this roll of gimbap. Tomorrow, everyone will be hungrier. And when you're hungry, you start to miss home.”

That's when Yong-sik rose from his seat, gripping the bunk frame as he stared across the dormitory at the O players. "Hey!" he boldly called out, his voice echoing through the massive hall.

The chatter among the O players died down as they all turned to look at him. Holding up his opened roll of gimbap, Yong-sik continued, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Don't agonize over your decision while eating this dry gimbap. I just want one of you to come over to our side."

The mother and Dae-ho exchanged amused glances, pride and encouragement shining in their eyes. Yong-sik's voice took a friendlier tone as he added, "If we get out of here tomorrow morning, we could get Korean beef! I'll tell you what. It's my treat!"

His mother leaped to her feet, her face lighting up. "And after that, the noodles are on me!" she chimed in.

Dae-ho jumped in, waving his arm enthusiastically. "Come on! Come over to our side! Anyone!"

[Name], mentally drained, leaned against Young-il's shoulder, slowly chewing, still on their first gimbap. The room buzzed with a mix of tension and hope as the two sides eyed each other, waiting to see if anyone would take Yong-sik up on his offer.

But then, Player 100 rose abruptly from his seat on the staircases, his grating voice booming across the room. "Once you all die in the next game, we can all leave with 800 million each! With 800 million, we could buy a freaking cattle ranch!"

[Name] rolled their eyes exaggeratedly, their usual response to Player 100's piggish behavior. So confident he'll win. grandpa, you're an ancient relic.

The O players erupted in cheers, like rats behind Player 100, their confidence more like arrogance. They began calling out, trying to persuade the X players to switch sides.

Dae-ho, unable to contain himself, jumped to his feet. He took a few steps forward and shouted, "Oh, really? 800 million? Who are you kidding? You really think you'll still be alive after the next game? If you don't get out now, you're all going to die!"

Player 226, Player 100's little piglet, stepped down from the staircases with an air of arrogance. "Let's play one more game to see who dies. Stop running away like a coward," he retorted, his words dripping with contempt.

Dae-ho let out an irritated laugh, his face flushed with anger. "What did you say? Hey, come here." He surged forward aggressively, but Jung-bae scrambled to his feet and grabbed Dae-ho's arm, trying to pull him back.

"Come here, asshole!" Dae-ho shouted again, his voice echoing through the dormitory.

Jung-bae latched onto Dae-ho, desperately trying to drag him back, but Dae-ho, fueled by his rage, shoved Jung-bae away and rolled up his sleeve to reveal a Marine tattoo. "I was in the Marines, fucking asshole!" he bellowed.

The O players burst out laughing, their mocking voices filling the air. Player 226 smirked and taunted Dae-ho further, "Oh, yeah? Then I was in the air force, fucker!"

Another O player shouted, "Hey, if you want to go home, why would you even bother eating? Just starve!"

His taunt struck a nerve among the X players. Many of them stood from their seats and approached the middle of the dormitory. Jung-bae, clearly triggered by the comment, marched forward, pointing accusingly at the man who had spoken. "You son of a bitch!" he shouted.

O players began rising in turn, meeting the X players head-on in the center of the room. They all began throwing insults and threats at each other like a bunch of inmates.

"Bruh." [Name] stared at the scene with a deadpan expression. All of this was embarrassing.

It seems like regardless of what they voted for, Both sides were equally humiliating, one way or another.

"You should go rest, you didn't sleep at all last night." Young-il's softened voice cut through the chaos, turning to the teen with a concerned glint in his eyes.

"Sleep? in this economy?" [Name] raised a lazy eyebrow. Young-il sighed at the expected response.

Amidst the cacophony of shouts and insults, [Name] noticed Gi-hun out of the corner of their eye. Gi-hun had unrolled the foil around his gimbap, and his expression froze, his mouth slightly agape as if in shock.

[Name] leaned closer to get a better look at what had shaken him so deeply. Gi-hun then picked up the fork from his foil, holding it up with a look of grim realization on his face.

"Oh.”

 

☆

 

The familiar melody of the school bell echoed through the dormitory, silencing the chaos and drawing all attention to the speaker system. Everyone assumed it was another announcement signaling bedtime.

But the words that followed shattered that assumption. "The following players have been eliminated: Player 230, 268, 212, 331, and 401. End of list."

[Name] let out a low whistle, leaning against the frame of their bunk bed. What a twist. They were just relaxing, and now, everyone would find out that killing each other had the desired effect.

Just what I needed. They mused with an empty smile.

Gasps and murmurs filled the room as players turned to one another. The tension in the air was palpable as the sound of money dropping into the piggy bank reverberated above. Everyone's gaze shot upward, watching as stacks of cash piled into the transparent bank, the accumulated prize money growing visibly larger.

The TV screen updated almost immediately:

'Accumulated Prize Money: 36.1 Billion Won.'

'Prize Per Person: 380 Million Won.'

SoundCloud rapper, you won't be missed, [Name] thought dryly, staring up at the large screen.

Players were standing in a pregnant silence, their bewilderment palpable. Despite the bombshell announcement, [Name] remained seated on the staircase beside Young-il, who exuded his usual calmness.

One could even say they looked like a father–child duo.

Jung-bae turned to Gi-hun, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What’s going on?”

Gi-hun didn't reply, still staring up at the screen. [Name] stared at him with an unreadable gaze, their arms lazily crossed behind their head.

"War, probably." The teen shrugged.

“Don't say that..” Jung-bae shivered, holding his arms together.

The sharp sound of opening doors shattered the silence. On either side of the main double doors, smaller ones slid open, revealing triangle guards escorting a group of male players. Why the hell were they coming from the women's side of the bathroom?

[Name] lazily gestured to the disheveled group. "See? War."

Their faces showed clear signs of weariness, their uniforms were disheveled, and some bore visible injuries. A few had streaks of blood smeared across their clothes and faces.

A player coming from the door in the O zone charged forward, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "Team O, everyone!"

It was Thanos' friend, player 124. Blood streaked his face and hands, his movements erratic as he waved his arms upwards. "We... When we were in the bathroom, those fucking X bastards tried to kill all of us! They killed some of us, including my friend-" he started.

He sounds high as balls, [Name] nonchalantly observed.

Many players, including Young-il beside [Name], rose to their feet, the tension grabbing their attention as they stepped forward, in case things got out of hand. [Name] frowned and grabbed young-il's sleeve, tugging him back beside them. He glanced at them with a slightly startled look before sighing softly, settling down.

“Bullshit,” another voice rang out. It was player 047, one of the X players.

At this point, all players who had gone to the bathroom had emerged from the doors on both sides, their steps sluggish, their faces marked with fatigue and wariness. Blood and bruises hinted at a violent fight. Player 047 pointed an accusing finger at player 124. “You’re the ones who started it.”

The dormitory shifted as X and O players descended the staircases, aligning themselves with their side, and the center became filled as the two groups faced off. The red and blue lines were the only ones separating them, well, they could always just pounce at each other anyway.

Player 047’s voice broke through again, this time addressing the X players around him. “They threatened one of the people on our side! They attacked us to win the second vote!”

“That’s right!” another X player, his face streaked with blood, shouted in agreement.

“Hey, hey..” countered a bald O player. Blood stained his shirt, adding to the heated atmosphere. “You killed one of us first. You were trying to win the vote by killing us!”

“Fuck you. You killed some of us too,” an X player snapped back. His voice was shaking with rage. “Did you think we would just let you kill the rest of us?!”

The crowd’s energy escalated, players inching closer to the brink of another verbal brawl. The shouting grew louder, overlapping into a chaotic cacophony of irritating voices.

Then player 100’s grating voice silenced them all. “So… which side lost more people?!”

[Name] raised their eyebrows, unsurprised that this was all that pig cared about.

Do you have the right to disappoint me to this degree? The teen deadpanned, watching as pig 100 called for every O voter to gather around so he could count them.

"Bunch of trash." [Name] murmured, eliciting a nod of agreement from young-il, who was watching the whole thing go down with an unreadable gaze.

Player 047 moved toward [Name]’s group’s corner, raising his arms to rally the X voters. “Everyone! Gather around!”

Dae-ho followed suit, his voice urgent as he encouraged others to gather. “We need everyone down here! Come on!”

Soon, every X player had gathered in their group’s corner, sitting on the staircases in a reverse pyramid formation. The only one standing among them was player 047, who stood on the floor, facing everyone and counting each person carefully.

[Name] was still sitting next to Young-il, their calm demeanor contrasting with the situation at hand. On the teen's other side sat Gi-hun, followed by Jung-bae and Dae-ho. Behind their row were Se-mi, Jun-hee, Hyun-ju, young-mi, Gyeong-seok, the mother, and Yong-sik. All eyes were fixed on player 047 as he completed his count.

Once finished, he spoke in a hushed tone, “Two people died on our side.”

“Two out of five,” a female player behind Gyeong-seok noted quietly. “That means they lost three people.”

Se-mi, seated behind them, added, “Then we have a better shot at winning the vote tomorrow.”

Jung-bae leaned in excitedly, his whisper carrying to everyone nearby. “Hey, it’s 48 against 47. As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win by one vote!”

His words sparked hope among the X players. Whispering quiet cheers and sharing smiles of relief between each other.

“We’ll win.”

“We can get out of here tomorrow.”

“Unless they decide to cut our throats open tonight. Really dumb of you all to assume they'd sit still and watch us win.” [Name] coldly interjected, turning the attention towards them. The X voters turned silent, grimly contemplating the teenager's logic.

Then, the resonant chime of a school bell reverberated through the dormitory, piercing the silent murmurs and commanding everyone's attention. The announcer's voice followed: "Attention, please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime."

Player 047 rose deliberately and turned to address the assembled X players, his voice pitched low, a mere whisper meant for their circle alone. "Listen. You cannot change your mind. We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow. Alright?”

A wave of quiet agreement rippled through the group. Nods and murmurs of affirmation filling the tense space.

[Name] slumped forward, their arms listlessly resting on their knees. Nobody ever listens to kids, why do they all think they'll be perfectly safe tonight? especially after what has just transpired?

Slowly, the X players began to disperse, their movements calm and quiet. The hope in their eyes, the quiet smiles exchanged between them… it all felt misplaced and foolish. [Name] finally stood, following their group as they made their way back to their spot beneath the stairs.

The group sat in the enclosed space. At first, it was just [Name], Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Young-il, and Jun-hee. Soon, Hyun-ju, young-mi, Gyeong-seok, Yong-sik, and his mother joined, followed by players 047 and 145. What a mess of a group.

Forming a circle on the floor, [Name] sat between young-il and jun-hee– as usual. The teen felt most comfortable beside those two, so why should they sit anywhere else?

Dae-ho stood suddenly, sneaking a glance toward the O players gathered across the dormitory. He crouched beside Gi-hun and spoke in a low tone, “Those bastards are acting suspicious. It looks like they’re up to something.”

"No shit.." [Name] flatly murmured while absentmindedly pulling at their velvet choker.

Jung-bae scoffed under his breath and replied to dae-ho, “Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it'll be all over!”

“Do you think we'll be okay?” Dae-ho asked in a hushed, worried tone, “they say things were really crazy in the bathroom earlier.” 

After a second of silence, gi-hun spoke up in a dark tone, “Once it's lights out,” he narrowed his eyes, “people on the other side will attack us.”

Yong-sik leaned forward slightly, his hand instinctively reaching for his mother's, “really..?”

Gi-hun grimly nodded, before continuing, “Because if they kill us, they'll be able to win the vote and increase the prize.”

Yong-sik took in a shaky breath and looked between the group, “s-so what do we do?”

Young-il finally raised his head, his calm gaze surveying their circle, “Let's attack them first.” The statement caused Gi-hun to look at him sharply, his gaze serious.

What he said, [Name] nodded slowly, before pausing when gi-hun’s sharp look turned to them.

“They're probably thinking we'll just wait till the second vote, we can use it to our advantage,” Young-il elaborated, turning his gaze to everyone around him, “We'll attack them first once the lights go out.”

Player 047 nodded, agreeing with young-il’s sentiment, “That's right. It'd be better to attack them first. We have more women and elderly on our side.” His voice lowered, “If we get attacked, we'd be at a disadvantage.”

“If we attack them first, we'd have a better chance at winning!” He exclaimed in a hushed tone.

“I agree.” Gyeong-seok perked up.

“We can't do that.” Gi-hun’s firm voice interrupted.

Oh jeez, here goes Mr hero complex, [Name] deflated.

Young-il stared blankly at him in quiet surprise. “But we have to get out of here. You said it yourself. Staying calm won’t get us anywhere now.”

Gi-hun didn’t back down, his gaze hardening. “That doesn’t mean we should kill each other. That’s exactly what they want us to do.”

Jung-bae echoed the question that had formed in everyone's mind as well. “They?”

Gi-hun’s eyes shifted to scan the group. He spoke in a low tone. “The ones who created this game. The ones who watch us play. If we’re going to fight someone, it should be them.”

Dae-ho frowned. “Where are they?”

Gi-hun’s gaze lifted upward, and instinctively, [Name] and the others followed it. Do these people who watch us play have bitches? Or a life? I think not.

Young-il’s eyes flickered upward briefly before returning to Gi-hun, his expression unreadable but his gaze intense...as usual. Ugh, these homosexuals.

“On the upper levels are the rooms they control the games from,” Gi-hun explained. “The man in the black mask is their leader. Once we capture him, we’ll be able to win.”

[Name] scoffs and turns their gaze around to the rest of the players, before returning back to staring flatly at gi-hun. "Ha, wait, you want to overthrow them?"

Gi-hun’s determined yet grave eyes locked onto [Name]'s. He nodded seriously. “Yes.”

"He's deadass..." The teen murmured in disbelief. Did he forget to take his meds?

[Name] turned to young-il with a look that said ‘is this guy so fr?’, but they were met with the older man staring at gi-hun with a straight face, his sharp eyes zeroed down on him.

We get it, you want him, [Name] looked back forward with an exhausted gaze.

Finally, Young-il broke the silence, his voice measured. “How are you going to fight them? They have guns.”

Gi-hun’s response was confident. “We’ll fight them with guns too.”

“But we don’t have any,” Jung-bae pointed out, his tone tinged with innocence and disbelief.

Gi-hun turned to him, unfazed. “We’ll take their guns.”

Jung-bae stared at him, his disbelief morphing into something closer to exasperation.

Gyeong-seok hesitated before asking, “From those masked men?”

Gi-hun gave a single, firm nod. Jung-bae sighed deeply, leaning his head back as though the mere thought of the plan was already making him stressed out 

“That’s too dangerous,” Young-il interjected. His voice was steady but carried a note of caution. “Even if we manage to take a few guns, we’ll still be outnumbered.”

[Name] nodded at that, exactly what they were thinking when they heard gi-hun's mentally ill plan.

“What then?” Gi-hun fired back.  “Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive?” 

Young-il froze, his mouth slightly open, although his eyes seemed dark. Gi-hun pressed further. “Is that what you want, Young-il?”

"You've gone mad, gi-hun. All your plan will do is get half of us killed – and when we eventually lose, most O voters would still be alive. Therefore continuing the games with the poor X voters you got into your idiotic suicidal plan." [Name] states flatly, interrupting their little charade, their hands loosely intertwined between their held up knees.

Gi-hun purses his lips at that, staring pointedly at the teen, who stared back with a bored gaze. “I'm not forcing anyone to join me, I'm warning everyone. If we don't do anything, we'll sit here and be their circus monkeys till we die out.” He defended his idea.

[Name] huffed under their breath, but didn't bother arguing any further with the crazy man. I'm losing my shit, why do I even bother with him?

Young-il observed the interaction, his gaze stilling on [Name] for a couple seconds too long.

“Do we…” Hyun-ju began, “...stand a chance?”

Gi-hun’s gaze shifted to her. “We do if we catch them off guard. Out of everyone, they’re the ones who would least expect us to attack first. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

Young-il clenched his jaw inexplicably, his expression hardening before he asked Gi-hun gravely, “How are you going to take their guns?”

Gi-hun frowned, his gaze sharp. “Once the fight begins tonight, we’ll have our chance.”

The group fell silent, waiting for him to elaborate. “When the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quietly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us. We have to hide until the fight ends.”

[Name]'s eyebrows shot up at the unexpected order. Gi-hun pressed on, “Don’t get caught up in the fight.”

Jung-bae frowned in concern. “But that would put people on our side at quite a disadvantage. Without us in the fight, they’ll be outnumbered.”

“I know,” Gi-hun said, glancing at Jung-bae. He then shifted his focus to the rest of the group. “But if we fight with them and some of us end up dead or injured, it will ruin our entire plan. We can’t beat those bastards with a lower headcount.”

Young-il’s gaze darkened, his tone carrying a heavy disbelief. “Are you suggesting that... we make a small sacrifice for the greater good?”

[Name] leaned back slightly, their hand reaching up to cover their barely restrained grin. The hero, the man with the saviour complex...was sacrificing others who are on his side? It almost made [Name] laugh out loud.

This is gold, how ironic!

Gi-hun’s eyes locked with Young-il’s, before he nodded very, very slightly. His voice firm as he said, “If we miss this opportunity, the sacrifice will be even greater. Even if it takes a sacrifice, we must put an end to this game now.”

Young-il’s gaze dropped to the floor. [Name] noticed the faintest twitch of his lips as if he found the situation just as ironic as the teen did. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“In that case..” young-il trailed off, “I'm with you.” He nodded, making eye contact with gi-hun.

 

☆

 

“Lights out in ten seconds.” The PA announcer blared out, reverberating through the tension of the dormitory.

Everyone was on their beds by then, taking deep breaths, clutching their blankets or actually attempting to fall asleep – those however, would be the ones who are unaware of the impending chaos that would soon ensue.

[Name] stared up at the ceiling, their gaze distant. They were on a lower bunk bed this time, so they could quickly get underneath it once the lights were out.

“Five”

“Four”

“Three”

“Two”

“One”

The lights went off. [Name] chuckling under their breath once the piggy bank's dim lighting also turned off, basking the dormitory in sheer darkness, safe for the glowing X and O on the ground.

Ohhh they're doing this on purpose. [Name] scoffed dryly.

Just as gi-hun had planned, [Name], along with the rest of their group, slowly got off their beds in a silent manner, hiding underneath them swiftly.

[Name] looked towards the center and there they were, the rats, the pigs, and everything in between.

The O players were quietly creeping from their beds and onto the floor. They crept slowly and silently in the center towards the X zone. The blue light of the O sign below them shone light on their forms. [Name] felt both elation and sheer disgust when they spotted HIM amongst the approaching players.

They were carrying forks, and were led by player 124, the dead rapper's close lackey. And of course, pig 100 decided to stay back, his creaking bones too ancient for any physical activity, including murder. A shame, really, [Name] wanted to target him after HIS turn was done.

Once a few of them crossed the red lines belonging to the X zone in the center, they sprinted. They no longer cared about being detected. They suddenly dashed towards the X players’ beds and climbed up, aiming their forks at the unsuspecting victims.

Shrill screams and shrieks of pain and horror erupted from the X players, who were being slaughtered before they even got the chance to get a five minutes shut eye.

Fork stabbing and glass shattering sounds kept going around them. The lights began to flicker erratically, casting the dormitory into an alternating rhythm of stark brightness and darkness. Each flash illuminated the chaos: figures clashing, beds overturning, and forks gleaming mid-strike. It felt intentional, as though the game maker had programmed it this way.

They prepared for it all, I almost want to applaud them. [Name] thought, while watching X players get bodied from under the bed. Honestly, they felt like a total pussy.

Their gaze drifted away, almost instinctively landing on HIS tall silhouette, being illuminated by the frantically flickering lights.

Not wasting a moment, [Name] slid from under their bed smoothly, before taking a beeline towards HIS direction.

The sounds around them muffled, the screams of pain and panic, the sounds of unfolding violence fading into the background as [Name] focused on one thing in their way.

HE was cornering an X player, a woman who cried and whimpered in despair as her back hit the wall in finality.

But [Name] didn't care about who their FATHER was terrorizing.

Without a hint of a warning, [Name] leaped on the man's back, legs locking around his torso, and their arms wrapping around his head.

“Got you.” The teen whispered hauntingly into his ear.

“MFGH?!” he struggled, turning and twisting in a futile attempt to get whoever was leeched to him off. Unfortunately, he got the genius idea of slamming back onto a wall, [Name] felt pain explode in their head as he slammed into a bed frame next in his erratic movement, 

Ignoring the liquid trickling from their forehead to their chin, [Name] pulled the man's body backwards, making them both fall after the man lost his footing.

The two wrestled on the ground like rabid animals, [Name] felt their blood racing through their veins, the adrenaline rush making their twisted grin wider.

[Name] finally got the upper hand, their hands tightly gripping his throat, while their knee pressed on his groin, digging it in, eliciting a loud yell of pain.

“G-GET OF ME, MOTHERFUCKER-” He struggled, before his airway was cut off by [Name]’s grip tightening around his throat.

“HahahA…how is it? Huh? pain? Agony? Feeling it yet?” [Name] chuckled breathlessly between their words, their grip tightening further.

“I get it, I get it now…how you felt, it must have been good, huh? Ha! you did it so often, you always smiled the same way.” Their grin tightened, their expression twisting into an unhinged sneer as they leaned forward, blood from their head wound dripping onto the terrified man's face. [Name]’s wide eyes stared deeply into his soul, before whispering in a low tone.

“Do you regret it? Ever? All that you did to me, father dearest? Do you even remember?”

The man's eyes seemed to almost pop out, both from shock and probably also the hands choking the life out of him. The dawning realization washed over him, dread and terror filling his shaking pupils.

“Woah..this must be what you saw whenever you looked at me.” The teen murmured with a curious, innocent look, before their expression turned back into their previous sneer.

“WHY WON'T YOU SPEAK?!" [Name] shouted in fury and mockery, spittle flying as they shook him back and forth. "SCREAM FOR ME, DAMN IT!! SCREAM LIKE I DID!! DO YOU FEEL IT?! I FEEL IT DEEPLY, AND I WILL EXPRESS IT AS VIOLENTLY AS I PLEASE!!”

Tears streamed down the man's rapidly paling face as [Name]'s relentless grip threatened to crush his windpipe. The teen's expression was wild, almost feral, as they reveled in finally making that man suffer.

[Name] sighed, their feral expression turning into a softened one, their gaze saddened while they continued staring into his soul. “Father, was I so unlovable? What was my fault? I was just a little kid.” They whispered in feigned sorrow, all while their knuckles turned white from the grip around his throat.

The reason for him still being alive till now, was because [Name] kept on loosening their hold, allowing him to breath for a moment before returning to choking him till his eyes almost popped.

The teen suddenly glowered, their mood swinging faster than a star baseballer’s bat. “The horrors of what you did still follow me.”

“They're still on me..”

“can’t shake it, I can't shake it..!”

“GOD LET ME FORGET!! WON'T YOU JUST LET ME!??!?!?”

While [Name] had their crash out, they heard a crack, eliciting them to blink and look properly at the man underneath them.

“Ah..” they stared blankly at the now dead man, his face purplish and ugly, drool going down his chin while his eyes rolled so far back to his empty husk of a skull.

Hm.

Weren't they supposed to feel happy? What's with this persisting emptiness? Are they not allowed this moment of satisfaction? This planet is a prison.

How…mundane.

"[Name]..." The quiet call snapped [Name] out of their little bubble, their senses assaulted by the still flickering lights. How much time had passed since it began?

Lifting their gaze with an empty expression, they met Young-il's slightly widened eyes. He hastily approached and pulled [Name] up from the limp corpse, enveloping them in an embrace and guiding them away from the resuming chaos.

Young-il remained silent, refraining from inquiring about the events that had just transpired. Perhaps he had witnessed the entire sequence unfold from the start, [Name] wouldn't know, and frankly, they no longer cared.

"What?" They croaked hoarsely, their throat raw for a totally unknown reason.

"...Who was that?" Young-il finally asked, his features obscured as [Name]'s face was buried into his chest.

"My father," they replied plainly.

Young-il did not respond, but [Name] felt his arms tighten around them ever so slightly. And they found that they didn't mind, if he hadn't intervened, [Name] might have spiraled further down then they would have liked to go.

Scanning the area, [Name] realized that the O voters were still ongoing with their little plan of slaughter. They thought that their group was supposed to hide though, so what is young-il doing with them right now?

“You shouldn't have left your hiding spot.” Young-il began, his tone stern. His hand reached up to their head, probably about to stroke their hair or something– before he flinched very faintly when he felt wetness. Even with the flickering lights, he took notice of the blood staining his fingers now.

“You're injured- your head is injured, [Name]!” He hissed, holding the teen by their forearms. It was difficult to see the level of damage exactly, but he could tell from the amount covering half of [Name]’s face, that it was dangerous enough to rise red flags.

“It is..?” [Name] muttered, raising their hand to feel the sticky liquid on their face. Ah, so that's why their skin felt so cold.

Unfortunately for young-il, he didn't have the time to properly check on the kid that's giving him grey hairs already, as the lights suddenly steadied, illuminating the carnage around them.

A loud, blaring sound filled the air as the double doors at the front of the dormitory swung open. Triangle guards rushed in, their guns raised and scanning the room. Behind them, a square-masked guard entered, holding a pistol which he shot upwards along with the other guards. The sight and sound of their arrival made everyone scatter instantly, breaking apart in all directions.

Remembering Gi-hun’s plan, [Name] and Young-il dropped to the floor, feigning death. [Name] looked dead enough to pass as a two days old corpse anyway. Around them, the sound of rapid footsteps echoed as guards spread out across the dormitory.

“Hands up. Get back,” one of the guards barked at a group of players.

“Drop your weapon. Hands up,” another commanded, their tone sharp and cold.

“Check the IDs of the dead,” the square guard ordered the triangle guards.

A single set of boots approached [Name] and Young-il. [Name] stayed still, the blood from their head wound staining the floor.

The sound of boots stopped right beside them. They felt a slight tug at their collar as the guard bent down. The guard faltered for a moment, for some damn reason.

And suddenly, a blur of movement. Young-il sprang forward, grabbing the guard’s weapon with precision and speed. [Name] however, didn't even bother getting up, ho might be sleeping.

While [Name] took advantage of the cold floor, the rest of the group had launched their ambush attack against the guards, seizing their machine guns and shooting them all down.

After a while, the PA announcer chimed, “Retreat, retreat, retreat.”

[Name] cracked opened their eyes, finally glancing up at the scene. Pink-clad guards littered the floor – along with players from the massacre just a moment ago.

Gunshots filled the air, each one echoing sharply through the dormitory. Players who had no knowledge of the ongoing plan cowered in fear, their expressions frozen in shock as they witnessed their fellow players rebel. Under one of two of the beds, Jun-hee, young-mi, Yong-sik, and his mother stayed hidden, each clutching one another tightly.

Rolling into their side, [Name] finally stood up, dusting their tracksuit off before pulling their zipper all the way up. The heightened collar covering their mouth and nose.

The remaining guards, realizing their position was untenable, began cautiously stepping backward toward the double doors. They fired sporadically as they retreated, their shots aimed to cover their exit.

The double doors started to slide shut, and the guards sprinted through the narrowing gap to escape. However, the square guard misjudged the timing. The doors closed firmly, leaving him stranded inside.

Poor bastard, [Name] smiled.

“Stop! Hold fire!” Gi-hun shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. He pointed his gun at the square guard cautiously.

Jung-bae jogged toward the guard, his weapon trained steadily on the man. Player 145 followed closely behind, flanking the guard from another angle.

“Hands above your head! On your knees!” Jung-bae commanded, his voice commanding and firm.

“You goddamn bastards!”

Turning their gaze to the far end of the open space, [Name] observed player 047, his gun aimed at five O players. Blood stained their faces and hands, evidence of the chaos they’d left in their wake. The O players, clearly terrified, raised their hands high in surrender.

Hell yeah!

Gi-hun sprinted toward the scene, his expression urgent as he grabbed the barrel of player 047’s gun and pushed it downward. “No!”

Hell nah...

“Move!” shouted player 047. “Do you not see this?”

Gi-hun glanced around, his eyes falling on the lifeless bodies of X players who had been unable to defend themselves. The dormitory, once a place of temporary safety from the games, had become a blood-soaked field where humans turned into greedy pigs, killing each other for the sake of more money.

“They are not human,” player 047 growled, his voice trembling with rage. “They’re like goddamn vermin blinded by money!”

Player 047 raised his gun again, aiming directly at the cowering O players. Gi-hun acted quickly, gripping the weapon firmly and meeting player 047’s glare with steady resolve. His face reflected both understanding and firmness as he said, “This is not what we took these guns for. If we do this, we’ll be no different from those masked men.”

[Name] didn't hold back their eye roll. Says the one who got all these people killed, you could have at least warned them.

Young-il quickly approached [Name], a machine gun slung over his shoulder. "[Name], turn around," he commanded, not waiting for them to comply before gently guiding them to face the other way.

Carefully inspecting the wound at the back of their head, Young-il's brow creased with a concerned frown. He then grabbed a nearby blanket and meticulously tore off a strip of cloth.

Tenderly, he began wrapping the makeshift bandage around [Name]'s head, murmuring, "You'll have to make do with this for now." The pristine white fabric quickly stained with the seeping crimson.

"Kay," [Name] faintly acknowledged. They'd rather not pass out from blood loss at this moment, it would be nice later though.

With a troubled sigh, Young-il gazed down at the teen, his expression etched with worry. "If you feel faint or lightheaded, you must tell someone who-"

His words were interrupted by the approach of the elderly mother who had emerged from her hiding spot. "Don't worry, young man, I'll take care of them," she reassured, gently taking hold of [Name]'s arm and pulling them to her side.

[Name] frowned slightly but did not resist, their eyes remaining fixed on Young-il. After a moment, he nodded gratefully to the old woman. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Of course! Everyone should look after our only child," she smiled warmly, reaching up to tenderly stroke [Name]'s back.

Fuck you mean ‘our’??? [Name] glanced at her, boggled, before turning to Young-il, their expression one of disbelief, but he simply gave their shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning away and retreating to where Gi-hun and his armed group stood.

[Name] visibly deflated at Young-il's departure, eliciting an amused chuckle from the old woman. "You seem quite close to that young man," she observed, her tone laced with gentle curiosity. "Is he like a father figure to you?" She inquired as she gently guided [Name] to the safe spot where Yong-sik, Jun-hee and young-mi were hunkered down.

[Name] shot her a sharp look. "Lady, I just killed my real dad. I don't think I'm in the mood to hear that right now," they scoffed, crossing their arms defensively.

Father figure? This woman crazy, [Name] thought, refusing to let even a single doubt or intrusive thoughts invade their head.

"Ah!?" The woman turned to the teen with a baffled expression, before sighing and dismissing the comment. "You teenagers and your dark humor.." she mused, shaking her head.

[Name] stared at the woman with a deadpan expression, before shifting their gaze to Jun-hee. They took their place beside the pregnant woman, unceremoniously pushing Yong-sik aside.

"Give my girl some space," [Name] huffed, their hand reaching out to clasp Jun-hee's. The expectant mother smiled fondly and rested her head on the teen's shoulder.

Yong-sik, his mother and young-mi exchanged a loaded, unreadable look.

Then, gi-hun’s voice rang out in the tense dormitory, strong and steady.

“Everyone, don't be scared! gather around, please! We're not trying to hurt you!”

Players started to slowly file out from their hiding spots, cautiously taking in the scene while stepping forward to form a half circle around the area.

[Name] stood beside jun-hee, watching as their group turned into a rebel group. They will die, they shouldn't have done this. Their failure is so obvious…gi-hun, you're too sure of yourself.

Gi-hun stepped forward, “Everyone,” he began, “We will now, head up to the masked men's headquarters!” He declared, holding his finger to point upwards.

And like a true rebellion leader, he said, “We'll capture the ones who captured us! Put an end to this game, and make them pay.”

Gi-hun then levelled his machine gun upwards, before addressing the crowd, “Anyone who knows how to use a gun, and wishes to join us, please step forward.”

As expected, a silence prolonged the dormitory, nobody stepped up for this suicidal mission. Wouldn't it be better to just surrender now and get it all over with?

[Name] noticed jun-hee making eye contact with player 333, shaking her head at him. He nodded faintly and stayed put.

After a moment, jung-bae stepped forward, “Hey, I know you're scared.” His voice was solemn, “I'm scared too.”

“But this may be our last chance to get out of this place alive.” He states, turning his gaze around the sea of players.

Or voting X, shouldn't this motivate more O voters to wake the fuck up? [Name] sent a dirty glance towards the O players on the other side.

“Fight with us! So we can go home, all together.” Jung-bae continued with a more confident tone.

Against all odds, there would always be suicidal idiots, as an X player stepped forward, “I'll fight with you!”

Gi-hun nodded, gesturing for him to come over, “Come here!” 

“I'll join you too!” Another added, holding his arm up,

“Come join us,” Gi-hun welcomed him as well.

Two more also held their hands up and walked towards the center of where the armed rebel group stood.

Murmurs went through the crowd, as unexpectedly, people actually stepped forward to fight.

“They're all mad,” [Name] murmured.

“But they're fighting for us..” jun-hee turned to the teen.

“Ok? They're still insane.”

“Aren't you insane too?” 

[Name] turned to the pregnant woman, who was staring at them with doe eyes, blinking owlishly.

“Don't get sassy with me.”

Yong-sik moved to step forward, but his mother swiftly held him back, shaking her head at him in silent disapproval. Humbled, the young man lowered his head and obediently heeded her unspoken command.

Jung-bae handed out guns to those who stepped up, before turning to give the sea of players one last look. He then turned back to Gi-hun, shaking his head dejectedly - no one else would be joining their rebellion.

"Check your guns and ammo," Gi-hun ordered, pacing in front of the line of armed men - and Hyun-ju.

"Take one radio each," Jung-bae instructed, holding up a walkie-talkie. "Our channel number is 7, the lucky number," he added, gesturing to the device.

Noticing the clumsy struggles of some men, a capable woman stepped forward. Hyun-ju addressed the group in a commanding tone, "Attention!"

She held the weapon aloft, displaying the gun. "This is an MP5 submachine gun," she began.

"First, if you press this lever in the middle and pull the magazine," she demonstrated, effortlessly removing the magazine, "It will come out like this."

Continuing her instruction, Hyun-ju explained, "If the selector switch is down, it's set to full auto mode. Up is the single fire mode." She deftly flipped the switch upwards.

"We don't have many magazines, so set it to single fire mode," she ordered sternly.

"Lastly, insert the magazine, pull the handle, and then release it." Once more, she walked through the loading process. "That's how we load it - is that clear?" she concluded, fixing the group with a stern gaze.

"Yes!" the rebels exclaimed in unison.

Young-mi, who had invisibly remained with [Name], Jun-hee, the mother, and Yong-sik, finally spoke up, gazing at Hyun-ju with admiration. "She's so cool, huh?" she remarked dreamily.

We've got wuh luh wuh too? [Name] glanced at the petite girl with a deadpan, before nodding faintly in agreement. Hyun-ju really was cool as hell.

Gi-hun then stepped towards the square masked guard they captured, who had his hands behind his head. Gi-hun pointed the pistol at him, cocking it.

“Take it off.” Gi-hun ordered in a low tone.

The pink-clad guard slowly began to slightly unzip his jumpsuit, before pulling his hood down and taking his mask off, with only his balaclava covering his identity.

“Take that off too.” Gi-hun pressured him.

The guard took a second, before he also pulled his balaclava down, revealing an astonishingly young face, he couldn't be past 25.

“Good god..” jung-bae muttered, “do your parents know what you're doing here?” the unmasked guard stared at him with a dead gaze, before turning his attention back to gi-hun when he cocked his pistol again.

“Take us to your captain.” Gi-hun ordered firmly.

–

With a gunshot, Gi-hun shattered the glass of the small door opening and swiftly reached through to unlatch the thick metal door, pushing it open, before pushing the guard they're holding hostage forward.

[Name] watched from their spot beside the remaining members of their group, arms crossed contemplatively. They perked up slightly when Young-il turned to offer them a small, reassuring smile. [Name] found themselves returning the gesture, albeit fleetingly, before he departed.

What's feeling? As if this might be the last time I see him, [Name] thought, their hand tightening around the sleeve of their garment. Nuh uh, I refuse to even think about it,

Hyun-ju also turned to give their group one last look, earning a wave from both young-mi and the elderly woman.

Geum-ja - the elderly mother they had finally learned the name of - gently took hold of [Name]'s arm and ushered them to a secure spot between the bunk beds. Young-mi and Jun-hee flanked their sides, while Yong-sik and his mother sat across from them.

"Do you think... they'll make it?" Young-mi asked quietly, her gaze fixed on the floor as she fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.

"Probably not-" [Name] began, but was swiftly silenced by Geum-ja's shushing.

"Hush, child! Of course they will," the elderly woman assured Young-mi, leaning forward and stroking her arm soothingly. "Didn't you see how they attacked those evil guards? We have nothing to worry about!" she declared with conviction, before turning to her son with a sharp look.

"Yeah!" Yong-sik nodded vigorously in agreement. "You heard Hyun-ju the other day - she was in the army, so she'll do just fine," he asserted confidently.

Army? That woman just keeps getting more and more badass, [Name] mused, raising their eyebrows in impressed acknowledgement.

Suddenly, someone approached their little circle. [Name] glanced up to see it was Se-mi. Jun-hee greeted her with a slight smile, seeming to have grown friendlier with the woman since the mingle game.

"Oh! Welcome, young girl, come, come, join us!" Geum-ja immediately welcomed her, scooting aside to make room for Se-mi.

Se-mi regarded them silently for a moment before taking the offered seat.

"You're still alive?" [Name] asked bluntly, earning them horrified looks from the rest of the group.

"Thanks to you," Se-mi replied, a slight smile of amusement playing on her lips. This only served to further confuse the group, including [Name].

"Huh?"

"When you were wrestling with that man like an animal earlier... You made that bastard trip, and that gave me the chance to stab him and run," Se-mi elaborated calmly, her smile widening slightly.

"You looked really fucking crazy there," she added with a snort.

[Name] huffed, taking it as a compliment. "Thanks."

The rest of the group simply sat there, staring bewilderedly at the two seemingly unhinged individuals among them.

Eventually, the resounding sounds of gunshots were heard echoing into the dormitory. Everyone’s heads snapped up, the rebel group had finally encountered the guards on their way up to management. Some froze in fear, others gasped in shock, and a few wore expressions of deep worry for those who had gone out to face the guards.

[Name] narrowed their eyes, what a mess...young-il, gi-hun, dae-ho, jung-bae, y'all better come back or I'll drag you from the afterlife myself.

 

☆

 

Long minutes have passed. Then came the sound of rapid footsteps echoing from the direction of the door they had all left through. everyone's head snapped towards it, their bodies tense with suspense. The door creaked open, and someone sprinted into the dormitory.

It was Dae-ho. His frantic movements caught everyone’s attention. There was fresh blood on his face. His wide eyes darted around the room, and his chest heaved as though he had been running for his life. His hands, trembling visibly around the MP5 gun. He was panicking REALLY much for someone who was in the marines.

Ah, PTSD.

“Magazines, magazines…” Dae-ho muttered under his breath, his words frantic as he dashed toward the nearest fallen guard. “Magazines in pockets…”

[Name], Yong-sik, his mother, young-mi, and Jun-hee rose from their spots, they exchanged anxious glances, while [Name] was already approaching him. Around the dormitory, players murmured among themselves, watching Dae-ho’s erratic movements with growing curiosity. He rummaged through the guard’s pockets, pulling out a few rounds of ammo before hurrying to the next body.

"Dae-ho, what the fuck are you doing?" [Name] inquired as they stepped towards him.

He flinched and stood straight, looking into the teen's sharp eyes with wide ones of his own, "magazines. get the m-magazines from these bastards' pockets, hurry!” He stuttered while urging them, his teeth shattering by how shaky he was.

Jesus, [Name] frowned, before turning to yong-sik and telling him to grab the magazines from the dead guards' pockets. He quickly nodded and went to grab as many as he could, soon, jun-hee, geum-ja and young-mi joined him in gathering the ammo.

Using a dead player’s jacket as a makeshift mat, they all piled the collected ammo onto it. When the search was complete, [Name] stood next to the others, watching as Dae-ho crouched to inspect the haul. There were roughly 16 magazines in total.

“This was all we could find,” Yong-sik said, his voice quiet.

Dae-ho nodded, his gratitude evident despite his anxious state. He wrapped the jacket around the ammo bundle and hugged it tightly to his chest. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the door, his focus set entirely on returning to the fight.

The relentless sound of gunfire continued to reverberate from above, a ceaseless barrage that had become disturbingly familiar to those below. [Name] and the others soon returned to their seats, but something caught the teen's attention, causing them to turn around in disbelief.

Dae-ho had returned to the dormitory. He stood frozen near the entrance, his face pale and his body trembling visibly as he clutched the bundle of ammunition tightly to his chest. His wide-eyed stare seemed fixed on something distant, something only he could see.

"Dae-ho..?" [Name] muttered in a low tone, quickly approaching the trembling man. Dae-ho did not acknowledge their presence, instead huddling down on the ground and clutching his head while muttering under his breath.

The rest of the group stared in astonishment, not expecting his return. He looked to be in a state of pure terror and shock.

"Dae-ho!" [Name] raised their voice, stepping closer. Dae-ho flinched harshly at the call, causing [Name] to sigh.

"You need to get the ammo to them. They'll run out," [Name] crouched down beside him, gently grabbing his shoulders.

"I-I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." Dae-ho continued his frantic mantra, shaking uncontrollably.

"God damn it, Dae-ho..." [Name] gritted their teeth, barely holding themselves back from slapping some sense into the man.

"Is he in shock?" Yong-sik asked, his voice edged with worry.

"I think he is," the mother replied softly. "We shouldn't crowd around him."

[Name] did not move, their eyes fixed on the bundle of ammunition on the ground. Their brow furrowed as they realized they needed it, their friends up above needed these desperately.

The relentless gunfire still echoed from above. Fuck it.

"He's useless right now. Someone needs to get the ammo to the group up there," [Name] declared, standing straight and facing the others, who stared at them with shock.

"W-who?" Yong-sik nervously asked, prompting Geum-ja to grab his arm in a silent plea for him not to volunteer.

"Me, obviously. What, did you think one of you could do it?" [Name] scoffed, crouching down to grab the bundle of ammo, eliciting another flinch from the trembling Dae-ho. They ignored it and stood up.

"Keep an eye on him. He might start convulsing," [Name] gestured to the shaken man.

"Wait! [Name]! You can't go! You'll die!" Jun-hee desperately grabbed the teen's arm, pulling them back with a heavily worried gaze. But this time, [Name] gently pushed her away.

"Who else would do it? You? Or maybe him? Or maybe ANY of you?" [Name] turned to Yong-sik and then to the rest of the players with a death glare, which they all avoided like the cowards they were.

"That's what I fucking thought," [Name] hissed, before sighing. They glanced at Dae-ho one last time, considering taking his machine gun, they went to grab it, to which dae-ho flinched again. “Give me the gun, dae-ho.” the teen whispered firmly, to which the other man very shakily shrugged it off from around his shoulders as if it would burn his skin.

[Name] slung it over their own shoulders, checking the ammo, the instructions from hyun-ju earlier repeating in their head.

“Take care of yourself,” Geum-ja suddenly said quietly, her voice steady but filled with emotion. “Be careful. If you can’t come back, stay with the men. I will pray for your safe return.” 

[Name] stared at her with blank eyes, before nodding faintly.

With one final look at their worried group, [Name] rushed out of the room. They noticed Dae-ho's walkie-talkie on the floor and grabbed it. a voice crackled in the air. It was Hyun-ju, her tone urgent. “Dae-ho! Dae-ho, where are you?!”

"Dae-ho is incapacitated. I'm taking his place to deliver the ammo," [Name]'s voice rang out through the radio.

"[Name]?!?! What are you doing? Get back right now!" Gi-hun's voice crackled urgently and angrily through the device.

"What he said, get back or you'll get shot in an instant! You have no idea what you're doing!" hyun-ju added.

"Shut up, I'm your only hope for ammo," [Name] scoffed, turning the radio off. They glanced up, noticing the destroyed cameras, and followed their trail as they climbed the colorful, twisting stairs.

After climbing what felt like endless flights of stairs, [Name] finally caught sight of the battlefield. It was utter chaos. On one side, their group took cover, firing intermittently at the hot pink guards positioned across the massive labyrinth of colorful staircases.

The teen scanned the area, searching for the path that would lead them directly to their team. Their gaze turned towards a guard on the side across from them, who had their gun pointed at [Name]. The teen simply stared at them, unflinching, until the guard lowered their weapon and aimed it at the group instead.

Bastard.

"The kid's here!" Gyeong-seok's voice rang out, as he noticed [Name]'s casually approaching figure, making no attempt to take cover.

Hyun-ju was crouched near the open balcony, peeking over to assess the guards' positions. She let out both a relieved and a frustrated sigh upon seeing [Name] and immediately turned her attention back to the fight.

"Cover them so they can get closer!" she called out to the others.

They opened fire, unleashing a barrage of shots to suppress the guards on the other side. [Name], however, just walked towards them with unhurried steps, earning them terrified looks from the others for their apparent disregard for their own safety.

The teen ignored them and laid the bundle of ammo on the ground. Without hesitation, [Name] began throwing ammunition at everyone, some hitting them square in the face. Gyeong-seok grabbed two magazines and reloaded his MP5. [Name] sent two more to Hyun-ju, who caught them and loaded her weapon swiftly.

"Thank you, but you should go back now-" Hyun-ju began, but was interrupted by the teen's piercing glare.

"I'm not going back, not until Gi-hun and Young-il get the ammo, so you'd better tell me where they went or I'll look for them myself," [Name] states firmly and coldly, staring into Hyun-ju's soul.

The woman sighed heavily, glancing at the shooters before looking back at the teen with a hesitant gaze.

"They went right around that corner to the control room. [Name], please, don't do anything stupid and stay behind them once you get there," Hyun-ju told them, her eyebrows furrowed in worry.

[Name] nodded quickly and ran across the short hall, turning the corner. They kept on going until they saw a half-opened door, held by one of the machine guns.

Beyond the door stretched a hallway completely painted in purple extended before them.

Stepping through, [Name] moved across calmly, observing their surroundings while also following the gunshots echoing through the corridors.

The layout of the halls became increasingly disorienting, just like those stupid fucking stairs back there. Multiple intersections and identical corridors were making [Name] go insane. The teen grumbled and pushed their bangs back in frustration.

This is child labor! Thought [Name], who volunteered to do this themselves.

As they were about to turn the corner, [Name] suddenly spotted a couple of guards, their backs facing them. Quickly, the teen sidestepped, avoiding detection as they hugged the wall.

JESUS CHRIST, [Name] inwardly exclaimed, lips pursed tight as they peeked around the corner. The guards were engaged in a firefight, raining down bullets on someone(s) out of sight. The teen's concern wasn't being caught, but rather the worry of not being able to deliver the much-needed ammunition.

Only then did [Name] notice two figures lying still on the ground - members of the rebel group, now lifeless. The teen's brows rose at the sight, and they cautiously approached, steps muffled, to confirm the bodies were indeed dead.

Yep, dead as hell.

Satisfied, [Name] hastily ducked back behind cover, though the guards seemed too preoccupied to notice their presence. The teen's hand gripped the MP5 slung over their shoulder, and they steadied their aim, positioning themselves in a low crouch.

Without hesitation, [Name] pulled the trigger, one guard crumpling and tumbling down the stairs. The remaining guards had clearly thought their comrade had fallen to the visible opponent rather than the unseen one behind them.

Seizing the opportunity, [Name] peeked out again, lining up another shot and downing a second guard. They then quickly took cover again.

Teehee. [Name] grinned, this was just too exciting. Judging by the adrenaline rush they were getting from this, it's safe to say that one line of cocaine would immediately kill them.

Too excited, [Name] peaked out to shoot at the guards again. They paused, their eyes making contact with a pair of legs instead.

“Can you get out of the way? I'm trying to shoot someone here,” [Name] dismissively said, before freezing in realization and looking up, [Name] saw the polished shoes, then the neatly pressed pants, and finally the long, all-black outfit that draped over the figure. Their blank eyes reached the mask, a geometric pattern of sharp angles that concealed the figure's face.

Behind him was a group of square pink guards which moved in a formation, more numerous than the previous batches around the purple corridors.

“...erm.” The teen murmured with a straight face, not even noticing as two guards suddenly grabbed them – albeit gently – and made them stand up.

They also attempted to take the teen's MP5, to which [Name] clutched close to their chest. “Get your dirty hands off my baby.” They hissed at him. The guard took it anyway.

The geometrically patterned masked man with the black hood kept silently staring at [Name] with a slight tilt of his head, before gesturing silently to the guards to follow.

They followed alright, but while also pushing [Name] forward with them. As they stepped down the stairs, [Name]’s eyes hardened at the sight of both gi-hun and jung-bae kneeling on the ground, their hands held in surrender behind their heads, while two guards behind them held them at gunpoint.

I told them, I told them all!!!!!!! [Name] mentally shrieked.

The teen remained silent as they were pushed forward, at this point they were willingly walking behind the tall man in black.

Why's he tryna be different? [Name] raised an eyebrow at his different style. This man was clearly the leader, with the absence of a weapon, and the way he stood in front of all of them, and most obvious of all, his different uniform.

His gaze went to Gi-hun and jung-bae. A tense silence followed, every movement in the corridor had stilled.

“Player 456,” the man's deep, distorted voice filled the corridor, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Did you have fun playing the hero?”

Oh he's just like me fr, [Name] solemnly lowered their head.

Slowly raising his head, gi-hun’s fury filled eyes met the man's expressionless mask. Before his gaze caught sight of [Name] behind them, his eyes widened in fear and shock.

“[Name]!!? Leave that kid alone! They have nothing to do with these games– you monster, and recruiting kids now?! I expected everything, but this is a new low even for a bastard like you!!” Gi-hun started, shouting in rage at the masked man, who remained silent while blankly gazing down at the furious man.

[Name] peaked at him from behind the strange man, ignoring the guards who attempted to hold them back, thinking they were about to approach. “Let go fuckwad, I'm not doing anything.” They whispered to them, pulling their wrist back from their hold.

The man stood before Gi-hun and Jung-bae, his left arm raised, a stark white pistol gripped firmly in his hand. The weapon caught the light as he leveled it directly at Gi-hun's face. The sight made [Name]'s fists clenched tightly, eyes widening with alarm.

"Look closely," the man said, his tone low and menacing, "at the consequences of your little hero game."

Gi-hun's jaw tightened, teeth gritting as he stared down the barrel of the pistol. But then, the masked man shifted his aim, turning the weapon towards Jung-bae.

The other man trembled, realizing his own demise was imminent. Then, in a sudden, impulsive act, [Name] took advantage of the guards' lax in vigilance and pounced, wrapping their arms and legs around the man's torso.

"HELL NO!!" the teen shouted, clinging to him. The masked man stumbled back slightly at the sudden weight and held [Name]'s wrist, which was wrapped around his neck.

"Let go, [Name]." The man's whispered words gave [Name] pause, not because he knew their name, but because of the unexpected familiarity. Seizing the moment, the masked individual grasped the back of [Name]'s shirt and wrenched them off, the guards then roughly shoved the teen to the ground. [Name] grunted, their injured head making their vision swim.

Unexpectedly, the masked man turned on his own guards, "Let go of them!" he barked at them to release [Name], they immediately complied. The teen however, remained on the ground, because that's just who they are, their gaze hardened as they glared up at the masked man.

Gi-hun and Jung-bae observed in bafflement, aware of [Name]'s impulsive nature and mental instability, yet still surprised by their reckless actions. Jung-bae barely restrained a slight smile, impressed by the teen's cat-like pounce.

Sharing an anxious glance, Gi-hun and Jung-bae knew [Name]'s intervention could very well cost them their life. Gi-hun's hate-filled eyes remained fixed on the man he knew as the Captain.

"Let the kid go..." he hissed, the words dripping with venom.

The captain fixed his hood, composing himself after the teen's lil prank. He adjusted his mask before turning to gi-hun and jung-bae. This time, however, he didn't raise his pistol and instead turned to face [Name].

“Get up.” He ordered, his disoriented voice cutting through the tense silence. [Name] struck a pose on the ground, kicking their feet upwards while propping their elbows on the ground, their chin resting on their palm.

“No.” Came the teen's flat response.

“...I won't kill them.” He finally states.

[Name] sent him a fake smile before standing up, shoving their hands into their tracksuit's pockets. “Sweet deal.”

[Name] might have seemed to be taking this very lightly and casually, and they were! They were also noticing the fact that-

Wait a second.

“Gi-hun, where's young-il?” [Name] asked, their hands dropping to their sides as they slowly turned to look down at the still kneeling man.

Both gi-hun and jung-bae lowered their gazes grimly, not answering the teen's dreaded question.

“Don't give me that bullshit, where is he?” [Name] persisted, stepping forward with a steadily angered look on their face.

The captain stared at the teen with a blank gaze, or what appeared to be a blank gaze with his geometric patterned mask hiding his face.

Neither gi-hun or jung-bae replied to the teen, keeping their heads lowered. [Name] stood there in disbelief, gritting their teeth, they had fully expected this.

“I told you fuckers- I told you you'll die!” [Name] seethes, their fists clenching, nails digging into their skin until they drew blood. “Now- because of you, gi-hun. Because of you..!” [Name] glared darkly at gi-hun, who pursed his lips together, guilt eating at him at the teen's outburst.

"Then, come with me, and I will let your friends live," the Captain's words cut through the tension, as he stepped forward towards the teen, holding out his gloved hand in an offer.

"No!" Gi-hun's head snapped up, his voice desperate as he immediately interjected. "Don't follow him, [Name]! This man - he's a sick animal! He doesn't see any of us as humans!" Gi-hun lunged to intervene, but two guards quickly grabbed him, dragging him back down. His struggle grew wilder, eyes fixed fearfully on the scene.

Jung-bae, pale and trembling, remained where he was, hands still raised in surrender. Two guards loomed behind him, MP5s aimed at his head, ready to fire at the slightest provocation.

Gi-hun's shouts blended into the background as [Name] turned to face the Captain, their eyes empty. His gloved hand remained steady, a silent invitation demanding a response.

[Name] glanced back at Gi-hun and Jung-bae, seeing the desperate, terrified looks in their eyes. They also remembered Hyun-ju, likely still in danger outside. If I hesitate any longer, she could die... and the others too, ig.

Young-il is not coming back, and they won't meet up once they leave this place – if they ever do. The thought made [Name] frown, but instead of collapsing down in a fetal position and sobbing, they bottled up their feelings like any normal person would.

Should I just shoot myself right here and now? I don't want to deal with this. [Name] glanced at the Captain’s pistol, still in his left hand.

Noticing where their eyes went, the Captain indiscreetly hid the weapon behind his back. Son of a bitch.

[Name] didn’t move. They didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe, for a second.

Everything felt like it was underwater – muffled, distant. Gi-hun yelling, Jung-bae begging, guns aimed, someone’s panicked sobs echoing off the walls – but none of it reached them.

Because Oh Young-il was dead.

And that fact wrapped itself around their chest like hot chains and barbed wire.

He was supposed to make it out. They were supposed to meet up, talk shit about the others, maybe... go get noodles or something stupid like that. He was supposed to scold them for getting into trouble, then hand them his water bottle and say, “Drink. You look like a dehydrated seal.”

But he wasn’t coming back.

There was no water bottle. No scolding. Just that disgusting, hollow absence like something ripped out of them and didn't bother to stitch it up.

“Come,” the Captain repeated quietly, almost gently now, hand still extended.

[Name] stared at him.

This man. This thing. The one who'd killed people without blinking, who ran this place like a blood-splattered circus, who somehow still spoke in that calm, calculated tone like he wasn’t also rotting from the inside out. He was always good at hiding it, they knew he'll fall before them..how ironic.

Maybe it didn’t matter anymore. Maybe it was easier this way.

“What happens if I go with you?” they asked, voice flat. Dull. Like the words were walking off a cliff.

The Captain tilted his head slightly, the triangle patterns of his mask glinting in the light. “You’ll survive.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Your friends die.”

[Name] let out a small breath, not quite a laugh. More like the sound you make when the last thread holding your sanity together had already snapped. Was it ever there?

They took one step forward. Then another.

“[Name], don’t!” Gi-hun screamed, still struggling against the guards. “Don’t do this, he'll break you, please!!”

"Goddamn it gi-hun..” [Name] closed their eyes, before suddenly reaching out and tightly grabbing his gloved hand, glaring daggers. "Go on, tell your guards to stop shooting hyu- everyone outside."

Satisfied, the Captain glanced at a guard, who relayed an order over the radio to hold all fire against the players. Without a word, the Captain turned and began walking down the corridor, his grip on the teen's hand firm but not forceful. [Name] followed, casting one last glance at Gi-hun's wide, terror-filled eyes.

Behind them, the guards fell into formation, their boots echoing sharply against the floor. Gi-hun's anguished scream suddenly pierced the air, raw and desperate. "[NAME]!!!" he cried, still pinned to the ground, his struggle only intensifying.

 

☆

 

The Captain guided them through a labyrinth of twisting corridors, navigating the winding passages with practiced familiarity. It was almost as if he had mapped every inch of this maze-like facility.

Behind them, the square-masked guards marched in perfect synchronization, their rhythmic footsteps echoing down the halls. Despite their robotic, uniform appearance, [Name] had seen the guards bleed - they were not machines, but very much human.

As they rounded another corner, a new figure emerged from the hallway ahead, several guards trailing in his wake. This man's mask bore the same square symbol, but the rest of his attire set him apart. His uniform, identical in design, was entirely black, accented with a bold pink stripe at the middle and a matching pink belt.

For some inexplicable reason, his mere presence irked [Name], as if his very existence and presence was an annoyance. There was no particular reason they could pinpoint, but his ass needs to die, NOW.

The square-masked guard halted as soon as he caught sight of their group, the pink-uniformed soldiers behind him immediately freezing in perfect formation.

"Captain," the black-clad guard nodded respectfully. "One manager and twenty soldiers have been dispatched to the dormitory to subdue the rest. It appears there are no backup plans for the uprising."

The Captain came to a stop just a few feet away, the pink guards and [Name] halting as well. The teen glanced sideways at the Captain, recognizing his clear authority - this man was undoubtedly the top dog, while the black-uniformed guard was his second-in-command.

Breaking the silence, the Captain's low, unsettling voice inquired, "What's the update on the rest of the rebelling players?"

"We had shot most of them down," the masked officer reported in a detached tone. "One or two managed to retreat to the dormitory and hide among the others."

"Huh?" [Name] interjected, drawing the two men's attention. They glared at the Captain. "You said you'd stop shooting them. Did you fucking lie to me?" The teen pulled their hand away from his grasp, they noticed how he had almost reached to reclaim it.

"I didn't lie. Those were shot before my order to halt fire," the Captain explained calmly, meeting [Name]'s gaze.

The teen continued glaring before turning to the black-uniformed guard, pointing accusingly. "You, yes you, shithead. Is player 120 alive? Can you ask? Tell me."

The man stood in silence for a moment, glancing at the Captain, who regarded him with an unreadable expression behind the mask. Receiving no order to withhold the information, he raised a device on his collar and quickly inquired about player 120's status.

"Player 120 is alive," he reported, nodding towards [Name], who sighed and visibly relaxed.

"Okay.” they murmured, their expression returning to its default blank look.

The Captain soon began walking again, moving past the masked officer and the pink guards. The masked officer immediately fell into step beside him, though still slightly behind. Dog.

The Captain's hand reached out and held [Name]’s hand once more, still looking forward. His touchiness reminded [Name] of-

Stop, don't think of him, stop it, enough. [Name] closed their eyes, sighing under their breath.

After a brief walk, they halted before a nondescript door. The Captain silently gestured for [Name] to enter, holding it open.

"What?" the teen spat out, raising a skeptical brow.

"Get in. Someone will come to treat your wound," the Captain calmly stated, gesturing to the makeshift bandage covering [Name]'s head injury.

[Name] glanced inside the sparse room - a sofa and table, nothing more. "Ugly ass room," they murmured, reluctantly stepping through the doorway.

"I'll come back for you later. Stay put," the Captain ordered, his tone carrying an underlying plea for the teen's compliance.

"Whatever," [Name] dismissed with a wave, plopping down on the sofa. The Captain lingered a moment, studying them, before turning and closing the door, a solitary guard stationed outside.

Unsurprisingly, the Captain didn't trust [Name] to remain obediently still. Not that it mattered - the teen was too mentally and physically drained to consider any bullshit at the moment. They rested their head back, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Young-il.." they murmured quietly. feeling their throat tighten at the thought of the man. They quickly pushed themselves up to sit straight, there might be cameras here, and the most embarrassing thing ever is to be secretly watched crying.

After what felt like two eternities but was only a few minutes, the door opened, and a circle-masked guard entered, a med kit in hand. 

"The end is never the end is never the end is never the end..." [Name] repeated like a broken record, arm draped listlessly across their stomach as they lay back down, gaze distant.

The guard paused, visibly concerned by the teen's despondent state.

Finally, the guard stepped inside, setting the medical kit on the table and turning their masked face towards [Name].

"Sit still," they instructed, their voice flat and devoid of emotion. They took advantage of [Name]'s position on the couch to elevate the teen's head with a pillow, better positioning themselves to tend to the injury.

Carefully, the guard unwrapped the bloodied cloth bandage, setting it aside. They then used a damp cloth to gently clean the dried blood from [Name]'s face.

[Name] closed their eyes, deciding to simply ignore the entire process and allow the guard to work. After a few moments of stinging pain, which they resolutely pushed aside, the guard stood up, closing the medical kit and stepping back.

Sparing one final glance towards the teen, the guard then exited the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Alone now, [Name]'s hand reached up to pull their bangs free from under the fresh bandages, letting the strands drape over their forehead, partially obscuring the pristine white dressing.

Hopefully I don't look fucking stupid, the teen thought, scanning the room for anything reflective to check their appearance - the last time they'd seen their own face was back at the bathroom.

Finding nothing else to do, [Name] let out a loud groan, covering their head and feigning pain. They paused, hearing no reaction. Clearing their throat, they then proceeded to scream out in exaggerated agony, rolling dramatically on the couch.

The door was immediately flung open by the square-masked guard stationed outside. He silently regarded the teen, who now lay still, staring up at the ceiling with a straight face.

"What? Need somethin’?" [Name] glanced at him nonchalantly.

The guard offered no response, simply turning and exiting, closing the door once more.

"Boring ass.." [Name] scoffed. What else was there to do in this place for a kid besides messing with the unfortunate souls stationed nearby?

"Hey! Get in!!! Please, I'm just 16! I can't be left alone with my mentally ill thoughts!" [Name] called out, sitting up on the couch.

Hearing no response, the teen frowned in irritation and yelled, "You are a coward and history will forget you!!"

Once again, the guard remained stationed outside. The door seemed to mock them, remaining unopened. [Name] glared at it, "I'm telling your boss about this, he WON'T like it, I know." They crossed their arms with a huff, leaning back.

After a few seconds, the door opened, and [Name] barely concealed a smirk as the square-masked guard entered. "What is it that you require?" he asked flatly, sounding entirely done.

"Oh, nothin'- don't go, bastard! Sit down." [Name] clicked their tongue, seeing him almost leave. The guard simply stood before the table, rather than sitting.

After a moment of silence, [Name] spoke in a blank tone, "Do you think truckers realize they're the dentists of highways?"

The guard stared back blankly. "Explain."

"They both fuck twinks at gas stations."

"...Explain."

Before [Name] could verbally abuse the guard for his mental incompetence, the door suddenly opened, drawing both their attention. 

It was the Captain. The square guard tensed slightly, stepping aside as the Captain's gaze swept over them.

Turning to [Name], the Captain gestured towards the guard. "Did he bother you?"

"Oh, yeah, he bothered me out of my mind, actually the asshole got in allll by himself, fuckin' creep," [Name] nodded, pointing accusingly at the guard, whose head snapped in their direction.

Without hesitation, the Captain raised his silver pistol, aiming it at the guard. The man attempted to defend himself, shaking his head, but was immediately shot in the chest, crumpling to the ground.

"...I was joking," [Name] muttered, staring at the Captain with a deadpan expression.

"He shouldn't have entered in the first place," the Captain stated, holstering his weapon.

[Name] stared blankly at the man, perplexed by his seemingly protective behavior. It had started when he didn't retaliate earlier, even after they had pounced on his back - instead, he had yelled at the guards who had forcefully subdued them. And now this...

"Get up," the masked man ordered, and [Name] rolled their eyes before complying, rising from the couch. Their gaze drifted to the bloodied cloth bandage on the table, the one He had used to treat their injury earlier today.

Turning away, they continued forward, passing by the Captain as he stepped out of the room, the teen noticed the two square-masked guards standing at attention outside. He stepped up beside [Name], one hand reaching out.

The teen grabbed it absently, allowing him to guide them down the corridor, the guards falling into formation behind them.

"Wait, where are we going? And why the hell? I'm asking questions this time," [Name] suddenly halted, refusing to remain compliant.

The Captain paused, turning to face them. His head tilted slightly as he regarded the teen in silence. "You'll understand everything soon. Be patient," he intoned, his tone monotonous.

[Name] furrowed their brows, a sarcastic smile twisting their lips. "Patient? I lost all that when I was in that torture chamber," they retorted, gesturing back towards the room.

"You will understand in due time," the Captain repeated, before gently tugging them forward to resume their trek.

 

I hope both sides of your pillow are warm for the rest of your life!!, [Name] glared daggers into the back of his head as they reluctantly followed along.

 

✧

 

Notes:

Some of you MIGHT have noticed, but I'm taking heavy inspiration from another squid game fanfic called "The last mask".

The author predicted half of s3 very impressively and it's kind of crazy, I'm going along with what they predicted, so credits to them for half the scenes and the fourth game contents!!!!

Also read the fanfic guys it's soo hsnkaowzsis good like omg guys it's soooo (for all my frontman obsessed pookies)

UPDATE!!!!: Change of ideas, I will not be posting chapters until s3 comes out (I might die before that), BUT!!! I will be posting special chapters of alternative options in the series with [Name], and also very important backstory chapters!! So if you're interested in mc's horrifi- interesting lore, read it!!!

Thank you for listening to my Ted talk.

Chapter 6: ✧|| UNPURE

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

Pure angst (you will never be pure)

Notes:

*PowerPoint transitions myself here*
Hi. THIS ISN'T A CHAPTER!!!!!! Just a little thing about mc's backstory.

I'm sorry I've been gone for longer than I thought, I had a life altering exam and almost got thrown in a psych ward when I didn't want to take it from stress (I crashed out).

—

Warning: HEAVILY implied child sexual abuse, religious stuff that might offend die hard christians, religious trauma, child imprisonment, pdf file.

 

✧

 

Sometimes I wonder if there is a God.

I wonder if he actually cares.

But then I laugh and remind myself.

Even if there is one, God abandoned me long ago.

Because I am a demon. And I was never meant to be born.

it's what he said, it's what they scream into my ear every night. Father, the shamans and exorcists entering and exiting my room every night, the voices, they all repeat the same thing..over and over.

Father, he stares at me with hate, disgust, and contempt as he spits out, "Satan." the words rolled out his lips so easily.

Fortunately, "Fuck you." rolled out of mine just as easily.

 

—

 

[Name] sat up on the canopy bed, dark curtains hiding their form from anyone who had the misfortune of entering this depressing room.

Disheveled hair obscured their half-lidded, empty gaze, while they stared down at the food tray on their lap. Food, what a generous way to describe this questionable liquid in the bowl.

Black, cold, and emitting an unforgiving stench of decay.

It was the same substance that they were forced to drink a few hours after each ritual. A way to speed up the process of getting Satan out of them.

Or whatever the adults say with their blurry faces and incomprehensible words of horror.

[Name] sighed heavily and began to lift the spoon from the bowl, mechanically bringing it up to their mouth.

This has been their routine for longer than a year now. Ritual, rot in bed, consume weird dark substances, eat normal food, sleep, repeat.

Ignoring the stomach twisting taste, [Name] swallowed. It is what it is. But like, can it be something else.

Lately, nobody has been entering this room – excluding the maid who was assigned to bring in their food, and the shamans performing the rituals.

Their father hasn't visited to check on them either, which [Name] mentally cheered for, they'd rather not hear that grating voice for another second.

He was probably out and about in some bar with young women giving him lap dances.

Sad excuse of a fuckin’ priest… [Name] bitterly scoffed before bringing the bowl to their lips and downing the contents like a shot of vodka.

It's easier drinking it this way, rather than suffering through it for an hour.

Frustrated, [Name] flung the bowl at the wall, the plastic bowl cluttering on the ground noisily. The maids must have had enough of cleaning the shattered dishes every day.

God forbid I do anything, [Name] sighed, leaning back against the uncomfortable headboard. They slowly raised their hand up to stare at the heavy shackles around their wrist, the metal chain binding them to the bed frame. still serving cunt though..

[Name]’s thoughts slowly drifted to why all this character development was happening to them…

No, no they didn't- I don't want to think about it.

It all began when..

Stop. We're already in a flashback! Don't add another one, plEAS-

 

—

 

The dull, lifeless walls of their room offered no solace, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional shuffle of a maid outside. [Name] sat restlessly on the uncomfortable bed, their mind a chaotic whirlwind of disturbing visions and disembodied voices that had plagued them relentlessly.

Fuck, not again, they groaned inwardly, fingers trembling as they dug into their scalp. The hallucinations were becoming more vivid, more persistent - and the last thing [Name] wanted was for their fanatic, degenerate father to find out. That mentally fucked-up prick would probably start raving about demons and possession, completely losing his shit.

Unfortunately, their luck had run out. A sudden, violent schizophrenic episode at the academy had resulted in the principal calling that self-righteous "priest" - and now he was storming into the room, his face contorted with a mixture of horror and rage.

"What is the meaning of this?! The principal told me all about your unholy deeds! And even attacking a student?!!" he spat, his voice dripping with accusation as he shakily pointed at them, his other hand gripping his silver cross. "Have you allowed the devil's hold on you, child!?"

[Name] winced, bracing themselves for the impending bullshit that's about to unfold. There was no escaping this now.

[Name] forced a saccharine smile, feigning innocence. "It was nothing, really," they replied in a sickeningly sweet tone. "Just a little issue at the academy, nothing to worry about."

Inwardly, [Name] cringed at their own words, but they knew they had to gaslight his ass carefully. The last thing they needed was for their father to fly off the handle about demonic possession or some other religious bullshit.

"Nothing to worry about?" the father spat, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "The principal called me in a panic, saying you were speaking in tongues and convulsing on the floor! You even launched yourself at another student! Are you trying to ruin my reputation?!! Clearly, the devil has a hold on you, child."

[Name] let out a light, airy laugh, waving a dismissive hand. "Father...you worry too much. It was just a stress-induced misunderstanding between friends!! Absolutely nothing. You know how intense the academics can be." They flashed him an earnest smile.

The father's face contorted with a mix of horror and outrage. "The principal showed me the footage, child! I saw it with my own eyes, violent like an animal while spouting unholy words!" He loomed closer, jabbing an accusatory finger in [Name]'s direction. 

"Satan has a grip on you - I won't allow it! not on MY child!" He began muttering under his breath, something about ritual cleansings and exorcisms. 

Sensing an opportunity, [Name] slowly began to ease off the bed, eyes darting towards the door. They needed to get out of this room before their father turns into file.

"Father, please, it's not what you think," they interjected, voice dripping with feigned concern. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. Let's not jump to any conclusions, hm?"

But the father was having none of it. "No more excuses, child!" he roared. "I will purge the demons from you, even if it's the last thing I do!"

As he advanced menacingly, [Name] seized their chance. Sparing one last pleading glance, they turned and bolted for the door, heart pounding in their ears. They had to get as far away from this fucking madness as possible.

"COME BACK HERE, [NAME]!!" The man furiously shouted behind them.

[Name] burst through the doorway of this damn house, heart racing as they fled the father's manic ranting. But the father made no attempt to chase after them, knowing well enough that they had nowhere to go.

"Run all you want, child!" he bellowed. "You cannot escape the Lord's judgment!"

Cursing under their breath, [Name] continued running, their steps carrying them aimlessly down the neighbourhood streets. They had no friends to run to, no safe place to seek refuge. They were totally, and completely alone..and their father knew that, he knew very well.

The hot, oppressive air stung [Name]'s lungs as they ran, legs burning with each stride. But they couldn't stop, couldn't slow down. Anything was better than returning to that wretched room and facing their father's degeneracy.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! they mentally screamed, panic and frustration fueling their desperate flight. Where the hell were they going to go? There was nowhere left to turn, no one who could help.

Their father made sure of it.

The sound of their ragged breathing and pounding footsteps filled the air as [Name] pressed on, refusing to allow their father this win.

They finally turned a corner, reaching an alleyway which had three different ways to escape– just in case.

[Name] slid down against the wall, sitting down on a cardboard box while heavily panting like a dog. Their hands shakily raised up into a praying gesture, they closed their eyes tightly and inhaled.

Dear god. I am NOT your strongest soldier, keep testing me and I WILL be seeing you soon. The teen prayed, muttering incomprehensibly under their breath.

Instead of panicking about their current situation, [Name] opted to lean against a dumpster and hoping for a thug to pass by and slit their throat open. Whoever praying on my downfall, you won.They fell asleep.

Eventually, the police found them and brought them back home. Kicking and screaming.

Their father stood at the entrance, waiting with his book of horror (the bible) and a weapon of mass destruction (a cross).

 

—

 

The oppressive silence of the dimly lit room weighed heavily on [Name] as they sat hunched in the bed, palms pressed firmly against their temples. The constant recollection of the past year's horrific events had left them feeling drained, both mentally and physically.

"Ugh, finally..." [Name] groaned, the words muffled by their hands. The author had intentionally dredged up these deeply buried memories, determined to torment them for the next 24 hours, so that they'll remember this in harrowing detail.

Lowering their hands, [Name] stared blankly at the uneven, carved patterns on the ceiling, lips pursed in frustration. The familiarity of this wretched place was enough to make their skin crawl. A year and a half had passed since their father had brought them back home, subjecting them to the endless torment of so-called "demon cleansings" - acts of shamanic rituals and exorcist practices that amounted to little more than pure fucking torture.

Soon imma be feeling like Humpty Dumpty when he fell off the wall and had a great fall, [Name] thought.

The sudden sound of the door lock clicking open caused [Name]'s body to tense reflexively. Without a moment's hesitation, they laid down, screwing their eyes shut, feigning sleep as a familiar set of stumbling footsteps approached the bedside.

The air grew thick with the nauseating stench of alcohol, and [Name] had to fight the urge to shrink as their father's presence loomed over them. 

"My beloved child," the man muttered, his voice thick and slurred. "I've missed you so...why did you- hicc- have to be so... unholy?"

[Name] barely managed to suppress a scowl of pure disgust. The very sound of his voice made their skin crawl. Yet, they maintained their facade of peaceful slumber, even as their father's calloused hand began stroking their hair in what was no doubt meant to be a gesture of affection.

The touch was revolting, making [Name]'s muscles tense with the overwhelming desire to lash out. But they knew better than to react - any sign of defiance would only invite more of their father's twisted "purification" rituals. So they lay there, body rigid, silently enduring the unwanted caress as their father continued his drunken mumbling.

Just stay still and it'll pass.., they urged themselves, throat tightening with a mix of fear and revulsion. One wrong move, and it'll all start over again…

A chill ran down [Name]'s spine as their father's words registered, the man's drunken speech slurring slightly. "I'll purify you myself, my child..." he murmured, the blanket suddenly tugging away from [Name]'s body.

Clenching their eyes shut even tighter, [Name] fought the rising panic as their father's calloused hand began caressing their bare shoulders. They knew from bitter experience that any show of resistance would only provoke a violent reaction - so they remained deathly still, praying he somehow drops dead from alcohol poisoning.

"Your skin is so soft..." the father continued, his tone taking on a disturbing quality. "mmh...much softer than those wretched women..hic.." 

[Name]'s stomach churned with revulsion, every fiber of their being screaming to get away. But they dared not move a muscle, muscles tense and trembling as they silently begged for this ordeal to end.

The father's hand slid lower, and [Name] felt the bile rise in their throat. They knew what was coming, had experienced it all too many times before. The thought of it made them want to vomit, to lash out, to do anything to stop this twisted violation.

Silent tears slipped down their cheeks. All they could do was pray...

 

pray? pray for who?

 

There is no God benevolent enough to save you.

 

You will never be clean from sin.

 

Rotten children don't deserve heaven.

 

There is no God who could give you your purity back.

 

✧

 

Notes:

I will post a special chapter if you guys want.

You can now request anything, an alternative version of a choice [Name] made for example, or an Au.

PLEASE, make it interesting or istg I won't make it. Gang please I'm losing ideas.

Chapter 7: ✧|| REVELATIONS

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

[Name] finally opens up without being a bitch about it.

Notes:

Did I mention that [Name] is schizophrenic? They're just like me fr.

Anyway, this chapter is canon, rejoice.

Timeline: After the six legged pentathlon – after the bread and milk meal.

 

✧

 

The large dormitory buzzed with the quiet chatter of the players, the hours they had spent in this dreary, stifling place had made [Name] almost immune to the stank surrounding them. Honestly, this place is a prison in all the wrong ways.

"Do they even have showers in here? Whoever owns this place is gonna hear it from me," [Name] groused, seated cross-legged on their bunk with Jun-hee by their side.

Young-il glanced over briefly, his expression neutral.

"Yeah...I'd kill for a long, hot shower right about now," Dae-ho drawled from the bunk above, casting a weary gaze over their little group.

"Speaking of bathrooms-" Jung-bae began.

"Nobody spoke about bathrooms," [Name] muttered.

"Speaking of bathrooms, I really need to use one right now," Jung-bae continued with a groan, already starting to rise from his seat.

"I'll go with you, sir!" Dae-ho eagerly jumped up, seizing the opportunity.

[Name] stood as well, "Me too."

"You..?" the older man eyed them skeptically, giving them a once-over. "I'm pretty sure I saw you using the female bathroom earlier-"

"You don't want to go there," [Name] whispered, holding his gaze with a death stare.

"O-Okay..." Jung-bae leaned back slightly with a nervous chuckle, clutching Dae-ho's arm.

"I'll join as well, if you don't mind," Young-il suddenly spoke up, rising from his own bunk with a faint smile.

"Alright, the more the merrier!" Dae-ho beamed.

Gi-hun was somewhere out there, he didn't come back since the last vote, he's probably off giving a speech to the O voters…

As the small group made their way towards the bathroom, the quiet murmurs of the dormitory faded into the background as they went through the unnecessarily thick door.

Climbing the softly hued, winding stairs, [Name]'s steps faltered momentarily as a sharp pang gripped their stomach. Clutching their abdomen, they hunched over like an eight months pregnant woman.

Fuccckkk! not now, not now! they inwardly lamented, biting down hard on their lower lip. The reflex to vomit was a painfully ingrained response they unfortunately recognized too well. HIS ‘demon purging’ methods went from relentless overeating to utter deprivation, even spoiled food had been forcibly shoved down their throat more times than they could care to remember..along with that sick inky liquid. It had taken them months to get back to normal human eating habits.

Seeing HIM again during the previous game had thrust them right back into that dark, revolting place, rendering even the simple act of eating their meal today a struggle. But [Name] knew better than to refuse it – they would need every ounce of energy for the next game.

Noticing the teen's absence beside him, Young-il glanced back, his brow furrowing with concern as his gaze landed on their hunched form.

"[Name]?" he called out, approaching cautiously and laying a gentle hand on their back. "Is something wrong? Do you need to go back?"

Dae-ho and Jung-bae soon followed suit, their expressions etched with worry.

"What happened?? Are you okay?" Dae-ho asked, his tone tinged with palpable concern.

"Shut up...I'm fine. I just need to use the bathroom," [Name] muttered through gritted teeth, straightening up and pushing past the trio.

"Ohh, you should've told us you were just constipated-" Jung-bae began, only to cut himself off abruptly at the withering glare [Name] shot his way.

"It's not that." they sighed.

"Then what is it?" Jung-bae pressed, but [Name] remained silent as they finally reached the male bathroom.

As Jung-bae opened the door, the four of them were met with SoundCloud rapper and his bitch boy bullying Player 333, like a scene straight out of a high school hallway. Thanos had Player 333 pinned against the bathroom stall, an intimidating glare on his face as he clearly threatened the man.

Men's bathrooms always get these world wars going on… [Name] deadpanned.

Noticing Young-il amongst the group, Thanos remembered the ass beating he had received the day prior and reluctantly backed off with a huff. 

"I'm watching you." he spat in english, pointing a finger at Player 333 before shoving past them and exiting the bathroom, his two bitch boys trailing behind.

Player 333 glared at their retreating forms, acting all brave now that they left.

"Are those guys still bullying you?" Jung-bae asked, a note of concern in his voice. Dae-ho stepped forward, offering, "If they keep doing that, you could tell us," gesturing briefly to Young-il, who had been the one to save his sorry ass in yesterday's fight.

Look at his self absorbedness, this guy would be dying and won't ask for help in fear of breaking his ‘man pride’. I would bully his ass too, [Name] scoffed, "We're not going around playing hero for random people, Dae-ho." 

"Husshh!" Dae-ho quickly hushed them.

Player 333 glanced between the group for a moment before simply stating, "I'm fine," and exiting the bathroom as well.

Young-il watched the man leave, then gently nudged [Name] forward. "You should go now. I'll wait out here for you."

The teen nodded silently, slipping into an empty stall and locking the door behind them.

Urghhh there's so many people…they're gonna hear me vomit my guts out now, A heavy sigh escaped their lips, soon followed by the sound of retching as they leaned over the open toilet, clutching it as they vomited up the meager contents of their stomach. 

Their throat burned, and tears fell involuntarily as their body forcefully purged, sending tremors coursing through their frame. They gasped for air between heaves, leaning forward to retch once more.

Slumped over the toilet, [Name] breathed heavily, their face a mess of tears and drool.

A knock echoed in their stall, accompanied by the familiar voice of Young-il. "[Name]? Are you alright? Do you need anything?" he asked, concern evident in his tone.

What could he even get me? [Name] blinked tiredly.

Unable to respond, [Name] simply grunted before slowly standing up with a groan, unsure if their stomach had finished its torturous assault on this poor child.

Hastily wiping their face with toilet paper, the teen finally emerged from the bathroom stall, exuding an air of nonchalance as if no one had heard them literally dying in there.

They ignored the worried looks cast their way by the three men and instead went to the sink, sighing in relief as the cold water helped to snap them back to reality.

What a year this hour has been, they thought, blankly surveying their disheveled reflection.

A hand suddenly came to rest on their shoulder, causing the teen to instinctively flinch as the reflection of Dae-ho appeared beside them, materializing like a ghost. He was definitely not there a second ago, or was he?

"Dude… I need my meds." [Name] murmured wearily, running a hand over their face. Aware that they already emptied out the bottle anyway.

"You take medication?" Dae-ho asked, brow raised in concern.

"you don't?" [Name] glanced at him, stepping aside to allow Dae-ho's hand to fall away.

"Why would I need medication?" 

"What the kid means—" Jung-bae began, only to be cut off once more for the third time just today.

"You don't know what I mean," [Name] stated flatly, turning their gaze to the ex-marine.

The two men exchanged a loaded look, unsure of how to continue this weird ass conversation, until Young-il stepped in to save the moment.

"Do you have a stomach issue? Is that why you were vomiting so much?" he finally asked the question no one else had voiced.

"Yeah, that was a lot, and we barely ate anything, right? Or did you get extras from someone?" Jung-bae added, his curiosity getting the better of him.

[Name] pursed their lips, averting their gaze from the prying men. "I'm just not used to eating so much, that's all," they replied with a shrug.

They all immediately assumed the worst.

Jung-bae gasped, the sound uncharacteristically girlish. "You shouldn't be feeling like this at your young age! You're just a child," he whispered melodramatically, stepping closer and squeezing [Name]'s shoulder, earning him a grimace from the teen.

"What the hell are you talking about–"

"He's right, [Name]! You should eat all you want, don't worry about what anyone says! Period," Dae-ho added innocently, offering an encouraging smile.

"What."

Young-il cleared his throat, discreetly brushing Jung-bae's hand from [Name]'s shoulder as he moved a bit closer. "I'm sure they meant something different from what you two think. Are you not used to the portion?" he asked calmly.

[Name] glanced up at him, a spark of admiration in their eyes. He gets it, they thought.

"Yeah, I'm just... used to eating smaller portions," or none at all, "I'm homeless, remember?" The teen explained, rolling their eyes in exasperation.

Dae-ho and Jung-bae fell into a somber silence at the reminder, muttering sincere apologies, which [Name] quickly brushed off.

"Whatever, let's go back," they muttered, shoving their hands into their pockets and walking past the men towards the bathroom exit.

Young-il watched [Name]'s retreating figure in silence for a moment before following, with Jung-bae and Dae-ho trailing behind.

Exiting the now half-empty bathroom, the four made their way down the pastel-colored halls in silence. [Name] fell back, walking a little slower, for no particular reason other than being uncomfortable with having anyone too close behind them.

Young-il slowed his pace to walk beside them, earning a sidelong glance from the teen. He remained silent however, eyes forward.

As they entered the dormitory, everyone was preparing for lights out, which was announced to be in 30 minutes. Jung-bae and Dae-ho continued on towards their corner, while Young-il and [Name] followed behind at a more leisurely pace.

Suddenly, an agitating, grating voice reached [Name]'s ears.

"You." The shaman began ominously, her two apparent followers flanking her. "Child of evil...you made it out, but are you truly free? He hears your screams of despair, and he is angry with you, child." She approached with a creepy, stretching smile. "Run along now, but he will soon find you, and this time, you cannot escape."

Young-il narrowed his eyes at the woman, irritated by her condescending tone towards the teen beside him. Glancing over, he noticed [Name]'s wide-eyed terror, staring at something only they could perceive. Their fists clenched the fabric of their sleeves, chest heaving with rapid breaths.

"What did you just say..?" they finally whispered, their voice low as they took a step forward.

The shaman's creepy smile only widened, her eyes gleaming with a twisted sense of victory at the reactions she received.

"What she says is true," one of the followers spoke, palms pressed together.

"You'll do well to believe it, child," the other added, mirroring the gesture.

"Enough." Young-il stepped forward, blocking [Name] from view as he glared at the three women with barely concealed fury. "Leave."

The shaman and her whores shared a look before silently departing, not before the shaman cast a less than pleasant glance towards [Name].

Gritting their teeth, [Name] began striding towards the shaman, their rage boiling over as their hand reached out. Unfortunately, young-il quickly grabbed their wrist, halting them from doing something–they won't regret–but would bring more trouble than it's worth.

"[Name]...let's go," he whispered gently, tugging them along as he continued towards their spot.

[Name] fell silent, their gaze distant as they blankly followed, lost in a world they didn't own.

But just as they neared their group's spot between the bunk beds, Young-il paused and turned to face [Name], his hands gently gripping their shoulders as he spoke in a whisper.

"What's wrong?"

"...Nothing," [Name] replied flatly, refusing to meet his gaze and instead staring at the floor.

"I know something is bothering you - no one would react that way to just a crazy shaman's words," he pressed, brow furrowed as he tried to coax [Name] into opening up. "Please, tell me."

[Name] frowned, about to quip back, before finally looking up to meet his soft, imploring gaze. How could he look at someone like me this way..? they wondered bitterly, before biting their lower lip.

They had never spoken about their past to anyone, especially not someone they had just met yesterday. But there was something about Young-il's gentle manner and the way his tone softens whenever he speaks to them, that made [Name] want to spill everything.

"I...I hate shamans. Bad history, they're on my mental blacklist," [Name] finally admitted, gaze drifting away as unpleasant memories flashed through their mind. That shaman had spoken in the same way as the ones from their past, it unlocked a long buried rage…but this time, it will be quilled.

Young-il straightened, glancing in the direction the shaman and her followers had retreated before looking back at [Name] with an unreadable expression, silently allowing them more time to continue.

"And, well..." [Name] trailed off, gripping their zipper tightly and glancing around, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

In the big 2024 is crazy, they cringed inwardly at their own stammering.

"My... father, HE would often bring shamans home... to perform rituals on me, and stuff," [Name] continued quietly, hoping Young-il hadn't caught the murmured admission.

But the man's shocked expression made it clear he had heard every word. Unfortunately.

"What."

"Rituals–" [Name] murmured, only to be cut off as Young-il lowered himself slightly to meet their eyes.

"I was hoping I misheard that," he whispered, his gaze a mix of anger and worry.

"I was hoping you did too," the teen sighed, looking away once more. Making eye contact at this moment felt more awkward than it should have.

Young-il's intense gaze seemed to bore into their soul, his silent questioning conveyed through his expression alone. And truthfully, [Name] wasn't entirely sure of the 'why' themselves.

"HE said I was possessed, the devil in me or whatever... HE'S a fucked up fanatic priest, a sad excuse of one, though," [Name] scoffed, the bitterness in their tone palpable.

Young-il visibly clenched his jaw, lowering his head slightly as he let out a heavy sigh. It was clear this information was affecting him more deeply than [Name] had anticipated.

"...I see," he murmured, before looking back at the teen with a slight, unsettling glint of murder in his eyes. "You said he was here?"

[Name] deadpanned, "I'm not telling you who HE is."

"I'll find out," Young-il replied, his smile strained. [Name] sighed softly before reaching out and grasping the man's hand, causing him to look at them and return the gesture with a much more genuine expression.

"Let's go back now," the teen murmured, turning their gaze forward. Young-il silently nodded and walked alongside them back towards their group's spot.

The air was thick with the weight of unspoken traumas, the pair moving in a somber silence as they rejoined the others. [Name] could feel the concern radiating from their teammates, but found themselves grateful for Young-il's presence at their side.

Returning to their spot, [Name] regrettably had to let go of Young-il's hand as they sat back down beside Jun-hee. The pregnant woman greeted them with a warm, small smile, to which [Name] simply blinked in response.

"What?" they asked flatly, raising a questioning brow.

"You seem quite close with Mr. Young-il," Jun-hee whispered, leaning in conspiratorially so no one else could overhear their gossiping. "I don't blame you, he does have a very fatherly air about him," she added, sending a discreet glance towards young-il.

[Name] scoffed under their breath, rolling their eyes at the assumption. Was she implying they saw Young-il as a father figure? More like a bother figure! Cuz he's always bothering them.

"Why don't you focus on finding a father for your child first.." [Name] muttered, turning their gaze away.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Jun-hee asked innocently, tilting her head.

"I said–" [Name] began, only to be interrupted by Gi-hun's sudden cough, who overheard the conversation from where he sat.

"We should prepare for the worst tonight, everyone," he announced, sparing a brief exasperated glance towards [Name] before addressing the rest of the group. "Let's make a protective fort using the mattresses, so get what you can carry."

The group exchanged worried looks at the implication, before nodding and getting to work. [Name] remained seated, while Jun-hee began to rise, only to be stopped by Gi-hun.

"You don't need to, just rest," he reassured her, gently guiding her back down onto the bed.

"But can't I at least help grab the pillows?" Jun-hee insisted, brow furrowed as she eyed the others working. She was clearly not keen on sitting idle while everyone else contributed–excluding the shameless teen beside them.

Gi-hun sighed but nodded, understanding and respecting her desire to assist despite her condition. He turned to [Name], gesturing for them to join Jun-hee in the task, earning a disgruntled look from the reluctant teen who very slowly stood up to follow the pregnant woman.

 

✧

 

Notes:

This was requested from last chapter!!!

So please tell me if you want anything added that you wished you saw in the fic (or an au), I'm a people pleaser so I guarantee I'll write it, most interesting goes first though. And It'll be even more guaranteed if the comment is a wall of text (I'm an attention whore), so idk, you could, yk, comment a novel for me to read, maybe even a review of the whole fic so I could be real motivated. Haha.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.

Chapter 8: ✧|| PITIFUL

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

[Name] dies....or do they? (Yes they do)

Notes:

Important: This chapter is only an IF, alright? Don't cry, this fanfic is meant to have a happy ending as depressing as it seems to be.

So, it's exactly 12 am for me so I technically posted this a day after the last chapter I'm not overworking myself you're crazy.

I LOVED WRITING THOS SO MUCHDJ. I'm a sucker for heart wrenching angst.

Guys listen to Harvey by Alex g while reading this, it fits so well ageeghnjjskksk.

 

✧

 

[Name]'s vacant gaze was drawn upward by the sudden appearance of a pair of black boots before them. Lifting their head, their eyes met the impassive mask of the triangle guard.

Hallelujah, I guess, the teen thought dryly, bracing themselves for the inevitable - a bullet through the skull.

But to their absolute bafflement and pain, the guard raised their gun and fired a round straight into [Name]'s stomach. A strangled groan escaped the teen's lips as they hunched over, taking deep, ragged breaths.

"F-Fuck..!" [Name] hissed through the agony. They may have been hoping to be gunned down, but this agonizing gunshot wound was far from the mercy killing they had hoped for. This was borderline child abuse!

The searing pain radiated through their abdomen, causing [Name]'s vision to blur and their stomach to churn. Blood seeped through their clothing, staining the fabric of their uniform a deep crimson. Trembling, they instinctively clutched at the gaping wound, only to cry out in further anguish at the contact.

Why had the guard chosen to inflict such excruciating suffering, rather than granting them the typical headshot? [Name] couldn't fathom the reasoning behind this bullshit!

Through blurred vision, [Name] watched as the black casket was brought to them, their body was wracked, pained curses muttered under their breath as they clutched the searing hot wound in their abdomen. Two Circle guards finally reached down and gently lifted the teen, carefully laying them inside the casket.

So considerate.. [Name] mentally scoffed, unable to voice anything beyond agonized groans.

The world around them darkened as the casket's lid was placed overhead, an air of finality settling in. It was as if this enclosure was meant to convey that their life was at an impasse.

Why am I... [Name] grimaced, eyes squeezed shut tightly, ..not satisfied?

 

☆

 

Staring blankly into the void, [Name] felt the pain slowly fade away, replaced by a numb detachment. Why am I still alive...this is pure torture, they thought despondently. Why hadn't they succumbed to blood loss by now? Did they forget to kill them? Are they buried six feet under right now?

Just moments ago, a blaring siren had jolted them awake, pulling them back from the cliche path towards the light at the end of the tunnel. [Name] supposed they should be grateful, though in their current state, gratitude was the furthest thing from their mind.

The relentless agony had been dulled, but [Name] found no solace in the numbness that had set in. This was worse than death - to linger on, trapped in a dark casket.

[Name] hated the dark.

Man, fuck this! [Name] frowned, reaching up to pound their fist against the lid of the casket. "Hey! You forgot to kill me!" they yelled out, though quickly hissing in pain as the movement agitated their gunshot wound.

No response came, and the lid remained stubbornly shut. It can't be that tightly closed, right? It's just a casket lid.

[Name] then proceeded to kick at the lid for the next 15 minutes.

"Urgh..!" Finally, after three marriages and four divorces , [Name] managed to knock the lid open, blinking as the dim lighting washed over them. They peered up, surveying the gloomy, oppressive atmosphere of what appeared to be a mortuary - a very depressing one, not that there was such a thing as a cheery mortuary.

This place has GOT to be haunted, [Name] mused, cautiously glancing around before carefully climbing out of the casket, muttering pained ‘ow’s with each movement.

As their feet touched the cold floor, [Name] scanned the room for any guards, finding instead a collection of caskets awaiting... incineration???

They stared blankly at the cremation retort, wondering if the eliminated players' ashes were sent to their families. That would be funny.

Realizing they were still gravely injured, [Name] hunched over slightly as they made their way towards the sole door in sight. To their surprise, it was unlocked, allowing them to slip out into the eerily deserted hallway beyond.

I'm pretty damn sure there's supposed to be guards everywhere - are those rat bastards slacking off? [Name] theorized, trailing through the twisting, turning corridors that shifted from dark metal walls to equally unfamiliar purple hues as they entered and exited random doors in hopes of not ending up in the backrooms.

Dawgg where the hell am I.. *insert skull emoji*, they anguished inwardly, cautiously rounding each corner, until the sound of relentless gunfire suddenly reached their ears. Who could they possibly be shooting at? Was it an intruder? Was that the reason for the blaring siren and the lack of guards?

Why I oughta..!! I'll shoot them myself! They ruined my swift death! [Name] grimaced, shaking their fist in a melodramatic gesture of outrage.

[Name] didn't even notice as their legs suddenly gave out from under them, their back sliding down the wall as their body succumbed to the overwhelming agony. 

I'm surprised I even stayed up this long... guess I'm really built different, they sighed, closing their eyes as they focused on drawing in short, labored breaths.

[Name]'s gaze grew distant, their eyes dulling as they blankly surveyed the empty space before them. I wonder how young-il, gi-hun, jun-hee, and dae-ho are doing right now... they mused, and Jung-bae too, I guess...

The teen's thoughts were growing increasingly murky, the pain and blood loss quickly sapping their strength.

With one final, shuddering exhale, [Name]'s eyes slid shut, their consciousness slipping away. it was over. All that was left was the silence they finally got to embrace.

It wasn't as pleasant as everyone made it out to be, [Name] was disappointed.

 

☆

 

Footsteps cut through Gi-hun's thoughts, he was kneeling with his arms held behind his head in surrender. Beside him, his friend Jung-bae mirrored the defeated posture, both of them captured after their rebellion had failed - their magazines emptied, their last stand against this hellish game coming to a bitter end. If only Young-il had made it... perhaps they would have stood a chance at escaping.

"Player 456," an irritatingly familiar voice reached Gi-hun's ears, the geometric patterns of the frontman's mask disorienting his voice. The very man he had sworn to kill for all the suffering he inflicted upon people year after year.

"Did you enjoy playing the hero?" The frontman asked, his tone monotonous as usual.

Gi-hun slowly lifted his gaze, teeth gritted together as his eyes burned with pure, unadulterated hatred - meeting the mask that the coward always hid behind.

A polished silver pistol was pointed directly at his head, but Gi-hun faced the barrel with an unwavering glare, unafraid of the prospect of death.

And the frontman knew it.

"Now, witness the consequences of your hero game," he continued, suddenly shifting the aim of the pistol towards Jung-bae.

The other man slowly turned to look at Gi-hun, the terror in his eyes painfully evident as he mouthed a shaky, "Gi-hun..." Their gazes met, a final plea passing between them in that fleeting moment.

A gunshot rang out, and Jung-bae's body fell back, his lifeless form facing Gi-hun's despair-filled face. "JUNG-BAEE!!!" he cried out in anguish, reaching out to his fallen friend as if he could somehow still save him.

Gi-hun wasn't prepared for the accumulated losses he'd suffered today. It had all started with [Name] - the child he had sworn to get out of this nightmarish game. He should have... he should have stayed by their side, never allowed them out of his sight.

Now, his closest friends were dead, and more might be in peril, and he was utterly oblivious to their fates. Gi-hun clutched at the fabric of Jung-bae's shirt, his cries of anguish ripping from his throat as he suddenly launched himself at the impassive frontman. But he was swiftly pinned to the ground by two guards, his relentless thrashing doing nothing to deter them.

Casting one last glance towards the distraught man, the frontman turned and departed, four of his square-masked guards trailing closely behind him.

Gi-hun's agonized screams faded into the background, replaced by the familiar sound of silence. It had only been a mere few days, yet being thrust back into his original position felt like a jarring, unpleasant whiplash.

He wasn't supposed to be here, not yet. In-ho had wanted to spend the remainder of the upcoming games alongside them - alongside [Name], alongside Gi-hun. 

[Name]...

In-ho's gloved hands clenched tightly into fists, his teeth gritting together beneath the concealing mask as he strode forward, his agitated body language remaining invisible to those around him.

In-ho's steps faltered, freezing in place as he was met with a sight his mental state was wholly unprepared for. There, slumped against the wall, was [Name] - their hand draped limply over a gaping wound in their stomach, blood already soaking through most of their jacket.

Resisting the urge to immediately kneel by the teenager's side, In-ho quickly gestured to a nearby Square guard. "..Check their pulse," he commanded, silently praying that their life could still be salvaged, even as he heard the slight tremor in his own voice. 

The guard obediently knelt down beside [Name], fingers pressing against the pulse point at their neck. In-ho's breath caught in his throat, his attempts to still the trembling of his fingers failing as the guard slowly shook their head.

The frontman fell silent, his gaze fixed upon the blank expression on [Name]'s face. Even in death, they looked the same.

I'm sorry... my child.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, In-ho forced his tone to remain calm and trained as he spoke. "Bury them properly," he ordered, before turning and walking away without waiting for a response. Inside, his rage and anguish were barely contained.

"Find out who eliminated Player 443, and bring them to me," the frontman growled through gritted teeth, striding through the control room without a second glance at his second-in-command. He was already headed for the elevator, going up to the host quarters.

Immediately upon reaching, in-ho snatched his mask off, hurling the item at a wall in fury as he walked through the hall in long strides, his expression twisted into rage and despair.

He was already aware that [Name] must have died at the mingle game, but then they suddenly appeared before him…it was as if the universe had to make him experience it in a more fucked up way.

Or perhaps, to make him feel a little hope, that he might just be able to save them at the last second.

It was Her all over again, he couldn't save the one he cared for. The one who finally made him feel somewhat complete, the child he could have had.

Happiness was never meant for hwang in-ho.

 

☆

 

A Triangle soldier stepped out of the elevator, their strides long and purposeful as they traversed the long hallway, ignoring the mess of broken glass and scattered items.

Glancing down, the soldier noticed a shattered music box before them. Stepping over it, they came to a halt, standing at attention.

The Frontman, their leader and captain, sat in a black armchair, taking slow, contemplative sips from a glass of whiskey. Notably, he was not wearing his signature mask.

Slowly, the man rose to his feet, turning to face the Triangle-masked soldier. "You're aware of your mistake, aren't you?" he began, earning a hint of confusion in the soldier's body language.

Don't misunderstand, they only recently found out that there was an order not to shoot player 443. They had already accepted the fact that the moment the frontman faces them, so will a gun barrel.

Hesitantly, the soldier nodded, earning a hum and a nod from the Frontman, who then approached with his hands clasped behind his back.

Before the soldier could react, the Frontman slammed them against the wall by the throat, eliciting a choked grunt.

"You filthy, disgusting trash." he spat venomously, leaning in with a glare that would be seared into the soldier's mind in their final moments.

Withdrawing a silver pistol from his pocket, the Frontman kept his death-like gaze fixed on the guard as he pointed the weapon at their foot, immediately pulling the trigger. The soldier endured the searing pain, pinned helplessly against the wall.

The Frontman did not speak further, continuing to methodically put bullets through the soldier's body - from their leg, to their thigh, to their stomach. He fired until he knew only one round remained.

"I don't condone mistakes," he began in a hauntingly low whisper, "so you have to be erased."

The pistol was at the base of the soldier's chin in an instant, and with a final pull of the trigger, their life was extinguished.

He felt no joy, no satisfaction or a sense of vengeance. He felt empty, he felt unfulfilled.

As he always will be, for the rest of this pitiful existence of his.

 

✧

 

Notes:

CONTINUE GIVING ME REQUEST ANNA PLEASE PLEASE YOUR IDEAS GOT ME FUCKED UPPPPPP, YOU RUSSIANS ARE CRAZZYYYYYY I LOVE Y'ALL 🙏🙏🙏

And you guys too, please request stuff, see? I'm a great author, a new chapter THIS fast??? YOU'LL NEVER SEE ANOTHER ME AGAIN.

Chapter 9: ✧|| SATISFIED

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

[Name] has a satisfying revenge, but the aftermath isn't so cute. (they died again)

Notes:

It's literally like i just walked out the door and came right back in by how fast this chapter was posted.

The grind NEVER ends, I'm insomniac.

Againnn, this is OBVIOUSLY just an IF chapter that someone requested because all of you are evil and twisted. Even I wouldn't think of something this SICK.

 

✧

 

The O players crept quietly from their beds, moving in a slow, silent procession towards the center of the dormitory and the X zone. The blue glow of the O sign illuminated their forms as they advanced, clutching forks in their hands. Leading the charge was Player 124, a close lackey of the deceased rapper. And of course, the decrepit Player 100 hung back, his creaking bones too ancient for any physical activity, including murder.

[Name] felt a mixture of elation and sheer disgust as they spotted HIM amidst the approaching group. A shame Pig 100 isn't up there, they thought, wishing they could have targeted him after dealing with HIS sorry ass.

As the O players crossed the red boundaries of the X zone, their stealth was abandoned. They suddenly broke into a sprint, scrambling up onto the X players' beds and aiming their forks at the unsuspecting victims.

Shrill screams and anguished shrieks erupted, the X players being slaughtered before they could even attempt to defend themselves. The sounds of stabbing forks and shattering glass echoed through the dormitory, as the lights began to flicker erratically - stark brightness and darkness in an alternating rhythm. With each flash, the chaos was illuminated: figures clashing, beds overturning, and forks gleaming mid-strike. It felt almost intentional, as if the game makers had programmed it this way.

They prepared for it all... I almost want to applaud them, [Name] thought bitterly, watching the X players get overwhelmed from their hiding spot. Honestly, I feel like a total pussy.

Their gaze drifted away, almost instinctively landing on HIS tall silhouette, the flickering lights casting HIM in an eerie illumination.

[Name] grinned, and just as they were about to emerge from their hiding spot, they caught Gi-hun and Young-il's glares, the clear message in their eyes that the teen was to stay put and not even think of getting involved.

Scoffing under their breath, [Name] decided to heed their warning, for now. They kept their eyes trained on HIS figure, watching as HE shamelessly participated in the O voters' plan, faintly seeing HIM stab a random woman in the corner, the fork plunging repeatedly into her neck and abruptly cutting off her screams.

Fucked up bastard... just you wait, that'll be you soon, [Name] narrowed their eyes, hatred burning within them.

[Name]'s eyes snapped back to where HE had been, only to find the spot empty - HIS tall silhouette vanished in the flickering lights.[Name] cursed under their breath, the damned lights making them hallucinate.

A loud thud pulled their attention to the right, where a dying X player lay clutching his ripped-open throat, gasping for air as blood seeped down to the floor and soaked into [Name]'s sleeve. With a disgusted shove, they pushed the corpse away from their hiding spot, not wanting to be coated in the sticky, crimson mess.

A heavy sigh escaped [Name] as they contemplated how long they'd have to-

"Got you," a hauntingly familiar whisper suddenly reached their ear, causing all other noise to fade into static. Before they could react, [Name] was aggressively yanked from their hiding spot by the legs.

Flipping onto their back, [Name] was met with the horrifying sight of HIS grinning, wrinkled ball sack of a face. "Oh, you son of a bitch..." they murmured, eyes wide and lips stretched into a wild grin. Wasting no damn time, they yanked their fork out from their pocket and plunged it into HIS leg, eliciting a pained shout.

[Name] pulled the fork back and tackled HIS legs, bringing HIM down to their level. "Are we playing tag now?? What the fuck do you mean, 'got you'?!" they shouted, crazed eyes alight with elation and adrenaline as they punched HIS nose, laughing. "I got YOU, shithead!"

"You're just as unholy-" HE began, only to be cut off by another vicious strike to HIS already broken nose.

"Shut your cock hole!!" [Name] laughed, gripping the fork tighter. Without warning, they thrust it into HIS chest, once, twice, reveling in HIS pained thrashing and wheezes. “You came to me! Just how retarded are you?!?”

[Name] has never felt so alive, so free as they did when they were plunging this beautiful fork into HIS chest, HIS throat, hell! Anywhere their hand landed! It was all so exhilarating!

They've never smiled so brightly.

Unfortunately, [Name] failed to notice as HIS shaking hand reached for HIS silver cross, clutching the pointy item and driving it into the center of their collarbones - once, twice. The teen clutched their wound, grin unwavering as they shoved the fork one final time into HIS right eye. Face dripping with HIS blood, and their chest raising up and down with laboured breaths.

The man was long dead, yet he had somehow still managed to land those two, petty strikes. Hah! What a pathetic bastard...if I'd know he'd fall so easily, I would have done this in my sleep.

Stumbling off the lifeless body, [Name] stared up at the ceiling, their eyes aching from the relentless flickering of the lights above. Glancing to the side, they noticed the man's head facing them - an annoyance they quickly remedied by plunging the fork into his remaining eye.

A searing, sharp pain shot through them, the adrenaline rush fading and reminding them of the critical wound between their collarbones. Is this a bad spot to get stabbed in? I wouldn't know, I've never been stabbed there before, [Name] thought blandly, feeling the blood trickling down their chest and cooling their skin. It was an irritating sensation.

Suddenly, the lights snapped back on, and chaos erupted as guards began firing into the air, halting the O players from further slaughtering the X players and bringing the special game to an end.

[Name]'s senses were growing increasingly muddled - the deafening gunshots, a siren, or was it another announcement..? the disembodied voices... Were they supposed to be losing their hearing when stabbed in the collarbone? That's really fucking weird.

The teen's awareness of their surroundings was rapidly deteriorating, their focus narrowing down to the stinging pain radiating from the wound and the growing haze clouding their thoughts.

As the world descended into frenzied pandemonium around them, [Name]'s eyes slid shut, consciousness slowly slipping away.

 

☆

 

Young-il's searching gaze swept the chaotic dormitory, brow furrowed as he tried to locate [Name]. His eyes finally landed on where Jun-hee was huddled with Hyun-ju's group.

Quickly approaching, he questioned the pregnant woman, "Jun-hee, have you seen [Name] anywhere?" A faint frown creased his features, though his eyes remained unreadable.

Jun-hee immediately grew concerned, standing up to glance around. "No... I didn't," she murmured, clutching her sleeve as she continued her search.

Young-il cursed under his breath, the carnage the O players had left in their wake making it difficult to find anyone, with corpses mingling alongside the downed guards.

"Young-il, what's wrong? Where is [Name]?" Gi-hun approached, immediately asking about the teen's whereabouts. Young-il shook his head, earning a distressed look from the older man.

Before Gi-hun could inquire further, a familiar, anguished scream echoed through the dormitory, silencing the chaos. It was Jun-hee.

They began rushing towards the sound, joined by Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Yong-sik, Player 226, and Young-mi.

Amidst the overturned bunks, Jun-hee knelt beside... [Name]. The teen appeared either unconscious or... No, Young-il refused to consider that possibility.

He and Gi-hun quickly reached the sobbing woman, kneeling at [Name]'s side and hastily checking them over. Neither spoke as Young-il felt for a pulse.

Still beating, faintly...

A sigh of relief left him, only to be replaced by horror as he noticed the wound - too bloodied to properly examine, but the collarbone seemed to have been stabbed, perhaps multiple times.

"Shit..." Gi-hun murmured, quickly grabbing a nearby blanket and ripping off a strip of cloth to try and staunch the bleeding.

"How did you find them, Jun-hee?" Gi-hun asked, his voice strained as his gaze shifted between [Name] and the woman.

"T-They were just like that... just laying there," Jun-hee choked out through her sobs. The others stood by, expressions varying between distress and anguish - Geum-ja kneeling to gently rub Jun-hee's back, Dae-ho staring wide-eyed at the floor with clenched, uncontrollably trembling fists, and Jung-bae standing there with quivering lips as he also averted his gaze.

"Is it fatal..?" Hyun-ju questioned, moving closer to examine the wound. Neither Gi-hun or young-il did not reply, too focused on his desperate attempts to stop the bleeding, the cloth quickly becoming a useless, bloodied rag.

Suddenly, a weak groan escaped [Name]'s lips, eliciting gasps from the gathered crowd. Even Dae-ho looked up, hope shining in his tear-filled eyes. Jun-hee and the others leaned in closer.

"Fuckk.." [Name] murmured, blood trickling down their chin as they coughed. "I'm not-"

"Stop, [Name]! Don't speak!" Gi-hun ordered, his worry evident as he looked around for any possible aid, but there were no professionals among them.

"I'm dyin' anyway... what's the point-" Another violent cough wracked their body, more blood spilling from their lips.

"Please, [Name]... stop it," Jun-hee whispered shakily, barely concealing her sobs.

The teen blankly stared into the ceiling, thinking deeply about what to do when surrounded by the people who care about you, a speech? They'll die before finishing the first half, and because they'll never do such a thing.

"Jun-hee..." [Name] glanced at her with exhausted eyes, sighing weakly. "Don't get back with Player 333... for me, kay?" Their words elicited a wobbly smile from the pregnant woman, who lowered her head as her shoulders shook with sobs.

Young-il reached out, his hand grasping [Name]'s. The teen turned their attention to him, offering a weak smile. "You're pretty cool, and I like you too.." they murmured, eliciting a wide-eyed look from the man, which he quickly shut down, teeth gritted together.

"Gi-hun... you're sort of crazy, it's nice tho.." [Name] shrugged, turning their gaze to the other man, who looked away with a pained look, unable to hold the dying teenager's eyes.

Glancing at the rest of the group, [Name] raised an eyebrow. "I hope you're not waiting for me to give you a death flag line too.." they scoffed, immediately followed by a fit of bloodied coughs. Their hand shakily reached up to clutch at their throat, the burning sensation akin to acid being poured down.

"Someone! Get water! Get anything! Hurry!! PLEASE!?!" Gi-hun shouted desperately, looking around at the other players, but none of them moved. He couldn't fathom how everyone could still sit and do nothing when a child was dying right in front of them.

Young-il couldn't even muster the energy to stare at Gi-hun with an 'i told you so' homosexual gaze, his eyes remaining fixed on [Name]'s tight grip on his hand, a pained expression on his face. He couldn't even call for a medic - he could always disregard the plan, but he wouldn't. Even he could recognize the fatal nature of [Name]'s wound; it was a miracle they were still conscious enough to talk that much. It was so [Name].

The coughing finally stopped, only because [Name] had stopped breathing, as well.

For a few seconds, no one registered what had just happened, until Jun-hee's wailing broke the stunned silence.

Geum-ja began sobbing quietly alongside the pregnant woman, while Dae-ho covered his face in a futile attempt to hide his tears, and jung-bae repeatedly wiped at his eyes with his sleeves.

The others simply stood, saddened but not deeply enough to weep over the death of someone they didn't know as intimately as Gi-hun's group. Yet the passing of one so young still affected them profoundly.

Gi-hun stared into [Name]'s bloodied face, his eyes wide and blank as he tried to process what had just occurred. The child he was meant to protect had slipped from his grasp - he had failed, failed [Name], failed everyone. He would never be capable of saving them, no one, none, nobody. He was utterly useless–

Young-il felt his heart constrict as the tight hold on his hand loosened, [Name]'s palm falling open. He kept his gaze lowered, the sounds of cries and sobs fading into the background. He should have provided more protection, should have remained by their side instead of leaving them to hide alone. How foolishly irresponsible of him. Young-il bit his lower lip, his grip on [Name]'s hand tightening.

For the first time in an agonizingly long while, In-ho felt like a player again.

 

✧

 

Notes:

Continue requesting, I might do some tomorrow though cuz I'm about to collapse from the marathon I had to run this morning.

Please comment, like a wall of text or something, I love reading them srsly they're so motivating.

As you can see, the speed of the chapter would be depending on how interesting it is and how much I could do in it, if you don't give some details, I'll be lost or just come up with bs. Also all these special chapters would be only 2k+ words, that's IT. Only main chapters are over 10k.

Chapter 10: ✧|| S1 AU: Isekai is real. (1)

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

[Name] gets transported to squid game very traumatically. (Isekai'd AU)

Notes:

HEy guys, I didn't post yesterday cuz I was burned out lol. That's what happens when I post three chapters in a day.

Anyway, did any of you read the latest 'The last mask' chapter? Please the Glock was down my throat half the chapter.

Anywho, I'm making this a series since I can't keep waiting for S3, I'm not patient I will set myself on fire.

I decided to mix this AU with an Isekai one because I can and I want to and it's gonna be really funny. I kept on thinking of what cool twist to add to the S1 au and it's all I came up with (and another thing), so eat that up.

This chapter is short, but next is gonna be the usual 10k words so y'all can rejoice now.

Enjoy!!!

 

✧

 

The scorching summer sun beat down relentlessly as [Name] trudged through the crowded city streets, muttering curses under their breath. The gang had sent them on another infuriating errand, this time to a remote location across town. 

"Fucking assholes," [Name] grumbled, kicking a stray pebble in frustration. "As if I don't have better things to do than be their errand bitch.."

Weaving through the throngs of people, [Name] finally reached the train station, their sneakers squeaking against the polished floors. They trudged up the steps, still grumbling and complaining internally about the task forced upon them.

They had just finished season two of squid game, and it was absolute CINEMA. Though it is unfortunate that gi-hun and in-ho didn't kiss, it's alright, [Name] would get a dose of the ship's content on TikTok later.

Staring blankly at their cracked phone screen, [Name] began rethinking their life choices. Should they have taken those random pills han myung have them? he did swear on his mama that it was adderall but come on who believes that faggot–

Suddenly, a sharp shove came from behind, sending [Name] careening forward. Time seemed to slow as they felt their body hurtling towards the tracks, the blaring horn of an oncoming train piercing their eardrums.

In that split-second, [Name]'s expression shifted from pure terror to a look of sheer, deadpan exasperation. "How embarrassing..." they muttered, just before the train reached them.

The impact was swift and merciless, [Name]'s form disappearing beneath the hulking metal frame. Screams echoed through the station as onlookers watched in horror, but [Name] felt nothing (obviously) – just an overwhelming sense of annoyance that their life had ended in such a mundane way.

—

... wait a second, how am I still conscious? How am I still forming thoughts? [Name] wondered in bewilderment, their mind racing as they processed what had just occurred.

That impact with the train should have flattened them like a pancake and they should also be on the stairway to hell. Yet, here they were, baby skin, unharmed and very much alive. 

Finally opening their eyes, [Name] blinked in confusion and slight disappointment. They slowly sat up, taking in their unfamiliar surroundings. Gone were the bustling crowds and bright lights of the previous train station - this one was empty, shrouded in the eerie quiet of nightfall. 

[Name] glanced around, their brow furrowing as they realized they were now lying on a weathered bench, rather than splattered across the tracks. Am I still high? they pondered.

If this turns out to be the afterlife, I swear... [Name]'s thoughts trailed off as they braced themselves, expecting the arrival of some divine or infernal being to greet them.

Before they crash out, a booming voice suddenly interrupts their internal meltdown, belonging not to a celestial entity, but a gruff-looking security guard. 

"Hey, you! The homeless aren't allowed down here!" the officer barked, his flashlight beam trained squarely on [Name]'s face.

Blinking in confusion, [Name] turned to face the guard, their expression blank. "Uh... a foreigner?" the man muttered, scratching the back of his head with a quizzical frown. 

"Where the fuck am I," [Name] asked flatly, eliciting a slight look of surprise from the officer, who had clearly not expected them to understand, let alone respond in, Korean.

"Ah, you're in Yangjae Citizen's Forest station..." the guard began, his brow furrowing. "Are you drunk? I'll escort you out - a kid like you shouldn't be roaming around at this time of night–" 

But before he could finish, [Name] had already slipped past him, making a hasty exit. The security guard whirled around, watching the rude teenager disappear down the platform, utterly baffled by the strange encounter.

[Name] wandered aimlessly through the deserted train station, their steps steady.

Head not empty, filled with incommunicable thoughts.

They had no particular destination in mind - how could they? they deadass just got hit by a train and woke up here. It's already a miracle they're not breaking down right about now, they had to stay nonchalant.

Reaching one of the empty benches, [Name] sank down, finally extracting their phone from their pocket. A faint smile tugged at their lips as they began scrolling mindlessly through TikTok, liking any 457 content they found.

Squid game is fast, but the doomed old men yaoi shippers are faster.

As [Name] idly scrolled through the endless feed of videos, a sudden movement in their peripheral vision caused them to glance up. There, standing before them with an unsettling smile, was a man in a crisp suit, a suitcase gripped firmly in his hand.

[Name] couldn't help but grimace internally. You've got to be fucking kidding me. The salesman from the hit Netflix show Squid Game was NOT actually standing in front of them right now.

Taking an internal deep, steadying breath, [Name] schooled their features into a neutral expression as to not make a fool of themselves.

Raising a single eyebrow, they met the man's piercing gaze. "Can I help you?" they asked, their tone clipped and curt.

The salesman's smile only widened, and he took a step closer, his suitcase swinging slightly at his side. "Yes, you can, may we have a little chat? I would like to offer you an opportunity," he began, his inquisitive eyes boring into [Name]'s tired ones.

I bet you do, the teen inwardly rolled their eyes, huffing under their breath. "Right."

The man's smile didn't waver, even as [Name]'s disinterest was as clear as the big blue sky. "I promise you, it will be worth your time," he continued, shamelessly taking a seat beside them without invitation.

Eying him up and down with indiscreet judgment, [Name] spoke in their most sassy tone. "girl, I'm sure you don't want me in whatever non-profit 'charity' event you rich dogs hold every year."

The salesman blinked, momentarily surprised by the teen's rather accurate guess. What a coincidence!

"Oh, it's something greater..." the man trailed off ominously, before grabbing his suitcase and clicking it open to reveal two ddakji tiles and stacks of cash.

"Let's play a game. You must have played ddakji before, hm? Play a few rounds with me, and if you win, you'll get a hundred thousand won as a reward. If I win, you have to give me the same amount," he offered, somehow managing to smile even wider against all odds.

"Wow, so generous. Really too bad I'm not a dumb protagonist who'll take the offer, even though I don't have that kind of money," [Name] scoffed, feigning a saddened expression.

"...Well?" the salesman pressed, unsure of how to proceed with this kid anymore.

"Yeah, fuck it, give me that," [Name] scoffed, snatching the red ddakji tile from his hands and eliciting a pleased hum from the weird fucking guy.

Determined to absolutely smash the game, [Name] rolled up the sleeve of their hoodie and got ready to unleash their clearly superior ddakji skills. The blue tile was placed on the ground, with the salesman standing before it, his hands folded in front of him as he waited patiently.

Raising their arm, [Name] let out a small "Yah!" and slammed the red ddakji down onto the blue one, successfully flipping it on their very first try.

"Yay," they cheered halfheartedly, pumping their fist with feigned enthusiasm. The salesman responded with a nod and a closed-eye smile, almost looking endeared by the teen's lil celebration.

He reached into his suitcase and pulled out a wad of cash, handing it to [Name], "there you go." The teen immediately shoved the money into their pocket without a second glance.

Round after round, [Name] continued to win like the absolute legend they are. Unfortunately though, even legends flop sometimes...

Just as they were about to hit the 900k won mark, their hand suddenly faltered, resulting in a missed hit. Agonizing mental anguish went through [Name]'s head.

AGHHHHJSKKSKKHHHHHGH–

"Ah, shibal..." [Name] muttered under their breath, watching in dismay as the salesman confidently placed his own ddakji, effortlessly flipping [Name]'s tile.

Might as well get my face prepared... the teen lamented.

"Well, can't pay you, bud.." [Name] sighed, shrugging unapologetically. But just as the salesman raised his hand, they suddenly held up their own. "Waait! Does it count if I just give you back the money?"

The salesman blinked, his smile wavering slightly, this fuckass psychopath must have really wanted to slap them, son of a bitch.

"It... does," he finally confirmed with a nod, much to the relief of [Name]'s face.

Pulling the 100k won from their pocket, [Name] handed it to the salesman, who placed it back in his suitcase.

"Well! It has been a pleasure playing with you," the salesman clapped his hands once, causing [Name] to sigh in disappointment. They were just starting to enjoy this…

The salesman then pulled out the forbidden card from his pocket, handing it to [Name]. It had the familiar design of three different shapes with a phone number printed on the back.

Uncreative ass design... [Name] thought, flipping the card over to inspect it further.

"If you're interested in more opportunities like this," the salesman said, holding his hand up in a 'call me' gesture, "give it a call."

"Okay, you silly goobert, stop harassing me now," [Name] responded dismissively, waving him off as they slid the card into the back pocket of their pants.

The salesman blankly stared at them with a placid smile, before picking up his suitcase and turning to leave. But just before he walked away, he gave [Name] one more lingering glance, his expression unreadable.

After the uneven-eyed freak had departed, [Name] immediately pulled out the mysterious invitation, a faint smirk stretching across their lips.

Am I in season one or two's timeline? they thought, a slight chuckle escaping their lips. One way to find out... hope it's season two, tho.

Without further hesitation, [Name] retrieved their phone and swiftly dialed the number printed on the back of the card.

"Hello-" a calm voice answered, only to be cut off by [Name]'s curt, brisk reply.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll join your ethical game. My name is [Name] [Last name], born on XX/XX/XXXX. Get it over with." The teen inspected their neatly painted black nails with a blatant air of indifference, waiting for the response.

A moment of silence passed before the person on the other end spoke up again, sounding almost uncertain. "...Understood. Tomorrow night, at midnight, be at the bus stop near XXXX. A vehicle will pick you up. The password is 'Red light, Green light'."

The line went dead, leaving [Name] once more in the eerie silence of the deserted station. Their smirk widened slightly, as they'd expected not to be allowed in due to their age - but of course, it's all for the plot.

 

☆

 

Through their wanderings, [Name] discovered that they did indeed exist in this universe, based on the warm greetings (insults) from their fellow homeless.

Did the [Name] of this universe get kicked out of the gang? they mused. Lucky me 2.0, I might just stay here - I probably am, anyway.

As they strolled through the eerily quiet streets, [Name] couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation. They had visited a shady character in a darkened alleyway (who they had definitely politely extracted the information about) and acquired a necklace dagger for a surprisingly cheap price. How nice of him.

If Thanos got to keep his druggie cross and grandma got to keep her totally normal hairpin, then I get to keep this pretty thing, [Name] thought, their fingers tracing the ornate hilt of their new accessory.

They finally arrived at their destination. [Name] stood under the dim glow of the street lamp near the bus stop, waiting for the van to pick them up.

After a few minutes of unnecessary overthinking, [Name] realized that their phone was still connected to the real world - if the 457 TikTok edits they'd seen yesterday meant anything. How'd they forget that, you ask? Oh, they were just too busy trying to find out who the fuck they were in this universe!

Quickly pulling out their phone, [Name] attempted to reopen their photographic memory, which had rather unfortunately powered down back in 5th grade. They needed to remember the exact tile to step on during the glass bridge game... and any other important plot points they might have forgotten by now.

As the clock struck midnight, a sleek white van pulled up beside [Name], its engine purring softly. The vehicle was meticulously clean, with tinted windows that obscured the interior from view. Perfect kidnapping van, if i do say so myself.

A circle-masked guard peered through the driver's window, pausing for a moment as they regarded the teen with an unreadable gaze. "...Password?" He finally asked.

"Red light, Green light," [Name] replied in a bored tone, adding with a hint of mockery, "Stupid password, by the way."

The guard didn't respond, simply rolling up the window. Boring fuck, [Name] thought, watching as the side door silently slid open, revealing a spacious cabin with plush leather seats and a small group of people who appeared to be knocked the fuck out.

Very reassuring, [Name] mused with a deadpan expression, stepping inside and getting comfortable on one of the seats. Am I the crazy one for doing this willingly, while fully aware of what's gonna happen?

Watching as the white smoke began filling the van, [Name] sardonically smiled at the circle guard, who was looking back at them with a gas mask, his reaction unknown.

“It's all going according to plan.” They mouthed to the guard, who seemed a little taken aback. Nothing was going according to plan, [Name] just wanted to freak the guard out.

As their vision darkened, [Name] couldn't help the slight shiver of excitement that ran down their spine, yippeeee!!!!!

 

✧

 

Notes:

Requests are closed for now!!! Until I'm done with this (had to rewatch S1 twice (had 18 psychotic breakdowns)).

Dw anna, I'm still posting that special chapter you requested, the no squid game AU. The pink soldier [Name] is gonna have to wait a little, mb.

Also, as you could tell, [Name] is much sillier (somehow) in this version, because they came from the REAL world, where none of that bs in their backstory happened...to some extent. You'll see, I didn't change the whole thing but only enough for it to be somewhat realistic.

Chapter 11: ✧|| S1 AU: Red light, Green light (2)

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

[Name] gets a little too excited and captures unwanted attention. (Very much wanted)

Notes:

Heyy gang.

I've returned with my usual five star meals of 10k words, rahhhhhh!!!! It took me the whole day, and a few breakdowns to continue this, you have NO idea how I crash out when I check the words and they're still '7,267 words!!!' I LOSE MY MIND.

ANYWAY AHAHAH, I'm gonna try to post everyday as I used to, would be a little hard if I'm out of ideas or something, but it won't go past two days, trust!!!

Enjoy what I wrote during my meltdown<333

 

✧

 

The sound of classical music enters through [Name]’s ears with no invitation, awful and familiar. But a pleasant kind of familiar. [Name] has never been happier to hear classical music than they do now.

Sitting up slightly, they glanced down at their new attire. The typical teal tracksuit. They then immediately glanced down at their number, finding a bold 443 marked on their chest.

NPC ahh number... [Name] deflated slightly.

Around them, people began to stir. Disoriented faces appeared as others sat up, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Low murmurs of confusion spread through the hall. Everyone was wearing the same teal tracksuit with white stripes.

Oh man, I'm in season one... [Name] frowned in disappointment, noticing oh il-nam sitting up from his bed, a few bunks away from theirs.

[Name] took a moment to take in the already familiar surroundings. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, giving the space a sense of emptiness. Rows of beds, stacked like bunk beds, lined the walls.

[Name]’s bed was at the bottom center, unfortunately. In the center of the room, a large, open area stretched out, its cold, hard floor barren except for a pair of heavy metal double doors at one end. On either side of the doors, smaller entrances sat, unmarked. Above the double doors hung a massive screen, currently displaying the number of players, 456.

Their hand absentmindedly reached up to their neck, internally sighing in relief when they felt the presence of their newly purchased necklace. 

Turning their gaze knowingly, [Name] looks into the hidden camera on their bed, leaning close enough for it to be weird, and grinning placidly, “Huh..” they then proceed to crush the small device shamelessly.

Filming a minor? That's sort of illegal, [Name] slowly shook their head.

Soon, everyone started descending from their bunk beds, gathering on the floor while silently panicking at their predicament. [Name] decided to also get down, mostly to involve their nosy ass with sae-byeok when deok-su's bitchass attacks her.

Dw fine shyt, I'll be captain save a hoe today, just for you, [Name] cracked their knuckles, chuckling manically to themselves, much to the nearby players unease.

A commotion suddenly erupted in the large warehouse, the cacophony of sounds - a scuffle, followed by a series of shocked and intrigued gasps - rippling through the gathered crowd.

"You little shit!" Player 101 cursed, circling the figure on the ground with a mocking grin. "Hey! Ahh... it really is a small world, huh?" he began, as the fallen player, 067, pushed herself back up, her lip bloodied.

"Look at those eyes, you still have that temper, huh," he continued, slowly approaching with barely concealed hostility in his body language. "Then again... nobody broke your spirit, you could always take a hit."

[Name] could already feel the frustration building as they rolled up their sleeves, a forced smile curling at the corners of their lips. It's been a while since they couldn't help but smile from pure anger.

"I took care of you, I fed you, I taught you when you had nowhere else to go..." the bastard went on, looking the younger woman up and down as if taking in what she had become without him. Much better than she could ever be with him, if [Name] had to say.

"This is what I get?" He raised his eyebrows in sarcastic disbelief.

"You took more from me than whatever I might possibly owe," 067 finally spoke, her sharp eyes staring into Player 101's with clear defiance and fearlessness.

"If all of that's true, then how come you ran then?" Player 101 inquired with a mocking half-chuckle, which slowly morphed into a more hostile expression.

067 didn't back down, staring through his soul. "I didn't," she denied, "I went independent."

You tell him, girboss!! [Name] mentally cheered, waiting for the right moment to intervene, preferably before Gi-hun did that.

Player 101 started snickering, which then formed into a scowl as he glanced away in frustration. Suddenly, he threw a punch, but 067 deftly dodged it by stepping aside and leaning back. A wave of gasps went through the audience of players, who seemed content to simply watch the drama unfold like a reality TV show.

[Name] clicked their tongue, their fingers itching to intervene, but they held back, knowing the timing had to be just right. They had to catch someone as big as deok-su off guard, preferably in a vulnerable position, or they'll just embarrass themselves.

Watching with narrowed eyes as Deok-su grabbed Sae-byeok by the collar, roughly swiping his leg underneath hers and tossing her to the ground like a ragdoll, [Name] had seen enough.

Just as Player 101 was about to deliver a vicious kick to Sae-byeok's stomach, a voice rang out, halting him mid-motion.

"Hey, you son of a bitch."

All eyes turned towards the source, most staring with a mixture of bafflement and confusion as they found a teenager, barely fifteen, unapologetically pushing through the crowd with a blank expression.

"Huh?..mind your own damn business, kid," Player 101 glowered, glaring with irritation at the random child who had dared to interrupt him - when all these other adults had simply stood by like cowards.

Instead of responding, [Name] stepped forward, nudging Sae-byeok with their foot, silently urging her to stand up without even sparing her a glance. They knew better than to let their eyes wander in a situation like this.

Sae-byeok, although a bit confused and cautious, complied, rising to her feet and stepping back, creating some distance between herself and the two, attempting to blend back into the crowd.

Unfortunately, that meant Deok-su's full attention was now fixed on [Name]. But was he really about to fight a kid in front of all these people? [Name] wouldn't put it past him, to be honest. What a sad, pathetic bastard.

The two engaged in an intense, cowboy stare-down, with player 101 mostly trying to decide if he should throw hands or not, and [Name] contemplating which kind of punch they should send to his crotch, and what angle would hurt the most.

Suddenly, a loud and resounding buzz echoed through the hall, and [Name] looked over with an expression screaming 'Finally' as the large doors at the front of the space began to open. Behind them, a squad of nine guards appeared, moving in perfect synchronization like well-oiled machines.

Silence soon fell over the room, the gathered participants disturbed by the sight of the masked individuals in hot pink jumpsuits, each adorning a black mask with a distinct symbol - a circle, save for the one in the middle, who bore a square, a sign of their higher rank as a manager. Though only [Name] knew about that little info.

"I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you," the square-masked figure spoke up, their voice modulated to a deep timbre. [Name] recalled that the guards had a voice changer that made them all sound unnaturally male, a piece of info that was revealed in S2. Shocking.

"Everyone here will participate in six different games over the course of six days," the manager continued. "Those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize."

"And why should we believe that?" a voice suddenly called out from the crowd. "Y-You took all of our stuff and put us to sleep on the way here, and now you're bringing us to this strange warehouse. You really expect us to buy that you're just going to pay us if we play a few games?"

"We reluctantly took those measures to maintain confidentiality as we brought you here," the masked supervisor replied. "We'll return everything once the games are over."

To literally one guy, but okay, [Name] rolled their eyes, trailing back towards the crowd now that the attention was no longer on them. They settled onto the edge of the nearest bed, which happened to be right beside oh Il-nam.

The teen and the old man turned to each other simultaneously, locking eyes for a long moment. [Name] blinked blankly at him, while Oh Il-nam did an admirable job of concealing his surprise at the sight of a literal child in his games.

He gave [Name] an unassuming, innocent smile, before turning his gaze back towards the Barbie-pink guards, causing [Name] to discreetly smirk, keeping their scrutinizing eyes on him still. What a great actor this old hag was... no wonder nobody suspected him, not even SNU genius cho sang-woo.

"You all... you all have masks," another player brought up with clear concern. "Why are you wearing those things?"

"We do not disclose the faces and personal information of our staff to any of the participants," the manager explained with surprising patience. "It's a measure we take to ensure fair games and, again, confidentiality. Please understand."

Asking these people to 'understand'... understand what? That they've been drugged and kidnapped to some massive fucking warehouse with over 450 others to play games? Yeah, completely understandable, have a nice day, [Name] thought sardonically, a faint smirk curling their lips as they leaned against the metal frame of the bunk.

Finally, the man himself spoke up, his voice firm and unwavering. "Well, I don't believe you one bit, you got that?" sang-woo stated. "You tricked us, we were kidnapped. You can make as many excuses as you want to make sure nobody knows you broke the law in here," he accused, his tone leveled but loud enough for the quiet hall to hear him clearly. He was like a spokesperson for them all.

Sang-woo... he sounds even cooler in real life, [Name] mentally gushed, keeping a straight face outwardly.

"Player 218, Cho Sang-woo," the manager called out, holding up a remote control that dimmed the lights and turned on the large screen on the wall. "Age, 46," they continued, as the players instinctively looked up at the screen, which displayed the very embarrassing scene of Sang-woo getting bitch slapped while playing ddakji.

But nobody laughed, because this was a shared humiliation among them all. [Name] felt a sense of victorious satisfaction, having never been slapped themselves. Hopefully it showed on the screen, just so they could indirectly brag about it.

"Former team leader of Team Two at Joy Investments, siphoned money off from his clients' balances, then invested it in derivatives and futures options and failed," the manager listed nonchalantly. Oh, they're definitely having fun with this, [Name] mused, at least they would enjoy it if they get to humiliate people like this.

"Current loss, 650 million won," they concluded, to which Sang-woo slightly lowered his head - in shame? Regret? Who knows what a sociopath thinks.

The masked guard then proceeded to list off more players, along with their staggering debts, all while showing humiliating clips of them getting semi-permanent handprints on their faces.

Much to [Name]'s disappointment, they weren't shown at all, causing them to sigh and flop back onto the stiff bed. They'd already rewatched this season enough to memorize background character dialogue - this was getting boring. When's the first game starting..I need oxygen…

"Every person standing here is living on the brink of financial ruin, you all have debts that you can't pay off," the manager continued monotonously. "When we first went to see each of you, not a single one of you trusted us. But as you all know, we played a game, and as we promised, gave you the money when you won."

[Name] mentally rolled their eyes, already drained from listening to this all over again. Need a comically large piano to fall on top of me...

"And suddenly, everyone here trusted us. You called and volunteered to participate in this game of your own will," the manager went on with his yap session, their modulated voice betraying no emotion.

"So that is it. I'll give you one last chance to choose - will you go back to living your old and depressing lives, getting chased by your creditors? Or will you act and seize this last opportunity we're offering here?" they finally finished, still standing as motionless as a statue.

Quiet whispers of apprehension and intrigue went through the large crowd of players, as some discussed the potential benefits of this shady operation.

"Hey! Which games are we playing here?" a voice suddenly yelled out, drawing all eyes to the foreign man - Ali Abdul, the angel. [Name] hummed under their breath, eyeing the man with a sharp gaze. It'll be good to get close to him, mostly cuz he's funny, though.

"In order to play fair, we cannot disclose any information about the games ahead of time," the manager calmly explained.

The main character, Gi-hun, finally spoke up. "Ah, one question!" All heads turned in his direction. "If we win, just how much do we get?" he asked the much-anticipated question.

Instead of answering, the manager pointed his remote at the ceiling, pressing a button and prompting a hatch to open. A golden, massive transparent piggy bank slowly descended, basking the dimly lit room in its twilight.

Everyone looked up, fascinated and curious. [Name] glanced at it with disdain, however - they hated pigs with a passion.

"Your prize money will be accumulated in there after every game," the manager stated. "We will disclose the amount to everyone after the first game is over."

The guard seemed to stare into everyone's soul, even with the silly little mask. "If you do not wish to participate, then please let us know at this time."

[Name] clicked their tongue, unable to believe that would actually happen. It just seemed like someone suddenly refusing to participate right now and leaving wouldn't be getting very polite treatment.

The teen surveyed the large hall, immediately zeroing in on the main characters, having been searching for each one since they opened their eyes.

Their gaze settled on Player 218 almost instantly.

—

Trailing behind some exotic human sized snail, [Name] waited in one of the many lines to sign their consent form. At least i know what I'm getting myself into, they mused, glancing discreetly around at the clueless players. Them? Not so much.

When it was finally their turn, [Name] went to grab the pen from the circle guard. But the fucker was holding it like a gorilla. "oh, is this how it is now? Bullying kids? so mature." [Name]'s eye twitched as they stared the guard down through the mask.

Finally, the guard relented, albeit very reluctantly, and only after a few tugs and curses from [Name]. The teen frustratingly signed their name and threw the pen at the guard's face, much to the amusement and confusion of the onlookers. The guard, however, didn't react at all, simply picking up the pen.

"Dickhead..." [Name] murmured, their day ruined as they walked away with their hands shoved in their pockets. It's so cold, they can't even afford an AC here?

Soon, everyone had unknowingly signed their lives away. The PA announcer's voice then echoed through the dormitory, accompanied by classical music.

"Attention, all players. The first game is about to begin. Please follow the staff's instructions."

The players began filing out in a surprisingly organized manner, [Name] always wondered how the staff managed to herd them so efficiently. Like a pack of sheep, they moved in lockstep.

As they walked through the twisting, pastel-colored labyrinth of staircases, [Name] couldn't help but glance up at the high balconies where guards stood, observing the participants. Cameras were also stationed throughout, no doubt feeding the footage to the control room.

The Frontman must be watching right now, [Name] mused, catching sight of a nearby camera and flipping it off with a sarcastic smile. They looked away, approaching the picture booth now that it was their turn.

"Please look into the camera. Smile!" the cheery prompt displayed, but [Name] kept their expression completely straight. Nothing' straight about the thoughts in my head!! They walked away after the telltale click of their photo being taken.

The seemingly endless trek upwards continued, and [Name] was certain these stairs would take them out before any of these games ever will. So extra for no reason.

Finally, they reached the designated area - an open-roofed rectangular room with wallpapers resembling a blue sky and houses, the actual sky visible above.

"Hey, Sang-woo!" A familiar voice cut through the chatter, and [Name] watched as Gi-hun approached the stoic man.

"Oh, Sang-woo, my man!" Gi-hun greeted, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder and grinnin in disbelief. Sang-woo didn't reply, instead eying Gi-hun up and down with a slightly taken-aback expression.

"What happened? What the hell are you doing here?" Oblivious to Sang-woo's discomfort, Gi-hun continued speaking. "Uh, me and your mother were talking the other day, she told me you were out of the country on a business trip! What was that guy talking about, huh? You can't be in debt?" he asked, his nosiness really shining through.

Season one Gi-hun really needed to shut the fuck up sometimes, [Name] deadpanned, amused by how awkwardly Sang-woo was standing there, unsure of how to respond.

"The same Sang-woo who attends SNU, right?" He said the thing.

Finally, Sang-woo spoke up, briefly resting a hand on Gi-hun's back. "We'll talk about it later," he stated calmly, before starting to walk away, leaving a puzzled Gi-hun behind.

"Attention. All players..." an AI female voice announced as everyone filed onto the field. "After you enter the game hall, please stand behind the white line drawn on the field, and await further instructions. Once again, will all players please stand behind the white line, and await further instructions."

[Name] stepped forward, glancing up at the clear blue sky. Seagulls flew overhead, disappearing into the distance. They always wondered how they managed to turn an island into this. Damn, that must have taken years.

The loud clanging of metal doors shutting behind them snapped [Name] back to the present, and the AI bitch voice returned.

"Here is the first game. You will be playing Red Light, Green Light." On cue, the massive, unsettling doll began spinning, turning its back on the players and robotically raising its arm to the tree.

"You are allowed to move forward when 'it' shouts 'Green light'. Stop when 'it' shouts 'Red light'," the PA announcer explained. "If your movement is detected afterwards, you will be eliminated."

What a way to call being gunned down<3 [Name] mused, a barely concealed anticipation bubbling within them. They're eating this up. But first, they moved towards the edge of the forming crowd, away from the masses to avoid being toppled like dominoes when the guy thanos wished he could be gets fucked on the first 'Red light', honestly embarrassing.

Ignoring the mutters of disbelief and amusement from the other players when they heard the game's contents, [Name] found a spot near the wall, attempting to shield themselves from the scorching sun. Jesus, I'm so hot...in more ways than one.

The PA announcer's voice boomed once more, "The players who cross the finish line without being eliminated within the five minute playtime, will pass this round."

The participants readied themselves at the white line, tension palpable. "With that, let the game begin," the AI voice declared, just as the five-minute timer began.

"Green light!" the ugly doll sang.

Immediately, some players began sprinting while others took their time - both equally fucked if they kept that up. Of course, [Name] was sprinting as well, but at least they had a strategy.

"Red light!" The doll's head spun around, its camera-like eyes scanning the field for any movement. One unfortunate player, a blonde who could have been the thanos of season one, was caught. A deafening bang rang out, and the player fell forward, shot in the chest. Thank god.

Most players barely registered what had happened, though.

Player 250 approached when the doll sang "Green light," telling him to drop the act after he'd lost whatever bet they had going on. Just then, the eliminated Player 324 coughed up blood, staining the sand crimson. Panicked, Player 250 foolishly began to run, only to be shot in the chest, blood splattering across a nearby woman's face.

Chaos erupted, with screams of terror echoing across the vast terrain. Players ran in a futile attempt to escape the inevitable, each one promptly gunned down. A few lucky ones, like Gi-hun, managed to avoid being shot, his ass covered by a corpse.

[Name] opted not to look or even glance at the carnage unfolding around them, instead focusing on waiting for it all to end already, better said than done. Did they not learn anything from what they'd just witnessed? Choose the freeze option for once, people.

"I will now repeat the rules. You are allowed to move forward when 'it' shouts 'Green light, stop when 'it' shouts 'Red light'," the PA voice repeated, in case everyone here was mentally incompetent. "If your movement is detected afterwards, you will be eliminated."

A heavy silence fell over the area, broken only by the announcer's oddly cheerful voice repeating the rules for a second time.

"With that, let the game resume." The doll looked away, singing "Green light!"

This time, [Name] and oh il-nam were the only ones to move forward, [Name] practically sprinting.

"Red light!" The doll turned its head, scanning the field. No one dared to even breathe too loudly.

"Green light!" [Name] dashed forward once more, keeping their body low to avoid doing the same mistake as thanos 1.0. They were already more than halfway through to the finish line.

After the next "Red light," people finally began to move, spurred on by the sight of a literal old man and a child fearlessly pressing on. While they all stood there, covering their ears like cowards.

I guess I get it, [Name] mused internally. After all, most of these people have probably never seen a corpse before.

With a few more "Green light" calls, [Name] reached the finish line first, catching their breath. Turning to face the players still trailing behind, they felt a strange sense of surreality wash over them.

They were in Squid Game, the very Netflix show they had been obsessing over. 

They didn't have time to think deeply about it before, else they'll lose their shit. but now, the realization no longer felt like such a big deal - [Name] might just be bottling up their emotions though, but who cares? The coping mechanisms police weren't coming.

 

☆

 

In-ho's sole focus was ensuring the Squid Games ran efficiently, a responsibility he took immense pride in. Finding and recruiting the participants was not his concern - that was the task of the recruiters. As far as he was concerned, the 456 players were merely a means to an end.

Year after year, the same desperate, impoverished individuals were plucked from the streets and gutters, their cries and pleads for mercy all but white noise to In-ho's ears. In the grand scheme of things, their fates were inconsequential; it was only the eventual winner that held any significance.

In-ho had long ago divorced himself from any semblance of empathy or compassion for the participants. They were simply numbers to be managed, lives to be gambled and discarded as the game demanded. His role was to ensure the Squid Games ran with the ruthless efficiency it was renowned for, and he took immense pride in his ability to do so.

Everything has always been, and always will be, under control.

—

"Red light!"

In-ho lounged back in his armchair, legs propped up as he sipped from a glass of liquor. The melancholic melody of a music box in the corner blended seamlessly with the cacophony of screams and gunshots – almost beautifully.

Everything was proceeding perfectly.

This was usually the time when In-ho would scrutinize the participants, searching for faces that caught his eye.

Player 067 immediately drew his gaze - her lithe frame and sunken eyes belied a fierce, nimble spirit, as evidenced by her earlier act of revenge in shoving back the much larger man who had accosted her earlier in the dormitory.

And then there was Player 199 - his determined features spoke of a capable man. But alas, he had wasted a precious moment rescuing another player from certain death, rather than letting him fall. A true shame - that kind of altruistic mentality never bodes well here.

"Green light!"

In-ho noted with satisfaction that more players would reach the finish line this year compared to the last. He had to admit, the new batch of players his recruiters had found possessed serious potential.

Oh, someone had already crossed the finish line, In-ho noticed, leaning forward in his chair. He took a slow, measured sip from his whiskey as he observed the player closely.

Just as he switched to a closer camera feed, In-ho suddenly choked on his drink, coughing and hastily hitting his chest. He immediately looked back at the screen, refusing to believe what his eyes had seen.

That was a child.

A teenager, no older than 15, was standing at the finish line, expression blank and detached as they stared into the distance.

In all the years In-ho had served as the Frontman, he had never once encountered a participant younger than 18 - as it was strictly against the rules. Clutching his whiskey glass so tightly it threatened to crack, In-ho rose from his seat and approached the communications receiver, quickly donning his mask to disguise his voice.

"Do not shoot Player 443," he ordered the guards in a firm, authoritative tone. This was a situation that warranted his personal attention.

Whoever recruited this child, will be hearing from his pistol.

 

☆

 

The dormitory was dimly lit, the golden hues of the piggy bank illuminating them. A pregnant silence permeated the space, the players huddled together on the floor, shaken and apprehensive. The weight of what they had just experienced still hung heavy. Nobody dared to even speak.

[Name] lay on their side on the stiff bunk, bored half-lidded eyes observing the anxious participants surrounding them. If the vote ended with them being sent away, as in the canon storyline, they were doubtful they'd have any chance of returning.

Based on the reactions they had received from the guards, it was clear that minors were not meant to be a part of this. How would they get back in once they were forced to leave?

[Name] was lost overthinking when the double doors suddenly slid open, the lights flashing back on. The players gasped, quickly scrambling to their feet and backing away in fear as the armed soldiers entered, their submachine guns held with a threatening display of force. They had no issues with it now that they've shown their true nature.

The manager stood at the center as usual, their tone monotonous as they announced, "You have all made it through the first game. Congratulations, you're moving on."

As if on cue, the screen displaying the number of players began dwindling down, from 456 to 201. Everyone watched, horrified at the realization that so many had been murdered, in such a short while, right before their eyes.

That'll be all you bitches soon, [Name] thought, lazily stretching their arms above their head and standing up from the bunk, positioning themselves at the back of the crowd.

"Out of 456 players, 255 were eliminated. And 201 players successfully completed the first game," the manager continued, their modulated voice betraying no emotion.

Murmurs of fear and astonishment rippled through the crowd, players glancing at each other with the dawning realization that they could be next if they didn't escape soon. At least, some seemed to grasp that.

Suddenly, a woman - the crazy bitch - rushed forward, dropping to her knees before the manager with hands clasped in a desperate plea. "Sir, please! Listen, I'm sorry! I swear I will pay what I owe! I'll do it, I'll pay it all!" she whined, voice cracking. "Please, sir! I have a child, oh, so young! I need to register, and I still need to name my child, sir! Please, let me leave!"

One by one, more players joined her, kneeling and begging for their lives to be spared. [Name] had to look away, disgusted by the shameless display of dignity-shattering desperation. That shit never works in movies, and certainly not in a Netflix show. So humiliating..

After a moment, the manager spoke up, "There seems to be a misunderstanding. We are not trying to hurt you or collect your debts. Let me remind you, that we're here to give you a chance."

"A chance?!" a player shouted in disbelief. "We play some kid's games. And you shoot us, you want me to choose that? That's some chance!"

Another participant, voice quivering, pleaded, "We may be in debt, sir... but that doesn't justify killing us all!"

"This is just a game," the manager stated nonchalantly.

"Killing out there was a game to you, huh?!" someone yelled, on the verge of tears.

"They were simply eliminated for breaking the rules of the game," the manager explained, being very right and valid. "If you just follow the rules, you can leave this place safely with the prize money we promised."

"Just keep your damn money, I don't care!" a male player shouted. "Let me just go home, that's all I want!"

The players continued their desperate begging, much to [Name]'s annoyance. The teen simply stepped back onto the bunk beds by the wall, glancing up and staring at a camera for a moment, before sticking their tongue out at it with a straight face.

I'm about to yell out the Sang-woo line just to get this over with... [Name] sighed exasperatedly. laying on a random bed with a huff.

"Consent form, clause 1; a player is not allowed to stop playing," the manager reminded them.

"Come on! You think you'll get away with this, huh?! The police will come! They'll bust in here any minute now, they'll be here since we all disappeared!" the player shouted, to which the manager seemed to mentally scoff at.

I'm gonna have to hold your hands when I tell you this... [Name] shook their head solemnly.

Some of the participants seemed to grasp onto that glimmer of hope, as one player yelled, "Yeah! And I bet they have everybody's phones tracked here already! Look at all your hostages, you're doomed if you don't let us go!"

"You're all dead!" another player cried out.

A sudden bang echoed through the dormitory, causing everyone to scream and drop to the floor, hands covering their ears in horror. The manager held a pistol pointed skyward, clearly sick and tired. Simultaneously, the armed guards trained their weapons on the participants in warning.

[Name] lay on the bunk bed, covered by a thin blanket, hoping to sleep this whole shit show off until the voting began. They'd seen enough.

"Consent form, clause 2; a player who refuses to play will be eliminated," the manager stated coldly, lowering the pistol.

[Name] sat up slightly, they had to see this scene. They watched as Sang-woo stepped forward confidently. "Consent form, clause 3; if all the players agreed to stop playing, the games are allowed to end," he raised his chin, self-assured. "Or am I wrong?"

An unnervingly long silence hung in the air before the manager spoke, sounding almost disappointed that someone had functioning braincells. "That is correct."

The manager had clearly been attempting to terrorize the players into forgetting the very consent form they had signed, a blatant ploy to manipulate them into staying. But that ruse wouldn't have lasted long anyway, even without Sang-woo's intervention.

Sang-woo glanced around at the still-crouching players. "Then, let's vote on ending this. If the majority wishes to leave this place, then everyone gets to go home, right?"

Big talk, [Name] rolled their eyes in amusement, aware of the irony of Sang-woo's statement.

"All right, as you wish," the manager agreed, albeit reluctantly after a moment. "We will take a vote to decide on the termination of the game.”

Mutters and sighs of relief rippled through the players as they began standing up, thanking whatever deities they believed in or simply their sheer luck.

"Before we vote, let me announce the prize money for the game as previously promised," the manager stated, retrieving a small remote from their pocket.

Pressing a button, the lights dimmed and a large, floating piggy bank above them began to emit a melodic chime, like the kind heard in a casino upon winning a game. A tube extended into the top of the piggy bank, and money began pouring down relentlessly.

The players, mesmerized by the sight of the unimaginable wealth, approached the center, hypnotized as they stared at the steadily filling piggy bank.

Greedy pigs… [Name] narrowed their eyes at the fools. They'll all throw away their flimsy lives for the chance of somehow being the sole winner. How overconfident.

"A total of 255 players were eliminated during the first game. A hundred million won is at stake per player. Therefore, 25.5 billion won has been accumulated so far," the manager explained calmly once the money had filled the piggy bank to near capacity.

"If you wish to give up on playing, the 25.5 billion won will be sent to the bereaved family of the eliminated players - 100 million each. However, you will all return home empty handed."

If only they had the S2 system here. Though.. would they have truly left with just that much? [Name] tilted their head, staring blankly at the piggy bank. They couldn't deny an appreciation for money, but they also knew when to drop it. And right now, they simply didn't give two flying fucks about the prize.

The reason [Name] had joined Squid Game was obvious - they were a fan! Why wouldn't they partake in their favorite Netflix show? It made no sense to them to sit on their ass when they found out where they were transported to after getting smooched by a train.

And if they die (again), then that's that.

The crazy bitch raised her hand slightly. "Sir, so if we can complete all six games..how much do we get?"

"Who's 'we'? It's just one winner," [Name] suddenly spoke up, raising a judgmental eyebrow. "Also, are you retarded? If 255 players equals 25.5 billion won, then 456 players equals 45.6 billion won. Even a toddler would know." This earned them a nasty glare from the woman. To which they wisely ignored.

"That is correct," the manager nodded, confirming [Name]'s words.

The players glanced at one another, realizing the true stakes at play if they chose to stay. Everyone here would eventually turn against each other in pursuit of the sole victory. Leaving empty-handed sounded better than risking it, but some were unwilling to let go of the temptation.

“And with that, we will now begin the voting.”

 

☆

 

The voting counter stood at the center, a white line dividing the space. The remaining players lined up on the right side, though [Name] wanted to stay on the beds, they opted to stand slightly at the front of the crowd instead.

"As you can see, there are two buttons in front of you. If you wish to continue playing, press the green button with an O. If you wish to stop the game, then please press the red button with an X instead," the manager explained calmly, as the players stared at the voting counter.

"After you finish voting, move to the other side of the white line and wait. Voting will be done in reverse order of the number on your chest." Most players began glancing down at their numbered badges, Gi-hun remembering he was the last player.

"Player 456, please cast your vote," the manager ordered. Gi-hun slowly made his way through the crowd towards the counter, he stood there for a while, just staring at the buttons. [Name] had to hold back the urge to yell at him to hurry the fuck up. Finally, he made his decision.

O: 0 | X: 1

Gi-hun stepped back to the other side of the white line, looking awkward just standing there all alone.

"Player 453, please cast your vote."

The woman approached the counter, standing there hesitantly, and seemingly playing eeny-meeny-miny-moe before glancing at the overflowing piggy bank. "Hurry up!" [Name] couldn't help but urge with a scowl, causing the woman to flinch and hastily press the O button.

O: 1 | X: 1

Gi-hun stared at her with bewilderment as she joined him on the other side. He must be wondering why anyone would willingly choose to continue this torment. Poor man, he'd never truly understand the misery awaiting most of these people outside these walls.

The voting continued until it was finally [Name]'s turn. "Player 442."

The teen stepped forward, eliciting murmurs and expressions of astonishment at their young age amongst the adults-with-crippling-debts participants. Some seemed perplexed - what was a child doing in a place like this?

Ignoring the mutterings, [Name] decisively pressed the O button and took their place on the other side. Gi-hun eyed the teen curiously, brow furrowed with concern, but he didn't approach or say anything.

The vote remained evenly split, 50/50, as the players grew increasingly anxious about the potential outcome - would they be freed or trapped here? Yet, some seemed to have no issues with continuing the games.

"Player 218," the manager called.

Sang-woo, SNU-graduatee-pride-of-sangmun-dong-or-whatever-the-fuck-it's-called, stepped forward, eyeing the two options with a calculating gaze. Though [Name] could tell he had already made his decision.

Sang-woo decisively pressed the O button, much to Gi-hun's evident shock and disappointment. He joined the others on the opposite side of the line, his figure followed by gi-hun's disbelieving gaze.

Just as the crazy bitch 212 pressed the O button, seemingly forgetting about her unnamed ‘child’, a man who had not yet voted stepped forward, shouting, "Have you all gone crazy?! We have to leave. We can't keep putting up with this insanity!" He turned, trying to convince the others.

"So what if we leave?!" Player 212 retorted, eyeing him with disdain. "Tell me, what changes? Just as bad out there as it is in here, goddamn it!" She clicked her tongue, appraising him before stepping over to her spot.

"She's right! If we stop right now, that only helps the ones that are dead," Player 322 exclaimed, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "They'll get a 100 million won and not us. We made it through! They're out! That money is ours." He argued.

[Name] glanced at him from the corner of their eye, recalling how he had previously spoken of the police coming to their rescue. The duality of man...

"Please!" someone else pleaded, sounding desperate. "Think about what just happened out there! Come on, let's go!"

"Where am I supposed to go, huh? Out there, I don't stand a chance. Here, I do," Player 322 continued, his sentiment echoed by some. "No, I've got nothing out there..."

He looked at the unvoters and shouted, "Come on, let's finish this thing! I'd rather stay and keep on trying in here than go back to the bullshit out there!" 

Keep on 'trying'? You have one chance at everything, lil bro, [Name] mused silently.

Suddenly, loud footsteps approached quickly as an enraged player grabbed Player 322 by the collar, shaking him roughly and glaring into his eyes. "You jerk! You got some kind of death wish?! Go die alone! Don't drag everybody else into this, you little shit!"

"What the hell are you doing-"

Just then, a triangle guard appeared behind the two squabbling players, pointing the barrel of their gun at one's back. Gasps of horror rippled through the crowd as the two players quickly backed down in fear of having their brains blown out, holding their hands up in surrender.

[Name] watched blankly, reminded of a similar scene from Season 2. Gi-hun should have learned from others' mistakes, yet he had gone and done the same thing during the voting process.

"We will not condone any kind of act that impedes this democratic process," the manager warned monotonously. "Now, let us resume and continue voting."

After the little circus show, the next few players voted without incident. As the side of the unvoters dwindled, the vote began to tie concerningly.

Finally, the vote stopped at O: 100 | X: 100, just as in the canon storyline. How unfortunate.

"It seems we're down to the last vote," the manager announced. "Player 001."

Oh Il-nam, perfectly portraying the senile old man act, stood there for a few seconds as if the information had to slowly trickle through the sludge before reaching his head. Gradually, he began taking slow steps towards the counter.

He stood there, staring at it with an unreadable gaze. Everyone held their breath, awaiting the vote that would determine their fate - to come from the hand of an elderly man.

The manager repeated the voting instructions, just in case the man's dementia was truly debilitating.

Pausing to glance dramatically at the current tally, oh il-nam finally looked back down at the buttons and reached out to press... an X!

The X voters erupted in cheers, hollering in joy and even embracing one another, relieved to be finally going home. [Name] didn't understand how they could trust these people to truly let them go after all they had witnessed. They were being allowed to leave, but any sane person wouldn't have truly trusted them with it.

In stark contrast, the people who had voted 'O' were visibly disappointed, lowering their heads or letting out heavy sighs. Though some also held a glimmer of relief in their eyes, as it also meant they wouldn't have to face death anytime soon. A different story for others, however.

"The majority of the players have voted to terminate the games. Therefore, this game is now terminated," the manager stated, oh so very sadly, well, not really. But [Name] was sure there was a bitter look under that mask. They must have failed their task, if the efforts they made earlier to make the players stay said anything.

"Hey! Okay, anybody who doesn't want to, can go! But let the ones who want, stay till the end, though!" Player 322 interrupted, pushing through the crowd to step forward. "Half of us have died already!"

[Name] rolled their eyes, recognizing most of the players now agreeing with him and stepping forward - the same ones who had been on their knees, begging for their pathetic lives just moments ago. Now they were begging to stay. [Name] eyed them with unconcealed disgust.

"It truly is a pity that we must say goodbye to you like this. However, we will not completely seal the door of opportunity for all of you," the manager interjected, their voice as calm and monotonous as ever.

"If the majority of you wish to participate again, then we will resume the game," the manager explained. "So, goodbye for now." They bowed their head slightly, bidding the players farewell.

If they throw me out naked, I'm screaming, [Name] frowned, that being their biggest concern. 

Good thing they wouldn't have to worry about that.

 

☆

 

[Name] sat in the back of the van, fiddling absentmindedly with their phone - the only possessions retrieved from the bag of their belongings, besides some money and candy. 

Surprisingly, a half-naked and tied up sang-woo and ali sat beside them, the three grouped together for this little trip. [Name] was more than relieved to not be tied up and naked, though curious about the reason. Could it be simply because they weren't originally meant to be there in the first place? or favouritism–they doubt that though.

They had awakened around 15 minutes ago, finding the two men still deeply unconscious, despite repeatedly poking and nudging them in an attempt to rouse them.

In the past 15 minutes, [Name] had been relentlessly yapping a storm at the circle guard. It was very unfortunate and saddening that the guard refused to respond at all, though.

[Name] continued though. "Masculine and feminine are over. It's just the urge now. The desire. The torment-" They were regrettably interrupted as the groaning of the men beside themr eached their ears, causing the teen to turn their glare towards Sang-woo and Ali, who appeared to be waking up.

As if on cue, the van came to a stop, the door sliding open. The two circle guards seated behind them then roughly threw Sang-woo and Ali out onto the cold street, along with their belongings. [Name] blankly stared at the guards for a long while before taking their damn time climbing out of the van themselves.

Waving at the retreating van, [Name] then turned their attention to the two men on the ground, pondering whether they should offer assistance or not.

"Uagh... Hey! Is anyone there?? I-i need help!" Ali struggled, writhing on the cold street. Sang-woo remained silent, instead attempting to remove his blindfold by dragging the back of his head against the ground - smart, somewhat.

As the blindfold fell away, the older man adjusted his gaze, slightly blurry without his glasses. Upon refocusing, he noticed [Name] standing there, observing them with a stoic expression.

".. You're that kid. Why didn't you say anything? Or help us?" Sang-woo asked, his eyes narrowed. The teen tilted their head to the side. "Why should I? For all I know, you could attack me," they replied, appraising him with a scrutinizing gaze.

Sang-woo sighed, glancing over at the still-struggling Ali. "Um? Guys? Can you help, please?" the man pleaded, causing [Name] to mentally huff before approaching.

They crouched down and snatched off his blindfold, causing him to flinch slightly before calming as he met the kid's half-lidded eyes. "Oh! Thank you so much!" he smiled gratefully. [Name] simply nodded, then began cutting his bindings using their sharp necklace dagger.

Sang-woo watched quietly, not quite expecting the teen to actually assist Ali. Surprisingly, they also crouched beside him and started cutting his bindings.

"...Thank you," Sang-woo murmured, standing up and quickly grabbing the bag of his clothes, hurriedly putting his suit on to escape the biting cold. Ali did the same beside him.

[Name] appeared to be watching the two men dress up, their gaze slightly unsettling but we're actually just spacing out. Sang-woo buttoned up a crisp white dress shirt, while Ali pulled on his jumper.

Glancing around, confused, Ali turned to Sang-woo and [Name]. "Excuse me sir, um, kid... where are we?"

Sang-woo scanned their surroundings for a moment before spotting a large building ahead with a glowing sign. "Yeouido," he stated simply, resuming his task of getting dressed.

Ali, still putting on his jacket, looked puzzled. "Where is Yeouido?" he inquired.

"At the center of Seoul," [Name] replied calmly, rocking back and forth on their heels with a bored expression.

Visibly worried, Ali glanced between the two oddly composed individuals. "Uh..sir, sir, do you have a cellphone on you?" he asked sang-woo nervously. "Uh, would you let me borrow it, please? I'll be quick," the man requested innocently.

Staring at the foreign man for a moment, Sang-woo retrieved his phone from his pocket, attempting to turn it on a few times, but it remained powered off.

At that, the two men turned their attention to [Name], who grimaced slightly and produced their own phone, which was also fortunately turned off. [Name] would sooner perish than willingly hand over their device to another human being anyway.

—

The trio ended up at a nearby convenience store, where Sang-woo purchased a portable charger for his phone. He also very generously bought ramyeon for both Ali and [Name]. Though the teen initially refused, they didn't decline the second time - free food was free food, and they were starving.

Standing beside Ali at the counter, [Name] shook their cup to mix the seasonings. "Um, so, how did you get... there?" Ali asked, glancing curiously at the teen.

[Name] didn't look at him, instead slurping up a bit of their ramyeon. "m'homeless," they replied flatly, causing Ali to stare at them with baffled eyes, blinking owlishly.

"Homeless...? No orphanage or home to go back to?" he quietly asked, leaning down with a sympathetic tone.

"That's what homeless means, I think," [Name] raised a brow, sending him an unreadable glance.

"You're homeless?" Sang-woo interjected, placing his slightly-charged phone before Ali. "Thank you, sir!" the man said gratefully, taking the phone and stepping away to make a call in a different language - [Name] recognized it as Urdu.

Sang-woo eyed [Name] with furrowed brows, looking both concerned and curiously invested. "You could reach out to CPS, or the cops, they could help get you to a foster home or orphanage," he calmly suggested.

[Name] took a long slurp of their ramyeon, holding the cup and staring Sang-woo dead in the eyes. "You think I didn't try? They told me they're either full or don't accept juveniles. Either that, or the cops try to throw me into some youth fuckin' center..." they scoffed, looking away to focus on their food. "I'd rather drop dead."

Sang-woo also averted his gaze, seemingly at a loss for words in the face of this young, troubled individual - a demographic he had little experience dealing with. 

He turned his attention to opening his own ramyeon cup, grabbing his chopsticks and removing the lid in silence as Ali continued his phone conversation.

The two ate their junk food in a somewhat uncomfortable, indifferent silence. Somehow, Sang-woo finished his ramyeon before [Name], even though the teen had started eating first. No, they weren't also downing Ali's ramyeon.

Afterwards, Sang-woo stepped outside, not exchanging any words with [Name] as he stood in front of the convenience store. Soon, Ali completed his call and exited the shop, followed by [Name] who left after buying themselves a good ol' strawberry milk drink. No I don't care if you don't like it.

Clicking his lighter to light a cigar and taking a drag, Sang-woo slightly turned his head as Ali spoke to him. "Here you go, and thanks again, sir," the man said, bowing deeply and holding out the phone.

[Name] eyed the interaction, wondering who the hell taught Ali korean etiquette, and how much did they exaggerate the fuck out of it to the poor guy.

"Have a goodnight!" Ali bowed deeply once more, an impossible level of formality. As he turned to leave, Sang-woo stopped him. "Wait. Stop."

Blinking in confusion, Ali faced the older man. "Got money for the bus?" Sang-woo inquired calmly.

"Sorry?" Ali tilted his head, still perplexed.

"You said you live in Ansan. You couldn't afford the ramyeon here, got money for a ride back? Money," Sang-woo clarified, adjusting his glasses and gesturing to the shop as if it were the cheapest place on earth. It probably was.

"No, no money. I'll walk," Ali replied casually, as if it were no big deal.

Sang-woo glanced around, as if he'd heard a joke. "You'll walk... all the way to Ansan?" he asked in slight disbelief, earning an innocent nod from Ali.

Sang-woo sighed, then pulled out his wallet and grabbed a 10,000 won note, removing the cigarette from his mouth. "Here, take this for the bus ride home," he offered.

Eyeing the money almost suspiciously, Ali shook his head. "I can't. No. I don't have money to pay you back."

"I won't ask you to do that, just take it, okay?" Sang-woo insisted, nodding and keeping his hand outstretched.

Hesitantly, Ali accepted the money.

[Name] watched the interaction from where they leaned against the store windows, sipping their strawberry milk. They were in deep thoughts. If the game doesn't pick them up again, they'd just follow Jun-ho's storyline and maybe even lend a hand, for funsies. He was their second favorite, after all.

They observed with a mix of amusement and irritation as Ali continued profusely thanking Sang-woo as If he were a saint.

Rather than walking away while Ali shouted words of gratitude into the sky, Sang-woo turned to face [Name], who had been sure they'd blended into the background until now.

"And you, where are you going now?" Sang-woo asked, smoke escaping his lips as he pulled the cigar out.

[Name] stared at him blankly before shrugging. "Wherever, I guess," they muttered, tossing their empty drink into the nearby trash.

Sang-woo didn't seem satisfied with that answer, eyeing the teen intently. "Even homeless people have areas they usually stay in," he stated, raising a brow.

"You sound like you know a lot about homeless people. Been one before? No? Then shut up," [Name] huffed, standing upright and shoving their hands into their hoodie pockets, beginning to stroll away.

"Wait." Sang-woo stopped them, stepping forward. [Name] turned to him with an exasperated gaze, which he returned with a stern one. "At least take this," he said, pulling another 10,000 won note from his wallet and shoving it into their hand.

Scoffing, [Name] glared at the unfazed man, who seemed satisfied. "Um.. I hope you get to safety," Ali softly smiled at [Name], who turned to him with a blank stare before glancing away and nodding faintly. Got caught giving a fuck. Embarrassing.

"Yeah, whatever..." the teen muttered, turning and walking off without a second glance. Sang-woo's charitable act lingered in their mind, so obviously an attempt to soothe his own conscience. Well, who cares - money is money.

Suddenly pausing, [Name] turned to face Sang-woo with a neutral expression. "Hey.. where's Ssangmun-dong?”

 

☆

 

It didn't take long for [Name] to locate Gi-hun's home, aided by the few scenes they had seen of him walking towards it, or on a nearby street. Their phone had proved invaluable in the search.

A few days had passed since [Name] began spying on the older man's home, eagerly awaiting the day when Jun-ho would arrive. The wait felt agonizingly slow. And they were beginning to grow self conscious of their actions.

But when the rain began to fall, [Name] knew the day must be near, so they decided to invest in an umbrella. (read: steal one.)

Why the hell would I waste good money on a fucking umbrella? they internally huffed, That guy's probably an asshole anyway.

[Name] wondered sometimes if any of the people on these streets ever thought to themselves–Hm, that kid is always standing there. I should probably be worried. Yet no one had spared them a second glance, let alone attempted to speak to them.

Odd as it was, this lack of attention suited [Name] just fine.

They could feel it in their hair strands, today has got to be the one where a very depressed gi-hun gets home, only to find jun-ho waiting or him at the doorway. Their favorite storyline was about to unfold right before their eyes, and [Name] could barely wait.

—

Leaning against a shadowed corner, their umbrella shielding their hair from the rain, [Name] watched through half-lidded eyes as Gi-hun approached down the street. They had memorized his patterns by this point - as embarrassing as it was to watch a grown man for days, [Name] took pride in their stalking skills, even if they held no true interest in him.

In the alleyway by Gi-hun's home, [Name] could see the figure of Jun-ho, black umbrella in hand, awaiting the arrival of a man who wouldn't help him for another three years, until it's too late. Not that the timing ever truly mattered; In-ho had been the frontman for a few years now.

Unable to hear their conversation from their vantage point, [Name] crept closer, ensuring they remained properly hidden. As a depressed Gi-hun who had a bad father day neared his gate, Jun-ho stepped forward. "Seong Gi-hun?" he inquired.

Gi-hun looked the man up and down for a moment. "Yeah?"

Nonchalantly holding up his police badge, Jun-ho introduced himself. "Hwang Jun-ho, police." Gi-hun stared at him, not as bothered as he should be with an officer in front of his house, he simply looked puzzled.

"You recently made a report at the station, right? You said a group abducted people and made them play games, and you also said..." Jun-ho trailed off, stepping closer. "Some players were killed too."

Gi-hun quickly began denying it, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, all that? Yeah, I just made that up. A story I made up when I was drunk." He attempted to pass through the gate, only to be stopped by Jun-ho.

"They sent a card to my brother, just like the one you had, sir," the officer stated firmly, a hint of desperation in his voice. "He went missing a few days ago."

Gi-hun stared at him for a moment, contemplating whether to tell the truth. "I just found it, I don't know," he continued playing dumb, much to [Name]'s irritation. Could have at least told him some info, so extra.

"I saw it on the street and just put it in my pocket," Gi-hun insisted, making another attempt to enter his home.

Jun-ho, however, refused to back down, grabbing Gi-hun's arm. "Mr. Seong," he implored, staring intensely, as if attempting to convey his desperate need for assistance through telepathy, "you can help me, I need to get him back."

Finally dropping the act, Gi-hun's voice lowered as he turned to face Jun-ho. "Why would you think... I would be useful to you, or anyone else?" he said dejectedly, then passed through the gate and closed it, leaving a disappointed Jun-ho behind.

Thankfully, [Name] was always prepared to save the day, sometimes in a rather creepy manner. "I can help you."

The sudden, haunting whisper caused Jun-ho to snap out of his thoughts and turn around, facing the short, umbrella-shielded figure.

Without elaborating, the mysterious individual pulled out a familiar card - the same one Jun-ho had found in his brother's room. Eyeing the stranger suspiciously, Jun-ho took a step back. "Who are you?" he asked, unsettled by how someone so small could be so threatening. And god, he was a police officer! Why is he scared?

Raising their umbrella just enough to reveal their face, [Name] stared at Jun-ho with a blank gaze.

Having expected anything else, jun-ho was taken aback, he seemed momentarily speechless. "...a kid," he murmured, more of a confirmation to himself.

"Yeah, so what? That suddenly makes me invalid? You're getting picky with who can help you now? So much for wanting to find your dear brother," [Name] immediately attacked, scrutinizing him with obvious judgment.

"Wait! Wait- no, that's not..." Jun-ho stammered, glancing away at the deserted, rain-soaked alleyway.

"Hah... just messing with you," [Name] blinked at him with a straight face, earning a slightly disgruntled look from the man.

"You said you can help me, how?" Jun-ho straightened up, refocusing on the task at hand.

"I've been to the games, alongside Gi-hun. And I assure you, I know a lot more than whatever he knows... or what anyone knows, not to brag or anything," [Name] shrugged nonchalantly, inspecting their nails.

Regarding the teen with slight skepticism, Jun-ho glanced around the alleyway. "Then, should we go somewhere... more suitable?" he asked, appearing nervous yet hopeful as he looked back at [Name].

He looks like a pathetic hamster, [Name] thought, smirking. it was all going according to the plan they were thinking of right about now. Who knows what's happening next? Whatever it is, it's probably according to plan as well.

 

"Lead the way."

 

✧

 

Notes:

OKAY!! Guys, please read this.

I need someone to give me a wall of text about if I should make [Name] go through the game as ur usual player, or should they help jun-ho instead, they could also be a player while helping him ykyk. I'll have to think about tho, cuz player while helping him? Gi-hun didn't do that so well in S2 so 🤔

It's alright, this is [Name] we're talking about, they're too cool to fail.

Hope you enjoyed my suffering haha.

Chapter 12: ✧|| S1 AU: Little helper (3)

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

[Name] gives a police officer existential dread, while helping him in the process.

Notes:

Heyy🗣️🔥🔥‼️‼️‼️

I've been working on this all night all day to campus to the club to the asylum.

Hopefully I didn't add tok much canon dialogue, I began noticing how my chapters get so long is only because I add to many of these canon scenes. So I decided to switch it up a little and maybe even skip a few unimportant ones here and there.

And the chapter STILL turned out with over 12k words 💀

Hope you enjoy haha.

 

✧

 

Sluuurrrppp!

The quiet of the vendor stall was punctuated only by [Name]'s obnoxious slurping as they enthusiastically devoured the tteokbokki Jun-ho had purchased for them. It had been two days since their last proper meal - not that trivial human needs like food had been a priority, what with their single-minded focus on stalking gi-hun's home.

"Oh man, this is good," the teen mumbled through a mouthful, chopsticks gesturing towards their bowl as they glanced up at Jun-ho. The officer sat across from them, fingers laced together in an attempt to keep himself from fidgeting.

"Hey, if you're just messing with me..." Jun-ho began, lowering his head and closing his eyes. He seemed to be wrestling with the decision of whether to actually listen to what this teenager had to say, or to simply leave and try once more to convince Gi-hun. Maybe he should just follow the man.

Yet the card this [Name] had shown him was the same as the one he'd found in his brother's room - and the same as the one gi-hun had.

"Hush, I'm thinking," [Name] chided, tapping their chopsticks against the edge of their bowl as they rested their chin in their palm, eyes fixed intensely on Jun-ho's face. The officer's growing agitation at the lack of elaboration was obvious.

I didn't prepare an excuse for how I'd know all this... [Name] mused, gaze unwavering. Should I say fuck it and let him watch the whole season? That would be so easy..

"Don't freak out, okay?" [Name] sighed, straightening up as they began to pull their phone from their pocket. Jun-ho leaned in, a focused glint in his eyes - he was finally going to get the information he needed.

Oh, he was about to alright, along with an existential crisis.

"I won't," he nodded, glancing around to ensure no one was close enough to overhear their conversation.

"Gi-hun must have gotten the invitation today, along with the rest of the players who'll soon return to the game out of desperate need for the money," [Name] began, their tone flat as they powered on their phone, grimacing at the pitiful 17%. But it would be enough.

"Just as I did," they said, producing the invitation card which they had not received. Of course they didn't! They totally expected it, so they searched for one of the players and beat it out of him, even making the guy tell them the location of which he would have been picked up.

He was probably an asshole anyway… [Name] glanced away, shameless.

Jun-ho's eyes widened a fraction as he inspected the card. Unlike the previous one, this invitation lacked a number on the back, instead instructing the recipient to return to the same pickup location as before, at a specific time.

"Listen, I know you're gonna follow them, I won't stop you," [Name] narrowed their eyes at him, leaning in to whisper, "but you're gonna fuck up a lot, so let me help you, 'kay?"

Furrowing his brow, Jun-ho was unsure how to take this. The kid clearly knew far more than they were letting on, and they seemed genuinely willing to assist - for some unknown damn reason.

"What do you know?" he inquired in a low tone.

"Everything."

Jun-ho leaned back with a sigh, covering his face with his hand for a moment, thinking about how low he's gotten that he could only get help from a teenager. he looked back at the dead serious kid beside him.

"How? Unless you're one of them, how could you know everything?"

At that, [Name] smiled - a humorless, almost sarcastic expression as they held up their phone. "In here.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jun-ho eyed the cracked phone in [Name]'s hand. "You're gonna need to mentally prepare for this one, bud," the teen suggested, swiping at the screen and pulling up a web page.

A fandom wiki? How was this supposed to help him, and why did he need to mentally prepare? Jun-ho watched as the page loaded, the bold title "Squid Game" standing out in black and hot pink - the same color scheme as the box he'd found in his brother's room.

"What is this..?" he murmured, leaning forward to read the description.

"Squid Game Wiki (오징어 게임 위키) strives to provide in-depth and encyclopedic info on the show's characters, games, lore, as well as cast and crew." 

Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion and bafflement, he scrolled slightly, finding the list of 'Characters'. 

Amongst them, was Seong gi-hun. Himself. And his brother.

 

...

 

...

 

This had to be a joke.

 

Jun-ho stared blankly at the screen, unresponsive to [Name]'s poking at his arm.

A show? Characters? Cast and crew?

This wasn't a show - it was reality.

The reality Jun-ho had known his entire life.

The reality that was now being called into question.

Slowly, he turned his gaze to lock eyes with the teenager who had shattered his worldview. Grasping their shoulders, perhaps a bit too tightly, he shook them slightly. "You- what did you just show me? What is this? a-a sick prank?" he asked, breathless.

"Release me," [Name] deadpanned.

Pale and pupils dilated, Jun-ho's eyes darted back and forth from the teen's face to the phone screen, the wiki page still mocking him.

"I told you to mentally prepare, don't blame me," [Name] calmly whispered, pushing his hands away as the officer slumped back in his seat, staring blankly. [Name] stared back, eyes narrowed.

“Now, let me explain the multiverse theory.”

—

[Name] walked leisurely beside the silent Jun-ho, taking a sip from their water bottle. The officer had been quiet ever since [Name] had explained the theory of the multiverse to him - a conversation that had required about 20 minutes of reassurance and a punch to the stomach to convince him that he was real.

"And you are... here, how? Isn't this place a... 'show'?" Jun-ho finally spoke, grimacing at having to refer to his world in such a way.

[Name] hummed, gaze turned upward to the dark, cloud-filled sky. "I got fucked over by a train, died, then woke up and found myself here," they recounted blandly.

Jun-ho paused, turning to the teen with an even more shocked expression. Was he already beginning to spiral? Maybe [Name] should give the poor guy a break.

"That's unimportant though," they cleared their throat, looking back at him and holding up their phone. "In here is the information you're gonna need if you're thinking of infiltrating."

Approaching a nearby bench, [Name] took a seat, Jun-ho following suit.

Aware that the officer was waiting for a specific piece of information, [Name] sighed. "And about your brother-"

"Really?!" Jun-ho leaned forward, a relieved grin spreading across his face at the prospect of finally finding his sibling.

"Don't get too excited, you won't like what I'm about to show you," [Name] shook their head, tapping the 'Hwang In-ho' page on their phone's screen, jun-ho immediately leaning in to read.

"Hwang In-ho (황인호 Hwang In-ho, born February 2, 1976), also known as the Front Man (프론트 맨 Puelonteu Maen), is the current head staff member and the person who oversees the Squid Games. He is the brother of Hwang Jun-ho and became the Front Man after he played in and won the 28th Squid Game in 2015 as Player 132. In 2020, his brother infiltrated the 33rd Squid Game in an attempt to find him after he went missing."

The smile on Jun-ho's face slowly fell as he continued reading, eyes widening with the realization that was setting in. Completely ignoring what his brother had become, his mind zeroed in on one piece of information.

His brother was alive.

[Name] observed the man, recognizing the look on his face. Just like in Season 2, Jun-ho didn't fully acknowledge the fact that his brother had become the very overseer of the games he had won back in 2015. He was simply relieved that In-ho was alive.

Given this jun-ho's current lack of understanding about the true nature of the Squid Game, his reaction was understandable. To him, his brother's safety was the most important thing.

Furrowing his brow, Jun-ho glanced at [Name]. "So, I did infiltrate...?" he murmured, seeking more elaboration.

"You did, and you have no idea how much I've been yelling at you through the screen to get at least one thing right. You fucked up so many times..." [Name] sighed heavily, feeling a migraine coming from merely thinking about Jun-ho's blunders. Though it had somehow worked out in the end, still.

Glancing away, Jun-ho appeared somewhat ashamed of the mistakes he hadn't even made yet. By the sound of it, he must have really messed up.

"Wanna find out more? Buy me a portable charger, this phone is dead," [Name] waved the device in Jun-ho's face, the battery life reading a measly 8%.

"Don't you remember what happened?" the officer questioned, raising a brow but standing nonetheless. [Name] followed, shrugging. "You're gonna need a visual explanation, but I'll tell you what I remember."

Pausing, Jun-ho took a deep breath and fixed the teen with a firm gaze, suddenly bowing deeply. "Thank you, so much," he whispered, his voice heavy with sincerity.

[Name] stared, shoving their hands into their hoodie pockets. They weren't accustomed to such heartfelt gratitude. They shifted uncomfortably. "Buy me a pack of ramyeon instead.." they muttered, looking away.

Smiling faintly, Jun-ho straightened up and nodded, falling into step beside [Name] as they headed towards the nearest open convenience store.

 

☆

 

Stepping through the automatic doors, the warm, fluorescent lighting of the convenience store offered a stark contrast to the shadowy night outside. Jun-ho made a beeline for the electronics section, while [Name] gravitated towards the snack aisle, eyes scanning the shelves hungrily.

Perking up in sudden realization, [Name] pulled out the invitation card, checking the date one more time. Oh hell nah...

June 23rd. [Name] glanced down at the date on their phone - June 22nd. 

They would have to teach Jun-ho everything about the role of a guard in a single day, their time limit being until midnight tomorrow. That would have to be enough; Jun-ho was smart, he'd remember it all.

Snatching a few packs of ramyeon, [Name] made their way over to the electronics section, finding Jun-ho examining a selection of portable chargers. 

"We don't have much time," they said, voice low and urgent. "I'm returning to the games tomorrow night."

Jun-ho looked up, eyes widening slightly as he grasped the gravity of the situation. Nodding, he quickly grabbed a high-capacity charger and moved to the checkout.

As the clerk rang them up, [Name] kept a neutral face even as their mind raced. They would need to cover so much ground in so little time - the vague layout of the facilities, the guards' duties and protocols, how to avoid detection by the frontman. And of course, how to help jun-ho even when they're in the game as a player.

The two stepped out of the store, and Jun-ho turned to face the teen with a pensive look. "Where should we go? We can't discuss this in public," he stated, eyebrows furrowed.

"Your place, of course. I'm sure your mom wouldn't mind," [Name] suggested with a faint smirk, which widened at Jun-ho's slightly taken aback expression.

Sighing, Jun-ho nodded. He supposed he should start getting used to the fact that this kid probably knew everything about him, even the detail that he lived with his mother.

—

The meeting with Jun-ho's mother went exactly as [Name] had expected. The elderly woman had initially assumed her son was a pdf file, and was about to smack him, until he quickly and nervously explained that [Name] was there to help him with an important "case."

After that was cleared up, the woman became very welcoming and sweet - almost nauseatingly so. She had prepared a veritable feast for them, constantly doting on [Name] to eat more and share about themselves.

While [Name] appreciated the food and hospitality, they were growing increasingly agitated by the nosy woman's constant pestering. Eyeing Jun-ho, they silently urged him to get his mother to stop yapping their ears off. Sensing their discomfort, Jun-ho firmly told the old lady to let the kid eat in peace before interrogating them further.

After dinner, [Name] remained seated at the table, quickly jotting down notes in a notebook Jun-ho had provided. The officer was currently in the kitchen, washing the dishes, while his mother had retired to bed after insisting [Name] take the bed while Jun-ho slept on the floor. What a mom.

"Jun-ho, hurry up here, we don't have all the time in the world," [Name] called out, eyes focused on filling the notebook with crucial information about the guards' duties and protocols - from the circles, triangles, and squares, to things he'd need to watch out for.

Finally arriving, Jun-ho entered the living room, drying his hands and taking a seat beside [Name] to review the notebook's contents.

"Don't miss any details, everything is important, ask questions later," [Name] said, sliding the notebook over before pulling up the VIPs page on their phone, in case they'd forgotten anything. Because god they hated that scene, and if they could, they'd rather change it.

Grabbing the notebook, Jun-ho began reading intently. [Name] had managed to pack a shitton of information into these pages in such a short time, and the writing was surprisingly clear and concise.

"They'll take the players to Moojin Port first, in the white vans. Then they'll get loaded onto a ship that will take them to the island where it all takes place," [Name] began explaining absentmindedly, swiping through their phone.

"Moojin Port? I thought that place was heavily secured .." Jun-ho murmured, narrowing his eyes as he continued reading. He was growing increasingly worried - how could this all be happening without raising any red flags with the government? Or were they somehow involved as well? There was no way over 400 players could go missing every year without any major investigations.

"It's called bribery," [Name] glanced at him, before slumping over the table slightly, still scrolling on their phone. Jun-ho hummed with a nod, flipping the page to continue reading.

"Once they come to pick me up, follow behind them at a safe distance, but make sure to remember which van I'm in," [Name] continued, explaining what Jun-ho should do the next day. "When you reach the port, climb under the van and wait until they've loaded all the players onto the ship. After that, the guards will be instructed to check the players, specifically the chip behind their ear," they gestured to their own ear, where the chip was implanted.

Jun-ho was now focused intently, committing these instructions to memory.

"It's how they know if you're actually a player. You'll have to get inside the van with me and pretend to be unconscious. When the guard checks your ear - and finds nothing - that's when you pounce," [Name] clenched their fist for emphasis, causing Jun-ho to let out an 'ahh'.

"Choke him or whatever, as long as you wear his uniform and get rid of the body."

Jun-ho lowered his head, deeply considering what he must do. After a moment, he nodded firmly. "Got it... Are you sure you want to go back there, though? You have a choice, don't you?" The officer's eyes shone with genuine concern.

[Name] glanced at him with half-lidded eyes, scoffing softly. "If you got transported to your favorite show, would you really be able to do nothing when you know everything?" they asked, raising a challenging eyebrow.

Jun-ho gulped slightly, averting his gaze as he pondered the question. "I guess, but it's still so dangerous..." 

"Yeah, well, I'm no pussy, and speak for yourself," the teen shrugged nonchalantly, earning them a deadpan look from the officer. Jun-ho sighed in resignation and continued reading the notebook.

—

The next day was spent entirely within the confines of Jun-ho's modest home, the two occupants holed up in the living room like shut-ins.

[Name] and Jun-ho pored over the contents of the notebook, transferring the crucial information into the officer's phone. The teen spoke in a clipped, no-nonsense tone, rattling off details and instructions like a drill sergeant.

"Okay, run through it one more time. What's the first step?"

Jun-ho furrowed his brow, reciting the steps he had committed to memory. "Follow the van that picks you up, make sure I know which one it is. Then get under that van at the port and wait for it to be loaded up on the ship."

"Good. And when the guards do the chip check?"

"I pretend to be unconscious, then attack the guard when he finds nothing in my ear." Jun-ho grimaced slightly, the implications of his role weighing heavily.

Nodding, [Name] turned to the next page on the notebook. "We've got the layout, the guard duties, the games... I think that's everything."

As if on cue, the two turned their attention to [Name]'s phone, where the opening credits of Squid Game were playing. Jun-ho let out a shaky breath, bracing himself as the first episode began.

For hours, they sat enraptured, [Name] occasionally pausing to provide additional context or clarification. The officer's reactions ranged from fascination to utter horror, especially when the show depicted his own failures as well as what was happening in the games. He would also be extra focused whenever it switched to a scene with his brother.

"I can't believe I fucked up that badly..." he groaned, burying his head in his hands.

[Name] rolled their eyes, nudging him. "Focus, dude. You've got one shot to get this right."

Across the wall, muffled thumps and disgruntled muttering could be heard from Jun-ho's poor, sleep-deprived mother. The woman had already made several failed attempts to intervene, only to be shooed away by the hysterical pair. At least that's how they looked in her eyes, like fanatics.

As the credits of the last episode rolled on the second viewing, [Name] stretched and yawned, it was already midday. Jun-ho stared up at the ceiling, thinking about his future life choices while also trying to get the fact that he just watched the future in the form of episodes into his static-filled brain. The scene of in-ho shooting him looped in his mind, over and over, causing him to grit his teeth.

This time, he'll confront his brother properly.

 

☆

 

The flickering glow of the streetlamp cast a warm, golden hue over the small area where [Name] stood, hands shoved into their pockets as they glanced around with an air of boredom.

The instant the clock struck midnight, a set of blinding headlights cut through the darkness, a van pulling up and stopping directly in front of [Name]. Silently, the sliding door opened, revealing two players already seated in the dimly lit interior. Without hesitation, [Name] climbed in, the door sliding shut behind them.

Soon, the familiar scent of sleeping gas began to fill the van, causing [Name] to slump back against the empty seat beside them.

Peaking one eye open, [Name] glanced around. Everyone, thank our glorious queen Sae-byeok, they sighed inwardly, having discreetly taken a breath and held it under the cover of their hoodie's collar.

Earlier, [Name] had spent far too long reassuring the anxious Jun-ho, who had grown increasingly reluctant about the plan like a total wuss. He had even tried to convince [Name] not to go, especially after witnessing the horrors of the games through the screen. His concern had only intensified.

Fortunately, [Name] had given him a much-needed reality check. At the end of the day, they were the ones helping him - not the other way around. [Name] hadn't approached him seeking his needless worries or concerns for their wellbeing; they could handle themselves just fine without him. Jun-ho should be grateful they were even disclosing this information, not trying to dissuade them.

The officer had remained uncharacteristically quiet, eyes downcast like a scolded child. While [Name] almost felt a little bad, they simply didn't have the time for coddling. A harsh dose of reality was exactly what Jun-ho needed before doing something of this magnitude.

After what felt like an eternity of mentally willing themselves to remain still, even though their back was absolutely getting it, the van finally came to a stop. They could only hope that Jun-ho had successfully made it under the vehicle as planned.

"Begin player inspection," the order finally came, followed by the sound of doors sliding open and the rush of cold air. [Name] suppressed a shiver, keeping their eyes mostly closed but discreetly cracking one open to make eye contact with Jun-ho, who had carefully peered in. A subtle nod passed between them.

As the circle guards filtered out of the driver seats to scan the players' ears, [Name] shifted slightly to create space for Jun-ho to slip in beside them, the officer rolling his head back and feigning unconsciousness just as the guard approached.

The device was held up to [Name]'s ear, emitting a soft confirmation ding as it registered their status as a player. Then the guard turned to Jun-ho, running the scanner over his ear - only to receive nothing. Puzzled, the guard leaned in closer, tilting Jun-ho's head to check the other side.

Before he could react, Jun-ho's eyes snapped open and his fist collided with the guard's masked face, causing him to reel back. Reflexively, the guard pulled a dagger, but [Name] was quicker, locking his arms back, with their legs around his waist, allowing Jun-ho to wrap his hands around the man's throat, choking the life from him.

The van rocked with the struggle, finally stilling as the circle guard went limp. 

"Hurry, dress up," [Name] urged in a whisper, helping Jun-ho begin removing the guard's uniform. "Remember what happens after this - don't get caught. Good luck."

Jun-ho nodded solemnly. "Stay safe," he murmured, earning a faint smile from [Name] before they leaned back, resuming their feigned unconsciousness.

Quickly donning the pink jumpsuit and mask, Jun-ho dragged the guard's body through the circular window, disposing of it in the churning waters below. Before the triangle guard and the manager catch him lacking, he climbs the stairs to join the other circle guards, blending into their ranks.

[Name] let out a quiet sigh of relief after hearing no bullshit about seasickness, resigning themselves to the inevitable back pain they would endure for the remainder of the trip to the island. Yay.

—

Blinking rapidly, [Name] stirred from their light nap, roused by the sound of an announcement reverberating through the ship. Though they didn't catch the specific words, they could make a good guess - they had arrived at their destination, the island.

Moment later, a circle guard climbed into the van, causing [Name] to furrow their brow as they waited for the telltale signs that this was Jun-ho in disguise. Three taps to the steering wheel confirmed their suspicion, and [Name] let out a sigh of relief, fully opening their eyes as the officer began driving the van.

"How did it go?" [Name] quietly questioned.

"Well. Thanks to you," Jun-ho's disoriented voice replied through the mask. "No heads were turned."

"Good. Make sure to keep up the statue act, no turning your head around like an idiot on his first day," the teen sternly instructed, earning a soft chuckle from the officer.

"Yes, boss."

The drive through the winding paths took nearly ten minutes, during which [Name] thoroughly interrogated Jun-ho about his recollection of the plan. To his credit, the officer had absorbed the key details like a student cramming for a finals exam. When he faltered, [Name] ruthlessly drilled the information into his head, emphasizing the horrific consequences of making a mistake in any of them, earning profuse nods from the very stressed jun-ho.

Jun-ho's focus and determination was admirable, though [Name] could sense that he's mentally shivering in his boots. Understandable, given the heavy weight of his mission. But there was no time for second-guessing - he had to be flawless.

As the van pulled up to the main facility, [Name] offered Jun-ho one last nod of mild encouragement. “Jun-ho, no fuck-ups.”

With a final nod, Jun-ho exited the van alongside the other circle guards. They quickly retrieved stretchers, methodically loading the unconscious players one by one and wheeling them into a grand, cavernous hall.

[Name] remained motionless as they were carefully transferred, unaware that it was Jun-ho himself who began changing them into the familiar green tracksuit. The officer's hands trembled very slightly as he meticulously undressed the teen, hyper-aware of the other guard beside him.

As [Name]'s upper body was exposed, Jun-ho felt his breath catch in his throat, eyes widening in dismay behind the mask. Scars of varying origin marred their skin - some clearly self-inflicted, others given. There was a burned brand on their forearm in the shape of a cross, and even surgical stitches crossing their abdomen, evidence of some surgery.

Steeling his nerves, Jun-ho worked quickly to dress [Name] in the player's uniform, pausing only when he noticed the vicious, leash-like scars that crisscrossed their back. The other guard clearly shared his reaction, exchanging a brief glance as they continued their task.

With no personal belongings in their pockets, the guard simply placed [Name]'s clothing in the storage bin below before closing it. The teen lay there, oblivious to the officer's growing horror and conflicting thoughts.

Gritting their teeth against the dull ache in their back, [Name] couldn't help but mentally lament, Tragic that someone this sexy has to go through this much...

As they were wheeled away once more, the teen hoped this would be their final destination. Thankfully, their prayers were answered when they were gently lifted and placed upon a soft bed, even tucked in - all that was missing was a forehead kiss and a goodnight, they might as well.

Moments later, as the last of the players were settled, the familiar strains of classical music began to filter through the speakers, eliciting low groans from the slowly awakening participants. One by one, they sat up, surveying the dormitory and the sea of desperate humans who had returned, all for the money. Even when most were begging to be let go so pathetically that day..

[Name] scanned the room, eyes narrowing as they sharply turned their head towards the camera stationed at their bed. With a scoff, they shook their finger disapprovingly at the device before drawing back their fist and smashing it into oblivion. Casting a critical gaze around, they spotted a second camera, this one better hidden, but they underestimated [Name].

Is it because I'm a kid? It is, isn't it? the teen frowned, raising a judgemental eyebrow directed towards the square guard behind the screen before ruthlessly crushing the device as well.

"You're back," a familiar voice interrupted [Name]'s violent thoughts, drawing their attention to Sang-woo, who stood before them with an unreadable expression.

"So are you," [Name] huffed, rising from the bed and twisting their back to work out the kinks, sighing in relief as it cracked.

"You shouldn't have," Sang-woo said with a furrowed brow, eyeing the teen warily. "Everyone here is an adult - you'll get trampled on."

[Name] regarded him with a lazy gaze. "We're playing children's games. I'm most likely to know them better."

"What if it's a strength-based game? Like buck buck, tug-of-war or Squid Game?" Sang-woo pressed, his tone laced with skepticism. "How would you manage then?"

"Drop it, I'll think about that when it comes to it.." [Name] dismissed with a wave of their hand, eliciting a frustrated sigh from Sang-woo as he turned to approach Gi-hun, who was conversing with Oh Il-nam.

"Gi-hun," Sang-woo called calmly, earning the other man's attention. "So you're here. I didn't think I'd see you."

Gi-hun nodded faintly, his gaze shifting. "Yeah, me neither..." His eyes drifted to the figure standing behind Sang-woo. "Oh - ah! You're the kid!" He pointed at the teen.

[Name] raised a brow, meeting Gi-hun's accusatory finger with an unimpressed tilt of their head. "Yeah, what about it?" they looked him up and down, daring him to say anything about it.

Gi-hun faltered, lips pursed as he struggled to find the words. Fortunately, Ali's arrival provided a timely distraction.

"Hey, good sirs! And the kid!" the cheerful man greeted, waving at [Name], who returned it with the faintest of nods.

Why am I dubbed ‘The kid’ now? [Name] scowled slightly.

Stepping forward, Gi-hun pointed at Ali with a smile. "Oh, it's my angel!"

Ali beamed, glancing between the three. "I'm happy to see both of you. I hope we all make it," he said earnestly, turning to Sang-woo. "And thank you again for the bus fare, sir. It meant so much to me."

He's STILL thanking him, [Name] thought with an exasperated eye-roll. I'm gonna have to corrupt you a little, sorry.

Gi-hun eyed Sang-woo with disbelief. "Wait, you gave him the bus fare?"

"Because he said he'd walk from Yeouido to Ansan," Sang-woo explained flatly.

Chuckling, Gi-hun remarked playfully, "Ah, that's so heartwarming." He looked between the group, adding, "We're like a bunch of soldiers at training camp, huh?"

"A training camp is what?" Ali asked, his limited Korean causing confusion.

"It means, like, bang bang and war, but when you're still untraumatized and hanging out with your war buddies," [Name] provided in a deadpan tone, earning an even more puzzled look from Ali.

Gi-hun waved a hand, as if brushing away whatever the hell [Name] said. "Hush, don't listen to them. It's like the army, shooting guns."

Comprehension dawned on Ali's face, and he beamed. "Ah! Soldiers all training together?"

"Uh-huh," Gi-hun nodded, glancing between Sang-woo, [Name], and Ali. "While we're on the subject, you should join me. We should form our own team, don't you think?" He looked between his might-be-teammates-soon.

Sang-woo considered this, giving [Name] a sidelong glance. "You're right. Who knows what game they'll have us play next." The teen could practically feel his reluctance at the prospect of having a kid on the team, but too bad - [Name] was staying here whether he liked it or not.

"It wouldn't hurt to be in a group, so we're ready for anything," Sang-woo concluded, turning his attention back to Gi-hun.

Gi-hun turned to Ali, gesturing enthusiastically. "Ah! You should join up with us!" he requested. "I mean, we already know he's crazy strong!" Gi-hun stated with a resolute nod.

Gi-hun pointed at sang-woo, “you saw it. He lifted me up with one hand like it was nothing!” He recounted, making a grabbing motion, sounding impressed. Anything impresses this guy.

Sang-woo eyed the man up and down, remaining silent. Though he seemed to agree, there was a clear conflict in his expression - likely due to Ali's apparent naivety. [Name] could understand his reservations.

"You mean..That you..I can join you?" Ali asked, looking between the group with hopeful eyes.

"Oh, yeah, sure!" Gi-hun nodded immediately. "Uh, so then, you'll be the new recruit!" He pointed at Ali. He then fnally turned his attention to the silent teenager. "And you'll be the... uh, trainee! 'Cause you're too young," he decided with a grin, reaching out to ruffle [Name]'s hair, only to have his hand swatted away. 

Gi-hun looked momentarily dejected, before recovering and turning to Sang-woo. "..um, and he'll be the skilled corporal, which means I'm the sergeant!" he chuckled, pointing at himself.

"Oh man. Thank you, sir!" Ali beamed, bowing deeply once more at the group.

"Please, just drop the 'sir,'" Sang-woo sighed, self-conscious about his age.

"And the excessive formalities," [Name] added flatly.

"Excuse me," an aged voice interrupted, drawing their attention to the old man still resting on his bed. He smiled 'warmly' at the group, his gaze lingering a moment too long on [Name]. "If you don't mind, can I join up with all of you?"

Without hesitation, Gi-hun nodded, his welcoming smile betraying Sang-woo's clear disapproval, “yeah, of course!” Gi-hun grinned.

Sang-woo's need for capable (men) teammates was obvious - he wouldn't want women or the elderly, and certainly not a child. But here, everyone was equal, and joining their team would be decided by an unspoken vote. Much to his misfortune.

"And you can be the... hold on," Gi-hun paused, thinking it over before his face lit up. "So you can be the old major who's been in the army all his life!" he exclaimed, pointing at the elderly man with a grin.

Oh Il-nam smiled gratefully, bowing his head slightly. "Thanks so much."

"It does fit you well, Grandpa," [Name] commented, barely concealing a smirk behind their palm as they met the old man's gaze. Oh Il-nam stared back for a moment before simply smiling.

"Haha... Grandpa? Oh, I always wished for grandkids!" Oh Il-nam mused, tilting his head as he addressed [Name]. "What's your name, youngster?"

The teen maintained eye contact, features settling into a neutral expression. "You can just call me by my number. I'm sure you wouldn't remember my name if I told you a hundred times with that withering dementia," they stated bluntly, hands shoved in their pockets.

Gi-hun looked at [Name] with a dropped jaw, quickly nudging them to apologize, reminding them to show respect for the elderly.

"quick..!" he urged them.

Sighing, [Name] turned to Oh Il-nam, who appeared more amused than offended. "Sorry that I was being valid and correct. It will happen again."

The old man let out a wheezing laugh. "Ahaha! - I'm sure you were a wonderful child to your parents!" he commented playfully. The remark earned him nothing but a brief, death stare from the teen before their expression reverted to one of indifference.

Fortunately, the PA announcer's voice cut through the somewhat tense silence, which seemed to be felt only by Sang-woo, who eyed the kid and the old man suspiciously after their exchange.

"Attention, your mealtime begins now. All players, please form a line in the center of the room," the announcement instructed, repeating them a second time.

 

☆

 

Multiple lines had formed in front of the guards handing out meals, players queuing up to finally get something to eat before the second game. 

[Name] hung back, only joining the line once it was nearly at its end, ensuring no one would be behind them. As they stepped up, the guard crouched down to retrieve something from another container - a bottle of strawberry milk. [Name] was still handed the standard bento box, however.

Eyeing the drink with furrowed brows, they glanced up at the circle guard with a blank expression. "So generous. Tell your boss I said thanks," they said plainly, receiving no response. Of course.

Huffing under their breath, [Name] made their way back to their 'team,' taking a seat beside Ali. Popping open the bento, they noted an extra egg had been included - this some clear favoritism.

Leaning forward, Gi-hun let out a gasp as he noticed the differences. "You got two eggs?! And strawberry milk?? What is this??" he exclaimed, gaze darting between [Name]'s meal and his own.

Sang-woo narrowed his eyes, glancing at [Name] with heightened suspicion. While this could be watered down to the fact that they were a child, the blatant preferential treatment still made little sense.

"Ohhh... you really have it different," Oh Il-nam observed, not appearing as bothered as the other two. Ali, too engrossed in his own food, also seemed unbothered.

"No idea why," [Name] shrugged, just as confused as the next person. They made sure to obscure their different meal from the other players' view, lest it paint a target on their back.

"Hm, maybe someone who works here knows you?" Gi-hun theorized, scratching his chin as he eyed the teen.

[Name] grimaced at the thought. "I'd hope the fuck not."

After a moment of silence, Gi-hun perked up. "Ah, before this - we were talking about which games could be next. Since you're a kid, you must know more, right?" he grinned, leaning forward expectantly.

"Ah... I guess," [Name] murmured with a shrug, taking a mouthful of rice rather than answering directly.

"...Uh, well? I was asking..." Gi-hun prompted nervously, seemingly worried about getting dished by the sharp teenager.

"Right." [Name] nodded, cutting their egg into bite-sized pieces. This caused Sang-woo to sigh softly, lowering his head slightly - he seemed to understand what [Name] was getting at.

"Alright, I'm sorry for what I said earlier," he murmured, his voice low. Gi-hun turned to his friend in mild astonishment, having rarely heard him apologize.

Smirking faintly, [Name] looked back at the group with a straight face. "I'll tell you a little something. Maybe you would have noticed it too if you put on your glasses - or maybe you wouldn't have either way," they jabbed casually, glancing at sang-woo briefly, just to clown him.

"Look at the walls," [Name] whispered, leaning in and making brief eye contact with Oh Il-nam.

The group began turning their heads, searching the walls curiously. Gi-hun was the first to turn back, confusion etched on his face. "I can barely see them, the bunk beds are covering everything. What about them?" he questioned, Ali mirroring his puzzled expression.

"You'll probably get it soon...You'd better hope you do," the teen ominously said, glancing at Sang-woo, who was staring at them silently, his eyes slightly wide with wonder as he regarded the teen in a different light. Of course he got it first.

Jun-ho must be on his way to his assigned room by now, hopefully he doesn't vomit from anxiety. [Name] thought, looking back at their meal, which was growing increasingly more nauseating as they stared at it.

They could already feel the bile raising up from their throat.

 

☆

 

In the large, dimly lit control room, the multiple screens displayed camera feeds of every player and guard. In the center stood In-ho, his focus fixed on the screen showing the returned players and their information.

Footsteps approached from behind, halting. "Out of 201 players, 187 returned. The re-entrance rate is 93%," a manager reported to the Frontman.

Faintly turning his head in acknowledgment, the Frontman monotonously ordered, "Keep an eye on the ones who didn't return to play, and keep me posted."

"Yes, sir," the manager nodded, pausing momentarily before turning to leave. He contemplated whether he should inform the Frontman about that particular player, but he would probably discover it right about now.

As the manager walked away, he hoped he wouldn't be dogpiled on for this.

The Frontman switched from one player profile to the next, his eyes scanning the information with barely a second's glance before moving on. No player had grabbed his attention for more than the minimal time required.

However, as he clicked to the next profile, his hand froze, eyes widening behind his mask. The profile he was now staring at belonged to a player who shouldn't have returned. Couldn't possibly have, as they weren't sent an invitation, as he ordered not to do so.

Player 443, [Name] [Last Name].

The child.

Clenching his fists, the Frontman realized he was at an impasse. While he could simply remove the child from the game, he doubted that would be viewed favorably. 

With a heavy heart, he knew he could only do the least he could - tweak a few things to ensure this child wasn't being tortured in the same way as the rest of the scum and trash.

It was the only concession he could make.

 

☆

 

"Attention. The work schedule is done for today. All working staff, please take this time to return to your room." The female PA voice announced, much to Jun-ho's relief. He didn't know how much longer he could stand in this random hall, staring blankly at the wall.

Following the other circle guards, Jun-ho heeded [Name]'s warning not to turn his head around and inspect the strange, whimsical staircase labyrinth, as tempting as it was.

Truthfully, Jun-ho was freaking out. Although he had sat through two watch-throughs of a 9-episode show depicting his world, choices, and pain as some form of entertainment for others in another world, he still couldn't quite fathom it until he actually stood here, doing exactly what his other self had done on the screen.

Silently gulping, Jun-ho walked robotically towards his room, as if he'd always known the way. Successfully unlocking the metal door on his first try while ignoring the other guards entering their own spaces, he slipped inside and closed it behind him.

He didn't look at the camera, nor did he stand before the rules plastered on the wall. He was well aware of it all by now. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, making sure not to face the camera as he lowered his hood and removed his mask, finally able to take deep, unobstructed breaths. This place was such a toxic work environment.

[Name] had told him he could do anything in the room, as long as it wasn't suspicious. In fact, guards could even have little breakdowns, since once inside, they could take off the mask and be a little more human again. They didn't have to follow the strict rules that would get them killed for disobedience - except the obvious, of course.

Food will be here soon, right? It didn't show exactly when. Should I just sleep? Nothing of importance would happen, Jun-ho mentally rambled, distressed as he rested his head in his hands. No, no... I should pull myself together. If I mess anything up, I'm more worried about ruining all [Name]'s work..

Glancing around the sparse room, Jun-ho sighed. There was really nothing he could do except stare into the abyss and wait.

 

☆

 

[Name] stared up at the ceiling, their gaze blank, but an eye twitch betraying their internal annoyance at the commotion down by the door. 

Although they weren't actually planning to sleep anytime soon, the incessant shouting in the otherwise silent environment was obnoxious.

More slamming against the metal door, accompanied by the shrill screeching of Player 212. "Hey, hey, hey!! Open the door, you jerks!!!" she wailed, her voice grating like a dying whale - and that was still too kind a description.

"I have to pee really bad, right now!!" she continued, her voice growing hoarse from the continuous screaming. The triangle guard behind the door didn't even bother to respond. "Don't you jerks ever take a leak?! Let me use the bathroom! I gotta go now!!" she went on and on, futilely banging on the metal.

After enduring her eardrum-splitting shrieks for some time, [Name] had reached their limit. I'm not programmed to take this bullshit..

They sat up, carelessly tossing the blanket aside and approaching the door. No, they didn't want to help her or tell her to knock it off, but rather to test a little theory they've had.

Materializing beside the woman like a ghost, [Name] ignored her startled yelp and knocked on the door themselves, eliciting a scoff from the woman.

"Hahh?! Think they're gonna let YOU in instead of me? What's so special about you that I don't have, huh, kid?" Player 212 raised an eyebrow, eyeing the teenager judgmentally.

"Shut your dick-eating trap, I can smell the sins from here," [Name] replied flatly, eyes still fixed on the circular window, waiting for a response. If their theory was correct, the guards would take one look at them and open the door.

Eyes blown open, player 212 stepped forward, jaw agape. "You-!"

Just as she was about to spew more bullshit insults, the window slid open, revealing a square guard instead of a triangle one. They observed [Name] for a few seconds before closing the window again, eliciting a mocking laugh from Player 212.

"Hah, see? You're just a-" she began, only to stare in bewilderment as the door was opened by the guard, with [Name] about to step through. Of course, sae-byeok came along, taking her chance.

Stepping beside the teen, Sae-byeok addressed the guard with a straight face. "I gotta go too."

"Ah.. so I have to beg to go, then you two just sit on top of it like that? Taking your chance?" Player 212 looked the two up and down with disdain, as if the door had been opened because of her (nonexistent) radiance.

Completely ignoring her, [Name] brushed past, Sae-byeok following closely behind before the bitch tagged along with a grumble. The three trailed silently behind the triangle guard.

Reaching the bathroom, [Name] immediately locked themselves in the furthest stall, hoping to avoid the mental torture of hearing Player 212 pull her shit from there.

After finishing their business in under two minutes, [Name] stepped out to wash their hands, glancing up just in time to see Sae-byeok climbing into the vent. The two made eye contact briefly, with [Name] simply looking away - a silent agreement to keep their silence. Of course they would! Why would they dare go against their glorious queen??

In fact, [Name] was planning on helping her.

Approaching the stall where Player 212 was screaming dramatically about pushing it out so the guard couldn't get in, though it wouldn't last, [Name] hissed, "You, shut up with that shit talk, it's useless."

The seated woman glared back with irritation. "Don't you think I forgot about what you said back there, little shit," she spat, scowling.

Instead of replying, [Name] simply pulled out their dagger necklace from their pocket, the chain wrapped around their fist. The threatening gesture was enough to make Player 212 recoil with a nervous chuckle.

"Ahaha - what did you have to say..?" she backtracked, glancing between [Name] and the open vent above her.

[Name] simply gave her an empty smile.

—

"Ahh!! There is so much - so much blood! It's flowing like the Han River!!! Someone call an ambulance! I'm going to die!!" Player 212 exaggeratedly shouted, peeking her head out of the stall to make her voice echo even louder, ensuring the guard stationed outside could hear her.

[Name] nodded in satisfaction at the Oscar-worthy performance, before moving to do their own part. They turned and approached the door, opening it just enough to peer at the guard outside.

"Could you get some pads? The bitc-woman in there had her period, and she's also hysterical, so maybe some ibuprofen too, for me not her." [Name] requested flatly, staring the soldier dead in the eyes as they turned to face the teen. After a moment of consideration, the guard hesitantly nodded and began to walk away.

That was oddly easy, [Name] noted, raising an eyebrow and closing the door shut, smacking the back of Player 212's head to stop her screeching.

"The guard left," [Name] told her, turning their attention to the vent above, awaiting the return of sae-byeok from what she'll see there. Though they already knew, [Name] didn't want to take the chance away from her.

 Player 212 stared at the teen, completely shocked, blinking. "That jerk did? He actually listened to you? What'd you tell him??" She leaned forward curiously.

"To get pads 'cause you got your period, duh," the teen rolled their eyes, earning a deadpan from the woman, who stood straighter.

"We know that - there was NO way he actually listened to just that..! They wouldn't even let me use the bathroom! Those fuckers are not humans at all!" She huffed, gesturing a little too much for [Name]'s liking. The teen decided to ignore her and instead crossed the tiled floor, leaning against the wall and holding their dagger necklace up to the lights above, causing the silver accessory-slash-weapon to shine beautifully. And threateningly, in Player 212's eyes.

Fortunately, [Name]'s plan had given them ample time to simply mess around, even as the guard were supposed to be banging at their door by now, threatening to drag them out. But he hadn't even returned yet.

Two knocks on the door caught both of their attention, eliciting Player 212 to continue yelling about blood being everywhere and how she's about to finish all the toilet paper just wiping at it.

[Name] approached the door, opening it slightly. They glanced down at the guard's hand, which held out a pack of pads and an ibuprofen - oh, he took them seriously.

Do they just have pads laying around? Or is it for the female guards? How sweet of them.

Snatching the items silently, [Name] slammed the door closed and approached the stall, feeling slightly relieved to see Sae-byeok beginning to climb down from the vent, hastily screwing it back closed.

Glancing at the items in [Name]'s hand, Sae-byeok stared at the teen for a few moments before getting down from the toilet she was standing on.

[Name] kept the ibuprofen, but placed the pack of pads in an obscured corner of the bathroom, not wanting to discard it somewhere.

After a suitable amount of time the guard deemed enough for a woman to use a pad, he began knocking on the door insistently, "You have to come out, your time is up."

Hands in their pockets, [Name] began approaching the door to leave alongside the two women, since there was no longer any reason to stay and risk rousing suspicion.

Stepping aside as the door opened, the guard eyed the three as they passed by. Player 212 sent him a glare, "Don't you know about a woman's needs, huh? Why are you hastening me up? Goddamn asshole..." she brushed against his shoulder on her way out. The triangle guard stood there for a moment before walking ahead to lead them back to the dorms.

—

On their way back towards their beds, [Name] had already separated from the two, leaving player 212 to pester sae-byeok about what she saw up there, which the teen was obviously not interested in.

Returning to their bed, [Name] sighed and turned their half-lidded gaze back to the ceiling of their bunk, exhausted and bored.

Thinking back on it, the guard's attitude was strange when he was speaking to them. Their theory was proven correct, fully.

From the square guard opening the door for the bathroom, after taking one look at them, to the triangle guard actually leaving to grab what they requested. Surely, they wouldn't have done that to anyone else.

In-ho, is he doing this? [Name] narrowed their eyes, overthinking the situation a little too much - but can it really be called ‘too much’ when they're getting so blatantly favoured? This has never happened in the show.

After all, this place upholds equality above all else, so treating [Name] differently simply made no sense. Especially when in-ho had been dropping bodies left and right whenever someone breaks that strict rule.

Whatever man, I literally do not care, this is good, what am I worried about? The teen huffed, turning to their side and attempting to fall asleep, failing miserably once again.

Can someone suffocate me with a pillow?

 

☆

 

The PA announcement reverberated through the dormitory, "Attention, it is now time for breakfast." Players began slowly forming lines to retrieve their food before the second game began, where half of them would face their doom.

Sitting up from the bed, [Name] stared blankly at the ground, their gaze exhausted from spending the entire night listening to every small sound and movement in this hellish dormitory.

"Hey," Sang-woo suddenly approached the teen, leaning against the frame of their bed and glancing around cautiously, ensuring no one could overhear them. "You went to the restroom last night, with those two... what did she see?" He questioned, as expected.

[Name] eyed him up and down before standing and stretching their arms upwards. "She didn't tell me anything yet," the teen lazily waved their hand, nonchalantly walking past the older man to join the forming line, preferring to be last in order to avoid having anyone behind them.

Stepping forward to the guard, [Name] didn't even bother feigning confusion this time when they were given strawberry milk again, along with two buns instead of one. Shoving one into their pocket before anyone could see, they strolled back towards their team, taking a seat and popping open the strawberry milk bottle.

"Ah... you got the strawberry milk again," Gi-hun sighed, glancing at his plain milk with a slight pout.

"Mhm," [Name] hummed, taking a sip from their drink casually. They didn't particularly care if others were envious, but they'd rather not have anyone witness this special treatment they were receiving.

"Hey, sir," Ali called to Sang-woo, who had been too busy observing Sae-byeok across the room. Perking up, he turned to face the other man, who pointed at his untouched bun. "Why aren't you eating that?"

Glancing at his food, Sang-woo grabbed the plastic-wrapped bun and held it out to Ali. "Have it," he offered.

A little taken aback, Ali looked from the bun to Sang-woo. "Do you mean it?"

"I don't eat most mornings," Sang-woo stated, smiling slightly as he handed it to the younger man, who smiled back gratefully.

"Thanks so much, sir," He bowed his head respectfully. Habits die hard, I guess, [Name] observed, taking a bite of their own bun.

Suddenly, classical music began to play through the speakers, capturing everyone's attention.

"Attention. The second game will begin soon. Please follow the staff's instructions, and swiftly make your way towards the game hall," the PA announcer rang out, a tangible tension settling over the players as they realized their downtime was over, and now they had to risk their lives for money

But they had all signed up for this - they had a choice, and they chose This.

—

The trek up the twisting staircases was becoming a hellish experience for [Name]. Shouldn't climbing these stairs become its own game? Anyone who stops to take a breath gets eliminated.

[Name] glanced up, eyeing one of the cameras. They had a habit of staring authority figures dead in the eyes - is that weird? [Name] thought it was completely valid.

Cracckkk babyyy, you don't knoooww what you waaant! but you knooowww that you had it once and you knooww that you want it back!! [Name] hummed a tune under their breath, attempting to distract themselves from the ascent to heaven - hell - they were going through.

Finally reaching their destination, the mechanical doors slid open, revealing a massive playground with extra-large games. Who was playing any of these, Lebron James? Even the ceiling was so damn high above them.

Confused murmurs passed between the players, as they began assuming what this game could be, completely ignoring the obvious four doors ahead, displaying different shapes.

"Why the hell is this playground so huge?" Gi-hun muttered, looking around with wonder and nervousness. "What's the game here?"

"Players, welcome to the second game. We will begin shortly," the female PA voice returned.

Glancing around, Gi-hun turned to Sang-woo, "Hey, what do we think, huh?" He pointed at one of the games. "Maybe that roundabout there?"

"Jungle gym without falling?" He continued theorizing, looking most scared of that one, as his arms probably couldn't hold half his weight.

"Players, before the second game begins, choose one of the four available shapes you see on the wall." The PA voice instructed, as everyone finally turned their attention towards the wall with the four shapes. "Once you've chosen your shape, please stand in front of it."

"Does she mean those?" Ali pointed at the wall.

"So our options are circle, triangle, star, umbrella..." Gi-hun murmured, looking at each one as if attempting to find what the game could be, unfortunately he seemed too braindead for that.

"I don't know. They seem very familiar," Oh Il-nam observed, acting thoughtful.

Sang-woo, who had been lost in the past and his realization, finally snapped out of it once Gi-hun began calling his name, "Huh?" He turned to his friend.

"Got anything?" Gi-hun questioned eagerly.

As expected, Sang-woo looked forward and denied, "Not yet." [Name] blankly stared at him, to which he didn't acknowledge.

"Ah, what about you, kid? You probably played something similar, huh?" Gi-hun leaned forward to where [Name] stood beside Sang-woo, their hands shoved in their pockets.

"You all should just choose triangle," [Name] suggested flatly, earning them a sharp look from Sang-woo, who realized the teen had also figured out the game, and unlike him, didn't give a fuck and told the others.

"Triangle...? Why?" Gi-hun glanced at the shape, before turning back to the teen. Oh Il-nam also stared at them, curious in more ways than one.

"Because," they shrugged, stepping forward to choose their shape instead of giving an actual answer, much to the others' frustration.

But instead of standing at the triangle, [Name] turned and approached the umbrella door, much to Sang-woo's bafflement. Was he wrong? Did they actually know the game or were they just messing around? They'll probably turn back to the triangle right about now.

But [Name] continued approaching the umbrella. Sang-woo didn't even bother with them, this was clearly a pre-made choice, and if they wanted to die, then who was he to stop them.

For [Name], choosing the umbrella wasn't some calculated risk or something smart. Quite the opposite, actually - it was pretty much suicidal.

"Choose a shape and stand in front of it immediately," The announcer repeated.

How else can I keep my dashing personality? I can't let myself heal or I'll be a boring fuck, [Name] thought with a faint smile, standing at the umbrella line with clear intentions.

This would also be a way for them to know if they would get eliminated or not – a win-win situation.

Suddenly, each of the four doors was opened by two circle guards, who stood at each side. Inside was another guard standing behind a trolley with multiple cases stacked upon each other.

"All players, please take one case each from the table at the front of your line," The announcer instructed, before repeating it a second time.

Standing at the umbrella line, [Name] stepped forward to grab their case, not failing to notice how the guards hesitated for a second. They raised an eyebrow at them before grabbing their case and walking away.

Their half-lidded eyes found Gi-hun, standing at the umbrella line. This caused them to scowl at him, which he met with a confused look.

That fucker, Sang-woo, he still said the same thing. Of course his words swayed them more. well, not that I really tried convincing them anyway.. [Name] scoffed under their breath, taking a seat at the top of the slide, for no reason other than wanting to slide down afterwards. If they don't get headshotted, which they highly doubt would happen anyway.

"Please take a moment to open the case and check the contents," the female voice instructed, to which everyone had begun doing. Some cursed and threw the lid at the ground, or simply sighed heavily at what they had received. While some seemed to be relieved, those being the circle and triangle choosers.

"The second game is sugar honeycomb!" The PA announcer stated cheerfully, while some were already starting to have mental breakdowns. "The shape you have chosen is the shape you must remove from the honeycomb. The time limit is 10 minutes."

Glancing around at the distraught players from their high perch, [Name] opened their case to see the umbrella shape along with a little needle.

“You will pass if you trim out the shape without it breaking or cracking within the time limit. With that, let the game begin.” The announcer concluded, as the time began ticking down from 10 minutes.

Yay. Smiling emptily, [Name] glanced at the guard who had also climbed up to observe their progress. They stared at the camera strapped to the guard's chest, waving at it blankly.

"Chat, are you seeing this?" [Name] held their case up to show the camera their shape, feigning a shocked expression fit for a YouTube thumbnail while pointing at the umbrella. "Am I cooked? Watch to find out," they said with a straight face, before turning their attention back to the honeycomb.

Leaning against the railing casually, they propped their legs up onto the railing across from them, and began carelessly scratching at the edges, even taking a bite sometimes.

The triangle guard watched, finding himself rather lucky to be observing the most interesting player. He'll brag about this later.

After only one minute, a gunshot rang out in the large room, causing screams to erupt from the other players who immediately looked up. Some guy had been shot after breaking his shape - he was sitting at the bottom of the slide, with blood leaking from his head and rolling down the metal.

[Name] grimaced at the sight, how would they slide down now? "Day ruined.." they grumbled under their breath, continuing to carelessly trim at their umbrella shape.

The first death caused more and more players to grow nervous and distracted. Some would flinch at the gunshots, cracking their honeycombs and getting immediately eliminated.

This continued, with people being eliminated left and right. It was just like 'Red light, Green light' - the first one to move and get eliminated would mess up almost everyone else.

Five minutes had passed, with the large playground now littered with more corpses than living players. Everyone was getting increasingly agitated.

[Name] had stopped attempting to trim their umbrella shape a while ago, leaving it for the last minute. Instead, they were mindlessly yapping to the soldier and his camera.

"White people always refer to their grandparents like–'My Nana and Gpaw are coming over tonight. Have you met my Nini-banini and grandpiano? Omg, you would love them, my Nae Nae makes the best cookies and my G-string tells the best jokes. What do you call your iPod Nano and Granite counter?'" [Name] rambled monotonously, before looking up at the guard, who was still staring at them silently.

The soldier had never had to hold back his laughter so desperately before, biting his lower lip so tight it hurt behind his mask. [Name] noticed his tightened grip on his weapon, causing them to faintly smirk victoriously.

Suddenly, the announcer chimed in, announcing the first player to pass the game, "Player 111, pass."

"Player 067, pass." My glorious queen! [Name] mentally gushed.

After a few seconds, Ali also passed with his circle. One after one, players began passing and leaving the playground, leaving most of the umbrella and star choosers still struggling.

[Name] glanced around, eyes scanning the area for a specific person - Jun-ho, who this time, wouldn't be getting scolded for not doing his duty as a circle guard.

Unfortunately, [Name] was too high up on the slide to differentiate him from the other circle guards. At least they didn't see any guards standing around dumbly, meaning Jun-ho was likely carrying out the bodies.

This guy... [Name] sighed in exasperation, hoping he doesn't trip and fall over a corpse or do something just as embarrassing. They seriously felt like a stressed-out mom of five whenever they thought of jun-ho. Literally who's the kid here??? [Name] deadpanned.

After a moment, Sang-woo finally passed, "Player 218, pass."

Turning their attention to the SNU genius, [Name] found that he was already looking at them. They stared at each other for a moment before the teen gave him a lazy wave. Sang-woo then turned and left the playground.

There were only three minutes left, causing the few remaining players to hurry up - a mistake, as that nervousness made them crack their shapes, getting them gunned down.

[Name] finally picked up their dalgona, which they had left sitting beside them for a while now. They had only trimmed off about a quarter of it. who cares like omfggggggggg who cares???????????? like. come On.

Glancing at where Gi-hun was seated, [Name] chuckled under their breath once they found him desperately licking his dalgona. "Look at him, goofy old man," they pointed at the other man, causing the triangle guard beside them to slightly glance in that direction.

"Heh," the triangle guard accidentally let that slip, causing [Name] to sharply turn to him with wide eyes. "Oh! You just laughed, you're over," they pointed at him accusingly, then stared into the camera strapped to his chest.

"He just laughed, you should get this guy fired, so unprofessional." They called him out shamelessly, much to the soldier's dismay. He doesn't like this anymore :(

Only a minute was left, and at this point, almost half the players were using Gi-hun's strategy of licking the dalgona until they could remove the shape safely. It was a smart tactic, but [Name] was not about to do something so animalistic.

The teen poked their umbrella with a bored gaze, still leaning against the railing of the slide. They turned to their guard, "Hey," they called out, waiting a second, but he didn't even look at them. 

"Hey!" They frowned, nudging his foot, but receiving no response or reaction. Scoffing under their breath, [Name] stared at the guard judgmentally, "You're still mad about that? What are you, five?"

The soldier didn't budge.

"Okay, fuck you too I guess," huffing, the teen looked back at their dalgona, beginning to actually attempt to trim the ridiculously hard shape out.

"Player 456, pass." The announcer chimed in, causing [Name] to glance up at the time, seeing it tick down from 3, to 2, to 1, and then 0.

"Your time to remove the shape is now up. All successful players, please leave the playground immediately," The PA announcer instructed cheerfully.

Looking up, Gi-hun made eye contact with [Name], eyes wide in horror. He was about to approach them, only to be nudged by the gun of a soldier, warning him to leave as instructed.

Casting one last look at the teen, Gi-hun hesitantly started walking away. [Name]'s blank gaze followed his retreating figure with slight wonder, He cares too much, they thought.

[Name] didn't even need to look at their triangle guard to know he wasn't even pointing a gun at them. Meaning it was true, they wouldn't get eliminated.

"That's crazy.." they murmured, placidly grinning up at the soldier, who looked away immediately.

Down at the playground, a commotion started, causing the two to turn their heads when they heard a gunshot. Player 119 had attacked a soldier, pushing the needle into his mask after tackling him. He stole the guard's pistol and began pointing it at every soldier attempting to approach.

He spun to face the square guard, shooting him in the shoulder once he noticed the man was about to pull his own pistol. Quickly lunging at him, Player 119 held the manager hostage, pistol pointed at the guard's temple as he faced the others.

"You see this, you assholes, huh?!" He shouted like a degenerate, "Goddamn it! What kind of sick game was that?" He asked in disbelief, glancing around at the other guards pointing their weapons at him.

"Why do some people get easy shapes while we all get shitty umbrellas, huh?!" He continued, as if he wasn't the one who literally chose the umbrella. "Hey! You assholes step back in there!"

In-ho is on his way, hopefully Jun-ho doesn't launch himself at him like a mom seeing her son after war, [Name] narrowed their eyes, standing up to lean against the railing and watch closely.

"Stay there, I'll shoot! I'll shoot–shoot him right here! Goddamn it!" Player 119 threateningly yelled out.

Suddenly, the second formation of soldiers turned around with their submachine guns, beginning to rain bullets on the failed players without hesitation, gunning them all down.

It was a good thing [Name] decided to sit up here, lest they might have gotten accidentally shot. Whistling, [Name] glanced at the triangle guard still standing beside them, instead of joining his comrades.

"What are you still doing here? Leave me alone," they dismissively waved a hand at him, to which the guard slowly lowered his head. "Don't do that shit, I won't feel bad." The teen looked away with a huff, watching as Player 119 held the manager up and ordered him to take his mask off.

The guard did as he was told, his back facing the player with the pistol, "Turn around, o-okay." He stuttered, both hands gripping the gun tightly.

As the manager turned, his face fell with shock and horror, seeing such a young man behind the mask, "You're just a kid..." he murmured, "What did they do to you?"

Nobody spoke. Player 119 lowered his gun and held it up to his own temple, not wasting a second pulling the trigger and falling to the ground, dead. The manager didn't even flinch.

[Name] perked up with a grin as the frontman finally appeared with two square guards trailing behind. He walked towards the commotion, the guards parting for him to pass. The manager who revealed his face turned to his boss, aware of his fate.

Without hesitation, the frontman pulled the trigger of his silver pistol, shooting the manager in the center of his forehead mercilessly.

"Remember. Once they find out who you are, you die." The frontman coldly reminded them, before turning around, only to pause once he noticed [Name], staring down at him from the top of the slide.

Strangely enough, the kid was grinning slightly and waving at him. In-ho was left perplexed, keeping his gaze on the teen for a moment longer before silently walking away, followed by his guards.

[Name] watched him leave, catching sight of a certain circle guard who stood there silently for a moment, staring at the frontman's retreating figure, before crouching down and grabbing the dead Manager's mask.

Jun-ho…hope you're not having a meltdown right now, keep it for when you're in your room, the teen sighed, before they were pulled aside by their triangle guard, who began escorting them back towards the dormitory.

 

☆

 

Jun-ho had to exert tremendous restraint, like holding back the force of a mountain, to prevent himself from approaching In-ho - his brother, the Frontman and overseer of these games.

After so long, years separated from each other, Jun-ho was mere feet away. He could simply walk over, remove his mask, and talk to him - asking about what happened, why and how. Why wouldn't In-ho come back home? Why lead in such an inhumane place? Why cut off contact completely? Did Jun-ho no longer mean anything to him? Does he hate him now?

But Jun-ho knew better. He understood how utterly foolish it would be to do something like that. [Name] would likely take a guard's gun and shoot him on the spot before anyone else could, and he didn't want to disappoint them.

He didn't want to ruin everything - he wanted to fix it everything.

Clenching his fists, teeth gritting together, Jun-ho looked away from the retreating Frontman. Instead, he turned his attention to the square mask on the ground, crouching down and carefully picking it up.

He will get his brother back. One way or another. And then he'll leave this hellhole with him and [Name].

 

Together.

 

✧

 

Notes:

RAHHHH I'M FINALLY DONEE AYAJSIS!!! Can you tell I love jun-ho as a dumbass 🤔

I THINK I did well portraying his silly personality here, idk, I just want him and [Name] to be like two suicidal bastards, one smarter than the other. No it's not jun-ho.

Anywasyy how was the chapter teehee, tell me if you want to see something happen next chapter, better hurry cuz I already started a new document for the fourth chap lol (kill me.) preferably something about what the HELL should jun-ho do since half of what he did in s1 would be unnecessary now that he already knows who his brother is.

See you in two days tops.

Chapter 13: ✧|| S1 AU: Special player (4)

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

[Name] saves their glorious queen, and gets a little silly.

Notes:

HEYEYEYEYE.

Sorry I didn't post last night guys 😕 I had a mountain of assignments from my fuckass English professor, istg I'll sabotage this fucker one day.

Honestly I'm not very proud of this chapter, idk it's just not hitting the spot for me 🤔 I think it's because I was too tired. NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE SCRUMPTIOUS ISTG!!!!

Enjoy<33

 

✧

 

"I need to use the restroom," [Name] flatly interrupted the silence, causing the triangle guard escorting them to pause and glance back.

After a moment, he nodded and changed directions towards the bathroom, much to [Name]'s relief. They hadn't had a private moment since arriving, as even the bathroom was always full of sobbing women breaking down in the stalls. 

And it wasn't even the problem, [Name] just wanted an excuse to be a hater.

Reaching the last stall, [Name] closed the door behind them and sat on the closed toilet, quickly shoving a hand into their jacket pocket.

Pulling out their phone.

Good cop, they smirked, powering up their phone only to frown at the low battery, only 16% remaining. Is this phone allergic to anything above 20%??

"Fuckass phone," they grumbled under their breath, powering it on to pull up the downloaded episode of Squid Game. Specifically, they wanted to check the exact scene of the "special game" - it had been so chaotic, they needed to pinpoint Sae-byeok's location.

What do you mean 'why'? To help her, earn her trust, and be besties of course. Dumbass question, [Name] thought, rolling their eyes as they carefully reviewed the scene repeatedly.

After a few minutes of carefully watching the scene on their phone, [Name] was suddenly interrupted by the guard outside knocking on the stall door.

"Your time is up," the guard called out.

[Name] scowled, hating when their focus was disrupted. They had just about found the exact location of Sae-byeok in the chaos of the "special game" scene.

"Fuck off, I'm not done yet," they snapped back, eyes still glued to the small screen.

The guard hesitated for a moment, likely unsure of how to approach the matter. "You need to come out now. It's meal time," he insisted. Attempting to coax them out with food.

"I said fuck off!" [Name] growled, voice rising in annoyance. "I'll come out when I'm goddamn ready.." they huffed.

Gripping their phone tightly, [Name] remained seated, dead set on finding what they were looking for before being forced to leave. The guard's interruption was incredibly frustrating, and they had no intention of cooperating.

I hope his head mysteriously blows up, they thought. Their brow furrowed in concentration as they rewatched the scene one more time, who knows when they'll be able to pull their phone out again? It was already so fucking risky bringing it here.

Poor jun-ho must have been stressing while attempting to slip it into their pocket when they were getting changed into the tracksuit.

"You must get out, now." The soldier banged at the door one more time, causing [Name] to groan. Reluctantly, they stood up and exited the stall, dragging their feet behind him.

Slamming the door open, [Name] sent a death glare to the soldier as they began walking back towards the dormitory. Upon reaching it and going through the thick door, they noticed the lines forming to get the measle meals - a single boiled egg and a drink of... whatever this was, [Name] still had no idea.

Scanning the dormitory, their eyes landed on their "team" seated in their usual area. They were already looking at [Name], disbelief painting their faces, especially Gi-hun who appeared as pale as a ghost. Clearly, they had assumed [Name] was dead.

Just as [Name] approached, Gi-hun rushed towards them, hands reaching out as if to..hug them?? HELL no.

"K-kid! You're-!" Gi-hun exclaimed, nearly tripping over himself.

Smoothly stepping aside, [Name] dodged the affectionate attack, causing Gi-hun to stumble and nearly crack his skull on the wall. Sighing in relief, [Name] was cut off by Sang-woo suddenly grasping their shoulders and staring into their eyes with a pensive, dumbfounded expression.

"You- how did you even..??" Sang-woo murmured, looking them up and down skeptically, trying to see if they ran out before getting shot or something just as ridiculous.

Soon, both Ali and Oh Il-nam had gathered around, with Gi-hun hovering beside Sang-woo, fussing over the teen he had only known for a day.

"The timer ended, I'm sure..." Gi-hun murmured, his worried gaze scanning [Name] for any injuries.

"I was done already, I just went to the restroom, that's why I took so long," [Name] shrugged dismissively, brushing Sang-woo's hands off.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're safe..!" Ali smiled in relief, hand on his chest, his gaze warm, to which [Name] averted their gaze from.

"Ah, what a lucky child..." Oh Il-nam chuckled, prompting a glare and a scoff from [Name]. "Lucky my ass.." they muttered before walking back to their bunk.

"Don't think I forgot about y'all ignoring my advice and separating anyway," [Name] called out, pointing at the group with a sharp look. Gi-hun sighed in disappointment, realizing he should have listened to the kid who clearly understood these games better.

Sang-woo stared at [Name]'s retreating figure, brow furrowed. He had spent the last few minutes trying to comfort the unreasonably dejected Gi-hun over the teen's supposed "death." Now, here they were, safe and sound.

Gi-hun sighed in audible relief beside him, resting the back of his hand against his forehead dramatically as if asking sang-woo to paint him like one of his french girls.

"Ahh, I'm so glad... I thought I was losing my mind when I saw them come through that door," Gi-hun exaggerated, slightly leaning on Sang-woo's shoulder. As much as it seemed to bother him, Sang-woo didn't push him away.

Homosexuals, [Name] thought, staring at them from the back of the line as they waited in line for their pathetic egg–okay, let's be real here, they're not getting a simple egg.

Fortunately, the line was short, and the last one at that! mentally smiling while outwardly locking in, [Name] waited for their turn.

Only for the line to stop, and for [Name] to get reminded that life still has some unsolved beef with them.

"Uh, I didn't get anything, where's the rest?" A male player at the front asked, looking up from the empty container to the circle guard. Ohh, you've gotta be shitting me.

Other players began voicing similar complaints, a female player counting the missing meals. "Six meals are missing, sir!"

The manager stepped forward, coldly stating, "We prepared food for the exact number of players."

"Then where is ours?" the player at the front asked desperately. "Please, sir, we need to eat!!" He raised his voice, stepping forward, only to step back in fright when the manager pointed a pistol at his forehead.

"It was prepared for the exact number," the manager firmly repeated.

"Excuse me..." a female player by the beds interrupted, pointing an accusing finger at deok-su and his gang. "It was them. They... they skipped the line and took seconds, I saw it."

You're fucked, girlie, [Name] inwardly shook their head solemnly. Snitches get stitches, or whatever they said…

The entirety of the dormitory turned their attention towards the sad excuse of a gang, silence befalling the room.

Deok-su glanced around carelessly, taking a sip from his drink, “Hey, what's the matter everybody? Jeez,” he aggressively said, glaring at anyone who dared look him in the eyes, “you never seen a guy eat before, is that it? Shit.”

Very bravely and stupidly, player 271, who was at the front of the line stepped out of it and began approaching deok-su and his whores.

“Who do you think you are?” He asked breathlessly, pointing at them all as if they cooked his cat up for dinner, “that's my food you just ate!” He accused.

Sarcastically, deok-su held up the mystery bottle, “ah..so, uh, is this yours? Is your name on it? ‘cause I sure don't see anything,” He flipped the bottle around, searching for his name on it. Which was unfortunately not there, must mean he's right then, case closed.

Deok-su and his gang began giggling like high school preppy girls when they bully a loser for having a life. This scenario didn't fit however since nobody here has a life.

“I'm sorry,” deok-su mockingly apologized, before very unapologetically taking a long sip from the bottle. Player 271 did NOT let that one slide, as he suddenly lunged at him, attempting to grab the bottle.

“Give me that!!” He shrieked, arms raised as he struggled against deok-su who almost choked on the liquid he didn't even swallow yet. “Give it back! It's mine!” Player 271 strained.

You're not you when you're hungry, [Name] observed from afar, still standing by the abandoned line. Now that everyone's attention was at the fight, [Name] approached the square guard.

Standing right in front of him, they held their hand out, “my food?” They tilted their head slightly, raising an eyebrow.

The manager stared at them blankly for a while, before nodding to the circle guard beside him. The guard crouched down to grab something from another container, pulling out a whole bento box?? And the usual strawberry milk.

“Fuck, how am I meant to hide this?” [Name] scowled, taking the food but looking between the two guards. The manager shrugged, he for real just shrugged at them!

[Name] took advantage of the distracted players to hide their food beneath their jacket before rushing back towards their team.

Glancing back at the fight, deok-su had already began viscously kicking player 271 as if he was a very old lawnmower that worked only by getting a little abused.

The teen took a seat, they didn't dare pull their food out in front of all these people, even if nobody was looking at them. Someone was bound to be watching, always.

No– I need my pills!!!! [Name] mentally wailed.

The teen looked back at the ‘fight’, seeing deok-su casually leave the body he messed up behind, to crouch down by the broken bottle, drinking from whatever is left of it. Ohh, you fat fuck, [Name] covered their mouth before they snort, elbow propped on their knee.

Everyone stared at player 271’s body laying on the ground, blood leaking from somewhere on his face. The players muttered and whispered to each other in horror and apprehension, unsure of what to do.

Sang-woo and gi-hun stood from their seats beside [Name] cautiously approaching the motionless body. Sang-woo crouched down beside him, slightly shaking his shoulder, “hey, you okay? Hey, Wake up,” he called out.

Pursing his lips, sang-woo trailed his hand down to the man's neck, checking his pulse for a moment. Taken aback when he found none, he looked up at gi-hun, who stood beside him.

“He's gone,” he solemnly whispered.

Gi-hun turned to him, before lowering himself to check on the confirmed dead player, staring with disbelief, as if it would somehow get him back to life.

Eyes still on the corpse, gi-hun called out, “uh, hello, guards! Can someone do something?!” He shouted, turning his gaze to the guards who stood unfazed by the situation at hand, as if it happened a thousand times.

“Hey! Didn't you hear that?!” He stood straight, causing sang-woo to abruptly stand up as well, somewhat worried.

“a person died. That man there just died!” He continued, his voice almost desperate as he approached the guards.

“Look, that man was just killed. That bastard…that bastard just killed him!” gi-hun pointed at deok-su, still staring into the square guard's soul as if it'll somehow be able to make him do something about it.

[Name] decided to mute out the rest of gi-hun’s crash out, instead sitting at the back so they could actually eat their food in peace. Opening their bento box, they found slightly different contents from the last one, it was even quite warm.

Am I oh il-nam's secret love child or something? [Name] frowned, somewhat dumbfounded by this favouritism.

“Player 271, eliminated.” The announcement finally came, silencing gi-hun and making him slowly look up. Seeing the number of players get down by one, and the money to go up by a 100 million won.

Realization began to dawn on everyone's faces, as the lights dimmed and the money dropped into the piggy bank as if it was just any normal procedure.

The double doors buzzed, before opening, with two circle guards stepping through, holding the usual black coffin with the cute pink bow. 

The silence prolonged, as they all watched with either horror, shock, or amusement – in deok-su's case.

[Name] intensely stared at gi-hun, his expression a mix of disbelief and resignation as he watched the man get carried away.

He looks like a sad hamster, [Name] blinked.

 

☆

 

It was 30 minutes before lights out.

The tension in the dormitory was palpable after today's events. The main team huddled together on their spot between the bunks.

Sang-woo's voice broke the silence, his tone serious yet calm. "We can't fall asleep tonight, okay? Who knows what someone else may be up to." He cast a pointed glance towards Deok-su's gang. "Look at them. It looks like they're planning something."

Turning to Gi-hun and Ali, Sang-woo suggested, "If they try to attack someone, let's group together and fight them." He patted the shoulders of Ali and [Name]. "Come to our side if anything goes wrong," he nodded.

[Name] simply hummed in acknowledgment, while Ali readily agreed, "Okay, I will."

Gi-hun looked over to Oh Il-nam, who seemed to be dozing off on his bed. "Sir, wake up," Gi-hun gently shook him, earning a low groan from the old man.

"Wake up, sir," Gi-hun repeated, finally capturing Oh Il-nam's half-awake gaze. "Sorry, but you really can't go to sleep after lights out, understand?" he warned, waving his hand slightly with concern.

"Why?" Oh Il-nam asked 'innocently', eliciting an almost-eye roll from [Name]. Loud cringe buzzer.

"We gotta keep an eye out. It will be dangerous!" Gi-hun explained animatedly. "And we'll come here if anything goes down," he pointed to their current spot. With a faint nod, Oh Il-nam heeded the warning, "Uh, okay."

Seeing Gi-hun glance between Deok-su's gang and Sae-byeok, [Name] knew it was time to take action. "I'll talk to her," they suddenly spoke up, already standing.

"Huh?" Gi-hun perked up, startled, before realizing what they meant. "You know that pickpocketer?" he asked incredulously.

"No, but I'm about to," [Name] shrugged, approaching Sae-byeok's solitary spot.

Hearing footsteps, Sae-byeok glanced up at the approaching teen. Recognizing them from the bathroom incident, she stared blankly, waiting.

"A fight will break out tonight – well, more like a massacre, I'm sure.." [Name] monotonously warned, hands shoved into their pockets.

I'm talking to her!!$@!# They thought normally.

"You should come over to that bed by then, we'll help you against that piece of shit 101," they lazily pointed at their team's direction.

Sae-byeok glanced at the indicated spot before turning back. "I don't trust y'all," she stated bluntly.

[Name] tilted their head, eyes half-lidded. "And neither do I. But I'm telling you, if you don't want to end up dead first, come to us," they calmly concluded, turning to head back.

Sae-byeok watched the retreating figure, before lowering her gaze to her knees. She didn't need others' help, she trusted a lot back then, and she was betrayed enough.

Glancing back at where [Name] stood, sae-byeok couldn't help but think back on that day in the restroom, when she went into the vents. Why did they decide to help her? She didn't promise them anything like she did with player 212, who only helped her in exchange of information.

This teenager was weird.

—

“Lights out in 30 seconds!” The PA voice announced, eliciting all the players to begin climbing into their beds before the lights go out.

 [Name] sat up on their bed, staring at their dagger necklace, the chain tightly wrapped around their fist so the weapon wouldn't fall.

Jun-ho is coming soon, should I try and talk to him? It could be risky...but who cares anymore? He needs to speak to someone on his side before he breaksdown, they softly sighed, resting their head back against the metal frame.

Soon, the countdown to lights out began.

“Five”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

The fluorescent lights switched off, along with the piggy bank as well, basking the dormitory with pitch black darkness.

[Name] casually stood up from their bed before all the chaos ensued, blinking as their eyes began adjusting to the darkness–though that would be useless once the lights begin flickering.

The first scream erupted, and the dormitory fell into complete chaos. Screams pierced the air as players began attacking each other in the darkness. Unfazed, [Name] blinked as the lights started to flicker.

Determined, they waded through the mess of toppling beds and brawling players, focused on reaching Sae-byeok before Deok-su could harm her too much. Unfortunately, they arrived just as Deok-su slammed Sae-byeok against the wall, after disarming her from her dagger.

Without hesitation, [Name] rushed forward and plunged their dagger into Deok-su's back, eliciting a scream of pain. They pulled the blade out and stabbed his shoulder, causing him to slam back against the bed frames. 

Pushing Deok-su to the ground with a grunt, [Name] grasped Sae-byeok's hand without a second thought and dragged her away, dodging the ongoing fights as they rushed towards Gi-hun's group. But a random player on the ground grabbed Sae-byeok's leg, trying to shove a shard of glass into her.

"Fuck off–piece of trash!!" [Name] grunted with a disgusted scowl, kicking the man's face viciously, twice, before continuing to run, Sae-byeok staring at the back of their head with slightly wide eyes.

Finally, they reached Gi-hun, who looked immensely relieved at their arrival. "You made it," he panted heavily, clearly having been in the thick of the fighting.

"They said...you'll help me," Sae-byeok murmured, glancing at [Name], who maintained a stoic expression. Gi-hun immediately nodded with a growing smile, but his expression quickly turned to shock as he shoved both Sae-byeok and [Name] out of the way, narrowly avoiding an attack from a crazed-looking Deok-su.

"Agh!" Gi-hun tackled Deok-su to the ground, then quickly stood up to dodge a swing of the dagger - Sae-byeok's own weapon now in Deok-su's hand.

[Name] gritted their teeth as more of Deok-su's goons joined the fray, with Sang-woo desperately trying to push them back using a metal bed frame.

Pushing Sae-byeok behind them, [Name] rushed towards the nearest enemy - a nameless member of Deok-su's gang. The man didn't even see them coming before they rammed their head into his stomach, doubling him over in pain. [Name] quickly followed up with a vicious kick to his groin, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Turning their attention back to Sae-byeok, [Name] noticed Ali arriving with an impressively large metal frame, using it to shield them. Standing behind the makeshift barrier, [Name] looked to Sae-byeok with furrowed brows. "You good?" they asked flatly, earning a slow, hesitant nod.

"Hey, Ssangmun-dong...move aside, I'm going to kill those two bitches," Deok-su growled, his scowl deepening as he glared at [Name] and Sae-byeok. He looked more unhinged than in the actual episode, seems like [Name] really fucked him up.

Stepping forward, Gi-hun glared back. "They're both our teammates, you got that?" he firmly stated.

"Goddamn teammates...?" Deok-su's brow furrowed, his grip tightening on the small dagger.

Suddenly, Oh Il-nam's voice reached them. "All of you, stop this!" he attempted to shout, weakly, from atop an untouched bunk bed.

“I'm..I.. I'm scared! We are all gonna die in here!!” Oh il-nam delivered his best oscar worthy performance, making [Name] furrow their eyebrows. Isn't this basically a disguised order for the frontman? Telling him to stop this now? It definitely was.

“Everyone, every single one of us is going to die!!” He continued, though it went mostly unheard.

Except for the ones in the control room.

 

☆

 

"Please! I'm so scared. Stop this madness!!"

The Frontman stared intently at the large screen, displaying the image of his boss pleading to end the "special game." 

In truth, In-ho had been moments away from ordering the game's termination, the moment he witnessed Player 443 going against Player 101, fighting to protect Player 067. But there was nothing heroic or selfless about their actions - it felt deeply personal.

From observing Player 443's peculiar behavior in the previous game, In-ho could tell this child was a unique case - suicidal, yet logical. Two traits that shouldn't have worked together as seamlessly as they did with [Name], the only player – no, the only person in this place that In-ho was...rooting for.

"End it," he finally ordered, glancing at the manager beside him. With a nod, the guard pressed a few buttons, flooding the dormitory with light as the buzzer indicated the sliding open of the doors. The guards entered, firing shots upwards to halt the fighting.

In-ho's eyes narrowed behind his mask as the camera panned to [Name] and the players they associated themselves with, noticing them clutching their arm - an injury.

"Bring Player 443 to Room 045, and send a worker with a medkit to tend to their wounds," he ordered through the radio, before turning back to the screen with a frown hidden behind his expressionless mask.

He should have ended the game earlier, or better yet, kept [Name] in a safe place until the "special game" was complete. This outcome was not meant to happen - he couldn't control the players as easily as he commanded his guards, for the "special game" had always been unpredictable.

In-ho sighed under his breath, watching [Name] check on Player 067 for the tenth time, before he began walking out of the control room.

 

☆

 

The guards rushed in, one shooting aimlessly at the ceiling to get the players to stop attacking each other, signaling the end of the "Special Game." Triangle guards filtered in, some crouching by dead players to confirm their status, others pointing guns at the standing players.

"Drop your weapons!" one guard ordered, and the players hastily raised their hands in surrender, releasing their weapons.

[Name] didn't bother, simply sitting back on the staircase with a heavy sigh and shoving their dagger into their pocket. No guard approached to search them.

Noticing the manager - Jun-ho - among the guards, [Name] stood and casually approached him, maintaining a blank expression as they acted as if they were just messing with a random guard like usual.

"Y'know, you didn't even need to come here," they whispered, raising an eyebrow.

Jun-ho seemed to sigh in relief, though his figure remained stiff and straight, the perfect picture of your typical manager. "I wanted to check on you," he shakily whispered back.

[Name] scoffed softly and gave him a dismissive wave before turning away. "I'm not dying anytime soon." As they walked off, Jun-ho had to hold himself back from clenching his fists or reaching out, not daring to show any body language.

He had to pretend to be this unfeeling, mechanical guard for two days now, and he couldn't get used to it - he didn't want to. Conversing with [Name] after the hell he'd endured relaxed his mind like a drug. 

Talking with someone he knew–who knew him as himself, even briefly, was enough to stabilize his mental state. Even though they've barely known each other for three days, jun-ho often feels as if he'd known [Name] for years, like a little sibling who acted more like an older one.

He hoped they felt the same way about him.

—

[Name] could almost feel Jun-ho's stare burning into their back, causing them to sigh under their breath. They knew he would need someone to stabilize him before he could proceed with the more difficult parts of the plan.

After all, even though he already knew everything, he still needed to gather actual evidence - meaning he had to infiltrate the VIP's and his brother's quarters to take incriminating photos. And hopefully, find an alternative way to gather information from that fuckass VIP without...that scene happening.

[Name] wasn't as unfeeling as many would assume. They wouldn't want anyone to endure something so horrible, even if it benefited them. That's why when Jun-ho had briefly suggested he could handle it, they had immediately shut that idea down, yelling at him to drop the fucking topic.

They hoped that had been enough to deter him from even rethinking it.

"You're injured," Sae-byeok noted, pointing at [Name]'s arm, where their jacket sleeve was slightly ripped, revealing a gash likely from a glass shard. But when did that happen? Oh well, it'll pass.

"Ah..." Numb to the pain, [Name] simply glanced at their arm and held it. They then turned their attention to Sae-byeok, scrutinizing her.

"And you?" they inquired, raising a curious brow. Sae-byeok pursed her lips and shook her head, still unsure how to act around the teen that had literally saved her ass.

"..thank you," she murmured, lowering her gaze slightly. She couldn't recall the last time she had genuinely expressed gratitude to anyone–or anyone really deserving of it.

"Mhm," was [Name]'s simple response, their gaze distant and unreadable as they observed the chaos unfolding around them. They were really a weird kid, Sae-byeok mused. She had fully expected them to demand some form of repayment, at least that's what sae-byeok would have done.

—

[Name] found themselves being escorted by a triangle guard, who calmly informed them that they were to follow. At first, they were hesitant, thinking this had something to do with the organ harvesting storyline, but relented when the guard explained it was an order - not for them to go, but for the guard to bring them somewhere. And somehow that's different.

Trailing behind the soldier, hands shoved in their pockets, [Name] glanced around cautiously. this was completely unfamiliar–not that anything in this fuckass staircase labyrinth is familiar to begin with.

The guard paused in front of a specific door, twisting the knob open and gesturing for [Name] to enter. Peering in warily, they found an empty room with only two chairs and a table in the center.

"Am I getting interrogated? Can the good cop go in first?" they quipped, eyeing the silent soldier. With an eye roll at the predictability, [Name] entered the room anyway.

What's the worst that could happen?

And for the first time in never, nothing bad had happened after saying that. A circle guard entered directly after them, silently beginning to bandage their wounded arm and even providing them with a fresh jacket. Are they not even hiding it anymore? Did they even try? [Name] thought dryly as they zipped up the new jacket.

Once the medic had packed up and left, the triangle guard returned to escort [Name] back to the dormitory. Disappointed, they had truly expected to be brought before the Frontman, to get some answers and yippee outta there.

Pausing at the dormitory entrance, [Name] sharply turned to face the guard. "What's up? You have to tell me, why is your boss being such a softie with me, huh?" they asked, accusingly poking the guard's chest.

The silent soldier offered no reply – whoever was under that mask had simply followed orders. If anyone would know the reasoning behind the Frontman's actions, it would be one of the managers anyway.

Huffing in frustration, [Name] re-entered the dormitory.

—

Sae-byeok glanced to her left when someone suddenly sat beside her, only to see the teenager had returned from wherever they've disappeared of to. She raised a curious brow at them, which they returned with a blank expression.

it felt like staring at a mirror sometimes.

Gi-hun's voice caught their attention as he spoke up. "Uh, well, at this point, we should know what to call each other. Why don't we go around telling each other our names now?" he suggested.

"I know your name already, though," Ali interjected with a smile, but [Name] quickly interrupted before he could embarrass himself, so they could do so for him.

"No, it's not Ssangmun-dong, that's his hometown," the teen stated flatly, though a twitch of their lip betrayed their amusement.

Ali's smile faltered as Gi-hun chuckled, finding the mistake endearing. "My name is Seong Gi-hun. Seong Gi-hun of Ssangmun-dong," the man introduced himself warmly.

Turning to Ali, Sang-woo tapped the sulking man. "So then, what about your name?" he asked, almost appearing to comfort the other.

"Ali. Ali Abdul," the cheerful man beamed, brightness rivaling the fluorescent lights above them.

"And where are you from?" Gi-hun inquired curiously.

"Pakistan," Ali replied, sounding proud to discuss his homeland.

"Pakistan? Where's that?" Gi-hun asked, a touch of ignorance in his tone. Before Sang-woo could answer, [Name] scowled and interjected, "It's in the north of India."

"They're right," Ali nodded with a smile.

[Name] had spoken up partly to prevent Gi-hun from boasting about Sang-woo's SNU credentials - they might crash out if they hear any of that.

Turning to Ali, Sang-woo introduced himself with a slight smile. "Cho Sang-woo." Ali returned the smile, nodding.

Then, Gi-hun, Sang-woo and Ali focused their attention on the quiet kids of the group - Sae-byeok and [Name].

Sae-byeok glanced between them silently, until Gi-hun nodded encouragingly. "Come on, really?" she said, exasperated at having to share about herself.

"We're all teammates now. We should get to know each other, build a little trust, you know?" Gi-hun pressed, his words carrying an air of matter-of-factness.

Shifting slightly, Sae-byeok lowered her gaze before finally speaking. "Kang Sae-byeok."

"Sae-byeok?" Gi-hun repeated, appraising her for a moment. "That's a pretty name... though I'm not sure how well it fits."

Sae-byeok stared at him blankly, though [Name] could sense her offense. Leaning closer, they took the opportunity. "I think it suits you," they whispered, much to Sae-byeok's mild surprise.

"Ah, what about you, kiddo? Got a name, or are we still calling you 'The Kid'?" Gi-hun asked, peering up at the teen.

"[Name]," they introduced flatly, providing only their first name.

"And your last name...?" Gi-hun hesitantly inquired, raising a brow. [Name] stared at him with their lifeless gaze until he grew uncomfortable enough to break eye contact.

"I don't have one, anymore," they shrugged carelessly, unbothered by the lack of association - they'd rather not be linked to HIM in any way.

Sang-woo seemed to understand the implication, as he and Ali were the only ones privy to the fact that [Name] was homeless. It made sense they'd been disowned.

Nobody dared to pry further.

Sighing heavily, Gi-hun finally turned to the old man with a small smile. "And what about you, sir? What's your name?" he asked, resting a hand on Oh Il-nam's shoulder.

"What? My name?" the elder mumbled, gaze distant. "Oh. I..." The others watched with varying levels of concern or indifference - the latter in [Name]'s case.

Truthfully, [Name] didn't hate Oh Il-nam for his actions or true identity. They hated him purely because he was an annoying fucker. His ridiculous acting had blinded them to any rational consideration of his character.

The only thing that had marginally lowered their hatred was his worldview, which on the last episode of Season 1 had made [Name] realize their own mindset wasn't so different – aside from the rich part of it, of course.

[Name] had tuned out much of Oh Il-nam's fumbling attempts to recall his name, watching as Gi-hun gently stopped him with a strained chuckle.

"It's okay, hey old man. You must be really shaken up today," Gi-hun glanced around, using a playful tone to mask his concern. "You know, when I'm stressed, even my home address slips right out of my head. Along with my security number," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He patted the old man's back reassuringly. "It'll be okay once you get some rest.”

 

☆

 

In a darkened room, under a thin blanket, Jun-ho lay taking a few deep breaths before pulling out his phone. He scrolled through the detailed notes app filled with information provided by [Name]. He had been reviewing these relentlessly since last night, determined not to forget a single detail.

He had nearly made a mistake earlier when speaking with a triangle guard - the very thing he should have been most cautious about. Thankfully, the soldier had allowed it to slide with only a warning.

If this were [Name] infiltrating in his place, they likely would have executed the plan flawlessly by now. They certainly wouldn't have made such an amateur error.

Sighing softly, Jun-ho perked up as he heard the familiar coughing - the Morse code signal number 28 used to summon number 29 to deliver the organs harvested by those guards and their little doctor.

[Name] had instructed him to go along with it, purely to eliminate that circle bastard. They had even reminded him to bring ammunition, since 'Korea's police and their stupid rules are fucking you over.' as they so eloquently put it.

Without [Name]'s guidance, Jun-ho would have simply repeated the same actions as depicted in those episodes - fuck up, get shot by In-ho, and die.

Speaking of which, he'd completely forgotten to ask [Name] if he even survived that gunshot wound. Did his brother truly kill him? If so, would In-ho do the same if Jun-ho revealed himself now?

No..no he wouldn't. The anguished expression on In-ho's face as he held his wounded shoulder before the mirror had told Jun-ho enough about his brother's true feelings on the matter.

Perhaps meeting him alone would end differently?

 

☆

 

The dormitory was filled with the reverberation of classical music, rousing the players from their light, wary slumber after the events of the previous night.

[Name] blinked rapidly as the lights flashed back on, the sudden brightness nearly blinding them. Cracking their back from the uncomfortable sitting position, the teen glanced around at their stirring teammates.

Gi-hun slowly sat up, noticing Il-nam already surveying the dormitory, as if he'd been awake for some time. "Hey, old man," Gi-hun softly called out.

"Huh?" Il-nam turned to him with a somewhat blank, curious gaze.

"Did you stay up all night?" Gi-hun asked, blinking at the old man in mild disbelief. The rest of the team also regarded him with either strange or concerned expressions.

"I thought they would attack again or something," the elder replied.

"Old man, you must be so exhausted already," Gi-hun furrowed his brow, leaning forward in worry.

Chuckling softly, Il-nam reassured him, "It's all right. You really don't need that much sleep when you're old." He delivered the words with a convincing air.

Lowering his gaze in a semblance of 'shame', Il-nam continued, "And I didn't help when they went after everyone... but keeping night watch? Well, I can do that." He looked back at Gi-hun with a faint smile, met with the other man's conflicted expression.

The PA voice suddenly cut in, interrupting them. "Attention, players. The third game will begin momentarily. Please follow the staff's instructions, and swiftly make your way towards the game hall!"

As soldiers stood at the front, the players began to rise, preparing for the next deadly game that awaited them.

—

The players stepped into a stark, white room, trailing behind one another through the doorway to find nothing awaiting them except its emptiness. It gave off a distinctly backroom-like vibe to [Name].

"Players, welcome to the third game. For this game, you will play in teams," the female PA voice announced. "All players, please divide yourselves into teams of ten people. Your time limit will be ten minutes. Ten minutes."

The timer had begun ticking, and the players were hastily gathering teammates who appeared capable – Men, it's men. No one looked at females, and certainly not even glance at a kid.

While strength IS what they'll need-they don't know that, so shouldn't someone consider picking the kid who's most likely to know about the games? I want to fuck them over, [Name] thought with a scowl, rocking back and forth on their heels.

"Something that has teams of ten people..." Gi-hun murmured, glancing at the timer before looking to Sang-woo. "So maybe it's Tail Tag or Why Did You Come To My House?" he theorized.

Did he have to capitalize every word? the teen frowned.

"Tail Tag means running is involved, or maybe it'll just be simply based on luck," Gi-hun continued overthinking it, while Sang-woo seemed lost in contemplation.

"What do you think?" Gi-hun asked the SNU genius, Cho Sang-woo.

Before he could reply, [Name] felt compelled to interject. "It's tug of war," they stated flatly, drawing every head in their direction.

Gi-hun let out a puzzled 'huh', while Sang-woo and Sae-byeok stared at them blankly. Ali appeared to fully believe them, while Oh Il-nam remained silent.

"How are you so sure?" Gi-hun leaned forward, sounding both curious and convinced that the kid was right – he clearly trusted their judgment after the unfortunate events of the previous game.

"Why don't you just trust me this time, huh?" [Name] crossed their arms, giving the older man an unreadable look.

"If that's true, then we're already weak. Our team already has a kid, a girl, and an old man," Sang-woo spoke up, assessing the group. [Name] rolled their eyes, though they couldn't help but agree.

"We better get some men first," he decided firmly, staring intently at Gi-hun.

Taking a deep breath, Gi-hun looked between the brain users of his team. [Name] stared blankly, offering no solution, while Sang-woo urged him to go find strong men.

"Four more people are needed, I say we each go look for one guy to join us - except you, [Name], just stay here," Sang-woo sharply turned to the teen, pointing at them. It was obvious why he wanted them to remain - no one would join their team if they knew a child was present. [Name] simply shrugged, agreeing, as they had no desire to go around begging anyone to join, anyway.

Sae-byeok was the first to walk away, followed by Gi-hun and Il-nam going in different directions. [Name] leaned against the wall, watching as Sang-woo advised Ali to hide his mutilated hand, since it'd be seen as a weakness.

Tsk, making him all insecure.. [Name] clicked their tongue.

The rest soon departed, with Sang-woo casting one last look at the teen before leaving to find a seemingly capable recruit.

The winner takes it allll!! the loser standing smallll!! [Name] hummed a tune, rolling their head back against the wall.

They then realized that their mere presence on the team would likely deter someone, probably 212, from joining. Not exactly an unfortunate outcome, though.

Noticing movement in the corner of their eye, [Name] turned to see a manager guard approaching them. Standing upright, they faced the guard with a raised brow as they stood before the teen.

"Player 443, you will be taken back to the dormitory until the end of the third game. Please follow me," the guard ordered calmly.

Huh-

—

After the fiasco with player 212 and her self-proclaimed 'oppa', Deok-su had kicked her out of his all-male team – almost as if he knew that was what they would need.

Gi-hun and the rest of the team had gathered in a circle, with Gi-hun counting the members present.

"..nine?" He finally reached, puzzled. Looking around, he realized someone was missing. "Where... where's [Name]?" he murmured breathlessly with widened eyes, drawing the attention of the others.

"Shit," Sang-woo muttered under his breath, standing up to scan the room, in case [Name] had been dragged to another team. Sae-byeok also surveyed the area, but the teen was nowhere to be seen amongst the circles of players.

Sang-woo didn't even bother addressing the presence of a girl in their team, as he focused on where the child could have disappeared to. They couldn't have possibly left this place.

"...let's hope they're okay. Right now, we need to find someone to join us," he sighed, sitting back down with a heavy gaze. Gi-hun was fidgety, glancing around anxiously and worriedly.

"With the timer almost done, we'll end up with a kicked-out player at most with this weak team," Sang-woo stated, eyes narrowed as he regarded the girl Sae-byeok had likely recruited.

"Well, nobody kicked me out!!" An agitating voice interrupted them, causing everyone to look up, only to find the crazy bitch player 212.

"I'll play with you as a special deal here, okay?" She grinned at them, pushing herself between Gi-hun and the other girl, taking a seat on the ground shamelessly.

"Man, you guys lucked out today!" She pointed at the group, before glancing at the two women beside her with disgust. "Yikes! I'll be way more helpful than any of these wimpy little girls!" She boasted arrogantly, the bitchiest 'pick me' girl (grandma) on planet earth.

"Plus! I'm good at everything except the things that I can't do!" She said, gesturing with her hands and giggling, making absolutely no sense.

Sang-woo stared in disbelief, glancing at the timer that had just expired, causing him to curse under his breath. They were now stuck with this insufferable woman.

He'd rather have [Name] back.

—

[Name] was escorted back towards the dormitory by the square guard, who remained completely silent through it all. It's safe to say that [Name] was losing their shit with these mimes surrounding them.

Entering the empty dormitory, [Name] glanced around with a bored expression before dragging themselves to their bunk and flopping down on it with a loud sigh.

"Aughhhhh..." they groaned into the pillow. They had wanted to join the game, but honestly, they didn't relish the prospect of fucking up their palms pulling on that rope. Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise.

Turning their head so quickly towards a square guard that they almost got whiplash, [Name] suddenly stood up and approached the manager watching over them, intent on bothering him.

Leaning against the wall on the guard's left, [Name] stared up at the ceiling, voluntarily blinding themselves.

"...I just figured out christianity is just a giant daddy kink," [Name] murmured, always finding a way to start a conversation in the most inappropriate manner possible.

The guard did not react, however.

Undeterred by the lack of social skills, [Name] continued, "'Forgive me, father for I have sinned' is the same as 'I've been naughty, daddy.'"

"Every week the big daddy in the sky demands you get on your knees and beg for forgiveness," [Name] tilted their head back to stare at the square guard, who had noticeably stiffened.

"He even makes his most devoted littles dress in special outfits just for him," the teen sighed, staring with a deadpan look at the guard. Wow, not even a giggle? They wanted that soldier from the dalgona game back.

"Why do you squares talk with us once a day like we're vitamins?" [Name] heavily sighed before narrowing their eyes, poking the guard's side repeatedly. THAT'LL get'em!

It did not, in fact, get'em.

—

About 20 minutes have passed with [Name]'s sanity dwindling, alternating between staring dumbly at the wall and attempting to provoke a response from the manager.

So far, they've only managed to elicit a response regarding why they were sent back - the guard spouting the usual bullshit about "equality" and [Name]'s presence being "unfair" to them when against the other players since they're a child and they're adults.

Isn't this basically the whole reason for their special treatment?

Before [Name] can verbally abuse the guard, the sound of the metal door opening catches their attention, causing them to scowl. Ah shit... it's those rat bastards.

As expected, it's Deok-su and his team, returning victorious from the tug-of-war game. [Name] does not want to deal with them, especially after the altercation they had with that dickhead last night - stabbing him twice and all that.

The teen subtly moves closer to the manager, partially obscured by his towering figure, as Deok-su's team of burly men strut in, laughing and bragging about their crushing win.

Unfortunately for [Name], they are noticed - by one of Deok-su's goons at that, who points them out and nudges 101.

As Deok-su's filthy gaze falls upon [Name], the teen immediately adopts a neutral expression, betraying none of their irritation.

"Ah... it's the little shit!" Deok-su exclaims with a sarcastic grin, slowly approaching [Name], stopping a few feet away, wary of the guard's presence.

"What are you doing back here, huh? Too wussy to play with the big boys?" he coos mockingly, resting his hands on his knees.

[Name] stares back blankly, unblinking.

"Shit, this kid is creepy as fuck.." a random goon comments with a strained chuckle.

"I'll blend your balls with a boat propeller if you don't shut the fuck up, cunt," [Name] quips with a straight face, arms crossed defiantly.

A tense silence falls, before Deok-su's jaw clenches, his eye twitching in fury. "You fucking-" he begins, striding towards the teen, assuming no one will intervene.

The familiar click of a pistol stops him in his tracks, freezing immediately. The manager has his weapon trained directly on Deok-su's forehead, just as he's mere feet from [Name].

Deok-su reluctantly steps back, glaring at the teen, who wiggles their fingers at him sassily. May my wish be granted and for you to be turned into a ceiling decoration.

Glancing up at the manager guard, who has returned to his stoic stance, [Name] frowns. "Why'd you help me?" they ask.

Predictably, there is no response.

—

Another 20 minutes passed until [Name] finally spared the square guard, settling back on their bed and fiddling with their necklace in pure boredom - all while ignoring Deok-su and his gang's glares. Imagine beefing with a kid, how embarrassing.

As the rowdy gang conversed loudly about some inconsequential matter, they suddenly fell silent when the door opened, revealing Gi-hun's victorious team.

Sitting up from their bed, [Name] descended the staircase towards their team, almost relieved to see them after enduring this sanity-consuming boredom. 

Lazily waving, [Name] called out, "Hey."

Hearing the familiar voice, Gi-hun, Sang-woo, Ali, Sae-byeok, and Il-nam turned their attention to the approaching teen.

"Ah - [Name]!" Gi-hun exclaimed with a growing grin, quickly rushing over for an embrace. This time, [Name] might have allowed it, if he wasn't so damn sweaty.

Stepping aside, [Name] watched as Gi-hun stumbled forward, nearly falling to the ground. Ignoring the silly man, the teen faced the rest of their team, disregarding the random extras - except Jiyeong, of course.

Sang-woo stepped forward, examining [Name] with his gaze, likely checking for any harm. "Why did you vanish?" he finally asked the awaited question. Sae-byeok stared at them blankly, while Ali had a worried yet relieved expression.

"That guard just told me to follow him back here, some bullshit about 'equality'," [Name] shrugged, shoving their hands into their pockets. Sang-woo hummed, glancing at the square guard.

"I see. Well, I'm glad you're...safe," he admitted with a small smile, patting their shoulder before rejoining the group at their spot.

Gi-hun, having recovered from the failed hug attempt, approached [Name] again. "Are you sure you're okay? Those bastards over there didn't do anything, right?" he whispered, discreetly glancing at Deok-su's gang.

"Not really, the guard didn't let them," the teen replied casually, sending a pointed look to the gang. Gi-hun 'ah'ed and mirrored the look, before giving [Name] a small smile and following Sang-woo. Ali smiled at them gently before also trailing behind gi-hun.

[Name] had a staring contest with il-nam for a moment before he just chuckled and walked past.

Sae-byeok stepped forward, staring at [Name] with a pensive expression, as if attempting to decipher them.

"You... you're special somehow," she began, her eyes narrowed.

"I'm flattered, I do think I'm a little special-" [Name] scoffed out a laugh, shrugging with an air of a massive ego.

"You know what I meant," Sae-byeok stated firmly, her gaze unwavering as if attempting to convey the seriousness of the topic.

"Yeah, I've noticed... though I have no idea why, so don't attempt interrogating me," the teen replied flatly, waving dismissively before turning to leave.

Sae-byeok didn't stop them, knowing she wouldn't get any answers. Though she already had an idea of why [Name] was treated favorably.

She trailed behind the teen, followed by Jiyeong, who simply observed the exchange with curious eyes - these two were practically the same person in different fonts.

—

As the winning teams returned to the dormitory, a hush fell over the players as the guards wheeled in the next meal. To the collective dismay of the exhausted competitors, the "meal" consisted of a single pathetic ear of corn for each player.

[Name] stared with a deadpan as they stepped up in line, fully expecting another special treatment. Their assumption proved correct as they were handed a full bento box and a bottle of strawberry milk - they're starting to hate this damn milk.

Trying not to draw too much attention, [Name] quickly retreated to their spot between the bunks, nestled among their group which had grown to include four new faces.

Gi-hun, Sang-woo, and the others turned to [Name] expectantly as they approached.

"Looks like you scored big again," Sang-woo observed, eyeing the bento box with a hint of envy. 

[Name] shrugged nonchalantly. "I might just be the chosen one," They popped open the box, the savory aroma of the meal wafting through the air. A small part of them felt guilty, knowing their teammates were stuck with a pitiful ear of corn.

"Damn, that looks way better than this dry husk," Gi-hun lamented, eyeing the corn in his hand with distaste. The others murmured similar sentiments, their hungry gazes fixed on [Name]'s food.

Hesitating for a moment, [Name] sighed and opened the bento, gesturing for the others to help themselves. "Here, dig in. I can't possibly finish all this by myself."

The group needed very little encouragement, eagerly reaching for the delicious-looking meal. [Name] slapped away any unwelcome hands, which so happened to be the new extras–except jiyeong, of course.

While the other players sulked over their little corns, [Name]'s (most of) group seemed content with the unexpected generosity of the teen.

Player 212 huffed indignantly. "This is so goddamn unfair! Why does that kid get special treatment while the rest of us are stuck with scraps?" she griped, glaring at [Name] with undisguised envy.

The teen leveled her with an unimpressed stare, taking a sip of their strawberry milk. "News at fucking eleven, ask me if I give a fuck," they replied flatly.

"That's bullshit! We're all supposed to be equal, but that kid gets special privileges. It's fucking disgusting!" 212 ranted, attracting the attention of nearby players. Sang-woo frowned, opening his mouth to retort, but [Name] raised a hand to stop him.

"If you have a problem with it, take it up with the guard who gave it to me. I'm not responsible for your entitlement issues," [Name] stated calmly, taking another sip of their milk. The action only seemed to infuriate 212 further, her face flushing with indignation.

Sae-byeok watched the exchange with a neutral expression, while Ali and Il-nam continued eating quietly, seemingly unaffected by the drama. [Name] took a long sip from their strawberry milk almost mockingly, keeping eye contact with the crazy bitch.

A tense silence falls over the group before player 212 suddenly stands, her corn cob gesturing wildly as she speaks.

"You know what? I really thought we were gonna die out there," she waves the meager meal, before striking a dramatic pose. "And then, as soon as we were all leaning back, I felt so powerful!"

She gapes, as if awed by her own experience. "Like, 'woah! It really works, is this real?'" Straightening up, she turns to Oh Il-nam. "Hey, old man, how do you know that?" she demands.

Il-nam chuckles, about to respond, but 212 doesn't even let him finish. "Oh, you copied that one thing!" she accuses, pointing at him. The old man stares back blankly.

"From what movie, what's it called?" she wonders aloud, brow furrowed. "The guy who dodges bullets like this!! Right?" She leans back, waving her arm exaggeratedly.

"Matrix!" Ali exclaims with a grin, happy to have the answer. But 212's smile falls as she leans forward, fists on her hips.

"Hey, when you got to Korea, is all you did watch movies?" she asks arrogantly, eyes roving over Ali.

The smile drops from Ali's face, his gaze hardening slightly. [Name] frowns in irritation, gripping their strawberry milk tightly.

"Hey, when did we even let this bitch join us?" [Name] scowls, drawing a glare from 212. "Minecraft copper has more use than her," the teen quips, appraising the woman with open disdain.

Stepping forward, 212 eyes [Name] shamelessly. "Hey, where are you even from? Do your parents even have a visa? I bet they don't. You're just an illegal alien, like him," she scoffs, pointing at Ali.

"Never seen a mixed race?" [Name] raises a brow. "Don't worry, we all know you've never seen grass before."

Gritting her teeth, 212 faces the team. "Hey, boys, how about it? Why keep the strange foreigners when we could just ditch them?" she dismissively waves at Ali and [Name].

'Our' team? Bitch, I'm about to shove that corn up your ass, [Name] frowns.

"Guess I'll better do some major restructuring while I'm here," 212 eyes the two with disgust. Turning to Sang-woo, she asks, "Who's captain here, guys? Mr. brains, you've been captain, right?"

Sang-woo's answers flatly, "There's no captain, we're all equal here."

"Ah! That's great. Building an egalitarian society!" 212 exclaims, grinning. [Name] realizing that this bitch was gonna try to seduce the "captain" into doing her bidding - how did she survive this long? it's offensive.

"Damn, guys..." Min-yeo leans back, glancing over at Deok-su's team. "I gotta say, this is quite a change from that huge asshole who just bosses you around and pretends he's king," she scoffs, glaring at the rival group.

Gi-hun takes a mouthful of rice from [Name]'s bento, then casually asks, "By the way, grandma, why did you just get kicked out?"

Turning to Gi-hun, Min-yeo stares at him with a dropped jaw. "Grandma? Don't you ever call me that!" she waves her corn cob, resting a hand melodramatically on her chest with a pout. Ew.

Stepping forward, she introduces herself. "Here. Han Min-yeo, got it? Min-yeo. That's my name," she leans in, a little too close for Gi-hun's comfort.

"And I didn't get kicked out! I made the decision to go, all right?" she huffs, stomping her foot. "Those crazy thugs there? You can't lock me in with that crew!" She shakes her head, waving her arms around.

"They only got rid of you, then they only wound up with male players," Sang-woo speaks up, his gaze sharp as he glances at Deok-su's gang. "Right before the game at that. You know, it's almost like they knew about it ahead of time."

This causes Min-yeo to turn her focus back to her previous team, staring specifically at player 111.

The familiar school-style chime sounds through the dormitory, the announcer's voice cutting in. "Players, your bedtime will begin in 30 minutes. Return to your assigned beds and prepare for lights out.”

Sang-woo glances around the group, expression serious. "Another fight could break out like last night. We should make a plan," he suggests firmly.

One of the extra players scoffs. "What can we do, huh? We've got three girls, an old man, and even a kid with us. Our team is the weakest one here."

[Name] grumbled under their breath. They're willing to bet that this fucker was pissing himself last night, hiding under some bed like a coward.

Player 244 spoke up, “we should choose a weak team and go after them first,” [Name]’s eyes widened in realization as they stared blankly at player 244. The priest. How did they forget about his existence?

“Hah, for a resident priest, you sure are bloodthirsty,” jiyeong snapped [Name] out of almost spiralling. She stares at player 244 with a bored gaze, resting her cheek on her fist lazily.

"I mean, everybody's hands are bloody..." the priest muses, glancing around before focusing on Jiyeong. "We're all sinners, but we're still here, aren't we?"

[Name] narrows their eyes, hands clenching as they glare daggers at the so-called priest, who pretends not to notice.

"Attacking is our best option, so I think that's our plan," the random extra states.

"During the fight last night..." Sae-byeok begins, expression blank. "The man in the bed in front of me got killed. And the person he thought was on his side broke his neck," she states coldly, pinning the two extras with her unwavering stare.

"Do you trust me then?" she asks monotonously. "I don't trust one person here."

[Name] glances at her, mildly surprised to find Sae-byeok already watching them. They look away, focusing their glare on the priest.

"Can we kick this guy out? I might accidentally kill him," they remark, pointing at the priest with a bored gaze. Gi-hun shakes his head slightly, while Sang-woo simply raises an eyebrow. Jiyeong snorts. "It'll be a very unfortunate accident," she comments.

The priest scowls, muttering a prayer under his breath, much to [Name]'s annoyance. They grit their teeth, mentally swearing to get this guy killed.

Standing up, Gi-hun captures everyone's attention. "Alright, I think we should do something before the lights go out. Let's create a barricade," he suggests, looking around the group. "It might be good to have some cover."

Silently, the team begins to stand and carry out Gi-hun's plan. [Name], Jiyeong, and Sae-byeok remain seated, watching the others with indifference.

"Hey, why are you two with these morons?" Jiyeong suddenly asks, turning to [Name] and Sae-byeok with a bored gaze.

"Gi-hun is the main character," [Name] replies flatly, earning a hum from Jiyeong.

"Ah..who's Gi-hun?" she asks, blinking owlishly.

"Number 456," the teen responds, leaning against the bunk frame with a sigh. Jiyeong hums. "I thought it was 218," she tilts her head, glancing at where Sang-woo walked off.

"No, he's the main character's best friend. They had a fallout, and now there's always some sexual tension around them," [Name] states seriously, earning a convinced nod from Jiyeong as she begins mentally theorizing.

"Then what are we?" she asks curiously, leaning forward.

"The main characters of an AO3 fanfic, probably," [Name] shrugs nonchalantly.

"Shut up, both of you," Sae-byeok interrupts bluntly, staring at the two with a deadpan. [Name] and Jiyeong share a look before turning back to her, the teen zipping their mouth shut and Jiyeong saluting.

"...Are we helping them?" Jiyeong mutters, blankly staring at the men carrying bed frames to create the barricade.

"Nah."

"No.”

 

✧

 

Notes:

I'm totally planning on making sae-byeok, jiyeong and [Name] a trio of bastards, is it obvious.

Please give me Attention- I mean give me long comments to read when I'm losing my mind!!🥰 I love how some of y'all are just checking on me?? That's so cute guys ur too nice.

You can tell me whatever you want to see in the next chapter!! I always strive to make my readers satisfied! I'm most unsure of what to do in the marbles game.

But not more than jun-ho. Which will have a huge part in the next chapter, I'm thinking of what to change since he'll finally start going through the big plan.

See you very, very soon. The grind NEVER ends.

Chapter 14: ✧|| S1 AU: Hyung (5)

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

Jun-ho and [Name] give in-ho heart attack(s)

Notes:

Hey guys, don't throw rocks yet! my excuse for not posting was because I was too busy staring at my wall in my hotel even though I had all the time in the world to write.

I only ask that you use sustainably sourced rocks and remember, dont lift pebbles from the beach because they help defend against coastal erosion!! #leavenotrace #ethicalauthorabuse

Also I'm obsessed with the hwang brothers and this chapter makes it clear as day.

Enjoy<3

✧

 

The incinerator room is a stark, industrial space tucked underground, away from the main activity of the Squid Game compound. The air is thick with the stench of burning flesh and the crackle of flames, ashen to the tongue and stinging to the eyes.

Multiple furnaces line the wall, consuming the bodies of those who have fallen. Jun-ho surpasses the urge to vomit from the smell plaguing the room, he almost wonders how these workers even manage to hold their senses together.

A reminder of what they do with some of these bodies snap him back to reality–these workers, though not eliminating players like the soldiers, or issuing orders like the managers–were just as horrible and disgusting as the rest of them.

The female PA voice echoes through the speakers, interrupting the workflow, "The work schedule is done for today. All working staff, please return to your rooms immediately."

Jun-ho feels a sense of relief wash over him. Finally, he can retreat to the room and try to relax, even if he's constantly under surveillance.

But the relief is short-lived as he's reminded of what's waiting for him tonight - the organ harvesting storyline bullshit. He stiffens, then takes a deep breath, remembering [Name]'s advice. 

"Go along with it, you don't actually know the area or the way to the secret passage. You might as well."

It makes sense, and Jun-ho feels a little foolish for not wanting to go through with it at first. This is his chance to memorize the layout as much as possible.

The lights in the incinerator room have been switched off, shrouding the space in darkness. The circle guards begin filtering out in lines, unaware of the two figures lingering behind.

028 spares a glance at Jun-ho–disguised as 029–before turning and heading through a different door, leading to the staircase labyrinth that continues to make Jun-ho question his reality more than the fact that this is all part of a fucking Netflix show.

After trailing behind 028 and trying to memorize the path, they reach a pink door that 028 unlocks. The interior is starkly different, with plain, lifeless walls, unlike the vibrant, kindergarten-esque setting outside.

They descend the stairs, 028 flickering on his flashlight to illuminate the dark hall. Finally, he breaks the silence.

"029, what happened yesterday? Where were you?" his disoriented voice asks.

Jun-ho locks in, ready with his prepared response. "A manager suspected me, I got a warning. I had to play along with the usual routine until he stopped observing me," he replies smoothly, keeping his tone low in an attempt to disguise his voice without sounding utterly ridiculous.

"Huh, they're suspecting some of us already?" 028 mutters, frustration evident in his sigh. "You're lucky, I had to stop the other guys from killing you because they didn't trust you, but you were saving our asses too." He pauses, glancing back and shining the flashlight on Jun-ho's face. "Since you saved my life during the last dive, we're even now."

Asshole, that shit blinded me, Jun-ho furrows his brows behind the mask, before following behind the other circle guards down the staircase.

Finally, they reach a metal door at the end of a short hall, which 028 bangs on loudly. The door is soon opened by a triangle guard in a blood-stained plastic apron. Behind him is a gory scene - player 111 and another triangle guard working on a half-open corpse on a sad excuse of an operation table.

The guard at the door scans their masks using a device, identifying them. As 028 passes through, Jun-ho steps forward to get scanned as well.

Letting out a scoff, the triangle guard speaks, "Number 029. So you're finally here."

028 looks away. "He was warned by a manager who suspected him," he explains to the soldier.

"Suspected him? What did he do to get suspected? We couldn't make the delivery last night because of him!" the soldier hisses, turning to 028.

"Then you can deliver this yourself. You think it's easy to find divers like us in this place?" 028 retorts, the passive aggression in his voice palpable even through the mask.

"Make sure tonight's delivery goes without a hitch," the guard states firmly, gesturing for Jun-ho to enter before closing the door behind him.

Jun-ho steps in calmly, betraying no outward reaction to the commotion. 028 observes the corpse player 111 is working on. "What? You aren't even done with one?"

"The doctor is slow today, more so than usual," triangle guard #2 remarks, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

"Hey, quack, hurry it up, this is all pointless if the boat leaves before we deliver," 028 prods the doctor, who is leaning over the corpse, laboriously extracting the heart.

"You come over here and try doing this, especially when you're sleep-deprived," the doctor replies in a low tone, glancing back at them. "I'm just barely escaping death every damn day."

028 slowly approaches the doctor, resting a hand on his shoulder in an attempt at a threat. He leans in, whispering, "That's why we tell you what the games are beforehand, and gave you that extra food." The doctor stares at him blankly before shrugging off his hand and returning to his work, placing the extracted heart into a water-filled plastic bag.

Jun-ho can feel his stomach churning, barely holding back his nausea at the sight and the overwhelming stench of blood and decay. His brother really hires anyone.

They claim to value equality here, yet there is a network of disobedient guards willing to do this behind their boss's back, even with a manager's help. The realization is almost hilarious.

Good news! I've successfully replaced all my emotions with jokes. [Name] would be proud, jun-ho thought, mentally nodding to himself.

—

Jun-ho has to endure standing amidst the stench, watching the doctor and guard work on another corpse after extracting the desired organs from the previous one.

"We're in a hurry. Maybe I should try working on those?" Triangle guard #1 suggests, gesturing to the other bodies lined up. "I bet I could do it if you teach me a few tricks."

The doctor slowly turns to him with a dirty look before returning to his work. "Yeah, you think all of this is so simple, huh?"

Triangle guard #2 chimes in, "I saw on the news that doctors don't always perform surgeries - sometimes it's the office managers or the nurses. And some of them are even better than the doctors," he adds, snickering.

"You think you know so much? Then how about you try it?" the doctor scowls, sarcastically holding the scalpel out to him.

"Who would have thought a quack who killed his own patient would still be so proud of his work?" the soldier jabs coldly. "If you were so good, then how come you ruined the eyes you pulled out last time? Those Chinese guys busted my ass!" He hissed in frustration.

"Listen, I'll tell you what went wrong. That thing was still alive when I got here!" the doctor argues, looking between the masked guards. "How do you expect me to operate with all that struggling?!"

Interrupting the unnecessary verbal sparring, 028 sighs, rolling his head back. "We don't have time for this. The boat will be here soon."

Jun-ho crosses his arms, trying not to appear too stiff. If this is how these guards act when alone together, the original 029 must have been similar. Still, he can't be sure of the character's personality, let alone copy it convincingly.

The group then begins discussing a 'Zombie' that apparently scared them, as it was still alive during the operation. Jun-ho can understand why he initially thought 'that zombie' could have been his brother - what a coincidence that they were both missing a kidney.

Still, hearing about these disgusting acts fills Jun-ho with a deep sense of disdain, and he clenches his teeth in an effort to control his reaction.

The guards finally finish packing the harvested organs into two backpacks, which 028 and Jun-ho are tasked with delivering.

"Hurry up," the first triangle guard says, handing the heavy backpacks to 028 and Jun-ho. "They're all in great condition this time. Make sure you get full price."

Jun-ho steels himself, trying not to betray any discomfort as he slings the backpack containing the gruesome cargo over his shoulder. The weight and the knowledge of its contents make his stomach churn, but he knows he has to remain calm.

The two men walk through the door, climbing up the dark staircase. "Pick up the pace. The boat's already there," 028 hastens.

Jun-ho focuses on committing the route to memory, knowing this information could be useful later. Though he'd rather not come back to this place ever again.

They soon reach the familiar colorful labyrinth, with Jun-ho following behind 028 until they reach a metal door that leads them into what appears to be a large kitchen, illuminated only by 028's flashlight.

The circle guard approaches a large metal fridge, standing at its side. Jun-ho doesn't hesitate to stand on the other side and push the fridge forward, revealing a small tunnel behind it.

028 crouches down and begins crawling through, with Jun-ho following directly behind and pulling the chain to push the fridge back into place. It all feels so strange, the way he knows what will happen next, where he's going, what he should do - it messes with Jun-ho's head.

Being self-aware is like I've won, but at what cost, he laments.

They emerge through the other side of the tunnel, with 028 pulling himself out first to grab the ladder and begin descending, followed closely by Jun-ho.

As they climb down, Jun-ho doesn't pause to glance at the bomb, aware of its purpose and not wanting to bring any unnecessary suspicion to himself. Thinking back on the original scene, it was rather foolish of him to even ask about something he should have known about.

Reaching the ground, Jun-ho shoves his hand into his pocket, just in case. He walks forward into the dark, cavernous area, and as the lights switch on, he immediately turns around, unfazed.

"Number 29," 028 whispers, holding his dagger up to Jun-ho's neck threateningly.

Bruh.

Disappointed that his acting wasn't enough to fool 028, Jun-ho clicks the safety off his pistol, pointing it at the other circle guard's abdomen, who slowly holds his hands up in surrender, realizing the futility of his pathetic dagger.

"I would tell you to take your mask off..but I don't really care," Jun-ho states flatly, causing 028 to flinch and attempt to bargain. "W-wait, tell me what you want, I can arrange it! Is it my share of the money? I'll give it all to you--!" He didn't get to continue his attempt.

Crack!

The man falls to the ground with a thud, blood pooling beneath his head. Jun-ho blankly stares for a moment, then turns to the diving equipment, picking one up and throwing it into the water after turning the propeller on, leaving the machine diving in on its own.

Sighing under his breath, he turns back to the ladder. He's come this far, yet he can't help but feel a tremor passing through his hands at the thought of finally confronting his brother.

Hyung..

 

☆

 

[Name]'s senses are tingling.

Something feels off, but they can't tell exactly what. Is it this sanity-consuming snoring? the random thuds they keep hearing? or Jun-ho about to do something they specifically told him not to do? Hm.

Quite puzzling.

Hopefully, it's not the Jun-ho one.

Glancing to their right, [Name] watches Gi-hun and Sae-byeok seated together in silence after Gi-hun put Oh Il-nam to bed when he found the old man had a high fever.

Damn old man, shoulda just died there.. [Name] inwardly scoffs, turning their half-lidded gaze to the ceiling.

The teen didn't have a turn on night watch with the rest of the group, mostly because they were technically awake through it all anyway. So instead, they suffer through listening to sentimental conversations between the paired-up watchers, or just random bullshit sometimes.

After a long while, Gi-hun and Sae-byeok have returned to their beds, and [Name] doesn't bother looking at who's watching in their place. They're just about to catch a few minutes of shut-eye when a loud blaring siren reverberates through the entire dormitory - and the entire facility, along with the lights being switched on.

[Name] sits up with a groan, along with the rest of the group who awaken in alarm. Jun-ho must have started the plan, but didn't i tell him to get rid of an oxygen tank so they'd think he ran away through the sea? Did he mess something up? Perhaps they're searching for an intruder anyway.

Pursing their lips, [Name] stands up with a faint frown just as the guards rush in, ordering all the players to stand in lines forcibly. The teen decides to ignore that, however, and just sits on a random bunk, watching as managers walk through each line, checking every face. Soldiers search the entire dormitory for any trace of an intruder.

Why would the intruder come here? How would they? This feels incredibly unnecessary. So extra.

The search finally ends, and the familiar classical music plays through the speakers, accompanied by an announcement: "Attention. The fourth game is about to begin. Please follow the staff's instructions, and swiftly make your way towards the game hall."

At that, [Name] stands up, watching as a triangle guard opens the door on the left. They don't wait for anyone else and stride through the entrance, hands shoved into their pockets.

As they walk up the colorful stairs, everyone begins halting in their steps, staring up in horror and shock at the scene displayed before them. Hanging by their tied wrists are four dead guards, along with player 111 in the middle - a sight straight out of medieval times.

Would it have been funnier if they were alive? They'd still be screaming from the pain of their dislocated shoulders, heh. [Name] observes, humming in thought.

"Players, what you witness before you is what remains of those who break the rules for their own benefit," a manager begins speaking, his voice booming in the massive area. "They tainted the pure and fair ideology everything here has been built upon."

Loud incorrect buzzer. [Name] raises a skeptical eyebrow at that.

"We truly apologize for allowing such an unacceptable incident to occur," the manager states, sounding anything but sorry.

After a moment, the players continue their trek up the stairs of hell - as [Name] likes to call them, thinking it fits very well.

 

☆

 

Jun-ho climbs up the ladder silently. Upon reaching the top, he doesn't even attempt to open the hatch, aware that it's locked.

Pulling out his pistol, he shoots the lock before pushing the hatch open and crawling out of the small cabinet that concealed the passage.

Glancing around, Jun-ho makes a mental note of the room - this is where his brother is usually present. The sofa he sits on, the TV he watches, the cup he drinks from. Everything here holds the presence of his brother.

Yet, it remains soulless, unlike In-ho's belongings back home. Those had a soul, a lingering warmth that Jun-ho craves the embrace of once more. Nothing in this room appears to be an item In-ho cherished.

Turning around, Jun-ho notices the music box on top of the cabinet he just exited. It's oddly familiar... to the one his sister-in-law used to have. She had always loved that one specific song.

Clenching his jaw, Jun-ho tears his gaze away from the item and begins walking through the short hall to the door on the left. Twisting the knob, he pauses as he hears the alarm blaring - though it's slightly muffled.

Still? I thought I got rid of the equipment... they should think I escaped, Jun-ho frowns. Nevertheless, he simply enters the room and closes the door behind him, immediately going through the second one after a brief observation of the bedroom.

Turning his flashlight on, the officer descends the staircase to the archives room, taking a beeline towards the 2015 files. Getting on his knees with the flashlight in his mouth, he begins flipping through the pages to his brother's file.

Once there, he doesn't hesitate to pull out his phone and snap a photo. He then immediately runs towards the list of winners, retrieving the paper from the black box. He takes a quick picture before placing it back, pushing the box back to its spot properly.

Jun-ho jolted upon hearing the elevator above him–his brother is here. But this time, he wouldn't know that he's here, because he didn't mess with the receiver.

Right?

Wrong!!

“Are you in here right now?” Jun-ho hears from the archives, though muffled, the silence made the words almost very clear to his ear. Maybe it would have been clearer if not for the pounding of his heart. 

Shiiiiittttttt… jun-ho chews on his lower lip, closing his eyes tightly, i’m fucked.

“You're good, I was almost fooled. But your footsteps are all over the place.” The frontman states, causing jun-ho's jaw to drop at the realization that his boots must have gotten wet in that cave. This world is against me..

He could hear the sound of doors opening aggressively upstairs, before in-ho continued his observation, “the bullet you shot was from a Smith and Wesson M60 revolver. Standard issue for Korean police.”

Jun-ho couldn't surpass a small smile at that, of course his brother would know which revolver the damn bullet came from, he used that same one back when he was still a..detective.

“What's a cop doing here? Without a partner?” The frontman continued opening door after door. “I'm sure you have lots of questions. It's not too late to come out and talk,” he suggested, bringing out a small scoff from jun-ho.

Yeah, as if you're not facing me with that gun the moment I step out..if I was anyone else, he raised an eyebrow. Good thing he had his mask off–because if in-ho simply saw a circle guard in his office/quarters, he'd shoot him immediately.

The door of the room jun-ho was under had opened, “I don't know how you got in, but you can't leave this place without my permission.”

He could hear them, the footsteps descending the stairs, then the metal door opening, and the lights of the archives switching on.

His brother stands right there, at the entrance, alone.

He could exit his hiding spot right now, he could confront him, he could finally speak to him, make sure he was truly alive, maybe he's not sleeping well? What If he's barely eating? Is that whiskey all he drinks? That's incredibly unhealthy.

Jun-ho has always looked up to in-ho. In fact, his entire world revolved around in-ho, his brother, his family, his role model, his inspiration.

Without in-ho, jun-ho felt like an incomplete half. Every older brother figures in his life wasn't enough–they’ll never be in-ho. As much as he imagined them to be.

They'll never understand him the way he does, the way he cares, the way he embraces him, the way he scolds him, the way he loves him.

If in-ho wasn't in his life, then was it truly worth it?

The frontman's gaze sweeps the archives, carefully searching every corner and shadow. His brow furrows slightly behind the mask, something is wrong, and it's not just about it being an intruder hiding in here.

Gripping his pistol tightly, In-ho cautiously makes his way through the archives, eyes darting back and forth. The room is dimly lit, casting deep shadows that could easily conceal an intruder.

Reaching the shelves at the end, In-ho pauses, listening intently. A faint sound catches his ear – a barely perceptible shuffle. His head snaps in the direction of the noise, finger poised on the trigger.

"Show yourself," the frontman commands, his voice low and disoriented by the mask. "I know you're in here."

The silence is deafening, save for the pounding of Jun-ho's heart. He holds his breath, fighting against his mental self, should he just jump out? Fuck over all [Name]'s planning? 

Jun-ho was losing his shit.

In-ho stands there in the dimly lit archives, his gaze fixed on the entrance as Jun-ho slowly emerges from his hiding spot. The elder brother's eyes widen, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within.

For years, In-ho had distanced himself from Jun-ho, having been too depressed to even keep contact with his family, and desperate to keep his little brother from being dragged into the world he had become a part of. Now, seeing Jun-ho standing before him, his heart swells with a mix of relief, fury and a protectiveness he's grown used to whenever it comes to his little brother.

"Jun-ho..." In-ho breathes, his voice thick with unspoken feelings. He reaches up, grasping the edges of his mask and pulling it off, revealing his face to his younger sibling for the first time in so long.

Jun-ho takes in a sharp breath, even as he knew damn well who was under that mask, the actual reveal of seeing his brother in the flesh was a little overwhelming. A tremor passes through his hand, eliciting him to clench it.

"What are you doing here?" In-ho demands, his tone a conflicted blend of worry and sternness. "Jun-ho. You have no idea what kind of hell this is..”

He steps closer, his fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and pull Jun-ho into his arms, to make sure that this was no hallucination–his little brother was actually standing before him, in here.

"How did you even get in?" In-ho asks, his brow furrowed with a mixture of pride and concern. "You're not..." His gaze sweeps over Jun-ho's attire, taking in the guard uniform. "You couldn't be..."

The elder brother's lips press into a thin line, a flicker of realization crossing his features. Jun-ho snuck in by disguising himself as a guard, that's my boy–No. He shouldn't be feeling pride over this, he shouldn't encourage it, he should be mad!

"You need to get out of here, Jun-ho," In-ho implores, his voice dropping to a low, urgent whisper. "This place…agh, I'll get you out soon, just– stay. Stay here, don't leave this room.”

His hand reaches out, hovering just shy of Jun-ho's arm, the need to touch him, to reassure himself that his brother is alright was a little too much.

Jun-ho stands there, breathless, as he simply takes in the presence of his brother. He was barely even listening to what In-ho was saying - before he even registers it, his body moves on its own, hugging In-ho tightly as if he'll teleport to a fictional world by a train hitting him if he lets go.

The younger brother's arms wrap around the elder's frame, trembling slightly as he finally feels the warmth of In-ho's form. For far too long–Jun-ho had ached to be reunited with his sibling, and now that he's standing before him, it's almost too much to bear.

In-ho stiffens momentarily at the sudden embrace, caught off guard by Jun-ho's reaction. But then, his features soften, and he slowly returns the hug, enveloping his little brother in a tight, almost desperate hold. 

"Jun-ho..." In-ho breathes, as he buries his face in the younger man's hair. All the walls he had built up, all the distance he had forced between them - it crumbles in this moment, because as much as he tries, as much as he pushes jun-ho away, in-ho can never truly abandon him.

In-ho's grip tightens, as if he's afraid Jun-ho will vanish if he lets go. A shuddering breath escapes him, and he whispers shakily, "I'm sorry..i'm sorry.."

In that moment, as Jun-ho clings tightly to his brother, the memory of a similar scene from years past comes flooding back to him. 

It was in a hospital room, Jun-ho out of his mind on drugs, In-ho clinging to him while monitors beeped and doctors protested. "Where did you go, why did you leave," Jun-ho had tried to ask through the thick haze.

He remembers how In-ho's wife had been pregnant and ill at the time, and Jun-ho himself was about to undergo surgery on his new kidney. But In-ho had disappeared just before the process, not answering their mother's frantic calls. His neighbors hadn't seen him. No one had. 

And then, days later, In-ho had returned, gaunt and with mysterious scrapes and bruises on his face. Evidently, they'd just broken the news to him that his wife had gone peacefully in her sleep. 

Jun-ho recalls how In-ho had been crazed in a way he had never seen before, raving and trying to get a hold of him while the nurses pulled him back and called for help. "What happened to you?" Jun-ho had tried to ask, and In-ho had replied with such desperate sincerity, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

It had terrified Jun-ho, seeing his composed, steadfast brother so utterly broken. They had put In-ho under, and when Jun-ho woke up, his elder sibling was sitting next to him, touching his hair, solemn and heartbroken but otherwise the perfectly composed brother he'd always known.

Jun-ho's fingers dig into the fabric of In-ho's coat, as if to anchor himself. "h-hyung.." he chokes out, the words catching in his throat as tears threaten to spill like the han river in here.

Thank you, [Name], and I'm sorry I fucked up your plan, please don't shoot me next time we see each other, jun-ho closes his eyes, melting into his brother’s embrace.

 

☆

 

A while ago…

"Players, welcome to the fourth game," the familiar announcement rings through the speakers, as all the players stand in the same stark white room from the last game. "For this game, you will be playing in teams of two. Please look around and find someone you'd like to play with!"

Here it is, [Name] shifts, hands in their pockets as they survey the faces of their teammates, having already decided what to do.

"When two people agree to play together, shake hands to show that you have become partners." The PA voice instructs, before repeating the announcement a second time.

[Name] glances around, noticing everyone already looking for who they want to team up with, shaking their head with a scoff.

Soon, everyone begins partnering up as the timer of ten minutes ticks down. It appears to be harder for some to find partners, however.

"Hey, handsome," Min-yeo immediately pounces on poor Gi-hun, who averts his gaze, "let's do this, hm?"

Noticing his hesitation, she immediately starts boasting, "I'm better than you think! And I'm stronger than most guys too!" she attempts, futilely. It's just embarrassing to look at, so [Name] looks away.

It seems like she's switched to Sang-woo now, still thinking she has a chance of getting any partner when she's this batshit crazy.

Though, perhaps they should have partnered up with her.

Min-yeo has unfortunately turned to the rest of the team, "you're pretending that you do not want me on your team, is that it?!" she very delusionally states. "Why? Can't decide? Want me to choose instead, huh?!" She threatens.

Can't decide if I want to partner up with you so I could kill you off early or should I just strangle you now, [Name] thinks.

"Stop embarrassing yourself," Sae-byeok's monotonous voice cuts through, "no one will want to play with you like this."

"What she said," [Name] adds with a slow nod.

"And you should all be honest.." Sae-byeok glances around at the group of men. "You don't want a girl to team up with, or an old guy, and definitely not a kid."

"Of course we don't. We could die," a random extra who's likely dying next says, "we already almost died in the previous round."

"This man is right." The priest agrees, of course he does. "And it was Adam's rib the lord used to make Eve after all. And that's the reason that we're choosing men." he says, causing the teen to grit their teeth. "They played different roles than women," he looks up at Min-yeo, looking almost condescending.

"You idiot.." Jiyeong interrupts flatly, "we're not playing in Eden right now."

A silence befalls the group for a moment, before Sae-byeok wordlessly stands up and begins walking away.

"Uh, hold on a second!" Gi-hun stops her, eyebrows furrowed in concern. She pauses, then slowly turns to him with a straight face, "why? You want a girl?"

Gi-hun remains quiet after that, gulping and pursing his lips. Even he couldn't risk getting a girl in his team and fucking himself over – still, incredibly foolish of everyone here to even assume every single game would be strength-based.

Silently, Sae-byeok walks away without sparing the team a second glance. Soon after her, Jiyeong follows behind quietly.

[Name] sighs before also straightening up from the wall they were leaning on, about to follow behind the two girls. "[Name]..!" Gi-hun calls out, stepping forward.

Raising an eyebrow in mild surprise, the teen turns to face the older man. "Seriously? Why stop me if you're not teaming up with me either way, huh? Stop fooling yourself." They scoff, narrowing their eyes at him even as his expression falters into a guilty one.

[Name] trailed behind the two women at a leisurely pace, allowing them their private lesbian conversation before interjecting.

Just as Sae-byeok was about to shake Jiyeong's hand in partnership, [Name] quickly reached out and firmly grasped Sae-byeok's wrist, halting the motion and causing both girls to turn to them in surprise.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," [Name] stated bluntly, their tone flat. "You're going to regret it."

Jiyeong's brows knitted together as she scrutinized the teen, her lips curling into a slight sneer. "Eh? I thought you were kind of cool for a kid, but you're just as much of a pain in the ass as that crazy bitch back there," she muttered, her eyes raking up and down [Name]'s form judgmentally. 

Unfazed, [Name] met Jiyeong's gaze evenly. "It's not what you think. I know what the next game is," they revealed in a hushed whisper, watching as both girls' were taken aback, though skeptical.

"You shouldn't team up. Find someone else to partner with – someone you don't know," [Name] urged, their brow furrowed as they attempted to convey their seriousness.

"And why should we listen to you?" Sae-byeok questioned, her tone laced with mild suspicion. Yet, she seemed to trust [Name] enough to refrain from shaking Jiyeong's hand, and the other girl followed suit.

Exhaling a heavy sigh, [Name] looked between the two young women. "Unless you want to go through some really traumatizing shit, you're gonna have to trust me on this," they implored, their gaze intensely serious.

If the girls chose not to heed their advice and team up anyway, [Name] honestly couldn't bring themselves to care any less. Even though Jiyeong was also a personal favorite alongside sae-byeok.

"Okay, so even if we don't team up, who the hell is going to play with us?" Jiyeong posed, arms crossed as she eyed [Name] with a neutral expression.

Rolling their eyes, [Name] gestured towards the aimlessly wandering women who were being rejected by the men. "Don't be stupid. Find the other women who got left behind by their teams - they're everywhere," they replied flatly.

"Ah, I see..." Jiyeong hummed, stroking her chin as if she had a wizard's beard. "Alright, then what's the game? You said you knew, so spill."

Sae-byeok also fixed the teen with a pointed stare, silently demanding the information.

[Name] glanced between the two before responding in a monotone voice, "It won't help even if I tell you, but it's marbles. These fuckers really think everything is about strength.." they muttered, rolling their eyes.

The girls shared a weighted look before turning their attention back to [Name], Jiyeong's lips quirking into a faint smile. "Okay.. how'd you know though? not worried you'll get the same treatment as those back there?" she inquired.

Letting out a hum, [Name] shrugged nonchalantly. "A guard told me. What a nice fella, am I right? don't worry about me, that's a little too nice," Without waiting for a response, they turned and began walking away, leaving the curious women behind.

Sae-byeok and Jiyeong exchanged another glance, their expressions reflecting the suspicion they felt towards [Name]'s unexpected foreknowledge. However, they decided to heed the teen's warning, sensing the almost indifferent way [Name] had delivered it - as if they truly didn't care whether the girls trusted them or not.

[Name] decided to approach their potential teammates once more. Finding Sang-woo and Ali already seated together, they cursed under their breath, too late, whoops.

"Sang-woo," they called out, causing the older man to turn and regard them with slight bewilderment.

"You haven't found a partner yet? Hurry up, why are you just standing there?" Sang-woo's brow furrowed, an almost worried expression crossing his features. But deep down, he had a feeling that nothing would happen to them even if they didn't find a partner.

"Don't worry about me–hah, you should be worried about yourself," [Name] scoffed out an almost mocking laugh. Sang-woo's frown deepened as he caught on to the teen's implication that they knew more than they were letting on.

"I haven't partnered up yet," Sang-woo suddenly stated, causing [Name] to raise their eyebrows in mild surprise. 

He what–

Without warning, the man reached out and grabbed the teen's wrist, dragging them away to a quieter spot to talk. Sang-woo's eyes narrowed as he fixed [Name] with an intense stare.

"A little sketchy, dragging away a kid to a quiet spot -" [Name] began, feigning shock, but Sang-woo quickly cut them off.

"Enough of your games, [Name]," he whispered harshly.

"Aren't we already in one?" the teen replied coolly, unfazed by Sang-woo's obvious interrogation attempt.

"You know what I'm talking about. You've been receiving special treatment since we got here," Sang-woo hissed, listing off his observations - the proper food, the allowance to use the bathroom, and his suspicion that [Name] had already lost in the dalgona game.

"It could all be because you're a kid... but it's impossible for you to have possibly known about the games. Asking us to choose the triangle, then simply telling us about the last game... how do you know? How are you even getting away with this?" Sang-woo's expression was a complex mix of disbelief and curiosity as he stared down at the teen.

[Name] simply shrugged. "I'll tell you, perhaps, if you survive this game... which I'm sure you will." They then tugged their arm free from Sang-woo's grip and nonchalantly walked past him. Leaving him staring back at their retreating figure with a loaded look.

"Oh, and... don't team up with someone you know~" they paused, lazily waving their hand at him.

With that, [Name] disappeared back into the crowd of players, their gaze scanning the room with an unbothered air as they looked for their potential target.

—

"The time for finding a partner is now over," the announcement reverberated through the large room, as every team of two began standing up.

"You guys, you're all making a big mistake! Do you really think you can win without me on your team?!" Min-yeo's shrill voice pierced the air, the woman standing in the center of the room and pointing accusingly at the other players. 

"It's me, Han Min-yeo! I've made suckers out of everyone there from Dongducheon to Gangnam!!" She continued her manic raving, waving her arm about in a frenzied display.

[Name] raised a skeptical brow at that. This bitch couldn't handle Gangnam even if it was high noon, they thought, imagining how she'd fare there at the witching hour.

Undeterred, Min-yeo began desperately approaching other players, begging them to join her team while mindlessly boasting about achievements that were utterly irrelevant to their current situation.

[Name] walked past alongside an older man, Player 125, whom they had managed to partner with. What a nice old man, he even said he'll protect them. How sweet.

Entering the doorway, [Name] stood silently beside their teammate as the rest of the players filtered in, lining up before a group of triangle-masked guards. The area resembled a quaint neighborhood, bathed in the warm glow of twilight – a serene scene disrupted only by Min-yeo's muffled yelling outside.

Really a shame I couldn't be in her place... but I'm bored as hell, I want to play, [Name] sighed, shifting their weight. The movement seemed to catch their partner's attention, and he suddenly rested a hand on the teen's shoulder, beaming down at them encouragingly.

"Don't be nervous. I'm sure whatever game this'll be, we'll do great together!" Byeong-ho–as he introduced himself–declared with a wide smile, giving their shoulder a reassuring pat.

I'm biting his fingers off, [Name] thought with a grimace, attempting to shrug his hand away, but the man didn't budge.

"Attention. All players, please follow the staff to your designated positions for the game," the announcement interrupted [Name]'s murderous contemplation.

The triangle guards approached each team, before silently turning around to signal the pairs to follow them, leading the way through the quaint neighborhood setting.

Before following behind their guard, [Name] scanned the rest of the players, nodding in satisfaction once they saw their team had separated and were partnered up with unnamed extras. Except Gi-hun, of course. It was for the plot.

Trailing behind the soldier alongside Byeong-ho, [Name] shoved their hands into their pockets, mentally running through which game they could play first using the marbles.

Nothing luck-based though, that's fucking stupid, the teen thought, pausing when the guard halted in a random alley and turned to face the two players.

"Players, please take one bag each from the staff member before you," the PA voice instructed. On cue, the guard held out two pouches, which [Name] and the older man each took as directed.

I'm destroying this guy, [Name] mentally beamed, anticipation building.

"There should be a set of ten marbles in each bag. Please check to confirm the number," the announcement continued.

They opened the pouch, finding exactly ten marbles as expected. Byeong-ho grinned as he pulled them out, a hand resting on his chest. "Ah! Just marbles! It's not something physical after all... what a relief," he exhaled.

The man then bent down slightly to meet [Name]'s eyes, his expression shifting as if he was speaking to a child. "Eh? Are you good at marbles? I'm pretty sure you are. I bet your fingers are really nimble..." he whispered, his hand reaching out to brush against theirs.

[Name] frowned, taking a step back to regain their personal space. "I am, actually," they stated flatly.

The announcement began once more, dashing any momentary hope. "In this game, using your set of ten marbles, you will play the game of your choice with your partner. The player who manages to take all ten marbles from their partner wins."

As the instructions were repeated, Byeong-ho's eager expression slowly crumbled, replaced by a look of dawning dread as he turned to face [Name].

The teen was staring down blankly at their marbles. A growing smile spread across their features as they slowly lifted their gaze to meet the older man's, speaking in a low, monotonous tone. "Let's play a fun game, old man.”

—

The 30 minute timer had begun, and players were simply standing there at first, unaware of what to do even with the announcer having said it twice already to their dumb headasses.

Soon, some  had finally started playing.

“k-kid! There has to be another way..!” The old man trailed behind the teenager, who was strolling around without a care in the world, passing by others who were playing, watching them for a while, before walking away.

“Other way? To what?” They asked, not facing the man as they continued walking around, hands shoved into their pockets. “Live? Win? You're mentally incompetent, old man..” they murmured, eliciting a groan of frustration from the man following behind them.

“Aughh…alright, where are we even going!?” he exclaimed, taking faster strides to walk beside the teen. [Name] hummed, “a good, nice, quiet spot–like this one!” They halted, pointing at a closed corner away from the rest of the players.

The two partners made their way to the secluded corner, [Name] crouching down casually as Byeong-ho leaned back against the wall, his expression rife with anxiety. All the while, the teen began drawing a set of concentric circles on the ground.

"Hey, old man,” [Name] started, their tone laced with a disturbing eagerness. "We're going to play a game of bullseye." They gestured to the circles etched into the floor, the smallest one at the center barely the size of a marble and a half.

Byeong-ho's brow furrowed as he watched the teen, a sinking feeling of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. "Bullseye...?" he echoed uncertainty.

"Yup." [Name]'s lips curled into an unsettling smile. "it's pretty damn simple - we each take turns trying to get our marble into the bullseye. The one who manages it gets to take all the marbles on the ground." 

They paused, their gaze boring into Byeong-ho's, the glint in their eyes borderline manic. "And trust me, I'm really good at this game."

The older man swallowed thickly, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the small pouch of marbles. He knew, deep down, that he had no chance of winning - this kid was leading him down to hell with a leash.

With a resigned sigh, Byeong-ho nodded slowly, resigning himself to his situation.

"Why don't you go first, old man?" the teen offered, their tone dripping with false sincerity. "I'll let you have the first shot."

Byeong-ho nodded and slowly crouched down, carefully placing his marble at the edge of the outer circle. With a deep breath, he flicked the glass sphere, watching as it rolled and bounced, only managing to settle in the third ring from the center.

[Name] made a soft, sympathetic sound, their lips curling into a fake apologetic pout. "Aw, so close... but not quite." They tsk'd lightly, reaching to pick one marble from their own pouch.

Byeong-ho's shoulders slumped in defeat, his grip tightening on the remaining marbles in his pouch. It's alright, it was just one marble, he told himself.

"Alright, my turn!" [Name] announced brightly, lining up their own marble with a practiced eye. Without hesitation, they flicked it, the glass sphere rolling on the sand and landing squarely in the bullseye.

A grin spread across their face as they retrieved both marbles on the ground, their fingers curling possessively around their prize. "Hehe.." they giggled, their gaze flickering up to meet Byeong-ho's fallen expression with a closed eyed smile.

The older man could only watch helplessly, the sinking realization that he had picked the wrong person as a partner weighing heavily upon him.

As the minutes ticked by, the game of bullseye played out in [Name]'s favor time and time again. With each successful shot, the teen calmly retrieved byeong-ho's marble alongside theirs, their expression had shifted from one of unsettling glee to a more disinterested look.

Byeong-ho, on the other hand, grew increasingly desperate and agitated. His hands trembled as he lined up his shots, each one falling frustratingly short of the bullseye. After the sixth round, he was left with only four measly marbles.

"This is...this is impossible," he muttered under his breath, his brow furrowed in a mix of defeat and growing anger. "There's no way a kid like you could be this good..."

[Name] merely shrugged, idly rolling one of their newly acquired marbles between their fingers. "I told you so." Their tone was flat, the excitement from earlier having long since faded.

Glancing up at the timer, [Name] noted that only ten minutes remained. Guess I'll just have to speed this shit up, they thought, their gaze settling back on the increasingly unhinged Byeong-ho.

The older man was gripping his remaining marbles tightly, his knuckles turning white. His eyes darted around, as if searching for some way to turn the tables, even though they both knew it was futile.

Desperation had set in.

[Name] leaned back, watching with a dispassionate eye as their partner lined up his final shots, each one falling short of the bullseye.

Suddenly, with a frustrated growl, "y-you..fucking brat!!" Byeong-ho lurched forward, his hand outstretched as if to snatch the marbles straight out of [Name]'s hands.

Ah, shit. Here we go again, [Name] thought, their eyes widening slightly as they dodged the man's desperate attack. Violence may have been against the rules, but at this point, it seemed Byeong-ho was willing to risk it all.

[Name] easily sidestepped Byeong-ho's desperate lunge, the older man stumbling forward and colliding with the ground. However, in a last-ditch effort, his hand shot out, latching onto [Name]'s ankle and yanking them down as well.

The teen hit the dirt with a muffled grunt, their eyes narrowing with irritation as Byeong-ho immediately pinned them down, his hands wrapped tightly around their wrists.

"You little shit..." he snarled, his once-kind features now twisted with a manic, unhinged fury. "I should have known better than to trust a psychopath like you.." he whispered with a strained chuckle.

[Name] grimaced, their skin crawling at the unwanted physical contact. "At least I'm on a path. Sort your life out, dickhead," they spat out venomously. They hated being touched, especially by someone like this animal, whose gaze was now raking over their form in a way that made core memories open up involuntarily.

"The moment I saw you, even with your bratty attitude.." The older man continued, ignoring them, his voice dropping to a low, disturbingly familiar tone, "I knew I had to have you. You're just what I always wanted–young, vulnerable.."

[Name]'s eyes widened, their heart racing as they registered what they had just heard with their two good functioning ears. "Wow, men still think of raping kids even in death games, what a stupid time to be alive..." the teen murmured under their breath, somewhat not surprised.

Suddenly, a sharp, loud crack pierced the air, and Byeong-ho's grip went slack, blood splattering across the teen's face and clothes as he was headshotted. The animal crumpled to the side, his lifeless body collapsing on top of [Name].

The teen let out a breath, their muscles tensing as they shoved the dead weight off of them with disgust. Glancing up, they spotted the triangle-masked guard who had stepped forward, the barrel of their pistol still smoking.

Damn…one way to win, ig, [Name] thought, their expression returning to its usual poker face.

The guard approached, their firearm still raised as they stared down at [Name]. "Player 443, you are considered the winner of this game," they state, their tone devoid of any emotion.

The announcement echoed overhead, the female voice declaring, "Player 443, pass."

[Name] simply stared up at the guard, their expression betraying no reaction to the sudden violence that had unfolded. They had already erased the event from their mind, pushing it to the trash corner. It really needs some serious cleaning.

The soldier holstered their weapon and stepped back, leaving [Name] to their own devices. The teen rose to their feet, idly brushing the dirt from their clothes as they walked out of the alleyway.

Around them, the games continued, the sounds of clinking marbles and muffled conversations/arguments filling the air. As [Name] began to make their way through the neighborhood, some of the other players paused to glance their way, visibly taken aback by the sight of the teen's blood-spattered appearance.

[Name] paid them no mind, their gaze focused straight ahead as they strolled through the makeshift game arena. The coppery scent of Byeong-ho's blood clung to their skin, yet they felt no revulsion or remorse. The fucker got what he deserves.

Though, what did he do exactly..?

 

☆

 

In the control room..

The frontman stood at the center, fists clenched tightly as he attempted to hide his agitated body language. He had watched the whole scene through the triangle guard's camera, which was attached to their chest.

He clenches his jaw, unable to hold back a frustrated exhale to escape behind his mask. Never had he been so furious before, not even when his guards broke the strict rules that governed this place.

He almost wanted to go down there himself and shoot the animal himself, a few extra bullets through his skull as well, just for good measure.

[Name], they had simply stood up after the ordeal, not even wiping the blood off their face before walking away, almost absentmindedly. In-ho stops himself from fidgeting with his radio, his nerves frayed from worry for the child.

Should he just order a guard to bring them to a room so they could take a shower? Treat any wounds they could have gotten from that fall as well, maybe even give them a comfort meal?

In-ho was losing his shit.

The Frontman knew he couldn't afford such distractions, not when the VIPs were arriving so soon. This carefully curated game was teetering on the edge, and he couldn't afford to let his emotions cloud his judgment, no matter how much he wished to coddle the child.

With a massive effort of will, In-ho forced himself to regain his composure, he mustn't intervene even more than he already has–though oh il-nam had given him permission to do so. He also instructed him not to overdo it…especially with the near arrival of the VIPs.

 

☆

 

The trek back to the dormitory was a somber, silent affair - after all, most of these players had already resorted to practically killing their closest companions in the game. Some, at least, I'm looking at you, deok-su.

Picking up their pace, [Name] felt a small measure of relief when they spotted Jiyeong and Sae-byeok walking together. Ahead of them were Sang-woo and Ali, followed by a visibly depressed Gi-hun. Poor guy, [Name] thought, shaking their head with a resigned click of their tongue. But it's all for the plot.

Finally reaching the dormitory, the weary players filed inside, only to pause as they caught sight of Han Min-yeo - player 212, the woman they had all rejected before - sitting up on her bed and waving at them mockingly.

[Name] fixed the woman with a blank stare, already halfway to their own bunk and utterly disinterested in whatever deranged shit she had going on. Ignoring Sang-woo's intense gaze on their back, the teen simply longed to collapse onto their bed and rest their aching bones.

"[Name]," a familiar voice called out, prompting the teen to turn with a great effort. Sae-byeok and Jiyeong stood before them, the former seemingly struggling to find the right words to use.

"Thank you, for..." Sae-byeok began, her lips pursing as she trailed off, unsure how to proceed. Jiyeong chuckled and stepped forward.

"She wants to thank you, but she thinks saying it isn't enough," the girl grinned, nudging Sae-byeok teasingly. The other girl glared at her for a moment before turning back to [Name] and nodding slowly.

"Yeah, okay," [Name] replied, blinking owlishly at the pair before turning away and making their way to their bunk, the two girls exchanging puzzled glances before trailing behind.

"Wow, you're just as cold as her.." Jiyeong commented, looking between Sae-byeok and [Name] as the teen unceremoniously flopped down onto their bed with an exhausted sigh.

Uninvited, Jiyeong took a seat on the edge of [Name]'s bed, while Sae-byeok leaned against the nearby bunk frame, her gaze fixed on the teen.

"So... what are you two planning on doing with the money, hm?" Jiyeong asked, glancing between the two girls with a curious expression. "Sae-byeok, you said your brother was in a shelter - are you getting him out of there first?"

Sae-byeok nodded solemnly. "I promised to buy us a house, where we can live together with my mother... once I get her out of the North," she explained, her voice trailing off.

They're having this talk in front of me? My favorite Lebanese couplee!, [Name] thought, closing their eyes and pulling the blanket up to their nose, still attentively listening to the conversation.

"Hey, with a prize that big, you could do a lot more than that!" Jiyeong scoffed, leaning forward with an amused grin. "You gotta want something else too! Is there anywhere you wanna go?"

Sae-byeok was silent for a moment before lowering her gaze. "Jeju Island," she replied softly. Jiyeong raised an eyebrow, repeating the words, prompting a confirming nod from the other girl.

"There was something about it on TV. It looked exotic. It didn't look like Korea at all," Sae-byeok explained, her gaze distant.

Jiyeong chuckled. "Hey, don't you think you should dream bigger, huh?" she said, leaning against the bunk frame. "Why not go to Hawaii–hold on, the Maldives for a while? And have a mojito too," she grinned knowingly, wiggling her eyebrows.

Sae-byeok stared at her, dumbfounded. "Mojito?"

"Like the movie! Lee Byung-hun's in it. 'Go to Mojito and have a glass of Maldives,'" Jiyeong explained, only to be met with a blank stare from Sae-byeok.

"Really?" Jiyeong giggled, shaking her head. She then stood up and moved to stand beside Sae-byeok, nudging the other girl's arm. "Oh, no, we gotta fix that! Once we're out of here, we'll have a girls' night out and make mojitos and everything, okay? You too, [Name]! It'll be so much fun, eh?" She grinned excitedly, looking between the two.

[Name] peeked their eyes open to regard the pair, finding Jiyeong practically pressed against Sae-byeok's side. "Why should I third-wheel on your date?" the teen replied flatly, sighing as they sat up on the bed.

Jiyeong let out a gasp before dissolving into giggles, smacking Sae-byeok's chest–much to the other girl's annoyance. "Hehaha–date! Yeah, we should!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, standing upright and wrapping her arm around Sae-byeok's shoulders.

Jiyeong's attention then shifted to [Name], her expression turning curious. "So, what about you?" she asked, tilting her head. "Since you're just a kid, are you going to give the money to your parents or something?"

[Name] regarded her with a blank stare. "My mother's dead. My father killed her," they stated flatly, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Jiyeong. "HE disowned me, so I'm kind of homeless now."

Sae-byeok's eyes widened slightly before returning to its usual blank look, though her gaze flickered with a glint of sympathy that [Name] quickly dismissed.

"If I win, I'll use the money to get a house first," [Name] continued, their tone devoid of any emotion as they stared up at the ceiling. "Then, maybe move out of this country...to Switzerland, or something.”

Jiyeong fell silent, her eyes closing as [Name]'s words registered. Her expression shifted, a flash of understanding crossing her features as she realized the similarities between their pasts.

After a moment, Jiyeong let out a humorless chuckle, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Well, we've got matching backstories, huh?" she quipped, her attempt at levity falling flat. "God knew we'd be too powerful if we were sane."

[Name] turned their head, meeting Jiyeong's gaze with an impassive stare. They didn't share in her attempt at humor, but they did let out a soft scoff.

"You too?" 

"My so-called dad killed her, he was a goddamn pastor too." jiyeong mutters, rolling her eyes.

"..." [Name] didn't even bother telling her. That'll just seem a little too disturbing–how similar their situations are.

—

Today's meal was literally just a single boiled potato - not even warm, [Name] had noticing–but they didn't get that shit! Instead, it was the usual bento box and that damn strawberry milk, which they shared with their... friends.

Jiyeong could barely hold herself back from devouring every piece of meat in front of her, while Sae-byeok attempted to maintain a regal composure, though her eyes betrayed her hunger. 

[Name] offered their food to the others as well, though Gi-hun rejected it, remaining in his spot and brooding over the old man's 'death'.

Sang-woo sat beside [Name], with Ali eagerly taking some rice on his right. The teen simply sat on the edge of their bed, taking slow sips from the chilled bottle, their gaze dead.

This is a torture method, they sighed heavily, staring at the bottle with an utter lack of enthusiasm.

A subtle nudge to their side caused [Name] to perk up, turning to face Sang-woo, who regarded them with a strangely pensive expression – a mix of emotions in his gaze.

"Hey... thanks, for telling me about the game," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I won't ask how you knew, since it's clear you're not planning on sharing that." Sang-woo's brow furrowed slightly, and [Name] could sense the unspoken questions which they were indeed not planning on sharing anytime soon.

Would I have had to go against Ali? the older man seemed to be wondering. Would I have had the heart to do it? [Name] knew the answer already, even if Sang-woo couldn't quite admit it to himself yet–yes, he would have.

[Name] scoffed under their breath, lowering their gaze. "Yeah.." they replied nonchalantly, shrugging their shoulders.

Sang-woo held the teen's gaze for a moment longer before sighing and turning his attention to the dormitory, surveying the faces of the remaining players. Only 18 were left after the last game, and most of their team was still intact - save for the one who had been eliminated against the priest, and the old man.

Glancing over at the brooding Gi-hun, Sang-woo let out a frustrated sigh, getting up from the bed and approaching the other man, settling on the edge of his bunk. [Name] watched the exchange, assuming Sang-woo was offering the same 'advice' as in the show, seeing that he was gesturing towards player 069 who had lost his wife in the game.

Loser at comforting his own boyfriend, [Name] thought, rolling their eyes and taking a long, drawn-out sip from their milk bottle.

[Name]'s attention was drawn away as they noticed player 069 rise from his seat, slowly stepping forward with a tremble. The man's face was etched with anguish, his voice quivering as he addressed the group.

"Let... let's just stop all this. I can't keep doing this - I can't," he began, lowering his head as if on the verge of collapse. A sniffle escaped him before he continued, "The majority must agree. Well, come on, let's get out...!" 

Turning to face the remaining players, desperation laced his tone as he pleaded, "Don't any of you want to leave this horrible place? Anyone who wants to go, stand up. Let's get out of here!!"

His voice had risen to a frantic shout, but the silence that followed was deafening - not a single person stirred from their seat. The man crumbled, descending into a meltdown, screaming about how they could continue this for mere money and how inhumane they are.

Sang-woo's approach cut through the man's anguished tirade, his words harsh. "So what if we stop now? You think your wife will stop being dead if we all go now? And she'll forgive you for letting her get murdered?" he seethed, grabbing the man by the collar.

Gesturing towards the piggy bank, Sang-woo continued his berating, "See that? That's the price of being in here. And your wife and the others paid it with their lives, and you wanna go and leave?"

Releasing the sobbing man, Sang-woo turned to the others, his gaze challenging anyone to disagree with him. "And is everybody here ready to do that as well?! Go ahead, stand up! Let's see who thinks they are!" he shouted, on the verge of madness. [Name] really thought keeping Ali alive would keep his sanity a little intact, but It seems like that's just his thing.

Jiyeong's wry comment drew [Name]'s attention, the girl shamelessly sipping from their strawberry milk despite the teen's death glare directed at her soul. "Damn... the money's gone to his head," she muttered.

Beside them, Ali watched the confrontation with a concerned gaze. "Is he alright? Sang-woo was never like this before," he murmured, earning a dismissive response from [Name]. "He's always been like that. You're just too half-blind to notice."

The teen's words elicited a frown from the bewildered Ali, but [Name] simply turned their attention back to the cheap drama.

 

☆

 

The incessant praying of the priest plagues the darkened dormitory, much to [Name]'s utter fury.

"Oh, lord, be my shepherd, be my guide... May you watch over me tonight. May you give me protection and strength that I need to make my way through these routes, and may you light my path to my salvation," the priest continues in the most irritating, brain shattering murmuring voice.

Clearly, [Name] isn't the only one disturbed by this, as Jiyeong right beside them is biting her nails, her eye twitching slightly. Other players are also not asleep, sat up or staring into nothing, especially after the last game's traumatic events.

"Oh, god, protect me and save my soul- hick!" The priest is interrupted, eyes wide as he pauses in his useless prayers, feeling a cold touch by his throat, a presence behind his back.

"Want me to send your soul to the lord a little early?" [Name] whispers, pressing the sharp edge of their dagger to the man's throat, much to his horror. He raises his head up, attempting to escape the blade.

"No..oh god... please-" he begins his stammering pleas, as [Name] grabs the back of his head and slowly draws the blade across his neck, leaving a line on his skin, the blood leaking down to his shirt, staining the fabric with a dark crimson.

"Be quiet, shithead, before I slit your throat and watch that devotion roll out," [Name] harshly whispers, before roughly pushing him forward and slowly walking backwards to their bunk, keeping eye contact with the priest who holds onto his neck, eyes wide with terror as he stares at the retreating teen.

"Holy shit–thank you for saving my sanity. That. Was. Sick as hell," Jiyeong grins, commenting in a whisper, leaning forward from her bunk to be closer to the teen, who gives her a faint smirk before laying back on their bed.

"I'm sabotaging his ass for the next game, you in?" [Name] raises an eyebrow at the girl, earning an even wider grin from her.

"Hell yeah I'm in.”

 

✧

 

Notes:

I KOVE THE HWANG BROTHERS WASGHHHHHH I cried a lil writing their part ngl I was also watching so many edits of them and I just want them to be happyyyy WASGHHHHHH PLEASE ONE FANFIC WHERE THEY'RE HAPPY PLEASE PLEASE 😭😭😭

Alas, I'm finally done, probably gonna take a while to post again lol, unless someone really motivates me (long comments) haha wink wink nudge nudge.

Guys I'm losing my mind thinking about how to even DO this shit anymore, like, how do I even get them mfs out of here lmao???? I think mc is dying again (jkjkjkjkjkjkjkjk)

Btw the fucker [Name] played against in marbles is a random, made his ass up, don't think too much about this please I didn't either I'm too braindead.

Chapter 15: ✧|| S1 AU: For you (6)

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

Jun-ho: has an issue with older sibling figures and likes fucking things over.

[Name]: professional parkourer and 24/7 active suicide risk.

Notes:

hi gu🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅owww stop it🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅stop ple🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅I just wanted to say🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅hi🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅im sorryr🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅stopit pl🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅leasw🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅

I'M SORRY GUYS!!!!!!!!!! Please don't leave me, I'm just a pawty girl, rahhhh!!! I was on vacation with my girlies to my aunt's house (IN A MOUNTAIN) we had like, no wifi, seriously, we just got home this morning and I had to finish up some stuff in the chapter and quickly post it before I even take my 5 hour nap.

So! Here it is!!! Made it extra angsty, and if you look REALLY close, you'll notice that this is secretly just a hwang brothers chapter with a side of [Name].

Your honor, my hand merely slipped and wrote over 10k words of angst. My pants aren't on fire, therefore I'm innocent. Case closed.

Warning: look at the new added tags and warnings ‼️ you've been very warned rn, because it WILL have that shit. Sorry not sorry it was too good to pass, I HAD to write something this horrid.

 

✧

 

He's 10 years old again, the warm afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the bustling school playground. Jun-ho runs after his friends, having lost the rock-paper-scissors game and now tasked with the role of chaser.

Light reflects off something in the distance, catching Jun-ho's eye. His breath catches in his throat as he spots a familiar figure standing at the edge of the park – In-ho, in all his uniformed glory, police badge gleaming in the sunlight – Jun-ho's idol, the revered older brother he's always looked up to, has arrived.

His chest aches with a grief too heavy for a child to bear, as memories try to surface, only to be fought back down. For just this moment, Jun-ho wants to stay in this blissful dream, to feel the comfort of In-ho's strong embrace once more.

Jun-ho lifts his arms, rushing to give his big brother a hug.

He never makes it. Dark spots bloom in his vision, and he trips, a muted ringing filling his ears as the scene around him fades.

 

☆

 

Jun-ho snaps awake with a gasp, his heart pounding frantically as he takes in his surroundings. The familiar, yet unfamiliar, sight of the bedroom comes into focus - Darker, neater, and bears an undeniable resemblance to his elder brother.

Memories of passing out in In-ho's arms rush back, and Jun-ho realizes he's no longer in the dimly lit archives, but tucked safely in this private space. He takes a few shaky breaths, trying to ground himself in the present. Why did I even pass out? Dramatic much?

The room is eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of muffled music outside the door. Jun-ho's eyes dart around, taking in every detail - the lack of decor, the meticulously organized desk, the subtle touches that scream "In-ho" in every corner.

He can almost feel his brother's presence here, even in his absence. Jun-ho reaches out, his fingers tracing the edge of the bedspread, as if searching for any lingering warmth or remnant of his elder brother's touch.

A deep, steadying breath escapes him, and Jun-ho slowly sits up, casting a wary gaze towards the door. He knows he's still in enemy territory, unsure of what he must do now that he japorized [Name]'s plan.

Yet, there's a part of him that feels strangely comforted by being in this space, as if it's a connection to his sibling. The familiarity, the orderliness - it's all so quintessentially In-ho, and Jun-ho can't help but be drawn to it.

Jun-ho chews anxiously on his lip, his mind racing with uncertainty. Can I still gather evidence..? But against who? Against In-ho? i.. He's never had doubts about his sense of duty before - he became an officer to help people, following in his brother's footsteps.

Yet now, here he is, unsure if he could bring that same brother to justice, the same justice in-ho once served alongside jun-ho.

The In-ho from back then would have scolded him for even thinking of covering for him after committing a crime. But this wasn't that In-ho anymore.

Pursing his lips, Jun-ho stands up, noticing that he's still in his guard attire, his boots on the floor beside his feet. Did In-ho carry him here? How embarrassing.

Yet so achingly familiar.

As Jun-ho was about to stand up, the door suddenly unlocks, making him realize it was even locked. The one who enters is In-ho, still clad in his Frontman attire, including the mask.

In-ho closes the door behind him and removes the mask, then turns to Jun-ho, his expression unreadable. "Stay in this room," he instructs sternly. "There are people you must not, under any circumstances, interact with or let them catch sight of you."

Jun-ho nods, already knowing In-ho is referring to the VIPs, as [Name] had warned him enough, and he'd seen enough as well. He remains silent, watching as his brother speaks.

"I have to attend to them, so I can't be with you, therefore, I can't help you. Do you understand?" In-ho asks, his gaze intense as he narrows his eyes.

Jun-ho simply nods again, his eyes searching In-ho's face for any further clues or glimpses of the brother he once knew. 

He was him, he's still him, he's always been. He simply cannot possibly be anyone else.

In-ho holds Jun-ho's gaze for a moment longer before turning to leave, his Frontman mask clutched tightly in his hand. “Wait, hyung..” jun-ho reaches out, but it goes ignored. The door clicks shut behind in-ho, and jun-ho is left alone once more, the silence pressing in around him.

Wow.

Jun-ho can't help but sulk a little as he watches In-ho leave the room. Unironically, he had secretly hoped his brother would open up, maybe even try to explain himself. But all he got was a brief, stern warning.

Guess that's all I'll get from him.. Jun-ho thinks to himself, shaking his head with a bitter look.

Being the little shit that he is, Jun-ho then decides, fuck the plan. He's tired of just sitting around, waiting for things to happen. If everyone is telling him not to do something, well, that's exactly what he's going to do.

Jun-ho waits a bit, listening for any signs that In-ho has truly left the area. Then, he starts searching the room for a way out. He's not about to stay cooped up in here, no matter what his brother or anyone else says.

The door is locked, but Jun-ho isn't some rookie - he has some concerningly good picklock skills. Searching his brother's desk, he finds a paperclip and uses it to quickly unlock the door with a few twists.

Stepping out cautiously, Jun-ho is already aware of where the VIPs are located. He moves through a large opening in the wall, hiding behind a corner when he notices some people in black masks walking down the hall – waiters.

Without hesitation, Jun-ho snatches the one at the back, clamping a hand over his mouth.

“Shh.. I'm doing you a favour," Jun-ho whispers fiercely, his grip tightening. The waiter's eyes widen in fear, and he almost drops his tray.

Satisfied, Jun-ho drags the man into a nearby room - a freezer filled with hanging carcasses. With a swift, practiced motion, he knocks the waiter unconscious with a swift head slam to the wall and begins stripping off his uniform. 

"Sorry, but I need this more than you," Jun-ho mutters, donning the black spaghetti spoon mask and waiter's attire after tying the waiter up. He gives himself a once-over, nodding in approval at the convincing disguise. Taking a deep breath and picking up the tray of drinks, he slips back out into the hallway, blending with the other masked waiters as he heads towards the VIP area.

 

☆

 

[Name] has a very bad feeling about today.

And it's not because they're finally playing the glass bridge game, or that they'll have to memorize the tiles for their little circus trick, but a secret third thing that they don't know about. Player 069 killing himself felt like a bad omen, even if it would have happened either way.

It's really difficult being THIS aware, [Name] sighs, arms crossed as they trailed behind their newfound trio. Jiyeong insisted on naming themselves ‘Lesbace’. 

Whatever that means.

Reaching the entrance of the game area, [Name] was about to enter before pausing once they felt something being slipped into their pocket, recoiling back slightly, they glared up at the triangle guard standing by the door.

They didn't elaborate.

What the fuck, the teen narrowed their eyes suspiciously before walking inside the stark white room, noticing the set up mannequins with the numbered vests.

There were 16 of them, still.

[Name] stood at the back of the group, discreetly pulling out whatever was slipped into their pocket–finding a piece of paper.

Opening it up, [Name] was almost not even surprised, it was a cheat for them to get every tile right. Too bad, they didn't need it at all.

The announcer’s voice rang out, “Welcome, players, to the fifth game. Before we begin, please make your way down the steps and choose one of the mannequins that you see presented before you,” she instructed, “once you've chosen, take the corresponding vest. They are numbered 1 through 16.”

Leaning in between sae-byeok and jiyeong, the teen ominously whispered just for cinematic value, “pick the high numbers.”

The two glance back at them with slightly taken-aback expressions, before silently nodding. They then shoved the paper given to them by the guard in sae-byeok’s pocket, to which the girl gave them a raised eyebrow in return, [Name] raised their finger to their lips, shushing her. Sae-byeok slowly nods with narrowed eyes before looking forward.

[Name], satisfied at not being questioned, leaned back and watched.

They've already decided what number to choose.

First to step down was the priest, choosing number 6 with the dumbest fuckass reason [Name] has ever heard in their 15 years of living.

Should I pick 7 just to be behind him and push his ass? The teen seriously considered, before shaking their head, jiyeong would deal with him. She said she wanted to, and who was [Name] to stop her?

Second to step down was jiyeong herself, predictably picking number 7. Though not the highest number, it wasn't bad either. There was a different reason to the choice though. [Name] nodded in approval.

A few ran down the steps, racing to pick the leftover middle numbers, leaving only the front and the back ones to the indecisive players still standing around.

[Name] nudged sae-byeok forward, to which the other girl glanced at them with an unreadable gaze before walking down to pick number 14, along with sang-woo picking number 15. Ali also went forward and picked 13.

Gi-hun was already standing by the numbers at the front, unsure of his decision. There was no other number left except 2, 1, and 16.

And no players left except [Name], gi-hun, and player 096.

Almost skipping down the steps, [Name] leisurely approaches a mannequin, taking the vest off of it, before wordlessly walking away, not before patting gi-hun’s shoulder and spinning him around to face the direction of the 16th mannequin.

They picked number 1.

 

☆

 

What.

The same thought echoes through both In-ho and Jun-ho's minds as they witness the number [Name] has chosen.

In-ho's reaction was one of absolute horror.

While Jun-ho's is of disbelief.

Jun-ho remembers [Name] casually remarking, 'Wouldn't it be funny if I went first on the glass bridge? Haha.' At the time, Jun-ho had laughed along, thinking it was just a joke. Not so haha about it now, when they actually went and did it.

Jun-ho stands rigidly, a tray with a bottle of scotch in his hands. He's been in this position for only a few minutes, yet he's already barely resisting the urge to smash the bottle over someone's fucked up head.

How his brother manages to deal with these people year after year is beyond him. Jun-ho is already starting to idealize suicide, and he's barely been here that long.

The panther-masked VIP is loudly complaining about player 096 picking number 2, while the other VIPs laugh at his misery, their 'Ha💸Ha💸Ha💸Ha💸's ringing out.

"Oh, it's really not your day, is it?" one VIP jeers.

"First 69, and now 96, haha!" another chimes in.

"Motherfucker! Son of a bitch!" VIP 4 snarls, slamming his glass of alcohol down. Do all the VIPs cuss like 13-year-old boys? Jun-ho rolls his eyes behind the mask.

“Bring me another scotch,” VIP 4 orders, slamming his glass on the table, receiving no scotch, he turns to the nearby waiter–which so happens to be jun-ho.

“Hey, you!” He calls out, to which jun-ho very dreadfully turns to. VIP 4 gestures for him to approach, which he immediately does to avoid showing hesitation.

He leaned down, and began carefully pouring the scotch into that animal's cup, but just as he was about to straighten up, the VIP grasped his wrist.

“I don't want to have to keep calling you back. Sit down here,” he doesn't request– he orders. Jun-ho doesn't talk back, knowing its futility.

Sitting down beside this animal, jun-ho holds back the urge to strangle him until his eyes pop–or better yet, cracking his skull open with his own mask.

“Tough luck,” VIP 6 says, wiping away fake tears. “Well you know, third time’s the charm.”

“You’re assuming I’m even going to try again. Fucking idiots.”

“Now that we’re on the topic,” VIP 1 cuts in, leaning back to look between the others, “who is everyone’s pet player? I myself am quite partial to 456. And after the number he’s picked, I think the odds are in his favor."

VIP 5 hums in thought, “Well if we’re going by the numbers they picked, I’d say 218 has a pretty solid chance. And I like his style. That move he pulled last game on 234? Chills. Literal chills. He’s got a few tricks up his sleeve, I’ll tell you that.” He chuckles.

“443,” VIP 4 says abruptly. The others laugh.

“Already moving on from 69? To the kid? Who chose number 1? Psh, thought that one was a sly little fox, but I guess they're just suicidal in the end! Why bet on an inevitable loss?" VIP 2 scoffs.

“I’m not really betting. Just. Admiring.” VIP 4 leans back, swirling the liquor around his glass.

In-ho freezes, eyes widening in horrid realization behind his mask.

Jun-ho clenches his jaw, tensing up, unable to believe what he's hearing. A whole new conversation had started merely because of [Name]’s existence in the game, and it's nothing sweet.

“Oh? 443 catch your eye?” In-ho almost swings on VIP 1 at his question, why would he even fucking ask that.

“You could say that. There’s something just so…tempting about them. The attitude, maybe. I used to have a hobby taming the unruly ones, you see," that animal comments with a growing grin, his thumb drawing circles on the rim of his glass.

Jun-ho’s hand shakes in fury, clenching it tightly, he discreetly keeps it hidden behind his back.

“Hah! you're freaky, huh? Into that shit? Always known you had a screw loose,” VIP 2 says, and the room bursts with raucous laughter. In-ho clings to the control panel so hard the metal creaks under his hand.

“Hey.” VIP 4 says, turning, suddenly addressing him. “Frontman. About the bodies. When the players get eliminated, they just get cremated, right? Just poof, turned to ashes, no one ever hears about them ever again?”

“That is correct.” in-ho replies, attempting to keep the veiled hatred just like that–veiled.

“And no one cares either, right? No one ever comes looking for them to pay respects? And they’re not used for anything, just thrown out and burned? You never do anything…else with them?” VIP 4 leans his head forward, wiggling his fingers in a gesture.

VIP 2 gags, then throws a pillow at him. “Ah, come on man! That’s messed up, even for you.”

“What? I’m just asking. And they certainly won’t need their bodies anymore. I just think it would be such a waste, to burn up a face, and a body like that…” He continued, unabated, with a careless shrug, taking a long sip from his glass of scotch.

In-ho can barely breathe. It’s not red in his vision, it’s a hellish, monstrous black. His gun weighs down his pocket, begging to be used. For its bullets to make a home in that American pig's forehead.

Jun-ho gulps down whatever insult he almost yelled out, his breathing growing heavier. If this freak isn't taken care off, [Name] might actually be in danger because some sick rich old man is interested in them

No, no, no, no…this should be MY problem, I can't let that happen to them, even if it means.. jun-ho takes in a shaky breath, attempting to compose himself. He knows what he must do.

The 4th VIP is still speaking. “So you can’t make an exception? Not even for me?”

“No.” This man has soup for brains, not being able to hear the poison in in-ho's voice. “After a player is eliminated, their body is disposed of as immediately as possible. They are not to be touched.” He states coldly.

“I’d pay handsomely.”

In-ho’s nails dig into his palms like claws. “They are not to be touched.”

VIP 4 grumbles, but drops it. The conversation moves on, but in-ho can't bring himself to pay attention, his mind filled with nothing but murder. Jun-ho sighs in relief, at least his brother managed to keep that asshole in bay, for now, he'll have to thank him later.

The frontman finally interrupts the charade, "Now, the game will begin." He presses a button on his control panel, causing the screen to ascend and the curtains to slide open, revealing the game area.

"Oh wow. It's bigger!" the buffalo-masked VIP comments, leaning forward on his sofa.

"Yeah, a lot bigger..." VIP 4 adds.

 

☆

 

The circus-like surroundings, with bright lights and a bridge of glass, make it seem as if the players are being treated like nothing more than circus monkeys, mere entertainment for the wicked. This is the horrible reality that none are aware of - except [Name], that is.

"Hello players, welcome to the fifth game," the announcement reverberates through the large space. "The fifth game is, glass bridge. The glass bridge before you is made of two types of glass - one will be tempered glass, and one will be normal glass. The tempered glass is strong enough to hold the weight of two people, while the normal glass will break if just one person steps on it."

The female PA voice continues, causing tension to rise as the players begin to realize the danger of this game. A guessing game. How nightmarish–so much for being fair.

"For this game, you will guess which one of the two tiles is the tile made of the stronger tempered glass, and only step on those across the 18 pairs of tiles. You may then cross over to the other side safely, and pass this game."

Player 096, with the number 2 on his vest, slowly looks up, glancing at the player before him - player 443, the only minor in this fucked up place, who also happens to have the number 1 vest, yet seems utterly unbothered by their predicament.

Glancing at the square-masked guard beside him, 096 asks shakily, "S-so...that means the numbers on our vests..."

"Are the order in which you will cross the bridge," the guard states flatly, causing the 096 to almost piss his pants from fear, even though he wasn't the first to go–being the second wasn't so comforting either.

“For this game, you have 16 minutes. Players must cross the bridge within those 16 minutes.” The announcer instructed. “With that, let the game begin. Each player, take off your shoes, then go up to the tiles in order.”

[Name] steps forward, since they were the first in the order to cross the glass bridge. The rest of the players watch nervously, some not even daring to look.

Sae-byeok furrows her eyebrows, teeth gritted together in frustration. [Name] told them to pick the higher numbers, yet they go and pick 1? Have they finally gone insane? Being suicidal is cool, but this was a new level.

Gi-hun and sang-woo shared a look, one more worried than the other about the teen. It was obvious, their death, that is. A fate so horribly obvious…

For someone who is so knowledgeable about the games, they sure don't use it for their own advantage, sang-woo frowns, clenching his fists. 

Reaching the edge, [Name] stoops down and removes their shoes. As they straighten back up, they suddenly spin around to face the other players, an exaggeratedly serious expression on their face.

[Name] holds their arms up dramatically, "I'm gonna wing it!” They say, about something they most definitely should not wing.

This sudden declaration of independence is met with an awkward silence, the other participants staring at [Name] with a mix of confusion and discomfort.

Jiyeong gives a slow clap, but nobody continues the applause, so she drops her arms with a ‘there is nothing we can do’ shrug.

After a few moments, [Name] drops their arms and deadpans, "fuck you guys too.." they mutter, before turning back towards the glass bridge, grumbling under their breath.

[Name] approaches the first set of tiles, making no apparent effort to discern the stronger glass. To the shock and disbelief of the other players, they simply step out onto the left tile without a moment's hesitation.

A collective gasp goes up from the crowd as the tile holds firm beneath [Name]'s weight. Mutters of astonishment ripple through the group, some players even clutching their pearls or each other as they watch anxiously.

Player 096 steps forward, speaking shakily. "Hey, uh, you did good there," he stammers. "But, uh, you should be real careful on the next jump..okay?"

The implication is clear - if [Name] chooses wrong and falls through the glass, it will be 096's turn next, and his life will be on the line. What a fucking pussy.

[Name] regards him coolly, then cuts him off. "Shut your bitch ass up." 

[Name] had spent almost 20 minutes sitting in the bathroom earlier today, in their favorite stall which they practically owned at this point, watching the glass bridge scene repeatedly like a mental ward patient.

Due to their photogenic memory, they managed to memorize each right glass tile, even with that damn guard almost breaking the bathroom door down just knocking on it.

And unfortunately for everyone here, [Name] wasn't planning on going in slow motion for the cameras.

 

☆

 

The VIPs sit in stunned silence for a moment, processing the unexpected display before them. Then, suddenly, they erupt into raucous laughter, thoroughly entertained by the spectacle.

"Not in-! Pff–Haha! Not in all my 7 years of watching these contests, did I see a player so suicidal!" VIP 5 guffaws, clutching his stomach as his binoculars slip from his grasp.

The other VIPs join in, their shrill cackles filling the observation room. They seem to delight in [Name]'s seemingly reckless disregard for their own safety, finding the teen's 'foolishness' so utterly hilarious.

Jun-ho fights back a scoff, he wants to see them laughing when [Name] reaches the end of that bridge. Yeah, because he knows they will..! Definitely..!

...Right.

"let's play a guess gaame! whooo's dying neeext??" VIP 4 cocks his head back and forth, as if speaking to a kindergarten class.

“Oh, oh! I wanna guess~!” VIP 5 raises his hand lazily, replying before anyone could, “It's 443, isn't it?”

“Aw, good job, my autistic child! I knew you could form a coherent fucking sentence!” VIP 2 barks out a laugh, smacking the arm of the sofa. VIP 5 grumbles under his breath, remaining silent as he grabs a glass of wine from a nearby waiter.

VIP 1 leans forward after wiping his tears. "Ah..you know, I had my money on 443. I thought they'd be quite the cunning one." He strokes his chin thoughtfully.

VIP 2 scoffs, "Yeah, well, they've just been lucky so far. Found a loophole and exploited it." He waves his hand dismissively.

VIP 4 lets out a low chuckle. "Ooh, look at them go.. ," he purrs, eyes gleaming with a disturbing hunger. "I do hope that plummeting through the glass to their death doesn't ruin anything."

The other VIPs glance at him, some with mild amusement, others with faint disgust. But none seem particularly surprised or bothered by VIP 4's unsettling commentary.

After all, they are all here.

VIP 2 laughs heartily, "Haha! leave it to this guy to get all hot and bothered over a minor! You're one sick freak."

The group descends into more shrilling laughter, oblivious to the two stiffly standing figures planning their murder, in harrowing detail.

In-ho's eyes narrow behind the mask, his gaze burning with a barely-restrained fury. When the time comes, he will make these pigs pay dearly.

He'll enjoy hearing those squeals.

And fuck Oh il-nam too, he had betrayed that man the moment he decided to keep jun-ho alive, even hiding him away in his own quarters.

Jun-ho truly wonders how [Name] would react to hearing the VIPs' commentary, speaking of them as if they were a piece of cake. How revolting.

They'll probably find a gun and start shooting, huh, Jun-ho mentally nods to himself, already fully aware of the teen's mentality. Sort of, since he cannot for the life of him fathom why they would ever choose to go first on the bridge!

The VIPs' cheers soon begin turning to sounds of confusion and sighs of disappointment as they witness [Name] get one tile right after another - much to Jun-ho and In-ho's glee, though.

"How are they even..?" VIP 3 murmurs, setting his glass of wine down to hold his binoculars closer.

"This makes no sense at all!" VIP 2 shouts, throwing his arms up as he slumps back against the sofa. "Hey! Frontman! How in the nine hells is that kid doing that?" he demands.

The frontman turns to him, before replying flatly, "We are uncertain."

"Uncertain? Hm, I find that a little hard to believe," VIP 1 adds suspiciously, taking a slow, contemplative sip from his wine. "You must have made this game with some kind of failsafe."

"Holy shiiit! Look at that!" VIP 5 suddenly yells, pointing urgently at the ongoing game, nearly standing up from his seat in alarm.

"What the fuck!?!"

"Hold my wine.."

"Am I wasted already?"

Player 443, [Name], is jumping from one tile to another so quickly as if they have no regard for their life at all.

...Or they somehow know which glass tile is the right one.

 

☆

 

They can faintly hear the muffled gasps and yells behind them - players in disbelief, shock, others shouting at them to slow down or stop. How retarded, [Name] thinks. Why would they stop? Why should they?

A twisted grin spreads across their face as they jump from one tile to the next, taking no breaks to catch their breath or give the other players a chance to memorize which tiles they step on.

They weren't that nice.

Just as they reach the last two pairs of tiles, [Name] finally pauses, panting slightly as they turn to face the astonished, utterly flabbergasted group of players still at the start.

"Hah-...haha.." they giggle breathlessly, running a hand through their sweat-damp hair before turning back to face the bridge.

The other players can only stare in stunned silence, mouths agape, as [Name] surveys the final stretch before them. The sheer audacity, the utter disregard for their own life - it's enough to leave the onlookers absolutely reeling. 

For the players who had been fighting for their lives so desperately until now, watching the teen grin, thrilled by what they've done, it almost made them think they were watching a movie scene for a moment there.

They were barreling through with madness veiled by confidence.

The VIPs, for all their jaded cynicism, can't help but lean forward in attention, eager to see how this would unfold.

Before jumping the rest of the tiles, [Name] pauses and turns to face the other players, a mocking grin playing on their lips. 

"You got that?” they call out, pointing back at the tiles behind them.

Without waiting for a response, [Name] turns back and launches themselves onto the tile before them – and then the one to the left.

Finally, with one last leap, [Name] lands safely on the platform at the end of the bridge. They straighten up, chest heaving, an almost maniacal gleam in their eyes as they turn to stare right at where the VIPs were.

 

☆

 

The VIPs erupt into a loud applause, their earlier jeers and mockery replaced with genuine, if not perverse, admiration. [Name] has pulled off the impossible, and they can't help but be impressed.

“They actually did it!!”

“You know what? Hell yeah!”

“I'm seriously betting on this kid for the next game..”

“Cheating or not, this was the best player performance by far.”

“I don't think anyone is beating this one!”

In-ho can almost collapse from the sheer relief at the sight of [Name] standing at the end. It seems they've received the cheat he secretly sent them. That's good - he's impressed by their memorization skills.

Yes, he sent the cheat paper to [Name]. And yes, he also eliminates anyone who dares to break the rules of "equality" here.

Jun-ho feels a wave of relief wash over him as he watches [Name]'s flamboyant win over the glass bridge, he totally expected that from them.

As he pours another glass of scotch for Animal 4, Jun-ho has to fight the urge to dump the entire bottle over the man's head. The way the VIP had spoken about [Name] had turned Jun-ho's stomach. He'll have to make him forget about them.

He felt it before he saw it, that man's filthy hand turning his head to face him, making eye contact through the mask’s eyeholes, “what pretty eyes you have..” VIP 4 whispered. Jun-ho keeps still, unresponsive.

The thought of what he'll have to do soon is already making bile rise from his throat.

 

☆

 

With [Name] now safely at the end of the bridge, the other players begin tentatively stepping onto the glass tiles, desperately trying to recall the path the teen had taken.

They've only managed to make it to the third tile successfully without anyone plummeting to their deaths, but that's the limit of their collective memory. After that, [Name] had moved with such speed that no one could process their steps.

"P-please! Kid! Which one is the next tile?!" player 096 yells desperately at the teen nonchalantly sitting cross-legged on the platform.

"Huh? Can't hear you from all the way down at rock bottom~!" [Name] replies, twisting a strand of hair around their finger.

"What do you mean?!? For god's sake! Just tell me which one! Please!" The player continues, sounding close to tears.

"Ah... I don't really remember, I was just guessing," the teen admits with a careless shrug, much to the other players' dismay. [Name] can almost imagine gi-hun's shock and disappointment in them.

It's painfully clear that they had no intention of helping others. They seem content to simply watch it all go down.

As more and more players desperately attempt to follow [Name]'s path, the scene below grows increasingly grim. One by one, the glass tiles crack and shatter, the sickening crunches and anguished screams filling the air.

It's all still going according to the episode, more or less.

[Name] remains coolly aloof, their gaze fixed on the unfolding horror with a detached gaze. They see me rolliinn', they hatiinnn'.

As the players reach the middle tiles, [Name] rises to their feet. The VIPs fall silent, all eyes turning to the teen as they approach the edge of the platform.

For a moment, everyone thinks they'll throw out a mocking insult at the struggling players. But instead...

"Jiyeong, get 'em!" [Name] suddenly shouts, cupping their hands around their mouth.

Jiyeong, player number 7 in the order, grins at [Name]'s call. She's been waiting for this moment. Positioned right behind player 6, the priest, Jiyeong and [Name] have already plotted to take his sorry ass down.

Jiyeong nimbly leaps to the glass tile directly behind the muttering priest’s.

He had been sitting there for a few seconds now, on his knees and praying to a god who will not save him. He was too delusioned, thinking he was any different from the others, as if he too, was not a dirty sinner.

Jiyeong calls out in a mocking tone, "Hey! say hi to Satan for me in hell, dickhead!"

Without hesitation, Jiyeong jumps forward, giving the priest a forceful shove, sending him hurtling forward onto the fragile glass. The tile shatters under his weight, and the priest's anguished screams echo as he plummets down to the ground below, falling with a low thud.

Jiyeong watches with a satisfied gleam in her eyes, relishing the sight. Now, as the remaining contestants stare in horror at the priest's demise, Jiyeong turns her attention back to the task at hand. Glancing up at [Name], who gives her a nod of approval, she returns it before jumping forward onto the left tile.

Shit, I didn't think this far...well, I kind of did, [Name] sighs, scratching the back of their head. They'll have to help Jiyeong cross safely, which means everyone else behind her will also make it across.

Yes, they were indeed that evil - they don't want anyone but the main characters to survive. Starting to think I may actually have some issues, and perhaps even problems... the teen hums, crossing their arms.

Oh well, I'll kill them off myself if they get in my way, they decide with a casual shrug.

Keeping steady eye contact with Jiyeong, [Name] begins discreetly guiding her with subtle finger movements - left, right, left again. The other players gasp in amazement as Jiyeong steps precisely on each correct tile, some muttering to themselves as they try to discern if the teen is offering her guidance or something.

But [Name] couldn't care less about the others' survival at this point. As long as Jiyeong and the other key players make it across, that's all that matters. And with five minutes still on the clock, the remaining contestants seem to be making a comfortable progress.

[Name]'s eyes widen a fraction as they do a double take on the timer. FIVE MINUTES?!?! They struggle to maintain their poker face, a dreadful thought crossing their mind.

Jun-ho, please, tell me you aren't doing anything you should definitely not be doing.

 

☆

 

Jun-ho was indeed about to do something everyone and their mamas had told him not to do.

Not that he had much of a choice in the matter, after all.

The VIPs observed the scene with growing frustration as the contestants advanced further across the bridge. Their expressions shift from eagerness to boredom, seeing no more bloodshed was apparently just so disappointing to these bloodthirsty old men.

"Agh..what? Why are they all making it through all of a sudden?" VIP 1 comments with a sigh of disappointment, lowering his binoculars.

"Well, this is no fun," VIP 3 adds, leaning back on the sofa. Unfortunately, there's truly nothing that can be done about the players' progress, as it seems player 443 - [Name] - is guiding the lead player, effectively helping everyone else behind her as well.

"And here I thought player 443 was a little devil. Helping the miserable? It's almost out of character, ha~" VIP 2 chimes in with a sigh, taking a slow sip from his glass of wine.

VIP 4 doesn't seem to share the disappointment of the others, as he busies himself with another form of "entertainment" - if one could call harassing a waiter entertainment.

"Take that mask off," he orders Jun-ho, who inwardly gulps, mentally preparing himself for the next few minutes. I signed up for this, I did...I should be able to... he takes a shaky breath.

Seeing a lack of obedience, the VIP repeats the order in a more firm tone, "Take your mask off! I want to see your face." Without waiting for a response, the older man reaches up to remove the mask himself, but Jun-ho can't risk being exposed like this in front of his brother.

Grasping the VIP's wrist, he stops him, "We cannot show our faces in here," Jun-ho states in a low voice, avoiding being overheard.

"You're all mine," the VIP whispers creepily, and Jun-ho has to physically stop himself from gagging - especially at what he'll have to do next.

Slowly, Jun-ho trails his hand upwards, grasping the VIP's hand in his own. "Please. Take me somewhere we can be alone," he says, maintaining eye contact with the older man.

Wordlessly, the VIP closes his fingers around Jun-ho's hand, before slowly standing up from the sofa alongside him - an action that catches the attention of the other present VIPs.

"You're leaving? Though I can't blame you, it is getting quite boring," VIP 6 remarks, lowering his binoculars and turning to the two.

"Hey, you all have fun. I'm going off for a different kind of fun," VIP 4 states, with the waiter in his company standing beside him, though not facing the group.

"Mmm, the real 69, huh?" VIP 2 purrs, blowing smoke from his cigarette. The rest of the VIPs laugh in amusement, bidding the pair farewell.

"Bon appetit!"

"Have a good fucking time!"

In-ho stands silently, not surprised by the matter at hand – it happens much more often than one might think. He'll have to raise the waiters' salaries this year, though most of them don't last long anyway.

For some reason, In-ho has a particularly bad feeling about this specific case. But nothing could possibly go wrong.

Nothing ever goes wrong.

—

All of this is going horribly wrong.

VIP 4 leads jun-ho silently through the dimly lit hallway. Jun-ho's stomach twists with dread with each step, his heart pounding in his ears. The older man's grip is firm, almost possessive, as he guides Jun-ho towards a lavish door at the end of the corridor.

Pushing it open, the VIP ushers Jun-ho inside what appears to be his private quarters - a grand, opulent room adorned with plush furnishings and gilded accents. The air is thick with the scent of expensive cologne and liquor.

As the VIP closes and locks the door behind them, Jun-ho feels his breath catch in his throat.

The finality of the sound echoes. Panic starts to rise within jun-ho, but he forces himself to remain outwardly calm.

The VIP turns to face Jun-ho, a predatory gleam in his eye. "Well, now that we're alone..." he murmurs, slowly trailing a hand down Jun-ho's arm. 

Jun-ho suppresses a shudder, swallowing hard. He knows what's expected of him, what he must do to maintain his cover and keep [Name] safe. Squaring his shoulders, he meets the VIP's gaze evenly.

It's for [Name], this would make him forget about them, right? He won't ask for them…I'm enough, please, I'm enough.

"I'm all yours," he finally says, his voice steady despite the hurricane in his head.

The VIP grins, pulling Jun-ho closer. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear…”

This isn't how it was supposed to go, this wasn't the same ‘scene’ at all–what changed? Why did it change? What will he do now?

The VIP reaches up and slowly removes Jun-ho's mask, tossing it aside, he pauses, admiring jun-ho's features. "This is not the kind of face..you should keep behind a mask," he murmurs, his hand tracing jun-ho's jawline.

Jun-ho swallows hard, every instinct telling him to run. But he knows he must continue, no matter how much his skin crawls at the VIP's revolting touch.

Suddenly, the older man reaches for something on the bedside table - a small pill. Before Jun-ho can react, the VIP grabs him, forcing the pill past his lips. 

"Swallow it," the VIP demands, whispering harshly in his ear.

Choking back his revulsion, Jun-ho swallows the pill. Almost immediately, he feels a strange heaviness settle over him, his limbs growing weak.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck, this wasn't–

As consciousness starts to slip away, Jun-ho hears the VIP's voice again, but right now, it sounds nothing like a human to his ears.

"I have...some special preferences.”

—

He's pulled from the darkness, disoriented, blurry eyed–no, he can barely see anything at all. He notices a shimmering object before him, gold. A golden face, it's awful.

Awful and familiar.

The golden face says something, then grabs his shoulders, hauling him out of the darkness. He cannot feel his limbs. He tries to speak. He’s tugged against something large, warm, and hairy–a body. He can feel a rumble through the chest that signifies laughter.

It takes him a second to realize the body is naked. Then another to realize fingers are fumbling with the button of his shirt.

He wheezes, finding a sudden difficulty to breathe. The chest laughed again. He says no, then he remembers to say it in English, but whatever is in his system garbles his already poor pronunciation. He can manage nothing more than a few meek pushes before he’s placed on his back, revoltingly gentle.

Stop, he says, the word coming out as a weak mewl. A wet mouth connects to his neck just below his ear. A leg jams between his, grinding against his crotch. He begins to hyperventilate, thick, hot tears streaming from his eyes. Stop, stop, stop–

It doesn’t stop.

 

☆

 

The remaining nine players have all safely crossed to the other side - well, it would have been nine, if player 212 hadn't suddenly tackled player 101, throwing them both off the bridge in a final act of vengeful sacrifice.

The VIPs were at least somewhat entertained by this development, though they still deemed the overall conclusion to be the most boring game of the year. A shame, really, as it had seemed so promising at the start.

In-ho, in particular, had been counting on this game to help eliminate as many players as possible for the final game. But alas, it seems his decision to give [Name] a cheat on the glass tiles worked a little too well in the players’ favor.

Glancing at the empty sofa where VIP 4 had been seated before leaving with that waiter, In-ho can't help the uneasy churning in his stomach. Something feels off.

Raising his radio, he issues a quiet order to one of the managers: "Go check the VIP room."

While he waits, the last of the players reach the platform, the timer ticking down to the final minute. All thanks to [Name]'s subtle guidance, though they likely won't take any credit - it clearly wasn't their intended outcome.

The radio pings with the manager's response. "The VIP is alright, sir."

So he's fine, what am I so antsy about? In-ho furrows his brow, gripping the device tighter. "What is he doing?"

"He appeared to be..busy, with his companion, sir." The manager replied calmly.

In-ho falls silent, a growing sense of dread settling over him. There's something happening, he can almost feel it. The regret of not acting sooner may very well haunt him, but who could even make him–

Jun-ho.

Realization dawns, and In-ho has never moved faster, his heart pounding as he rushes out of the VIP area and towards the room he left his little brother in.

In-ho rushes to the door, only to find it unlocked already - odd, he's certain he locked it before leaving Jun-ho inside. Fearing the worst, he flings the door open, breath catching in his throat at the sight of the empty, rumpled room. No Jun-ho.

"Fuck!" In-ho curses louder than he would have liked, whipping back out into the hallway. He starts throwing open door after door, searching frantically.

Finally, he finds one of the freezers, a waiter lying unconscious and tied up inside, stripped down to just his boxers. And no mask.

In-ho's stomach drops. "Jun-ho..." he breathes, realization dawning. His little brother must have disguised himself as a waiter to do whatever he had foolishly thought he could do.

Cursing vehemently, In-ho slams the freezer door shut and races back towards the VIP area. He has to find Jun-ho before something unspeakable happens to him.

The very thought makes his blood run cold.

His mind races, trying to anticipate where Jun-ho might have gone, what he might be doing. The VIP's 'companion' the manager mentioned sent a shiver of dread down In-ho's spine.

Could that specific waiter really be..?

No, no no no.. don't jump to conclusions, it could be any other, he thinks desperately, pushing his legs to move faster. He can't bear the thought of failing his little brother when he needs him most. Not again.

The hallways blur as In-ho sprints, every second feeling like an eternity. He has to find Jun-ho before it's too late.

Forcing himself to appear outwardly calm, In-ho re-enters the VIP area, his eyes frantically scanning the waiters milling about. Maybe- maybe one of them is Jun-ho in disguise? he thinks desperately.

But as he scrutinizes each of their features - their height, their build, their hairstyles - In-ho can tell with certainty that none of them are his little brother. The waiters avoid his gaze, unwilling to meet his eyes.

In-ho's stomach twists with dread. That can only mean one thing - Jun-ho is the specific waiter that VIP 4 took with him to his private quarters.

The realization hits him like a truck on a highway. His baby brother, at the mercy of that animal, alone and vulnerable. The mere thought makes In-ho's blood boil with rage.

This is enough.

—

It's hard to breathe, something large and heavy presses against Jun-ho's chest. Meaty hands grip his throat, and his tormentor laughs, saying something incoherent.

Stop - please, stop...In-ho, I want my brother, please, I want-

Bang. The man scrambles away, turning to speak to someone beyond Jun-ho's vision. His lips form an angry question.

Bang. He drops dead, a smoking hole in his forehead, blood spattering the surroundings in a dark crimson.

Bang. Another hole in his stomach.

Bang. And now one at his engorged groin, exploding the flesh into a million pieces.

A figure stands with a smoking gun, clad in black and wearing a familiar mask. It's not like the ornate, flashy one lying on the floor, nor the guards' masks. The weapon is still raised, and the masked man takes a step forward. 

Jun-ho lurches backwards, the movement sending agonizing spasms through his wounded body - he doesn't even know where the injury is. His back hits the wall, and he's overwhelmed by fear. Who is this? What does he want? he cannot think, he cannot see, he cannot-

No, no, no.

The masked man steps closer, stiff and controlled, as if holding himself back. He drops the gun.

No. Don't touch me... please, not again.

The man's hand reaches out.

"Junho."

"In-ho.." Jun-ho mutters, his voice thick with relief and desperation. He wanted his brother so much it was making him sick. He blindly sobs, “hyung-”

The man removes his mask, and for a moment, Jun-ho thinks he's hallucinating. His fervent desire to see his brother combined with his deteriorating state make him believe this was In-ho, even when this blurry stranger cannot possibly be him. Or could it? Did his brother find him?

He cups Jun-ho's face, his touch gentle. "It's me," he says fervently. "it's me, in-ho.." he whispers–oh so sweetly.

Jun-ho trembles. "What?" In-ho pulls him close, and Jun-ho buries his face in his brother's familiar scent of pine and lavender.

"I'm sorry, Junho. I'm sorry…”

In-ho holds Jun-ho closer, caressing his hair gently as he whispers a constant stream of apologies.

The younger man's limbs are weak, but he manages to grasp the back of his brother's shirt, clinging to him desperately, as if letting go meant finality.

Jun-ho's breathing is ragged, he cannot feel half of his body, the air rasps painfully in his throat after being unable to take it in for the last few minutes. His body trembles, the chill of the room biting at his exposed skin.

Sensing his brother's discomfort, In-ho quickly reaches for a nearby blanket, wrapping it around Jun-ho's shivering frame. 

"Junho.." In-ho murmurs, guilt weighing his words. "I'm sorry, it's my fault, I'm sorry.." He presses a gentle kiss to Jun-ho's temple, heart aching at the ragged sound of his baby brother's breathing.

"I should have gotten you out first, I should have—" In-ho's endless stream of self-recrimination is cut off by Jun-ho's raspy cough.

"No... I did this to myself. I should have listened," Jun-ho admits, lowering his gaze in shame. 

In-ho purses his lips, realizing he hadn't even considered that. While Jun-ho had left the room of his own accord, it was still In-ho's fault for not explaining anything beforehand and simply leaving wordlessly.

"Shh, it's not. I should have explained myself. If I had, all of this...could have been avoided," In-ho whispers, his hand gently caressing Jun-ho's hair.

Jun-ho remains silent. He can't bring himself to confess that he knew about everything all along, but went ahead regardless - that might actually get his ass killed, at the hands of both In-ho and [Name].

Speaking of [Name]...

"How...is [Na– player 443 doing? Has the next game begun yet..?" Jun-ho asks hesitantly, glancing up at his brother, who is still holding him as if he might turn to dust at any moment now.

In-ho's brow furrows slightly as he turns to make eye contact with Jun-ho, only for him to immediately avert his gaze. Is there a connection between them? What a coincidence that would be.

Two of the only people he gives a shit about, knowing each other.

"No, the sixth game hasn't started yet…You know player 443 personally?" In-ho asks, keeping the suspicion off his tone, not wanting to alarm Jun-ho. He needed to hear the whole thing.

"Sort of. We're... acquaintances? Friends? I'm not sure myself," Jun-ho replies, his eyes darting away. His gaze lands on the nearby corpse, and In-ho quickly intervenes.

"Don't look at that thing," he murmurs firmly, turning Jun-ho's head away from the gruesome sight. Though he's desensitized of such things, seeing the very fucked up corpse of his own preparator laying nearby is certainly an experience.

"So...a close enough relationship with them to elicit worry? How do you know that kid?" In-ho continues his questioning, his tone verging on an interrogation now.

Didn't [Name] tell me not to speak about them to anyone? Shit, how many times have I fucked up? Jun-ho worries internally.

Suddenly, Jun-ho yawns, allowing his body to go limp in In-ho's hold, alarming the older man. "I can't feel my limbs very much..." the younger man murmurs sleepily, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Hey, hey! Don't pass out on me now, keep talking, say anything – just don't sleep," In-ho urgently warns, quickly and carefully lifting Jun-ho in his arms, making sure he's properly covered by the blanket.

In-ho rushes them out of the (now dead) VIP's room before any other guests can spot them–he grabs his mask on the way out–Most of the VIPs are already in their private quarters, but In-ho can't afford to take any chances at being seen.

Hurrying down the dimly lit corridors, In-ho makes a beeline for his own quarters, making sure to lock the door securely behind them. He gently lays a half-asleep Jun-ho down on the bed, hands trembling as he carefully pulls the blanket away to inspect his younger brother's condition.

A surge of boiling rage floods through In-ho as he takes in the sight before him - angry red hand prints marred Jun-ho's skin, bruises encircling his neck, and a deep gash across his abdomen. That damn animal.. If In-ho could, he'd bring the man back to life just to kill him all over again, then some.

His fingers brush tenderly over the marks, a mix of fury and anguish twisting in his chest. How could he have let this happen? He should have protected Jun-ho. Should have been there to shield him. Jun-ho should have always been his first priority.

In-ho's jaw clenches. He feels utterly powerless, helpless to undo the horrors that have been inflicted upon his precious baby brother. All he can do now is try to clean and tend to Jun-ho's wounds, to provide what meager comfort and care he can.

It's the least he could do for him after being such a disappointment of an older brother.

Gritting his teeth, In-ho sets to work, having the med kit open and ready as he cleaned around the gash on jun-ho's abdomen first, stopping the bleeding and closing the wound carefully, before bandaging it up.

As for the bruises around his neck, they appeared to be swelling, prompting in-ho to put a cool towel around it for a few seconds before removing it and wrapping jun-ho's neck with an elastic bandage.

That should be enough, I can't call a medic right now… in-ho frowns faintly, closing the med kit and putting it away. He had already noticed that jun-ho was long asleep.

Watching the slow rise of his baby brother's chest, in-ho's eyes softened.

In-ho had always known he wasn’t just a brother. He was something else. Something more. He was the one who made sure Jun-ho never went to bed hungry, the one who stayed up through fevers, who soothed nightmares, who stayed when their father didn’t. Who inspired him to become a detective, who helped him with his first hard case, drank coffee with after shifts, drove back home together with.

He hadn’t asked for this. But Jun-ho hadn’t asked to be left behind either. 

So, In-ho stayed. Because someone had to. Because Jun-ho trusted him. Because the moment he had reached into that crib and felt tiny fingers wrap around his own, there had never really been a choice.

And then he left. and it left a gaping hole in his chest, never fulfilled, never completed.

Until now, did in-ho remember who he had always been.

 

☆

 

Why do I feel as if there is barely any attention on me anymore? Is the author forgetting about me?

[Name] frowns as they return to the dormitory with the remaining seven players. The space feels eerily empty now, a stark contrast to the first day when the beds were stacked up. and to think it's only been five days since they've been trapped here.

Well, not exactly trapped, if they truly wanted to leave, they could always vote for it.

But nobody will.

Despite feeling quite energized, [Name]'s mood doesn't match the intensity coursing through them. There are simply too many players left – yes, it's good that Jiyeong and Ali, who should have perished long ago, are still alive, but [Name] does not vibe with the rest of the group.

Though they were only two. That glass manufacturer, and some random–all [Name] remembers about him is that he was the one to push the guy who pushed the priest in the original episode.

They just got lucky...not for long, though, [Name] huffs, leisurely making their way to what they think is their bed. It's really hard to tell them apart at this point.

Glancing back, [Name] isn't surprised to see Sae-byeok and Jiyeong trailing behind them, shameless as ever. Why are they acting like ducklings? So underwhelming.

Then it dawns on [Name]. Right, the glass explosion didn't happen - we left before the timer ended. No one got hurt. Sae-byeok will live. No wonder she was still casually walking with her hands in her pockets.

The lack of argument between Gi-hun and Sang-woo is also noticeable. The silliest argument of the whole season, gone, just like that! In fact, [Name] can see the two sitting on the same bed, chatting quietly with Ali playing third wheel.

Jeez, how much did I change? How the fuck are any of these mfers even passing the last game? [Name] deadpans.

"Heeyyy, can't you hear me? [Name], [Name], [Name]--" Jiyeong pokes their arm repeatedly, while Sae-byeok sits on their right side on the bed.

Swatting the girl's hand away with a grunt, [Name] glares at her momentarily before muttering, "What."

"Ah, so cold! I'm almost freezing over, shivering in my shorts right now.." Jiyeong dramatically leans back, hugging herself as if she was in the north pole. [Name] almost hopes she was.

"Quit your yapping, you're making me regret helping your ass."

"Awh, don't say that! We're all besties here, yeah? Kang sae-byeok?" She grins teasingly, turning to the quieter one of the trio. To [Name]'s absolute bafflement, Sae-byeok silently nods in agreement.

What.

"See! Shit, we're literally made for each other, huh? Platonic soulmates, am I right!?" Jiyeong giggles, suddenly wrapping her arms around [Name] and attempting to bring Sae-byeok into the hug as well, which the North Korean defector reluctantly gets into.

"Nothing platonic about you two," [Name] flatly comments, resigning to their fate of being squished between the two girls.

Before the two could reply, a familiar sound echoes in the dormitory, and the double doors open, revealing a manager stepping forward, with eight circle guards behind him, holding black gift boxes with pink bows.

"Players, we sincerely congratulate and commend you all for successfully making it through the first five games," the manager begins his usual monologue, but with a little twist. The remaining players all turn their tired gazes to the guard and the boy band behind him.

"The eight of you are now the finalists, and as such, we have prepared a special gift for each of you." The manager states calmly, there was almost a hint of giddiness in his voice. Shit, I would be too. I mean, it's almost the end, he'll be finally getting his paycheck.

"Before we reveal the gift, please take a moment to change into the outfits we have brought.”

—

In the women's bathroom, only [Name], Sae-byeok, and Jiyeong are changing into the gifted suits together. There are no other females left among the remaining players.

As [Name] undresses from their tracksuit, they freeze in realization when they hear a sharp gasp from behind them. They've grown too comfortable - they accidentally removed their shirt in front of the other two.

I should have changed in a stall instead. What was I even thinking? I've never done something so foolish and mindless before.

"Er..." Jiyeong immediately glances away, as [Name] can see from the reflection in the mirror. Sae-byeok is already facing the wall, though [Name] spots her taking a quick glance when she heard Jiyeong's gasp, only to look away just as quickly.

[Name] appreciates the silence.

Staring blankly at their reflection, they trail a finger across the brand on their forearm - that damned cross. It almost feels like yesterday when they were held down by grown men, while their father pressed the scorching hot iron into their skin.

It was on their 14th birthday.

Shaking the unpleasant memories away, [Name] opens their gift box, finding the neatly folded suit and dress shoes. They're definitely gonna eat this outfit up.

"Guys, am I serving?" Jiyeong suddenly speaks up, causing both [Name] and Sae-byeok to turn to her. She's the first to be fully dressed in her suit, and as much as [Name] hates to admit it, she looks good.

"Yeah," Sae-byeok agrees flatly, much to Jiyeong's delight.

"What am I serving, though?" She insists, her grin growing.

Sae-byeok deadpans and looks away, refusing to admit the blinding truth.

"I said yeah, let it go."

"Nah, I want to hear it," Jiyeong crosses her arms. "What am I serving?"

"...Cunt," Sae-byeok admits, very shamefully.

"Hell yeaahh!!" Jiyeong celebrates, throwing her arms up and nearly tackling Sae-byeok into the second hug of the day. One too many. Sae-byeok dodges and quickly locks herself in a stall to change in peace.

Jiyeong pouts, but turns her attention to [Name], who is just buttoning up their shirt. The teen looks up, then swiftly escapes to a nearby stall as well.

"Oh, come on!"

Jiyeong sulks for the next few minutes.

—

The table before them is triangle shaped, laden with buns, steamed vegetables, and an array of fancy cutlery - some of which the players don't even know the names of.

The eight participants sit equidistant from one another, bathed in the eerie glow of candlelight and sweat. Well, not quite equidistant - the two extras are seated on one side, while Gi-hun, Sang-woo, and Ali occupy the other. [Name], Sae-byeok, and Jiyeong make up the right side.

"We're the only bitches serving cunt here, oh my goddd, I'm soooo embarrassed," Jiyeong murmurs to her two seatmates, resting her head on her palm.

[Name] has to agree - the men across from them look like they've been fist fighting bears. Wouldn't it be funny if they actually did fight in the bathroom before coming here though? Who would even start it? They're all pussies except Sang-woo.

All thoughts dissipate, however, when a silver platter is presented before them. The heavenly scent wafts to Jiyeong's nose, and she nearly bursts into tears - real, freshly cooked meat, still steaming.

"This meal is to commend you on the bravery, perseverance, and sacrifice you each have displayed while playing," the manager guard intones. With a pause, he adds, "They are also to encourage you to play your best through the games tomorrow. Enjoy."

Sangwoo wastes no time digging in across from them. Gi-hun follows suit, shoving a slice into his mouth, heedless of the oil dripping down his chin. Ali observes them first before repeating the motions. To [Name]'s left, Saebyeok abandons her fork entirely, picking up the steak by the bone and tearing at the meat like a starved animal.

Which is a little too close to the truth to be funny for any of them.

They don't give a fuck no more, that's crazy.. [Name] blinks.

To their right, [Name] watches with a deadpan as Jiyeong does the exact same thing - the last time she devoured something so hungrily was their bento from yesterday. It will be missed.

Soon, [Name] picks up their own fork and knife, slowly cutting through the steak. They'd like to maintain some semblance of refinement, but they know they'd be just as animalistic if they'd had to eat nothing but a single corn and a boiled potato in the past two days.

Good thing that didn't happen to me, though. Haha!

Chewing on the juicy meat, [Name] nods in approval. This is genuinely the best shit they've tasted in their entire 15 miserable years of living. They'd forgotten what a real steak even tastes like, so used to fried chicken being the luxury they could only afford once a month.

Sangwoo eyes gi-hun over the rim of his wine glass, the two eyefucking each other, not seeming to notice the juice streaming down the sleeve of his suit.

Gihun shoves rolls into his mouth until his cheeks puff out, grinding the stuff like a machine. Saebyeok pops tomatoes into her mouth worryingly, dizzyingly fast. Jiyeong is licking the bone of her steak–or what's left of it, somehow already done. Ali, the lesser evil of the bunch, was at least eating with some semblance of etiquette–using the fork to fuck over the meat, because for some reason, he can't use a knife.

They are transfixed. And [Name] finds it utterly entertaining to simply watch them instead of eating.

The guards come to take their finished meals. [Name]’s is the only one mostly untouched.

They leave behind each of them a small, individual knife.

The eight players eye each other, yet surprisingly enough, none were even hostile. If you do not count the two extras who immediately take the gifted item as if it'll be snatched from their grasp, shoving it into their pockets.

Grabbing the knife before them, [Name] turns the weapon around, reflecting the warm light of the candle.

They have a good use for that.

 

✧

 

Notes:

AHAHAHA I'M FINALLY DONE, FINALLY OH MYY GODDDD (I'm perfectly sane.)

I've been hyperfixated over writing this chapter through my whole damn trip, but I couldn't cuz I needed the actual episode to get the canon dialogue of some scenes, as well as yk, you sometimes need reference if you wanna describe stuff. So I had to wait till I got home to continue this.

Hahah, what would I need a social life for? I have the voices in my head to keep me company...and to think, those pesky doctors tried to silence them..

I think I love the hwang brothers (and angst), just a tiny bit though, it won't take over the fic 🙏 (probably).

GIVE ME LONG COMMENTS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!! I NEED ATTENTION I'VE BEEN DEPRAVED OF IT IN THESE LAST COUPLE OF DAYSS.

Now, excuse me while I take a potentially all day nap.

Chapter 16: ✧|| TROUBLED

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

|| No squid game au || [Name]’s sorry ass is saved by a strange officer. Multiple times.

Notes:

Omgg hi giysss what are you doing heree.

This is special 5, a chapter that I had in my drafts for weeks now so I thought why not finish it and post it since y'all will have to wait a WHILE for the next S1 chapter. It's gonna be the last chapter anyway, so y'all might as well wait for it to be really good, quality over..uhh, quality over quantity? Or quality over ass.

Anyway! This was requested by my hubby Anna 🫶 I didn't forget about you, I just needed to smash my head against the wall for ideas lol.

Let's pretend in-ho still had his job even after his wife died, okay? Also PLEASE listen to simulation swarm by Big Thief while reading this 🙏

Enjoy<3

✧

 

[ 9TH OF DECEMBER. SMP AGENCY, 10:36 PM]

 

“Nice work today, in-ho!”

“This case would have taken much longer without you.”

“We're all lucky to have someone so capable in the homicide department.”

Hwang In-ho's lips curled into a polite smile as his colleagues showered him with praise, bowing his head in an expression of gratitude. But beneath the surface, he felt nothing but contempt for their hollow words. These people, with their simplistic, black-and-white views of the world, knew nothing. They were ignorant, foolish, unable to see the shades of gray that permeated reality.

Nobody was born inherently good or evil - those were merely constructs, labels that society affixed to individuals based on their actions. In-ho understood this fundamental truth better than most.

Tightening his grip on his suitcase, In-ho stepped out of the police station, the crisp winter air caressing his face. It was well past midnight, and he was expected to return to that empty house he once called home. But it had ceased being a true home the day She had been taken from him.

His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck straining as he fought to suppress the emotions threatening to bubble to the surface. The loss of his beloved had shattered him, leaving a void that no amount of praise or recognition could ever hope to fill.

Unlocking his car, In-ho slid into the driver's seat, taking a moment to rest his forehead against the steering wheel. Today's case had weighed heavily on his mind - a stark reminder of how the world so often judges acts of desperation as nothing more than evil, illegal, and against society.

The woman, who had cut open her rapist's stomach using scissors and then called the police, had expected her actions to be justified as self-defense. Yet no one had seen it that way, because the suspect hadn't technically "done anything yet." How utterly, sickenly depraved.

Arresting an innocent woman for saving herself from what could have been her own demise – the very notion was revolting. Should she have waited patiently, politely sitting still as he committed his animalistic acts upon her? Was she meant to act only once it was too late, when she could have already been dead?

In-ho's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury. The world was so quick to condemn, to label, to overlook the shades of gray that so often dictated the actions of those driven to desperate measures. They saw only black and white, good and evil, with no room for the complexities of human nature.

As he started the car and pulled out of the police station lot, In-ho's expression hardened. The justice system had failed that woman, just as it had failed him. Yet he couldn't do anything about it, at least he managed to lower the poor woman’s sentence to only a year by using the suspect's past criminal record and history of SA.

The drive back to his house was a lengthy one, as his residence was situated a fair distance from the police station. It would take at least 20 minutes even on wheels, but what In-ho hadn't anticipated was for his night to get even worse, as one of his tires suddenly popped, causing him to hastily apply the brakes and narrowly avoid careening off the road.

Sighing heavily, In-ho muttered a curse under his breath before exiting the vehicle to inspect the damaged wheel. The puncture appeared deliberate, though the timing was puzzling - why had it only happened 15 minutes into his drive? Regardless, he would investigate the matter more thoroughly tomorrow.

Straightening up, In-ho pulled out his phone to call for a tow truck and a cab to transport him home. As he was about to dial, a loud crash from a nearby alleyway caught his attention. While it could simply be a stray animal or a homeless person, In-ho wasn't willing to take any chances.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and cautiously drew his handgun, taking silent steps towards the dark alley. At first, he saw nothing, until a subtle movement at the ground level caught his eye.

There, leaning against a dumpster, was a small figure, obscured by the shadows. In-ho narrowed his eyes, attempting to make out the details, but the poor lighting made it difficult.

With his gun raised, In-ho slowly approached, his senses heightened and his expression hardened. Whoever or whatever was lurking in that alley, they could either be a dangerous individual, or someone in need of help.

As In-ho approached, something was suddenly hurled at his face, which he quickly dodged. The item - a glass bottle - shattered on the ground at his feet.

"Stay... back, asshole," came a strained, low voice from the figure by the dumpster. In-ho's heart sank as he finally caught sight of the individual - a teenager, leaning against the dumpster and clutching a wound on their abdomen, blood seeping through their hoodie.

Beyond the injury, the teen's face was marred with cuts and bruises, their appearance disheveled and distressed. The sight left In-ho momentarily speechless, stunned by the sight of someone so young in such a dire condition.

"What the hell...?" he murmured, lowering his handgun as he moved closer, despite the teen's attempts to fend him off with a knife. He quickly disarmed them, earning a disgruntled "damn" from the wounded child.

"Kid, what happened to you?! Wait, I'll call an ambulance-" In-ho began, reaching for his phone, only to have it swatted away by the teen, who wore a pained grimace.

"No! Don't..." they coughed, wincing as they pressed harder on the wound. "Don't call anyone, no ambulance, no police, no shit!" they yelled, their voice strained.

Then, as the light caught In-ho's police uniform, the teen's expression shifted to one of dismay. "Fuck me sideways..." they muttered.

Ignoring the teen's odd behavior, In-ho's brow furrowed with concern. "Don't? What do you mean, 'don't'?! You'll die if you don't get medical help now!" he exclaimed, keeping his voice low in an attempt to not further agitate them.

"I'd rather die then," the teen spat, eyes narrowed with distrust. "It would be nice if it was... a little more painlessly though," they murmured, glancing at In-ho's handgun. "Shoot me," they suddenly said, their expression blank.

In-ho stared, baffled and horrified, unable to find the words to respond to such a devastating plea. This was a situation he had never encountered before, and he was at a complete loss as to how to proceed.

In-ho's heart raced as he grappled with the teen's harrowing request. The weight of the handgun in his hand felt heavier than ever.

"I... I can't do that," he responded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Let me get you help. You don't have to-"

The teen cut him off with a ragged cough, blood flecking their lips. "What's the point?" they croaked, eyes glazed with resignation. "I'm done for anyway, whether I survive or not. Just... make it quick, kay?"

In-ho's grip tightened on the gun, his jaw clenching as a swirl of emotions threatened to overwhelm him. This person, this child, should not be begging for their life to end. And by his hands? It went against every moral fiber of his being.

But as he looked into the teen's pain-filled eyes, he saw the depth of their suffering. They had endured horrors he could not imagine, leaving them with a seemingly impossible choice - a drawn-out, agonizing demise, or a merciful end at the barrel of a gun.

Swallowing thickly, in-ho’s free hand moved to gently grasp the teen's trembling fingers. "I can't make that decision for you," he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. "But I won't leave you here alone, not like this. Let me at least try to get you help, even if you don't want it."

The teen stared at him for a long, agonizing moment, their expression warring between resistance and a glimmer of desperate hope. Finally, they gave a slight, pained nod, their grip tightening around In-ho's hand.

With a deep, steadying breath, In-ho shifted his weight and carefully lifted the wounded teen into his arms, one hand supporting their knees and the other cradling their back, mindful not to apply any pressure to their injury. 

Cursing under his breath, In-ho realized that with his car's damaged tire, he had no way to transport the teenager to safety. Quickening his pace, he hurried back to the vehicle, holding the silent, limp figure securely.

"Talk to me, say anything - just don't fall unconscious," he whispered, his voice laced with desperation as he glanced down at the teen's ashen face. They responded with a faint, pained grunt.

Placing the teen gently in the backseat, In-ho sprinted to the trunk and, to his relief, found a well-stocked medical kit tucked in the corner. Grabbing it, he hurried back to the teenager's side.

"Excuse me..." he murmured, tentatively reaching for the teen's hoodie. Before he could pull it up, their hand shot out, gripping the fabric with terror in their eyes.

He furrowed his eyebrows in concern at that, "It's okay, I'm just going to check on your wound, is that alright?" In-ho asked softly, his tone soothing.

After a tense moment, the teen reluctantly released their hold, allowing In-ho to expose the injury. It appeared to be a stab wound, thankfully not too deep but still life-threatening. Carefully, In-ho began cleaning the area, using cotton swabs and disinfectant. To his mild surprise, the teen barely reacted, as if the pain had been numbed.

In-ho's brow furrowed as he tended to the wound, his mind racing. How could someone so young have ended up in such a dire situation? Had they been attacked, robbed? – the very thought of someone inflicting such violence on a child made In-ho's stomach turn and for his blood to boil.

A few tense minutes passed as In-ho carefully sanitized and wrapped the bandage around the teenager's abdomen. Sighing heavily, he wiped the sweat from his brow, relieved that his first aid training had paid off.

The teen had moved slightly away from him, but In-ho gave them a small, reassuring smile. "You'll be alright now. Though you'll need to change those bandages a few times," he said gently as he closed the medical kit and slid it under the seat.

The teenager remained silent, staring at him with half-lidded eyes. "...Why did you help me?" they asked, their voice low and almost too quiet.

"Why?" In-ho murmured, raising an eyebrow at the strange question–perhaps it was a strange question to him, but this child was clearly a guarded, distrustful one. "I wanted to help. Did you expect me to just walk away?"

"That's how it usually goes..." the teen frowned, averting their gaze.

In-ho's heart sank at the implication, his brow furrowing as he fell into a somber silence. This child had clearly endured a lot, which had shaken their faith in humanity and their goodwill. In-ho has to help them. He must help them.

"Can you tell me...what happened?" he finally asked, knowing he couldn't expect a truthful answer.

The teen scoffed, giving him an almost judgmental look. "Are you assuming I'd tell you, just because you helped me?"

In-ho chuckled softly, lowering his head and intertwining his fingers together. "No, not really."

The teen stared at him for a long moment, then sighed dramatically. "If I tell you...are you going to arrest me? Or throw me in some youth center? I'll kill myself if you do," they said flatly, glaring at him.

In-ho looked back up, and smiled gently at the teen, shaking his head. "No, I wouldn't."

The teen studied his face, seemingly searching for any hint of deception. Apparently finding none, they took a deep breath. "I'm...in this...gang, thing, y'know..so fights are always happening." they mumbled, pulling their hoodie up to hide the lower half of their face.

"...you're in a gang," In-ho repeated, his expression one of shock and disbelief.

"I'm in a gang," the teen echoed flatly.

In-ho's eyes widened with a mixture of disbelief and concern as the teenager's words sank in. "What?" he murmured, his brow furrowing deeply. "How on earth did you end up involved in something like that?"

The teen averted their gaze, pulling their hoodie tighter around themself. "It's a long story," they muttered, their voice monotonous. "I didn't really have much choice in the matter."

In-ho's heart ached at the implication. No child should ever have to feel forced into such a dangerous and criminal lifestyle. He leaned forward slightly, his expression open and sympathetic.

"I'm listening, if you're willing to share," he said gently. "I won't judge you, and I certainly won't arrest you or take you anywhere against your will. I just want to understand, so I can try to help."

The teen eyed him warily, chewing on their lower lip as they seemed to war with the decision of whether or not to confide in him. Finally, they let out a resigned sigh.

"It's... complicated," they began, their voice barely above a whisper. "My fuckass father, he kicked me out. And I needed money.." They paused, swallowing thickly. "The gang, they promised to take care of me, to protect me. I was.. desperate, so I said yes."

In-ho's heart sank as the pieces began to fall into place. Homelessness, financial struggles - exactly what could drive a kid into the underworld. He found himself cursing at their father internally.

"That must have been an impossibly difficult choice to make," he murmured, his voice laced with empathy. "You did what you had to in order to survive. There's no shame in that."

The teen blinked, seemingly taken aback by his compassionate response. They kept their head down for a long moment, then slowly, hesitantly, met his gaze.

"So... you're not gonna turn me in?" they asked, raising an eyebrow.

in-ho firmly shook his head, "No, you can rest assured, kid." he smiled at them, his hand cautiously reaching out and ruffling their hair.

They flinched slightly, eyes wide as they processed the affectionate gesture. In-ho simply gave them that same smile, before leaning back.

In-ho's brow furrowed with concern as the teen began to move, clearly intent on leaving despite their grave injury. "I'll call a cab, my car isn't exactly usable right now... Where are you going now?" he asked, earning a slight glare from the teenager.

"You're too ahead of yourself, I don't trust you that much," they huffed, opening the car door and stepping out, wincing slightly at the pain but ultimately forging ahead.

"Wait! You can't walk around with that injury, it'll just reopen!" In-ho quickly stepped out as well, his gaze worried and his eyebrows knitted together.

The teen looked back at him with a flat expression, then glanced away. "Thanks for that, I guess. Now I have to go back there. Real nice of you," they murmured, their voice tinged with sarcasm.

In-ho pursed his lips, unsure of how to proceed. Should he just let them go? He knew the teen wouldn't allow him to take them anywhere he deemed safe, but the thought of leaving them in this condition weighed heavily on him. Perhaps the least he could do...

"Hold on, kid!" He quickly approached them, pulling a business card from his pocket. "My number," he said, holding it out to them. "Call me if you ever need anything - you're calling me, not the police. I promise."

The teen eyed the card warily, then slowly reached out and took it, shoving it into their hoodie. "Kay..." they muttered, turning to leave once more.

"Can I at least have your name?" In-ho asked, unable to resist one final attempt to connect with the guarded kid.

They glanced back at him with exasperation. "[Name]," they simply stated, before turning the corner and disappearing from view, leaving In-ho alone with unanswered questions and a heavy heart.

 

☆

 

[20TH OF DECEMBER. OUTSIDE THE SMP AGENCY, 7:11 PM]

 

The strange officer had saved [Name]'s ass again. By now, they'd probably still be stuck in some detention center, suffering through eternal boredom before pulling off their usual escape from the station.

Of course, that always led to more trouble for the teen. But with the cop's help, they managed to walk out of the station like a normal person for once.

Feeling like an actual civilian wasn't made for me, [Name] thought, kicking a pebble on the sidewalk. They'd usually be hiding in some random alley by now, ducking from any cops trying to hunt them down after their dramatic getaway. 

But now, they were willingly following behind one.

"Christmas is coming up soon," In-ho said lightheartedly, attempting to initiate a conversation with the unsettlingly quiet teenager.

"You don't say.." they muttered sarcastically, glancing around at the decorated stores and street.

The cold air had a faint scent of cinnamon and pine, mixed with the sound of carolers and twinkling lights. Despite the bleak situation, there was a hint of holiday cheer in the atmosphere.

In-ho let out a light chuckle and continued strolling alongside the teenager. He'd been bailing them out of all kinds of sticky situations over the past week, ever since he realized they were caught up in a gang that was likely exploiting them, given their young age. 

The cop didn't give a damn if it was against the rules - he was determined to help this kid however he could, because they were just trying to survive, plain and simple.

"So, what do you usually do for Christmas?" In-ho asked, making another attempt at conversation.

[Name] responded with their trademark nihilism. "What's the point? It's just another excuse for people to waste money and get drunk off their asses."

Despite the teen's jaded outlook, In-ho detected a hint of melancholy beneath their words. He could only imagine how lonely the holidays must be for a kid living on the streets, trying to evade the authorities.

"Well, even if you don't feel like celebrating, maybe we can at least get you a decent meal, hm?" the officer suggested, flashing a warm, reassuring smile.

[Name] glanced up at In-ho with an impassive expression before huffing and lapsing into silence. Internally, they couldn't help but wonder - why the hell was this cop being so damn nice to them? Isn't bailing them out constantly enough?

As they continued down the street, [Name] suddenly noticed they were passing by a shop they frequently targeted for shoplifting when hunger struck. Discreetly, they shuffled behind In-ho, hoping to avoid being spotted by the owner.

Hell nah..

But their attempt at subtlety was short-lived. The shopkeeper evidently recognized [Name] and immediately began unleashing a barrage of expected insults.

"You! You little thieving brat! I knew it was you sneaking around, stealing from my shop! When's the last time you paid for anything, huh!? You worthless, good-for-nothing street rat!" the man spewed, his face contorted with rage.

Despite the verbal assault, [Name] maintained a blank, unfazed facade. However, In-ho was not about to tolerate anyone speaking to the kid in such a demeaning manner.

"That's enough," the officer interjected firmly, stepping between [Name] and the irate shopkeeper. "They're just a kid, have some compassion."

The shopkeeper's face flushed with indignation, his eyes narrowed into slits. "Compassion? For this little criminal? I ought to call the cops and have them thrown in jail where they belong!" he spat.

in-ho gritted his teeth, "I am the cops," the stern glare from In-ho was enough to make the man reluctantly retreat back into his store, muttering curses under his breath.

Turning to [Name], In-ho's expression softened with concern. "Are you alright?"

The bitter winter wind stung [Name]'s eyes, though they refused to let any tears fall–i mean, what tears? That's not real. All they could focus on was the warmth radiating from the officer's words and presence - a feeling they hadn't experienced in far too long.

"..yeah- yeah! I'm fine," they shook their head, averting their gaze and beginning to walk, followed by the worried officer.

In-ho fell into step behind them, his brow creased with concern, though he refrained from pressing the issue further. 

The two didn't have a specific destination in mind. After all, [Name] was a street kid through and through, stubbornly refusing to seek refuge in a shelter or orphanage no matter how many times In-ho had pleaded with them. Especially since they were entangled with a local gang, they preferred to hunker down in the group's hideout.

For now, In-ho had simply decided to take the teenager on a meandering walk and perhaps find them a filling meal. The bitter cold had a way of cutting right through the body, and he couldn't imagine [Name] getting proper nourishment living on the margins of a merciless society that outcasts even mere children.

As they strolled, the scent of freshly baked goods from a nearby bakery wafted through the air, mingling with the crisp, piney fragrance of the winter wind. [Name]'s steps seemed to slow involuntarily, their gaze drifting towards the display in the shop window.

Sensing the teen's interest, In-ho immediately offered, "How about we stop in and you grab something to eat? My treat.”

[Name] hesitated for a moment, their defenses visibly wavering. “Who else's treat would it be?” They muttered, before finally nodding almost imperceptibly, falling into step beside the officer as they made their way towards the cozy bakery.

As [Name] and In-ho stepped into the bakery, the teen's senses were immediately overwhelmed by the warmth enveloping them and the intoxicating scent of freshly baked pastries.

[Name]'s eyes went wide, darting from one tempting pastry to the next. "I want that one... no, wait, maybe that one instead. Holy shit this one looks so good.." they murmured, visibly struggling to decide.

In-ho watched the kid's internal conflict with a softening gaze. It was a stark contrast to the hardened, guarded exterior [Name] usually presented to the world. In this moment, they almost seemed like a normal child, mesmerized by beautifully decorated sweets.

The officer felt a surge of fondness wash over him as he leaned closer to the counter. "I'll take one of each for my kid, please," he told the baker, the words slipping out before he even realized it.

The tender way In-ho referred to [Name] did not go unnoticed by the teen. They lifted their head, meeting his eyes with wide ones of their own - as if they were trying to understand the meaning behind his simple statement.

AOMSISHWOWMWOSHS????????

The baker carefully boxed up the assortment of pastries, while [Name] was still struggling to process in-ho's words.

[Name] observed In-ho's fatherly gestures and concern, a glimmer of hope began to take root, however tentative. Could this man truly be any different from HIM?

Prior to their life on the streets, [Name] had only known one type of father - the kind that inflicted pain and suffering in the name of perceived virtue.

It wasn't until they witnessed the tender interactions between other dads and their children in the park that the realization finally dawned on them.

They were simply one of the unlucky ones.

As the bakery's warmth enveloped them and the scent of freshly baked pastries filled the air, [Name] found themselves cautiously pondering the possibility that In-ho could be the kind of father figure they had always dreamed of, but never dared to hope for.

[Name] remained lost in a world they didn't own, barely registering as In-ho handed them a bag containing the freshly baked pastries. Even as they stepped back out into the chilly winter air, the teen continued staring blankly at the ground, their mind seemingly a million miles away.

In-ho watched the kid with growing concern, having expected them to eagerly dive into the tasty treats. But instead, [Name] seemed almost catatonic, appearing detached out of reality.

Hoping to draw them back to the present, In-ho gently rested a hand on [Name]'s shoulder.

The reaction was immediate - [Name] flinched violently, their eyes snapping up to the officer with an expression of sheer panic. But as recognition dawned on their features, the tension visibly drained from their body.

This wasn't HIM.

"It's just me," In-ho murmured reassuringly, his brow furrowed with worry. "Where did you go?"

The bitter wind whipped through the empty street, the only sound the crunching of snow underfoot. [Name] clutched the paper bag tightly, their gaze flickering uncertainty as they debated how much to reveal.

"... nowhere important, i'm fine," they lied, the words barely above a whisper. But the haunted look in their eyes told a completely different story. In-ho probably knew they were lying, anyone would to be honest.

[Name] close the gates of hope, they would rather be skeptic. They're not willing to take the risk of getting disappointed.

 

☆

 

[23TH OF DECEMBER. ????, 1:56 AM]

 

It's cold.

It's so achingly cold. They cannot feel their fingers, nor their own skin.

It had all happened so fast. They barely had time to register the pain coursing through their entire body, or what's even happening anymore.

Their lungs burned with each labored breath - nothing compared to the searing pain radiating from the gunshot wound in their abdomen, though.

One moment, they had been speaking with Ji-woo, the leader of their gang, and the next, a sudden burst of gunfire had erupted from outside. Chaos had ensued as rival gang members clashed with their own, the sounds of anguished cries and the crack of weapons echoing through the dark alleyways.

Ji-woo had barked an order for [Name] to retrieve the guns from the basement, and in a haze of adrenaline, they had complied. But by the time they had made it outside, the fighting was already winding down, leaving quite a sight in its wake. Their fellow gang members lay strewn about, some motionless, others barely clinging to life.

Not that [Name] cared about those people, but damn.

And then the rival gang had spotted [Name], opening fire without hesitation. They quickly sought refuge in a familiar escape route, climbing up a fire escape and narrowly evading the hail of bullets. But in their haste, one had found its mark, lodging itself painfully into [Name]'s abdomen.

Now, lying on the rooftop, [Name] could feel the warmth of their own blood seeping through their clothing–anything to warm them against the frigid air surrounding them. Their vision was growing hazy, the sheer agony nearly overwhelming. But they couldn't bring themselves to cry out.

Ah.

In-ho had invited them to spend Christmas Eve with him. He told them that he'd be spending it alone. Out of pity, they accepted.

I mean, imagine being a grown man, and spending Christmas alone.

Though, [Name] had no place to talk.

They should call him, tell him that they wouldn't be able to make it anymore. They felt bad, he sounded excited about it yesterday when they took the offer.

A shaky hand reached into their pocket, their other holding onto their abdomen. They attempted to call the number, cursing under their breath as their grip slipped each time from the tremors in their hand.

Was it getting colder? This is bullshit, the world is against me. [Name] frowned, before perking up as they finally managed to dial the number.

Two beeps later, the call was picked up, “[Name]? What a day, you calling me first? I guess it really is Christmas.” He joked, chuckling softly.

Hearing that warm, familiar tone unexpectedly soothed [Name]'s frayed nerves.

For so long, anything familiar had been synonymous with dread and suffering. But in this moment, the sound of In-ho's voice provided a brief reprieve from the ache that consumed them.

"In-ho.." they croaked, the metallic taste of blood thick on their tongue.

[Name] fell silent for a beat, and In-ho's brow furrowed with concern. Something was clearly wrong.

The very fact that they had called him first, without any prompting, was enough to set off alarms.

"[Name]?" he prompted gently, bracing himself for whatever they'd attack him with.

After a moment, [Name]'s voice finally reached his ear, sounding strangely detached. "It's really cold out here, In-ho." They paused, and In-ho could practically envision the teen burrowing deeper into their coat, futilely trying to ward off the winter chill.

"I, uh... I'm sorry, but I don't think I'll be able to make it to your place tomorrow."

The words were spoken with a casual, almost nonchalant air - as if they were simply cancelling plans due to a scheduling conflict, which would be alright. But the slight tremble in their voice betrayed a hint of something deeper, worse.

In-ho's stomach twisted with dread, his grip tightening around the phone. "What do you mean?" he pressed, willing his voice to remain steady. "What's going on, [Name]?"

There was another weighted pause, and when [Name] finally responded, the uncharacteristic shakiness in their tone was enough to make In-ho's heart ache–though it could be just the cold.

"I... I don't think I'm going to make it," they breathed, the words barely audible over the static of the line. "I was shot, In-ho. And it's so cold..."

The officer's blood ran cold, a thousand possible scenarios flashing through his mind in an instant. Shot? They were shot. His kid was shot.

He needed to get to [Name].

But first, he had to keep them talking, in case they were on the verge of slipping away.

"Okay, [Name], just - just stay with me, alright?" he implored, already moving to grab his coat and keys. "Tell me where you are. I'm coming to get you, kid. Just hold on."

"In-ho, it's cold," [Name] rasped, their voice barely above a whisper. "Why is it so damn cold? It's getting worse, I don't think I can-" 

A wet, raspy cough suddenly wracked their body, and they turned their hazy gaze downward, watching blankly as blood dripped down their chin.

"j-just hold on, [Name]!" In-ho's frantic voice crackled through the line. "Please, tell me where you are - anything you recognize, a sign, anything at all?! I'm coming to get you, just hang in there!"

[Name] blinked sluggishly, their mind growing increasingly foggy as the bitter wind continued to bite into their exposed skin. The rooftop seemed to sway beneath them, and for a moment they weren't even sure which direction they had come from.

"I-I'm... I'm on a roof," they managed to choke out, teeth chattering from the cold. "I climbed up a fire escape... there's an alley, I think. Near the old warehouse district..a bar sign on my left, it's red."

They trailed off, the phone slipping from their grasp as a violent shiver wracked their frame. The device clattered to the ground, the sound barely registering in [Name]'s fading consciousness.

"[Name]?! [Name], can you hear me?!" In-ho's panicked voice crackled from the fallen phone. "Hold on, kid, I'm on my way! Just stay awake, please!"

But [Name]'s eyes were already drifting shut, the darkness rapidly encroaching as the bitter cold seeped into their very bones. They could no longer feel the pain, could barely even feel their own body anymore.

[Name] didn't want to die.

Not like this.

Not without seeing him again.

 

Please, please give me what I want.

Lord knows it would be the first time.

 

✧

Notes:

No I'm not turning evil muahahah I mean haha, sorry I didn't mean it- muahaha no I meant.

Guys should I end it here or should I make a part 2, I say, knowing damn well the answer.

This is technically mixed with a very very very late Christmas special.

Anyway, you guys just tell me what you want to see in part 2! I'll probably do it since I have no idea what to do (sorta), just feed me with long comments that's all I care about.

S1 chapter will take a while, again, I'm reminding you, so don't swarm me haha, get it? Cuz some of you are probably listening to simulation swarm rn hahah (kill me.)

Chapter 17: ✧|| S1 AU: One lucky day (7)

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

✧

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

APRIL FOOLS.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

✧

Notes:

I apologize. (Not)

Chapter 18: ✧|| S1 AU: One lucky day (7) (REAL)

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

P P P P P P PLOTTT TWISSTTT.

Notes:

SORY I'M SORRY.

hey guys ahahah, sorry again. I like, have a lot of excuses, but I will say one sentence: university is a bitch. And so is physics.

I'm even more sorry that this chapter is just half my usual 10k words one, I WOULD finish it first before posting but I didn't want to keep y'all waiting even longer, so let's keep the other half for later. It's gonna be really long too since I'll brainstorm most of what'll happen next.

Enjoy this treat before the meal arrives<3

 

✧

 

The table was cleared away, and the players returned to their beds, the warm glow of candles the only illumination in the large room. Some were making genuine effort to sleep–foolish, considering they could have their throats slit at any moment–while others are too weary and suspicious to rest, clutching the knives gifted by the guards. Everyone knows the reason behind those gifts - to thin them out, to leave only a few of the eight finalists standing.

[Name] finds themselves, as usual, being bothered by Jiyeong and Sae-byeok. The two girls have made themselves comfortable on [Name]'s bed, with Jiyeong judging the other players while Sae-byeok leans back against [Name]'s pillow in silence.

"Can you two not?" [Name] mutters, trying to shoo the girls away, but Jiyeong just grins impishly.

"Aw, but we're just keeping you company! We'll protect you. Right, Sae-byeok?" she chirps, nudging the other girl.

Sae-byeok merely hums noncommittally, her gaze scanning the room. 

[Name] sighs, resigning themself to the company, though a part of them can't help but wonder if the girls' were trying to find a sense of security by huddling together like this.

God, I wish I didn't have critical thinking skills…they look so happy, the teen deadpans, staring at the two. The closet is made of clear, thin glass.

Jiyeong and Sae-byeok are quietly chatting while [Name] is lost in their own daydreams, until the three notice Gi-hun approaching them.

Immediately, Jiyeong and Sae-byeok pull out their knives, thinking he's coming to attack. [Name], however, doesn't reach for their own weapon, knowing Gi-hun isn't here to harm them.

Gi-hun shakes his head, saying, "I'm not here to attack any of you. I just have the knife for my own protection."

He then puts the knife away into his pocket, causing the two wary girls to slowly lower their own blades as well. Gi-hun gives [Name] a grateful smile, unaware that their lack of action wasn't out of trust, but simply [Name] knowing that Gi-hun doesn't pose a real threat.

Gi-hun then sits on the ground beside the bed, looking at the teen with a worried gaze, "are you alright? you've barely touched your food earlier."

"I'm fine," [Name] replies flatly. "I was just entertained watching the rest of you eat like starved animals."

Jiyeong can't help but let out an indignant huff at that, while Sae-byeok's expression remains impassive. Gi-hun chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Can't blame us, that was the best thing I've had in a long while.." He pauses, brow furrowing slightly. "You sure you're okay, though? You need to keep your strength up for the next game."

[Name] shrugs. "I'm used to going without. Don't worry about me."

Gi-hun nods, though he still seems concerned. The four lapse into a somewhat comfortable silence.

"What you did in the last game...what was that? I know you have knowledge about the games, you're special, but why?" Gi-hun murmurs, his gaze settling on the teen who regards him with a blank look.

"No idea."

"You do have an idea, you're too smart not to," Gi-hun replies firmly. [Name] stares at him for a moment before scoffing under their breath. When did he get smart?

"Yeah, I know stuff. In the last game, a guard gave me a cheat telling me about every right tile," they reply, glancing at Sae-byeok, who pulls the paper out of her pocket and hands it to them. [Name] knew she'll keep it.

Gi-hun's eyes slowly widen as he inspects the paper, unable to believe that they would help a player cheat when they punish that doctor and guards for breaking some kind of sick rule of 'equality'.

"What- wha-" he stammers, turning back and forth from the teen to the paper in his hand in utter disbelief.

"I get it. I don't know who's helping me, but they sure are generous...and probably in a high position," [Name] shrugs. They lean against Jiyeong's shoulder, who is intently listening to the conversation.

"...That's why you knew everything," Gi-hun mutters, looking like he's just realized the truth of the universe.

"No, y'all just dumb as fuck. Look at the walls, Gi-hun." [Name] stares at him, unimpressed.

Gi-hun turns his head around, relying on the dim lighting to see what the walls could possibly tell him. Realization dawns on his face as he finds drawings of each game they've played so far - he can't even fathom how he didn't notice it before.

"S-so...the next game is..." he trails off, looking around until he notices the only drawing that depicts a game they haven't played yet.

Squid Game.

"Ah shit..." he sighs under his breath, lowering his head. "Ah shit indeed," [Name] nods.

"What the fuck is Squid Game?" Sae-byeok raises an eyebrow, earning her a bewildered look from both Jiyeong and Gi-hun. [Name] snorts.

Soon, a player slowly rises from his bed and begins approaching another who appears to be dozing off. [Name] mentally scoffs, almost smirking as they realize what's about to happen.

About damn time.

Predictably, Gi-hun starts to stand, likely to intervene, but [Name] clutches his arm and shakes their head. He frowns, but settles back down, his gaze going grim.

The player then pounces on the unsuspecting victim, who can barely let out a scream before a knife is repeatedly plunged into his throat by this menace.

[Name] watches.

The sound of the struggling and choking is almost hypnotic - a sickening noise that holds [Name]'s attention. They study the scene with curiosity, taking in every detail. The victim's bulging eyes, the spray of blood, the wild look in the killer's eyes as he continues plunging the knife into the other's neck more than enough times.

It's a brutal, ugly display of the depths humanity can sink to when driven by desperation and the will to survive. Yet [Name] can't look away.

As the victim's movements finally stills, the player stands, chest heaving. He glances around the room, daring anyone to challenge him. The other players either avoid his gaze or meet it steadily.

Sang-woo narrows his eyes, but looks away after a moment. Of course he out of everyone else would justify it.

Ali, who was sitting beside him–as expected–lowered his gaze in both fear and apprehension.

[Name] merely raises an eyebrow, unperturbed. They've seen far worse in their life. This is simply the logical conclusion of what was meant to happen.

Jiyeong and sae-byeok share an unimpressed look, before settling back down on the bed against each other. Of course, gi-hun was the most affected as he glared at the preparator quietly as if he personally offended him.

The lights turn on, the guards entering with the familiar buzz of the doors sliding open. They bring in the black coffin for the eliminated player, placing him inside before retreating back out.

[Name] hopes that jun-ho had done his part, else everyone in here is absolutely fucked with a side of salad, including themselves.

Odd, though. Why isn't the game starting? It should, by now.

Did something happen?

 

☆

 

The scene replayed in In-ho's mind with sharp, haunting detail. Junho, half-naked on the ground, that monster choking him with sickly laughter. In-ho's body still trembled with the terror that had seized him – he could still hear Junho's wheezing gasps, still feel the lingering panic clawing at his chest.

Slowly, he reached out a trembling hand to brush gentle fingers through Junho’s soft hair. His baby brother. His precious little brother. He had almost–

No. He couldn’t bear to think about it.

Taking a shaky breath, In-ho leaned down to press a whisper-soft kiss to Junho’s forehead. “Sleep well,” he whispered.

Forcing himself to step away, In-ho’s throat felt dry, parched with unshed emotion. He needed a drink – something tangible to ground himself. On autopilot, he moved outside to his sitting area.

As he poured whiskey into a glass, his hands began shaking again. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to steady them, but his grip remained unsteady.

His brother had almost died today.

The thought hit him harder this time – if he had been a second too late... if he had disregarded his intuition..

The glass felt too heavy in his trembling hand. He set it down on the table, pressing his palms against the cool surface as he bowed his head, attempting to breathe.

This wasn’t something he could just shake off. The fear of losing Junho—of failing to protect him—was suffocating.

Taking a few deep breaths, in-ho composed himself. He couldn't act like this at the moment, not with him just around a corner.

In-ho clipped his geometric patterned mask back on his face. It wasn't just a mask, to in-ho. This was a new identity, a new mind palace he entered whenever he covered his face with it. In-ho closed his eyes in finality. His priorities were set.

He must continue. He must get jun-ho out of here.

And..

He must help [Name]. The child he couldn't save all those years ago.

 

☆

 

The alleyway was dimly lit, only a faint glow from a distant streetlamp casting an eerie light on the wet pavement. Shadows moved upon the walls as two figures clashed – a duo of menacing silhouettes closing in on a solitary, small frame.

14-year-old [Name] wielded a broken dagger, its jagged edge glinting dangerously as they spun around, daring the predators to come closer. Eyes wide and unsettling as [Name] sneered at their would-be kidnappers, "Back off, or I'll gut you like the pigs you are!"

The attackers halted, momentarily taken aback by [Name]'s ferocity. They've fully expected an easy prey, a little kid running around all by themselves. Who would miss out on that? The human trafficking business has been a little slow these days.

But instead, they met with some crazy kid who swings around a dagger they just casually have on them.

In that fleeting instant, a figure emerged from the darkness – a man with piercing eyes, watching the scene unfold with intense interest–and somewhat concern.

The predators retreated with curses at getting caught by another, abandoning their prey [Name] stood panting, dagger still clutched tightly, as the stranger approached cautiously.

[Name]'s gaze locked onto the newcomer, wary of another threat. "Fuck off."

The stranger's expression remained neutral, yet a hint of amusement danced in his eyes.

"No," he replied softly.

[Name]'s grip on the dagger tightened slightly, their posture remaining guarded.

The stranger took another step closer, hands visible and palms open in a calming gesture.

[Name]'s eyes narrowed, dagger edge glinting menacingly in the faint light. "What do you want?" they spat, voice low and hostile. 

The stranger halted his approach, still holding up his open palms in a surrendering gesture. "I just want to make sure that you're okay," he said calmly.

[Name]'s gaze flicked to the stranger's face, then back to his hands, searching for any hidden weapons or tricks.

"Liar," [Name] hissed. "Nobody JUST helps. What. do. you. want.”

Before the man could reply, the teen's eyes flashed with agony as sudden searing pain shot through their forearm. 

They hissed loudly, dagger clattering to the wet pavement as their hand instinctively flew to the burned skin.

It was only a few hours old, that damned brand. HE is sick, so fucking sick!

It hurts, it hurts so badly...god just make it stop.

"Kid–!" The stranger’s voice snapped them out of it, as he steps forward, hands reaching out to them.

"BACK OFF!" they spat through gritted teeth, voice trembling with pain.

Their body swayed slightly, but they locked their knees to stay upright, cradling their forearm as if it might fall off.

"D-don't... touch me. Don't even... look at me like that. Like you..y-you.."  Their gaze was wild, eyes filled with mistrust and pain as they glared at the stranger.

"I don't need... your help. I don't need ANYONE'S help. I'd r-rather die." Their chest heaved with rapid breaths, pain evident in every twitch of their face.

The stranger took a cautious step back, hands still raised palms out, clearly unsure how to respond. His eyes locked onto [Name]'s, filled with a concern that only seemed to enrage them further.

[Name]'s glare intensified, as if daring him to come closer, to try and help again.

The stranger's hands slowly lowered, as he spoke softly, ".. I just don't want you to collapse alone in this alley.”

"My name is Hwang In-ho..." His voice was barely above a whisper, gentle as a summer breeze, as he introduced himself. "I won't do anything you won't like."

He moved closer, slow deliberate steps, hands visible and palms open, as if approaching a wild, wounded creature.

[Name]'s heavy breathing was the only sound as they tracked In-ho's movement, eyes fixed intensely on his face.

"It's alright. I won't hurt you." He continued.

Surprisingly, the child didn't flinch or attack – only remained frozen, pupils shaking with pain and wariness.

In-ho reached them, his gaze scanning their fragile form, taking in the dagger on the ground and the forearm cradled against their chest.

His eyes slightly narrowed as he asked softly, "Besides your forearm...are you hurt anywhere else?"

[Name] stared, mouth slightly agape, breathing heavily – no answer, only a haunting, painful silence.

In-ho's eyes narrowed slightly as he assessed the kid's condition - pale skin, shaky pupils, rapid breathing slowing down to shallow gasps...

"Shock," he muttered to himself, instantly switching into crisis mode.

He'd seen this before on crime scenes and accident victims during his years as a police officer.

In-ho gently touched [Name]'s shoulder, expecting a flinch or jerk - but their body remained limp, unresponsive.

A chill ran down his spine - this was beyond shock; The kid was either dissociating or plummeting into a panic attack. Or both. Which would be bad. Very bad.

In-ho's voice turned firm but gentle, a calm steadying anchor, "Kid, look at me. Focus on my voice. You're safe now. Those people are gone."

He slowly moved his hand from their shoulder to gently cup their face, forcing eye contact, "Breathe with me. In... out... In... out..."

[Name]'s gaze slowly drifted up, pupils constricting slightly as they locked onto In-ho's eyes - a faint spark of awareness returning. 

"it's...my birthday.." They murmured faintly.

In-ho's expression softened, eyes filled with gentle surprise and deep sadness. He held [Name]'s gaze, his voice barely above a whisper, "On your birthday... this is what happened to you?"

His thumb gently stroked [Name]'s cheekbone, a comforting touch, as he continued softly, "You should be eating cake, laughing with people who love you... not fighting for your life in a dark alley."

[Name]'s faint spark of awareness seemed to grow slightly, their voice still barely audible, but laced with a hint of bitter emotion, "Who the hell..loves me?"

In-ho took a sharp breath, his eyes closing momentarily as if collecting his thoughts or steeling himself for what he'd just heard.

He gently guided the kid out of the alley, into the faint glow of streetlights, away from the darkness that seemed to match their mood.

Once on the sidewalk, he looked down at [Name]'s smaller form and asked softly, "Let me walk you home, just to make sure you're safe inside."

[Name]'s expression transformed instantly – eyes widening in terror, face pale again, voice barely audible but laced with panic, "N-no... don't make me go back there!"

They took a step back, as if physically recoiling from the suggestion, hands rising defensively.

"Oh fuck, oh god, no... he'll kill me if I go back now... after what I-i did..." [Name]'s voice cracked, and they swallowed hard. This was a completely different person from that ferocious child just a moment ago.

In-ho's eyes snapped open, filled with alarm as he took in [Name]'s desperation.

He held out a calming hand and spoke softly, "alright, you're not going back there. I promise."

His voice was firm, reassuring, yet laced with underlying worry at what he was witnessing.

In-ho took a gentle step closer, eyes locked onto the kid's terror-filled ones, "what did you do that makes you think..he'll kill you?"

His tone implied he already knew it wasn't [Name]'s fault, that something was profoundly wrong.

[Name]'s lips trembled, voice barely audible as they whispered, "I ran away...after he...branded me, for being 'impure'..." 

In-ho's expression remained calm, but his eyes betrayed him - a flicker of intense fury which he quickly suppressed. For this miserable kid's sake.

In-ho hasn't felt this much need to protect another ever since SHE left him alone in this fucked up planet. This child...He doesn't understand why he's feeling for another person like this again.

And here he thought he'd already become the monster they've trained him to be.

He gently took another step closer to [Name], concern etched on his face, and said softly, "let's get out of here. Today's your birthday, right? you should celebrate somehow."

[Name]'s tear-filled eyes narrow ed slightly, confusion and wariness replacing some of the fear.

In-ho asked, his voice light and inviting, "do you want to get some ice cream? What's your favorite flavor?"

[Name]'s expression faltered, and they looked away, voice barely above a whisper, "I...never had ice cream before."

In-ho's smile froze, his gaze softened, filled with a deep sadness as he whispered, "then we're getting you the biggest, best ice cream you've ever seen." 

[Name]'s eyes slowly lifted, fixing on In-ho's face with a bewildered expression, as if staring at a mirage. Their gaze searched every inch of his features, questioning reality itself.

They blinked repeatedly, wondering if the pain, fear, and adrenaline had finally broken their mind.

This person – kind, gentle, and warm – couldn't be real. 

{Name}'s thoughts raced in chaotic disbelief. He's lying. Waiting for me to let guard down. Like Father's fake smiles before he...

But In-ho's eyes remained soft, his smile genuine, and his voice low and gentle, "hey, are you okay? Still with me?"

[Name] 's voice barely escaped as a whisper, laced with suspicion, "why would you help someone like me? I'm impure."

In-ho's expression faltered for a moment, as if the question cut deep. His gaze remained fixed on [Name]'s face, his expression a rebuke of the word they'd spoken.

He took a slow step closer, voice low and even," that word... doesn't belong to you."

In-ho's hands came up, resting on their shoulders, as if inviting [Name] to surrender the burden of that label. In-ho's eyes searched [Name]'s, filled with a deep conviction," who told you that lie?"

The question was soft, yet piercing, as if In-ho already knew the answer.

[Name]'s eyes dropped, voice barely audible as they whispered, "my Father..."

In-ho's jaw clenched subtly, a hint of restrained emotion, but his voice remained gentle,” why does he say that about you?"

[Name]'s shoulders slumped slightly before they spoke again, words laced with confusion as they shrugged, "I don't know... HE just does."

In-ho's expression softened with gentle understanding, and he nodded slowly before changing the subject entirely, "enough about that for now.  You still need that birthday ice cream – what do you say we go get it?"

His smile was warm and inviting, a clear attempt to shift [Name]'s thoughts away from pain and towards something sweet.

[Name] blinked, a hint of surprise and curiosity on their face before slowly nodding. How is this child the same one who was swinging a dagger while spouting insults earlier? Teenagers sure have some odd mood swings. In-ho couldn't find himself blaming this particular one, though.

—

|| 15 minutes later, 12:35 AM ||

The bell above the ice cream shop door jingled softly as In-ho held it open for [Name] to enter. 

A sleepy clerk looked up from her phone, surprised to see customers so late.

The shop was cozy, with colorful lights illuminating various ice cream flavors. [Name]'s eyes widened like a child in wonder, drinking in the sights and smells.

In-ho chuckled softly and guided [Name] to the counter, "Try as many flavors as you want," he gestured to the display.

[Name] stared at the strawberry ice cream container, then back at In-ho, a timid smile appearing – the first real smile In-ho had seen from this distrustful child. He couldn't help but smile back at them, before they looked away immediately. So they're acting all shy now?

“Strawberry..” [Name] whispered under their breath, barely audible.

In-ho's smile lingered as he leaned in slightly to hear [Name]'s whisper. He took the clerk's attention, "One scoop of strawberry." He ordered.

When the cone was handed over, In-ho placed it directly into [Name]'s small hands. The teen's eyes narrowed slightly as they looked up at In-ho, wariness returning to their gaze. Though the opportunity to try something new was a heavier decision to take rather than bolting out for no reason.

They took a cautious lick of the ice cream, eyes widening in unexpected delight  before fixing back on In-ho.

"This is actually..good. You weren't lying." They flatly state, before licking it one more time. And another, and a little more.

In-ho's laughter escaped softly at [Name]'s deadpan admission. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched [Name] gradually relax into enjoying the ice cream, licking it with increasing enthusiasm

The wariness in their gaze slowly gave way to a hint of surprise-turned-pleasure, making In-ho's smile widen further.

He leaned against the counter, observing [Name] with curiosity, "you're not exactly overflowing with trust in people who make promises, do you?”

[Name] paused mid-lick, eyes narrowing slightly as they regarded In-ho with a hint of caution. Their expression said they'd revealed too much already, but their voice remained neutral, "why would I be?"

In-ho's smile softened, his eyes filled with understanding rather than curiosity now.

He pushed off from the counter, standing closer but still respectful of [Name]'s space. "Because most people don't keep them... to kids like you."

[Name]'s gaze locked intensely onto In-ho's face. Unable to believe what they've just heard. The teen's eyes flashed with anger, their voice low and even but laced with venom, "kids like me? What does that mean?"

They took a step back, the ice cream cone still clutched in their fist, as if ready to bolt or defend themselves.

In-ho's expression changed to alarm, palms rising in a calming gesture, "No, wait – that came out wrong!"

But [Name] cut him off, tone dripping with accusation, "You mean..'impure' kids..like me?”

[Name]'s ice cream cone dropped to the floor, but their eyes remained locked on In-ho's face, a pained, rage-filled gaze that seemed to cut right through him. In-ho realized he did something very wrong.

Their voice was low as they whispered, eyes lowering, "you too, think that I.."

In-ho's face contorted in shock and denial, but [Name] didn't wait to see it. They spun around and sprinted out of the shop, door bursting open with a loud crash, leaving the bell ringing insistently.

In-ho chased after them, his desperate call echoing through the night air, "kid, WAIT! I didn't mean it like that!” In-ho's desperate call faded into a hopeless whisper, "kid..shit." He slowed to a stop, chest heaving with exertion, eyes scanning the darkness.

The last glimpse of [Name]'s fleeing figure disappeared around a corner, then nothing – just an empty sidewalk and a silent night.

 

☆

 

Junho's eyes fluttered open, grogginess slowly clearing like fog lifting from glass. He lay still, assessing his surroundings – In-ho's room. Again.

How embarrassing.

Memories came flooding back: pain, fear, and his brother's terrified face hovering above him.

Junho's throat still ached, a dull reminder of those suffocating fingers. He sat up slowly, rubbing his tender neck, and called out softly, "In-ho..."

But only silence replied.

Junho's heart skipped a beat – had his brother left for the sixth game already? No, he had to get [Name] out of there! And the other players too.

He threw off the covers and slid out of bed, stumbling towards the door.

Locked.

Junho's eyes widened in alarm as he rattled the door handle again – definitely locked.

“Shiiitttttt…”

Junho's winced, hand reaching to his abdomen, lifting his shirt. He gently probed the bandaged area on his side – tender but neatly wrapped. 

In-ho's handiwork, clearly.

A lump formed in Junho's throat as he traced the edge of the bandage with his finger, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension.

In-ho had stayed long enough to tend to his wounds, but not long enough to wait for him to wake up.

Junho's eyes burned with unshed tears he lowered his shirt, his gaze drifting around the empty room again.

Then, his eyes landed on the bedside table – a small water glass and... a note, a single word scribbled on it: "Wait."

In-ho's handwriting. 

"incommunicable bastard.." The officer murmured, leaning his head back on the door with a loaded sigh.

 

☆

 

In-ho's voice was like gravel in his throat. “He surprised me,” he said. “I never expected to see him here.”

Il-nam's gaze lingered, innocent-seeming. “Yet here he is. And you’re powerless to act.”

In-ho’s head jerked up, his eyes locking onto Il-nam's masked face. “You may feign indifference to this world,” In-ho said slowly, carefully choosing his words, “but even you cannot ignore a man’s loyalty to his own brother.”

Il-nam's expression remained serene. “These people are nothing. Garbage. Trash in the sewer, dust in the basement.”

“Jun-ho is different." In-ho's frown deepened. 

Il-nam continued, his tone courteous as always, hands resting on his knees, posture immaculate. “He declared himself expendable the moment he sneaked in here.”

The quiet disappointment in Il-nam's voice cut deeper than rage would have. It echoed In-ho's father's disapproval, making In-ho feel like a child needing reprimand. 

The situation's crushing weight slammed into him, making his chest convulse in anguish. He had doomed Junho the moment he abandoned home to embrace this twisted world – partying in the companionship of gold-adorned rapists and murderers.

“Why?” In-ho choked out, voice barely audible, eyes welling up with tears behind his mask.

Il-nam slowly removed his own mask, turning it over in his hands with deliberate slowness. The only sound was In-ho’s labored breathing before Il-nam spoke, “I thought you understood.”

His voice was low and even. “I believed you had surrendered your humanity to claim your place in this world.”

In-ho’s response was laced with venom. “I serve this organization.”

Il-nam’s gaze never wavered. “Not fully. Not utterly. You still hold back. Until you relinquish everything..."

In-ho’s fist crashed against the wall, the sound echoing through the air. “I did leave,” he spat, voice raw with emotion. “Abandoning them felt like death. Yet I did it – For you. For all this.”

He dragged in heavy breaths, struggling to compose himself. He knew better than to show weakness in front of Il-nam.

Il-nam’s calm tone cut through In-ho’s turmoil. “You pushed them away, yes. But if your abandonment were true, Junho would be dead by now. He remains your tether to innocence – your tie to the infantile belief that humankind is still worth saving.” Il-nam stepped forward, his eyes fixed elsewhere, as passed by the frozen in-ho.

Il-nam's posture remained perfectly still, his confidence almost laughable. So sure of himself, that his dog wouldn't turn on him for even a second.

He seemed to be savoring the moment of In-ho's supposed defeat, his back a picture of triumph.

The soft click of the gun's safety release sliced through the silence.

Il-nam's hands, still cradling his mask, paused mid-air – a barely perceptible hesitation.

Yet, he didn't turn around. Didn't flinch. 

As if daring In-ho to pull the trigger, he spoke in a low, even tone, "finally, a spark of the monster I invested in."

In-ho's finger tightened around the trigger, the silver pistol steady as stone, aimed directly at Il-nam's unprotected back.

Il-nam's voice remained calm, almost conversational. "You've been weighing the cost of loyalty versus power for so long...I wondered when the scales would finally tip."

His hands slowly placed the mask on a nearby table, fingers brushing against the surface with deliberate slowness.

In-ho's eyes narrowed behind his own mask, his gaze fixed intensely on Il-nam's exposed neck. The pistol didn't waver, still pointed squarely at its target.

Il-nam spoke again, words dripping with curiosity, "will killing me save your brother, In-ho... or condemn him further?”

The pistol's report was deafeningly loud in the silent room. 

Il-nam's body jerked violently backward, collapsing onto the table behind him, mask shattered beneath his head. Blood spread rapidly across the polished surface, pooling around his limp hands.

In-ho stood frozen, pistol still smoking, finger slowly releasing the trigger. His chest heaved with labored breaths behind his mask, eyes fixed on Il-nam's lifeless face.

It was done. Finally done.

In-ho's footsteps echoed down the dark hallway, his masked face as expressionless as his face. He raised his radio, voice low.

"Eliminate all VIPs in their private quarters. Leave no survivors."

Static crackled before a guard response came through, "..confirmed, sir.”

 

✧

 

Notes:

RAHHH!!! 14 year old [Name] is ong soo different from 16 year old [Name], the shit that could happen in two years can change a mf sooo quick. They were so dramatic too.

I actually wrote this whole thing just today, I'm not even kidding. This was sleeping in my docs, empty as my head for WEEKS. I finally had the energy to actually put something in there after I read a few good squid game fics lol. That was like all I needed, and some attention.

Speaking of attention, I need my favs to comment NOW I NEED IT. NOW. I'M DYING OVER HERE UNIVERSITY IS CHIPPING AWAY AT MY SANITY IT'S ACTUALLY MAD THAT I'M EVEN MOVING MY FINGERS ANYMORE AFYER ALL THOSE ASSIGNMENTS AND PROJECTS.

Long comments...give...long... Pleaseedjx..sklleaase.

Chapter 19: ✧|| S1 AU: Loved one (8)

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

[Name] remembers. (How miserable they are)

Something happens. Something nice (For once). (I cried) (Very emotional) (Wahhhh)

Notes:

HEEYYY AAHHHH KMMFFFG AAAAGHHHH AAHHHHHHH GUYYSSS SOMGGGG IT'S THE LAST CHAPTER OMFG AAHHHHHHH

Hi. Sorry. Crashed out a little up there. This is indeed the LAST CHAPTER Of our VERY long S1 AU series 😭 I'm about to sob – not. I'm so happy it ended it was ruining my mental state with how long it's been in my head, torturing me with ideas. ENDING ideas. Ending as in the epilogue or myself? I don't know yet.

Oh the ending. The ending guys. It's perfect in my eyes. It's all I wanted and probbaabbllyy, probably what you want as well 🙏

Everyone who had been begging for father in-ho. This is for you. (Anna)

How about I stop yapping and y'all just go read this emotional shit? Oh, I obviously dropped all [Name]'s veryyy mysterious backstory. Finally. It has also been torturing me.

Enjoy 🫶🎀

 

✧

 

At seven, [Name] didn’t really understand much, not about life, not about love.

But certainly about pain.

They also understood the way their mother’s eyes grew distant when she looked at them, the way she’d flinch when they got too close, like they were the cause of every bad thing that had ever happened.

The way she’d whisper things to herself in the kitchen, her back turned, her shoulders slumped as if carrying the weight of the world.

It wasn’t always like that, though. There were times – rare moments, like when she’d run her fingers through their hair or tuck them into bed with soft words.

They didn’t last long, but for a second, there was a flicker of something close to warmth.

But it was fading. Fading quickly.

They had always known something was wrong with their mother. She never smiled much, and when she did, it was tight and hollow.

She would sometimes speak to them in quiet, fragmented sentences about God, about sin, about how much they were supposed to be good, to be pure, but the way she said it... it wasn’t loving.

It was a command.

A whisper of something that felt like blame. Like guilt.

And the priest – their father – he never made it better.

But then came that day, the day they didn’t fully understand.

The day she cracked. Crashed out. Lost it. Whatever it's called when you lose brain cells.

One minute she was there, pacing, wringing her hands, and the next, her face contorted into something unfamiliar. Something ugly.

It was like a mask had slipped over her features, and the words came out fast, sharp, accusing. She was angry, but it wasn’t the kind of anger a child could understand.

She wasn’t angry at the priest.

She wasn’t angry at the world. 

She was angry at them. At [Name].

“Everything’s your fault,” she had said. Her voice was a whisper, but it was so cold, so venomous. 

“You... you ruined everything. You made me do it. You made me marry him. You made me stay.” She grabbed their shoulders, her fingers digging in too deep, too hard. “You are the reason. It’s all– all of it! it's your fault...you...!”

“Satan!”

[Name] didn’t understand what she meant. They just wanted dinner. The curry she had been cooking a moment ago.

They didn’t understand why her eyes were wide with panic or why her breaths were coming so fast, or why she held the knife so tight in her trembling hands.

Wasn't she cutting carrots with that?

They didn’t understand how, in that moment, they were no longer her child– no longer someone she would protect.

They didn’t even cry.

They stared at her. And perhaps that agitated her even more.

The knife glinted in the dim kitchen light. They watched as her breath hitched, the wild look in her eyes.

They didn’t know what was happening, but they felt it. That strange, suffocating pressure building up in the air.

They just stood there, frozen, staring as their mother raises her arm. The one with the knife.

Then everything went white.

The shot came before they could move, before they could run, before they could do anything.

It hit their mother in an instant – her body jerking violently, her eyes wide and unblinking as the blood sprayed across [Name]'s face, splattering like rain.

But they didn’t scream. They didn’t cry.

They didn’t even flinch.

They stared.

The blood was warm against their skin, sticky, thick. It dripped slowly down their face, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

The room was spinning. The smell of iron was overpowering, but all [Name] could do was blink slowly, confused.

And the priest – he stood there, gun still smoking in his hand, looking at them with cold, empty eyes.

“She was unholy,” he muttered, like it was an explanation. Like it made sense.

And [Name] just stood there. Silent. Still.

There was no anger. No sadness. No fear.

Just a deep, aching emptiness.

A hollowness they couldn’t name. The only thing they felt was the numbness creeping in, as if their entire body had been paralyzed by the shock of it all.

The last thing they saw was their mother’s body on the floor, lifeless.

Her blood pooling around them. And the priest turned away, as if nothing had happened.

He muttered something under his breath, something about the will of God, but [Name] didn’t hear it.

Didn’t care. They couldn’t care.

All they could do was stare.

It wasn’t the first time their world had been torn apart, but it was the first time they truly understood that it wasn’t the end.

The world would keep turning. People would keep living.

But not them.

They weren’t a person anymore. Not after this. Not after that moment.

And in the end, it didn’t matter. Nothing ever did.

And perhaps it never will.

—

It always started with the smell. 

That nauseating blend of incense, burning wax, and cheap cologne that screamed holier-than-thou in the most unholy way. That was the scent of their father – a fanatic with God on his lips and blood on his hands. If hell had a signature fragrance, it would be him.

“The devil is in you, child.”  

He always said it like he was announcing the weather. Casual. Deadpan. Like possession was just another day problem. He’d say it with one hand clutching a worn Bible and the other reaching for something much worse.

[Name] had just fourteen – their birthday – when he decided medicine was a scam and spiritual branding was the only cure.

He shaped a cross out of iron and heated it on the stove like he was making pancakes instead of permanent trauma. Then he pressed it into their forearm – slow, until their skin hissed.

They didn’t scream. They bit their lips hard enough to take a chunk of flesh.

Not because they were strong, but because they knew it would make him feel righteous. And fuck that.

“You’ll thank me when your soul is saved,” he said, his voice trembling with the kind of passion only true psychopaths and politicians possess.

They had run away from home that day. Met a weirdo. And ran away from him too.

They went back 'home'. Aware of what awaited them. Awfully aware.

After that came the chains. Rusted. Heavy. Bolted to the bedframe of what used to be their bedroom, now a discount exorcism chamber with blackout curtains and Bible verses scrawled all over the walls in Sharpie.

He said the words of God would keep the demons out.

Funny.

All they did was watch their hallucinations dance to Marilyn Monroe across the ceiling in the dark.

There were rituals. So many rituals.

He brought in priests, shamans, self-proclaimed prophets, and one guy who swore the holy spirit talked to him through microwave static.

Every time they screamed, or cried, or flinched, it was proof he was right. 

Possessed.

Tainted.

A walking, talking abomination.

But they adapted.

They learned how to fake sanity like it was an art. They smiled at the right moments. Nodded when he asked if the demons were gone. Said “amen” like it was their new favorite word.

They even laughed at his shitty religious jokes – awful stuff. And eventually, he believed them.

One year of holy hell, and all it took to unlock the front door was one big, convincing lie.

They were “cured,” apparently.

That’s what their father told the academy board. 

Told the church.

Told the whispers in the community that called [Name] everything from demon-child to psycho brat.

The rituals had worked. The evil was gone. God had forgiven them. Yada yada..

[Name] didn’t bother correcting anyone.

Let them believe whatever made them sleep at night. Meanwhile, they were just glad to not be chained to a bed anymore being forced to endure listening to Marilyn fucking Monroe for the 100th time that day from across the wall.

The scholarship came easy. Their test scores were off the charts, like always. Their brain worked fast, sharp. Even if it never stopped spinning.

They walked into that elite academy like a bomb dressed in a school uniform, knuckles scabbed from the past and eyes that didn’t blink unless they had to.

They didn’t make friends. Didn’t want to.

The kids there were made of silk and silver, and [Name] was all rust and barbed wire.

They didn’t fit in, and they weren’t trying to. Teachers praised their intellect, but called them volatile behind closed doors. A ticking time bomb.

Cold, apathetic, unpredictable.

They weren’t wrong.

The hallucinations didn’t stop.

The intrusive thoughts were still there, always whispering. The compulsions. The need to arrange, to control, to perfect.

The rage boiling beneath their skin like acid. The emptiness that came in waves.

The detachment that made everything feel like a movie they weren’t even starring in.

Then came him.

Just another rich boy with too much confidence and not enough brains.

He thought it would be funny to bring up their mother, call her names, dig into wounds he didn’t even understand. Maybe he wanted a reaction. Maybe he didn’t expect one.

He got it anyway.

They didn’t even remember the first punch. All they remembered was noise. Bones cracking. People screaming. Blood splattering across the marble floor like spilled paint.

Something inside [Name] snapped that day, and they didn’t hold back. Not this time. Not anymore.

His friends got a taste of these hands too.

They didn’t stop until their knuckles hurt more than their head. Until the guy was choking on his own teeth. Until someone pulled them off, screaming, shaking, like that would fix anything.

He died a few days later.

And [Name] didn’t cry. Didn’t apologize.

Just stared at the wall of the juvie cell with empty eyes, like someone waiting for a bus that never came.

The judge called them disturbed. Dangerous. Remorseless.

They weren’t wrong either.

Six months. That’s how long they spent locked up. No meds. No therapy. Just gray walls and scheduled violence.

Their father pulled strings to get them out, not because he cared, but because the headlines were ruining his image. “Priest’s child kills peer in violent outburst.” Couldn’t have that now, could he?

He disowned them the second they stepped outside the building. No home. No money. No goodbye.

Just, “You’re no child of mine,” and the door slamming shut behind him.

They didn’t want to belong to him anyway. They'd rather bathe in shards of glass.

The streets were shit. No surprises there.

It was like waking up in a video game on nightmare mode, except there was no respawn button and the only loot drops were moldy bread crusts and a new brand of trauma. [Name] had no plan, no money, no backup. Just their fists, a backpack with two shirts, and a face that screamed ‘fuck off’ even when they weren’t talking.

Which, ironically, didn’t stop people from trying to "help."

Church ladies with fake smiles. Social workers pretending to care while eyeing them like a rabid raccoon. Random do-gooders who offered food and then flinched when [Name] looked them in the eye for too long. Yeah, no. That didn’t last.

Apparently, people got real uncomfortable when a half-starved teenager told them to shove their Bible up their ass and called their charity “guilt-flavored virtue signaling.”

Weird.

Anyway, the first few months were survival 101. Sleeping in bus stations. Learning which convenience store clerks wouldn’t chase them out. Getting good, scary good, at stealing without blinking. At slinking through alleys like a rat. At fighting off older creeps who thought a lonely teen was easy pickings. Spoiler: [Name] left one of those guys with a broken jaw and zero teeth.

They lived. Barely. But they lived.

Then the gang found them.

It wasn’t some dramatic offer. No movie moment. Just a guy with tattoos and a lighter flicking on and off, watching them steal someone’s wallet like it was nothing.

“You’re fast,” he said. “Wanna make money?”

[Name] should’ve run. But they were cold. And tired. And really fucking hungry.

So they followed.

And for a while, It was… not awful. Almost good, if they squinted hard enough and ignored the obvious exploitation.

They were the baby of the gang.

The runt.

The errand runner.

They got shoved into every chore – food runs, weapon cleanups, lookout duty. But also? They got dragged to car races that smelled like gasoline and testosterone. To clubs where they were definitely too young to be.

They were forced into shitty outfits and told to "just stand there and look cute, it'll distract the guy." One time they had to pose with a money case and a fake smile for a photo op.

They looked like a 14-year-old hostage. It was hilarious. In a fucked up way.

The gang treated them like some cursed pet. A weird, twitchy kid they kinda liked, even if they didn’t understand them. And [Name] didn’t complain. Not even when they were handed a bucket and a mop to scrub blood off the floor after a torture session.

They didn’t flinch when someone handed them pliers and told them to pull a guy’s fingernails out. Didn't hesitate when the screams started.

At first, they thought it was stupid. Messy. Unnecessary. But then it just became routine. Another item on the to-do list.

Pluck nails. Make someone cry. Sweep up the teeth after.  

Whatever left a roof over their head.

It didn’t make them feel powerful. It didn’t make them feel anything. Which, to be fair, was kind of worse.

Still, they didn’t take the good parts for granted. The warmth. The noise. The weird, fucked-up sense of belonging. They didn’t trust it – weren’t that naive – but they wanted to.

And then one day… they were gone.

The gang. All of them. Poof. Warehouse empty. No note. No message. No nothing.

Just silence.

And the cherry on top? Their stash – every single won they had scraped together in dirty bills and loose change - was gone. Like it never existed.

That was fine. That was fucking fine.

Except it wasn’t, because apparently, the assholes had also dumped their debts onto [Name] before they skipped town. Debts that came with some very angry men in suits and knives, bats and whatever fits in their wrinkly hands, who wanted blood and didn’t give a single shit that [Name] was sixteen and barely looked it.

Loan sharks. The scary kind. The kind that made people vanish.

And yet, they never laid a hand on [Name].

Because [Name] vanished first.

They slipped through the city. Changed locations every night. Slept under bridges, in rooftops, inside the fucking ceiling of a bathhouse once. They ran like they were born for it. Hid like they were trained for it.

And maybe they were.

They didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. Just walked around with this quiet, simmering rage building inside their chest like pressure in a pipe.

Like – Who the fuck does that?

Who plays family for a year and then bounces without a word? Who steals from a kid that already had nothing? Who leaves them holding the bag while the wolves close in?

[Name] didn’t know what kind of revenge they wanted.

But they knew they wanted it to hurt.

 

☆

 

[Name] woke up. Heart pounding in their chest.

They just… opened their eyes. It took a moment for the disorientation to fade, and the memories hit them all at once.

The original [Name]'s memories. The one of this universe.

It was a strange thing, knowing someone else’s life - even if it was just a different version of themselves - but it was there now, like a shadow in their mind, lingering.

The first thing they noticed was the scent. The sterile, almost metallic air of the dormitory. The faint smell of sweat, fear, and too much bleach. They stared at the ceiling, disinterested.

The same shitty, dull lighting. Same chipped floors. Same bunk beds, now empty.

Except for six. Six players left. It should have been three. It should have been less, but they changed it. And nothing could be done now.

They sat up slowly, looking around, not quite sure why they weren’t feeling the panic they usually felt when they woke up after accidentally falling asleep. Not even the usual buzzing of endless thoughts.

Just edgy emptiness. It was quiet.

The others were sleeping. Sae-byeok and Jiyeong, tangled up together in a mess of limbs, still half-conscious, still close. The sight made [Name] roll their eyes. Homosexuals. Couldn’t get through without finding a damn pair of them.

Gi-hun was slumped against the side of [Name]'s bed, looking like a beaten dog. His face was soft in sleep, almost innocent, but not quite.

Sang-woo and Ali, though, were on the opposite side, barely clinging to the edge of their bunks. Ali looked peaceful, as if he was dead. He should be. He shouldn't be here, [Name] thought. They had saved him, and they weren't sure why.

Sang-woo had that grim, restless look even in sleep. Like he knew things were about to go wrong and he didn’t want to be caught off guard. Typical.

[Name] was the only one awake. Fully aware. Where the fuck is the sixth game?

It should have started ages ago.

Their hand instinctively went to the side of the bed, checking the space beside them where the knife had once been. No knife. Nothing. Didn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. It wasn’t like they needed it anymore anyway.

They've already made use of that enough already.

Wiping at the dried blood from their palm, they glanced at the faces around them, wondering if any of them had a clue as to why the game was delayed. Probably not. They’re all clueless.

The memories of the original [Name] echoed in their mind – their decisions, their fears, their choices. None of them seemed real to [Name]. Not anymore.

The silence in the room stretched on, stretching out like some invisible thread tugging at the edge of their patience.

[Name] wanted to leave, to get up, to just move.

But where? There wasn’t much point. The game would go on, like always. The rules hadn’t changed. Or had they?

Why hadn’t the sixth game started? Am I missing something?? Did I sleep through an announcement???

There was a sick feeling in [Name]'s stomach, a familiar ache, one that came with knowing something wasn’t right but not being able to put a finger on what it was.

There was a sense of dread, but also a twinge of relief.

They weren’t sure if they were being pulled in two directions or if they just didn’t give a shit anymore.

The game. It was supposed to end soon. Everything's supposed to come to an end.

[Name] sighed, leaning back against the bunk’s frame. They looked around again. The players.

The players they had saved, or maybe just dragged along with them.

It didn’t really matter. They were all just here, in the same spot. Different game. Same players. Different day.

Sick of it.

But they weren’t going anywhere, were they?

There was a sharp noise, a footstep, something that shouldn’t have been there. But when [Name] turned, there was nothing. Just the others, breathing softly in their sleep.

Oh they really needed those pills.

They laid back down, staring up at the ceiling again, letting the silence swallow them whole. And the game? Well, it could wait. They weren’t going anywhere. Clearly.

 

☆

 

In-ho walked briskly down the cold, narrow hallway.

The walls pulsed faintly with the hum of the facility's power, overhead lights drawing tired shadows across the floor as his dress shoes clicked in precise rhythm. His gun hung heavy at his side. Not from weight, but from what it had done.

Oh Il-nam’s blood still stained the outside of his mask.

He’d aimed at the neck. A clean shot. A necessary shot.

The old man had probably smiled, even at the end. That bastard.

The words he had said still echoed in his ears. Just like the silence that followed when he gave the order to eliminate those animals – the VIPs.

His voice hadn’t trembled. His hand hadn’t shaken. Not even when the screams started behind the golden masks. Not even when he saw the blood pool around velvet slippers.

Because none of it mattered anymore. Not the Games. Not the masks. Not the organization that turned people into the monsters they always were.

All he cared about now were two people.

Jun-ho…and [Name].

He hadn’t stopped thinking about Jun-ho since their reunion. One day ago. In the archives. Where he'd turned expecting to confront an intruder, and instead saw one of the very few people he’d ever called family.

That moment–

It tore through him.

Jun-ho, standing there, soaked in sweat and fear and defiance. His Jun-ho, all grown, still searching for the big brother who vanished. Still fighting. Still loving.

It had broken In-ho.

He'd thought he'd buried his guilt under years of commands and protocol. Thought if he played the part well enough, he’d stop feeling.

But seeing Jun-ho again cracked that mask to pieces.

He should’ve never left.

He should’ve never abandoned him.

He should’ve never left their mother alone while he wore this fucking mask and played executioner for entertainment.

And then… there was [Name].

Two years ago. A dark alley. A runaway turning fourteen that day.

In-ho had found them fighting off two men thrice their size, maybe more, with a little dull dagger. They had been cautious of him. Rightfully so.

They were in pain. And he wasn't sure what to do about it. He didn't care for someone – hadn't tended to wounds in what felt like an eternity.

He comforted them. When they were in shock. When they told him about their sick father. About home.

About their birthday.

He had brought them strawberry ice cream. Something small.

And for a moment, [Name] had smiled.

Just for a moment.

Until he said the wrong thing.

It had been something stupid, something about people not keeping promises to “kids like you”. He hadn’t realized at the time what "kids like you" meant to the kid. Not until their face twisted in pain, betrayal and rage, whispering something about ‘impure kids’, and then they bolted like a wild animal. Gone, before he could fix it.

He searched the city for days.

Nothing.

And then two years passed.

He thought they were dead. Or worse.

Until he saw them again. Among the players.

That look in their eyes, older, colder, emptier. They’d changed. Hardened.

But he knew it was them.

He knew.

And now… now he was going to get them out. Both of them.

Jun-ho and [Name]. One his dear baby brother, the other… something he couldn’t define. Maybe just a kid he failed. Or maybe a reflection of himself, wandering in circles until they found the same monster at the center of it all.

The door came into view. Jun-ho was behind it. Waiting. Hidden away after In-ho pulled him out of...there, and told him to wait.

The game was almost done. Only the sixth left. That wasn't happening, however. It was time.

Time to disappear.

To burn this place to ash and take his kids.

He opened the door. Slowly.

And there was Jun-ho. Sitting at the edge of his bed. Tired. Still alive. He looked a little apprehensive at him, though. In-ho thinks he knows why.

In-ho let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

"Jun-ho–”

“No.”

“Let me finish.”

“...” Jun-ho looked away – was he pouting? In-ho almost rolled his eyes. It appears as if jun-ho had learned how to be a brat. Apparently from someone pretty similar to one.

Jun-ho crossed his arms, still refusing to look at him directly. It was childish. Stubborn. So Jun-ho.

In-ho closed the door behind him with a soft click, leaning back against it for a moment, letting the silence breathe. He studied his brother, noting how his jaw clenched and unclenched with restless energy, how his knuckles were white from where he gripped the edge of the bed.

“Player 443 is fine,” In-ho said calmly, unbothered by Jun-ho’s petulance. “As fine as any of us are in here.”

“That’s not the same thing as safe.” Jun-ho finally turned to him, voice low but strained. “You have to bring them here. You have to-”

“I will,” In-ho interrupted, voice steel. “But I can't just snatch them out of the dorms with five other people watching. There are still cameras. Still staff who haven’t figured out I’m committing high treason yet.”

Jun-ho stared at him, eyes full of that same mix of anger and disbelief he’d worn the night In-ho disappeared from their lives. That same hurt. The kind In-ho knew all too well.

The kind he’d spent years trying to numb out of his own system.

“Then why not during the game?” Jun-ho asked. “You could’ve staged something. Said they died. Faked it. You’ve been doing that for years, haven’t you?”

A pause.

Then In-ho replied, hiding the hurt from his tone, quiet. “Because [Name] won't trust me..”

The words hung heavy in the room.

Jun-ho blinked. “…what?” He called them by name.

“They won't trust me. Not fully. They might recognize me, but it’s… hazy. Distant. They’ve built walls since the last time I saw them.” In-ho’s fingers curled around his gloves. “And I can’t force them. I already made that mistake once.”

Jun-ho frowned, leaning forward. “You knew them before..?”

“A long time ago,” In-ho murmured. “Two years, almost to the day. They were just a kid… angry, tired. It was their birthday. I brought them ice cream.”

Jun-ho blinked again, he was boggled. “You… brought them ice cream?”

“It was strawberry..” In-ho muttered, like that part was the most important.

Jun-ho looked like he was about to say something, maybe a sarcastic comment, but he stopped himself. He just looked at his brother.

And for the first time since they’d reunited, he realized how tired In-ho looked.

Not physically. Not even just emotionally. But spiritually. Like he’d been rotting from the inside for a very long time and only now noticed the smell.

“..Why are you doing this?” Jun-ho asked, tone low, his eyes narrowed. “You’ve been part of this for years. You killed for this. You ran from me, from Mom, from everything. So why now? Why change now?”

In-ho looked down at his hands. Then up at his brother.

“…Because I can’t stomach killing another child,” he said, voice dry. “Because I saw [Name] in that uniform, and I saw you, both of you. And I realized I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t pretend I’m not human. Or that I haven’t failed both of you in every possible way...”

Jun-ho stared. And for a long while, the silence sat between them, coiled and waiting.

Finally, Jun-ho muttered, “...You're still an asshole.”

In-ho gave a short, soft laugh. “I know.”

“But if you don’t bring [Name] back in one piece,” Jun-ho continued, narrowing his eyes, “I will shoot you in the dick.”

“…Okay.”

They sat in silence again. But it was easier now. Like something heavy had shifted between them.

Jun-ho leaned back, staring up at the geometrically designed ceiling. “I still don’t forgive you.”

“I know,” In-ho repeated, eyes closed.

“But I’m glad you’re here.”

In-ho looked back at him, smiling softly. “Likewise.”

And somewhere far above them, beyond concrete and steel and surveillance, the Games stalled like a broken machine, waiting for a decision that had already been made.

Tomorrow, it will all end.

One way or another.

The hum of the facility settled into the background again, like a breathing thing. In-ho stood there for a moment longer, watching his brother recline, legs stretched out like he owned the place.

Like he hadn’t almost died trying to sneak into it. And again with...ah, he should really stop thinking about that.

“You should get some sleep,” In-ho said, brushing invisible dust off his coat. “It’ll be a long day.”

Jun-ho scoffed. “Sleep? In this economy? In this dungeon?”

“It’s a bunker.”

“It has no windows. It’s a dungeon.”

In-ho gave him a look. Jun-ho returned it with a smug little smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Just how much time did he spend with [Name]?

“I’m serious,” In-ho said, stepping forward and placing a careful hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Rest. I’ll bring them. Just… trust me this once.”

Jun-ho didn’t respond right away. But he didn’t shake him off, either.

“…Fine. But if you don’t show up by morning–”

“I know.” He squeezed gently. “Dick. Gun. Got it.”

Jun-ho huffed something close to a laugh.

In-ho stepped back. Checked his watch. They were hours out from sunrise. Hours out from the sixth game that wouldn’t happen.

He turned for the door.

Just before it closed behind him, he heard Jun-ho say, “Hey.”

He paused, half-silhouetted by the warm hallway light.

“...Thank you,” Jun-ho whispered.

In-ho didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

—

He moved fast through the hallways now, retracing steps he once walked with pride. They felt different beneath his feet now, heavier. Each turn was more than a corridor; it was a memory he didn’t ask for. Faces. Screams. Names he never bothered to learn.

And one name he’d never forgotten.

[Name].

He remembered the way they looked at him back then, eyes wild and wary, like an animal with no safe place to run. They’d clutched that melting strawberry ice cream like it was proof of something.

Proof that someone could care, even for a second.

And he’d ruined that.

Now they are here. One of the final six. Wearing the same green tracksuit – a suit now, as everyone else. Face slightly older, harder – but still them. He could see it in the way they refused to bow their head. The way they stuck their tongue out at the cameras.

He needed to move before the morning light spilled across the island

Before someone else made the choice for him.

This wasn’t going to be easy. They’d probably hate him. Might spit in his face. Might try to stab him.

But he’d take it.

Because getting them out was the only thing that mattered.

And hell, maybe he owed them another ice cream.

He didn’t go to the dorms.

The Frontman never did. Not directly.

To the players, he was a nonexistent entity, something between myth and machine. His presence was reserved for the final victor, for the final words, for the final bullet if necessary.

So he wouldn’t walk into that room full of sweat, blood and restless survivors.

But he will get [Name] out.

He had already started the process.

Up in the control room, one of the few managers still alive stared at a blinking command line. Confused. Nervous.

They’d received a coded message an hour ago, priority override, from the Frontman himself. No explanation. Just a string of precise orders:

—"PLAYER 443 - ESCORT TO MEDICAL WINGRATION CONTAMINATION - SUSPECTED INTERNAL BLEEDING. SILENT PROTOCOL - NO ANNOUNCEMENT"

The manager hadn’t questioned it.

Nobody questioned him. Not even when he killed the host, and certainly not when he killed the VIPs, everyone knew they had it coming.

Except a few ones loyal to Oh il-nam. He took care of those.

The guards had moved in ten minutes ago, tension sharp in their spines. One of them, manager 021, had even asked if they should take two players, just to make it look real.

In-ho’s answer had been one word: No.

[Name] alone.

He couldn’t risk someone else interfering. Couldn’t risk [Name] getting defensive, feeling cornered again. This had to be clean. Swift. No fear if he could help it.

From the control room, he watched it happen.

The door to the dorm slid open. The lights buzzed once. And then two guards stepped in, calling a name.

“Player 443. Medical. Now.”

The other contestants stirred. Confused. Some groggy, some suspicious. One of them, Player 218, stood up, squinting. “Why? They’re not even hurt. And since when do you even–”

The guard didn’t answer. Just held up an MP5 and pointed it at him. The player immediately fell silent.

[Name] sat up slowly. Confused. But those eyes, In-ho saw the flicker. The distrust. The calculation. Like they were already scanning for lies. For bullshit.

They didn’t fight, though. Not yet.

Good.

He watched as they slipped on their shoes and followed the guards out, shoulders tense, but eyes forward. Still pretending not to care. Still playing strong. That stubborn strength he remembered.

In-ho tapped into the secure mic, voice low, filtered through layers of distortion. No trace of emotion.

—"Escort them to Sublevel 3. The surgical wing.”

A pause. One of the guards hesitated.

—“There’s nothing on Sublevel 3…”

In-ho’s voice turned colder.

—"There is now.”

He cut the feed.

Then he left the control room.

—

Fifteen minutes later, he waited behind a sealed door, in a part of the facility that hadn’t been used in years. The surgical wing. Cold tile floors. Dusty medical cabinets. A room off the grid, off the cameras, scrubbed clean from the digital map the same night he made his decision. Nobody knew about its existence except two people.

One of them is dead. The other is himself.

A soft knock. Then the hiss of hydraulics.

[Name] stepped in, flanked by the guards. Still alert. Still ready to run.

Until they saw him.

Until the guards left. Until the door sealed behind them with a final thunk.

And it was just the two of them.

[Name] stiffened.

In-ho pulled off his mask.

Their eyebrow twitched.

He didn’t move toward them. Just held still, hands visible, voice quiet.

“…It’s been a long time.”

[Name] hadn't responded immediately. They stared at him, blinking. Their eyes didn't widen in shock. Their breath didn't hitch. Their fists didn't clench.

Truthfully? None of the reactions in-ho had expected happened at all. Had he been right all this time? Did they even remember him? It's been two years. It was just one night. He's the crazy one for remembering it so vividly.

He must look like a creep now.

—

[Name] stiffened as the door sealed behind them with a quiet thunk. Two guards gone. Just him now. Just the Frontman.

No.

Not the Frontman. Their favorite character.

That voice. That face.

They blinked once. Then again.

It hit like whiplash. The original [Name]'s memories.

His hair was shorter now. Older. Gaunter. But the same eyes. The same voice, careful in the way people are when they think you might still bolt.

And they remembered. All of it.

The alley. The stupid spoons. The goddamn strawberry ice cream. The way he’d stood near but not too close, asking about them, like it was normal, like they were just two people and not a bleeding, runaway kid who hadn’t been spoken to like a person in years.

And then, that sentence.

The one that hit too deep, too fast. And how they’d run. Dramatic. So fucking dramatic. Like they were in a movie or something.

God. They wanted to sink into the floor and die on the spot just thinking about it. Embarrassing.

They hadn't blamed him, not really. Not after the first few nights. Not after the memory started to twist itself into something gentler. Something they didn’t want to believe was real.

Because if it was real, if someone had seen them, cared for even a second, then hope would come back.

And they couldn't afford hope. Not back then. Not in the years after. Not with HIM.

So they’d made themselves forget him. Scrubbed the memory like plaque from their teeth. Convinced themselves it didn’t matter. That he didn’t matter.

And now here he was. Hwang In-ho. Real. Like actually. When did they get used to seeing these people as – people? And not fictional characters? They didn't want to unpack that.

He was the impossible thing that had cared for them for one night.

[Name] swallowed, throat dry.

He didn’t move. He just stood there with his stupid, tired face and his mask in one hand like it weighed ten pounds.

“…It’s been a long time,” he had said quietly.

[Name] didn’t answer.

Their pulse beat against their ribs, too fast, too loud. They couldn’t tell if it was adrenaline or panic or, worse, hope again.

Goddammit.

He must think he's a creep. They can see it on his face.

“You remember me..?” he asked. Hesitant. Unsure. Pitiful in a way.

Still no answer. They didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to give him that power. So instead, they said, “You kidnapped me.”

He flinched, just barely. “I did.”

“You pretended I was wounded and dragged me to a haunted hospital basement straight outta resident evil.”

He nodded, even though the sarcasm was clear. “Yes..?”

“…You could’ve just asked to talk like a normal human being.”

This time, his mouth twitched, half guilt, half amusement. “I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”

[Name] crossed their arms, scanning the room again. No cameras. No traps. Just tile under old light.

“So?” they raised an eyebrow, somewhat judgmental. “What do you want from me?”

In-ho exhaled slowly. “To get you out.”

Their eyebrows lifted slightly. “Of here?”

He nodded.

They studied him for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, quietly, casually, they asked. “Where’s your dumbass brother?”

In-ho blinked. That clearly wasn’t the question he expected. How did they know he was even related to Jun-ho? It seems the two are closer than he expected. He should've interrogated jun-ho a little more, but he might have bitten him.

“Jun-ho’s safe,” he said, like it was an answer he’d rehearsed. “He’s waiting.”

Something in [Name]’s chest twisted tight and warm and awful. “...he’s okay?”

“Yes.”

They turned away, staring at the wall like it had secrets to offer. Their voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

“…I missed him.”

In-ho watched them. Carefully. Gently.

Wow. They really are closer than he thought. A lot so.

“He missed you, too,” he whispered back, softly. “He still does.”

Silence again.

And this time, it wasn’t heavy. Just suspended.

Then [Name] sighed. Rubbed their face like they could scrub the emotion out of it after saying something so embarrassing.

“Alright, well–” they muttered, snapping the mood in half, “–if this is a ploy to harvest my organs, I hope you choke on the liver.”

In-ho laughed. Genuinely. A quiet, rough sound like he hadn’t done it in a long time.

[Name] didn’t smile. But their shoulders relaxed just a little. “So,” they muttered. “What now?”

In-ho lifted his chin, the weight of a thousand yard stare behind his eyes. Shit, that scared them.

“We end it tomorrow,” he said flatly. “No more Games. We leave. All of us.”

[Name] looked at him. Really looked this time. Then they nodded.

“Kay.” A pause. “I want a hot shower, a cheeseburger, and someone to punch in the face.” They listed with their fingers.

He smirked. “In that order?”

“No. Simultaneously, if possible.”

And just like that, the hope they buried clawed its way back up. And this time, they didn’t shove it down.

“I also want a real bed,” [Name] continued, pacing a little now, one hand gesturing like they were placing a fast-food order. “None of that stiff, military cot bullshit you have here. I want springs. Blankets. Maybe a cat.”

In-ho blinked. “A… cat?”

“Yeah. A mean one. One that looks like it hates the world but still lets you hold it when you cry.” They squinted at him. “You cry, right?”

“…Occasionally.”

“Good.” They kept going. “And bubble tea. The good kind. Brown sugar, extra pearls. None of that watery vending machine crap.”

He leaned against a counter, arms crossed now, just watching them spiral. Or maybe soar was the better word. There was a kind of controlled insanity in them. And he could see it, clearly now, why Jun-ho had never been quite the same after coming here with them. Why he stayed different.

“And I want the others to get out too,” they said, suddenly serious again.

In-ho’s brows furrowed slightly.

“Sae-byeok. Ji-yeong. Gi-hun. Ali. Even Sang-woo– yeah, he’s a dick, but he’s our dick. They’re still alive, they leave.”

In-ho hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Alright. They’re still alive, we’ll get them out.”

“And the money. No winner. Everyone splits it. Equal shares.”

“[Name]…”

“All. Of. It.”

He sighed. A long-suffering, quiet sound. “That’s not how this works.”

“No. That’s not how you worked. And you don’t work for them anymore, right?” Their eyes locked with his, unwavering, before pointing at themselves dramatically. “You work for me now.”

He stared at them. He didn't deny it.

Then looked away, exhaling like he was holding back a laugh or maybe a prayer.

“…Fine,” he muttered. “Yes. Fine. Whatever you want.”

[Name] smirked, a little astonished. “That easy?”

“You saw what I did to get you here. Do you really think I’d stop at a bank transfer?”

That made them pause. They looked at him again, and for the first time let it register.

He’d done all this.

The lie. The basement. The risk.

Just to talk to them.

Just to see them.

And now, standing there like the world's most exhausted villain turned half-hearted savior, he looked like he'd say yes to anything they asked.

So they added, casually, “Also I want an apartment with a balcony. And a dishwasher. And those fancy lights that dim with a remote.”

He let out a small breath. “You’re not going to stop, are you.”

“Nope.”

In-ho shook his head, a quiet smile tugging at his mouth despite himself. “…Now I understand where Jun-ho got that impossible sass from,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Just how long did he spend with you?”

[Name] raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Long enough for him to be Team Me. Why, jealous?”

In-ho opened his mouth. Then closed it again.

He was.

He smiled, tired and full of things he couldn’t say. “…A dishwasher?”

“Top priority.”

He nodded. “Then I’ll get you one.”

And this time, [Name] didn’t make a joke. 

They just looked at him and said, quietly. “Good. 'Cause I’m holding you to that.”

Then, after a moment of silence, something shifted.

[Name] stopped listing things. The jokes faded from their lips. They stood still in the middle of the surgical wing, suddenly too quiet for someone who’d just demanded a mean cat and a dishwasher. Their eyes lingered on the floor for a second, then slowly lifted to him.

And In-ho felt it. That look.

Not just staring. Not curious. Not confused.

He was being evaluated.

Like a math problem. As if he was in a fucking trial.

Their eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Their head tilted. They looked at him with the silent, laser-focused scrutiny of someone who has been disappointed too many times before. Someone who’s learned to stop expecting anything, but still checks. Just in case.

In-ho shifted under the weight of it. A man who had stared down masked executioners, corrupt elites, entire systems of power and death, but this was worse.

This was personal.

[Name] was trying to decide something.

And he knew exactly what it was.

They were thinking: Am I allowed to trust you? Could you take care of someone like me? Do you even want to?

They were thinking: Would you be my guardian if I asked you to? Would you lie for me? Sign papers? Sit through boring government bullshit just so I can legally exist again?

They were thinking: Would you be mine, if I asked?

And In-ho, staring back, heart caught in his throat, mask discarded at his side, felt his chest twist.

Because the answer was yes.

It had been yes since two years ago, since strawberry ice cream, since that depressing birthday and the kid who’d run away from kindness like it was Marylne Manroe music.

And now, they were standing there, sixteen, completely alone, no papers, no parents, no real name left, just mean comments, trauma, and that sharp glint of something aching behind their eyes.

In-ho wanted to tell them they didn’t need to ask.

But he didn’t say it yet. He let them judge. Let them weigh him with every ounce of their bruised little soul.

Because if they chose him

He’d give them everything.

The air between them pulsed, tense and still.

[Name] didn’t say anything. Not with words. But the way they looked at him, chin lifted, mouth tight, eyes heavy with old wounds, spoke loud enough.

They didn’t ask “Will you adopt me?”

That would be too obvious. Too hopeful.

They just watched him. Waited to see if he’d flinch under the pressure of being wanted like that.

And In-ho didn’t.

He stood there, bare-faced and vulnerable in a way no one ever got to see, and let himself be chosen.

They crossed their arms eventually. A subtle motion. A wall going back up, just a little.

Finally, voice quiet, almost a whisper, they muttered. “…I’m not changing my name.”

In-ho blinked.

“Wasn’t gonna ask you to.”

They nodded, once. “It’s the only thing I have left from her.”

He understood.

Of course he understood.

“And I'm not calling you Dad. That’s cursed.”

He fought a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They paused again. Eyes still on him. Still that damn expression. “And it doesn’t change the other stuff. The players. The money. I want all of it split evenly.”

“You’ll get it.”

“All of them out. Alive.”

“Yes.”

They exhaled slowly, like they were trying to prove something to themselves. Their posture shifted. Still defensive, still bracing, but a little less like they might run.

"The cat should be a tuxedo."

“Fine.”

“And a new phone. Like… a good one.”

“Of course.”

A beat.

Then their eyes narrowed again, sharp and suspicious. “You’re saying yes to everything.”

“Because I mean it.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“I’ve been worse.”

They tilted their head, expression unreadable. Then – they smiled. Barely. Just a twitch.

And In-ho felt his heart fracture.

He realized, all at once, how much he wanted to protect that. That flicker of softness in the middle of so much ash.

They looked away like it burned to hold eye contact for too long. Their fingers fidgeted at their sides.

“…You’re gonna get so much paperwork.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

“You’ll have to lie to like, multiple institutions. At least three governments.”

“I’ve lied to worse.”

They squinted at him, skeptical. “You sure you’re not gonna back out when it gets annoying?”

“Positive.”

“I’ve got issues.”

“I noticed.”

“I bite people.”

“I’ll wear gloves.”

That startled something close to a laugh from them. Quick and sharp and half-muffled behind their sleeve. Their face flushed, barely.

God, it made In-ho want to cry.

They looked away again, trying not to smile, fingers twitching at their sides like they didn’t know what to do with softness anymore.

“…You’re gonna regret this,” they muttered.

“No, I won’t.”

They didn’t respond. Just kind of stood there for a second.

Then they mumbled, without looking at him. “...Okay.”

And that was it.

That was the moment.

Not a dramatic confession. Not a tearful hug. Just one quiet, guarded kid deciding, against all odds, that maybe this time, they wouldn't be alone.

In-ho felt something deep in his chest settle.

“I’ll handle everything,” he said, voice low. “You don’t have to worry.”

[Name] glanced at him again, then sighed. “God, you’re just as intense as Jun-ho.”

That made him blink. “Excuse me?”

“Seriously. The intense staring. The drama. The chronic guilt complex. The sad puppy eyes. It's creepy.” They raised an eyebrow.

In-ho stared.

And then laughed. A quiet, breathless thing.

Of course they were like that.

He should’ve guessed. Should’ve known the second they started listing demands with that flat little voice and insufferable sass. Of course Jun-ho spent time with this kid. Long enough to get attached. Long enough to pick up their exact flavor.

It hit him like a truck. Just how much of this kid was etched into his brother.

“…How long did you two even spend together?”

[Name] shrugged, but they looked suspiciously smug. “Two days and a half. Enough for him to cry when I left.”

“He cried?”

“Full breakdown. Looked like someone kicked his dog.”

In-ho was going to have a field day with that. But right now, he just smiled.

And looked at the kid who had taken root in both brothers’ hearts like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“…Let’s go home.”

 

☆

 

Afterwards, it all felt like a fever dream.

The kind you barely believe in after waking. The kind where the blood’s dried, the smoke’s cleared, and somehow, impossibly, you’re still breathing.

They got everyone out before the final hour.

One by one, the players had been sedated, nothing too harsh, just enough to keep them unconscious, and ferried out under the cover of sunrise. Onto boats, lined up on the far shore. They were wrapped in blankets, breathing steady, unaware they’d won in a game that wasn’t supposed to let them live.

It was Jun-ho’s idea to use the old maintenance tunnels under the cliff. His one moment of tactical genius. Maybe the only one.

[Name], In-ho, and Jun-ho had taken a separate boat. Sleek, high-tech and private. A small crew of trusted guards with no loyalties to the old system, only to the man who’d destroyed it.

They sailed until the island was just a dark smudge behind them. A memory.

Then In-ho pressed the button.

The island went up in a roar of light and ash. Fire climbed the sky. Stone split like paper. A tremor rippled through the ocean.

Everything gone.

Every corridor, every mask, every secret. Every horror that place had housed, and every bastard who ever profited from it.

Ashes to nothing.

[Name] sat at the front of the boat, their knees tucked up, hair whipping wild in the wind. They didn’t say anything at first. Just watched.

They didn’t cry in relief. They didn’t smile. Just watched it all burn like they’d been waiting years for this. Like something in them had finally been let go.

In-ho sat back near the center of the boat, glancing between the smoldering ruin and the kid up front, his mind already halfway through a dozen legal pathways. Custody. Adoption. The money.

“You’ll be splitting the 45.6 billion evenly,” he told them, casually, like it wasn’t an entire fortune. “Including you.”

[Name] tilted their head back, half-shouting over the wind. “I won’t need it, right? Since I’m getting adopted and all that?”

Jun-ho, who had just taken a sip of water, choked.

“You’re WHAT–?”

In-ho didn’t even blink. “I’m adopting them.”

“Since when?!”

“Since they asked.”

“I didn’t ask,” [Name] called back. “I just judged you and you passed.”

Jun-ho blinked rapidly, like the world had just changed languages.

“You’re sixteen! You– wait. Hold on. HOLD ON. You’re gonna be my–”

“No,” [Name] interrupted flatly. “Absolutely not. Never saying the word ‘uncle.’ Try me.”

“You have to–!”

“I’d rather be legally nameless.”

In-ho laughed behind his sleeve.

Jun-ho pouted in a very adult, very manly, very not-pouting-at-all way and flopped back onto the bench seat beside the cooler. “This is so messed up..” he mumbled.

[Name] finally turned to look at him, all calmness gone from their face, replaced with something sharper.

Judgment.

“So?” they asked. “How’d your infiltration go? Did our– my bad, my plans work?”

Jun-ho made the mistake of holding eye contact.

He couldn’t lie. Not well. Especially not to them.

They squinted. “You did exactly what I told you not to, didn’t you.”

Silence.

“Jun-ho.”

“I– look, it wasn’t on purpose! I just had to get close to one of them and I thought if i–”

“Which one?”

“…VIP 4.”

The shift in [Name]’s face could’ve cracked the engine in half.

In-ho was watching. Not intervening. Just… letting it play out. Averting his gaze. This was out of his hands now.

“You don't get it,” Jun-ho said, desperately, “he made a gross comment about you!! I panicked, okay?! I didn’t want him to come looking for you, so I– stepped in, alright?!”

[Name] stood up.

“Wait– WAIT–!”

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO INTERACT WITH THEM.”

“I WAS TRYING TO PROTECT YOU!”

“BY GETTING SEXUALLY ASSAULTED?!”

“It wasn’t– he didn’t–! In-ho shot him, okay?! Four times!! He’s GONE!!”

In-ho raised a finger. “You’re welcome.”

Jun-ho pointed furiously at him. “You were watching this whole time and you didn’t help?!”

“I did help. I shot him.”

"That's NOT–”

[Name] looked ready to commit homicide. “You’re lucky I’m still high on that explosion I just watched."

Jun-ho hunched into himself, thoroughly cooked, roasted, dished, avoiding all eye contact. In-ho, meanwhile, was enjoying the sunset.

The sun is indeed sunning.

Eventually, the wind died down. The sky faded from gold to blue to navy. The fire on the horizon grew smaller, until the sea swallowed the last orange flicker.

The guards had gotten out too. In-ho had made sure of that. He wasn’t cruel, not to the ones who’d only been following orders under threat. Not to the ones who helped them in the end.

The system was gone. Burned.

The people were alive.

And for the first time in years, In-ho felt it. Peace.

Jun-ho half-dozing beside the cooler, nursing a bruised ego.

[Name] stretched out on the bow of the boat, wind-tangled hair and that same bored glint in their gaze. His child, now.

His family.

He’d kill for them. He’d die for them.

But more than anything – he’d live for them.

And this time?

So would they.

—

Seoul was quiet when they arrived.

That eerie, breath-held kind of quiet you only get at 1 a.m. when the city’s lights are still burning but no one’s moving, like the world’s gone still just long enough to let ghosts walk undisturbed.

No one slept in that car.

Insomnia was an unspoken matter between the three of them – [Name], Jun-ho, and In-ho. Nobody said it, but none of them even tried to close their eyes.

The five unconscious players were dropped off first, one by one, gently, like sleeping kids after a long road trip. Each laid in front of their home with their bags beside them, and a gold credit card already loaded with their share of the money. No explanations. No notes.

[Name] watched from the window, chin propped on their fist. They didn’t say much. Just kept track. One player, two, three. Four. Then Sang-woo. Last.

They felt a tinsy tiny bit bad for not saying goodbye to any of them. But not enough to dwell on it. Maybe they could meet up someday.

Back in the car, they sat sandwiched between the two brothers like some emotionally constipated garnish while Jun-ho tried to convince In-ho not to run away to his safehouse like the hermit he was.

“No. You’re going to Mom’s.”

In-ho scoffed. “You think I can just show up there?”

“You disappeared, hyung,” Jun-ho said. “She thought you were dead. You think she’s going to care about anything but seeing you again?”

“I can’t just walk into that apartment after–”

“She’s going to cry and hug you and cook too much food. That’s it.”

“She’s not going to recognize me.”

“Oh, who is you? She will. She’s your mom.”

[Name] didn’t say anything. They didn’t have anything to add. Parents weren’t their specialty. But they leaned closer to the window and muttered just loud enough: “Just go. Jesus.”

In-ho gave them a sharp look in the reflection. “You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t,” they murmured.

They drove in silence the rest of the way.

It was a modest apartment complex in a quieter part of the city, old bricks and warm windows, the kind of place where neighbors still knew each other and left their shoes outside the door. In-ho stood frozen on the pavement like a soldier before a firing squad.

[Name] trailed behind them, hands in their hoodie pocket, not really invested but not walking away either. They didn’t understand this kind of love. Couldn’t even wrap their head around it. A parent who wanted their kid back? Who’d forgive abandonment, no contact, all of it, just because she missed them?

They didn’t say anything.

But maybe, they’d get it one day. Through In-ho. Ironic, considering he was just the antagonist of a Netflix show to them just a week ago.

The hallway smelled like soy sauce and laundry. The door was already opening before they could knock.

Their mother stood there. Gray streaks in her hair, laugh lines deepened, and her eyes – those were Jun-ho’s eyes – widened with something between shock and joy.

“...In-ho?”

She gasped. pure emotion crashing in.

And then she hugged him.

Tight. Like years hadn’t passed. Like she didn’t need him to say sorry, because he was here now.

She did cry, of course. Jun-ho smirked knowingly and slipped past them inside.

And [Name] just stood at the threshold, awkward and quiet.

The woman looked at them. Her eyes softened further.

“Oh, you’re the one from the other week!” she said, voice so warm it could melt concrete. “You helped with Jun-ho’s plans, right? You were so polite – come in, come in.”

Polite. [Name] nearly laughed.

They stepped inside. The apartment was small but cozy, the kind of place where time slowed down, where homemade meals meant something, where a thousand tiny signs of love lingered in every dusty photo frame and knitted throw blanket.

It felt like safety.

And it was nauseating.

[Name] sat stiffly at the dinner table while Jun-ho rifled through cabinets like a man starved and In-ho was ushered to sit like a boy returning from war. Their mother made tea. She asked no hard questions. Only if anyone was hungry. Only if they were warm enough.

She even smiled at [Name] and said, “You’ll have to teach me what snacks you like, okay? I’ll stock them next time.”

Next time– next…time?

[Name] blinked.

And something in their chest pulled tight. Strange and unfamiliar. And warm.

They didn’t speak much that night. No one did.

But as the sky lightened and the world stirred again beyond the windows, [Name] found themself not wanting to leave.

Not just the apartment.

The moment.

Because it felt like something they’d never had before, something they didn’t believe could even exist–

A family.

And somehow, despite everything.

They were part of it.

—

Two hours after soup, warmth, and the quiet disbelief of being alive, it came up.

Well. In-ho brought it up.

They were all sitting on the floor of the living room, bowls of sliced fruit and weird crackers between them, the TV playing some late-night documentary no one was watching. Jun-ho was flopped sideways on the couch, mumbling something about the agony of being an officer with minimum wage and how his back hurt. [Name] was curled up in a blanket, half-asleep but still alert.

In-ho cleared his throat.

“I’m adopting them.”

His mother blinked. “...Who?”

He motioned toward the blanket lump that was very clearly [Name].

She paused.

And then her eyes lit up.

“Really?! I’m going to be a grandma!? Oh, they’re so cute!” She clasped her hands together.

[Name] peeled back the blanket just enough to blink at her, slow and cold as a snake. “Take it back.”

Jun-ho howled. Actually rolled off the couch wheezing. Shitting bricks.

In-ho looked away fast, face twitching, like if he made eye contact with anyone, he might burst out laughing too.

“She’s serious, hyung,” Jun-ho coughed out between gasps. “She’ll knit sweaters. You’re doomed, [Name].”

“She’s known me for two hours,” [Name] muttered. “This is a sickness.”

But the woman was delighted. Talking about what color slippers to buy and how [Name] looked underfed (they didn’t (they did)) and how they needed more plants in their life. And In-ho just nodded and let her have her moment.

They stayed for two days.

The apartment was warm, but it was also small, too small for three half-insomniac trauma patients to exist in one shared space without snapping. On the third morning, Jun-ho sighed, stretched, and declared he was staying with their mom.

“I need to make up some story for the precinct anyway,” he said. “Maybe I’ll say I got food poisoning in Busan.”

[Name] raised an eyebrow. “You think they’re gonna believe that?”

“I’m hot. I can pull it off.”

“You were missing for a week.”

“Hot.”

Their mom nodded thoughtfully. “He is very pretty.”

[Name] looked at her. “He’s your son.”

“I didn’t say handsome, I said pretty. It’s different.”

As Jun-ho spun into yet another ego-fueled spiral, In-ho stood up, stretched, and looked at [Name]. “You ready?”

They left by evening.

He didn’t say which safehouse they were going to, just that it was in Seoul. They took a black car. Quiet ride. [Name] watched the city lights flicker by and half-dozed with their face against the window.

Until they got there.

And [Name] stepped out in front of a towering building in Gangnam. Glossy. Expensive. Modern.

And then got in the private elevator.

And then walked into the penthouse suite.

And just stood there, staring.

“…This is your safehouse?” They asked slowly. Flatly.

In-ho dropped his bag by the door. “Yes.”

[Name] turned to him. “Do you know what ‘safehouse’ means?”

He looked back, completely unbothered. “A place where you’re safe.”

“A place where you’re not noticeable.”

“I’m not noticeable. No one knows I’m alive.”

“…You have a wine rack.”

“I don’t drink wine.”

“There’s a fountain.”

“It’s aesthetic.”

[Name] stared. Looked around again. High ceilings. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Silk pillows. Modern kitchen that’s probably never been used. A couch that could fit ten people.

This wasn’t a safehouse. This was a villain lair.

“…This is lit,” they murmured.

In-ho turned away so they wouldn’t see him smile.

And just like that, [Name] dropped their bag by the door too. They wandered into a bedroom like they’d always belonged there, kicking off their shoes and throwing themselves onto a bed that probably cost more than their existence.

They were in a home now.

Weird. But not unwelcome.

—

The first day in the penthouse was… strange.

Not in a bad way. Just weird. Disorienting. Like waking up in someone else’s dream and deciding to stay because, well, there’s heating and snacks.

[Name] drifted from room to room like a ghost, still half-expecting someone to shake them awake and tell them it was over. That they were still in an alley, bleeding out, alone. That none of this – transporting to another reality, game, rescue, adoption, boat, explosions, him – was real.

Meanwhile, In-ho paced the living room, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, muttering things in hushed tones. Big words like birth certificate and identity reconstruction and schooling, eventually, maybe. He was using That Voice, the one that made men who wore suits flinch and government workers suddenly very, very cooperative.

Coward.

[Name] flopped sideways on the couch, legs over the armrest, arms covering their face. “You're just gonna use your secret rich guy connections for everything, aren’t you?”

In-ho, still on the call, flicked his eyes toward them. “I prefer the term efficient solutions.”

“You’re so lazy.”

“Resourceful.”

“Coward.”

“[Name].”

They kicked the air. “Coowwaarrdd.”

He ended the call with a subtle smirk. “Do you want a legal existence or not?”

“...”

And that was that.

Somehow, by the end of the day, they had a digital identity, a clean slate, a new folder in a government system somewhere claiming they'd always been alive, born in some small hospital outside of Busan. Their name hadn't changed, of course – [Name] would never give it up, not even for a fresh start. It was the only thing their mother ever gave them that didn’t hurt to hold. They kept it close.

Still.

Sitting there, surrounded by actual furniture and not concrete walls or sterile metal, they found themself thinking too far ahead. Tomorrow. Next week. A year from now.

What was that?

Planning?

Hope?

They dissociated for twenty minutes.

Came back to reality in the kitchen, standing beside In-ho, who was muttering to himself while absolutely butchering a fruit salad. Apple slices uneven, banana mushy, orange segments trying to escape the bowl.

[Name] blinked. “Is that supposed to be edible?”

He didn’t even look embarrassed. “The apples saw some things.”

“They look like they committed war crimes.”

He handed them the bowl proudly.

[Name] stared at it. Then stared at him.

And their chest hurt.

He smiled at them. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like they weren’t complicated and broken and too much to hold. Like they were just a kid, and he was just a man, and this was just a really fucked up version of making breakfast.

The gang that once took [Name] in, those cold-eyed bastards, sharp words and rough hands, they never smiled like that. Never looked at them like that. Never talked to them like they were a person, just some sharp thing on a leash.

And they’d dared to compare them – those trash, to him? To In-ho?

How dare they.

[Name] took the bowl.

Ate the awful fruit salad.

Didn’t say thank you.

But In-ho smiled anyway.

—

A week passed. Quietly.

It was the kind of quiet that made [Name] suspicious at first. Like something horrible was hiding behind the corner, waiting to lunge. But it never came. No alarms, no screaming, no one pulling them out of bed at dawn. Just… calm. A strange, baffling calm.

The penthouse didn’t creak with secrets. No one screamed behind the walls. The most violent thing that happened all week was when In-ho accidentally elbowed a cabinet open while making coffee and swore like he’d been shot.

Jun-ho visited a few times, always knocking like a man who knew he wasn’t paying rent. He’d show up with some dumb snack or that smug grin that made [Name] consider war crimes. And every time, without fail, [Name] would wait until he got comfortable, took off his shoes, sat on the couch, exhaled, then launch into a verbal assault.

“Did you always look like a tax fraud?”

“You came all the way here just to breathe near me?”

“Your taste in socks is a national disaster.”

Jun-ho took it like a champ, smirking through the pain, throwing back a few of his own before he was dogpiled on immediately, while In-ho just sat in the armchair like a smug king in exile, watching his sibling and his child bicker like he'd dreamed of this exact scenario for years.

This was normal now.

And going out? That was a goddamn circus.

It started with something simple. Just a coat for [Name], a phone, headphones. And then it evolved. Erupted.

By the time they reached the third store in the mall, [Name] had become a shopping maniac, pointing at things like a sniper. “That. This. Oh fuck yes, that.”

They didn’t even pretend to check prices. Jun-ho joined them, being the bastard that he was, hyping up everything.

“You’ll need this for school.”

“It’s a toaster. I’m not going to school with a toaster.”

“Yeah but like… imagine?”

“Give it to me.”

In-ho didn’t even argue. He just took the bags. All of them. One by one. Until he couldn’t carry more and had to call for backup. Actual mall employees were called in to take the stuff and store it in a waiting lounge. They weren’t even done.

The grand finale was the food court.

[Name] stood in front of the fast food counters like Moses in front of the Red Sea. A holy moment.

They hadn’t had fast food in years. Not real, greasy, heart-attack-on-a-tray fast food. Not nuggets and fries and burgers the size of their face. Not chocolate milkshakes. Not stupid plastic trays.

They stared at the menu.

And smiled.

“Two of everything,” they told the cashier. “Extra fries. Extra sauce. No vegetables. And if you put pickles in that burger I will punch and sue.”

In-ho paid without blinking.

They sat at a corner table, covered in trays. Jun-ho bit into a burger with a moan that made two teenagers at the next table uncomfortable. [Name] had five fries in their mouth at once, shirt sleeves rolled up like it was about to be a fist fight against God.

In-ho watched them both, sipping soda like a proud father watching his feral children thrive.

This was peace.

 

☆

 

The adoption went through officially on a Thursday.

[Name] didn’t say much when it happened. Just sat there with their new ID, new documents, new everything – everything they hadn’t had in years, maybe never had to begin with. They stared at the paper for a long time. Like it might disappear if they blinked.

It didn’t.

In-ho sat beside them, completely composed on the outside, but unmistakably, ridiculously overjoyed. He was glowing. Like he was the one getting adopted. Like someone just told him the universe finally made sense.

And maybe it did.

Jun-ho and their mom came over that evening for a tiny celebration. Nothing big. Just them. A few snacks, some music. A cake In-ho awkwardly picked out last minute with the help of a baker who probably thought he was planning a proposal.

[Name] got hugged. A lot.

By the grandma first. That sweet, suffocating, warm kind of hug only old ladies who’ve already decided you’re family can give. Then Jun-ho pulled them in next, grinning like a man who finally had enough blackmail material to last a decade.

[Name] didn’t hug back at first.

They just stood there, arms stiff, caught between instinct and confusion. But then something shifted. Slowly, tentatively, they leaned in. Rested their head against the shoulder. Let the warmth sink in.

It was weird.

Unfamiliar.

But not bad.

They tried. Tried not to ruin anything. Tried not to make a snide comment. Tried not to roll their eyes or bolt when they got a slice of cake handed to them with a candle in it and no instructions beyond “just blow it out, we’re being symbolic.” it wasn't even their birthday.

They tried.

And everyone noticed.

In-ho, especially. He kept glancing at them like he couldn’t believe this was real. That they were real. That they chose this.

At one point, he looked like he might cry, eyes shimmering, jaw clenched, soft lines in his face twitching like emotion was trying to punch its way out.

Before it got embarrassing – Jun-ho, merciful bastard, smacked him on the back so hard it echoed, and then immediately yelped when In-ho whacked him in the head with a spoon.

The moment passed.

But it lingered.

Later that night, when the two guests left and the apartment quieted down again, [Name] sat on the couch with their legs tucked under them, holding a glass of juice they hadn’t drunk yet. The adoption certificate sat on the coffee table like a silent miracle.

They looked at it again. Then at In-ho.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

This was it.

They were here.

They had a home.

They had people.

They had a name.

 

FIN.

 

✧✧✧

 

Notes:

Can you tell I couldn't stop? There were so many good places to end the chapter but I just could NOT stop writing that teeth rotting fluff dawg. It was all I needed and craved. The whole reason I wrote this fic was for THIS. For this man to be MY FATHER. For this FLUFFY FLUFFINESS.

This is what I call a true happy ending. Haha!!! Or is it.

JOKING LMAO. I would NEVER do that to you guys ☝️ I'm not cruel, not at all. Especially not in this fic. It's all self indulgent meaning I NEED to be happy and untearful.

Can you tell I changed my writing style? Ever since I decided to go with something more emotional and feeling when I wrote "HIS RULES" I thought whyyy not do the same with "MINOR ISSUE"? Oh it fit so well I'm happy now.

Anyway!!! I'll still be posting on the other fic. This will sit here and rot until SEASON THREE COMES THE FUCK OUT AAAAAAAAAAA—

So PLEASE comment for the sake of this last chapter.

Chapter 20: ✧|| SPECIAL: Suspicious call

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

In-ho’s unlimited balance is raising eyebrows. Investigator [Name] and jun-ho are on the case. We hope to find some clues soon.

Notes:

I couldn't handle it.

I know only three hours passed since I posted the last chapter but I realized I can't breathe without thinking about this fanfic so ALL I'm gonna do now is post one shots. Just domestic fluff or angst/comfort and whatever. Yk. 🤭

So this is one. Just 2k words of sillies having fun.

Enjoy 🫶🎀

✧

 

Six months had passed since the adoption. Six whole months of bizarre, domestic teeth rotting fluff.

It wasn’t perfect. [Name] still had the occasional nightmare, the random fits of spiraling dread, the chronic inability to accept compliments without short-circuiting, but it was calm.

They had a toothbrush. They had a bed. They had a safehouse-penthouse and a legal name and a man who stared at them as if they were his entire world.

But something started gnawing at them.

A simple, logical, utterly annoying question.

Where the hell was In-ho getting all this money?

Sure, they’d stolen the prize money fair and square. 45.6 billion won split evenly, including a chunk for [Name]. But even with their portion untouched in a private account – because they were stubborn and refused to spend their own cut– In-ho never seemed to run out. No matter how many times they tried to make him run out. His card was literally unlimited.

Private cars. Fancy dinners. Lavish gifts for no reason. Tuition inquiries. Passports. Legal connections. The best therapists and documents, flown in from other countries. He’d even gotten them a cat. A real tuxedo cat. With vaccinations and a gold-tag collar and its own goddamn bed, toys and private side of the penthouse. They named him mishi.

And that was the problem.

The Squid Games were gone.

They’d watched the island explode together. Gone like Atlantis.

So…?

[Name] sat on the couch one lazy afternoon, watching In-ho return from some suspiciously important-sounding phone call. The man smiled at them, kissed the top of their head, then moved to the kitchen like it was the most normal thing in the world.

[Name] narrowed their eyes. Suspicion of bullshit detected.

“In-ho.”

“Mm?”

“Where are you getting all this money from?”

There was a pause. Just a second too long. Then, “We budget well.”

“No. We don’t.”

“We do.”

“You bought me socks made of alpaca hair.”

“They were discounted–”

“Why do we need three fridges?!”

In-ho said nothing.

[Name] crossed their arms. “Are the games still running somewhere?”

His head jerked toward them so fast, it was almost funny. “No. God, no. Not in Korea. Not anywhere I’m connected to.”

“Connected to?” [Name] raised a brow. “That’s a suspicious-ass way to put it.”

“I meant–”

“So you are still connected to them?”

“No. That’s not–”

“You know what,” [Name] said flatly, standing up and pulling out their phone. “I need backup.”

In-ho blinked. “Wait, what–”

Too late.

Call: Jun-ho.

Jun-ho picked up on the second ring. “Yah?”

“Get your ass over here.”

“What did he do?”

“He’s dodging questions. He's dodging my questions.”

In-ho looked like he regretted every life decision that led him to this moment.

Jun-ho arrived twenty minutes later with snacks, a smug grin, and zero moral restraint.

“So.” Jun-ho leaned on the wall. “You hiding offshore accounts again, hyung?”

“Again?” [Name] echoed.

“Oh, he used to do that in college all the time. The man invented corruption.”

“I was majoring in law!”

“Exactly!”

[Name] looked between them, then back at In-ho, unimpressed. “Hello?? I'm waiting.”

And In-ho – former Front Man, tactician of the elite death cult, now full-time dad – sighed like a war veteran on his fifth deployment.

He was not getting out of this one.

The interrogation lasted two hours.

Two hours of unhinged tactics, verbal traps, fake news headlines, casual hacking threats, and one very serious presentation [Name] made on Google Slides titled “Where The Hell Is The Money Coming From: A Financial Inquiry.”

In-ho dodged every single attempt. Like a damn modern day fucking ninja. Like what.

“Where’s the money from?

—“Did you eat lunch today? You haven’t been drinking enough water.”

“Where is the money coming from?”

—“Oh, look at this cat video. You love cats.”

“In. Ho.”

—“I thought we were watching a movie?”

By the third time he asked if they wanted to order sushi mid-question, [Name] stood up, pointed a finger, and declared with pure teenage rage. “He’s weaponizing my attention span!”

“You’re just now realizing?” Jun-ho asked, sprawled upside-down on the rug like he lived there.

Eventually, [Name] and Jun-ho gave up on traditional methods and posted themselves behind the couch. [Name] slurped their juice box with murderous intent.

Jun-ho, picking lint off his shirt, hummed. “Alright. New approach.”

“No shit,” [Name] muttered.

“You know how In-ho is with you. He crumbles if you even smile.” He clasped his hands together seriously.

[Name] squinted. “Yoouurr point?”

“Puppy eyes.”

There was silence.

Long, painful silence.

[Name] slowly turned to stare at him. “You want me… to give him puppy eyes.”

“It works. I’ve seen it. Once you blink at him real slow, it’s like his brain bluescreens.”

“I’m autistic, Jun-ho. I blink like a lizard. I don’t do puppy..eyes – jeez, stop with the italics it's not that dramatic.”

“You’re also a manipulative little shit when you want something,” Jun-ho said cheerfully. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve seen you get an entire month’s worth of groceries for free just by pouting at the cashier.”

“That’s different. She had maternal trauma.”

“So does my brother.”

[Name] froze. “…Oh my god you’re right.”

“I know I’m right.”

They both peeked over the couch, watching In-ho at the kitchen counter, meticulously peeling a mango like a man with nothing to hide.

[Name] narrowed their eyes. “This is the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard.”

Jun-ho grinned. “So you’re gonna do it?”

“Oh yeah. I’m gonna weaponize every ounce of childhood trauma in these eyes. That bastard won’t know what hit him.”

[Name] fixed their hair in the toaster reflection like they were prepping for a photoshoot and not a tactical emotional assault. They fluffed their bangs, smoothed the sides, gave themselves a critical once-over–

Then Jun-ho promptly reached over and messed it all up.

“Fucker-!”

“There we go,” he said, leaning back with the smugness of a man who’d just thrown a firecracker into a church. “You look better like this. Weirder. It’s very you. Like a wet cat someone tried to dry off with a leaf blower.”

[Name] stared at him. “I hope you choke on a lego.”

“Love you too.”

Somewhere, in the secret and terrifying corridors of In-ho’s brain, that exact description would trigger a subconscious mental squeal. Wet cat with horrific trauma and mental issues? That's my kid. That’s my emotional support child. That’s my baby.

Oblivious to the silent internal psychological warfare they were about to cause, [Name] strutted into the kitchen like a little prince. In-ho was still at the counter, now pouring sliced mango into a glass bowl with the precision of someone trying to distract himself from a conversation he knew he was avoiding.

He glanced down at them with a smile the moment they approached, all soft eyes and "do you want mango?" energy.

[Name] didn’t even answer, just reached in and plucked a slice straight from the bowl like a spoiled kid. In-ho didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. If anything, he looked a little proud.

And that’s when [Name] struck.

They tilted their head.

Fluttered their lashes.

Bit into the mango with exaggerated, slow-chew innocence, and a wide-eyed look like they didn’t know the definition of "money laundering" let alone “Where did all the funds from a secret death game go.”

“Hey, In-ho…” they whispered, voice sugary sweet and just a little soft. “Can I ask you something?”

In-ho turned to them, captivated. “Of course.”

[Name] blinked. Blinked slow. Catlike. Doe-eyed. Humiliating.

“Where,” they started, “did you get all the money from?”

There was a pause. A pause long enough for Jun-ho to peer dramatically around the corner like a nosy sitcom neighbor.

In-ho opened his mouth.

[Name] blinked again. This time, with the practiced precision of someone who’d rewatched every puppy adoption commercial for research.

In-ho exhaled. Sat the knife down. Leaned forward just a little.

“…Did Jun-ho put you up to this?”

“Does it matter?” [Name] said, clutching the mango slice like a pen of war. “Answer the question, in-ho.”

In-ho looked at them. At the wide eyes. The messy hair. The faint pout. The mango juice.

He looked like he was fighting for his life.

Their eyes locked. A moment so still it could’ve been painted – if the painting was done in the middle of a war zone. In-ho’s brows furrowed just slightly, an amused smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, while [Name] tilted their head up, juice box abandoned, fingers still shiny with the mango slice still held like a sword for battle.

Silence. Tension. The tiniest quirk of In-ho’s fingers, he was one second away from pinching their cheeks so hard.

No. No, he wouldn't dare–

Riiiiing.

Mercy, divine mercy, in ringtone form.

All three of them flinched, heads turning toward the counter.

In-ho’s phone lit up. No name. Just a number. Suspiciously… unsaved.

[Name] saw it first. Their eyes lit up with curiosity.

In-ho saw them see it. “Don’t–” he started.

Too late.

Like a demon child let loose, [Name] snatched the phone and bolted, sprinting full speed out of the kitchen with a cackle of pure fucking evil. “Ohh what’s thisss? Why is this contact not saved? Are you hiding secrets from your beloved child?”

“[Name]!” In-ho shouted, chasing after them, but not fast enough.

Jun-ho cackled from the couch, already wheezing. “This is it! This is where he loses his parental rights–”

In-ho nearly slammed into the wall as [Name] ducked around the corner, skidding on their socks.

And with the biggest cat grin, they swiped to accept the call.

Held the phone to their ear.

And said, in the most obnoxiously cutesy tone known to mankind. “Hewwoooooo!!!”

Jun-ho actually gagged behind the couch. “Oh my god. I’m gonna throw up. What was that? Why did it sound moist?”

In-ho looked like he was going through all five stages of grief in fast-forward.

[Name] just twirled around, smug as hell, waiting to hear who the hell was on the other end. Because whoever they were… they were about to get very exposed.

There was silence on the other end of the call. A long, stunned kind of silence. [Name] raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-spin.

Then, finally–

“…Who the hell is this?” came a gruff, confused voice with a vague accent. Definitely not someone calling to sell fiber internet.

[Name] dropped the fake tone immediately, voice sharp with sudden suspicion. “Who the hell are you?”

That did it.

In-ho lunged across the couch, practically vaulting over it with enough grace to qualify for the Olympics. “[Name], give me the phone–”

But the teen dodged and ran, now fully invested. “AHA! You are hiding something! What is this, your crime buddy? Old boss? No you killed that bastard– A secret sugar daddy?!”

Jun-ho was screaming with laughter now, flopped over the armrest like a dead fish. “SECRET SUGAR DADDY IS CRAZY–”

The man on the line, very much still present, muttered, “What the actual hell is going on. Hwang, is that you? Did someone get your damn phone again?”

In-ho sighed like a man being driven into madness by his own family. “Yes. Yes, someone did. Please hold.” He grabbed [Name] by the torso, gently but firmly holding them up like one might catch a very sugar high raccoon. “Give me the phone.”

“Not until you tell me who that is–”

“International logistics.”

“That’s so vague it sounds fake–”

“Exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

[Name] narrowed their eyes, still being held midair. “Are you selling organs?”

In-ho pinched the bridge of his nose after lowering them down, so done. “No. It’s about the Games’ remains. I have connections cleaning up the rest of it internationally.”

A pause.

“…Oh,” [Name] said, deflating a little. “That’s actually kind of responsible.”

In-ho crossed his arms. “You think I’d keep a sugar daddy secret from you?”

[Name] frowned. “…No, you’d definitely brag about it.”

“Exactly.”

Jun-ho finally stopped laughing long enough to wheeze, “So can I have the cat-ear headphones now, or…?”

[Name] threw a pillow at him.

In-ho, sighing but fond, returned to the phone like a Vietnam war veteran re-entering battle.

Later, when all was quiet again, [Name] sprawled on the floor beside the couch, staring at the ceiling.

“…You’re really cleaning it all up, huh.”

In-ho, still on hold, nodded. “Every trace.”

And for once, [Name] didn’t say anything snarky or smug.

Because they realized, in that moment, that whatever secrets he had–

He was still trying to make a clean world for them to live in.

…They’d never admit it aloud. But they kinda liked it here.

 

✧

 

Notes:

AWEEEE I LOVEE THIS SO MUCH I MIGHT MAKE A SHITTON OF THESE ONE SHOTS. SEASON THREE WILL ONLY FUEELLL MEEEEE.

Anywho. You can give me requests of anything you want to see!!!! I'll take them as long as they're interesting. They could be angst, fluff, or whatever. Just it has to be this aftermath stuff. No AU or any bs 🗣️🔥🔥‼️‼️‼️

Chapter 21: ✧|| SPECIAL: Therapy

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

What the title said. [Name] goes to therapy against their will. Everyone regrets it.

Notes:

YAHOO!!! This was already half written yesterday I just finished it. I'm a little too excited aren't I.

So obviously I had to make a therapy chapter cuz i mean. Do I even need to explain why? This is great. In fact this might seem a little dramatic to you at first but you'll get it if you were [Name]. Or schizophrenic.

Speaking of schizophrenic. I barely touched on that in the fic, huh? It's mostly because it happens when [Name] is stressed. And WHEN is our diva ever stressed, am I right? If you like details, you'll notice that there was a lot of hints for the rare moments where [Name] was stressed.

WARNING: Mild (or is it) platonic!Yandere themes.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this 5k fuckass chapter 🫶

 

✧

 

[Name] had to go to therapy for real now.

It had been too long of everyone tiptoeing around their wishes, giving them space, letting them cope "their own way" – but enough was enough. If they didn’t go, it was only a matter of time before they had another episode like last week. Nobody wanted to talk about last week.

Especially not In-ho.

[Name] insisted they were being dramatic, of course. Said everyone was overreacting.

Even swore up and down not to leave their room, locking themselves inside with the melodrama of a tragic theater kid.

Not even the combined pleading of Jun-ho, In-ho, and their mom could coax them out. And it said a lot that it took the whole damn unit to even attempt to.

[Name] hated therapists.

They hated their smug little smiles. They hated their clipboard pens clicking every three seconds. They hated the way they always sat forward, too eager to "understand."

Understand what, exactly? That [Name] was a little freak? That they were messed up? They'll go see HIM if they want a reminder.

Why the hell should they sit in a room with a stranger and start opening up like they’re in some kind of cliché? [Name] barely opened up to their own family. Now they’re expected to pay someone to analyze them like a frog in science class?

Literally just paying someone to tell them they’re a problem.

No, thank you.

But unfortunately, the appointment was already made. Unfortunately, their clothes were already chosen. Unfortunately, their boots were already sitting by the door, and three people who deeply cared about them were standing outside that locked door whispering like this was a hostage situation.

It was, sort of. Emotional hostage. [Name] being the hostage and the captor simultaneously.

Inside, they stared at the wall, fists curled in their sleeves. They weren’t leaving. Nope. Absolutely not.

Meanwhile, hours earlier – before [Name] even knew they were being dragged to therapy today – In-ho and Jun-ho had a little…talk with the therapist. Privately. Professionally. Quietly.

Not with threats. No, no. That would be crude. Unnecessary.

But there was a certain look in In-ho’s eyes when he spoke, something calculated, ice cold beneath the polite tone, that had the therapist swallowing down every instinct to argue. Jun-ho added just enough words to solidify the warning: that [Name] was precious. That if anything, even slightly, made them feel worse, hurt, or judged, there would be consequences. Not necessarily threats, not directly. But the message was crystal clear.

By the time [Name] stomped into the office, scowling, teeth clenched, arms crossed so tightly it looked like they were ready to implode, the therapist had already made peace with the fact that this session was going to be war.

He had one goal: survive it.

And somehow, against all odds, not hurt the kid’s feelings.

The therapist had come prepared.

At least, he thought he had.

He expected a hypersensitive kid, maybe one who flinched at every word, maybe someone who’d cry over the slightest nudge. He told himself the warnings, those stern, terrifyingly calm "suggestions" from those two gentlemen, were just precautions.

Maybe [Name] was emotionally fragile. Maybe they were insecure. Maybe they were one of those kids that collapsed under the weight of a single sharp word–

What feelings?

Two hours in and the therapist was emotionally bankrupt. Mentally fried. 

Holding on by a single neuron. It was like trying to hold a philosophical debate with a hydra made of sarcasm, nihilism, and centuries of repressed rage.

Every time he asked something, anything, [Name] answered like it was a game of dodgeball and his words were the balls. 

They ducked, deflected, twisted the meaning, and occasionally lobbed it back at him so hard it cracked his mental kneecaps.

No, actually, they were thriving.

Every sigh, every twitch of his brow, every carefully composed "let’s reframe that thought" only seemed to fuel [Name] further. Watching him unravel? That was the real therapy for them. Like feeding an eldritch being pieces of your soul in exchange for silence.

Then he muttered it. Not meaning to. Not consciously.

“Satanic child…”

Just under his breath. Just to himself. A breathless sigh of defeat more than anything. A mistake. A big one.

The silence that followed was instant and suffocating.

[Name] stopped.

They had been mid-sentence, probably something unholy about putting him in a chokehold if he asked about their feelings one more time, but now, they were still. Just staring.

Blankly.

Flatly.

That look.

The therapist blinked, slowly. He didn’t understand what was happening, but his gut twisted the way it did when a patient hit something raw. Or when something went very, very wrong.

Because [Name] wasn't looking at him anymore. They were looking through him.

The word echoed in their skull. "Demon." Their father’s voice, heavy and wild with delusion. "Your fault—all of it!..you..!" Their mother, eyes broken wide as she hissed out her last words. "Satan!"

For a moment, the air in the room felt like it dropped ten degrees.

The therapist felt it. He felt wrong. Like he had opened a door he had no right to even look at. He sat up straighter, fumbled for words.

"I–"

Too late. That look was still there. Distant. Detached.

And then they blinked, once, slowly, and said. “…What."

Oh, he was so fucked.

So completely fucked he could be unfucked, retied, and fucked all over again.

In-ho, seated outside. He had been waiting for the appointment to end in the past two hours while working on his laptop, only for the door to slam open.

He barely stood up when the door slammed open, but he froze the moment he saw them.

[Name], storming out, shoes hitting the floor too hard, hands clenched too tight, chest rising and falling like they couldn’t breathe properly, but it was the eyes. That expression. Vacant and boiling at once. A pressure cooker just waiting to explode.

It was the same look as last week.

That look from the hallway mirror after the episode, when they didn’t recognize themselves anymore. When they didn't even remember him. Didn't stop muttering about the hands that weren't there. The episode that made Jun-ho’s voice falter and In-ho’s hands tremble when he reached for them.

He couldn't reach now.

“[Name]…” he started, soft and cautious.

They didn’t even look at him. Just kept walking. Straight past, down the hall, into the elevator, finger jabbing the button like it owed them something.

Inside the room, the therapist stood by his chair, pale. Hands twitching by his sides.

In-ho stepped in. Calmly. Quietly.

“You had one job,” he hissed. Voice level. Deadly.

The therapist couldn’t speak. Could barely meet his eyes.

In-ho didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and left, calling Jun-ho with one hand while grabbing his coat with the other. He'll deal with that incompetent asshat later.

Now. [Name] was gone. Again. Not physically, no. They were in the building. Somewhere. But mentally, they’ve fallen into it all again. And it was all spiraling faster than before.

In-ho stepped into the elevator, still eerily calm on the outside – but his fingers were trembling as they hovered over the buttons. There were over ten floors. Dozens of places they could be. He took a breath.

Their favorite number.

He pressed 1.

The doors slid shut. And as the elevator descended, so did his heart. Slowly. Dread curling at the edges of his breath.

They could’ve gone anywhere. Taken the stairs. Hidden in a supply closet.

Hell, they could’ve slipped outside the second he turned his back. But something told him… lobby. If not, then maybe they were leaving.

The second the elevator doors opened, he was already dialing.

"Jun-ho. Now. They're gone. Get the car, check the streets, anywhere near the building."

“Shit- okay, okay, I’m already halfway there.” Jun-ho’s voice on the other end crackled with tension. “Where were they going?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think they do either.”

Because [Name] wasn't running. They were unraveling.

And In-ho couldn't afford to lose them. Not again. Not like this.

The lobby was quiet when In-ho stepped out, but something felt off, like a room after the lights go out. He scanned the area. A few people milling about. No [Name].

Then, through the revolving doors, just outside, on the edge of the sidewalk, of the traffic heavy street, he saw a figure.

Hunched.

Staring ahead blankly.

It was them.

Shoes half untied, shoulders drawn up as if they could physically shrink out of existence, holding their arms like they were freezing in the middle of summer.

The city buzzed around them, indifferent, loud, too alive.

And they stood still in the middle of it all, like a ghost that hadn’t realized it had died.

In-ho moved before he could think.

He approached carefully, not fast, not loud. Like one might approach a deer, injured, alert, ready to bolt. His footsteps slow. Careful. He didn’t say their name until he was close enough they could hear him without anyone else catching it.

“[Name]…”

They flinched. Just slightly. But it was enough.

He saw it. The flicker of fear behind their eyes. Or maybe not fear, maybe grief. Rage. All tangled. All messy. Their expression was blank, but their eyes… God, their eyes were screaming.

“I'm not a…” they started, voice cracked and small, but they didn’t finish.

He stepped closer.

“You don’t have to explain.” His tone was soft. He hated that it cracked at the end. “Let’s go home.”

[Name] didn’t move.

So he did something rare. Something only they ever got to see.

He opened his arms.

Not a word. Not a command. Just… an offer.

They stared.

And for a long, long moment, In-ho thought they would walk away. Disappear. Reject him.

But then their shoulders gave in.

They moved forward, slow, and buried themselves in his chest. Not hugging back, not crying, just… there. Pressed against him like they didn’t know how to accept comfort, but desperately needed to feel it.

In-ho held them tight.

He didn’t say anything about the therapist. About this. About the way they looked like death had passed through them.

He just held them.

Jun-ho pulled up in the car seconds later, braking hard the moment he spotted them on the curb. He rolled down the window, face pale and tense.

“You got them?”

In-ho nodded, still holding on. [Name] hadn’t moved.

“Let’s go home,” he repeated, quieter now. “Okay?”

They gave the smallest nod.

And that was enough.

—

Back in the penthouse, the air felt heavier than usual. Like even the walls knew something had cracked.

Jun-ho had stayed quiet during the drive, glancing every so often at the rearview mirror, where [Name] sat still as a statue, face pressed faintly to the cool glass of the window.

They hadn’t said a single word.

Not when In-ho gently buckled their seatbelt. Not when Jun-ho asked if they wanted food. Not even when they got home and Mishi, their tuxedo cat, greeted them with his usual dramatic meow and headbutted their leg like a desperate little thing.

Nothing.

Just silence.

In-ho hated it. Hated how quiet the apartment was.

Hated how [Name] wandered to the couch and sank into it like their body weighed too much to carry. Mishi jumped up after them, eager as ever, crawling across their chest and curling up neatly, his tail flicking against their cheek.

But they didn’t pet him. Not a single finger twitch.

No cooing. No exaggerated baby voice calling him their “little god.” Not even a passive scratch behind his ears.

In-ho stood frozen across the room. Watching.

His heart actually stuttered.

[Name]. Not petting their cat.

It was worse than he thought.

He sat down slowly on the armrest of the opposite couch, eyes never leaving them. “Hey,” he said, voice low, careful, like every syllable might accidentally collapse them. “You’re home. You’re safe. You want me to make you something?”

Silence.

Jun-ho, who had been pacing in the hallway trying not to scream into a pillow, walked in and took one look before freezing.

“…Okay,” he muttered. “This is actually terrifying. Mishi is right there. I’m going to cry.”

Still nothing.

Jun-ho looked to In-ho. Desperate. “What do we do?”

In-ho exhaled through his nose, standing and slowly walking over. He knelt down beside the couch, gently resting his palm near [Name]’s arm without touching them. Not yet. Just a presence.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said. “But can you look at me?”

A long pause.

Then, sluggishly, their eyes moved.

Met his.

And that hollow look in them, like someone had scooped the soul out of their chest and left the shell behind.

“Don’t disappear on me,” In-ho whispered. Not pleading. Not begging. Just truth.

“You’re allowed to hate what happened. You’re allowed to shut down. But don’t vanish. Not from us. Not from me.”

Silence again.

Then, finally… the faintest shift.

Their fingers brushed over Mishi’s fur.

Not a full pet. Not even a real movement.

But it was something.

And In-ho almost did pass out.

Then their mom showed up like she always did, carrying light in one hand and homemade dessert in the other.

The first thing she noticed was how quiet it was. No music. No sarcastic remarks flying back and forth. No one screaming bloody murder. Just silence. It unsettled her immediately.

She came in with a soft, “I brought the cookies they like,” holding up the tray with a hopeful smile. “And the walnut cake. The one with the honey drizzle, not the other one they said tasted like ‘sad cardboard.’”

No one answered.

Jun-ho was on the kitchen island, arms crossed, eyes heavy. In-ho stood behind the couch with a hand braced against it, staring at the shape lying still under a blanket.

[Name], sprawled across the couch, Mishi curled over their chest like a living weight. And they hadn’t moved once. Not even a twitch when she entered. Not even when she called their name gently.

Not even when the scent of fresh cookies wafted through the room.

That was when she put the tray down.

“What happened..?” she whispered.

Jun-ho glanced toward In-ho, who didn’t say anything for a long time. His eyes hadn’t left [Name] once.

“We don’t know yet,” he finally murmured. “They walked out of the session halfway through. Dissociated the whole way home, and haven’t said a word since.”

The mother blinked, looking from one to the other. Her voice sharpened slightly. “Did the therapist say something?”

In-ho inhaled slowly through his nose.

“We weren’t inside,” Jun-ho answered for him. “But something happened. Bad enough for them to shut down like this.”

The mother took a few steps closer, kneeling beside the couch, carefully brushing a bit of hair out of [Name]’s face.

“My baby..” she murmured.

No response.

Not even a blink.

She looked up again, something wild in her eyes now. “Then why are we still letting that therapist breathe?”

Jun-ho actually winced. “Mom–”

“No, no. That’s my grandkid. Do you see them right now? I’ve seen corpses more alive than this. You said that man was vetted, that he was–”

“He was warned,” In-ho interrupted softly, like the words tasted foul. “Clearly, that wasn’t enough.”

Mishi shifted slightly but [Name] still didn’t move. Their fingers were loose. Limp. As if even twitching took too much effort.

Their mom reached over and took one of those hands, holding it between hers. Warm, firm, grounding.

“We’ll get them back,” she said quietly. “Whatever that bastard broke, we’ll put it back together.”

And if they couldn't?

Well.

She had a few ideas about what could be broken in return.

Nightfall draped the penthouse in velvet silence.

[Name] hadn’t moved once since they were carried to bed.

In-ho had scooped them up carefully, as if they were made of glass, and honestly, they felt like it. Cold. Fragile. Cracked in places he couldn’t see.

Mishi padded behind, tail flicking with quiet concern, hopping up beside them the moment they were laid down.

Still nothing.

Not a word.

Not even a mumble.

They just turned away from him, their back curled slightly, like they were trying to hide inside their own bones.

In-ho had tried. God, had he tried.

He offered them the dragon plushie, the one he secretly bought multiples of, just in case something happened to the original. The one they always denied loving but never failed to cling to when they thought no one was looking.

He held it out, gently nudging it beside them on the bed, hoping for even the faintest twitch of acknowledgment.

Nothing.

Not a glance. Not a murmur. Not even that stubborn wrinkle of their nose they made when pretending they didn’t care.

Just aching silence.

And it shattered something in him. He stood there for a long time, jaw clenched, hands curled tightly at his sides. The soft hum of the city lights beyond the window was the only thing reminding him that time was moving at all.

What the hell had that man said?

What could have possibly been said that did this? [Name] had been through war. They had survived beasts. They had clawed their way out of trauma so deep it could drown grown men in a second.

But this had hollowed them out from the inside.

And In-ho didn’t want to be calm anymore. Didn’t want to be calculating. Didn't want to be rational. He agreed with his mother now, completely and utterly.

Why the fuck was that bastard still breathing after doing this?

In-ho couldn’t breathe.

His chest was tight with something he didn’t have a name for, grief, maybe. Or fear. Or that brittle, gutting kind of heartbreak you only feel when someone you love goes quiet in a way that feels permanent.

[Name] was there, lying so still in the bed, small and quiet and far too still for someone who used to crack jokes about soup being a government conspiracy. Their back was to him, arms curled in, legs drawn up like they were trying to disappear into themselves. Shrinking. Retreating.

He’d seen dead bodies with more life than this.

His hand hovered in the air for a moment, trembling slightly, caught in hesitation. He didn’t want to touch them if they didn’t want him to. He didn’t want to make it worse.

But he had to say something.

“[Name]…” he whispered, voice so hoarse it scraped his throat raw. “Please. Say something.”

Silence.

Not defiance. Not attitude. Not even their usual deadpan sarcasm. Just… silence.

It crushed him.

He knelt beside the bed, lowering himself slowly, like he was approaching something fragile. His hands rested on the mattress now, knuckles white.

“I don’t care what happened,” he said, quieter this time, as if trying to thread his voice through the haze they were stuck in. “You don’t have to explain anything. I just– I just need to know you’re still here.”

His throat tightened. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know what broke."

Still nothing.

Then, just as he was about to speak again, he felt it.

A tremble beneath his palm.

A breath caught on a sob.

His eyes snapped to them, but they still didn’t look at him. Their shoulders shook, ever so slightly, and when the sound came, it was heartbreakingly small.

A sob. An actual sob.

And suddenly, he was holding them. He didn’t even remember moving. One arm wrapped around their trembling frame, the other cradling the back of their head as if they might vanish if he wasn’t careful. His hand slid gently through their hair, soft and rhythmic and steady. He didn't say anything else, didn't ask, didn't press. He just held on.

And that’s when it hit him.

They were crying into his chest.

[Name] – the kid who treated vulnerability like a disease – was clinging to him like they’d drown otherwise. Their fists curled into his shirt, their face hidden against him, and they were crying. Really crying. Not just a tear or two, but the kind that came from some deep, locked-away place people weren’t supposed to see.

And In-ho didn’t move.

He didn’t dare.

He’d thought they were incapable of this, of crying, of trusting, of feeling like this. He thought maybe they’d been numbed down too long to even remember how. But here they were.

Crying. Shaking. Letting him see it.

Letting him hold it.

His jaw clenched. He kept stroking their hair, slow and calming, his voice barely a whisper against the crown of their head.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t say he was proud. Those things could come later.

Right now, he was still trying to believe this moment was real.

That they trusted him enough to fall apart in his arms.

The crying slowed.

Not all at once, no, it was a gradual thing. Like a storm losing steam, like the waves after a crash pulling back into the sea. [Name] still clutched him, face buried against his chest, but the sobs were quieter now. Less jagged. Their breaths were beginning to even out, shaky and uneven but coming back to earth. Grounding.

In-ho didn’t move.

Not even when the ache in his arm from holding them so long started to throb. Not even when the clock ticked past midnight and the city outside dulled into a lull. He stayed, arms wrapped around them, hand gently stroking their hair again and again. Feeling everything, the slight shake of their shoulders, the trembling weight of their trust.

His heart was still beating too fast.

He didn’t speak. Not until he felt their hands relax slightly, their fingers unclenching from the fabric of his shirt.

“…You’re safe,” he whispered, voice hoarse with emotion he never let anyone else see. “I’m here. Always.”

Because that was what this was, wasn’t it?

Not just a breakdown. Not just trauma resurfacing. This was trust, raw trust. [Name] had let him in, cracked open their world for just a moment and let him see inside, and In-ho, for all his cold logic and obsessive control, felt unworthy.

Unworthy, but chosen. And now that he had this part of them, this sliver of unguarded soul, he would never, ever let anyone endanger it again.

That therapist will be gone. Erased. Forget consequences. Forget laws.

Jun-ho had already called twice, asking if they should move in tonight or wait till dawn. The man was furious. Righteous. Protective in that way brothers could be when their entire world had shifted to center on a kid that had suddenly become their own. He’d dropped the badge. The moral code. He’d dropped everything the moment he saw [Name] dissociating in the back seat, their body small and unmoving like something that had finally broken under pressure.

They were both monsters now – in-ho had always been one.

For them.

But In-ho, his obsession ran deeper than blood.

It wasn’t just about vengeance. It wasn’t even about justice. It was about the quiet, raging fire in his chest that screamed never again.

Never again would someone reduce [Name] to this. Never again would someone tear into them and walk away. Never again would the world treat them like a burden, a thing, a problem to fix.

He’d kill for them. Gladly. Silently. Without hesitation. It wouldn’t even keep him up at night.

But right now, all he could do was hold them tighter, let them feel the steadiness of his breathing, the calm in his presence. Something to anchor them. Something they could always, always come back to.

After what felt like hours in that still, sacred silence, In-ho pressed a light kiss to the crown of their head, gentle, fatherly. Nothing possessive, nothing greedy. Just a vow..

“I don’t care how long it takes,” he said, just above a whisper. “You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to explain. But I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?”

He didn’t expect an answer. But he hoped they’d feel it.

That he meant it.

That even if the world fell apart again, he’d be there. Still choosing them, over and over again.

Even if they burned everything down, he’d be right beside them, ready to rebuild from the ashes.

Because they were his. And he was theirs.

And he'd protect this quiet, broken trust with a thousand lives if he had to.

The silence had been so thick, so fragile, so steeped in something sacred that even the sound of the sheets rustling made his heart clench.

And then–

"You’re never allowed to speak of this again- especially not to jun-ho."

That voice.

That voice.

Snarky. Sharp-edged. Disrespectful in the most lovingly annoying way possible. And somehow, exactly what he needed to hear.

In-ho looked down, slowly, like he was seeing a ghost. But no, [Name] was very much alive. Eyes puffy, and cheeks still slightly damp, sure. But their expression was all attitude. All bite. The kind of bratty confidence that could talk back to God and ask why he made Mondays.

[Name] groaned, flopping backwards dramatically onto the mattress like the crying hadn't just happened. “I can’t believe I did that. Actually. Kill me. Put me in the ground. I cried. Into your chest. I sobbed.”

In-ho stared. Still silent.

“Are you laughing internally? Don't. You don’t get to laugh. I have to go commit arson now or I’ll die of shame.”

And yeah, maybe In-ho was laughing internally. A lot. But he didn’t dare show it. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t want to jinx it. He wanted to keep this moment preserved.

Instead, he cleared his throat and composed himself as if he hadn’t been preparing to murder a man a moment ago. “Noted. No mention of emotional vulnerability. Got it.”

[Name] squinted suspiciously at him, lips pursed. “You’re gonna use this against me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You’re lying.”

“Absolutely.”

They huffed. But it was soft. The dangerous cloud of whatever-that-was was lifting, if only slightly.

Mishi, their ever-loyal buddy, chirped as he climbed onto their lap, curling himself into a smug loaf. [Name] hesitated, then finally reached up to scratch behind his ears.

In-ho felt that relief like an earthquake under his ribs.

“You’re not gonna get weird and emotional again, are you?” [Name] asked, lazily stroking Mishi, side-eyeing him indiscreetly.

“…Define ‘weird.’”

“Like begging me to speak and looking like your soul was leaking out of your eyeballs.”

“I don’t recall that happening.”

“Again. Lying.”

But they were smiling. Barely. Just a twitch at the corner of their mouth.

And In-ho just took a deep breath, letting his body relax for the first time in what felt like days.

The world wasn’t fixed. The damage wasn’t undone. That therapist still had a countdown on his life that In-ho would be revisiting soon.

But this, [Name] being themself again, even a little?

This was all he needed right now.

In-ho shifted slightly, glancing at the glowing clock on the bedside table.

1:58 AM.

He exhaled softly through his nose. Everything in his body screamed to stay, to watch, to make sure [Name] didn’t disappear into silence again, but he knew they hated being hovered over. Hated being watched like they were fragile. Hated being pitied.

So he moved.

Slowly. Carefully. Uncurling from the bed, one hand braced on the mattress so he wouldn’t startle them. Mishi gave a soft grumble but didn’t move from his loaf position on their stomach. [Name] was finally resting, even if their eyes were still half-lidded with exhaustion.

But just as he stood, something tugged at his sleeve.

Deliberate. Quiet.

His eyes flicked down.

[Name] wasn’t even looking at him. Not directly. Their fingers just gripped the edge of his sleeve like it was some subconscious instinct. Like they didn’t even realize they were doing it. Like their body acted before their mind had a chance to catch up.

“...Don’t go,” they said, barely above a whisper.

And then, a beat later, still not looking at him, they added with a grumble:

“I mean. You can, obviously. I’m not, like, needy. Or something. I just… I don’t know. Stay. You work for me, remember? This is an order.”

In-ho stared at them for a long, quiet second.

Not even their mother. Not anyone. Not since they were old enough to walk on their own and build walls tall enough to scrape the sky, [Name] had never asked someone to stay like this.

Not without jokes. Not layered in deflection.

In-ho knelt back down wordlessly.

Sat beside them on the edge of the bed. One hand hesitated, hovered… then rested gently on their head. His fingers combed through their hair with slow, comforting passes. [Name] didn’t move. Didn’t complain. Didn’t push him away.

Their voice was small, sleepy, eyes still not meeting his.

“When you held me earlier… I didn’t even realize how much my chest hurt ‘til it stopped.”

In-ho froze for just a breath.

“It’s always tight,” they mumbled, eyes fluttering half-shut. “Always feels like I can’t breathe all the way. But when you hugged me… I could. For once. It actually stopped.”

They stared up at the ceiling above them.

“I never felt that even with my mother,” they muttered. “No one’s ever made me feel that calm. It’s weird.”

Then, softer. Barely there.

“I hated how good it felt.”

That did something to In-ho’s heart he didn’t know how to put into words.

He whispered. Like if he spoke any louder, he'll breach the fabric of reality.

“I’ll stay.”

He didn’t leave that night. Not even when the clock struck 3. Or 4. Or 5.

He stayed. With Mishi curled between them and [Name] finally asleep, breathing slow and even.

And in that moment, In-ho didn’t think about revenge. Or guilt. Or fear.

He only thought, let me be the one they can always breathe around.

 

✧

 

Notes:

Here you go you traumatized, daddy issues having sons of bitches. I bet you LOVED this huh. I bet you wish that was you HUH.

Sorry. I mean. Hope you enjoyed this ahaha!!!!

Making both in-ho and jun-ho platonic yanderes was certainly a choice. On my part, I wasn't gonna make it that way. Just protective and all that. But some yandere lover freak begged me to make it more intense. So I did. I never wrote yanderes before so idk how well it was portrayed 🤷 it could be ass and I'll never know. The important thing is murderous thoughts, am I right?

Anyway!!! Does anyone want HIM dead.

Chapter 22: ✧|| THE WAITER

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

Squid Game–Waiter AU || [Name] is a waiter for the VIPs. First week on the job!!! (Gone wrong) (But also right)

Notes:

YAAYAAYAYA FINALLY I WROTE THIS.

Do you have ANY idea how long this "special chapter" was rotting in my docs? Weeks. I should've finished this ages ago. Seriously. I'm sorry Anna, who requested this.

I did have a Little too much fun. I wrote too much again 😔 I didn't sleep a wink just giggling at my own shit bruh. This has like 16k words. Sue me. MY LONGEST chapter yet and it's not even a main one 💀

This has everything. Angst, fluff, silly, oh a LOT of silly. [Name] copes with humor, or else they'll collapse.

In here. [Name] is lying about their age being 19, which come on now. WHO'S Gonna believe that 🤨 so I made them slightly taller than OG, like just a few inches to make a bit of sense. The reason there was barely any research on them was cuz they practically don't exist. Idk how to explain it. It's called fanfic logic.

WARNING ‼️: Rape. Straight up. I'm sorry. It gets worse before it gets better. And torture 🎀

ENJOY🫶

 

✧

 

The mask itched.

Not literally, it fit well enough, snug and clean, hiding the sharp angles of their face and curling just above their lashes so their eyes could breathe, but it itched in the way uniforms did. The way conformity always did. Like it was pressing down on them from the inside out.

[Name] stood in perfect posture near the edge of the gold-leafed VIP lounge, hands clasped behind their back, dressed like a shadow with silver trim. Just another masked servant in a sea of voiceless dolls. A moving, blinking, breathing part of the furniture.

This was their first time here. The first time the VIPs had even arrived since they got the job a couple months ago.

And the veteran waiters – empty-eyed, too-gentle, unnervingly nice – had trained them well. Speak only when spoken to. Serve without sound. Smile, even under the mask.

Don’t react.

Especially don’t react when one of the monstrous old bastards on the plush couches laughs too hard at something human-shaped getting shot in the head.

Don't react when their filthy hands brush against yours. When they reach for your body. When they– no wonder these people looked so empty. Jesus.

[Name] had been doing pretty well, all things considered. Mask on, voice gone, hands steady.

Until they heard HIS voice.

Low. Familiar. Like the screech of a rusted door that had been sealed in their brain for years.

And there he was.

Their father.

In a gold robe, draped over his gut like he was some emperor. Laughing.

Laughing.

A slow-burn migraine lit up behind [Name]’s eyes. They didn’t flinch. Didn’t freeze. Didn’t drop the tray of vintage champagne they were currently handing out to a man with whiskers on his gold plated mask.

But Inside, they screamed so hard it came out a giggle.

Not outwardly, of course. Not even a sound. Just a dry, mental snort as they turned gracefully on their heel and walked away from the couch of parasites, boots silent against the velvet floor.

Because of course.

Of course their deadbeat dad was here. Of course the man who told them they were "too defiled for God" now paid money to watch people explode like confetti in a blood carnival.

If irony was wine, this place would be a vineyard.

[Name] rolled their eyes behind the mask as they moved past a pair of guards. One of them nodded respectfully, probably mistaking them for one of the older staff, what with how natural they looked in all black, even if they were on the short side.

Good. Let them think that. Let everyone think they were just another cog in this machine.

Because it was easier to survive when no one looked at you long enough to care.

And they were fine.

Totally.

Fine.

It wasn’t like their hands were shaking under the gloves or anything. Or that they wanted to scream every time someone called them "boy" or "girl" like they knew anything. Or that seeing him, seeing that man, made their stomach twist.

But they were fine.

Because they had a job.

They had money now. Not a lot, but more than zero. They had a bed in the staff quarters and a locker with a lock that wasn’t broken. They had a cat back at their old alley who still came by when they visited.

They were surviving.

And when they had enough, they’d disappear again.

Maybe dye their hair. Move to Jeju. Become a magician’s assistant or something.

Hell, anything’s better than watching rich pigs toast each other while someone’s intestines get mopped up off the floor.

Still.

Their father.

Here.

[Name] stared forward, tray balanced like a pro, posture military-level immaculate. Eyes focused on nothing.

Just a job.

Just a few more hours.

Then back to the staff wing, where the lights were low and the talking dolls gave polite nods and no one asked questions.

Just keep the mask on.

Just keep your mouth shut.

And whatever you do, whatever you do–

Don’t cry.

Not for him.

Not for anyone.

Not ever.

—

[Name] was relieved.

Not happy. Not content. Just relieved, in the way someone might feel relief when a tornado passes and leaves the house mostly intact. The first day was over. There was still a second. And a third. But this one, this one was finished.

They didn’t thank any gods. Those had long since abandoned them, if they’d ever been there at all.

They thanked no one.

Time had passed. That was that.

The staff room was dimly lit, sterile in that impersonal way all facility interiors seemed to be. Functional but almost too clean, as if someone were trying to scrub the blood from the building’s soul.

It was designed like everything else here, with masks in mind. The waiters sat in quiet rows waiting for a shift change, backs facing each other, never speaking, never removing their masks.

Rule one: don’t show your face.

[Name] liked that one.

It meant no one would notice the softness in their cheeks, the lack of age in their jaw, the subtle curve of a still-developing body they were desperate to hide. No one would question the lie printed into their file. No one would look at them too long and ask, “You’re nineteen?”

The masks were good.

Eventually, the room began to empty. One by one, the other waiters rose in silence and headed for the halls that led to their small, private rooms, tiny shoeboxes barely big enough for a bed and a closet. But they were clean. They had locks. And they were, blessedly, places where you could finally breathe.

One of the older waiters passed by [Name] on his way out. Tall, willowy, with a strange, ghostly grace to him that reminded [Name] of an empty grandfather clock. He paused for just a second.

A gloved hand rose.

A soft pat on the head.

It didn’t feel patronizing. More like acknowledgment. Maybe he had a hunch. Maybe he knew [Name] was too young, too skinny, too sarcastic to have made it through real military channels like the others. Or maybe he just liked patting people who barely reached his shoulder.

He didn’t say anything.

But his mask tilted, just slightly. And for a second, [Name] could swear he looked proud.

That was the guy who’d trained them the most. Walked them through how to stand, how to serve without looking, how to keep your eyes blank when someone screamed too long. His voice had always been soft, like the hum of a refrigerator – there, but easy to ignore if you weren’t listening.

He disappeared down the hall.

[Name] waited another minute, then stood and quietly made their way to their own room.

It was small. A single bed. A tiny closet. A metal shelf with exactly one cup and a plastic toothbrush with the mirror facing the bed. But it was clean. It was safe. And most importantly, it was the only place where they could take the damn mask off.

At least it wasn't like the guards’ masks. Hoods and all. Must be horrific.

The moment the door shut behind them, [Name] peeled it away like it burned. Their face was hot and damp underneath, sweat collecting in the corner of their mouth. They set the mask down on the shelf and sat heavily on the bed, legs dangling, back hunched.

No cameras in here. No one watching. No rules except “don’t die” and “don’t be late.”

They kicked off their shoes. Rubbed their face. Let themselves flop backward onto the stiff mattress with a groan that was half-exhaustion, half-dramatic.

They didn’t understand this place. Not really.

The rules were strange. Arbitrary. Half of them felt like they’d been made up on the spot. Like, why the hell couldn’t you bend to the right in the hallway past 6 PM (they made that up)? And what was the deal with the soup trays being rotated exactly three degrees clockwise after serving? (That too)

[Name] had made a game of keeping track of how many dumb rules they could obey while still managing to mentally flip everyone off.

They stared at the ceiling.

Their father had been there today.

They’d served him a drink.

He hadn’t recognized them. Or maybe he had and just didn’t care. That was worse, somehow.

They didn’t cry.

Didn’t plan to.

Still. They were grateful for the quiet now. For the door. For the walls. For the fact that, for once, no one could see them.

They closed their eyes, let the silence hold them for a while.

Tomorrow would suck.

But tomorrow hadn't started yet.

And tonight?

Tonight they could just be a kid in a tiny room.

No mask. No monsters. Just breath.

Just breath.

—

The next day.

It was almost the same as yesterday. Same masks. Same stiff collar pressing against their neck. Same drinks. Same suffocating silence behind velvet curtains as the roaches in gold robes giggled and shrieked over other people’s pain.

Nothing truly special happened, unless you counted that one VIP who almost choked on an ice cube. Which, frankly, was the highlight of [Name]’s shift. They had to physically fight demons not to burst out laughing on the spot. Jaw clenched. Shoulders trembling. Dead behind the eyes, yes, but entertained as hell. Academy’s strict prison-ass etiquette training was finally worth something.

The poor waiter who served the drink? Probably dead.

[Name] didn’t care. They didn’t know him. Any of them. They barely even remembered names, if anyone here even used names. It was just numbers. No one was a friend. No one was a comrade. Just moving bodies, functioning tools. People working around them. Background noise.

Still.

A faint, passing thought flickered.

Hopefully it wasn’t the one who’d patted their head the night before. He seemed like the type who wouldn’t mess up ice cube sizes. But if it was him?

Well. They still might not think of it much. He wasn’t close. Just a guy. And around here, people disappeared.

The Game started again. Another round of death for entertainment. The players were on-screen this time, blown up huge on the big monitor so the VIPs could see every twitch, every whimper, every time someone’s legs gave out before the bullet hit them.

And, of course, the VIPs laughed. Puffed cigars. Made bets and groaned when their favorites died. They cheered when bodies fell wrong, like ragdolls missing strings.

[Name]’s sad excuse of a father did the same.

Laughed with his whole chest, like this was a revival sermon and someone just got healed. His voice grated on their nerves.

Wow. So much for being a priest.

So much for ever thinking maybe he’d changed. That he could feel something like guilt. He’d traded his Bible for bourbon and was now elbow-deep in sin and silk, just like the rest of them.

Not surprising.

Not even disappointing.

They saw the same gleam in his eye he used to get right before beating them raw with that blessed whip of his, spouting shit about demons and purification and whatever sick lie he told himself to make the abuse feel righteous.

It was all excuses.

Always had been.

[Name] didn’t cry. They didn’t flinch. They just poured more wine and moved on.

Their eyes flicked sideways, catching on him – the Frontman.

Not the host. The host was some mystery rich bastard they hadn’t seen yet. But the frontman... yeah. He was second-in-command. The one running things. The boss on-site.

Their thoughts about him were neutral.

He wasn’t kind, but he wasn’t cruel either. Just methodical. Dressed in all black like a ghost molded into something angular and sharp. His voice didn’t carry emotion, it never rose or dropped, just existed. Answers came when summoned. Silence when dismissed.

But [Name] noticed things.

They always did.

Like how his fingers twitched when the VIPs laughed too loudly at the wrong moment. Or how his head tilted just a bit back, almost like he was trying to escape the scent of their cigars. The way his body subtly recoiled when they made a joke about how pretty one of the dead girls looked after hitting the ground.

Yeah.

He hated their guts too.

Just like the rest of the staff here. Just like the guards who didn’t talk unless ordered. Like the silent stares exchanged in break rooms when no one dared speak what they were thinking.

But the frontman, he had to play the role.

Grit his teeth behind the mask, nod at the investors, keep the gears of the machine running because their money made all of this possible.

He was a puppet with razors for strings. Trapped in a cage of authority.

And for a brief moment, so fleeting [Name] almost missed it, they wondered what would happen if the Frontman finally snapped. If he shot one of the VIPs in the face and turned around like nothing had happened.

Would the staff cheer?

Would they?

Probably.

[Name] turned away.

One more glass to refill. One more animal mask to face.

And still two days left.

—

[Name] was in their room.

Mask off. Hair messy. Dinner halfway finished and clutched in their hands like it might be stolen any second.

And honestly, It was better than anything they’d eaten in years.

Not five-star. Not gourmet. Just warm and seasoned and not out of a dumpster. That alone made it suspicious.

Could be radioactive for all they knew.

Wouldn’t matter.

They’d eaten moldy crackers and half-cooked street meat before. This could kill them in twelve hours and they’d still say, “worth it.”

Then–

Knock knock.

Bliss interrupted. Naturally. Of course.

“Waiter 016,” a voice called through the door. Firm, but not cold.

Ironic. That was their actual age. Sixteen.

They stuffed the last of the food in their mouth, wiped their hands on their pants, shoved the mask back on, and opened the door–

It was him.

The older waiter. The one who gave them head pats like a proud weird uncle and trained them with the emotionless kindness of a talking toaster.

He was alive. That was... nice?

But what the fuck did he want?

His posture gave it away before he said a word. Eyes down. Shoulders slightly hunched. Guilt bled through the little sliver of skin visible behind his mask.

He looked like someone about to hand over a death sentence.

“There’s been a request,” he said softly. “A VIP asked for company.”

[Name] didn’t hesitate.

“Nope. Not me.” They started closing the door.

But his hand pressed against it.

He didn’t fight. Just… stopped it. Head bowed lower. Like he hated what he was about to say.

“He asked for you, specifically.”

Silence.

That was what broke something in [Name].

The stillness. The air curling into their lungs like ice. Their brain trying to process it, stalling like a car engine on the edge of a cliff.

Specifically?

Their first time?

Their second day?

They stared at him. Not angry. Not shocked. Just…

Blank.

This was supposed to happen eventually. That’s what the other waiters whispered. Little warnings laced into stiff smiles. 

“Sometimes they ask for company.”

“Just follow orders, stay quiet.”

“It doesn’t always get bad.”

But they didn’t say it would be this early. Didn’t say it would feel like being chosen by a claw machine with knives. Didn’t say the bile in their throat would come up this fast.

Still.

No choice.

So they nodded once. Numb. Like their brain had to disconnect so their body could move.

They tugged on their boots, straightened their collar, and followed.

The older waiter didn’t say anything else. Just handed them off to a triangle-guard. No words. No warning. Just that same guilty silence.

The guard walked ahead, heavy boots echoing down the dimly lit hallway.

Each step felt louder. Heavier. Closer to something that made [Name]’s stomach twist.

Then they stopped.

A door.

A private suite.

The VIP’s symbol was carved into the dark wood like some twisted family crest.

A sheep.

Of course.

A fucking sheep.

[Name] froze. Stared.

Because they knew exactly whose mask that was.

Their father.

The guard didn’t say a word the whole walk.

Didn’t glance at [Name]. Didn’t grunt. Just walked like a silent wall of rules and regulations.

Even now, standing at the door of the suite with the sheep symbol carved into it like a joke no one wanted to laugh at, nothing.

No knock. No look.

Then, wordlessly, the guard reached into their pocket. And handed [Name] something.

They looked down.

Birth control pills. Painkillers.

Right.

They tilted their head slightly, staring up at them with their mask still on, quiet. Not confused. Just blank. The way someone looks when their brain throws up its hands and says, “Sure. Why not.”

They must’ve thought they were a woman. (They weren’t. But okay.)

They didn’t thank them. What was there to say? This could be protocol for all they knew. Or maybe the guard just kept that shit on them like candy. Who the hell carried birth control and painkillers in their pocket, casually?

Freak.

The guard knocked finally, knuckles rapping against the painted wood like they were too used to this.

A muffled voice called from inside. Lazy. Drawled. “Come in.”

The guard opened the door. Didn’t step inside.

They gave [Name] a look. Not a long one. Just a second too long. Like they wanted to say something but knew it wouldn’t matter.

Then the door shut behind them.

Silence.

Thick. Heavy.

The VIP suite looked like wealth threw up everywhere. Like some decorator’s fever dream during a cocaine binge.

Gold, red accents. Silks. Giant pieces of art that probably cost more than some countries. Glass tables with trays of fruit that had to have been flown in from a different planet. Cushions that could smother a person in velvet.

And there HE was.

Sprawled on the couch like he was born to rot on expensive furniture. Still wearing that golden sheep mask.

Because of course he picked a sheep. Religious symbolism and all that.

Should’ve been a snake. That would’ve been honest, at least.

[Name] approached stiffly.

Muscles tense. Steps measured. Like walking into a church that reeked of rot.

He was eating grapes.

Of course. Rich bastard.

His eyes followed them. Head tilting. Assessing. Like he was evaluating a prize he’d already bought. Then he sat up.

His voice cut the air like mold on a sermon.

“I noticed you,” he said, tone thick with wine and ego. “Yesterday. Today. You moved with a kind of grace..”

A pause. A breath.

“A holy grace.”

[Name] stared.

First time he ever called them holy.

Even if he didn’t know it was them. His own…eugh…child.

He went on, talking like he loved the sound of his own voice. Saying things that made [Name]’s skin crawl, even if the words themselves were vague.

Until finally, he leaned forward, his voice dipping lower. Almost gentle.

“Take off your mask.”

The moment.

The reveal.

Here it was.

And [Name]... they knew. They knew.

Whatever he wanted from them, it wasn’t going to go away once he saw who they were.

It would intensify.

Because even back then, even when they were too young to understand and too scared to scream–

He had always wanted.

[Name] stood still.

The request echoed – Take off your mask – and hung in the air like a noose.

Their fingers twitched.

The mask stayed on.

They tilted their head slightly, the way cats do right before they knock something off the counter. It was almost theatrical. If this were a stage play, this was the part where the audience leaned forward, popcorn halfway to their mouth.

And then, in the most dry, monotone voice ever allowed by law;

“…No.”

Silence.

VIP Sheep blinked behind the mask. Taken aback. That was not the script.

“No?” he repeated, like the concept was foreign to him. Like he'd just been told gravity was optional.

[Name] shrugged. "I'm shy."

A beat.

He stood slowly. The kind of slow that says I’m about to do something really disturbing but wants to give you time to appreiate the craftsmanship. He walked toward them, casual. Like a serpent in slippers.

“Come now,” he murmured, voice syrup-thick with fake kindness. “I won’t bit–”

[Name] held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Please don’t finish that sentence.”

He stopped.

They stared at each other. One masked monster and one masked… smaller, angrier monster.

He chuckled lowly. “You're quite witty for a waiter.”

“Trauma builds character.”

He stepped closer.

[Name] didn’t flinch.

He reached a hand out, fingers brushing the side of their mask.

And they– slapped it away.

Not hard. Just enough. Like swatting a mosquito. The disrespect was practically glowing..

His head cocked, amusement flickering. “I like a little spirit.”

[Name] wanted to say “You should marry one then,” but bit it back. Not the time to get executed. Maybe later.

“Take it off,” he said again. “Let me see you.”

[Name] thought about it. For a moment.

Then slowly, dramatically, they raised their hands to the sides of the mask.

They lifted it just enough.

And made eye contact.

And it hit him.

The tilt of the eyes. The shape of the face. The smallest flicker of recognition.

He froze. His hands fell.

“…You.”

The word dropped like a glass in a funeral.

“Yeah,” [Name] said, full deadpan. “Surprise, father. Bet you thought I died in a ditch or found Jesus. I didn’t. But I did find your porn stash when I was twelve, so who's really unholy now?”

His breath hitched behind the mask. “You... you can’t be–”

“I can, I am, and I wish I wasn’t."

He stumbled back a step, sitting down like the room spun.

[Name] stepped forward and placed the untouched tray of fruit down on the table in front of him.

Carefully. Lovingly.

Then picked up a single grape and– chucked it at his forehead.

Thunk.

"...That’s for last Christmas."

Another grape.

Thunk.

"And for saying Harry Potter was witchcraft."

Thunk.

“And for calling me ‘possessed’ because I saw things and liked girls and boys and jackets.”

He flinched, raising a hand, clearly spiraling. The realization sinking deeper. The disbelief, the horror, or maybe just the audacity of karma showing up in a waiter's uniform.

"You’re… here. You– You’re one of them."

[Name] tilted their head again. Then leaned forward with a grin he couldn’t see but could feel.

“Yeah. Because when you toss your kid to the streets, sometimes they end up serving you overpriced wine while hoping you choke on a pit. Life’s funny like that.”

He was pale under the mask. Shaking. Hands wringing.

The grapes hit their mark.

One. Two. Three.

Each one a memory. A wound with skin on it.

And for a moment, just a moment, [Name] forgot where they were. 

Forgot that monsters don’t die just because you humiliate them. That grapes weren’t bullets. That justice wasn’t real here, only power.

The crack of motion was all the warning they got.

A hand, rough and sweating, snatched their wrist like a bear trap. Fingers clamping down so tight something popped. The tray clattered to the ground with a sound like a bell tolling for someone already dead.

He slammed them against the table.

The wood didn’t crack.

But something in their back almost did.

Their face was pressed down into the expensive fruit, mouth filling with a crushed mango. The sheep mask leaned down, close to their ear, and breathed, not words. Not even threats.

Just breathed.

That alone said it all.

“You forget,” he whispered, voice low, giddy with quiet rage, “where you are. Who I am. Who you are in here.”

[Name] didn't say anything. They didn’t even squirm. Their face stayed pressed into the table, their mask twisted sideways, fingers twitching slightly. They could do it. They could. Break his wrist. Dislocate his shoulder. Snap his neck like chalk in a classroom.

But they didn’t.

Because they knew how this story ends.

The second he screamed, the second a triangle guard kicked down that door and found a VIP bleeding–

Pop. One bullet. Right through their skull.

A smear of red. A number retired.

Maybe it would’ve been worth it.

For a second, they almost moved.

But then a familiar voice, loud in their head, barked: “Don’t you fucking dare die for that man. Take it. Take it like you deserve it. Because you do.”

Probably their mother. Probably a hallucination.

It still worked.

So they didn’t fight. Didn’t flinch. Let him press them down like an object, like he always wanted to. Let him seethe with power and confusion and panic.

And they just laughed.

Muffled into the table, wet with fruit pulp and irony.

Laughed like a kid who knows they’re grounded but still scratched the car.

“You’re pathetic,” they said, voice flat, split lip smiling. “You always needed to feel bigger than someone else. And look at you. Mask on. Dick out. Beating strangers who feel like home.”

He grunted and yanked them upright by the collar, shaking, shaking, as if they could be rattled back into place.

“You’re mine,” he hissed, voice like spit on a church floor. “You came from me.”

“Yeah,” [Name] whispered back, smiling behind the mask. “But I sure as hell didn’t stay.”

He froze. Just for a second. Just long enough.

Not because of what they said, no, words never meant shit to him. But the tone. That same defiant snarl their mother had, why he pulled the trigger all those years ago. That same gleam in the eye he tried to smother out with rosaries and rifles.

“You think you’re safe?” he growled, and his hand slid from their collar to the back of their neck like a claw. “This mask makes you a toy. Not a person. Not to them. Not to me.”

[Name] didn’t reply. Not out of fear. Just… boredom. He was so loud when he got like this. So desperate to feel big again.

And the funny thing is that he was big. Rich. Powerful. Untouchable. And still?

He needed to pin down a teenager to make it feel real.

He pushed them back down on the table. Not as hard this time. Not with anger now, but control. Slow. Like he was savoring the moment. Like this was some communion.

“Take off the mask,” he ordered again.

And [Name]–

–they did.

No pause. No hesitation.

Let it slide off their face like peeling off a scab.

Let him see. Let it click.

His body went still.

Perfectly, utterly still.

Like watching a holy man realize the statue’s bleeding.

The man blinked.

Once.

Twice.

And then… he laughed.

That wheezy, gross, wretched laugh. The one he always did when he was spiraling but pretending not to be.

“My child…” he rasped. “Oh. Oh. Look how you’ve grown. What a gift this is. Providence. I didn’t even know you could look any better–”

“I know,” [Name] muttered. “That’s what makes it worse.”

And he took that the wrong way, of course. Of course he did.

Because he reached for their face again, gentle this time. Reverent. Like they were a miracle sent straight from hell.

But just before he could touch them–

“Don’t.”

That single word cut through like steel wire.

He paused again. The old reflex kicking in. That leftover part of him that still remembered when [Name] was small and unbroken and carried a knife in every shoe.

“You don’t give orders here,” he said, smiling like a goddamn televangelist.

“I just did.”

That made him snarl. Mask tilting, fists balling, and for one split second, he looked ready to backhand them into next week.

And [Name] just–

spat.

Right into his mask’s eye socket.

It landed. Slid down. Mixed with whatever breath was already fogging up the inside.

He recoiled.

[Name] stood up, slow and steady, adjusting their uniform like nothing happened. Hair matted, wrist swelling, still bleeding from the lip.

“Thanks for dinner,” they said. “The mango was underwhelming. Just like you.”

His laughter stopped like a needle dragged across vinyl.

That silence was louder than any scream.

And for the first time in his smug, sick little life, he didn’t have words. Just heavy breathing behind the mask. Staring at them like something unholy had just climbed out of the grave to mock its maker.

[Name] turned their back on him.

Walked straight to the door.

Hand reached for the handle–

Click.

Locked.

Their head tilted. Not surprised. Just… annoyed. Like someone who’d opened the fridge and realized someone drank the last soda.

Behind them, the couch creaked.

“You thought you could just leave?” his voice dripped like oil. Motor, motor oil. “I didn’t call a waiter, little lamb. I called you.”

He rose to his feet with the kind of slow menace you only ever see in snakes before they strike. Fruit pulp stained his fingers. His belt wasn’t fastened.

“You were born for this,” he whispered. “You’ve always belonged to me.”

And [Name] didn’t look back.

Because if they did, they’d kill him. And die seconds later for it.

They knocked on the door instead. Just one sharp knock. The universal sign that the visit was over.

But no response.

Not from the guard outside.

Not even a shuffle.

[Name] knocked again. Louder.

Still nothing.

Behind them, footsteps.

“You can’t leave,” he said, delighted now. “You know that, right? This is my world. You think the guard outside will protect you? He won’t even move if I decide to tear you open right now.”

[Name] stared at the door.

Then leaned forward.

And whispered against the seam:

“Open. The. door.”

Just loud enough.

Just soft enough.

And even through the thick wood, they knew the guard heard it.

Silence.

Then–

Nothing.

No unlocking. No footsteps. No salvation.

Just quiet complicity.

Because that’s what this place was built on.

[Name] turned around slowly, their mask still in their hand, jaw tense.

“Is this why you started watching the waiters?” they said, voice dry, trembling with fury they weren’t letting show. “Because the club girls got too old? Too unwilling? Too loud after you got kinky?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it.

Just grinned.

“I watched because I knew,” he said. “Knew something holy was close. I could feel it in my blood. Like she came back. And here you are. Her shape. My eyes. Her fire. My last name. And no one can take you from me now.”

He actually called them holy now. Aware of them. What an accomplishment. But they didn't feel very accomplished.

He took a step forward.

[Name] took one back.

Nowhere to go.

Nowhere safe.

“You’re disgusting,” they said, flatly, obviously. “You always were. Even God flinched when you were born.”

That made him laugh again. Too hard. Too loud. Mask shifting with the wheezing choke of it.

And then– he lunged.

His hands found them.

Not in a rush. Not in rage.

But with intent. Like he was unwrapping a long-awaited gift.

The tray clattered again as he shoved them against the table, this time hard enough to knock the breath from their lungs.

[Name] didn’t scream.

Didn’t fight.

They couldn’t. Not because they weren’t strong enough.

God, they could’ve split his spine with a chair leg.

But that’s not how this ends. Not here. Not with triangle masks just outside and the rules bent in favor of monsters.

So–

–they slipped.

Not from his grasp.

From now.

Slipped back.

To thirteen.

To the creaking floorboards and the midnight footsteps.

To that damp, sacred silence of pretending to sleep while the door creaked open and the under-the-bed monster knelt beside them.

They remembered every breath they’d ever held.

Every ceiling stain they counted.

Every scratch on the wall they dug into with their thumbnail just to stay.

And that’s where they went.

Not in body.

In mind.

They drifted. Let the pain blur like background static. Let his touch become someone else’s problem, some version of themselves they’d already buried under years of jokes and disassociation.

He whispered things. They didn’t hear them.

He touched them. They didn't feel it.

He laughed. They didn’t care.

It was all just noise now. Background.

Survival wasn’t heroic. It was maintenance. A job.

A quiet act of persistence in a world that wanted them gone.

They went still.

The kind of still that screams.

And when it was over–

When he slumped back, satisfied and sweating, pulling up his zipper, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like this was some religious fucking experience–

[Name] stood.

Adjusted their clothes. Silent.

There were bruises. New ones.

But they’d had worse.

They reached for their mask. Slid it back on with mechanical grace.

They didn’t cry. Didn’t shake.

Just turned toward the door and knocked again.

One.

Two.

Three.

And this time, it opened. 

Because the show was over. Because the monster got what he wanted.

Because nobody cared.

They stepped through the door without a word, past the guard who wouldn’t meet their eyes, past the hallway that still stank of wine and rot, and into the cold maze of the staff wing.

Each step hurt.

Not because of the bruises. But because they had to take them.

Still, they took them.

One.

Two.

Three.

Because they wouldn’t die for that man.

Not for anyone.

 

☆

 

The door clicked shut behind the waiter.

No-eul didn’t move.

Not for a while.

She just stood there, rifle gripped, breath shallow behind the mask, like if she stayed still enough, she could pretend she hadn’t heard everything.

But she had.

She’d heard it all.

The insults. The laughter. The slams. The silence.

The kind of silence you only recognize if you’ve lived through it yourself.

And when that door finally opened, when the waiter stepped out, limping but upright, eyes hidden behind their mask and soul clearly somewhere very far away, No-eul flinched.

Just a little. Just behind the mask.

She didn’t speak. She wasn’t allowed to. Even if she could’ve, what would she have said?

“Sorry”?

“You’ll be okay”?

There was no language for what just happened.

She watched them vanish down the hallway.

Watched their shape grow smaller.

Watched the smear of red on the inside of their collar that no one else would probably ever see.

And then–

Then she exhaled.

Long. Slow. Shaking.

Her grip on the rifle slackened. It almost fell.

Because this wasn’t new. She’d seen it before.

VIPs treating staff like meat. Like entertainment. Especially the seemingly good-looking or young ones.

They had cleaners for this kind of shit. The workers. With gloves and bleach and enough trauma money to keep their mouth sewn shut.

But this–

No-eul pressed her gloved hand to the side of her collar.

Activated the channel.

Her voice came low. Measured. Formal.

—“VIP room 6, North Wing. VIP engagement concluded. Staff member returned to quarters. No injury reported – visibly.”

A pause.

And then, quieter.

So quiet she wasn’t sure anyone would even catch it:

—“...Requesting an urgent report with the Frontman. Regarding possible rule breach. Underage staff. Confirming priority level?"

Silence.

Just like the door. Just like the guards.

Just like the world that let her two-year-old daughter vanish without a trace across the border, traded like livestock while men in power played games with people’s lives.

She thought of her. Her little girl. Big brown eyes and chubby hands that always reached for her face like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

And now–

Now here was another child.

Bruised. Masked. Limping away from something they couldn’t even name.

Her stomach twisted. Something wet slid down her cheek beneath the helmet. Sweat. Maybe. Maybe not.

The earpiece crackled.

—“The Frontman will receive your report. Proceed to level nine.”

She almost collapsed with relief. Almost.

Because even that wasn’t enough. Because it didn’t fix anything. But it was something.

A foot in a door.

And maybe, the Front Man would actually do something.

Because if he didn’t…

She would.

—

The hallway to the host room was always colder than the others.

Maybe it was the air conditioning. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was just him.

No-eul walked. Not too fast, not too slow. She knew the cameras were watching. Knew the eyes behind them were watching too. But she didn’t let it change her posture. Rifle on her back. Boots soundless against the floor. Every step filled with purpose.

The host room door slid open without a sound.

And there he was.

The Frontman.

Standing still, gloved hands resting on the back of an armchair, geometric mask gleaming beneath the low light. Hood up, body cloaked in shadow, like the concept of a man rather than one in the flesh. The one everyone answered to. The one even the guards whispered about when they thought no one could hear.

He didn’t look at her.

“Speak,” came the disoriented voice from the mask.

Permission.

No-eul took a breath and stepped forward, spine straight.

“There was an incident,” she began. Calm. Crisp. As trained. “In Room 6, North Wing. VIP request.”

She paused. He said nothing. Just waited.

“I overheard the interaction. Waiter was a minor. Lied about their age during intake. The VIP was..their father.”

Another pause.

Still, he didn’t speak. So she pressed forward.

“He recognized them. Addressed them by origin. Referenced the mother. Then proceeded to–”

Her throat tightened. She pushed through it.

“–assault them. Verbally. Physically. Possibly sexually.”

She saw it then. Barely. So small most would have missed it.

A twitch. Just a slight shift of his right hand. A small, involuntary movement. Like static had passed through the glove.

But it was enough.

He’d heard her. The words didn't pass through one ear and out the other.

No-eul continued, quieter now. Almost reverent.

“The waiter did not retaliate. No injuries were reported formally. But I believe they’re injured."

A long silence settled over the room.

She held her breath.

And then, finally, his voice.

“Bring them to me. Tomorrow. First hour.”

No hesitation. No debate. Just the order.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

But No-eul, she didn’t move at first. She bowed her head slightly. Out of real respect. Not performative. Not fear.

Just a small gesture of human gratitude in a place that didn’t have much left.

Then she turned, walked out, and let the door seal shut behind her.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow she would bring the child.

But not tonight.

Tonight, they could sleep. Or cry. Or sit silently with their pain, or whatever pieces they had left.

Tonight, they were allowed to be.

And perhaps, so could she.

 

☆

 

The tray was still there.

Cold now. The rice a little dry. The soup congealed on top. Meat lukewarm and stiff.

But [Name] ate it anyway.

Because it wouldn’t get reheated. Because they wouldn’t get another. Because they’ve eaten ice cubes before just to trick their body into thinking they were full.

They stared at a mango slice. Like the one they’d insulted earlier. Untouched. Smug.

They ate that too.

It wasn’t the worst thing they’d tasted.

They were fine.

They were chill.

Ha. Get it? Chill– cuz cold food. Cold hands. Cold life.

They snorted under their breath. Not laughter. Just the ghost of something that might’ve been if things were different. If they were different.

Tray pushed aside. Fork clinked down.

They lay back on the thin mattress like their bones were made of soaked rags. One hand over their ribs. The other over their stomach. Not for comfort. Just to feel something.

Today was bad.

Really bad.

Beyond fuck-this-place bad. Like I-don’t-want-to-be-in-my-body kinda bad.

But they didn’t think about it.

Wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

Because if they did, if they cracked even a little–

They’d scream. Scratch at the walls. Bash their head into the concrete until the room looked like the inside of their head right now. But that'll be weird. And it might hurt.

So they just stared at the ceiling.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Owlish. Empty. Silent.

They were so bored it felt violent. Like their own stillness was starting to eat them alive.

Sleep wouldn't come. It never did.

Not to people like them.

Not when the past could follow you into dreams and touch you with those same hands.

They inhaled. Exhaled. Again.

Somewhere outside, a guard passed. Footsteps heavy. Muffled.

And they thought, briefly, traitorously, about asking for help.

But what would they even say?

No.

They were fine.

They were chill.

Dead-eyed and bleeding inside – but chill.

So they just melted into the mattress.

Let the silence take them.

And waited.

—

[Name] didn’t have to wait long.

They’d just finished fastening the mask on their face, staring at their reflection like maybe it’d blink first. Like maybe it’d shift into someone better, someone greater, someone not them.

Then–

A knock.

Not loud. Not frantic. Just firm.

Weird.

Nobody knocked at this time.

The doors opened when they were meant to open. Automated. Predictable. This wasn’t that.

Still, [Name] stepped toward it anyway.

The second their hand lifted, the door hissed open on its own, like always. As if nothing unusual had happened at all.

Standing on the other side was a triangle-masked guard.

That one. The one from yesterday. The one who’d led them to that room with the kind of stiff silence that said "I don’t agree with this but I still have to do it" and gave them birth control pills and painkillers. Those were useful. The painkillers, I mean.

They didn’t speak. Just nodded once. Motioned for [Name] to follow.

[Name] did.

Not because they wanted to.

Because they didn’t have a choice.

…But if they had a choice? Oh, they’d be talking mad shit.

Wait.

They could still talk mad shit.

Choice or no choice, mouth? Still fully functional. And they weren't about to ignore their true calling.

“So… we’re going somewhere new this time?” they muttered under their breath. Not loud enough to be insubordinate. But just enough to feel alive. “Because if this is another ‘family reunion,’ I’m gonna throw myself out the nearest airlock.”

No response.

Figures.

They looked around. Halls didn’t match the layout to the VIP wing. Or the staff wing. Or anywhere they’d memorized during their endless walking shifts.

Different. Unfamiliar.

“Okay. Not the lounge. Not the dorms. Not the incinerator– I hoped so.”

Still nothing from the triangle.

They sighed. “God, you’re chatty. Do you ever shut up?"

Their voice dropped into a mutter. “Not that i do."

Each step echoed just a little too loud in the dark corridor. The hum of the lights. The soft mechanical breath of the walls. And [Name]’s own thoughts clawing around in their skull, looking for something to bite.

They walked.

They didn’t ask where. They knew better. But it wasn’t the usual hell.

Which meant it might be a different hell.

Cool. New trauma could be unlocked, they might as well finish that achievements list.

They reached a door.

Except, no. That wasn’t a door.

That was a wall that slid open like something straight out of a villain lair in a show where everyone dies horribly. Smooth. Soundless. Ridiculously over-the-top.

[Name] blinked at it. ...Bit much, but okay.

They stepped inside.

First impression: fancy. But not VIP fancy. No gold vomit, no velvet grotesque. It was more restrained. Like someone rich, but clinically depressed, lived here.

A single armchair faced the entrance. Empty.

Off to the side, a hallway with multiple closed doors like a maze with one line. To the left, a side table with some exotic music player and a bunch of tiny figures posed on it like a band mid-performance. trumpet. drums. A woman with a little mic.

Sick as hell, they thought. I want one.

Then– he entered.

Not from the front.

From the hallway.

Not very tall. Dressed in black from head to toe. Hood, gloves, the mask… different from the others. Geometric pattern, sharp and shiny. The kind of mask someone wore not to hide, but to set themselves apart.

The Frontman.

And okay, yeah, [Name] would give him this, he dressed cool as hell. That was the first point.

Second point? He hated the VIPs.

Or at least, didn’t kiss their asses like everyone else. That alone made him tolerable.

He stood still, silent.

Then raised his hand in a dismissive gesture to the triangle guard.

[Name] almost turned to them like, “You’re leaving me? After all the time we spent together?” but caught themself.

No need to make this weirder.

The very chatty triangle left. Door closed behind them, wall closed. Whatever. Same thing.

Silence.

Uncomfortable. Awkward.

Dead air.

Until–

“Remove your mask,” the Frontman ordered.

[Name] stiffened.

Oh hell no.

Wait.

Wait.

Is he–?

Is this like–

Is he like their father?

Is that what this is?

Is he another one of them?

Just another disgusting man with a god complex and no concept of boundaries?

Were they wrong about him?

These thoughts blitzed through their head in milliseconds. Wild. Racing. Dread curling like a snake in their gut.

But still– their hand rose.

Mask pinched between their fingers.

They didn’t hesitate. Not because they were brave. But because they didn’t know what he could do to them.

Not like they knew with HIM.

And that unknown was almost worse.

[Name] stood stiff, mask in hand, face lowered just enough that their overgrown bangs could curtain half their expression. A small shield. Thin. Useless.

This could be two things, and two things only.

One: the Frontman somehow found out they lied about their age and was making sure.

Two: he was a disgusting fucker like the rest of them.

No in-between. No nuance. Just that.

And [Name] was usually right about people.

So when he spoke, calm, low, they listened carefully.

“Number 11 was right..” the Frontman murmured, almost like he was talking to himself. “You don’t even look fully developed.”

Offended. [Name] was offended.

They squinted at him. “Okay, rude?”

But they didn’t actually say that out loud. Just mentally filed it away under the “People I Will Trip Down the Stairs If Given the Chance.” folder.

Still. They felt a flicker of relief.

So it was the first option. Not the second.

Didn’t mean they were safe.

They lied on their application. Said they were 19. In reality, they were sixteen, with a history of a shitton of street fights and a mouth like a sewer.

They’re totally getting shot. Or worse. Fired.

Maybe both? How would that even work?

Would they at least get paid first before getting fired? In cash, obviously, because who the hell has a bank account when they live like a stray cat?

Then– “Come closer,” the Frontman said.

Ugh.

They took a few slow steps forward, shoes silent on the sleek floor. Closer. Closer.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even tilt his head.

But there was something.

Something tight in the air when they were close enough to see the slight tension in his shoulders. His fingers flexed. Barely noticeable, but [Name] noticed.

It was subtle.

Like recognition.

Oh shit. Did he recognize them?

Did they have a bounty? Was there a wanted poster out there for “Angry Little Shithead Beats Up Cashier Behind convenience store”?

Because okay, that did happen, but in their defense, he HAD it coming.

Before they could spiral any further, the Frontman broke the silence. “Sit,” he motioned to the very armchair [Name] had already mentally claimed when they walked in.

They didn’t ask why.

Didn’t question it.

Because if he changed his mind and made them stand again, they would scream.

So they sat. Flopped, really. And got comfortable.

Limbs thrown, legs crossed. Head back against the cushion. Shameless.

This was the nicest chair they’d touched in months.

The man didn’t sit. Instead, he circled slowly around the chair, arms crossed, his head tilting just slightly as he studied them from behind the mask.

Silent.

Assessing.

Creepily so.

[Name] could feel his stare like a bug under a microscope.

Do bugs feel it when scientists stare at them through microscopes? Do they get insecure? Do they like it? Ooo. Weirdos.

—

In-ho stood still, arms crossed tightly, but internally, he was losing it.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the actual fuck.

No, he wasn't freaking out. The frontman doesn't do freaking-outs like a high school girl.

He stared at them, legs slung over the side of the chair like they owned it, completely unaware of the crisis they were igniting inside his skull.

Why the hell are they here? Why now? Why… like this?

Two years ago. It felt like a fever dream, and yet, he remembered it in excruciating clarity.

It was their birthday.

They were just a kid then, still a kid now, barely taller, still with that same haunted fire in their eyes. He had stumbled across them in some narrow alley downtown, snarling like a feral thing, threatening two grown men with a dull, rust-patched dagger that looked like it could barely cut an apple.

They had been terrifying and tragic all at once. And brave. And furious. And so young.

He’d approached slowly, carefully, trying not to set them off. He remembered how they narrowed their eyes at him, instinctually distrusting, ready to stab if he even looked at them wrong.

But somehow… somehow, he got close.

After the men ran off, and [Name] dropped into that strange, shocky quiet that came after survival, they spoke to him afterwards. After he helped them out of it in a way.

Talked about their “home.” About what their father told them. About how they're ’impure’. About how birthdays weren’t real, and even if they were, they were sins to celebrate for “kids like them”.

They said they’d never tasted ice cream before. Never had a party. Nothing.

So in-ho bought them one. Just a simple strawberry cone from the nearest late-night shop.

They took one lick and stared at it like it was magic.

He remembered feeling… weird. Protective. Attached, in a way he hadn’t felt in years after his wife, after the child he couldn't– could've have.

He said something stupid then. Something meaningless.

Maybe a joke.

Maybe a warning.

He didn’t even remember what it was, just the way they flinched, eyes wide with hurt, betrayal and rage. And then they suddenly bolted. Disappeared into the night and dark alleyways.

in-ho never saw them again.

Until now.

And now, now they were here. In this hellhole. In a fucking waiter uniform.

What the fuck.

He’d expected to find a poor teen caught in their lie, sure. Maybe kick them out quietly with their earned paycheck. But this was something else entirely.

And then, it hit him.

He clenched his jaw behind the mask as the rage bloomed.

The VIP. The supposed father. That piece of shit.

Of course it was him. The most obnoxious of all the VIPs.

His mind flashed back to what the guard said. The overheard conversation. The implications. The limp way the kid walked back to their room. The silence.

His fingers twitched at his side.

He wanted to grab his pistol. March down the hallway. Open the door to that gold-drenched room and shoot the fucker in the face. Not just once. Over and over until the carpet soaked with–

No.

He was not a hooligan.

He had power. Control.

He would still kill him. Just later. Better.

He would plan it carefully, make it clean and quiet.

Right now, he had this kid in front of him.

Still a little smartass. Still way too comfortable for their own good.

He needed to connect. To talk to them. To make sure they’re okay. Even if he didn’t quite know how.

And maybe tell them who he was. That he remembered.

Would they remember him?

It was two years ago. One night.

He was probably the freak for still thinking about it all the time. For regretting the way it ended. For watching them sit there now, alive, jaded, barely stitched together, and feeling this irrational, crushing need to protect them.

He said nothing.

Just stared. Thinking. Planning.

And, okay, maybe freaking out a little.

—

[Name] sat on the armchair like they owned it, slouched so far back they were basically horizontal. One leg crossed, fingers tapping a rhythm on the armrest like a teen at their 4th court-mandated therapy session.

They were mid-eye-roll when the Frontman finally spoke.

“You lied about your age.”

His voice was low, precise. Not angry. Not even surprised, though he was, initially.

Just knowing.

[Name] blinked. Oh wow. He talks.

They straightened a bit, squinting through their bangs. “…Yeah? So do half the people on dating apps. Wanna crucify me or what?”

“You’re sixteen,” he said, more to himself than them. “And you’re working here. With us.”

Okay now he was sounding dramatic.

[Name] shrugged. “Better than being homeless. And technically, I’m just here to serve drinks and not die. The job description was vague.”

The Frontman tilted his head, studying them like they were some unsolvable riddle.

“I remember you,” he said suddenly.

[Name] blinked. “That’s concerning.”

“You had a dagger. It was dull.”

They froze.

What.

“You were scaring off two men twice your size in an alleyway. It was your birthday.”

The words landed like bullets in slo-mo.

“I bought you strawberry ice cream.”

Everything in [Name] went silent.

No.

No fucking way.

He stepped closer, slowly, like not to startle a wild animal. Then he stopped. “You ran away after I said something stupid.”

“…This isn’t funny,” [Name] muttered, heart racing.

“I didn’t forget.”

His gloved hand reached up.

And for the first time, the Frontman removed his mask and lowered his hood.

It wasn’t some dramatic reveal. He didn't say "I'm your father," though that would've been funny–

It was quiet.

Simple.

And when [Name] saw his face, it still didn’t register.

Not until their gaze lifted to his eyes.

Sharp. Steady.

And so, so familiar.

“Holy shit,” they breathed. “You’re the ice cream weirdo guy.”

In-ho almost smiled. Because of course that's how they referred to him as If he didn't literally introduce himself that night.

“I was hoping you’d remember.”

[Name] leaned back slowly into the chair, completely overwhelmed.

“…Okay. But like. What the hell. Are you also secretly Santa? Do you just show up once every two years to traumatize me then disappear?”

In-ho finally let out a short, quiet breath. Almost a laugh.

“I didn’t disappear. You did.”

“Oh yeah..it was dramatic. Embarrassing. Don't remind me.”

Their voice was shaky now. The humor struggling to keep up.

“You really remembered me?” they asked, quieter. “All this time?”

“I never stopped.”

Silence. Then, after a beat, they muttered.

“…Am I still getting fired, or are we trauma-bonded now?”

In-ho shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere.”

They raised an eyebrow so hard it could’ve taken flight off their forehead.

“Not going anywhere?” they repeated. “Like, not-going-anywhere as in getting locked in a cell with bread and water, or not-going-anywhere as in ‘you’re stuck with me forever,’ because both sound mildly illegal.”

They were only half-joking. Maybe like, 40%. A good 60% of them was deeply confused and weirdly… excited?

It was like when you find out your principal is actually your mom and you can’t decide if that means you get to skip class or become the living embodiment of nepotism-fueled punishment.

In-ho didn’t answer immediately.

He just looked at them, like he really saw them. Not like a staff number. Not like a tool. Just them. The wet cat [Name].

Then he spoke. “You have a choice.”

[Name] sat up a little straighter.

“I won’t make you do anything,” he added. “I know you hate that.”

Their brain short-circuited slightly. Okay, psychic.

“You can keep working,” he continued. “But if something makes you uncomfortable, you walk out. If you want to stay in bed all day, you do that. If you want to wander back here, do that. No one will stop you.”

[Name] blinked.

“…Wait, so I just get to freelance emotional damage?”

He ignored that. Or maybe chose to. Same thing.

“Or,” he added, “you can stay here. In this room. I’ll bring you food, books, music, whatever you want. Just stay in when the Host’s around. I’ll know. He won’t.”

“…So I’m like, your secret child now? Hidden away in your emo lair?”

In-ho blinked slowly.

“…Essentially.”

[Name] stared at him. Then brought a hand over their mouth, pretending to cough into it while poorly hiding the way their smile kept growing. Their eyes sparkled with that cursed delight that only comes when you realize someone might just be more damaged than you.

“This is so fucked,” they mumbled through their palm. “You’re a full-grown man with near god-tier authority, and you’re telling me you’d rewrite the entire rulebook for some traumatized teen you gave an ice cream to two years ago."

In-ho didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

“Oh my god. Are you okay? Mentally?”

“No.”

[Name] actually laughed.

“You didn’t even hesitate.”

“You deserved more than what happened to you,” he said, voice quieter now. “Back then. And yesterday. I should’ve been there both times.”

[Name] looked at him, their laughter fading but not the warmth.

“…You kind of are now, though.”

Silence stretched for a moment.

Then [Name] leaned back again, arms behind their head like this was just another day.

“Alright, fine. I’ll stay here. But only because that chair’s real comfy and I want to see how far you’ll go to prove you’re not a weirdo.”

In-ho said nothing.

He just turned, walked to a panel on the wall, and pressed a few buttons.

Five minutes later, a second armchair, and a tray of strawberry ice cream were brought in.

[Name] stared.

“…This man’s unwell,” they whispered, delighted.

 

☆

 

The next day rolled in like a fever dream made of unhinged favoritism.

[Name] woke up in a bed softer than their own cheeks, surrounded by the faint scent of sandalwood.

The room was way too nice for someone like them, honestly. Crisp sheets. Minimalist furniture. Zero bloodstains. It was suspicious.

They blinked at the ceiling, squinting slightly. Did I die? Is this heaven? Is God a guy with average height in black with repressed issues and an order obsession?

Yesterday had been... surreal.

In-ho hadn’t just meant what he said, he executed it with the obsession of a man who took promises personally. Every dumb thing [Name] mentioned wanting, half as a joke, he either produced instantly or vowed they'll get shipped in.

They said, “I want a tiger plushie.”

He said, “It’ll arrive tomorrow.”

They said, “What if I want a hotdog cart.”

He said, “Do you want one that functions or just for aesthetic?”

Sir. Calm down.

He smiled too much for someone that scary. Every time he stared at them, it was with this weird, affectionate expression like they were a very cute trauma stray he’d just adopted off the street. Head pats came often. So very often. [Name] started to feel like a tamagotchi that needed physical input to stay alive.

They didn’t mind, though. Weirdly enough. Not the attention. Not the silence. Not the way In-ho made them feel like they weren’t just tolerated, but wanted.

And today, they weren’t suiting up.

No mask. No stiff uniform. No tray of overpriced liquor balanced on their hand. No serving fat, disgusting carnival of filth in the VIP lounge.

No HIM.

Instead, they were sat cross-legged in in-ho's private room, fork in one hand, staring at a small plate of fresh strawberry cake like it was some holy offering.

It had been delivered by another waiter, faceless behind the mask, who didn’t ask questions. Didn’t speak. Probably didn’t even know who the cake was for. Just followed orders. Because nobody knew they were here. Nobody but In-ho.

They were a secret little kid in a luxury hideout. Untouchable. Invisible.

And all it cost was one weird man remembering their brief meeting from two years ago.

[Name] took a bite of the cake and made a sound that was halfway between a moan and an evil giggle.

“I should’ve emotionally damaged more men in power years ago,” they mumbled, licking frosting off their finger.

The door slid open without warning, and In-ho stepped in.

“Good morning,” he said like he hadn’t just materialized from the shadows like a polite vampire.

[Name] looked up at him with cheeks full of sponge cake. And a blank look.

“Hi, Dad.”

He paused. Blinking. Stunned out of his goddamn mind.

“…Excuse me?”

[Name] shrugged. “You brought me cake. And a plushie’s on the way. That makes you my legal guardian now.”

He stared at them. Then sighed, very softly. Walked over. And, of course, patted their head again.

Cursed hand. Called it.

“Keep calling me that,” in-ho suddenly said smoothly, like it was the most natural request in the world.

[Name] froze mid-chew. The fork hovered in the air, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “That was a joke, man.”

In-ho tilted his head slightly. “I know.”

“…Then why’d you sound like that cured something in your brain?” they said, glaring at him like he just whispered dark rituals under his breath.

In-ho, unfazed and oddly serene, replied, “Because it might have.”

[Name] stared.

He stared back.

[Name] finally set the fork down with a little click. “Okay, what the hell. Look, I don’t do the whole ‘dad’ thing, alright? That word is cursed. Demonic. If I say it three times in the mirror, he’ll show up and try to strangle me again.”

In-ho’s jaw tensed, but he nodded.

“Seriously,” [Name] continued, gesturing with their fork. “You might be old and mysterious and weirdly gentle in a scary way, but you’re not him. Don’t even want to associate you with that title.”

“…Understood.”

A silence passed. Not awkward, just quiet.

Then [Name] added, “I will, however, consider calling you mom instead.”

In-ho blinked.

[Name] grinned wickedly. “You pat my head every five minutes, feed me cake, let me sleep in your bed and lowkey treat me like your lost child. You’re basically a mom with OCD.”

To their absolute horror, he smiled. And then nodded.

“That’s fine,” In-ho said, hands behind his back. “You can call me whatever you want. I don’t mind.”

“…You’re so far gone,” [Name] said, stunned. “You need therapy more than I do.”

“I probably do.”

“You definitely do.”

But they were smiling a little as they said it.

Because even though the word “father” made their stomach twist and their throat close up, this didn’t. This absurd little game. This man who remembered them after two years and immediately decided to protect them like his life depended on it.

They poked at the cake again, embarrassed. A little flustered.

It was kind of funny.

Kind of nice..

Kind of…heartbreaking.

—

In-ho’s jaw was tight as he walked out of the VIP lounge, the mask still on, fingers twitching with the restrained urge to break something. Preferably someone’s face. Preferably his face.

That bloated, shriveled excuse for a man had the audacity to ask, “Where’s the short waiter?”

Not ‘my’ child. Not even a they. Just the short waiter.

The words were neutral, but In-ho’s entire body tensed the second they were spoken. He didn’t even look at him. Just stared at the screen.

“They’ve been reassigned. Unfortunately,” he had replied, voice clipped and polite. “The last encounter seemed to disrupt their usefulness.”

A pause.

A few of the other VIPs laughed like pigs wallowing in shit.

[Name]’s ‘father’ hadn’t even registered the venom under In-ho’s tone. The man was too far gone. Rotting on the inside and convinced his decay smelled like wealth.

If the room hadn't been crawling with guards and cameras and eyes, he would've grabbed the man’s face and slammed it into the corner of the table until his mask cracked from the force of holding back.

But he didn’t.

Because he had something more important now.

And he was just starting to think of that as he finally left the lounge, the air already feeling a little less putrid – when it hit him. Not gradually. Not subtly. No, this was a slap-in-the-face, lightning-crack-through-the-sky moment of horror.

The host was on the island today.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

The host.

Oh Il-nam.

The only person above him.

The one who might stroll into his quarters at any given time, like a nosy god in a bathrobe.

And [Name] was right there.

He stopped walking. Full-on froze in the corridor, one gloved hand tightening into a fist.

What if he’d already gone in?

What if he saw them?

What if [Name], unmasked, unfiltered, probably mid-rant about how milk tastes better expired, was just lounging around in the host’s sacred, private space?

And he didn’t know how Il-nam would react.

That was the worst part.

The man was unpredictable. Laughing one second, ordering someone's execution the next. He was all charm and rot. Genius and dementia. A god playing house with ants.

Would he care?

Would he kill them?

In-ho’s heart was pounding now. Not fear for himself. Not shame. Pure, undiluted panic.

I left them alone. I forgot. How the fuck did I forget–

He was already walking again, faster now, dress shoes heavy and urgent against the floor.

He had to get back. Had to make sure. Had to be there before something–

Before someone ruined it.

Before [Name] ended up hurt again.

Because if anything happened to them–

He’d burn the entire island down. And he wouldn’t even pretend to feel bad.

Then–

In-ho slammed the brakes on his legs.

If it weren’t for his years of training, he might’ve stumbled right then and there at the door. Instead, he stiffened like a mannequin, because, oh hell. The worst-case scenario was playing out in 4K right in front of his eyes. Okay, maybe not the worst.

There was Oh Il-nam. The Host. The grandmaster of this hell. Sitting in his lounge chair like he owned the place (which, unfortunately, he did). Looking as harmless as a raisin in a cardigan.

And right across from him was [Name].

Looking like they were undergoing every stage of grief all at once.

Their eyes slowly drifted to In-ho, wide and unblinking, a haunted, dead-souled kind of expression plastered across their face. Then, they reached out to him like they were in a tragic historical drama, lips slightly parted, hand trembling like they’d just crossed the Sahara barefoot.

If In-ho weren’t panicking internally, he might’ve laughed. Instead, he nodded slowly, yes, child, I too am in hell.

Il-nam turned around then, cheerily.

“Ah! Frontman,” the old man crooned like he’d just called over a waiter at a wedding. “I was just chatting with this little thing! Where did you find them? So charming!”

In-ho said nothing.

He just stared, face unreadable behind the mask, praying the heat rising in his chest wasn’t visible through the layers. “They are…” He paused. “A special case, sir.”

[Name] mouthed something like, Save me, mom while still holding out their arm.

Il-nam clapped softly. “What a delightful little pumpkin,” he chuckled. “They remind me of my granddaughter. Haven’t seen her in years. But this one’s funnier. Very witty. They just told me they hope I choke on my own money. Isn’t that adorable?”

“Extremely,” In-ho replied flatly.

The old man chuckled again, oblivious, sipping from a teacup he had definitely helped himself to. “Tell me, do they belong to you?”

In-ho paused.

Behind Il-nam, [Name] froze. Their face said, Do not say yes. Do not say no. Just fake a heart attack and we both run.

In-ho calmly said, “Yes.”

There was a long silence.

“…Oh,” Il-nam blinked, then brightened. “Well, good. Good! Every child needs a parent, after all.” He patted [Name] on the knee. “And this one clearly needs supervision. They threatened to put ants in my tea if I didn’t stop talking about their ‘mom’ when I mentioned you.”

“I stand by that,” [Name] muttered.

In-ho was dying.

He was dying so bad behind that mask.

“Do you mind if I stay here a little longer?” Il-nam asked sweetly. “This is so cozy. I could just fall asleep!”

Please don’t, In-ho thought.

Please do, [Name] thought. Preferably forever.

Aloud, In-ho just said, “Of course. Stay as long as you'd like, sir.”

And watched, in horror, as [Name] slumped in the chair like they’d just lost their will to live again. This was worse than the VIPs. Worse than the streets. Worse than being alive in general.

In-ho silently walked over, reached down, and placed a comforting hand on their head.

[Name] grabbed his sleeve like a drowning man.

They locked eyes for one eternal second.

It said everything, why did you leave me alone with this sitcom grandpa. I thought you loved me.

In-ho squeezed their shoulder.

He would never leave them again.

Then–

The moment Il-nam leaned back in his chair, let out a soft sigh, and murmured something about “a warm nap, like back in my village,” In-ho nearly detonated from the inside.

No. Nope. Not happening.

“Actually,” In-ho said, voice smooth and deadly polite, “we were just about to head out for their scheduled… check-up.”

[Name] immediately perked up like someone just mentioned parole.

“Oh yes,” they said, straight-faced. “My therapy session. For the trauma of being alive.”

Il-nam chuckled sleepily. “Of course, of course. What a funny little spirit.”

In-ho gave the smallest bow known to man, turned, and motioned for [Name] to follow. They practically dove off the couch, whispered a too-loud “THANK YOU” and half-jogged behind him like they were escaping prison - which, emotionally, they were.

Once they were a hallway away, and In-ho had slammed the door shut behind them with slightly more force than necessary, [Name] finally exploded.

“You left me. With that. That crypt keeper. That pension demon.”

“I forgot,” In-ho said through clenched teeth, already rubbing his temples. “He wasn’t supposed to be here today. Nobody told me.”

[Name] was still clutching his sleeve with one hand and a strawberry pastry they stole with the other.

“I called you mom in front of him.”

“You called me mom before that too.”

“I meant it jokingly!”

“...You said it during the ant threat.”

“It was contextually appropriate!”

They were both quiet for a beat.

Then [Name] added, “He said I remind him of his granddaughter. I think he wants to adopt me too.”

In-ho stopped walking, and slowly turned his masked head.

“No,” he said simply. “Absolutely not.”

“I think I’m his heir now.”

“You’re not.”

“He said I had ‘an old soul.’”

“He says that to people he plans to kill.”

“Cool, so I’ll start writing my will.”

In-ho grabbed their shoulder and steered them down a side hallway like a panicked father trying to hide a toddler from mall Santa. “[Name],” he said quietly, “I’m serious. You need to stay out of sight from now on. I don’t know what Il-nam’s thinking. He might like you. He might eliminate you. He might try to take you on a field trip to die in a cornfield. I don’t know.”

“So… normal old man things.”

“Yes. But with access to napalm.”

They rounded the corner and finally arrived at the safety of the private corridor again. [Name] flopped dramatically against the wall, sighing like they just returned from war. In-ho leaned beside them, eyes on the wall, quiet.

After a moment, [Name] looked over and asked, “…You really meant that yes? When he asked if I was yours?”

In-ho didn’t answer immediately.

Then, softly, “I didn’t even think about it. I just said what was true.”

[Name] blinked. They looked away quickly. “Tch. Corny.”

“You’re the one who called me mom.”

“I was under duress.”

“You called me mom three more times since.”

“You left me with someone who collects people like tea cups!”

“You tried to put ants in his tea.”

“…Do you think that would’ve worked?”

In-ho turned and gave them a look through the mask that somehow, impossibly, still managed to say, I'm not mad. I'm just disappointed.

[Name] only grinned.

“Tomorrow,” they said brightly, “I want pancakes. And a new tiger plushie. And a death laser installed above his chair.”

In-ho patted their head, long-suffering and gentle. “You’ll get two out of three.”

“Deal.”

 

☆

 

The games ended today.

Down in the arena, someone probably died screaming, another cried in relief, and confetti might’ve exploded into the air. It was dramatic, In-ho had said. Meaningful. “A conclusion to a chapter,” or whatever poetic garbage he was muttering as he juggled fifteen job titles and a clipboard.

But to [Name], It was Sunday.

They had their feet up on the expensive ottoman in the host room, chewing on mochi and watching reruns of some old K-drama on the screen while Il-nam sat nearby, breathing like a crypt-keeper who just discovered parental rights.

He’d been hovering ever since the “child reveal.” If by hovering you mean, popping up uninvited every few hours, rambling about legacy, life, death, and offering increasingly obscure pastries like a Korean Willy Wonka with unresolved control issues.

It was, against all logic, endearing.

Disgustingly so.

“I brought you chestnut cake,” he said today, tottering in with a plate. “Good for the brain. Makes you sharper. Maybe then you’ll beat me at Go.”

“You cheat,” [Name] said, not looking up from their screen.

“I do not cheat, I adapt to your stupidity.”

They glanced at him. “You trying to get disowned again?”

He just laughed, settling in next to them like they’d been doing this for decades. “You can't disown me. I'm adorable.”

“You’re seventy-five and shaped like a sock.”

Il-nam hummed, pleased. “And still more charming than that sniveling animal you call your biological father.”

[Name] paused their chewing.

The topic had come up fast, back when Il-nam casually asked about their last name, and then their past, and then casually did a background check faster than they could blink. The moment he realized their father was not just a VIP, but the sheep mask VIP, it was over.

Il-nam had blinked once, twice, then smiled slowly.

“Ah… That one. Always had the manners of a roach in heat. So much for being a priest.”

“Sounds about right,” [Name] muttered.

And then he said it. “Well, I suppose we have a reason now. To clean house.”

That was the first time [Name] saw him serious. Really serious. Not angry. Not sad. Just something else – tight-lipped and ancient and dangerous, a fossil that still had teeth.

In-ho, when told about this exchange, aged seven years in two seconds.

“You told him what?”

“He asked!”

“[Name], he kills people with a smile.”

“Yeah, but I think he likes me so I’ll be fine.”

“That’s what cult victims say.”

Now, with the games over and staff scheduled to depart at dawn, In-ho was buried under logistics. Nearly everything was falling apart, power systems being shut down, soldiers being flown out, servers being wiped clean, but Il-nam had all the time in the world.

All the time to follow [Name] around like a wine aunt who decided this child would be the one.

“You know,” the old man said, setting the cake down beside them, “I wasn’t going to pick an heir.”

[Name] stared at him. “You weren’t?”

Il-nam shook his head. “Too many variables. Too many idiots. People want to inherit empires. Nobody wants to understand them. But you…”

Here it comes. Again.

“You see the world, don’t you? In that lovely, raw, slightly bloodstained kind of way. You’re cruel in thought, kind in action. Or is it the other way around?” He leaned in closer. “I can never tell. But either way, you get it. You get me.”

[Name] blinked. “I threatened to unplug your life support for using my toothpaste.”

Il-nam beamed. “Exactly! Your sparkling personality!”

A long silence passed. [Name] slowly took another bite of cake.

“…You’re nuts,” they muttered, mouth full.

“You’ll take the offer, eventually,” he said breezily. “You’ll see. This world’s already ended for you once. Might as well rule its remains.”

They didn't reply.

He patted their knee gently, fondly. “Now eat up. We’ve got a sheep to slaughter tomorrow.”

[Name] stared at him.

Il-nam just smiled.

And for the first time in their life… they didn’t feel powerless.

—

The VIPs were supposed to leave that night. Supposed to.

A sleek black helicopter waited by the helipad like a rich, obedient dog, its blades cutting the air slowly, almost bored. Champagne had been popped. Gross laughter echoed. Awful cologne poisoned the breeze. The rest of them were saying goodbye with fake warmth and even faker smiles.

But one was missing.

The sheep VIP.

Where was he, you ask?

Well. He was in the basement– no, literally.

He was in the basement.

He was currently tied to a chair in a concrete basement that smelled like old iron, shirt ripped open, mask long gone, face swollen like a failed Botox experiment.

Courtesy of one extremely pissed-off immortal crypt keeper and his Frontman-from-hell 

And of course, front row seats were reserved for the very special guest of honor, [Name].

“Ta-da,” Il-nam had said, arms wide like a game show host introducing a prize corpse. “Surprise!”

[Name] had blinked once, twice. Then grinned.

Unhinged.

Unholy.

Unapologetic.

“Ohhh hell yes,” they muttered, walking into the room like it was Christmas morning and the tree was covered with presents.

In-ho stood silently nearby, arms crossed behind his back, cool and composed like this wasn’t the most illegal father-of-the-year moment in history. Il-nam leaned on his cane with that same cryptic smirk, watching [Name] closely.

Because this was a test.

A "What happens if I show my heir a man they’ve wanted to shank since puberty?" kind of test.

Oh boy did [Name] pass with flying colors.

The VIP – this grotesque man who once dared to breathe the same air as them – looked up and saw them approach, and he froze. Eyes wide. Lip trembling. Like he was staring at a ghost. Or the antichrist. Or karma with a side of PTSD.

“Hi,” [Name] said, voice too soft.

He flinched.

[Name] grinned wider. “Aw. You remember me! I’m touched. Really. This is such a reunion.”

The man started to speak, to beg, maybe, but [Name] raised one finger.

“Shhh. We don’t do that here.”

Their smile was sweet. Disturbingly sweet. The kind of smile that belonged on a child giving their parents a handmade card with a little skull doodle in the corner.

In-ho watched silently, clearly proud. Like a dad seeing his kid finally ride a bike, except the bike was revenge and the training wheels were generational trauma.

Il-nam chuckled. “What do you think?” he asked gently, like they were discussing a painting. “You like the view?”

[Name] turned slowly, face unreadable for a second. Then, flatly.

“Thirteen-year-old me would’ve peed their pants out of shock.”

Il-nam laughed delightedly.

“I mean it!” they continued, genuinely confused at their own joy. “I thought this moment was gonna be one of those rage-cry things? But I feel great. I feel like I just took a nap in a bathtub full of serotonin.”

They turned back to the man in the chair. He whimpered.

“Oh shut up,” [Name] muttered, kneeling to eye-level. “You look pathetic. How’re you this scared of me? I’m not even the one who tied you up.”

The man said nothing. Probably because he was spiritually trying to yeet himself out of his body.

[Name] reached out, only to pluck a loose hair from his bloody forehead.

“Ew. Split ends.”

In-ho silently handed them a tissue like this was totally normal behavior.

[Name] took it, patted the guy’s face condescendingly, then turned to the Host and Frontman.

“I feel like I should thank you both?” they said, voice high-pitched and a little hysterical. “Thank you for kidnapping my abuser and letting me look him in the eyes while he pisses himself. That’s very fatherly of you. Both of you. Gold star parenting.”

Il-nam beamed. “That’s what I like to hear.”

In-ho exhaled through his nose, which for him was basically an emotional outburst.

[Name] stood, rubbing their arms. “God, I feel so light. I’m going to sleep like a baby tonight. Back-when-my-life-was-still-a-lie kind of sleep.”

Then they turned back one more time, leaned down, and whispered into their ex-father’s ear.

“Next time, reincarnate as a roach. At least you’d be useful.”

They might’ve left it there. Might’ve turned, walked out, let the man rot in shame and pain and whatever nightmares he could cook up in that broken-down brain of his.

But they didn’t.

Because humiliation wasn’t enough. It never was for him either.

It wouldn’t kill him. Not fast enough, not deeply enough, not with the echo that [Name] wanted to leave in his skull.

Something primal and petty inside them stirred, pacing like an animal. Teeth bared. Hands itching. There was this strange, wild little whisper in the back of their mind saying:

He got off too easy.

And unfortunately for him only, [Name] was listening.

They took a step forward.

Il-nam and In-ho didn’t stop them. Didn’t blink. Not even when [Name] cracked their knuckles like an anime villain mid-monologue.

The VIP whimpered.

“Aww, don’t look so scared,” [Name] said, voice syrupy and fake. “I’m not gonna kill you.”

Pause.

“I’m gonna redecorate you.”

They pulled up a rusty stool from the corner and sat in front of him, elbows on knees, face inches from his. Like a therapist. Like a hunter.

“See,” they said, brushing hair out of his face almost gently, “somewhere out there, I swear there's another version of me who already did unspeakable things to you. Like... piano-wire-and-meathook kind of things.”

They smiled, dreamy. “I like them. That version of me. They’re cool.”

The man started sobbing again. Which was annoying.

So [Name] slapped him. Not hard. Just… firm enough to reset the volume.

“Eyes here,” they cooed. “You will look at me when I traumatize you. That's just basic manners.”

Then they reached down and—pop!—pulled his pinky out of joint. Just casually. Like they were plucking petals off a flower.

“‘He loves me… he loves me not…’” they muttered.

Il-nam coughed, trying to hold back a laugh. In-ho didn’t even try. He just folded his arms, tilted his head, and watched like he was grading a science fair project.

“Fun fact,” [Name] said conversationally, “do you know what the human body does when it’s in real fear? Not that fake ‘scary movie’ fear. I mean the deep, marrow-boiling kind. The kind you gifted me growing up.”

They leaned in, whispering, “It forgets how to breathe.”

The man was forgetting, actually. Hyperventilating like a fish on land.

“Yep,” [Name] continued, patting his cheek. “That’s the one.”

They reached into their pocket and pulled out a wrapped snack cake. Like it was a normal school day. Peeled the wrapper open with a soft crinkle.

“Takes the edge off,” they explained, biting into it mid-horror scene. “Low blood sugar, you know?”

Mouth half full, they mumbled, “By the way? Just letting you know. You don’t get to die today. That’d be merciful. This—this is gonna be slow. We got time. I got time. My schedule’s cleared.”

They glanced at Il-nam and In-ho. “Y’all free all week?”

Il-nam looked delighted. “Oh, absolutely.”

In-ho gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I’ll make time."

[Name] turned back to the sheep VIP, licking frosting off their thumb.

“I’m gonna break you like a bad habit,” they whispered. “And when I’m done, I’m gonna build you back up just to break you again."

A pause. Then brightly:

“Anyway. Who wants to start with teeth?”

And that was how the sheep VIP discovered there were fates worse than death.

And they had a name.

It was [Name].

 

☆

 

So.

He died.

After three days of creatively unhinged torture and enough pain to make even Dante re-edit his inferno. Pathetic, really.

[Name] personally? They would've survived months. Years, even, fueled purely by spite and MREs.

But this guy? This bloated, cologne-scented, crusty-souled failure of a man?

He had a seizure during the mid-leg-shattering session and just died. Right there. Mid-scream. Mouth foaming like a half-baked latte.

Very disappointing.

Didn’t even get to the creative part. [Name] had blueprints. Plans. There was a puppet show idea in there somewhere.

Truly a waste of concrete space and emotional build-up.

“Ugh,” [Name] had said, pulling off their gloves like a surgeon denied dessert. “I didn’t even go full creativity mode yet. He didn’t even get the finger-painting treatment. I had glitter prepped.”

In-ho would beg to differ, on how unaffected they claimed to be. He’d heard nothing but complaints since the VIP’s last twitch.

“Too fast.”

“Too easy.”

“Didn't even get to try the eyelid peeling trick– mom, why’re you making that face? It was gonna be safe.”

“I didn’t even touch his internal organs. I was being responsible.”

He had tried to act indifferent at first.

But three days of hearing things like “Do you think his brain just rage quit?” and “Do you think it was the ankle drill?” Or “was the alphabet soup really that threatening?” had worn him down.

Honestly, if he had to hear “I’m bored now” one more time, he was going to throw himself off the roof. Dramatically. In front of everyone. For emphasis.

Oh Il-nam? Oh, he was thriving. The kid was monologuing like a supervillain, pacing rooms, chewing snacks mid-threat, poking things with sticks. Adorable. Unhinged. A little feral. Just how he liked his maybe-heirs.

“You did wonderfully,” he said, patting [Name]’s head with the kind of care that was probably a microaggression. “He wasn’t worthy of the effort anyway.”

“I was going to build a meat piano,” [Name] pouted.

“A true visionary,” Il-nam nodded.

But the moment [Name] started spending a little too much time with ol’ crypt keeper over there?

In-ho flipped.

He became allergic to peace. Walked into rooms uninvited. Constantly “needing” [Name] for something. Side-eyed Il-nam like a jealous dog every time he laughed a little too hard at their jokes.

“Let’s go over the logistics schedule,” In-ho would say, holding a clipboard like a weapon.

“We just did that,” [Name] would mutter. Groaning.

“Yes. Again.”

In-ho glared at il-nam. He just smirked back like try me, you emotionally constipated sad man, I’m winning the war.

Because that’s what this was now.

An unofficial custody battle.

And none of them left the island yet. There was still a shitload to do. Paperwork, cleaning, supervising the last of the staff before they shipped off tomorrow like overworked ants.

It was hell.

[Name] hadn’t even considered Il-nam’s heir offer lately.

…Okay that was a lie. They considered it every morning while brushing their teeth.

Because let’s be real here.

The only reason they hadn't accepted yet was because of all this post-Games admin bullshit. Otherwise?

Hell yes.

They’d be absolutely stupid to refuse. Come on now. They weren't some cliché softboy protagonist who says no to inheriting a throne because “wah wah power corrupts!” No it doesn’t, Chad. You corrupt. Give it back.

[Name] was built for this. They’d monologue in the throne room. They’d install mood lighting and carry around a scepter just for the bit.

This wasn’t some indie coming-of-age story where they had to prove they were morally superior by humbly declining the throne and going to sell turnips or whatever. Fuck that.

They weren't humble. Never were. Not even as a fetus probably.

So honestly? They might just say fuck it and accept. Fully. Publicly. Dramatically.

Maybe In-ho would have five heart attacks.

Maybe he’d live through all five just to lecture them about it.

But maybe?

[Name] would finally stop pretending they didn’t like the taste of power.

Because they did.

Oh, they really did.

—

After the post-Games admin hell was finally over – after the last shipment of exhausted staff, the final clipboard signed in blood (or ink, but who's checking), and the last corpse discreetly dumped into the crematorium – the three of them finally left the island.

And somehow, they didn’t separate.

Why would they?

What even was personal space anymore?

[Name] was basically stuck to both of them like a haunted house leech. Violent, sarcastic, affectionate in ways that made therapists cry. Il-nam was increasingly obsessed with molding them into his ultimate heir-slash-grandkid successor. And In-ho, poor bastard, had too many issues (and too much affection) to walk away now.

So naturally, Il-nam insisted they all stay at his penthouse. Which, of course, was an entire floor high up in Gangnam, glass windows for walls, floors so polished they could probably blind a god, and interior design that screamed "I use gold bars as coasters."

[Name] did not refuse. Of course they didn’t. You think they would? They said yes with the same energy as a kid being offered candy by a 60 year old man from a white van.

“Cool,” they said, already kicking their shoes off on the $30,000 rug like it was made of gas station fuzz.

In-ho stood by the door like a guest star in a sitcom. He looked like a constipated cat. No– worse. A betrayed constipated cat. He’d already started compiling a mental list of emergency exits, possible murder scenarios, and which antique statues in the hallway could double as blunt weapons if [Name] got too indoctrinated.

Which they absolutely were.

He did not want his kid spending more time with the elder evil of capitalism. But what could he do?

Oh Il-nam was his boss.

He was also a billion-dollar manipulator with the charm of a haunted tea kettle and a weird amount of charisma.

And unfortunately, [Name] was eating it up.

They slept in one of the twelve guest rooms. Drank imported juice from crystal glasses. Woke up to the smell of old money and older crimes. They had robes. They had slippers. They had a private library of banned books that Il-nam just casually let them browse with a, “Read anything you like. I used to loan this to dictators.”

This penthouse was everything [Name] ever wanted but never admitted out loud, a high tower in the middle of Seoul, far above the chaos but not removed from it. Endless expensive snacks. Mood lighting. A jacuzzi in the master bathroom.

And most importantly?

Oh Il-nam.

That wrinkled, manipulative bastard of a man who kept treating them like royalty and then casually suggesting things like “You ever wonder what kind of government you could overthrow with a well-timed stock crash?” while sipping organic tea.

It was so over.

[Name] started dressing sharper. Started reading books with titles like “The Ethics of Mass Power” and “How to Smile Without Regret.”

They started calling Il-nam “Bossman” or “Old Man Crypt Keeper” with something that suspiciously resembled affection.

And In-ho was dying inside.

This child–his child–his trauma-gremlin-bite-sized menace of a kid was nodding along to Il-nam’s lectures on how to manipulate economic collapse and occasionally going, “Ohh, that’s smart. I’d add fire though.”

The worst part is that they meant it.

They were bonding.

Like a dragon raising a smaller dragon with better hair and more sarcasm.

And slowly, they started acting like him.

Laughing too calmly. Making ominous tea at two in the morning.

Heart attack #1.

Then they started jokingly calling Il-nam “Grandma.”

Heart attack #2.

Then Il-nam taught them how to manipulate investor meetings “for fun.”

Heart attack #3.

Then they started quoting philosophy at breakfast.

Heart attack #4.

Then they tried on one of Il-nam’s robes. Silken. Long. Absolutely too expensive.

They looked in the mirror and went: “Damn. I look like I sell hope and launder money.”

Fifth heart attack. Immediate.

In-ho nearly imploded when he walked into the penthouse lounge one afternoon and saw [Name] lounging in silk robes (stolen from Il-nam’s closet), sipping a $200 drink, and going:

“So I have been thinking about it. Your heir thing. Might as well. It’s not like I have better plans. Besides, I look great in black.”

Il-nam just clapped cheerfully.

In-ho dropped his tablet.

“You what?”

“I said I’ll do it, mom,” [Name] replied without looking back, sipping. “We’ll do the inheritance contract thing after brunch.”

In-ho stared like he’d been slapped with a brick of existential dread.

Brunch? Brunch?! Since when did they even use that word?!? He's almost 99.99% sure they don't know what it means.

He barely held back a groan, rubbing his face. “This is it– it's over. This is worse than the games.”

“Oh come on,” [Name] drawled, twirling their straw. “You’re acting like I joined a cult. It’s just a power succession plot.”

“With a man who invented human hunting.”

Il-nam, from the balcony: “And private healthcare.”

[Name] raised their glass. “See? Visionary.”

In-ho walked out of the room. Straight into the wine cellar. He was going to drink until he either time-traveled or forgot what day it was.

And [Name], they looked out at the skyline, glowing and sharp.

And they smiled.

They were going to own this city someday.

Maybe the world.

And their new mom? Their war-criminal mentor–grandma?

They'd be so proud.

 

☆

 

One year later.

The island was alive again.

Cameras blinking. Guards lining up. Masks plain. Blood washed off the walls just in time for fresh screams.

The annual Games had returned, and this time, [Name] wasn’t some half-dead masked waiter skulking around in borrowed shoes.

No, no, no. They were back as an orchestrator.

A fancy title meaning “do whatever the hell you want, so long as it looks cool and psychologically shreds a few contestants along the way.”

They strutted through the control room with all the grace of a nepo baby. Officially adopted by In-ho (finally, paperwork signed, sealed, and trauma-bonded), they had the power of nepotism and sheer demonic talent backing every move they made. And the pièce de résistance?

Their golden cat mask.

Sleek. Custom. Slightly smug. The ears sparkled in the light like wealth-fueled spite. Everyone else's masks were blank, functional. Theirs looked like it might hiss at you and steal your wallet.

And oh, they wore it like a crown.

The day the new batch of guards arrived, In-ho stood at the head of the training chamber, masked and towering, giving some deadly serious speech about discipline and secrecy.

“You are no longer civilians,” he said, voice like a knife in a freezer. “You are no longer individuals. You are mechanisms. Tools. Gears in a–”

“Good morning, mom,” they chirped sweetly at the side of the stage.

In-ho, standing tall and terrifying in his black coat and Frontman mask, voice like ice, paused mid-sentence.

Turned. Slowly. With the menacing grace of a horror movie creature about to eat its own child.

The new guards stood frozen, eyes wide behind their plain black masks.

“…Did you just call me–”

“Mom?” [Name] said again, louder this time, leaning on a console like this was casual family dinner. “Yup. Just making sure the rookies know the hierarchy around here.”

In-ho’s masked stare could’ve shattered a diamond.

“You’re not supposed to say it here.”

“Oh my bad.” A beat. “Mom.”

One guard audibly gasped. Another swallowed a laugh and instantly choked.

[Name] didn’t even flinch. If anything, they tilted their cat mask sassily.

No regrets.

Ever.

Somewhere behind them, a snort of laughter came through.

“Mom,” Oh Il-nam repeated, clearly giddy with schadenfreude, “Well that’s adorable. Maybe next year you’ll be promoted to Grandma, Frontman.”

“Shut up, you cursed god..” In-ho muttered under his breath, barely restraining the urge to shoot Il-nam off a cliff.

But it was useless.

Because this was their life now.

To In-ho, il-nam was still the world's oldest mosquito – buzzing around just to annoy him, somehow still alive, still rich, still too smug to kill.

Oh Il-nam, the scheming, wrinkled bastard who refused to die, was thriving. He spent most of his time in the Host Room lounge, sipping aged whiskey and bantering with [Name] like they were his favorite evil sidekick. He’d even started calling them “Grandchild” which they should’ve hated, but somehow didn’t.

He adored [Name]. They bonded over being emotionally manipulative sociopaths with a fondness for theatrics. They had weekly dinners now. In-ho called them “hell feasts.” He always tried to interrupt them, and failed every time.

“You let them spend too much time with me,” Il-nam once said, smug.

“They were normal once,” In-ho deadpanned.

“No they weren’t.”

Touché.

[Name] was thriving too.

They loved the power. The control. The twisted poetry of it all.

Sometimes they were on the lower floor, walking behind the Workers, unsettling them. Sometimes they were in the control room, flipping switches, muttering “Oops” when something exploded. Other times they sat next to Il-nam, legs draped over a plush velvet ottoman while mocking the VIPs under their breath in flawless English.

And sometimes, they stood beside In-ho during briefings, like an obedient cat-shaped gremlin, only to throw in comments like:

“Also, just a reminder, if you fail your tasks, mom will disown you. I’m not saying that happened to the last guys, but I am saying there’s a free space on the Missing Persons board.”

In-ho suffered in silence.

[Name] thrived.

Il-nam lived for the drama.

Still, somehow, despite the problems and mind games and casual psychological warfare, the three of them didn’t separate. They didn’t go their own ways. They lived in the same absurd home, plotting death games and arguing about who forgot to do the dishes.

The new staff feared them. The guards worshipped them. The new players didn’t stand a chance.

The Games had changed. Evolved.

And It was going to be a great season.

 

✧

 

Notes:

My fingers don't actually exist anymore, yk. I wrote so much I could feel the muscles in my palms convulsing. Does that happen? Am I dying?

Anyway. Every [Name] from every special chapter is a little different from each other. Only original one is obviously the main story, season 2 [Name], our distrustful, sarcastic, disrespectful child.

Also, did I get funnier? Is it too much? Does it make you laugh? Do I need to stop trying too hard to make this enjoyable without it getting boring because it's so long?💔

Sorry I sounded insecure there for a second. I KNOW it's funny. I'm pretty sure you laughed, a giggle maybe, a chuckle, a smile.

After this. I'm posting part two of 'TROUBLED' so I can finally let this fanfic rest a bit. I need to get back into my other book 😟 I'm almost forgetting about it. This is worrying. Leon needs some attention before he shoots his brains out.

Hope you enjoyed pookies!!!! Especially you Anna. This was made for YOU 🗣️🔥🔥‼️

Chapter 23: ✧|| TROUBLED (2)

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

In-ho, get those adoption papers. We know they've been in that drawer for a while now.

Notes:

Welcome to the last chapter of this fic for a LONGGG time. At least I hope. Last time I said that I came back in three hours 😕 you really shouldn't trust anything I say. I have other fics too that need attention.

ANYWAY!! Here it is! Part 2 of TROUBLED. Finally. I almost forgot about it. You guys have no idea the amount of drafts in my docs. Nooo idea.

This is cute and nice and a little depressing. I didn't over do it again this time, it's just 4k words, almost 5k 🙏

ENJOY!!

✧

 

It wasn’t quiet anymore.

Sirens, blaring. Tires screeching. 

Footsteps, slamming against metal and pavement. Yells muffled by snow and wind and adrenaline.

Somewhere far below, the world had caught fire – metaphorically, of course – but to [Name], everything felt hushed, distant, underwater. The snowflakes drifted lazily, soft and too white, almost mocking the blood seeping out beneath them.

They could still faintly hear the dial tone ringing in their head. Or maybe it was just their pulse slowing down.

Then–

“In-ho…”

Their voice cracked in their own throat, a rasp, maybe not even real anymore.

And then there was In-ho. Not in the way someone imagines things in their final moments, not as a dream, but for real.

Boots slammed onto the rooftop from the fire escape, a flashlight jerking around violently before it landed on the slumped figure at the edge.

“[Name]!”

His voice was hoarse. Torn. Not just from the climb or the panic, but from fear. Paralyzing fear.

He dropped next to them, knees scraping against cold concrete. Blood. So much blood. And the snow made it worse, painting red into white, and white into silence.

“No, no, no– stay with me,” he muttered, voice breaking, fingers pressing to their wound. “You promised. You little shit, you promised.”

They wanted to laugh. Barely managed to breathe.

“You’re… kinda cussing at a dying kid right now,” they whispered, teeth chattering. “Not very… festive…”

In-ho let out something between a sob and a curse, ripping off his coat and wrapping them in it, pressing harder against the bleeding.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare die on me, [Name]. You hear me?”

His eyes were wild, frantic, his hands trembling even as he moved like a trained professional. He kept glancing toward the fire escape, praying to hear the medics, knowing damn well they were too far out.

“I swear to god,” he whispered like a threat, leaning close, his forehead resting against theirs for a split second, “if you leave me like she did–”

“...don’t say that,” [Name] croaked. Mostly because it sounded stupid.

Silence. Only snow. And sirens getting closer now.

“I didn’t ask to be your kid,” they added, weakly. “But you made me wanna stay.”

That broke him. Clean down the middle.

He held them tighter as the lights turned the night red and blue. He didn’t even notice the tears until they were soaking into their hair, melting against their skin.

“You are my kid,” he whispered, fierce and broken. “So you’re gonna live, understand?”

And they did.

Somehow – somehow they did.

 

☆

 

Beep...

Beep...

Beep...

Jesus. Whoever’s running this just subscribed to my OnlyHands.

Time slowed to a crawl as [Name] drifted back into consciousness, eyelids fluttering open to a world they didn’t recognize.

Sterile white walls. Monitors beeping in rhythm. The sharp tang of antiseptic stinging their nose. The air was too clean, too heavy, like it didn’t want to be breathed.

Panic began to crawl up their spine.

Foreign objects clung to their body: an oxygen mask clouding their vision, an IV tube threading into their arm like a parasite. They moved without thinking, hand flying up, clawing at the mask with rising desperation.

Where am I? What the hell happened?

Their face remained eerily blank, but their eyes told the truth, wide pupils shaking, heartbeat screaming in the rising pitch of the monitor. Just as they were about to rip the mask off completely, the door creaked open.

A nurse stepped in, bright smile weaponized by the fluorescent lighting. “Ah, you’re awake!” she chirped, stepping closer. “How are you feeling, dear?”

[Name] didn’t answer.

They moved on instinct, feral and fast—snatching the plastic water pitcher from the side table and hurling it straight at her. It hit her squarely in the shoulder.

She shrieked, stumbling back, hand cradling the impact point. “Agh! What on earth–?!” she gasped, already backing out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

Silence fell again, broken only by the ragged rhythm of [Name]’s breathing. Chest heaving, eyes darting. Panic and confusion twisted tight beneath their skin.

What’s happening to me..? They stared down at the IV still embedded in their arm like a leash.

And then–

Their hands. Bruised. Scratched. No, worse.

Images surged without warning. Blood– everywhere. On their fingers. Their forearms. The floor. It poured and poured, red drowning everything.

A man’s voice echoed, distant and warbled. Screaming something unintelligible. [Name] couldn’t make out the words. They weren’t sure they wanted to.

Then silence again.

Thick, suffocating. A metallic stench hit their nose like a slap.

They saw it.

Blood.

On their hands. Then arms. Then walls.

Everywhere.

A man. Screaming. Eyes unhinged.

A woman.

A gunshot.

Her skull, gone. Just like that.

[Name] knew her.

They loved her.

And their hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Wouldn’t stop dripping.

The screaming intensified. One voice. Then two. Then a hundred: HIM, HIM, HIM, HIM—

The word echoed and multiplied, overlapping until the sound blurred into white noise.

Then–

A new voice. Calmer. Deeper.

It pierced through the madness like a hand breaking the surface of water.

[Name] lashed out instinctively, grabbing the nearest wrist with a desperate grip. Their eyes – wild, red, frantic – locked on the face of the person in front of them.

It was In-ho.

His breath caught at the sight.

That haunted stare didn’t belong on a kid. Not one so small, so young. It made his chest ache in a place that had been numb for years. He didn’t say anything at first, just knelt quietly beside the bed.

Slowly, inch by inch, [Name]’s eyes began to change. The tremble didn’t stop, but the chaos faded just enough for them to really see him. Not HIM. Not the blood. Just In-ho.

Were his eyes always so soft?

Their grip loosened.

Their gaze dropped.

In-ho reached out, brushing a hand gently over their hair like he wasn’t afraid of breaking them. Like he’d done this before.

“You’re okay,” he softly whispered. “You’re safe now, [Name]. I’m here.”

And for once, [Name] believed it.

Even if only for a second.

They sat there for a moment, still holding onto In-ho’s wrist like a lifeline, or like a kid who’d just seen God after a five-day acid trip and wasn’t ready to let go yet.

Their chest was still doing that annoying post-panic hiccup thing. Their head hurt. Their mouth was dry.

And In-ho was still patting their head like they were a startled stray. Which, yeah. I guess.

“This better not awaken anything in me,” [Name] muttered under their breath.

In-ho didn’t laugh. He just stayed there, crouched beside the hospital bed with that calm look on his face like he was trying to will them back to sanity with sheer mom energy alone.

“You had a psychotic break,” he finally said, voice as even and quiet as always. “You were unconscious for two days. I’ve been here since yesterday.”

Two days. Huh.

They blinked, mildly impressed. Damn. Dedication. "You didn’t even bring flowers, though.”

“I brought you clean socks.”

“Oh my God. I’m blushing.”

In-ho’s lip twitched. That was as close to laughing as he ever got. Then he stood slowly, his knees cracking loud enough to make [Name] wince.

“Your gang,” he began gently, like the words might bruise. “They're gone. They were ambushed. Only you made it out.”

[Name] blinked. Stared.

Then blinked again.

“...Okay?”

In-ho tilted his head. “…Okay?”

“Yeah. I mean. They were kinda planning to stab me in the back anyway, y'know? Literally, probably. I just got shot first. So, like. Joke’s on them.”

They wiggled their fingers weakly, then pointed at the IV drip. “Also, this stuff? Whatever it is, I would like a lifetime supply. Holy hell. Better than my meds. Better than a warm hotdog at 3 a.m. after vandalizing a church billboard.”

“You did what—”

“Unimportant.” [Name] waved it off, laying back with an exaggerated sigh. “Anyway, they’re dead. Not sad. Kinda freeing, honestly.”

In-ho didn’t reply right away. He just gave them a long, unreadable look through those tired eyes. There was a strange curve to his lips. It was warm. Soft. Comforting.

Too comforting.

“Stop that,” they mumbled.

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like I just cried in front of you or something.” They wrinkled their nose. “Gross.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking it. You’re like, ‘Oh wow, what a poor little trauma rat. I shall adopt them and fix their emotional damage with baked goods and consistent validation.’”

In-ho’s actual smile cracked through then. He almost looked smug.

[Name] squinted at him.

“…Wait. You are thinking that. Oh my God. You’re worse than the nurses. At least they sedate me.”

“I’m not going to sedate you.”

“Well. That’s disappointing.”

A beat of silence.

Then, in a tone far too casual, In-ho said, “You’re my kid.”

The world didn’t stop this time. It didn’t blur or echo or bleed into red static.

But [Name] did freeze.

Again.

Just for a second.

“…You mean that like… metaphorically, right?” they said slowly. “Like when you call your cat your kid but you don’t actually expect it to go to college?”

In-ho sat in the chair beside their bed. Crossed his arms. Looked at them the way only a deeply exhausted man with too much guilt and too many regrets could.

“You’re my kid,” he said again, steady.

They stared at him.

Then snorted.

“Dude. You really need therapy.”

But nobody laughed.

Not even [Name], and they were usually the first to laugh at their own jokes – especially the self-deprecating ones. The funnier it sounded, the less real it felt. That was the rule. That’s how they coped.

But this didn’t feel funny.

In-ho was still staring at them. That same look. Like he was waiting. Waiting for something to click. Like he expected [Name] to just get it. To understand that he wasn’t joking, that he wasn’t going to back down this time.

He never said it out loud before, not like that. He’d always danced around it. Told them to go to an orphanage. Said the system could help. Foster homes, shelters, anything not him. He was a cop, he wasn’t equipped for this. He had baggage. Loss. He was just trying to help a kid survive.

But now?

Now that the gang was gone, now that [Name] had truly hit zero, with nowhere to run and nothing left to hide behind, no more fake loyalty, no shitty hideouts, no makeshift family?

Now he was stepping forward. Not as an officer. Not as a rescuer.

As something else.

Someone else.

[Name] blinked slowly.

“…Be so for real.”

In-ho didn’t blink.

“Like. What,” they murmured, sitting up slightly. “You cannot be serious. You’re… you’re deadass? This isn’t some weird fever dream from the IV drip?”

Still no answer. Just that same steady stare. Calm. Unshaken. A little haunted, but unwavering.

Their breath caught. Their hands fidgeted in their lap, twisting the corner of the hospital blanket.

“…It was a joke, man.” Their voice cracked a little. “I was joking. You’re not supposed to say stuff like that back. That’s not how this works.”

Why was he looking at them like that?

Why did it feel like the air had been sucked out of the room?

No. No no no. There’s no way.

He didn’t actually want to–

Them?

[Name]?

This street-rat in teen form? This garbage fire of a person? This undeserving, broken, impure, waste-of-space thing that didn’t even know how to sleep indoors without flinching at every sound?

He wanted them? That? What?

Their mouth opened, then closed. No words came. Not even the dumb ones. Not even a snarky one.

They looked away. Fast. Like maybe if they didn’t see the look in his eyes, it wouldn’t be real anymore. Wouldn’t feel so big.

“I-I throw rocks at people,” they muttered, panicked. “I’m not… I’m not adoption material. I’ve stabbed people. With, like, actual knives. More than once.”

Still silence. Still that warm, horrifying silence.

“I’ve spat in cops’ coffee before, dude, this is a terrible idea.”

“I’m aware,” In-ho said, finally.

His voice was quiet. Steady. There was no sarcasm. No hesitation. Just... sincerity.

“You’re still my kid.”

And just like that–

[Name] broke.

They didn’t cry. No.

They just sat there in stunned, horrified disbelief, as the reality of it hit them like a truck full of overdue affection.

“Oh my God, you’re serious.”

In-ho sighed through his nose. The kind of sigh that said God, I didn’t want to say this right now, but also I can’t keep holding it in anymore.

“I’ve been meaning to say it for a while,” he started, voice low, thumb rubbing circles over the back of his own hand, his nerves barely masked by that usual tired calm. “I just... I didn’t want to scare you off. Thought maybe it was too soon. That maybe I was imagining something that wasn’t there. I mean, hell, what kind of adult tells a kid he barely knows that he wants them to stay? That he wants to give them a home? It sounds selfish.”

[Name] didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“But I meant it. From the first time I saw you,” he continued, voice barely above a whisper, “you looked like something already broken. And I know that feeling. I know what it’s like to wake up and feel like there’s nothing left of you worth keeping.”

He looked at them now. Eyes softening.

“I didn’t want to overstep. So I waited. Kept telling myself I’d say something when you were ready. But after what happened… I realized maybe neither of us were ever gonna feel ready. And that maybe that’s okay.”

[Name] stared at the floor.

Truthfully?

They would’ve said yes in the first damn week.

That’s how pathetic they were.

One bag of convenience store snacks and a ride home from juvie and they were already halfway to imprinting on this broken, grumpy man like some sad stray cat.

It was dumb. It was so stupid. But so was clinging to someone who looked like they hurt as much as you did.

In-ho had a dead wife. A dead soul. A whole cemetery of guilt behind his eyes.

They were the same. Two disasters, just different fonts.

They belonged together.

But [Name] said none of that. Ew. Gross. Cringe. Vulnerability? Not on their watch.

Instead, they just lowered their head a little, like it suddenly got too heavy for their neck. Their fingers twisted in the edge of the hospital blanket. And in the smallest, quietest, most pathetically unfunny voice they’d ever used, they muttered:

“…okay.”

And that was it.

Just a tiny surrender.

In-ho’s shoulders slumped. Like the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding had finally escaped.

“Okay,” he echoed, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good.”

He stood awkwardly beside the bed, not sure what came next. Did he… pat their head again? Offer them a lollipop? How did one adopt a feral alley kid without it getting weird?

[Name], sensing his hesitation, muttered, “I swear to god if you cry, I’m walking into traffic.”

In-ho huffed a laugh. “You’re still on bedrest.”

“Bet.”

And just like that, the tension cracked, just a little. Just enough.

—

The car ride was quiet. Not uncomfortable, just full. Like the silence was doing something. Holding space.

[Name] sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, wearing the same smug little smirk they'd been wearing since they manipulated their way out of the hospital with nothing but three days of aggressive pouting, six hours of complete silence, and one dramatic sigh that could rival the theatre kids.

In-ho, despite knowing exactly what they were doing, still caved. Of course he did. He was weak. He was so weak for them.

“Back to talking now, are we?” he muttered, eyes flicking over to them at a red light.

“Huh?” [Name] replied, feigning innocence with the acting chops of a two-dollar soap opera star. “I’ve always been talking. Maybe you just have selective hearing.”

“You didn’t say a word for two days.”

“Gaslighting me in your own car, wow. This is child abuse.”

“Want me to turn around?”

“Nope! Loving this direction.”

Manipulative little shit.

In-ho shook his head, but the fondness that curled around his features betrayed him. Even now, even after everything, they still found ways to make him feel something human. Something warm.

And yet, as they neared his home– no, his house, it still didn’t feel like a home. Not since she left. Or more accurately, since life tore her away from his desperate grasp.

Maybe, though… maybe it could become a home again. With [Name]. This stray trauma-gremlin he hadn’t even officially adopted yet. Not on paper. But in what way had that ever mattered?

They were already his.

He parked the car, engine ticking down into silence. [Name] didn’t move to get out yet, just stared out the window.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Mhm.”

They weren’t. But the kind of not okay that sits quiet in your ribs. The kind that’s normal.

He let the silence settle again before saying, “I can already tell you're not gonna call me dad."

That made them shift. Not uncomfortably, more like carefully. Like stepping around a landmine they half-buried themselves in.

“…No.”

“No pressure.”

Another silence. Then–

“You wanna know why?”

In-ho hesitated. He shouldn’t. He should say no. Let it lie.

But he was never good at looking away from pain. Especially not their pain.

“…Yeah.”

What [Name] said next was said too flat. Too calmly.

“I had a dad,” they began. “He called himself that anyway. Priest. My mom didn’t want him. But her dad made her marry him after she got pregnant.”

In-ho’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel.

“She tried, though. My mom. She tried to raise me sweet. Told me I was good. Beautiful. A blessing.” [Name] snorted. “Didn’t last. He beat her. Told her I was the devil’s kid, that she was going to hell for birthing me.”

In-ho’s jaw clenched.

“And when I turned seven, she broke. Snapped. Said I ruined her. That if I’d never been born, she could’ve been saved. She tried to stab me with the knife she used to cut the carrots for my dinner.”

He took in a sharp breath. A pause. 

“She could've done it. But he didn't allow it. Shot her in the back of the head. Said she was ‘unholy’."

The air in the car went cold. Still.

“I don’t call anyone ‘dad’,"[Name] finished. “Not ‘cause I don’t want to. ‘Cause I don’t know how to without tasting blood.”

In-ho didn’t respond immediately. He couldn’t. There was no right thing to say to that.

There was only fury. Rage. And guilt. So much guilt for feeling that rage – because he knew it wasn’t about him. But God, he wanted to find that bastard and put a bullet through his skull himself. Priest or not.

[Name] didn’t look at him. “Regretting picking me up yet?”

“No,” he said, instantly, voice hard with certainty. “I’m regretting not doing it sooner.”

They blinked. Slowly. Then shrugged. “You’re weird.”

“You’re the one who begged to come home.”

“It’s not a home.”

“Yet.”

They scowled. “Don’t push your luck.”

He smiled. “I already picked up your meds, by the way.”

“Oh my God."

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re a control freak.”

“You’re my kid.”

They didn’t argue that part.

 

☆

 

It had been a week.

Seven days of waking up in an actual bed, not a piss-soaked mattress in a warehouse or a dirty couch in some gang-affiliated crash pad.

Seven days of someone asking, “Did you eat yet?” instead of, “Did you get the job done?” Seven days of hot showers, clean towels, and slippers that weren’t stolen.

[Name] hated it.

Not really. But also really.

In-ho didn’t treat them like glass. Didn’t tiptoe or overcompensate like people did when they found out about the past. He just existed. Cooked breakfast in his lame pajamas. Yelled at the TV when the news ran some idiotic headline. Grumbled when [Name] left their socks on the floor but still picked them up anyway. 

It was weirdly normal.

Disturbingly normal.

And then came the late Christmas.

It was days after the actual one. [Name] was mostly healed by now, though they still ached a bit and had that IV-blood smell lingering around them. In-ho didn’t care. He cooked a sad little meal – burned the carrots, forgot to defrost the meat until the last second, almost dropped the pie. [Name] offered to just order takeout and call it festive. He refused. Said it “wasn’t about the food.”

God, he was so annoying.

He payed the kind of carols that made [Name] dramatically groan and cover their ears with their hoodie.

“Turn that off, oh my god, it sounds like a cult gathering.”

“It is Christmas music.”

“Exactly.”

But then he brought out the presents.

Way too many.

All clumsily wrapped. The tape showed. The edges didn’t line up. There was a bow that looked like it had been attacked by a raccoon.

[Name] blinked. “...Why is there more than one?”

In-ho shrugged, setting them down on the coffee table. “Didn’t know what you liked. So I guessed.”

“This is a bribe.”

“Nope.”

"You're weird.”

“I’m weird?”

[Name] stared at the pile. Then back at him. “Are you in a cult.”

“No.”

“Did you kill someone.”

“I’m a cop.”

“So that’s a yes.”

He gave them a deadpan look. [Name] didn’t laugh, but their lip twitched, and he saw. Didn’t say anything, though.

They opened the first box slowly. It was… a hoodie. Thick. Soft. Black, with just a tiny embroidered cat near the pocket. Mishi-sized, the cat they practically adopted back at some dark alley. 

They mentally noted to go back and pick him up later.

They stared at it. Like it might explode.

For a long time.

“...This is ugly.”

“Don’t lie, you’re folding to tears right now.”

“I’m not folding,” they snapped, aggressively shoving it against their chest like it hadn’t just sucker punched them emotionally. “You’re folding.”

In-ho smiled, quiet and small.

Then opened the next one. Gloves. Their size. Another, headphones. Then a sketchpad. Then snacks. Socks. Even a shitty little USB drive with dumb movies preloaded on it, ones In-ho guessed they might like. (He guessed right.)

And that’s when the chest tightness started. Right in the ribs.

Because it was too much. Too kind. He could’ve just given one thing and dipped. Said “Merry Christmas, kid,” and gone on with his day.

But no. This man. This tired, sunken-eyed, grief-stuffed man who was clearly too old to be taking care of a teenager like them, had tried. So hard.

For them.

[Name] didn’t cry. That would’ve been embarrassing. And sad. And pathetic. But something in their throat burned. They stared at the pile of gifts like it was a bomb.

“You know I’m just waiting for you to flip, right?” they mumbled, barely audible. “For you to tell me I’ve overstayed? Yeah. When's that? I'd like an expiration date.”

In-ho was silent for a moment. Then, just as casual, “You’ll be waiting a long time.”

They scowled. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because– because you’re a liar. Everyone lies. Everyone flips. Everyone leaves eventually. You’re not special.”

“No,” he admitted. “But I am staying.”

[Name] wanted to scream at him. Or punch a wall. Or tear up his stupid shoes. Anything to make this– this disgusting, trembling hope inside of them stop aching so bad.

Because what if it was real? What if he really meant it? What if this sad old man with a dead wife and a tired smile really, really wanted a disaster like them?

Instead, they just stared down at the hoodie. Ran their fingers over the little cat.

Didn’t say thank you. But they didn’t have to. In-ho just leaned back on the couch and turned on some garbage movie with too many explosions.

And [Name] sat beside him. Not close. But not far either. Just there.

Safe.

(But still watching. Still waiting. Still holding their breath.)

Hope was stupid.

But so was this man. And so were they, for feeling it.

"...You’re not gonna leave?”

“No.”

“Not even if I throw a bowl at your face?”

“I’ll duck.”

“Not even if I set your plants on fire?”

“You love plants.”

“Okay, but what if.”

“I’ll buy another one and make you water it.”

They went quiet again. Then mumbled under their breath.

“...Freak.”

But they didn’t stop hugging that stupid hoodie.

And they didn’t stop hoping.

 

✧

 

Notes:

This was cute. Nice and cute. Wow I have a lot of nickels. With how many times I wrote about in-ho adopting [Name]... it's a pleasure, not a guilty pleasure. Never feeling guilt over writing any of this desperate shit. I carnally need this man. In many ways. But especially this way.

Speaking of other ways of love. I REALLY need to focus on my other SG book you guys. And YOU should go read that too. It's still in-ho centered if you liked that. It's an x Oc. Mc is a male oc with a lot of issues. I based him on Bucky Barnes from the MCU, Levi Ackerman from AOT, and a tiny bit of genos from OPM. And he's a bit...freaky 😜 (sorry)

Hope you enjoyed gang, see you never (or at s3 lol (not))‼️‼️

Chapter 24: ✧|| TROUBLED (3)

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

[Name] goes to school. Again. (Gone wrong)

Notes:

Listen.

I know I said last chapter was the...well, last one. But you should've KNOWN my ass was lying. I'm NOT overworking myself and I didn't sleep In 25 hours but we progress.

I got this idea from my sister so I wrote it. It's just a short fun, slightly angsty, fluffy thing.

Have fun<3

 

✧

 

Six months later.

The kitchen smelled like coffee, fried eggs, and mild existential dread. In-ho stood by the counter, mug in hand, staring at the crisply folded school uniform laid out on the table like it was an alien artifact. Across from it sat [Name], barefoot and dead-eyed, poking at their egg with all the enthusiasm of someone on death row.

“You know,” In-ho muttered, “I still don’t get how you have an IQ of 180 and act like a feral alley cat.”

[Name] didn’t look up. “Gifted doesn’t mean normal.”

“No shit,” he said under his breath, sipping his coffee. “I just thought your academy days were ‘cause your, ahem..father threw money at the place. Not because you were… a literal genius.”

They shrugged one shoulder. “He did throw money. But they only took me ‘cause of the test scores. Said I made their stats look good.”

In-ho exhaled through his nose, watching them through the rim of his mug. It still caught him off guard, honestly. The social workers had been the first to call him in about it – thought maybe they’d misread the file, maybe some numbers got flipped. But no. It wasn’t a typo. [Name] tested into the ‘exceptional’ bracket so cleanly it made their background look like a cruel joke.

IQ 180. That’s beyond Mensa. That’s rare genius-level intelligence.

And yet here they were. Wearing one sock, hair an unholy mess, chewing on burnt toast like it was drywall, and very obviously trying to disappear into their hoodie.

“I’m not going,” they said flatly.

“You’re already going,” In-ho replied, just as flatly.

“I’ll bite a teacher.”

“They’ll probably thank you for the attention.”

[Name] scowled. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He didn’t say anything more. Just walked over and plopped the uniform into their lap. They didn’t throw it back, small miracles. Just stared at it.

“…They’re gonna think I’m a freak,” they muttered.

“You are a freak,” In-ho said, ruffling their hair. “But a scary smart one. That’s the best kind.”

They smacked his hand away but didn’t move from the chair. They didn’t run. Didn’t hide. Just glared down at the uniform like maybe if they hated it hard enough, it’d disappear.

And In-ho knew deep down, buried beneath all the teeth and sarcasm and trauma, [Name] wanted to try.

Maybe not for the school.

But for him? Maybe.

—

The car ride was quiet, which wasn't unusual, but it was tense. Not explosive, just the kind of quiet that pressed against your chest, heavy and strange.

In-ho kept one hand on the wheel and the other drumming aimlessly on his thigh, glancing sideways at [Name] every so often.

They sat in the passenger seat, arms folded, uniform on and hoodie zipped up over it. Backpack half-open at their feet. Headphones plugged in but not playing anything. They weren’t exactly sulking, they were thinking. Hard. Like they always did before doing something they were bound to hate.

“You sure this is the one you want?” In-ho finally asked, eyes still on the road. “It’s not too late to switch. You rejected everyone else, you can do it again.”

[Name] turned their head slowly toward him, expression unreadable. “No.”

“That’s a first,” he muttered, with the smallest smile.

“They’re close to your work,” they added, voice dry. “I calculated the average time it takes you to get to me in case of emergency. This place is optimal. Plus, it’s public enough that no one can really try anything shady. Also, no religious funding. I checked.”

In-ho blinked. “...Did you pick your school like someone planning a military op?”

“Would you prefer I choose one based on cafeteria menus?”

“Honestly, yeah,” he said. “That’d be more normal.”

“Yeah, well,” [Name] leaned their head against the window, “I don’t do normal.”

The car slowed to a stop at a red light. In-ho exhaled, long and slow. “You really don’t have to do this, y’know. Not if it’s just to make me happy.”

“I’m not,” they replied, voice quieter now. But they were still wearing that ugly-ass tie he bought for them.

In-ho looked at them.

They were still watching the window, but their fingers were clenched on the edge of their sleeve, like maybe they were hanging onto something inside their head.

“You just seemed like you wanted it..”

In-ho’s mouth opened, then closed. No snark came. No parental teasing.

The light turned green. He drove.

That was the thing about [Name]. Even when they did something nice, they made it sound like a declaration of war.

He glanced at them again. The hoodie half-covered their face. But beneath it, something was shifting. A slow, painful kind of opening.

He didn’t say thank you.

They’d hate that.

But his hand reached out, and he ruffled their hair just once, even as they flinched and hissed in protest.

He smiled.

“Don’t bite anyone. First impressions matter.”

“I’ll try,” they said. “But no promises if someone calls me cute.”

—

In-ho’s shoes tapped evenly on the slick marble floor as he stepped out of the police station. No rush. No panic. Just the sigh of a man who had once again confirmed that his life was never going to be peaceful. Not with that kid.

He adjusted the collar of his coat, hands in his pockets. The principal’s voice still echoed faintly in his head:

“Sir, your child bit the P.E teacher’s hand– yes, drew blood. He said he was just trying to be encouraging, tried to ruffle their hair, and your kid turned around and sank their teeth into him like a fucking Rottweiler. I’m sorry. I’m trying to be calm.”

It was the ‘your child’ part that got him. Because yeah. That was his goddamn child.

He found [Name] sitting outside on the school's bench, slouched deep into their hoodie with arms crossed and their bag beside them like a guard dog. One of their legs bounced subtly with the kind of restraint that made it clear they were still wound tight.

In-ho stopped in front of them. Raised an eyebrow.

“So,” he said. “How’d it taste?”

[Name] looked up through their bangs. Blank expression. “Sweaty. Like dried protein powder and perversion.”

In-ho snorted, but there wasn’t really humor in it.

He sat down next to them, leaning back with a long sigh. The silence sat between them for a second before he spoke again. “You could’ve just moved away. Or slapped his hand. Or, I don't know, used words.”

“He touched my head,” [Name] muttered. “I don’t like that. Especially not from men with sideburns and no eyebrows. He looked like the type to say ‘sweetheart’ unironically.”

“And your instinct was to bite him.”

“It was instinct or trauma flashback. You want me to start screaming in the middle of the field?”

“I’m starting to miss the cat version of you,” he muttered. “At least the couch didn’t bleed.”

[Name] huffed. “Sorry for defending my boundaries.”

He glanced at them. “I’m not mad.”

[Name] side-eyed him sharply, like they were waiting for the inevitable but.

“But you’re lucky I’m not new to you pulling this feral raccoon shit in public.”

That earned a smirk from them. Barely. “You’re not gonna yell at me?”

“Do I ever yell?”

“No, but you emotionally manipulate the fuck out of me.”

“Well,” he said, standing up, “you do listen to that better.”

He held a hand out.

They stared at it.

Then slowly took it.

In-ho helped them up, then they dropped the hand like it burned. “Next time someone tries to call you cute, just say thank you.”

“Next time someone calls me cute, I’ll call you to come bite them.”

“Deal."

 

☆

 

By the fourth week of school, In-ho was genuinely considering installing soundproof glass between the driver’s seat and the passenger side, like he was chauffeuring a dignitary who just happened to be clinically enraged every day at 4:15 PM sharp.

[Name] slammed their bag into the seat and dropped in with a dramatic grunt. “If I spend one more goddamn day surrounded by these walking brain tumors, I will perform mass euthanasia and call it a charity event.”

In-ho, sipping lukewarm coffee and holding back a sigh, responded with a level, “Good afternoon to you too.”

“No, actually, it’s not a good fucking afternoon.” They leaned their head against the window, glaring at absolutely nothing. “I swear to god, how the hell are these people even in that school? One of them genuinely thinks Europe is a country. Another said ‘who cares about chemistry, I’ll just hire someone smart.’ That’s not how osmosis works, DUMBASS.”

In-ho, wisely, said nothing.

“I had to sit through a group project where one kid, one, was arguing that we shouldn’t include the smart girl because ‘she makes us look bad.’ I’m going to bite someone again. I’m going to. Don’t look at me like that, I’m not even kidding.”

“I wasn’t looking,” In-ho said calmly, eyes on the road. “I know better now.”

[Name] grunted. “Also, the bullies? They’re like a dollar store version of what trauma should look like. Pushy, insecure little pissheads. I beat them up behind the gym three days in a row. Not enough to get caught, just enough to make them start flinching when I blink too fast.”

“…I’m proud and concerned at the same time,” In-ho admitted.

“They talk shit about this one kid who stutters,” [Name] went on, ignoring him. “Just because he stutters. I asked them why. You know what the ringleader said? ‘Because it’s funny.’ So I made him stutter too.”

In-ho blinked. “What does that mean?”

“I punched him in the throat.”

He closed his eyes for a self healing second. “Okay. I’m starting to see why the P.E. teacher thought you were a hazard.”

“P.E. teacher tried to pet me. These kids are voluntarily pissing themselves in public. Different crimes.”

They turned their head away from the window just long enough to add, “Why does bullying even exist, anyway? For insecure fuckass kids who can only feel good about themselves by talking shit about others? Okay dude, go back to kindergarten and cry about your mommy not hugging you enough.”

In-ho exhaled slowly. “You know,” he murmured, “you being this intelligent is both a blessing and a public safety concern.”

[Name] smirked at him. “Don’t worry. I’m saving all my ‘mass destruction’ energy for people who actually deserve it.”

“Oh good,” he muttered. “I was so worried you’d waste your potential on minor war crimes.”

They grinned and popped open a bag of spicy chips, like they hadn’t just delivered a TED Talk on why their classmates deserve to be exiled. “You’re lucky I like you, old man.”

“Trust me,” In-ho muttered, “I remind myself of that every goddamn day.”

 

☆

 

It was raining, not the soft, ambient kind, but a cold, angry drizzle that made [Name]’s hoodie cling to their neck and their shoes heavy with mud. They didn’t care.

They never cared about the weather, or the city noise, or the weirdos that crawled out once the sun started to die. The streets weren’t unfamiliar. They were more home than any sterile classroom or nice apartment.

“I’ll walk. I’ve done worse. Stop babying me.”

That’s what they told In-ho when he texted them earlier, guilt bleeding through the message like he was failing some sacred duty by not being there. Idiot. He didn’t owe them anything. They’d been getting home alone since they were ten.

Except this wasn’t the same neighborhood.

Somewhere between shortcut alleys and underpasses, the world started to look a little less familiar and a lot more quiet.

Unnaturally so.

The only sound now was their own boots hitting wet pavement, and the distant buzz of streetlamps flickering like they were about to burn out.

[Name] only noticed they were being followed when they heard two pairs of footsteps echoing behind them.

They didn’t turn around right away. That would be stupid. Instead, they casually turned the corner, fast, then ducked behind the building’s brick outcrop, staying still. Listening.

Footsteps grew louder.

Then two shadows.

Two men.

One laughing.

“You sure that’s the brat from the news? The one who bit the teacher?”

“Oh yeah. Face like that, you don’t forget. Pretty little psycho.”

[Name] slowly pulled out the switchblade they kept hidden in their sleeve. No way in hell. They’d been through too much. They’d lived worse than this.

But still, there was something… different tonight. Maybe the fatigue. Maybe the way their mind felt foggy after another rage-inducing school day. Or maybe the realization that their body, despite the confidence, was still just a 16-year-old’s.

They were fast, though. Always had been.

They managed to slice one of the men’s arms when he lunged forward. But the other grabbed their wrist, hard, yanking their arm back at an angle that sent lightning bolts of pain up to their shoulder.

They didn’t scream. They refused. But the silent, breathless panic rising in their chest was new. That was–

Suddenly, headlights.

A screeching car.

And then–

“In-ho..?” they croaked, even before they saw him. Somehow, they knew.

The two men scattered like rats when the black car almost rammed into them. In-ho was out before it even stopped, sprinting over, gun drawn but not firing, yelling something they couldn’t even hear through the blood pounding in their ears.

[Name] hit the ground, finally, knees too weak to stand.

His voice broke through the numbness.

“[Name]. Hey. Hey–! look at me.”

He was crouched in front of them now, gripping their face too gently for how fast his heart was thudding. Rain ran down his jaw, and his hand was shaking.

“Why the fuck didn’t you call a cab? I told you to–”

“I’m fine,” they croaked, blinking. “Told you I was fine.”

“Your arm’s dislocated.”

“…Oh.”

And that was when they leaned forward, forehead pressed to his chest like a misbehaving kid trying not to cry. They didn’t. But it was close. Way too close.

In-ho wrapped his arms around them, tightly, lips pressed to their damp hair, muttering under his breath like he was trying not to curse at the gods.

“I should’ve fucking known,” he whispered. “I should’ve never let you walk alone. Fuck.”

[Name] didn’t say anything. They just closed their eyes. And for the first time in years, they felt…small.

And strangely okay with that.

—

Back at home, the silence wasn’t peaceful.

It was tense.

In-ho slammed the front door shut, locked it, bolted it, and double-checked it even though he’d done that three times already. [Name] sat on the couch with one arm in a makeshift sling, wet clothes changed into oversized ones that smelled like In-ho’s laundry detergent.

They were staring blankly at the TV, which wasn’t even on.

He was pacing. Not the stressed kind. Not the worried kind. The furious kind, lips pressed tight, jaw clenched, steps sharp like every movement was trying not to become violent. Not toward [Name], obviously. Never toward them.

But toward something.

Maybe the whole fucking world.

“You wanna tell me again,” he finally said, voice low but deadly, “why they followed you?”

[Name] didn’t answer right away. They still looked stunned, like they hadn’t caught up with what happened. Their voice was raspy when it came out.

“…Said I looked like a pretty little psycho.”

That did not help.

In-ho stopped mid-step. Head slowly turning toward them like his spine was a coil trying not to snap.

“And why the fuck,” he asked, far too calm now, “do they know what you look like?”

“I was gonna ask you that, genius,” [Name] muttered, slouching deeper into the couch. “Why the hell am I on the news? What news? Since when?”

In-ho turned away again, rubbing a hand down his face. He looked like he wanted to break something. Or someone.

“...You bit a teacher, [Name]. A public school employee. In south Korea.”

“Because he touched my head without asking–!”

“I know. I know. I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at them.” He pointed at nothing, as if the world was one singular idiot.

[Name] squinted. “Who’s them?”

“The school. The news. The freaks watching. Everyone who let your face get shown like some freak show exhibit. You’re sixteen. You’re a kid, not a fucking criminal. You bite someone and suddenly you’re trending on some dark web forum for 'violent pretty teens'?”

That last part made [Name] pause.

“…You looked that up?”

“I have to, don’t I?”

He was back to pacing now. “I had a bad feeling. When you didn’t text for fifteen minutes. So I looked up the school. News articles. Forums. Reddit. And what do I find? Pictures. Rumors. Fucking speculation. ‘Cutie psycho.’ ‘Sharp teeth freak.’ And people in the comments, joking about ‘taming’ you or ‘getting you before you're legal’—”

“Oh my god,” [Name] muttered, revolted. “What the fuck.”

“I know.” His voice cracked with the rage he was barely keeping down. “And those guys tonight? They weren’t random creeps. They knew what you looked like. And they followed you from school.”

He finally stopped moving and sat down.

Head in his hands.

“Do you know how close I was to not getting there in time?”

[Name] looked down at their knees. Their fingers clutched the couch cushion tightly.

“I can handle myself.”

“I know that,” he said, raising his head. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

That shut them up.

They just blinked, watching him in stunned silence as he stood again, quieter now. More focused.

More unhinged.

In-ho walked toward the window, looked out at the empty night street, then pulled his phone out slowly.

[Name] frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said, all too casually.

“You better not be doing cop shit.”

“I’m not.”

“…Then what?”

“Something worse,” he said calmly. “Don’t worry about it."

“You’re supposed to be a detective.”

“I’m also a man who nearly lost his kid tonight.”

Those two words again.

'His Kid.'

[Name] flinched a little, but said nothing.

They just sat there, watching the man who once vowed to stay morally grey now planning someone’s doom in the soft glow of their shared apartment.

And for once, [Name] didn’t know if they should feel amused, comforted, or just… weirdly warm.

So they looked at the TV again. Still off.

“…Okay,” they mumbled, “but I’m not going back to that school. Ever again.”

In-ho nodded without hesitation.

“Good. We’ll burn it down later.”

 

✧

 

Notes:

RAHHHH!!! These really just come up to me like this. Is this normal? How fast I'm uploading? Trust me all of these were already either done, unpolished, or just halfway written.

I'm not as busy anymore (but I will be by the end of April cuz of finals so eat up while you CAN). I'm also bored as hell most of the time, which I fully spent writing instead of running around social media 🤷

Making [Name]'s IQ so high wasn't something I did randomly. I really did make them that smart. And I plan on making it more obvious once season 3 comes out since I clearly didn't do enough. I'm a huge fucking fan of Sherlock Holmes, especially the BBC series, so I did make [Name] vaguely based on that autistic mf.

Anyway hope you enjoyed this short thing 🎀

Chapter 25: ✧|| BORED

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Summary:

[Name] is freakishly smart. And horribly bored. (No dessert café's were hurt during the making of this chapter)

Notes:

As I've said before. You shouldn't believe a word I write on this screen.

Anyway. Since [Name] has a pretty high IQ, I wanted to try out and see how it'd turn out if they were Sherlock Holmesing all over the place.

So basically, this is a Sherlock![Name] chapter. I'm not a genius like either of them, so idk how well I did.

It's just a short funny thing with like 2-3k words.

Enjoy<33

 

✧

 

The penthouse was quiet – luxuriously so. Early afternoon sunlight stretched in long golden bands across the polished floors, glinting off glass and steel like some expensive dream. In-ho was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, chopping herbs with unnecessary precision. He hadn't said a word in ten minutes.

Because [Name] hadn't moved in ten minutes.

They were standing in the living room, arms limp, blankly staring at the sleek black security pad mounted on the wall. Not even blinking. Just... watching it.

In-ho glanced over. Knife paused mid-chop.

"...It's not going to explode," he said cautiously, but didn't move closer. They might be dissociating.

Nothing.

"Did it say something to you?" he added, completely serious.

Still silence.

Then finally, [Name] blinked. Slowly turned their head toward him, deadpan. "I was just thinking."

"Oh." In-ho wiped his hands on a towel, waiting.

[Name] turned back to the pad. "That thing has thirty-seven vulnerabilities. Thirty-seven. Do you know how easy it is to access the building's upper floor logs? I could reroute the elevator into a loop and no one would get home."

"...Why would you want to do that?"

"I don't. Just saying I could. This is pathetic for a high-rise security system. Rich people are so lazy."

In-ho sighed, relieved it wasn't another episode, but mildly disturbed. "Can we go one week without you planning a heist in your head?"

"No," [Name] replied simply. "What if someone breaks in?"

"They'd have to get past you," In-ho muttered under his breath.

[Name] turned, as if just now realizing he was there. "You shouldn't let Jun-ho use the guest pad either. He has the same four-digit password for everything. I changed it last week."

"You what-"

"Relax. It's just 'favoritebrother420'. Tell him when he comes."

"...You know, I'm starting to understand why he calls you a cryptid."

At that, [Name] gave the faintest smirk. The security pad let out a soft beep, unnoticed.

And down in the garage, Jun-ho had just swiped his card, preparing to deliver his usual weekend rant about police wages and whatever [Name] did this time.

—

Jun-ho stepped into the elevator, carrying two convenience store bags and his usual air of exhaustion. The moment he punched in the code to the guest pad – which didn't work – he frowned. Tried again. Still nothing.

"...Okay. Who the hell changed my password?" he muttered, glaring up at the elevator ceiling like it was personally betraying him.

Upstairs, In-ho sat on the couch with tea he didn't even want, staring at [Name] with increasing suspicion as the teen casually typed something on their tablet.

"Did you change Jun-ho's access again?"

"I improved it," [Name] said without looking up.

In-ho sighed. "To what?"

"I told you. Favoritebrother420."

"You do realize he's going to assume that was me messing with him."

"That's a you problem."

Just as he was about to retort, the elevator dinged, and Jun-ho stormed in with the fury of a man who'd had just enough sleep to function and not enough to be polite.

"Alright. Which one of you assholes is trying to gaslight me?!" he barked. "You think I'm stupid?! You think I wouldn't notice?!"

[Name] slowly looked up from the tablet. Tilted their head. Blinked once.

"...Is this about your birthday?" they asked in a flat tone.

Jun-ho froze. "What?"

In-ho blinked too. "Wait- what?"

"I asked," [Name] continued, leaning back on the couch now, eyes unblinking, "is this about your birthday? Because if you're going to bring up the present I didn't get you, then just know I did get you something. I hacked your payroll system. You're technically earning triple now, but no one's noticed because the system's that easy to manipulate."

Both brothers stared at them in synchronized horror.

"You WHAT?!" Jun-ho shrieked, nearly dropping his bags.

"I can undo it," [Name] offered calmly. "But you'll have to file your own taxes."

"I take it back," In-ho muttered, sipping his tea. "You're not a cryptid. You're an IRS horror story with short legs."

[Name] stood, stretched, and walked past them toward the kitchen. "You're welcome. I'll be in my room. Also, I used your card to buy weird cat toys."

Jun-ho turned to In-ho, wide-eyed. "You're raising a supervillain."

And In-ho just stared at the hallway [Name] disappeared into.

"No," he muttered. "I'm pretty sure I'm being raised by one."

 

☆

 

The front door opened with a familiar soft chime.

"Hello sweethearts! I brought yakgwa and those red bean buns you like!" Grandma's voice floated through the penthouse like a gentle warning bell before the storm.

In-ho stood up to greet her. Jun-ho, still flabbergasted over his corrupted income, mumbled something about needing to double-check the freezer for microphones. [Name], on the other hand, perked up from their dramatic sprawl on the living room floor like a cat smelling prey.

"Grandma," they called sweetly, in a tone so sugary it practically threatened diabetes, "I was just thinking about you."

"Oh?" she asked as she stepped in, smiling warmly at them. "That's rare. You usually only come out when something's wrong, dear."

"Exactly," [Name] replied as they stood and approached her slowly. "And something is wrong."

She raised a brow. "Do tell."

"Blueberries, again," [Name] started flatly, not even looking at the box. "Because it's your favorite. Not mine. But you keep buying them so it must be for you. Oh– and your shoes. You wore the brown pair, not the black ones. You only wear those when you're planning to stay longer, but today it's just a short visit. Which means someone nearby either insulted me or did something unholy and you came to pray the ghost out of me."

Grandma blinked, mouth slightly open.

"Also, that perfume," [Name] added, circling her like a hound. "Isn't your usual one. Cheaper brand. Which means you're seeing someone and don't want to 'waste the good stuff' on him until he proves himself."

Jun-ho choked.

Grandma blinked again. "I- what?!"

"You've been yawning," [Name] continued, eyes narrowed. "Despite getting here at noon. So you're not sleeping well. But you also don't have bags under your eyes. Which means you're taking sleeping pills, but you're not used to them. You're having gentle insomnia, the kind caused by either anxiety or a new mattress. But your posture's fine so it's not a mattress. Probably guilt."

"Guilt over what?" jun-ho asked, mildly terrified.

"Nothing. Yet."

Grandma squinted. "You're not human. You're some kind of spirit."

"I get that a lot," [Name] said, already floating over to Mishi and giving the cat a soft poke. "Even he's starting to be predictable. He only runs into walls on Thursdays now."

Mishi meowed in vague agreement.

Jun-ho, halfway into biting one of the red buns, stopped mid-chew.

"...Do you ever relax?" He asked wearily.

[Name] didn't blink. "I would. If life was less boring. But alas, I live in a luxury penthouse, have no school for a week, and the most exciting thing in this house is a cat whose only unpredictability is whether he shits in his box or in someone's shoes."

Grandma laughed. "Sweetheart, maybe you're just under-stimulated."

[Name] tilted their head. "Or maybe I'm not meant for domesticity. Maybe I was made to start a psychological cult."

"You're not starting a cult," In-ho said instantly, like this was a conversation they've had before.

[Name] groaned. "I'm bored, In-ho. I need problems. I crave the mental gymnastics. You people are all too– nice."

"...Do you want a rice cake?" Grandma asked finally, holding up the box like a peace offering.

[Name] stared. Took a rice cake. Bit into it thoughtfully.

"It's missing honey."

"It's not–!"

"Two grams less than usual. Texture's different. You're low on your special brand. Ordered the cheap kind this time. Disappointed but not surprised."

Jun-ho threw a cushion at them. "Go harass the cat and leave mom alone."

They caught the cushion mid-air, tossed it onto the couch, then turned back to Grandma, narrowing their eyes. "So. What's his name?"

"...Whose?"

"The guy. The one you're trying to pretend doesn't exist. C'mon. Spill."

She looked at them for a long beat... then replied. "His name's Sang-wook."

[Name] gasped theatrically. "That traitor! I knew he was still alive!"

In-ho gave them a look. "You've never met a Sang-wook."

"I have now!" they shouted, storming off toward their room like a dramatic detective with nowhere else to place their obsessive brilliance.

Mishi, now fully predictable in pattern, knocked over a vase just for spice.

"Finally..!" [Name] muttered from the hallway. "A wildcard."

Grandma blinked. "They're joking...right?"

In-ho sighed. "I've given up asking."

Grandma just laughed softly, shaking her head as she set down the desserts. "They remind me of you when you were young, In-ho."

In-ho stared. Jun-ho looked genuinely nauseated.

"...No," In-ho muttered. "No they don't."

 

☆

 

Later that day, when the walls of the penthouse began to feel like they were personally conspiring to bore [Name] into a coma, they announced – while draped dramatically over the kitchen island – that if they didn't leave the house within the hour, they were going to "melt into the marble and become a stain on capitalism."

Ten minutes later, all four were in the elevator.

The moment they stepped into the car, Jun-ho made his move.

Jun-ho: "I call shotgun."

[Name], already halfway diving over the hood like it's an action movie: "Not today, wage slave."

In-ho stood on the curb, sipping his coffee and watching his little brother and adopted gremlin circle the car like rival cats. Jun-ho tried reasoning, negotiating, even pushing a little. None of it worked. [Name] didn't even want shotgun until Jun-ho said he did.

Finally, Jun-ho gave up with a groan, mumbling something about how he was going to start bringing a taser on family outings. He climbed into the back with their mom, who looked entirely too pleased about sitting beside him again.

"I raised two brats," she said with a sigh.

"No," Jun-ho grumbled. "You raised one. This thing-" he pointed at [Name] "-is a cursed USB drive that became sentient and now has legs."

[Name] leaned back in the passenger seat, smugly adjusting the vents toward themselves.

"Cursed USB drive with a higher IQ than you. Sit in the back, peasant."

Jun-ho nearly opened the door mid-highway.

In-ho, of course, said nothing the whole time, just quietly driving, eyes forward. But every so often, the corner of his mouth tugged up, the way it did when he was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Where are we even going?" [Name] finally asked, tapping the glass with a single sharp fingernail.

In-ho gave a low hum. "There's a new place opening in Hongdae. Dessert cafe. You wanted something interesting."

"Oh," [Name] said, perking up. "I wanna see if they'll cry if I rate them lower than 3 stars in front of them."

"[Name], no," Jun-ho said.

"I'm bringing a notepad," [Name] replied.

Jun-ho sighed so deeply the windows fogged up. Grandma chuckled in the back. Mishi, safely at home, probably felt a tremor in the Force.

—

The moment they stepped into the dessert café, [Name] visibly flinched.

In-ho barely crossed the threshold when he saw it, that subtle twitch of the eye, the slow, sweeping gaze across the floor tiles, the too-long pause at the napkin dispensers. They hadn't even spoken yet, but he could practically hear the internal screaming.

Jun-ho, oblivious, was already smiling at a waitress. Grandma was charmed by the pastel chairs. But [Name]...

Oh, [Name] was already dissecting the place like they were conducting an autopsy on someone who died of ugly design choices.

"Why..." they muttered, voice sharp enough to slice glass, "why are the tables not evenly spaced? What kind of crooked-handed demon chose those curtain tassels? Oh my god, they used Comic Sans on the kids' menu." Their voice dropped lower. "And that kerning... it's a hate crime."

They didn't say any of it loud enough to draw attention. But they were glaring at the walls like they personally owed them money. When the hostess asked how many were in their party, [Name] only stared at her for a beat too long before she left, unsettled.

In-ho nudged their shoulder. "[Name]."

"What?" they hissed. "I'm being so good right now. I haven't even screamed about the QR code sticker not being aligned with the corner of the table. I deserve an award."

They sat down last, arms crossed, eyes darting from poorly folded napkin to a crooked frame on the wall that might as well have been spitting in their face. When they were handed a menu, their fingers hovered like touching it might cause actual pain.

In-ho raised an eyebrow, half amused. "Don't say anything yet."

[Name] raised the menu like it was a crime scene photo. "I won't. But know this – if the font changes mid-sentence one more time, I'm burning this place down and blaming it on Jun-ho."

"I haven't even done anything." Jun-ho muttered.

"You were born," [Name] replied without looking up.

And with that, they returned to silently judging the laminated bullshit before them, muttering to themselves like a cursed Michelin inspector from hell. Grandma sipped her tea. In-ho just kept watching them, half-exasperated, half impressed. He knew he wouldn't stop them. He never could.

They hadn't even tasted the food yet.

God help this café.

—

God had long since forsaken this café.

Possibly the moment [Name] walked in. And definitely by the time they made eye contact with the cupcake display and whispered "pick a struggle" at the color palette.

By the time they walked out, two staff members were crying in the back room-one due to a particularly brutal takedown of her apron-tying technique ("Why is it in a double knot? Is this a hostage situation?"), the other because [Name] asked if he got his customer service skills off a YouTube tutorial for abandoned dogs. And some more in-ho couldn't even repeat if he was at gunpoint.

And that one customer – middle-aged, sunglasses indoors, too many rings, weird stupid cunt energy – had barely said a word before [Name] tilted their head and said, "You smell like child porn hard drives that should be confiscated."

He stormed out like a black cloud was chasing him, and honestly, it might've been fear. Or karma. Either way that one was chaotic good.

So there they were, the four of them, standing just outside the café, the door still swinging behind them from their dramatic collective exit.

Jun-ho looked like he wanted to melt into the pavement. "We got kicked out, man. Kicked out. Do you know how hard it is to get kicked out of a dessert café?!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," [Name] replied flatly, slurping their milkshake with the kind of calm usually reserved for serial killers in documentaries. "I behaved."

"You threatened to report their ice cream to the FDA because you 'felt a grudge in it,'" Jun-ho snapped.

In-ho just sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Grandma, meanwhile, looked both scandalized and vaguely entertained, her dessert box squished in hands.

"You don't even like milkshakes," In-ho muttered.

"I like this one," [Name] replied without breaking eye contact, "because that girl who cried made it, so technically I earned this."

Silence.

A car drove by.

Some faintly hysterical yelling was heard back inside the cafe.

Finally, Grandma said, "Well. Next time we eat at home."

"Praise the ancestors..!" Jun-ho groaned, hands thrown in the air.

[Name] just gave him a slow, eerie smile, like they'd been waiting for that outcome all along. They took another slurp. Loudly.

And then they all went home. Probably blacklisted forever.

Good ending.

 

✧

 

Notes:

RAHHHHHHH!!

So. How was my impression of Sherlock + [Name]? Were they mixed well together? Does it feel too forced or OOC?

It was just an experiment to be honest. If I see negative reactions to how [Name] acts, I won't make them act like this in season 3. Because that's what I was planning to do to be honest. I'll just keep it moderate, because I will NOT change how smart they are under any circumstances. I love smart, annoying little shit charecters. Which is also why I'm in love with BBC Sherlock 🙏

Hope you enjoyed<33

Chapter 26: ANNOUNCEMENT!!

Chapter by Alexandrathefirst69

Hello everyone!!! I am your funny, glorious, generous author, Alex. 

I'd like to inform you that this piece of garbage is getting a remake!!! YIPPEEEE!!!! Which is why I'm making an announcement via a whole chapter, because it'll capture your attention!! I am saying this because, the remake is the one that will have the season 3 continuation and not THIS shit!!!!

I despise this book with a passion that is unfathomable to you mortals. It is so ridiculously messy and UNFUNNY. It's breaking me apart every time I see a comment on it ajaha. And it's almost at 10k hits??! WHAT THE FUCK??? THANK you. But give that attention to the remake instead ohhh my god this is so bad. My first official fic btw.

The amount of special chapters. The S1 AU....WHA WAS I THINKINGG??!??!? Please leave this alone 💔 the remake is getting quick updates because everything is being rewritten in my improved writing and a lottt of things are getting changed okay? The first chapter is already posted. Kudos it. Bookmark it. Subscribe to it. Comment. Idk.

Bye and thank you for listening to my completely sane and loving Tedtalk !!!! This is gonna stay here in case y'all liked it anyway.

 

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of REMAKE (READ)