Chapter 1: The Girl
Summary:
𝗜 𝗺 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹 🎀ྀི
Notes:
Stay with me now, I know my chapters are usually long, funny, and actually interesting and get to the point of the actual FIC. But that's just what I wrote in my notebook. And that's what you'll be having until a stroke of motivation comes to my dick (I have a coin slot), so please hang on!!!
A maybe 6-7k chapter will be coming in the way. And if you know me. You should immediately assume this fanfic will be Hwang In-ho centric because I'm obsessed with him, like I really need this emotionally repressed man to take care of me.
Enjoyyy 🫶
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
✧
There is something quietly grotesque about girlhood.
Not the way it’s sold in magazines, frilly and sweet and sugarcoated. Not the glitter-drenched fantasy adults shove down your throat to make you forget what it really is. A slow, steady unraveling.
A performance you never auditioned for. One where your body becomes public property before you even learn how to spell "objectification."
Girlhood is being twelve and learning what “distracting” means. It’s a teacher’s narrowed eyes on your skirt hem. A classmate’s phone camera aimed too low. It’s walking down the street and being asked if you’re “legal” yet, while holding your math textbook.
And the worst part is that no one is surprised. Not even you.
Ahn Jin-ah knew all this too early.
Maybe not in words, but in the way people looked at her. Spoke to her. Forgot her. Or remembered her just long enough to humiliate her. At fifteen, she’d already perfected the art of being invisible, but in the way girls become invisible only after being looked at too long, too hungrily. The kind of invisibility that feels more like erasure than mercy.
She stared blankly at the kitchen wall while her cereal got soggy. The clock ticked. Her father sipped his coffee without acknowledging her presence. This was normal. This was routine. If he looked at her, it meant something had gone wrong.
Her mother, however, did look at her today. That was the unusual part. A flick of her eyes over Jin-ah’s face like she was checking a stain on the floor.
“You’re still here?” The woman’s voice was flat. “Get out already. Your face is nauseating.”
Jin-ah blinked once. Slowly. Said nothing. Just rose from her seat.
She didn’t take it personally–there was no point. Her mother’s disgust wasn’t new. It wasn’t even creative anymore. Just the same recycled bitterness, day after day, directed at the daughter she never wanted. The walking, breathing proof of a life she didn’t choose. Jin-ah had stopped wondering why long ago.
There was no anger in this child (or was she still perceived as one anymore?). No sadness. Just that same dull ache of resignation she’d gotten used to since she was old enough to realize love wasn’t something she’d been born into. Or deserved.
She stepped into her shoes, slipped her bag over her shoulder, and left without a goodbye.
Outside, the sky was gray. Not stormy, just apathetic. The air was damp, clinging to her skin like sweat. The walk to school was twenty minutes if she didn’t stop, fifteen if she didn’t have to hide. But today, her feet moved slowly.
She passed the same cracked sidewalks, the same rusted bus stops. A man whistled from his bike as he rode by. Another leaned out of a van window and said something about her legs. Jin-ah didn’t flinch or respond. Just kept walking.
Because if you flinched, they won.
If you reacted, you gave them what they wanted.
And Jin-ah was so tired of being seen.
The school building loomed ahead like a mausoleum. All polished windows and hollow promises. It even had a courtyard, if you could call a patch of grass and three wilting trees a courtyard. Most students passed through the gates with the limp energy of factory workers clocking in for another shift. Jin-ah passed through like she was reporting to her own funeral.
It was third period, math. Another day, another handful of dirt to toss into her metaphorical grave.
Classrooms were just holding cells with better lighting. Hers smelled like whiteboard markers and cheap perfume of girls trying too hard for that Male Validation™.
She took her usual seat in the back corner, the designated exile zone for kids like her. The quiet ones. The ones who didn’t speak unless called on, and even then only in monosyllables. The ones who didn’t have friends, just seats no one else sat in.
The room buzzed with teenage nonsense. Gossip, shoe scuffs, someone trying too hard to flirt. Jin-ah rested her chin in her hand and stared at the wall. She’d seen it so many times she swore it was starting to blink back at her.
No one looked her way. No one ever did anymore. That ship had sunk around grade seven, when people stopped being curious and just got tired of trying.
They had long since decided who she was: The One With the Dead Fish Eyes. The Emo Bitch, according to someone’s notebook doodle once. It was easier to pin a label than admit she made them uncomfortable.
She didn’t help her case by being so "disrespectful." You know– by breathing wrong. Sitting wrong. Existing wrong. Just last week, Mrs. Lee sent her to the office for "rolling her eyes." She hadn’t. That was just her face.
Still, it was mostly fine. The school counselor had a lovely little speech about reframing your perspective and choosing joy. Jin-ah had almost laughed. But then she remembered her laugh sounded weird.
So she just nodded and left.
“Good morning, class,” came the too-cheerful voice of Mr. Kwon as he walked in.
Here we fucking go.
Mr. Kwon was young. Too young to teach math without still looking like he belonged in high school himself. He wore skinny ties, talked about "vibes" unironically, and tried very hard to seem relatable. Most of the girls liked him. Some liked him a little too much. But he liked Jin-ah.
He liked her a lot.
“Jin-ah,” he smiled, making eye contact. “Don’t forget we have that review session after school today, okay?”
She gave a small nod, expression blank. It was either that or a smile, and smiling felt like ripping her face muscles.
“Good,” he said, his tone light, but his gaze lingering just half a second too long. “You’ll do great. I know you will.”
What a sweet pedophile, she thought dryly. Really generous with his praise and his egg salad sandwiches.
He’d once offered her half of his lunch because he “noticed you never eat in the cafeteria.” Which was true. She didn’t. She preferred sitting on the stairs near the science wing where no one could throw food at her.
He helped her study sometimes, too. Put a hand on her shoulder once. Said she was “special” another time. Which was sweet of him, really. She bet he had a whole folder of "special" girls somewhere in his Google Drive. What a nice man. A real humanitarian.
She blinked slowly again. Her resting face, equal parts corpse and mild existential crisis, didn’t budge.
Mr. Kwon turned to the board. “Alright, let’s get started…”
She tuned him out instantly.
She already knew how this would go. He’d try to crack a joke to make the boys laugh. The girls would pretend to care. Someone would cheat on the worksheet and get away with it. And Jin-ah would be exactly what she always was and wanted to be.
Just there.
The school day passed like it always did. In a blurry haze of pencil scratches, barely stifled yawns, and trying not to breathe too loud.
Jin-ah stared at the clock more than her textbooks. Tick. Tick. Tick. A countdown to something you didn’t sign up for but couldn’t avoid.
By the time the final bell rang, the classroom emptied fast, students pouring out like rats. Except for her. The girl in the back. Because she was "staying after."
And how that earned her some looks.
A couple of the girls near the front whispered behind their palms, not even trying to be subtle.
"She gets private sessions with him? Luckyy."
"As if she even cares. She looks dead inside."
"Maybe that’s just his type."
Jin-ah heard it all.
She never understood the desperation some of these girls had to flirt with grown-ass men.
Like… congratulations? You peaked before your braces came off? Maybe it was teenage hormones. Or boredom. Or the delusion that being wanted meant being important.
Whatever it was, she didn’t have it.
Jin-ah wasn’t actually planning to stay anyway. That would be…what’s the word?
Oh. Right. Fucking retarded.
She slipped her bag over her shoulder and moved fast, down the corridor, past the office, weaving between lockers like she could disappear between them if she moved quick enough.
Too bad the universe hated her guts.
Because right as she rounded the corner toward the back exit, there he was.
Mr. Kwon.
Leaning casually against the lockers like he was waiting for a friend, not a fifteen-year-old student he had no business smiling at like that.
“Hey, there you are!” he said brightly, as if this wasn't a hallway ambush. “Was starting to think you forgot.”
She stared at him. Nope. Didn’t forget. Just had plans to go home and not be alone in a room with a man who has too many teeth when he smiles and probably has one hand doing other business under the desk.
But of course, she didn’t say any of that. She just nodded. Blank. Deadpan. The face that got her in trouble with other teachers now worked like a shield.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he chuckled lightly. “It won’t take long. I just thought we’d run through some of those formulas you said were confusing you.”
She hadn’t said that. Like, at all. But sure. Gaslight, gatekeep, go to jail.
Still, Jin-ah followed. Because what else was she supposed to do? Run?
If she bolted down the hallway screaming “This man makes my skin crawl!”, people would stare. Teachers would call her dramatic. Her mom would kill her. Verbally, emotionally, maybe literally if it was a bad day. No. She couldn't risk it.
So she followed. Because girls are trained to. Because saying no wasn’t part of the curriculum. Because what’s the worst that could happen?
Ha. Hahahaha. Right?
She walked behind him, counting the tiles on the floor. Her fingers tightened around her bag strap. Her mouth tasted like rust. Her throat locked tight.
The hallway was too quiet now. Her ears were ringing. Too loud.
His office door creaked open.
She walked in.
☆
The train car rattled as it cut through the underground tracks. Seoul after dark was a whole different world–neon signs flickering, alleys stretching longer than they did in the daylight, and people who should’ve gone home hours ago still lingering.
Jin-ah sat rigid by the window, the cold glass kissing her temple. She didn't blink. Didn’t think. Thinking was dangerous right now. Thinking might crack something open.
Her backpack sat limply on her lap like a dead cat, and her knees were turned in, pressed together so tightly she could almost pretend they didn’t exist.
The man beside her was taking up too much space.
There were empty seats. Plenty of them. Rows. But no, he had to pick this one. Of course he did.
His thigh touched hers like it had a right to be there. His eyes dropped to her knees with the look of a starving dog who thought he was being subtle.
She didn’t move away. That would make him think she was uncomfortable. That she acknowledged him. It would make him do more.
Instead, she sat there, still, but thinking. Just not about before. Not the office. Not the door click shutting behind her. Not about the aching. Not about the lightbulb.
She thought about this man, and how many different ways she could hurt him if she was given five minutes, a metal straw, and the assurance that no one would ever find out.
If you touch me, she thought while looking forward, I will tear the skin off your fingers like string cheese and feed it to you. I will make you swallow your own watch just to hear it tick from inside your guts. I will–
The train jerked to a stop.
Her station.
Jin-ah stood up fast. Maybe too fast. But whatever. Fuck that guy. Fuck every guy actually.
She didn’t look at him when she passed. She just walked off the train, fists tight, heart not racing.
Because if she let it race, it meant she was scared. And if she was scared, that meant he won. And she wouldn't let another man win against her today.
Outside, the air was cold. Autumn had finally committed. The sky above her looked bruised and swollen with clouds, no stars. Just a vague glow from the streetlights casting long, bone-thin shadows.
Tomorrow was Halloween. The kids in her neighborhood would dress up as ghosts and zombies and little vampires with fake blood and plastic fangs.
What a luxury, she thought blandly. To get to play pretend when you're still too young to know your life is the real horror story– hm...I should really stop self-projecting.
She walked home in silence, ignoring the quiet ache in her legs and the way her chest felt like it had been hollowed out and stuffed with cotton and knives.
She had a lot of homework to do.
✧
Notes:
Um. Yeah. I aggressively wrote this and poured my heart out on that damn notebook.
I'm pretty sure nobody will read this since everyone is looking for Xreader and not platonic trauma bonding and found family.
Next chapter will actually have the whole invitation thing and getting to the game. If I ever write it. But I probably will because I missed writing my other Teenager Reader fic. And this is close enough 🤷 very. Very close. Actually.
Hope you enjoyed. Tell me what you think so far about the our Jin-ah 🫶
Chapter 2: The invitation to bliss
Summary:
Is this how it’ll end? Is this really it? Can she finally—LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER!!!!
Notes:
RAHHHHH 🗣️🔥🔥‼️‼️‼️‼️
This chapter is about 6k words long. Wrote this in a span of two days. Would've taken a little less time if I wasn't so under motivated. But we digress.
I read over this once. That's it. If there are any glaring mistakes, you know what to do. Scream to the heavens, and may they answer your pleas.
I wanted to say. Jin-ah is actually based a lot on myself when I was 15. Specifically her thought process in some situations or some behaviors. Stuff I still do, actually. So don't bother me about her, because you're talking shit about me in the process. I don't know how I'd react if people started getting shot in front of me though, so we'll see what to do with that.
Oh I also gave her heterochromia. For reasons. It's complete heterochromia, not center or anything. I imagine her with one blue eye and one black(brown) eye 🤷 you do you.
Enjoyyy 🫶
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
✧
The apartment greeted Ahn Jin-ah with silence. A sour, humid kind. The kind that clung to the walls and carried the faintest smell of leftover kimchi stew and something burnt. The hallway light flickered. Again.
Her father wasn’t home. That was good. His presence always made her skin crawl, even when he wasn’t doing anything. Especially when he wasn’t doing anything.
She kicked off her shoes and stepped inside quietly as if she didn't belong here (where did she belong?). Her backpack hit the floor with a thud.
From the kitchen, the clatter of metal against pan. Stirring. Sizzling.
Her mother was home. Unfortunate but expected. She wasn't allowed to leave unless it was for groceries. Father dearest couldn't have her running off to someone else's arms.
Jin-ah made her move for the hallway, planning to disappear into her room, throw herself on her bed, and pretend she was just a blank screen saver of a person.
But then. “Sit.”
She paused.
Her mother didn’t raise her voice. This was something worse than yelling. It was being noticed. Noticed deliberately.
Jin-ah turned toward the kitchen slowly. Her mother stood by the stove, stirring something with a plastic spatula, eyes fixed on the pot but voice clearly meant for her.
“I have something to tell you.”
There it was. The rare event. Like seeing a solar flare or a whale breach. Her mother acknowledging her existence. Directly. Jin-ah took a seat at the table without a word, dropping into the chair. Her limbs felt heavy. She just wanted to rot in bed
Her mother finally glanced at her. Not at her eyes. At her face. Checking to see if Jin-ah’s cheekbones were angled enough to be tolerable today. Jin-ah blinked at the reddening bruise on her mother's cheek. Did her father do this? No. He didn't hit the face. Too noticeable.
“I got a card earlier today from some salesman. I thought he was one of those debt forgiveness scammers.” She tapped the spatula against the side of the pot. “I figured…maybe you should check it out.”
She moved to the counter and picked up a small tan card. Thin. Crisp edges. It wasn't anything special or fancy at all.
Her mother tossed it onto the table.
“Take a look. If it’s real and there’s money involved, bring back whatever you can. We’re not charity cases.”
There it was. The warmth of maternal instinct.
Jin-ah didn’t reach for the card right away. She just stared at it. There were three symbols on it. A square-triangle-circle. How creative.
Her mother returned to her cooking, apparently done with this little scene. No follow-up. No “how was school,” no “why are you home so late,” no “why do you smell like a man's cologne.”
Just a job to do. A favor for a mother who didn’t even like the shape of her face.
Jin-ah finally reached out and dragged the card closer with two fingers. It was heavier than it looked.
She flipped it, finding a number at the back and nothing more. This is one cheap ass business card.
“What if they don't let me because I'm a minor?” Jin-ah asked the logical question, to which her mother paused.
“Hm.” She hummed. Then said, “I’ll call.”
Jin-ah blinked. Oh, did I just survive?
Her mother wiped her hands on her stained apron and grabbed the card off the table.
Jin-ah watched as her mother punched the number in her mobile. Just like that. No second thoughts. No "Is this safe?" or "Is this a scam?" or "Is this possibly the beginning of a Saw movie?" Just take the call.
The phone rang once. Twice. A third time. Then, click.
A man's voice came through, cold and polite, as if he worked part-time as a corpse. "Hello?"
"I got your card from the subway earlier."
"Do you wish to participate in the game?" He asked.
Her mother didn't even hesitate. "Yes."
“Name and date of birth, please.”
“Anoushka Lebedev,” her mother said, in her best “civilian trying to sound important” tone. “June 9th, 1979.”
There was silence on the other end. He said something else, and then another click. The line went dead.
Jin-ah blinked. “…That’s it?” Usually, scammers try to get more out of dumb bitches.
Her mother shrugged. “He hung up. Rude.”
She tossed the phone onto the table. Then turned back to the stove as if she hadn’t just volunteered her only daughter to what could either be a cult or a pyramid scheme with extra steps.
Jin-ah stared. “What now?”
“They told me where to go,” her mother replied nonchalantly. “You’re going tomorrow. Midnight. Some alley near Namdaemun Market.”
She didn’t even pause to double-check. She’d already written Jin-ah off and was just finalizing the shipping label.
“And once they come to pick you up, say the password: Red light, green light.” Her voice turned mocking at the end, lips curling around the words like they tasted stupid. “Probably a bunch of freaks. But whatever. If it’s money, bring it. If it’s human traffickers…” She shrugged, then turned off the stove.
Win-win.
Jin-ah didn’t say anything. She just stared at her mother’s back, the way her shirt clung to her spine like she was hollowed out. The bruise on her cheek was already starting to purple.
Something gnawed at the edge of Jin-ah’s mind. She should be angry. Or scared. Or something. But all she felt was...
Relieved.
She was leaving. If she wins money, she'll just disappear somewhere. If she gets trafficked and her organs were harvested, then that's fine too.
It was done.
She was free.
And for the first time that night. Jin-ah let herself breathe.
—
Jin-ah did not hate her mother.
Hate requires energy. Investment. Things Jin-ah had learned early on not to waste on the unworthy.
She looked at her mother the way a god might look at a failed creation, confused not by the ugliness of it, but by its insistence on existing.
There was something almost fascinating in her mother’s tragedy. The way she moved around the house, chain-smoking and mascara-stained cheeks on a Monday morning.
A once pretty girl who mistook lust for love and now clung to her bitterness like it was a birthright. A woman who traded her whole life for a man who couldn’t even trade his drinking for a day job.
Pitiful.
Jin-ah didn’t cry when her mother screamed. She didn’t flinch. She just watched. As if her mother was something rotting in a petri dish.
There she goes again, she would think. Peeling herself open just to bleed on someone else and then call it motherhood.
Her mother liked to pretend that Jin-ah was the source of her suffering. That if Jin-ah hadn’t been born, she might still be beautiful. Still free. Still dancing under Russian stars instead of curling up in a cracked apartment in Seoul with a man who only remembered she existed when he needed something to hit or fuck.
But Jin-ah saw through it. She always had.
She saw a woman so desperate not to drown that she clung to blame like a life raft. And she blamed Jin-ah because blaming herself would mean acknowledging her own weakness. Her own choice.
Jin-ah wasn’t some accident that ruined her. Jin-ah was proof that she’d been ruined long before.
If her mother had any strength, any spine, she’d have left years ago. Gone back to Russia. Started over. Or never come at all. But instead she stayed. And stewed. And shriveled. And Jin-ah had no sympathy for someone who chose her own cage and then kicked the child inside it for crying.
Her father was worse. Not even worth the dissection. A walking stain. Shame dressed in a man's name. The kind of person that made you wonder why evolution ever bothered.
But her mother was fascinating. In the way mold was fascinating, or the way tragedy looks beautiful under certain lighting.
Jin-ah didn’t hate her.
She just saw her. For exactly what she was.
—
She didn’t sleep that night.
Not because she was anxious. She'd already burned through all of that in the first five minutes after that call. Her body had gone straight past fear, straight past panic, and crash landed into a weird, numb sort of peace.
She lay on her back in the dark, staring at the ceiling. A crack split the plaster above her bed like a lightning bolt. She traced it with her eyes over and over again until it started to look like a map. Maybe it was. A route to somewhere better. Or nowhere. She’d take either.
Midnight. Namdaemun Market. Alley.
Jin-ah memorized it like a commandment.
At school the next day, she didn’t say a word. Not that anyone noticed. Jin-ah wasn’t the kind of girl people noticed unless she did something wrong. She just moved through the hours like fog. Thin, untouchable, and not quite there.
At lunch, someone asked if she wanted the rest of their kimbap. She nodded. Took it, and ate it without tasting.
She didn’t know if she was hungry or just preparing for her own execution.
Mr. Kwon pretended she didn't exist all day. After getting what he wanted from her, he didn't see a point in playing nice anymore.
She didn't think about him. Math period was a blur.
That night, she didn’t pack anything. What was there to pack? Her whole life could fit in a grocery bag. No one told her what to bring anyway. Was she supposed to bring ID? Snacks? A resignation letter from earth?
At 11:40 PM, she slipped on her hoodie. The one with the frayed cuffs and the zipper that always got stuck.
Her mother didn’t say goodbye. She didn’t even look up from the TV, where some drama was playing too loud, laughter-canned and fake.
“Don’t come back if you lose,” she said casually, lighting a cigarette with the stove because they couldn’t afford lighters anymore.
Conjure a cock and choke on it. But Jin-ah didn’t reply. She just left.
The night was cold. The wind bit her cheeks, trying to remind her she existed. It failed.
She made it to Namdaemun without looking at the signs. Just following the memory, her footsteps were the only thing that sounded real. The city buzzed around her like a living thing. Loud cars, late-night partiers since it was Halloween night, and neon lights reflecting in dirty puddles.
She found the alley. Narrow and damp. It smelled like piss and fried food. Of course.
No one was there.
For a moment, she thought maybe it was a scam. Maybe she'd stand here like a fool until sunrise and go back home, empty and embarrassed and still stuck.
Then a van pulled up at the entrance.
Unmarked and white, with black tinted windows.
The van didn’t honk. Didn’t flash its lights. Didn’t even slow down like a normal vehicle. It just appeared.
The passenger-side window rolled down with a faint mechanical hum.
Jin-ah squinted toward the driver’s seat.
What she saw wasn’t exactly comforting.
Sitting there, hands on the wheel, was someone in a reddish-pink uniform. A hood covered their head, but it was the mask that did it. Jet-black, featureless except for the stark white circle printed right in the middle of the face.
They didn’t speak at first.
But they definitely stared. She could feel it. Not just the usual uncomfortable stare, either. They were scanning her, and it didn’t take a genius to realize she didn’t exactly look like a 46 year old Russian woman named Anoushka Lebedev.
Still, her surgical mask hid the baby fat in her cheeks, and the oversized hoodie helped. Maybe she could pass as an underfed 20-something. Ish.
The circle-face finally spoke, voice muffled through some kind of voice modulator.
“…Password?”
Jin-ah didn’t hesitate. “Red light, green light.”
The figure paused. Just long enough to make her wonder if she’d fumbled it. If she was about to get shot in an alley for botching a knock-knock joke.
But then, click.
The van door slid open with a smooth hiss.
Inside, it was dimly lit, and there were people. Three of them. All slumped over in their seats. Heads lolled against the windows or their own shoulders.
Sleeping?
Yeah, right. Jin-ah wasn’t that stupid.
Still, her legs moved on their own. Muscle memory from a life that didn’t belong to her anymore. What could she do anyway? Run? She did the sane thing instead and climbed in.
The second she crossed the threshold, the door sealed shut behind her.
She didn’t have time to think. Or second-guess. Or wonder if her father would even notice she was gone.
The air inside the van hissed softly. Her nose twitched.
Gas.
She barely had the thought before her limbs got heavy. Her head swam.
Oh. So it was traffickers.
Thanks, Mom.
Her vision blurred. The last thing she saw was the circle mask staring straight ahead as the van began to move.
Then everything went black.
☆
Jin-ah woke up to classical music.
Soft, lilting, some pretentious string quartet kind of thing echoing from the speaker somewhere around her.
At first, she thought she was dreaming. Or dying. Or dead. Because her parents didn’t listen to music. They didn’t even like music. Or art. Or joy. If Mozart ever dared show his face in their house, her mom would’ve smacked him with a ladle and asked why he didn’t go to med school like a real person.
Jin-ah blinked. The ceiling above her was grey. Industrial. Not the cracked one she’d been staring at the night before. Or…however long ago.
Huh. Had she slept?
Her? The Insomnia Overlord? The girl who once stayed up for 78 hours and hallucinated that her math teacher was a rotting scarecrow?
Apparently yes. She’d slept. And holy hell, her body felt like it had never slept harder. Maybe her ancient sleep demon finally got bored of torturing her and went, “Alright, gang, you earned this one.”
She shifted, and that’s when she realized.
This wasn’t her bed.
It wasn’t even a bed. It was more like a glorified prison shelf. Stiff. Cold.
She sat up fast, head spinning as the rest of her surroundings came into focus.
It was a room. A giant one. Walls impossibly high. No windows. Just rows and rows of bunk beds. Stacked five, six high. 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.
And in every bed were people.
So. Many. People.
Jin-ah froze, heart skipping several very concerning beats.
There had to be over a hundred–no, hundreds. All in the same teal-colored uniform. Every single one of them. Matching pants and zip-up jackets. All of them slowly waking up too, groggy and confused.
Her eyes dropped to her own chest.
Same teal uniform. Big on her, drowning her like a kid wearing an XL hoodie. There was a patch with a number printed in bold white.
455.
She turned toward the giant wall-mounted screen, blinking at the glowing numbers.
456.
That was…that was the number of people in here?
Where was here?
What kind of kidnapping starts with Beethoven and group pajamas?
She looked around again, heart thudding now. Some people were whispering. Others panicking. A few were already yelling. One guy had stood up and immediately fainted off the top bunk.
This was surreal. Dreamlike. But also way too detailed to be a dream.
She pulled her knees to her chest, trying not to hyperventilate as her mind began connecting dots she really didn’t want to connect.
Okay. Creepy van. Circle mask. Knockout gas. A hundred people in matching clothes.
This was either a cult, a very weird prison, or the most organized human trafficking ring on Earth.
…Bit dramatic. She expected worse from traffickers.
But that didn’t make her feel better.
Not at all.
Then, a loud beeping sound blared out. Everyone flinched. Jin-ah snapped her eyes open, turning her head as the massive doors at the end of the room slid open smoothly.
A group walked in. Figures in pinkish-red uniforms, faces covered by smooth black masks marked with shapes. A few people backed away instinctively. The rest stared, unsure whether to be curious or terrified.
Jin-ah stayed where she was. Still on the top bunk. Five levels high. She just noticed, but didn’t feel dizzy, or care. If anything, she was wondering how much it’d hurt if she jumped.
Nine guards in total. They stopped at the center. The one in front had a square on their mask. They were the one in charge, apparently.
“I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you.” The voice came out clear and flat. No emotion. “Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome prize.”
Games.
She blinked slowly. They weren’t even trying. They were actually calling it games.
She didn’t believe them. Would be stupid if she did. And six days? That means they're actually going home after or is it to get trafficked?
“Excuse me,” someone called out from below. Not a man, despite the voice. Jin-ah leaned slightly to the side and spotted the speaker. A woman with short hair and a confident stare.
“You said I’d be playing games,” she said. “But you practically kidnapped me. So how can I believe that?”
“I apologize,” the square-mask responded. “Please understand that it was necessary to maintain the game’s security.”
Security excuses. Right. What a way to let everyone know all this was definitely illegal. As if it wasn't obvious enough already.
Another voice jumped in. “What’s with the mask then? Is your face a secret too?”
A few others added obnoxiously.
“Yeah! Why are you hiding your face? Is this some kind of illegal gambling house?”
“Even the dealers don’t cover their faces in those places!”
Jin-ah didn’t care to listen. And the masked figures probably didn't either.
They could probably scream, demand, protest. None of it would change the fact that they were trapped here now.
She didn’t want to listen to the shouting, so she didn’t. She tried to breathe slowly, focusing her mind before her lungs decided to seize up again.
The only thing worse than dying would be dying loud.
Though, choking on her own breath wouldn’t be the worst way to go.
“Player 333, Lee Myung-gi,” the square-mask said.
Jin-ah’s focus broke from her breathing exercise the second the screen lit up. It showed footage of a man getting slapped across the face after failing a round of…Ddakji? What.
She stared. Blinking slowly. Oh.
So that’s how her mother got the card. And also why she had a nice swollen cheek that day. Hilarious.
The square-mask kept talking. “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 looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. His face went bright red. Head down. Eyes scanning anywhere but the people staring at him. He looked pathetic. As he should. If that had been Jin-ah—well. She wouldn’t have been that dumb to begin with.
Then the screen shifted. Now it was playing clips of the other players who’d opened their mouths earlier. Footage, names, debt amounts.
“Player 196, Kang Mi-na,”
“Player 120, Cho Hyun-ju,”
“Player 230, Choi Su-bong,”
“Player 198, Jang Do-yeong,”
“Player 226, Kim Yeong-sam,”
“Player 444, Kim Nam-du,”
“Player 343, Sim Jae-seok,”
“Player 006, Park Mi-hwa,”
“Player 283, Lee Eun-ju,”
And silence. Total, embarrassed, i-shouldn't-have-been-born silence.
Jin-ah watched. And there it was.
Her mother. Right there on the screen. Getting absolutely bitch slapped.
Something deep inside her healed. It was too bad she wasn’t the one here right now. Getting humiliated like everyone else.
“Player 100, Im Jeong-dae. Ten billion won in debt,” the square-mask finalized with a bang.
How does one aquire this level of incompetency, Jin-ah thought, eyebrows shooting up.
The quiet murmurs and shuffling of feet turned into gasps and whispers, all eyes bouncing around the room in search of whoever just got called out for owing ten billion won.
“What are you looking at?!” The exposed man snapped, his voice rising with fury. Player 100. Some crusty old dude with a face like a dried-up raisin. “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!”
Soo embarrassing. Couldn’t be me, Jin-ah thought, shifting forward on the stiff mattress, arms resting on her knees. This might be the most entertainment she’d had in. Ever. Never. God, her existence was so depressing.
The old man’s rant seemed to hit something in the crowd. The mood shifted. A few people started nodding along, admiration creeping into their expressions like they'd just heard the gospel.
Jin-ah stared. This is giving cult leader of the damned. They were getting hypnotized by a guy who probably couldn’t use a smartphone or moisturizer.
Then the square-mask picked right back up with his speech. Jin-ah was already zoning out.
“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.”
What money? I was sold off, Jin-ah blinked like a lizard.
“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?” He finished.
Jin-ah’s gaze drifted across the sea of faces. Scared, desperate, exhausted. These people were just like her parents. No wonder her mother got an invite. And now she was here, about to be fucked over for their shitty financial decisions. Again.
This planet is a prison.
Jin-ah’s eyes roamed the room again, slower this time. Now that the initial panic and noise had dulled, she could actually look and scan the people she was sharing this massive bunk hell with.
And what she noticed made her stomach tighten.
They were all adults.
Actual adults. Wrinkled, tired, tax-paying, broken-backed adults. Some were middle-aged, others younger, maybe mid to late twenties at the youngest, but definitely not teens. Not like her. She didn’t spot a single face that looked close to her age. No braces, no acne-prone baby faces. No one still dealing with puberty, only the aftermath.
Her suspicion that they don’t let minors in here was apparently valid. This wasn’t meant for someone like her.
That was weirdly comforting.
She slumped a bit in her bunk, letting out a breath. At least she wasn’t supposed to be here. That gave her some mental leverage. Maybe there was still a chance to get out, call it a clerical error, cry child endangerment or whatever.
She looked again, this time for something else.
And her tension released just a little more when she saw them. Women. Sprinkled here and there, standing nervously, arms crossed, scanning like she was. This wasn't just a sausage fest of desperate old men.
Thank god. If he existed or cared.
Because if she’d woken up in a massive room full of only grown sweaty men, she would’ve just climbed off this bunk and swan-dived into the cold, hard floor head-first. No hesitation. Fuck all this stress.
Jin-ah closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her chest as her heart calmed down. Okay. Okay, she was still stuck. But at least she wasn’t the only woman. Small victories.
The square-mask hit a button on a remote. The lights dimmed, and a panel in the ceiling slid open with a low mechanical hum.
From it, a glowing piggy bank descended. Huge, tacky, and bathed in a garish yellow light that spilled across the room. Some jolly ass music burst from hidden speakers as the oversized thing settled into view.
Jin-ah squinted up at it, unimpressed. How much free time did these rich freaks have to choreograph this whole production? Must be exhausting not having real problems.
Around her, the crowd perked up, expressions shifting from unease to interest. They stared at the glowing pig like it was divine. And to these desperate bums, it must've been.
"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," said the square-mask as the music cut out and the room quieted again.
"How much is the prize money?" a man asked.
"The prize money for the game is 45.6 billion won in total," pinkie responded calmly.
Jin-ah straightened on the bunk. Forty-five point six billion? Holy cow and the Chicago pope. She could vanish with that kind of money and still have enough left to buy a cat, a second cat, a third cat and….hear me out now, a FOURTH cat.
Fuck her parents debts. Her mother sold her off here, she might as well live her life how she wants to now. Yes to free will!!!!
The amount of the prize drew a wave of gasps from the crowd, whispers darting back and forth. "And one of us will get it?" the same man asked, eyes wide now.
“We will give you the details about the distribution of the prize money after the first game,” said the square-mask. “For these games, you will be given a special new advantage.”
“What is it?” Someone asked.
“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 square-mask elaborated.
Jin-ah tilted her head. A voting system? For what? Is something so horrifying going to happen that people would want out, even with that kind of money on the line? It was only six days.
Still, the “leave with the money” part was tempting. Or it would be, if she was mentally delirious. This whole thing stinks of shadiness.
“Are you saying, we’ll still receive the money, even if we leave after the first game?” One player asked as he stepped down from the bunks, eyes narrowed.
The square-mask gave a single nod. “That’s correct.”
Out of nowhere, an old woman spotted her grown son across the crowd and immediately bolted toward him. Jin-ah blinked as they began going at it, full-on bickering in public.
“Mom, why did you come here?” the son barked, jabbing a finger at her like he wasn’t also standing in the exact same illegal sketchfest. “Do you realize where you are? This is no place for an old woman!!”
“Why did I come here?” the mother snapped, smacking his arm with enough force to make Jin-ah flinch secondhand. “To pay off your debt, of course! Do you even have to ask?! You fool."
Jin-ah’s mouth went dry. No, she wasn’t jealous. Not even a little. But would her own life have been less unbearable if her mother had ever loved her enough to do something like that? She immediately pushed the thought out of her head. Useless. “What ifs” were just reminders of everything she’d never get.
The son turned to the pink people, his rage now directed at them. “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 pleaded, trying to reason. “You go home.”
“Stop it! I’m already here. I can’t just leave,” he fired back, shaking his head.
“But you promised me. You promised never to gamble again!”
“No, this isn't gambling. We're just playing games here,” the son insisted, eyes darting, he was lying to himself more than to her. “I'll just play one game and go.” True gambling addict logic.
“You idiot, it's the same thing!” she yelled, whacking him again. Jin-ah was kinda starting to stan this old woman.
Still, for the sake of her last remaining brain cell, she tuned them out as the square-mask made himself heard again. “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.”
Jin-ah climbed down from the top bunk, landing softly on the floor. Around her, others were doing the same, gravitating toward the open space where lines had started to form. She slipped into one, ignoring the unpleasant chill crawling up her spine from the presence of someone behind her.
A quick glance over her shoulder showed it was a woman, who wasn't even stable enough to notice her, which calmed her nerves just a bit.
When her turn came, she stepped up. A guard handed her a paper with a hesitation so awkward it might as well have screamed, You’re not supposed to be here. Jin-ah didn’t flinch and took it.
Her eyes scanned the page carefully. It was short. Too short.
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: ___________
Jin-ah narrowed her eyes.
This contract had the detail of a fake dating sim app’s terms and conditions. Red flag number...she’d lost count. But she’d sign it. Not like it could be legally binding. She wasn’t even a legal adult. Joke’s on them.
Jin-ah handed the form back to the pink-suited guard and slipped out of line, making her way back to her bunk. She paused mid-step when a sudden ruckus broke out across the room. A fight.
Men really did have a special talent for throwing hands in the most ridiculous places imaginable. She would never understand their primal need to square up over air.
She didn't understand a lot of their needs.
She climbed back into her bunk. Time to dissociate until something actually happens.
—
Once every player had probably signed their life away, the staff began herding them out of the dormitory. The transition was jarring. A few people stumbled, blinking like they'd just walked into a different dimension.
The new area was a colossal, candy-colored fever dream of a hall. Twisting staircases, bright pastel walls, and oversized geometric shapes. Circles, squares, triangles. All slapped together. It looked more like a daycare designed by someone on psychedelics than anything remotely serious.
What did I unknowingly smoke, Jin-ah thought, squinting at the scenery with a deadpan. Her hands were buried in the deep pockets of her oversized jacket. Say what you want about this uniform’s fashion crimes, but it was loose enough to drown in. Therefore, comfy.
The staff had them line up again, this time for ID photos. While she waited, Jin-ah caught sight of Player 230 holding court like he was the main character. From the nearby whispers, she pieced together that he was some rapper who went by the name Thanos.
A small cluster of fans was already orbiting him like he was handing out clout.
Jin-ah resisted the urge to gag. Loud, attention-whore, ridiculous hair. A walking red flag wrapped in a cringe aesthetic. Who the hell told him that hair color was okay? Maybe it was a branding thing. Maybe he was just fully committed to the bit. Either way, she wanted nothing to do with him.
As soon as the person ahead of her left the booth, Jin-ah stepped forward. Standing in front of the screen, she barely reached the camera’s height. Malnourished, underfed nation, rise up!!
The screen prompted her to smile. Jin-ah didn’t bother. She held her expression flat. Smile for what, exactly? Where were these pictures even going? A little scrapbook? A lineup for posthumous identification? She had a sneaking suspicion this was just the calm before something horrifying.
Maybe the losers of these “games” would have their organs harvested. Or maybe the games themselves were the horror. What if they were forced to kill each other? Or worse. Ra– She cut the thought off, shaking her head fast enough to rattle something loose.
Still, as sketchy as this whole setup was, there were signs that minors weren’t allowed. That meant rules. Policies. A system. A hierarchy. It was organized. Which was worse, but also...reassuring?
Jin-ah merged into the crowd as they were funneled up a series of winding staircases. The brightly colored labyrinth coiled endlessly, and at some point, she did in fact consider leaping over the side and accepting gravity’s sweet embrace.
Eventually, they arrived at their destination. A large, open-roofed rectangular field. The walls were lined with wallpapers of soft blue skies and cheerful little houses.
“Welcome to the first game,” said a pleasant A.I. female voice as the players stepped out onto the terrain. “All players, please wait a moment on the field. Let me repeat. All players, please wait a moment on the field.”
Jin-ah stepped onto the field and tilted her head back, eyes narrowing at the clear blue sky. A few seagulls soared overhead, calling out before fading into the distance. They were definitely by the sea. To house something this massive and elaborate, it had to be an island. Or a mountain? No, what mountain is this close to the sea if it wasn't on an island?
A loud metallic clang echoed as the doors behind them slammed shut, yanking Jin-ah from her thoughts. The A.I. voice chimed in again. “The first game is Red Light, Green Light.”
Oh. So it really was games. Children’s games, no less. That was somehow both grotesque and interesting.
If these weren’t purely physical, she might actually kill it. These grown ass adults had nothing on her. Rookie-level trauma, the lot of them.
“Red Light, Green Light?” someone muttered nearby, their shoulders visibly relaxing as the name sank in.
Just a kids’ game.
But Jin-ah refused to relax. Not until the real catch showed up. There had to be one. There always was.
“Cross the finish line in five minutes without getting caught,” the A.I. explained. “If you do, you pass.”
Suddenly, a player rushed to the front. “Everyone!” He yelled.
Jin-ah’s gaze snapped over. Player 456. The man looked like he’d time-traveled here straight from the battlefield, pale as a ghost with eyes that had seen unspeakable horrors. “Everyone, listen up! Pay attention!”
The field went quiet. The crowd turned toward him, instincts kicking in at the tone of his voice.
“Listen carefully!” he shouted again. “This is not just a game! If you lose, you die!”
Jin-ah’s body locked up.
Oh.
Oh, that made sense. The most obvious answer, staring her in the face the whole time. Losers die.
Holy fuckeroni.
She could actually die.
Finally.
✧
Notes:
MY DAUGHTERR!!!!!🔥🔥🔥
Jin-ah my sweet baby...I don't know, I might like her more than [Name] from my other fic. Just a little. She just like me fr.
So um, sorry I didn't actually start the first game in this chapter. But it would've made this so fucking long, and it would've taken me longer to write and ponder so eat this up for now. Next chapter hopefully won't take long. Man I hate writing canon scenes.
The heterochromia wasn't mentioned because Jin-ah didn't interact with anyone who didn't see her face all day yet. Next chapter will have some.
PLEASE comment y'all. Do you have any idea how one comment motivates me? Especially long ones. The dopamine rush is insane. I know if you're a writer as well, you'll understand my pleas. PLEASE 🙏
Hope you enjoyed teehee 🎀
Chapter 3: Do you really want to?
Summary:
Trying to figure out if you're suicidal enough for this shit.
Notes:
RAHHH!!! Sorry gang for posting later then usual. I have no excuses this time, I was slacking off 🥀 I wrote like 500 words a day and grinded all night for the rest of it. It's about 6k words, almost 7k. I REALLY wanted to put more but I didn't want it to reach 10k. I used to do that a lot and end the fic on 5 chapters 💀
I also dislocated my shoulder lol I'm fine now. FUCK IT HURT SOO BADD WHEN IT HAPPENED I DON'T RECOMMEND.
ANYWAY!!! ENJOY 🫵
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
✧
Nobody took the haunted man number 456 seriously. People called him a lunatic, or accused him of trying to psych everyone out so he could win all the prize money himself.
But Jin-ah could tell he wasn’t lying. She knew what liars looked like. Hell, she was one.
Even as skepticism buzzed louder, the haunted man stood firm. “You have to believe me!”
He was a little too desperate, though. Why even try to save this many people? Did he have a complex? Was he trying to prove a point? Of course they wouldn’t believe him. Jin-ah already halfway came to that conclusion herself and even she was doubting it.
Then a mechanical whir sliced through the noise, shutting everyone up. Jin-ah’s head snapped toward it.
At the far end of the field, the giant, ugly doll slowly twisted around until its back faced them. Two masked figures stood beside it, completely still.
Why’s its face hanging like that? Jin-ah wrinkled her nose.
“Do not be alarmed or panic!” the haunted man barked again, turning back toward the players. “No matter what happens, do not panic and start running!”
No one answered this time. They were either getting freaked out, or just couldn’t be bothered to argue anymore.
Jin-ah crouched, adjusting her too-long pants so they wouldn’t get in the way. She was going to win this. Get some cash and buy cats.
And if this man was right about the whole die if you lose thing…
The A.I. voice returned. “Let the game begin.”
The doll started its creepy little rhyme, cue to start running.
Jin-ah launched forward, ducking and weaving between taller players, body low and ready to hit the brakes.
“Red light!”
And then—"Freeze!” the haunted man yelled, his voice cutting through the tension like a siren. Most people actually obeyed, locking up in place just because he sounded so damn sure.
Jin-ah’s eyebrow twitched. It’s been three weeks since I’ve eaten a vegetable, she thought, dazed. She barely registered that she was now standing next to an XY chromosome.
The haunted man kept yelling “freeze” a few more times, each one louder than the last. Jin-ah was starting to mentally tune him out.
“Is he high or what?” a girl with nice hair asked, making Jin-ah glance sideways and realize, ah. She was standing next to dollar store Thanos and some girl. Player 196.
“Nope,” Thanos replied smoothly. “No one acts like that when they’re high.”
Of course you'd know, Jin-ah rolled her eyes.
“You’ve been high?” she shot back sarcastically.
“You interested?”
Ew. But before she could verbally bodyslam him, she heard the low buzz of doom.
A bee hovered dangerously close to 196’s ear, then landed on her neck.
196 twitched slightly. “What’s that?”
“He knows you’re a flower,” Thanos whispered with zero urgency. “There’s a bee on you.”
And then Player 196 did the most, she screamed like the bee was about to gouge out her throat with a tiny stinger machete.
“Fucking hell..!” Jin-ah hissed under her breath, instinctively about to step back before catching herself.
But 196 caught herself mid-freakout, arms frozen in midair. “Shit,” she laughed nervously. “I just moved.”
CRACK!
Blood exploded like a paintball right in front of them. It sprayed across Jin-ah’s face and Thanos’s jacket as 196 collapsed, a hole through her forehead.
“Player 196, eliminated,” the A.I. chimed in cheerfully.
Jin-ah looked down at the corpse at her feet, eyes wide. The blood was still warm, and that glazed stare on the girl’s face was locked right on her.
Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshit— Jin-ah's brain short-circuited. Her pupils trembled. She couldn’t unsee it.
Not real. It’s..not real, she tried. She clenched her eyes shut, then snapped them open.
Nope. Still there.
“Nobody move! You must not move!” the haunted man yelled again, jolting her brain back online.
Right. No moving. Focus. Now was not the time for a panic spiral. She can have a breakdown or two once she overanalyzes everything here.
Unfortunately, the woman right beside Jin-ah didn’t get that memo. She glanced down, noticed the fresh body, and decided to have an Oscar-worthy meltdown on the spot.
Her scream set off a chain reaction. More players flinched, panicked, moved.
CRACK. CRACK CRACK—!!
Jin-ah squeezed her eyes shut as the sound of gunfire and blood hit like rain on a windshield. Splashes of red warmed her cheeks again.
Okay, her mind whispered. This is a death game.
456 was still panicking, shouting and begging people to stop moving, so far the only one with a functioning brain. But despite his warnings, and despite literally watching people get splattered, others kept bolting for the exit as if they were immune to bullets.
What made them think they'd be the exception? Hello? The freeze reflex? Ever heard of it?
Jin-ah kept her gaze up, stubbornly avoiding the bloodied bodies scattered across the field. She wasn't about to look down. That way lay irreversible psychological damage.
“Let me repeat,” the A.I. chirped, disturbingly calm, “you can move forward while the tagger shouts ‘Green light, Red light’, If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated.”
Eliminated. What a cute way to say "gunned down".
The creepy doll began its sing-song rhyme again, but nobody moved. Not even a twitch.
From her peripheral vision, Jin-ah noticed Thanos fiddling with his tacky-ass cross necklace. He opened it like a secret agent and pulled out– was that a pill? Oh, of course.
Of course he did drugs. He looked like a SoundCloud dropout and a rehab regular. More reason to avoid him.
Gritting her teeth, Jin-ah finally convinced her frozen legs to obey her. She took a few quiet steps forward. The silence was thick, beads of sweat rolled down her forehead.
“Red light!”
She froze.
Player 456 burst out of the crowd. Another player, 390, sprinted after him.
Jin-ah tilted her head, then casually started making her way in that direction. He seemed like the most useful person on the field right now. Reliable. Smart. Clearly allergic to death.
He shall be… my meat shield, she thought. My tall, haunted meat shield. Aw. She felt safer already.
456 froze exactly when the chant ended, body stiff. Then he shouted with his mouth hidden by his elbow, “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 demonstrated by wiggling his hand behind his back. Nothing happened. No bullets. No splat. Huh.
Jin-ah blinked up at him with a tiny impressed face. He knew what he was talking about. Maybe he had done this before. Or maybe he just had main character powers. Either way, she was following him.
“Get behind someone bigger than you!” he called. “Like you’re doing Follow the Leader! We’re running out of time! We’ve got to move!”
Jin-ah perked up. I was already gonna do that! She mentally high-fived herself.
“Green light!”
The chant started again. Players scrambled across the field, sand crunching under panicked feet. Jin-ah zipped forward with her tiny legs, weaving between the others until she landed behind Player 390. Perfect. He was right behind 456.
Now she had a front-row seat to safety. With bonus cover.
She peeked around 390's shoulder and gave the doll the stink eye. Try me, cockalorum.
"Hey, lower your head—" Player 390 glanced over his shoulder to see who was behind him…only to freeze like he just saw a ghost. Or worse, a child.
Jin-ah blinked up at him with her best, deceptively innocent face.
Before he could say anything, the doll's head creaked around.
“Red light!”
CRACK!
More bodies dropped like sacks of potatoes. Jin-ah quickly dipped her head, though she didn’t even need to crouch. Perks of being fun-sized. 390 was basically a walking fortress in comparison.
CRACK!
Gunshots rang out again, sharp and too loud. Jin-ah risked the tiniest peek to her side and immediately regretted it. Thanos was at it again, this time shoving people forward. Was he auditioning for the role of “Human Trash Fire”? Everyone, go home. He won. Three poor players got pushed right into movement and dropped like flies.
What the hell, man?? Jin-ah grimaced. He was actually smiling. Eyes dilated. Clearly high off that pill he popped earlier.
Jin-ah stuck her tongue out at him and made a little fake gag, before spinning her head back forward. The chant started again, and the crowd began to move.
She clutched the back of 390’s jacket, holding tight.
Suddenly, his hand reached back and gently steadied her.
"Stay still, kid," he whispered.
Jin-ah stared at the back of his head, trying hard not to flinch away at his touch. Calm down. Not everyone touching you wants a part of you.
CRACK!
Another body hit the ground. Jin-ah kept her gaze forward.
When the doll turned its head toward the tree, player 456’s voice rang out, “Let’s go!”
Immediately, most of the players ditched their carefully structured lines and bolted toward the finish line. Jin-ah was tempted to take off too, but she stuck just behind 390, her designated human bulldozer. No need to rush, there was still time.
They leapt past the red line, landing in the safe zone. Jin-ah let out a breathless little puff, legs wobbling slightly. I was NOT built for cardio. Whose idea was this??
She turned back to scan the field. It looked like more than half had made it across. Good news for them. The rest were still scattered everywhere, lines long gone.
The players who hadn’t crossed yet froze again, stiff as boards. Then—
CRACK CRACK!
Gunshots echoed, and Jin-ah flinched as a few more players crumpled to the ground. One man got clipped in the thigh and went down hard, screaming in pain as blood oozed beneath him.
Odd. Why the thigh? Is some sadistic fuck doing the shooting?
“You can do it!” 456 called out encouragingly. For some reason. “You’re almost there!”
Thanks, Coach Encouragement, Jin-ah thought, plopping down in the sand, her chest still rising and falling rapidly.
She squinted up at the wall and noticed the faint outlines of holes. So that’s where the bullets were coming from.
The man with the bullet in his thigh whimpered out, “Please—help me.”
Jin-ah perked up a little, realizing he was still alive. Well, it was just the thigh. Not exactly instant-death territory. But why prolong his suffering? Her eyes flicked over to 456 due to his twitchiness.
Then, before she could blink twice, he bolted back into the field, past the finish line, straight toward the injured guy.
You’ve got to be kidding me. He was trying to save him? Risking his own life just to help some dude who’d already lost too much blood to even spell “gratitude”? It was so stupid. Yet she couldn't help but respect it.
Jin-ah dusted herself off, standing to watch closer.
Player 120 suddenly rushed in too, steadying the injured man just in time to keep them from toppling forward. She's cool. So is 456. Self sacrificial people are always the best ones to team up with in these situations. They either die first or live to the end.
They all froze.
Everyone in the safe zone held their breath in anticipation.
The timer was down to 5.
Four…
Three…
Two…
One–
BEEP.
All three collapsed into the safe zone in a tangled, sweaty pile. Breathing hard. Alive.
Sort of.
Jin-ah exhaled slowly, stepping back a bit. He won’t be allowed to live, she thought, pressing her lips into a thin line. She’d had enough brain matter misting her eyelashes today, thanks.
“Are you okay?” 456 asked, gently patting the injured player’s back.
“Thank you,” player 444 sobbed, eyes glassy as he turned to 120. “Thank you—”
CRACK!
Jin-ah turned away just in time. She really hated being right (she didn't).
Player 444’s head snapped back, then slumped as his body hit the sand with a thick, echoing thud. Both 456 and 120 stared, blood splattered and traumatized.
“Player 444, eliminated,” chirped the A.I. cheerfully.
Jin-ah blinked, realizing she didn't even go along with her initial plan. Well, dying that way would have been lame anyway.
Suddenly, a mechanical whirring sound reverberated above them, making everyone snap their neck up to watch as the roof began closing, covering the sky.
Why did Jin-ah have a feeling that this would be her last time seeing the sun for a long while?
☆
Everyone who made it out of the first game alive was herded back into the dormitory, the same one they’d woken up in. But it felt different now. The air had thickened with fear.
The lights were dim, casting an orange glow over the room. Above them, the piggy bank loomed empty.
Jin-ah sat alone on one of the lower bunks, her knees hugged tightly to her chest, chin resting on them. The cold steel of the bed frame at her back felt more comforting than any human contact could ever be.
She kept to herself, but she wasn’t deaf. Player 456 and 390 were sitting close enough for her to pick up their voices.
She didn’t intend on joining them, obviously. Experience had taught her that trusting men, especially in kill-or-be-killed situations, was a bit like sticking your hand in a blender and hoping it’s unplugged. Sooner or later, someone always gets one of those urges.
“Gi-hun,” 390 said, leaning closer to 456. So that was his name. “What the hell was that creepy doll? It shoots people with its eyes.”
Gi-hun gave a tired glance. “It’s not the doll. There are shooters.”
Jin-ah tilted her head just slightly and scooted forward on the bunk behind them, curiosity tugging at her. So he did know about this place. He had been here before.
Her fingers gripped her sleeves tighter.
Well. That just made him even more useful.
Player 390 leaned in. “How do you know so much? Have you really been here before?”
Before Gi-hun could get a single word out, a loud buzzing noise sliced through the dorm. Jin-ah sighed dramatically. She wanted to hear his answer. Oh well, he struck her as the type to shout his entire life story without prompting anyway. She'd get her intel soon enough.
The lights flared overhead, bathing the dormitory in a harsh, clinical brightness. The front double doors hissed open, and in marched a little army of pink suits. This time, there were eight triangle masks, all armed with guns, and one square mask leading at the front.
Panic erupted instantly. Players scrambled like startled mice, diving behind beds, under bunks and clutching each other. Jin-ah scooted back just a bit on her bunk.
They wouldn’t shoot now. That wouldn’t make sense. Not after all the effort to set up these "games".
"Congratulations on making it through the first game. Here are the results," the square-mask announced, voice void of anything resembling emotion.
The screen above them lit up, starting at 456. It began to tick down in a reverse countdown, finally stopping at 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."
Jin-ah blinked. That’s...a lot. Ninety-one. So many people either stupid enough to bolt right after that first gunshot, or just unlucky enough to twitch at the wrong time.
Suddenly, an old woman stumbled to the center of the room. Player 149. She dragged her son, player 007, with her and dropped to her knees like a sack of potatoes, clutching at some invisible thread of hope.
“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!”
Jin-ah’s nose scrunched. What was that supposed to do? Begging. Really? People still think that works? I thought that myth was debunked.
It didn’t work for her. It didn’t work for her mother. And it never will against the ones who think they're above all.
Player 007 hesitated for a moment, then followed his mother’s lead, sinking to the ground beside her with a trembling voice and teary eyes. Their pleas echoed off the cold dormitory walls.
“There seems to be a misunderstanding,” the square mask finally said.
Jin-ah pressed her lips together. One hell of a ‘misunderstanding.’
The mother and son weren’t the only ones losing it. More players started crawling forward, faces streaked with tears and sweat, their voices raw with panic. Jin-ah turned her head away, uncomfortable.
She couldn't help thinking, would her mother have done the same? Gotten on her knees? Begged for mercy that never once came?
...Yeah. She would’ve. Not for Jin-ah’s sake, though. Probably to beg forgiveness for her husband's bullshit. For debts he left behind. For her own selfishness.
Jin-ah’s jaw tightened. Pathetic.
“We are not trying to harm you.” The square mask said helpfully. “We are presenting you with an opportunity.”
Then suddenly, from right beside her bunk, Gi-hun shot up.
“Clause three of the consent form!” He yelled, and Jin-ah jumped slightly, her eyes snapping to him.
The dorm went dead silent. All eyes on him.
He stepped forward with that haunted energy he always seemed to carry. “The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. Correct?”
The square-mask gave a small nod. “That is correct.”
“Then let us take a vote right now,” Gi-hun demanded.
“Of course. We respect your right to freedom of choice.”
Jin-ah blinked slowly. Right. That was in the fine print of that tiny, tiny shady consent form. No wonder it reeked of trap energy.
A ripple of relief swept through the room. Whispers of hope and gratitude passed from player to player. Shoulders un-tensed. Some people even smiled, genuinely. Jin-ah sat still, arms wrapped around her knees. Her brows furrowed.
If I do get to leave…then what?
She couldn’t exactly go home. Her mother wouldn’t let her through the door without a fat stack of cash in her hands. She could just say it was all a scam. But maybe this had been the plan all along, an excuse to finally kick her parasite of a daughter out for good.
“But first,” the square mask said, slicing through the fragile hope in the air, “let me announce the prize amount that’s been accumulated.”
And just like that, the mood flipped again.
He clicked something on a remote, and the dormitory lights dimmed dramatically. The piggy bank above them lit up with a soft golden glow, and a jolly little jingle played.
Stacks of cash began pouring into the transparent piggy bank. Bill after bill, the pile climbed higher and higher.
The players slowly emerged from their hiding spots. Hesitant at first, then fully drawn in. Mesmerized. Some stared like they were looking at salvation. Or heaven. Or their ex’s OnlyFans.
Jin-ah didn’t move. She stared up at the ridiculous display of wealth, squinting.
…Okay, fine, it was a little impressive.
And judging by everyone’s starry-eyed awe, they were already rethinking that whole “freedom” thing. There goes her chances of leaving this place alive (does she want to live leave?).
The money stopped falling. The piggy bank was only about a quarter full.
The square mask continued. “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.”
Jin-ah tilted her head, doing the math. So…about 24,931,500 per person. 100 million won per eliminated person. That’s the value of every person here. That’s our worth now. All equal.
Equal.
Huh.
"How much is that?" asked Player 100.
“Each person’s share would be 24,931,500 won,” the square mask answered flatly.
“Fuck. We almost died, and they're giving us 24 million?” Someone complained, as if they were entitled for more.
Jin-ah let out a quiet hum. That amount wasn't exactly enough to fix her life, but definitely enough to get her parents to shut up for a while. Maybe even unlock the front door for her again.
“You said 45.6 billion!” Thanos barked. Oh great, he was still alive. And apparently still mentally defective.
“The rule is that 100 million won is added for each eliminated player,” the square clarified with the enthusiasm of someone explaining basic math to a pile of rocks. “If you continue playing and more players are eliminated, the prize will increase accordingly.”
“How much if you survive all the way to the end?” Player 100 asked again, and Jin-ah nearly screamed into her palms. Did the trauma get to them already? Maybe it was just this old crusty man's Alzheimer's.
“As I said,” the square mask replied with saintlike patience, “the total prize for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. Those who complete all six games will split that amount equally.”
“So if you’re the only one left, you get all 45.6 billion?” Someone asked.
“That is correct.”
A collective ooooh washed over the dormitory. Wide eyes, hushed murmurs, jaws on the floor. People were practically drooling at the idea.
Jin-ah blinked slowly. Do these people seriously think they’re gonna be the last one standing? That level of confidence was kinda cute. And delusional. Mostly delusional.
“So we can take a vote again and leave after the next game?” Another player asked.
“As outlined in the consent form, a vote may be held after each game,” the square mask replied with that same dead-inside tone. “You may choose to terminate the games and leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point. We prioritize your voluntary participation.”
Jin-ah tilted her head. They really make it sound like a wellness retreat. Who the hell is running this? She had so many questions. Deep, critical, extremely mature questions. Like “are y’all on drugs” and “who hurt you?” and "can I join?"
A heavy silence wrapped around the room as everyone’s tiny brains got to work. The idea of playing just one more game, getting more cash in the bank, and then dipping? It was the exact kind of bait gambling addicts couldn’t resist.
“Now, let’s begin the vote.”
The guards moved fast, setting up some machine with a bow at the front. It had two buttons. An X and an O. The floor lit—red for X on the left, blue for O on the right.
Players huddled at the back of the room, clearly not ready to be brave little soldiers just yet.
“If you wish to continue the games, press O,” the square mask droned. “If you wish to end the games, press X. Voting will be conducted in reverse order of your player numbers.”
Oh hell nah. Jin-ah almost dropped to the ground.
“Player 456.”
HOLY SHIT HOLY SHITTT I'M NEXT I CAN'T DO THIS AAHHHH JUST SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD SHOOT MEEE, Jin-ah screamed internally while keeping the most deadpan, unfazed expression on her face as she stared blankly at the ceiling.
She’d always hated roll calls. A normal amount.
After a dramatic pause that made Jin-ah's blood pressure spike for no reason, Gi-hun finally stepped out from the crowd and walked toward the voting counter.
Then, someone just had to be weird.
“It’s all pointless!” a voice shrieked from the upper bunk like a pigeon on bath salts. Everyone looked up to see player 044 perched on a high bunk . “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!”
Jin-ah blinked slowly. Girl what? Whatever cosmic acid trip 044 was on, Gi-hun clearly didn’t care.
Jin-ah rolled her eyes. God, people like that piss her off. Always acting like they’ve unlocked the secrets of the universe just because they heard a wind chime once. No, hun, that’s not fate. That’s undiagnosed psychosis. You should get that checked out.
Gi-hun reached the counter and predictably slapped the big red X. A loud ping echoed across the dorm, followed by the tally updating.
X: 1 O: 0
“Once you finish voting,” the square mask added, “place the patch you are given on the right side of your chest and stand on the side you have chosen.”
Gi-hun took the red X patch, slapped it on like a sticker from hell, and shuffled over to the X zone.
“Player 455.”
Jin-ah finally grew a pair and walked forward with the same expression she'd give a brick wall.
Inside however, was a total nuclear meltdown. Sirens. Rats playing tambourines in her brain. She was definitely not mentally scraping her nails down the cage of her own skull.
She pushed through the wall of adults, ignoring the trail of whispers left in her wake.
“Is that a child?”
“She can’t be more than thirteen..!”
“She looks foreign. Is she foreign?”
Foreign? Really? Jin-ah twitched. Every damn time. As if being stuck here wasn't traumatic enough, now she had to endure the microaggressions of the chronically stupid.
“Fifteen, asshats,” she muttered under her breath to no one.
She caught the flicker of movement from the corner of her eye. Gi-hun. He stood stiffly in the X zone, eyes wide and glued to her like she was a hallucination. He had a haunted, guilt-ridden look. She could practically hear the internal monologue, that could be my daughter! That’s a child! A child shouldn’t be here!
She already figured that one out.
Jin-ah stepped up to the counter. The buttons glared back at her, red X and blue O casting a glow over her conflicted face.
She hovered her hand between them. One meant she could leave. Go "home". Get her cut of the blood money and maybe afford a week without hearing her mother scream about her existence. The other meant risking a bullet to the head in exchange for...possibly more money. And more bullets.
Hmm.
She exhaled through her nose, gaze sharp.
These people were addicts in denial. Of course they’d vote to stay. Hope was more addictive than heroin. So if everyone else was gonna be dumb, she might as well be one of the few who had a scrap of a moral compass, right?
Right.
She pressed the big red X.
Ping.
The screen updated:
X: 2 O: 0
The patch was slapped onto her chest like a badge of shame, and she turned to join Gi-hun on the loser side.
He looked at her like she was a killed puppy who was thrown in hell with the rest of the sinners.
She did not make eye contact.
More and more players were called up one by one, the votes teetering dangerously close to a tie. Exactly what Jin-ah had predicted. Because of course it would be. Herd mentality with a sprinkle of desperation.
When Thanos' number was called, he practically skipped to the counter. Grinning like a maniac, he slapped the O button with the glee of someone who was both blissfully ignorant and fully baked out of his mind.
His over-the-top enthusiasm seemed to trigger something in Gi-hun, who had been standing stiffly near her this whole time. When did he get there?
“Wait a minute, everyone! Wait!” Gi-hun suddenly yelled, slicing through the murmurs. Every head turned. What the hell is he doing?
He stepped out of the X zone, planting himself right in the awkward middle ground between Team Live and Team Die, trying to appeal to the undecideds.
“You can’t do this,” he pleaded. “Come to your senses! These aren’t just games. We’ll die if we keep playing. We have to get out now. With a majority vote, we still can! We need to stop here!”
Jin-ah arched a brow. She kinda respected the effort. She also heavily doubted it would work because logic was not the room's strongest suit.
Still, a small, ridiculous part of her hoped it would. Which was stupid. Hope was the emotional equivalent of falling for a scam email.
Before the emotional weight could properly settle, a new voice burst in.
“Who the hell do you think you are?!” Roared Player 100, charging out from the mass of undecided players. “You’ve been stirring everyone up since the beginning! You scared the shit out of us saying they’d shoot us before the game even started!”
Jin-ah took a reflexive step back. Oh no. One of those men. The kind who think volume equals wisdom. The kind who act like being old gives them some divine right to yell at people and be taken seriously.
She hated old people. Not all of them. Just the crusty, bitter ones who treated respect like it was their right for being on this forsaken earth longer. This guy is added to her long list of people to be avoided at all costs.
“That’s right!” a woman who had already voted O stepped forward, all fired up. “He was going on about how we’d all die, and I almost did because I got so nervous!”
Jin-ah resisted the urge to audibly groan. So it’s his fault she was stressed? Not the psychotic death game they were all literally standing in? The logic levels in here were fighting for their lives.
Then Player 226 chimed in with an extra dose of paranoia. “How did you know they were going to shoot us?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at Gi-hun. “Are you one of them?”
Jin-ah slowly dragged a hand down her face like she was trying to wipe off the stupidity clinging to the air. Are these actual adults? With jobs (prolly not) and IDs and everything? Maybe the freaks running this place were doing humanity a favor.
Player 100 pointed dramatically at Gi-hun and addressed the pink people. “Are you conning us all by pretending to be a player? Did you plant him to mess with our heads?!!”
Jin-ah tilted her head, unconvinced. What a conclusion to reach. As if Gi-hun wasn't literally out here risking his neck to keep you ungrateful fucks from getting splattered.
Player 390 stepped forward to back his friend. “That’s uncalled for,” he snapped, sticking close to Gi-hun. “We wouldn’t have won the game and survived if it weren’t for him!”
A few players in the X section nodded, silently backing him up. Jin-ah noted them. Rare signs of intelligent life.
390 turned on 226 next, his voice sharp. “And you! I saw how scared you were. Your legs were shaking. You should thank him, not treat him like a fraud!”
226 puffed up like a blowfish. “And who the hell are you? Are you conspiring with him?”
“Rude,” 390 replied, deadpan. “How old are you?”
“Older than you. What are you gonna do about it?”
Jin-ah blinked slowly. Wow. What a mature and civilized exchange between grown men. Very reassuring to know there are so many trusted adults here.
Then finally, like a breeze of sanity, Player 149 stepped in beside Gi-hun.
“Come on now, stop it!” she said firmly, using her hands like she was trying to physically part the stupidity. “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!”
Jin-ah blinked. Granny was officially added to her extremely short, extremely exclusive list of people to stay near. Though not particularly useful, she would be for her state of mind.
The dormitory burst into a cacophony of shouting as the X voters kicked off.
“That’s right!”
“Let’s all get out of here!”
The O voters didn’t let it slide, shouting right back with all the maturity of a sports riot.
“No, we have to keep playing!”
“Yeah!!”
Jin-ah instinctively hunched in, arms tight to her sides. It was like being trapped in a stadium full of toddlers who all skipped nap time. The energy in the room was teetering, one wrong look and someone was gonna throw hands.
She glanced at the masked guards. Surely they’d intervene if this turned into an actual brawl…right? Right?
But they just stood there. Silent. Unmoving. Letting this verbal bloodbath play out like it was part of the entertainment.
How long are they gonna let this continue?
Then, Gi-hun snapped.
“I’VE PLAYED THESE GAMES BEFORE!”
Silence. Every head turned. Jin-ah blinked.
Well. He’d been here before. But why scream it at the top of his lungs? Personally, she would’ve taken that secret to the grave. Or made use of it to her own advantage.
But clearly. He was back for some noble reason that didn't involve getting more money. As she can tell from how hard he's trying to get everyone to leave.
“I said I've played these games before!” he repeated, louder, shaking 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!”
Gasps. Whispers.
"They all died?"
"All of them?"
"Really? No way.”
Jin-ah gave the room an aggressive side-eye. Wow, so shocking that people would die in a DEATH game.
Player 226, back on his paranoid bullshit, said. “Hold on. If they all died, how did you survive? Are you saying you were the sole winner?”
Gi-hun nodded, slow and reluctant. “That’s right. I was the final winner.”
Murmurs fluttered through the crowd in a gust of doubt and awe. Jin-ah stared at the floor. That might’ve been a misstep.
And then Gi-hun doubled down. “If we continue these games, every single person here, just like everyone back then, will die in the end.”
She got what he was going for. Lay down the truth, drop a tragic backstory, maybe spark some sense into the rest of them. Admirable effort. Dumb strategy.
Because now, some idiots were probably thinking, Well, if he survived, maybe I can too.
He should’ve just screamed, “I never got the money!” That would've worked. People hear “you’ll die” and go, hmm, worth it. People hear “you'll get scammed” and suddenly nobody wants to play “games” with you anymore.
She placed her hands on her hips, mentally patting herself on the back for the brilliance no one would recognize.
Player 100 scoffed, voice dripping sarcasm. “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?”
And just like that, the room was teetering all over again. Congrats, Gi-hun.
“That’s right! He’s lying! Cut the crap!” Shouted a woman from the O zone.
"He's a total nutcase!"
"If someone like you can win, so can I!" Said background character. Jin-ah fully expected this response.
Thanos came forward. “If you really won, it works better for us. You can give us Some tips on how to beat these games.” he pointed at Gi-hun before crossing his arms. God, he was so fucking cringe.
“That’s right!” Player 100 barked, loud and way too proud. “We have a previous winner with us, so what do we have to worry about?”
I swear to God, this senile old man is about to catch these hands…! Jin-ah's eye twitched. Of course she wasn’t going to say anything out loud, she wasn’t socially suicidal, but mentally, she was absolutely letting him have it.
“Come on, let’s do this!” the geezer kept going, arms thrown up.
“Come on!”
“Yeah!”
And just like that, the O voters and the fence-sitters turned into a hype crowd.
“Let’s make some money!”
“Let’s do this!”
Totally normal behavior. Just casually hyping up mass death like it's extreme sports.
Jin-ah stole a glance at Gi-hun. His shoulders had slumped, eyes aimed at the floor, defeated. His grand emotional speech was completely tanked. If anything, it just lit a fire under these idiots.
But he wasn’t done. Apparently.
“Please, I’m begging you!” he pleaded, turning back toward the undecideds. “We have to get out now!”
He moved with urgency, grabbing one man by the shoulder and locking eyes with him. “If we keep playing, more people will die. That could be you! We have to stop this now and get out of here!”
Jin-ah perked up, eyes flicking to someone approaching Gi-hun from behind. Her hand lifted slightly, words finally forming after 5k words because the author forgot to make her talk to anyone.
“Mister...!” she called, voice just barely above a whisper.
But it didn’t matter. He didn’t hear her.
“Everyone–” he started to shout.
Only to freeze.
The click of a machine gun to his back silenced him immediately. Along with the rest of the hollering players.
The triangle mask behind him stood silently. And then the square mask spoke, voice monotonous. “From here on, we will not tolerate actions that disrupt the voting process.”
About damn time, Jin-ah exhaled and let her shoulders drop. Finally, the clowns running this circus decided to get off their asses.
“Now, let’s resume the vote,” the square mask added flatly.
The triangle mask kept the gun trained on Gi-hun while the rest of the players resumed filing up to vote. Jin-ah doubted he’d try anything again though.
—
After what felt like years of collective suffering, the scoreboard finally read 182 to 182. A perfect tie.
But one more player was left to vote.
“The last player, 001,” the square mask announced.
Everyone’s heads turned in eerie synchronization to watch the final man walk up.
Jin-ah, who had very nearly dozed off with her arms crossed and her soul halfway in another dimension, jolted upright. She blinked, remembering where she was. God, this place reeked of midlife crises.
“Everyone, say O!” Thanos hollered, clearly still riding whatever trip he was on.
“O!” the O-voters roared.
“X!” the X-voters shot back.
Player 001 didn’t react to any of it. He just strolled down the center, no hesitation. He probably made up his mind after being the last goddamn player to vote.
He held the lives of everyone in his hands at this moment.
A thick silence dropped over the room as he reached the buttons. Every single person was frozen, their attention locked on the screen above.
Then, after a pause–
A light ping.
The tally updated.
X: 182 O: 183
The O-voters exploded into cheers like they’d won the lottery instead of, you know, volunteered for mass murder of themselves. Whistles, applause, even a few happy sobs.
Jin-ah stared at the floor. Not as crushed as she figured she’d be. Maybe because she already knew. Of course X would lose. This wasn’t a place where logic or survival won, it was a place where desperation clapped your cheeks harder.
The X voters, unsurprisingly, weren’t exactly throwing a rave. Some let out long, tired sighs. Others just shook their heads like they were trying to rattle the disappointment out. The fear was almost tangible now. Whether they voted X or O, it didn’t matter.
They were stuck. And all because more people were too broke or too desperate to say no.
While the O voters were still celebrating, the X zone players began shuffling away quietly toward their bunks, dragging their feet.
Jin-ah glanced back at the counter one last time and locked eyes on player 001. He was just standing there. Not leaving. Not moving. Just staring at the defeated Gi-hun like he had all the time in the world. And smirking.
A tiny, smug little smirk like he knew something no one else did.
Nothing suspicious about this guy at all!! Jin-ah shook her head and went back to her bunk.
She had a second game to not survive this time.
✧
Notes:
I haven't made an Impulsive decision in ten minutes!!! So proud of myself.
Sorry gang. I kept writing mindlessly I didn't even realize Jin-ah didn't say a WORD to nobody this entire time. Fuck she's just like ME. Totally normal introverted behavior let's be real.
I ENDED THIS AFTER THE FIRST VOTE. I REALLY WANTED TO PUT THE REST BUT I SERIOUSLY DIDN'T NEED THIS CHAPTER REACHING 10K BECAUSE THIS BIG HEADASS GIRL CAN'T STOP YAPPING IN HER HEAD JESUS 🤦
Also I know I said I'll talk about her heterochromia here but who's looking rn. It's in the next chapter I swear.
I'll try not to delay the next chapter too much. Keyword: Try. Don't hang on it. I'm not good with promises at all. My pants are on fire.
Hope you enjoyed!! Please comment so I can keep my sanity till the next chapter ❤️ also do y'all want me to update other books cuz i feel like I've been neglecting them.
Chapter 4: You're special
Summary:
Live Laugh Toaster bath
Notes:
It's four am, in so fucked and I feel drunk even tho I drank nothing I'm pretty damn sure this was half assed in editing. I was supposed to post this yesterday but forgot lol.
Anyway. This is 7k wordsz almost 8k. I was about to yell FUCK IT and write a 10k chapter but I'm soo done.
Warning ⚠️: Heavy themes of pedophilia, implied SA, heavy Topics (?), touchiness. A lot of it.
Enjoy 🙏
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
✧
As the pink people with the circles on their masks began distributing meals, players gathered into loosely formed lines in front of each one. The meals came in these compact metal bento boxes, unimpressively small, definitely not made with teenagers going through trauma and growth spurts in mind.
Jin-ah took her place in one of the lines, hugging herself tightly. The noise, the shoving, the general I’m gonna die soon vibes in the air, it was all so grating. Just as she neared the front, some crusty older man bulldozed right past her like she was invisible, snatching her spot without even pretending to care.
What the actual fuck! she glared, hands clenching to fists. But she didn’t say anything. What would be the point? A confrontation would just mean eyes on her, and she wasn’t in the mood to perform for these people.
Eventually, she stepped forward again, and the circle mask handed her one of the metal boxes. It was a strange shade, somewhere between gold and vaguely dirty brass.
Clutching the box close, she made her way through the crowd, slinking between bunk beds until she reached her preferred little corner of silence. A cozy brooding spot.
She sat down cross-legged, plopped the golden box in front of her, and stared at it like it might bite her. She didn’t open it.
A moment passed. Then another.
Footsteps approached, then someone sat down beside her.
She tensed immediately, gaze darting sideways, ready to scowl or throw hands depending on who dared.
“Oh god…Jin-ah?”
Her blood ran cold.
She didn’t have to look. That voice was burned into her spine. To every part of her, like a searing hot iron pressed to her skin.
“I saw you earlier. When you voted. I–” A gentle laugh. Deceptive. How is he so good at this lame act? “I didn’t think it was really you at first. But now that I’m this close… it really is you. I was so worried.”
She still didn’t look at him.
She didn’t move at all.
“Jin-ah, what are you doing here?” He asked, soft and full of that nauseating concern. As if he had any right to comfort her. As if he wasn’t the reason she–
No. No.
She swallowed hard and kept her eyes on the box. The one she suddenly wanted to hurl at his ugly fucking face.
Mr. Kwon’s hand settled gently on her shoulder.
“There’s no reason for you to be alone right now,” he said, voice dipped in soft 'concern'. “Stick close to me, alright? As your teacher, I’ll protect you.”
His hand began to move. A slow rub over her shoulder, then trailing down the length of her arm. Like he had the right, any right, to even speak to her anymore.
Jin-ah didn’t flinch. She didn’t even look at him. Her fingers stayed curled tightly around the edges of the metal bento box, white-knuckled and still.
But of course he didn’t care for her unresponsiveness.
Why would he?
He must love this, her silence. Her stillness. The way she didn’t protest, didn’t pull away. It wasn’t because she was okay with it. It never was. But speaking up? Fighting back? That never helped. Not before. Not ever.
And here, in this place with barely any rules and way too many people, what would happen if she screamed? Who would even listen? Would anyone want to interfere?
Who would help her?
Her own voice answered her, dark and cold in the back of her rotting skull.
When did anyone ever help you before?
The fingers kept moving. The space around them bustled with noise and clinking metal and laughter from people still pretending this place wasn’t hell.
And Jin-ah just sat there. Silent. Still.
Obedient.
Survival looked a lot like surrender when no one was watching.
Jin-ah hated this.
She hated it, she hated it, she hated it hated it hated it hated it HATED IT.
Why couldn’t she fight back?!
Why didn’t she get to?! Why did he get to touch her, speak to her like that, look at her like he owned her?
Because she was a girl? Because society had decided that girls like her, small, quiet, hurting, were just easier? Easier to silence, easier to ignore, and easier to use?
Because the world loved turning girls into things?
Her mind screamed all the things her mouth never got to. Why can’t I raise my voice?! Why the fuck can’t I just be left alone?!
But Jin-ah said exactly none of that.
Not even a whispered 'leave me alone'. How utterly fucking pathetic.
She stayed frozen, motionless, staring through the air with that same blank, practiced gaze she’d worn since she was old enough to know what fear looked like.
Mr. Kwon cupped her cheek, gently, and turned her face toward him.
She didn’t meet his eyes.
He didn’t care.
“My sweet Jin-ah” he said, voice all soft as if this was some heartfelt moment, “your eyes are too beautiful to stay down.”
Jin-ah’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.
She hated her eyes.
She always had. Born with two colors that never matched, never let her blend in, never let her be normal. People always noticed. Stared. Whispered. Commented.
It was never about beauty. It was never innocent.
Just another excuse to look closer. Another reason for people like him to think she was special in the worst way.
Jin-ah hated her eyes.
And right now, with his hand on her face, all she could think was how much she wanted to rip them out. Just so no one could ever say something like that again.
She stared at him now. That same stupid, earnest expression. Like a golden retriever who’d never bitten anyone but was aching to.
But all she saw was the office.
The desk with its pile of graded homework. The cracked mug that said “Math is Life.” The blinds half drawn. And that smell. Chalk dust, coffee, and something sour beneath it all.
It was just yesterday. Or before yesterday? She couldn't recall time here.
☆
— 1 day before the Games
The door clicked shut behind her. That was the first sound Jin-ah noticed.
Then the soft buzz of the ceiling light. The faint tick of the wall clock. The muted world of after-school hours, where the halls were empty and the air got weirdly thick.
Mr. Kwon moved around the desk, still talking like this was the most normal thing to do in the world.
“Sit wherever you like,” he said, gesturing toward the seat across from his. Then he added, too casually, “Or here’s fine, too,” and patted the chair next to his.
She sat across from him. Obviously.
He chuckled again, like she’d told a joke. “Alright, alright,” he said, and reached for a folder on his desk, flipping it open with the kind of way that made it clear he wasn’t actually looking at anything. He wasn’t even pretending that well.
“So,” he started, “how’ve you been feeling lately? You looked really tired in class. Is everything okay at home?”
She blinked. Her tongue felt like paper. This wasn’t about math formulas. Not that she’d expected it to be.
He leaned forward a little. Elbows on the desk. His smile still harmless, still wrong. “Listen, Jin-ah. You can talk to me, I’m not like the other teachers.”
That line again. He always said that.
She didn’t respond. Just picked at the hem of her sleeve. The school uniform jacket was too warm. Her skin itched, burned.
He took that as permission to keep going. Not that he needed it from her in the first place.
“I see how hard you work,” he said. “How quiet you are. I know you’re not like the others.” A pause. “You’re more mature than they are.”
There it was.
“You’re special.”
Her stomach turned. The air in the room shifted, her head throbbed. She knew this script. She didn’t know all the words yet, but she knew the rhythm.
And he was still smiling. As if this was a gift. As if she should be grateful for his unsolicited attention.
Mr. Kwon got up from his chair.
She stiffened. Her heartbeat thudded. She told herself it was fine. He was probably just getting something. A pen. A paper. Something normal. Not everything had to mean something worse.
But then he walked around the desk. And didn’t sit back down.
He leaned on the edge of it instead, arms crossed, looking down at her with that fake warmth. Hands clasped before him.
“Do you ever feel like people don’t really see you?” he asked softly. “...They think they know you, but they don’t see what’s underneath?”
She stayed silent. Her throat couldn’t make words. Her brain was screaming run but her body was made of concrete.
He reached out, slowly, carefully, like he was doing her a favor, and touched her forearm.
“It's okay,” he whispered. “You don’t have to be scared around me. I won't ever hurt you.”
Mr. Kwon’s hand stayed on her forearm.
Just resting normally. Not enough to scream about. But just enough to remind her the one who had the power here was definitely not her in any multiverse.
“You’re always so quiet,” he said gently. “That’s not a bad thing, dear. Everyone else talks too much and tries too hard to fit in. But not you.”
He tilted his head, smile warm. She bites her cheek, resting the urge to barf.
“You see things, don’t you? You feel things deeper than the others.”
She didn’t answer.
“That’s why I notice you,” he continued anyway, lowering his voice like he was telling a secret. “Because you’re different.”
Her breath stayed trapped in her lungs. This wasn’t anything new. These compliments. It was like watching someone paint a mask over a rotting face. She’d seen it before. Not like this, but close enough.
“You don’t let people in,” he sighed softly, “but I can see underneath it all. I know how hard it is. Pretending to be okay.”
He crouched slightly now, to be at eye level.
“I get you, Jin-ah.” His eyes didn’t blink.
She stared at a spot just over his shoulder. The wall clock. Its second hand moving, ticking, at every escalating heartbeat.
He reached out, again slow, again gentle, as if she was an animal yet to be wounded so he had to do the honors, and tugged lightly at her school uniform jacket.
“Must be hot in here,” he chuckled, tone all casual. “Come on. You don’t need this on.”
She didn’t move.
So he did it for her.
Fingers brushing her arm, sliding down her sleeve, easing the fabric off her shoulders. She still didn’t move. Just let it happen. Because maybe if she just went still enough, quiet enough, he’d get bored. Or he’d feel guilty. Or something would interrupt.
No interruptions came.
“There,” he said, setting the jacket over the chair. “That’s better.”
He didn’t step back. He stayed close. That smile still in place, like he was so proud of her for being “brave.” For letting him help.
“You know,” he said, eyes dropping for a second, just a second, before returning to hers. “I’ve always thought your eyes were beautiful.”
She flinched.
“Heterochromia, right?” he said, still light. “It’s rare. Like you.”
She wished she could disappear. Not run. Not scream. Just evaporate into the stale air of this office.
“I always wondered,” he hummed, resting a hand on her chair. “Why someone like you hides. You’re so graceful. You don’t even realize it, do you? How you carry yourself. The way you walk. The way you look when you’re thinking…”
He trailed off, his hand brushing her arm again, light, absentminded. Normal if anyone walked in. Just two people. Just a teacher checking in on his dear student.
No one would question it.
Because this is how they work.
Little by little. Word by word. Smile by smile. Until they rewrite reality, and you’re the one who looks crazy if you say something.
“You don’t have to be afraid of yourself, Jin-ah,” he whispered. “I can help you understand all the feelings underneath. All the things you don’t say out loud.”
He placed a hand over hers now. Squeezing gently. Her skin burned, get it off get it off get it off–
It was as if this was a movie and he was the comforting mentor. The misunderstood grown-up. The one who "just wanted to help."
And the worst part is that she could already hear the excuses other people would make for him.
He was just being kind. He’s a favorite teacher. You misunderstood his intentions. You should’ve said something sooner.
You're so lucky.
She didn’t say anything.
She didn’t know how.
And he'll continue to get what he wants. As all men like him do.
Mr. Kwon’s hand slid downward, casual as all the rest of his past actions. As if had every right to occupy her space, as if she owed him this attention for simply noticing her.
It landed on her thigh. Just above the knee. Rested there like it belonged.
Jin-ah didn’t move.
Her breath caught in her throat, locked behind her teeth. She hated this skirt. Hated it from the second she put it on.
The school’s uniform code was a joke, skirts that hit mid-thigh for girls and rules that said shorts underneath were “unsightly.” They wanted them to look “put together,” but not “distracting.” Whatever the fuck that meant.
As if the hem of her skirt determined the whole world’s behavior. That if a man stared, it was her fault for having legs in the first place.
Her thigh-high socks were the highest she could get away with without getting detention, they almost looked like pants. Her only armor.
She’d been yelled at once for wearing them. Told they ruined the “feminine silhouette” the uniform was meant to present.
Why did men get to decide that? Why did they make the rules, then act surprised when their rules made girls feel exposed, uncomfortable, consumed?
How was it her fault if a grown man couldn’t control where his eyes went?
She felt his fingers shift. Slow. Trailing. Just enough to register.
She flinched. Her hand twisted to clench the arm of her chair. Because she could feel it. His hand curling slightly, slipping just under the edge of her skirt.
He paused.
She could tell he wasn’t expecting resistance. Not from her body. Not in the form of…shorts.
There was a beat of silence. His hand still. His voice came a second later, light and smooth as if he wasn't affected at all.
“Oh,” he said, pleasantly surprised. “You’re very...modest.”
His tone dipped into something like admiration.
“That’s rare these days. Girls your age don’t usually think like that.”
He laughed quietly, leaning just a little forward, enough for her to press the back of her head to the back chair. “You’re… different, Jin-ah. Dignified.”
She stared at the wall. Her heartbeat was in her ears. Her skin was buzzing like it wanted to run away without her.
“Special,” he added, softer now. “That’s what you are.”
His fingers were still there, resting again. Not moving. Not anymore.
But he didn’t back off.
Because people like Mr. Kwon didn’t need to do much. Just almost enough. Just enough to make you question whether it really happened. Whether you were overreacting. Whether saying anything would only make things worse.
They only had to go as far as silence let them.
She didn’t breathe.
Because now she wasn’t just a student.
She was just an object for a man who needed her to fit into his fantasy. And when reality didn’t match it, he just rewrote the story.
“Truly one of a kind,” he leaned in, cupping her face. “There’s so much under the surface with you. I wish more people could see that.”
But no one else was seeing it.
Just him.
Just her.
Alone in this office. With the door closed.
☆
Mr. Kwon’s thumb brushed under her eye, and then his voice dropped into something lower, as if telling a secret, even though they were surrounded by a hundred other miserable people.
"You should come with me," he whispered. “I’ve got a group. A good team, right over there.” He pointed with his chin.
Jin-ah followed the gesture with her eyes, and immediately regretted it.
They looked normal, sure. Like any other batch of desperate, tired men. But her instincts didn’t lie. Not when they’d been honed in the exact kind of situations where trusting your gut meant surviving the night. These weren’t just men.
They were him.
Every one of them had the same dead smile, the same too-long stare, the same predator energy disguised as “friendly concern.” Maybe she couldn't read their exact charges, but she could already hear the rap sheets rustling.
Hell no.
She finally made her voice work, scraping the words together. “I already have a team,” she murmured.
Lie. A bold-faced, panicked, fire-alarm-level lie, her pants are on fucking FIRE. But it was the only card she had.
Mr. Kwon blinked, looking surprised for half a second, then gave her this thin little smile like he didn’t believe her but also didn’t care enough to press, yet. His hand dropped.
She stood up fast, bento box clutched to her chest like a goddamn shield, and speed-walked away before he could say anything else. Eyes locked ahead, breath shallow, she homed in on the first non-creep cluster she could find.
Her gaze landed on Gi-hun and Player 390 sitting a few bunks away, eating in awkward silence. Well, player 390 was eating, Gi-hun was just brooding.
She didn’t want to be near them. She didn’t want to be near anyone. But if it was between them and Mr. Kwon’s Circle of Rot™, she’d take awkward silence and middle-aged crises any day.
She didn’t say anything as she sat down near them, just plopped down with her meal like she belonged. Like she'd always been there.
Player 390 nearly jumped out of his skin when Jin-ah appeared, plopping down just a little too close, but also not with them. He blinked at her, confused for half a second, before realization hit him.
“Oh– you’re that kid!” He blurted out. His eyes widened a bit, scanning her tiny frame, the shadows under her eyes, and the way she clutched her unopened bento box like it might get snatched, she didn't miss the way his gaze lingered on her eyes either. “What are you doing here? You don’t even look fourteen…”
I’m fifteen, she thought flatly, but didn’t correct him. It wasn’t like being two years older made any of this better. Fifteen wasn’t supposed to come with this much shit.
390 looked genuinely concerned, which threw her off. Most men looked at her and saw one of two things: a punchline or an opportunity. But this one looked like he’d just seen someone drop a puppy into a woodchipper.
His exclamation, of course, caught the attention of Gi-hun, who’d been zoning out so hard she half-wondered if his soul had already left the building. He looked up slowly, those tired, pained eyes locking onto her.
That same expression. Haunted. Mildly distressed. Worried.
What was with these men? Did she walk into the one part of this place where the people still had moral compasses?
Jin-ah shifted a little farther away, subtly. Maybe if she got enough inches between them, she could pretend she’d never sat here.
390 noticed. “Ah– sorry!” he blurted, hands up like she was holding him at gunpoint. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, really. My name’s Park Jung-bae.” He gestured to the other man beside him. “And my depressed buddy here's Seong Gi-hun.”
I know, Jin-ah thought, because she’d heard them talk earlier, but nodded anyway. It was the polite, human thing to do.
“Ahn Jin-ah,” she said finally, her voice so low it barely existed.
390, Jung-bae, nodded, visibly trying to be casual, as if he wasn’t still reeling from the knowledge that a child was sitting with them in a literal death game.
Gi-hun gave her a faint nod too, like he didn’t trust himself to speak, but he seemed to have a lot to say.
Jin-ah looked away, suddenly very focused on the edge of her bento box. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want kindness. She didn’t want these two men to be decent people, because that would only make it harder when they inevitably flipped, or died, if they didn't flip.
But she stayed. Because being near them still felt safer at the moment. Anything was better than being anyway close to Him.
Jung-bae glanced over at his sad little friend. “Look at this lunch. It’s just like my mom used to make. What’s in yours?”
Gi-hun didn’t respond. The silence clung between them awkwardly, but Jung-bae didn’t let it stop him.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked, scooping up a spoonful of rice topped with fried egg, the contents of the mysterious bento revealed. Jin-ah, meanwhile, continued refusing to open hers. “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.”
He held the spoon out toward Gi-hun and even made an “ahhh” sound like he was feeding a toddler with trust issues and zero appetite.
Gi-hun still didn’t move, and instead made a stupid face and continued looking away.
With a sigh, Jung-bae retracted the spoon and ate the bite himself.
Jin-ah tilted her head. What a silly man.
“Forget it then,” he muttered around his food. Between chews, 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’s voice cut in at last, heavy and low. He turned to look at his friend, eyes shadowed, voice weighted with something far deeper than hunger. “Last time I was here, someone said the exact same thing. And in the end, that person died here.”
Jin-ah stared at the top of her still-sealed lunchbox. Gi-hun wasn’t just traumatized, he was grieving something he didn’t say out loud. Clearly, whatever happened last time had left more than just physical scars.
And yet he still had the balls to come back. She couldn't help but find him stupidly admirable.
Jung-bae chewed in silence now, his earlier cheer dimming.
“Help us then, sir.”
The voice sliced through the tension. Jung-bae, Jin-ah, and Gi-hun all turned toward the sound to see player 001 moving toward them. And trailing behind him was player 100, unfortunately, and a small posse of others. Just what this sad little corner needed.
“You said you’ve played these games,” 001 began, his eyes flicking toward Jin-ah for the briefest moment before settling back on Gi-hun.
Jin-ah squinted at him. Something about him screamed bad news. There was something off. Creepy little man. She’d be keeping her distance.
Gi-hun stared at 001 for a long moment, then dropped his gaze again, retreating inward like a turtle. Clearly not in the mood to play Mr. Popular, especially not with O voters.
“I pressed the O button because of you,” 001 said.
Gi-hun looked up, visibly caught off guard. 001 didn’t miss a beat.
“Honestly, I was scared. I wanted to quit and go home. But you made me think...maybe I could try one more game.”
“Me too,” chimed a voice from behind him.
“Same,” added another.
Jin-ah blinked slowly. She knew it. The second Gi-hun opened his mouth earlier and spilled that he was a previous winner, it was doomed to blow up in his face. Now he was a reluctant cult leader to these people. Poor guy.
“Sir,” 001 leaned in just a little, his tone hushed but hungry. Those eyes of his were either skinning Gi-hun or undressing him. No in-between. “You know what game’s next, don’t you?”
Of course he might. But would the games really follow the same script? With all the money floating around behind this big facility. These pink people probably had sponsors, there was no reason the lineup had to stay the same. It was all too organized. It wouldn't be the entertainment they're probably looking for.
So when it's revealed that the next game is different…everyone would be against him. Jin-ah frowned, but it isn't his fault he has a saviour complex.
Several players leaned in instinctively, curiosity practically oozing out of them. Even Jung-bae set his lunchbox aside, giving Gi-hun his full attention. “You’re a previous winner, so you should know. What are we playing next?”
Jin-ah peeked at him too, her face mostly hidden behind her oversized jacket’s collar, zipped all the way up.
Gi-hun didn’t look at anyone, eyes fixed somewhere far off. After a sigh, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a murmur. “The second game...was Dalgona.”
The top bunk on her left creaked as someone shifted. Jin-ah glanced up to see player 388 leaning over, clearly eavesdropping the whole time. “Dalgona? The sugar candy with a shape you can carve out?”
“That’s right,” Gi-hun said 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, instantly locking in.
“Triangle.”
“Which was the hardest one?” he followed up, rapid fire.
“Umbrella.”
“Umbrella?” player 001 snorted, smirking mockingly. “Some people chose umbrella? Those unlucky bastards must have bitten the dust.”
Gi-hun didn’t reply. He just stared at 001 with this heavy, silent look that felt like a slap wrapped in nothing but air. He definitely took that personally.
Jin-ah shut her eyes. Oh, yeah. He totally picked umbrella. What the hell kind of Final Destination-survivor-ass plot armor does this man have?
And Player 001, why did he sound like he just wanted to make fun of Gi-hun for it?
“So that means we should all just pick triangle,” player 388 said, thinking he’d cracked the code. “Everyone could probably pass with that.”
IF it actually ends up being dalgona, Jin-ah wanted to say, but instead, her brain exited stage left and left her to dissociate into the floor.
While Jin-ah was spiraling down the rabbit hole of her own miserable thoughts, it seemed a whole conversation had passed her by.
Player 100 let out an exaggerated scoff, rolled his eyes, and stomped off in a huff. Probably muttering something crusty under his breath. What was his issue now? Arthritis? His posse of bootlickers hurried after him, leaving the area quieter, and mercifully less annoying. Jin-ah didn’t bother to ask what happened.
But Player 001 didn’t leave. He just stood there. His eyes flicked to Jung-bae, then Gi-hun, and lingered way too long on Jin-ah again.
“So, which shape did you pick?” Jung-bae asked, side-eying Gi-hun with genuine curiosity.
Gi-hun shot him a dead-inside look and said absolutely nothing.
Why is this dude still loitering… Jin-ah threw a series of unsubtle judgmental glances at Player 001.
Finally, he broke the silence. “May I ask you something?” he asked, eyes locked on Gi-hun.
All three of them – Jin-ah, Gi-hun, and Jung-bae – turned their heads toward him. Player 001 stepped in closer and took a seat on the nearby stairs, settling into the group’s orbit like he’d always belonged there. His gaze stayed fixed on Gi-hun as he asked his question.
“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 practically did a cartoon pop as the realization socked him straight in the face. “Did you bet on horses again?” he blurted, shocked.
Jin-ah, meanwhile, was no longer tuned into the old man drama. The words blurred together in her brain. Her head felt floaty, her stomach churned with emptiness. It’d been way too long since she’d eaten. She cast a glance at her untouched lunchbox as if it was an old enemy she was thinking of forgiving.
Gi-hun gave a slow shake of the head. “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.”
Jin-ah slowly opens the box. Rice, egg, some other stuff. A fork. It looked gourmet compared to the congealed meals her mother sometimes left out like feeding a stray.
“You don’t have to think of it that way,” Player 001 said, his voice a calm current against Gi-hun’s stormy guilt. Gi-hun turned toward him, brows drawn, clearly taken aback.
Player 001 continued, “It’s not like you killed those people, and saving that money won’t bring them back to life.”
Gi-hun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice came out colder, sharper than before. “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 didn’t flinch. His expression stayed neutral. “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 shot back without missing a beat. Then, in an unforgivable betrayal, he pointed right at Jin-ah like she was a PowerPoint slide. “And a child! Because of you and many others, she cannot go back home!”
Jin-ah’s soul straight-up tried to evacuate her body. Her fork hovered midair, trembling slightly. Attention? Eye contact? Public callout? Immediate nausea. She didn’t even have time to process what was said before her body kicked into full “deer-in-headlights” shutdown.
Player 001 looked at her then. Just for a second.
A flicker of something crossed his face. Something that didn't match the cool detachment he was wearing just now. It was gone almost as quickly as it came.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and for some damn reason, it was directed at her.
Jin-ah blinked, frozen, fork still halfway to her mouth. Huh?
The hell was this? Brainwashing? Or...were people in this nightmare actually being decent? Why did she only find these kind of adults when stuck in a fucking death game?
She stared at him, silent, suspicious, and deeply weirded out. Then, as if deciding the rice was less emotionally taxing, she focused on her lunch like it had the answers.
Player 001 looked away.
Gi-hun scoffed quietly but said nothing more. Jung-bae, sensing the growing awkwardness, spoke up to defuse the situation. “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. Then we'll all vote to leave so Jin-ah can go home, okay?”
He nodded toward Gi-hun, trying to get things back on a hopeful track. “He’s won all these games before. If we stick together, we’ll have nothing to worry about!”
Jin-ah rolled her eyes. So optimistic.
“He’s right,” another voice piped up before anyone could respond. The group turned, finding player 388 sitting upright in his bunk. With a grin way too chipper for their current situation, he swung his legs over and dropped down. “We have to stick together. I’m with you all the way!”
Jung-bae squinted at him. “Who are you?”
Jin-ah gave him the patented Man Check™. Eyes narrowed, body language assessed, facial expression scanned like she had a mental database of red flags. He didn’t give off the worst vibes, mostly nervous energy and tragic golden retriever optimism. Stupid friendly. Probably military. Very “Yes, sir!”, not a lot of “I think for myself.”
The guy came to a stop and gave a short, polite bow. “I’m Dae-ho. Kang Dae-ho.”
He stuck out his hand toward Jung-bae, clearly hoping for a handshake to seal this new alliance. Jung-bae stared at his hand and said flatly, “Oh, Dae-ho."
"Yes!"
"Have we met?”
Dae-ho blinked, his grin faltering just a little. He glanced over at player 001, who avoided eye contact, and then at Gi-hun, who looked at him like he was background noise. His smile wobbled, unsure where to land next.
Finally, his gaze fell on Jin-ah.
She stared at him for a beat, expression unreadable. He looked like a kicked puppy. Ugh. Against her better judgment, she reached out and shook his hand.
He lit up, shaking her hand vigorously.
Dae-ho then turned to the rest of the group with renewed enthusiasm. “Earlier during the game, Mr. 456 here was like–” he paused dramatically and struck a pose, mimicking Gi-hun’s serious “Freeze!” from Red Light, Green Light. “And I became his fan!”
Gi-hun looked away, visibly mortified. His ears were turning red. Dae-ho, oblivious or just immune to social cues, pushed on with bright-eyed determination. “I’d like to get to know you all better. Please give me a chance!”
This man is literally sunshine incarnate, Jin-ah thought, staring. What a change of scenery.
Jung-bae suddenly stood up, squinting at Dae-ho as he did another “Freeze!” impression with way too much gusto.
“Hang on,” Jung-bae interrupted, reaching out and yanking up Dae-ho’s sleeve, displaying an ROKMC tattoo.
Dae-ho blinked at him.
“You were in the Marines?” Jung-bae asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Yes, why?”
“Class number?” Jung-bae shot back, voice turning unexpectedly serious.
Dae-ho gave him a quick once-over, likely sizing up Jung-bae’s dad-bod and wondering if he was bluffing, and let out a breathy, amused wheeze.
“Oh, you’re laughing?” Jung-bae scoffed, immediately zipping down his jacket and yanking up his own sleeve. Matching tattoo. Such pure Marine pettiness.
Dae-ho’s face dropped. He straightened up immediately. Jung-bae, fully puffed up now, ran his hand through his hair dramatically.
Dae-ho immediately snapped into a salute, voice loud and clear. “Victory at all costs! I was Class 1140, sir!”
Jung-bae returned the salute with a wide grin. “At ease! "Dae-ho". I knew there was something about you.”
Jin-ah perked up. Woah. Real military bros. They do exist!
Dae-ho remained perfectly stiff. “YES, SIR!”
Jung-bae laughed and gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder. “Class 746. Let’s make a good team, soldier.”
"Do all…Marines act like this?" Jin-ah muttered under her breath, just loud enough that her voice accidentally slipped into the shared reality.
Both Gi-hun and Player 001 turned to look at her, mildly surprised she spoke.
Player 001 gave a small, knowing smile. “They’re usually very passionate about it.”
Gi-hun nodded toward Jung-bae, visibly amused. “It’s the only time of his life he’s genuinely proud of. He doesn’t even brag about his marriage like this.”
Jin-ah stared, caught off guard. Not by what they said, but by the fact they answered. Normally, when she mumbled stuff like that, adults either ignored her or told her to shut up. These weirdos were actually listening.
She was a little stunned that for once, being noticed by a man wasn't making her skin crawl.
001 tilted his head slightly, watching her with that same unreadable expression. “May I ask how old you are?”
Jung-bae and Dae-ho were still doing their little Marine bromance performance in the background, probably about to start chanting or something, so they didn’t hear.
Jin-ah hesitated, eyes flicking to 001 warily. That question always had baggage. Nobody ever asked her age just to make conversation.
Her voice was flat when she replied, “Fifteen…”
Both Gi-hun and 001 blinked at the same time.
“…Fifteen?” Gi-hun echoed, eyebrows furrowing and fists clenching on his knees.
001’s calm expression briefly cracked, just for a second. A flicker of concern. Maybe even guilt. He looked at her more closely now, and with it came realization. “You…You don’t look older than thirteen.”
Gi-hun’s eyes narrowed with worry. “You’re so small. Do you eat at all?”
Jin-ah gave the world’s smallest shrug, already regretting the attention. Don’t look at me. Don’t ask me things. Don’t care about me. That’s worse.
“But…why would you even need to join?” Gi-hun asked, genuinely baffled. “You’re not even a legal adult. You shouldn’t have debts. You shouldn't be here.” He sounded pissed. But it was not directed at her, for once.
She didn’t answer. Her gaze dropped to her food, jaw tightening. She wasn’t about to say it. Not to them. That her mother shoved her in here as a body double. That she was sent to practically die before even knowing what's going on. Her mother didn't even care if this turned out to be a human trafficking ring. As long as she left.
So she just went quiet.
001’s eyes lingered on her face for a moment longer, then dropped. “I see..” He muttered.
Jin-ah didn’t know what he saw, but whatever it was, it wasn’t wrong.
Then, to her surprise, he said softly, “I’m sorry.”
Her head snapped up, startled. Huh???
He was already looking away again, brushing imaginary dust off his pant leg, his expression back to unreadable. But she knew what she’d heard.
And it left her feeling very weird.
Why did he say 'sorry' again? And why does it sound so damn personal? Why does it sound as if it's his fault I'm here? It's nobody's but hers. Jin-ah frowned, playing with her food lazily.
Then–“Motherfucker!”
The sharp crack of a scuffle shattered the dormitory's dull hum. Heads whipped toward the O side, where Player 333 had just tackled Thanos to the ground. For some reason.
“Son of a bitch!” another voice barked, Player 124, who lunged in just in time to grab 333’s arm, only to help Thanos land a solid punch and stagger back up.
It didn’t take a genius to tell who started it. Even from across the room, it was obvious that 333 had been provoked. Jin-ah narrowed her eyes. Thanos was practically collecting red flags at this point, and his greasy little backup dancer, 124, wasn’t far behind.
Thanos didn’t stop. He clocked 333 again the second he was on his feet. A collective wince rippled across the watching players, a sea of murmurs and shifted trays.
No one stepped in. Of course they didn’t. No one was here for being a saint.
Another blow sent 333 sprawling, arms shielding his head as Thanos laid into him with a full shoe-to-ribs combo. 124 joined in, briefly. He tried to kick and slipped like a dumbass, skidding with a yelp. Jin-ah had to shove her sleeve to her face and fake a cough to hide her laugh. Loser.
Dae-ho stood watching like he was observing a sports match. “It’s good to be young. They still have the energy to do that,” he said, hands on his hips.
Jung-bae turned to him. “He might get really hurt. Someone should stop them.”
Dae-ho sagely nodded. “I know.” Then blinked when he realized Jung-bae was still staring at him. “…Me?”
Before Dae-ho could embarrass himself by actually trying to impress anyone, Jin-ah’s gaze drifted to Player 001.
He was standing. Walking, actually, making his way past their area and toward the fight.
He’s actually intervening? What a great Samaritan. Jin-ah leaned forward in mild disbelief. Even Gi-hun stood up, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to get a better look.
Player 001 didn’t yell. He didn’t rush. But his voice cut through the tension anyway.
“Boys, what are you doing in the middle of mealtime?” His tone was firm. “There are elders present. Mind your manners.”
He stepped right into the mess, stopping just short of the pile of limbs. “And two against one? Aren’t you embarrassed?”
That guy 124 should be embarrassed with that fuckass haircut, Jin-ah thought flatly. Actually, he and Thanos might be soulmates with those chopped-up heads.
She leaned up higher, trying to see what was happening, but everyone was standing now. Tall, nosy bastards. She couldn’t catch a damn thing.
She decided she’d had enough of squinting through necks and shoulders like a peasant. Standing up with a huff, Jin-ah climbed a few steps up the staircase just to peek over the herd of giraffes blocking her view.
And right on cue, Thanos approached with that same slimy swagger. “You're lecturing me when you ended up in this shithole too?” he scoffed, voice full of nothing.
Now face to face with Player 001, he leaned in mockingly. “Ahjussi, stop running your mouth and take care of your own damn kids.”
Jin-ah blinked. Oh. This man is cooked. Deep fried. Extra crispy.
Unfortunately, she was still a little too far to hear 001’s reply, just that the tone was low, calm, and somehow scarier than yelling.
Thanos repeated himself like the NPC he was, but didn’t get to finish.
001’s hand snapped out, catching him by the neck, not choking him, but pressing his thumb into a spot that made Thanos lock up. It was clinical. Precise. That was not basic self-defense.
Jin-ah raised her brows. Okay, that was cool. He was definitely trained. Not some drunk-on-testosterone kind of fighter. Law enforcement? Maybe military? No…they’re not usually this clean. This feels like martial arts.
“Son of a bi—” 124 tried to jump in and got immediately cut off with a clean kick to the shin and then another. He yelped and went down. And stayed there this time.
001 shoved Thanos back. The man tried to spring up, fist cocked, only to get a flat-palmed strike straight to the chest that folded him immediately.
He might’ve been about to beg, who knows, but 001 wasn’t done. He snatched Thanos’ arm, twisted it, and sent him back to the floor with another hard thud. Then came the follow-up kick. Right in the gut. Back down he went.
Jin-ah frowned thoughtfully. Definitely some kind of martial arts. Should’ve read more books on that.
001 straddled the line between restraint and obliteration, grabbing Thanos by the neck, fist cocked in warning. The room held its breath. Thanos choked out something that sounded like a panicked apology. Or maybe just a dying frog noise.
001 didn’t move for a few seconds, just stayed like that, grip tight and ready.
And then, finally, he let go.
Jin-ah tilted her head. He held himself back. A man with self control in THIS economy?
A few people started clapping, just a few at first, but it quickly snowballed into full-on cheers.
“You’re the man!”
“Nice!”
A ripple of admiration spread through the room. Player 001 looked caught off guard by the reaction. He gave a small, sheepish nod, smoothing down his hair with one hand. A faint smile tugged at his lips, awkward and a little too rehearsed, like he wasn’t used to being praised, or maybe just pretending not to be.
It didn’t suit him. That humble act. It felt off.
But Jin-ah didn’t comment. Who was she to talk? She pulled the same kind of fake-smile crap all the time when people clapped too hard at something she did. Survival instinct. Fake it, grin, get through it.
She was still watching him when she felt Gi-hun shift beside her.
“Hey,” he said suddenly, turning toward her. “Sleep on the bunk near me tonight.”
Jin-ah blinked, taken aback. Not by the offer, but by the speed of it. The casualness.
Her first instinct was, Suspicious.
Her second instinct was, ...Okay, still suspicious.
But she caught herself. He hadn’t done anything sketchy. He wasn’t even looking at her weird, just concerned, kind of like a dad who never got the hang of being one.
So she just nodded. Slowly. Unsure of her own decision. Is she going to regret this?
Gi-hun gave her a small smile, one that didn’t feel fake at all. Then, without warning, his hand reached up toward her hair.
The instant his fingers brushed the top of her head, Jin-ah flinched hard, her shoulders jerking up like a startled cat.
His hand dropped immediately. “Sorry,” he said quickly, backing off. His expression was a mix of guilt and understanding, eyes flicking down.
Jin-ah didn’t say anything. Her heart was beating faster, and she hated that it was. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and looked away, pretending she didn’t notice the awkward silence that followed.
But still, she appreciated the offer.
Even if her trust was locked up tighter than a bank vault.
Sleeping near Gi-hun and these other dumbasses
couldn’t be worse than sleeping near Him, anyway.
✧
Notes:
Sory sorry. No six legs game yet, boo hoo. At least we got some nice cute lil interactions and I know that's what you sad little freaks want most.
And we got a backstory drop. Or, just a flashback of what happened in the first chapter actually. It's not even completed. Anyway what do y'all think about me putting that son of a bitch Mr. Kwon in the game 🤔 Was it too predictable? I just want something to run the plot because what even is that. And also extra fuel for angst rahhhh!!!
Question: do y'all want him to die by the games, by someone protection Jin-ah, or by Jin-ah herself. He's dying either way.
Let's talk about how Jin-ah acted back in the office. Quiet, unresponsive, and not exactly compliant but not stopping him either. I'd be very happy if NONE of you mention this in a bad way if you've never experienced it yourselves. The freeze reaction that occurs in moments like these is involuntary, you might want to do something, push them away, scream, punch, anything just to stop this. But you can't. For Jin-ah, it's many reasons stopping her. What would be the point of her retaliation? And I know that's horrifying, but it's unfortunately the truth of many. Saying something, or acting against the preparator can have consequences Jin-ah doesn't want to deal with. So to her, it's best to take it. But WORRY NOT!!! I'm not so cruel. Jin-ah will have her revenge. Surely 🙏
Hope you enjoyed 🎀 please comment. For the sake of my dwindling sanity.
Chapter 5: Not around him
Summary:
Jin-ah can't ignore, isolate, ibuprofen her way out of this one.
Notes:
GANG 💔 Not me leaving this to rot for a whole month, mb. Sorry for everyone who was excited about this, but I literally have two other squid game fics I'm working on very intensely right now. And with s3 having dropped, I gotta flush these out before the hype vanishes like back when January ended... tough times, I was in the trenches.
ANYWAY!! This chapter is a staggering 10k words, a lil treat for having taken so long 🫶 Once again, the warnings apply here as well, and I'm tired of putting them. You should know not to read something that triggers you anyway, not my fault 🤷
ENJOYYY 🫶
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
✧
“Lights out in 30 minutes.” The female A.I. voice echoed through the dorm, too chipper.
The shuffle began instantly. Players started heading toward their bunks, the room filled with the soft rustle of fabric, tired footsteps, and the occasional muttered curse.
Jin-ah glanced around, and finally noticed something that she seemed to have overlooked during the whole voting and fight thing.
Some of the beds were just gone.
Vanished like their occupants had never existed. Not even a dent in the floor to remember them by.
She blinked. Do they take away the dead players’ beds? Seriously? What a waste. She was hoping she could snag one and make a triple-layer mattress situation. If she asked the pink people nicely, maybe–
No. Focus. Now wasn’t the time to get cozy.
She looked toward the area Gi-hun had mentioned – where he, Jung-bae, and Dae-ho were settling in. She could spot them easily. Dae-ho was already fluffing his pillow like he was in a damn hotel. Jung-bae was doing that aggressive dad thing where he tucked the blanket corners under the mattress.
001 wasn’t near them, though. He’d wandered off elsewhere, maybe a quieter spot? She had a feeling he wouldn't stay away for long.
Jin-ah hesitated.
This was the part where her fight-or-flight usually kicked in. And more often than not, it was flight.
Approaching a group of men in a dark room with bunk beds and barely any rules? She might as well be sleeping next to Mr. Kwon. This was why she hated school camping trips. Or sleepovers. Or any setting where she was expected to let her guard down overnight and not expect someone to do some sick shit.
But still, she didn’t really have a choice.
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and walked toward them.
Gi-hun looked up just as she got close, shifting to the side a little like he was making space for her without saying anything. Dae-ho gave her a sleepy little smile and a thumbs-up, like this was somehow her joining a club. Jung-bae lazily waved at her.
Jin-ah quietly sat on the lower bunk nearest to Gi-hun’s. Not too close. But not too far. Just within safety range.
Gi-hun looked over at her again with a tiny smile. “We won’t let anything happen, I promise,” he said quietly.
She didn’t answer, but her posture eased a little. Maybe by 2%. Still stiff. But she was sitting at least.
Better than nothing.
She glanced toward the ceiling. Only 25 minutes left of light.
Time to try and pretend she wasn’t still half-convinced she’d wake up with someone standing over her.
—
The lights had gone out a while ago.
But sleep wasn’t happening. Not for most people. After the day they just had? Absolutely not. You could look around and see players lying down, sure–but their eyes were wide open, staring at the glowing piggy bank with their prize money. Some of them probably thought they were still trapped in a nightmare.
They weren't really wrong.
Jin-ah lay curled up on the bunk to Gi-hun’s left. From where she was, she could see him still sitting upright, his back pressed against the cold metal. Probably deep in regret. Thinking about how he ended up back here in this hellhole.
Is he regretting it yet? she wondered, blanket pulled all the way up to her nose. He didn’t seem to notice her watching him. Or maybe he was purposefully ignoring her. Either way, it worked for her.
Then, cutting through the thick silence came a voice she recognized.
“Excuse me.”
Player 001.
Guess he did come back around after all.
The man slowly approached Gi-hun’s bunk, climbing the narrow stairs to get closer. “If you're still up, can we have a little talk?” he asked politely.
Gi-hun shifted a bit. “Sure,” he muttered, sitting up straighter. He didn’t sound nearly as cold as he did earlier. Less bitter, and more exhausted.
001 settled onto the staircase beside him, just out of Jin-ah’s view, but still loud enough for her to eavesdrop shamelessly.
She wasn’t about to miss this. That man was still a puzzle to her, and puzzles were one of the only things that made her stable in this place.
“I think I was out of line before,” 001 began, voice calm and...sincere? “I’d like to apologize. I’m sorry.” He gave a small, respectful bow of his head.
Jin-ah blinked. Wait, seriously? He was apologizing? For real? Not that he was really wrong..
But mature adults? Where am I??
“No, that’s okay,” Gi-hun responded, bowing his head right back. “I laid all the blame on you. I was out of line.”
They bowed again.
Jin-ah stared, wide-eyed. What in the emotionally stable behavior was this? Were they about to hug it out too?
A silence fell between them. The awkward kind that made you suddenly hyper-aware of your breathing, especially now that they had nothing to clash tongues about. And then, like he couldn’t take it anymore, 001 started talking again.
“My wife is very sick.”
Gi-hun turned toward him, caught off guard.
“She has acute cirrhosis. She needs a liver transplant.”
Jin-ah blinked at the ceiling. So he had a tragic backstory. Huh. Men really still loved their wives out there?
“But, when she was going through the tests…” 001 hesitated, inhaled shakily, “we found out she was pregnant.”
Jin-ah’s eyebrows shot up.
Wow. That was worse. Significantly worse.
Gi-hun didn’t say anything, at least, nothing she could hear, but she could picture it. His face softening, that look of sympathy he always wore.
Still…there was something off about the way 001 was speaking.
His tone wasn’t emotional, exactly. It was like he was retelling a story. Past tense. Removed. As if the ending had already come and gone.
“The doctor suggested a termination,” he continued, voice low, “but she won’t listen.” He sounded defeated now. “She says she’ll give birth even if it kills her.”
Jin-ah frowned.
That didn’t make sense to her. Choosing to die just to give birth? Leave your husband behind, your family, everything–just so a baby could live without you?
Would my mother have done the same… if she had the choice?
No. Absolutely not.
“You see, my wife is stubborn,” 001 said, fondly yet exasperatedly. “I’ve never been able to change her mind about anything–”
Aaaand that’s where Jin-ah tuned it out.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t listen to any more sob stories tonight. Her emotional meter had already burst into flames by hour six.
She rolled onto her side, glancing at the wall, her eyes trailing the vague outlines of drawings across the concrete. She couldn’t see them clearly with the bunks in the way, but she stared anyway.
Did they mean anything?
No. Probably not.
They wouldn’t be that obvious, right? They wouldn’t actually plaster hints about the upcoming games on the walls, like some easter egg? No way.
…
Right?
She shook her head, pulling the blanket tighter. Not the time to spiral into conspiracy theories.
She could die tomorrow–
No.
She must die tomorrow.
Now all she had to do…was not dream about Mr. Kwon again.
But that's too damn bad.
☆
There was a skip. A sudden, silent jump in Jin-ah's awareness.
It was as if her brain had clipped something out. She'd blinked–and the world had rewired itself. For her? For him?
She couldn't bring herself to care. She didn't want to recall how it got to this point. Or how she hasn't even tried to stop it.
She was on his desk.
Back flat against the wood, cold through her shirt. Her legs didn’t feel like they were part of her, but they were cold. Her arms were just there. The useless props they've always been. She was but a mannequin someone had posed and left behind.
As she had always been.
The ceiling above was white. Only white. There were no cracks. No stains. No help or salvation.
Her eyes locked on the lightbulb.
It wasn't even flickering.
It was perfect. Bright, and functional.
Mr. Kwon had a nice lightbulb. Cleaner than the one in her bedroom. Or any room in her parents' house, for that matter.
She focused on it.
The lightbulb.
The lightbulb. The lightbulb. The lightbulb thelightbulbthelightbulbthelightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulblightbulb–
Her mind curled around it like a thread winding around a spool.
Over and over and over. Tightening and tangling. Protecting.
Not thinking. Not remembering. Not feeling.
She didn’t notice when her hands started shaking. She didn’t feel the ache blooming in her lower body, or the warmth trailing down her thighs.
Because that wasn’t her body anymore.
Just a thing for his objectification.
A warm, hollow object. Something that didn’t fight back. That didn’t scream. That didn’t even flinch.
Because she was smart. Because she knew better. Because she understood what happens when you fight.
That’s what he liked about her, wasn’t it?
That she was quiet. That she didn’t cry. That she listened. That when he said he understood her–she wanted so badly for it to be true.
She could still hear his voice somewhere in her ears. Like leftover smoke in the air after a fire. Soft. Like he’d just handed her flowers instead of–
No.
Lightbulb.
Her jaw tensed.
She didn't know when it started. The ache in her teeth from clenching too long. She didn't care. That was hers. Her aching. That was one of the only things she could still control.
Her face. Her silence.
She blinked once. Twice. Slow and dry.
She wanted to move. She could move. But her body refused her. Like it was trying to spare her. Or maybe it had just given up, too.
So she stared.
And when the lightbulb flickered, just once, barely there, almost imaginary–
She blinked again.
A crack. Tiny. Like a hairline fracture in a perfect thing. A crack in his ceiling. A crack in him, maybe.
A crack in whatever held her together.
☆
Jin-ah woke with a sharp gasp, it clawed up from her lungs as if she'd been drowning in her own sleep.
Her body had instinctively curled inward, folding into itself. Arms wrapped tightly around her head, knees pulled against her chest so hard it hurt. Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip, hard enough to taste the metallic sting of blood.
A nightmare.
No.
A memory.
That day.
That goddamn day in Mr. Kwon’s office.
Her breath hitched. No, no, no. Don’t think about it. Don’t picture the door. The smile. The way the air changed when it shut.
Think of something else. Anything else. A color. A number. The smell of the room. The metal of the bunk beneath her. Anything.
“..Jin-ah?”
Her own name jolted her out of it. She looked up, eyes wide and wild for a second.
It was Gi-hun.
He was crouched beside the bunk, concern written all over his face. But he didn’t reach out to touch her – thank god. He just stayed there, palms open and empty, as if reminding her he meant no harm.
She wasn't sure she could believe it.
“The lights will come on soon,” he said softly. His voice sounded like morning fog, unsure if it wanted to vanish or linger. “Sorry if I scared you.”
She didn’t respond. Her breathing was still too uneven. Her heart was too loud in her ears. Her fists were clenched so tight in her head as fingernails dug into her scalp.
A moment passed.
Then another.
Gi-hun shifted his weight a little. “Do you…” he began, cautious. “Do you wanna talk about it? The nightmare, I mean. I used to… well, my daughter used to get them a lot. I’d sit with her until she could sleep again.”
Jin-ah still said nothing.
She just blinked at him, eyes glazed and distant. Her lip had stopped bleeding, but the pressure of her teeth was still there, keeping her tethered to the present.
Maybe she wanted to say something.
Maybe she didn’t.
Maybe silence was her answer.
Either way, Gi-hun nodded, like he understood. He didn't push. And he didn’t leave, either.
He just sat quietly beside the bunk, watching the sickly glow of the piggy bank above them.
Just in case she wanted to speak.
Just in case she didn’t.
She noticed that Player 001 wasn't around anymore. He must've gone back to his bunk after that emotional trauma-dumping he did on Gi-hun.
Then, determined to ruin the moment, the fluorescent lights exploded to life all at once – blinding and merciless. It was like being flashbanged by a Home Depot.
Jin-ah let out a guttural hiss, yanking her blanket over her face as her eyes watered immediately.
Gi-hun chuckled under his breath. Not meanly.
And then, of course, that goddamn classical music started playing again. The same nightmare waltz from yesterday. It drifted through the dorm coaxing the half-dead out of their bunks with its sickly grace.
Jin-ah sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes like she'd just been hit by a truck. Weirdly enough, she was more rested than she'd been in weeks. Maybe months.
Which was...honestly depressing.
This place gave her more sleep than her parents' house. That definitely said more about her life than she was ready to unpack just yet.
A shrill beep-beep-beep cut through the dorm, and then came the deep mechanical groan of the main double doors dragging open.
The pink-suited guards marched in with their usual creepily perfect coordination, masks expressionless as ever.
The familiar female A.I. voice rang out overhead, annoyingly chipper. “Attention, please. The second game will begin momentarily. Please follow the instructions from our staff.”
Players stirred like ants, scrambling to grab shoes, tug on jackets, or just look less like they’d been crying in their sleep. The energy was desperate. Dreadful.
Jin-ah quietly slid off the bunk and joined the shuffling crowd after putting her shoes on, her stomach sinking even before she stood up.
At least she didn't wake up to anyone hovering over her. Gi-hun meant well, right? He's too traumatized to think about minors. She'll just trust her gut about this.
Jin-ah hesitantly slipped into the forming line, sticking close to Jung-bae, Dae-ho, and Gi-hun – who gave her a small nod that tried to say “We’ve got this” but mostly said “Please don’t die.” Player 001 appeared like a ghost, silently stepping in behind Jin-ah, as if he’d always been there.
The energy in the room was thick. Heavy. Nervous murmurs rippled through the crowd. Under the blank stares of the pink people, they were herded out of the dormitory and into the technicolor nightmare of stairs and doors.
Still disorienting and nausea-colored. It made you feel like a rat in a very cheerful maze.
But Jin-ah didn’t hate it this time.
It felt oddly familiar. Like she'd walked this path before in a dream. Or a memory.
Gi-hun walked at the front of their little unofficial group, quiet and tense. Behind him was Jung-bae, muttering the word “triangle” on loop. Jin-ah followed, her eyes scanning the staircases without really seeing them. Player 001 was just behind her, calm as ever. And Dae-ho trudged at the back, his usual spark nowhere to be seen.
The guards motioned them higher. Up and up.
Until, finally, they emerged into a massive, open space.
A fake schoolyard with painted walls. Creepy nostalgia dialed to a hundred.
At the center, there were two huge rainbow-colored circles embedded into the ground–each made of five bands, bright and bold. Overhead, the speakers played some jolly, off-brand cartoon theme.
Jin-ah stared at the field and tried not to think about how it was probably going to kill somebody(s). Again.
Hopefully it's her this time.
“Welcome to your second game,” came the familiar, eerily chipper voice of the PA system. “This game will be played in teams. Please divide into teams of five within the next ten minutes.”
Jung-bae wasted no time spinning toward Gi-hun. “Is Dalgona a team game?”
Before Gi-hun could even open his mouth, the human migraine known as Player 100 and his little posse came stomping over, dragging their weird “I run the yard” energy with them. He didn’t waste time on pleasantries.
“Aren’t we playing the Dalgona game?”
"No... it doesn't look like it." Gi-hun said after a beat, his voice quiet, uneasy.
Jin-ah squinted. What the hell is happening? Was this the conversation I zoned out of yesterday?
“Then what’s the game?” Player 100 pressed.
Gi-hun gave a slow, grim shake of the head. “I’m not sure.”
And just like that, Player 100’s patience completely imploded. His face twisted up like an ugly, wrinkly toddler.
“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, a quiet apology barely making it out. “I’m sorry..”
“Sorry won’t cut it!” Player 100 barked, all puffed-up rage and wounded pride. “You acted like you knew everything!”
Jin-ah narrowed her eyes. This fucking pig. The guy was seriously working her last nerve. Did no one around here consider that maybe the games weren’t gonna repeat in a neat little pattern for Gi-hun’s convenience?
Yeah, he’d played before. Cool. That didn’t mean the makers of this shithole were gonna let him speedrun through it.
Jin-ah wouldn’t bet a single 10 won coin on anything being “easy” in this hellhole.
Jin-ah blinked once. Twice. Then, very calmly, she stepped forward. Surprising even herself.
She didn't stop herself, as she opened her mouth.
“You goblin-nosed crybaby meat sack,” she started, her voice high-pitched with disbelief. “You act like you got the rulebook faxed to your ass in advance, when all you do is bark at people who are clearly just as clueless as you.”
Player 100’s mouth opened to cut in, but Jin-ah steamrolled right through.
“Crying about someone not knowing everything in a literal death game? You sound like the kind of guy who throws a tantrum when McDonald’s forgets your extra fucking ketchup!”
And then he did try to speak. He lifted one hand. He inhaled–
So she shut it down. Fast.
“BLA BLA BLA BLAAA,” she shouted, smacking her hands over her ears like a child. “SORRY, I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF HOW WRONG AND INVALID YOU ARE!!”
Her voice echoed across the massive yard, catching other players' attention. Player 100 looked like someone had slapped him with a dead fish, blinking rapidly.
There was a beat of stunned silence. Jin-ah didn’t even feel embarrassed. Her cheeks weren’t hot. Her hands weren’t shaking. Instead, she felt this weird, giddy lightness bubbling up in her chest.
Because oh. She could do that.
She could talk. She could shout. She could make this bastard shut up with the sheer force of a middle schooler.
Behind her, Jung-bae gawked, blinking quickly in disbelief. Dae-ho’s eyebrows had ascended to the heavens. Gi-hun stared like he wasn’t sure if this was a bit or a breakdown. And Player 001 let out a soft little chuckle.
Jin-ah didn’t care.
Why should she care? She was going to die in this godforsaken place anyway.
Might as well be annoying while doing it.
Player 100’s face flushed red. He took a threatening step forward, chin jutted out, puffed up because he'd just been roasted by someone half his size.
“You little brat,” he snapped, jabbing a finger toward Jin-ah. “Kids like you need to learn how to respect your elders. You don’t talk to grown men that way. Especially not a man like me. You should be grateful we’re even letting you–”
“Oh, shut up,” Jin-ah cut in, rolling her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t pop out and roll into the grass. “The fact you think having a prostate makes you qualified to lecture me is soo funny it hurts.”
But then he took another step, and this time it wasn’t just bluster.
“Little girls like you need to stay quiet,” he sneered, teeth bared. “Maybe if you had a real father around, he would've taught you some goddamn manners–”
And that’s when it happened.
Player 001 stepped between them.
The movement was so smooth it barely registered until he was there, blocking Jin-ah completely from view. Just standing. Not raising his voice. Not even lifting a finger.
“That’s enough.”
He said it so calmly. Flatly. But so sharp it could’ve sliced through titanium.
The air around them dropped several degrees. His dark eyes locked on Player 100’s with a weight that didn’t belong to any regular contestant.
Player 100 faltered immediately. His mouth opened. Then closed. He glanced at the man’s face, then at the steady posture. He remembered.
Everyone remembered.
This was the same man who’d folded two grown men to the ground yesterday with no hesitation.
His goons behind him shifted uneasily, already taking half-steps back.
“I-I was just saying,” Player 100 muttered. “She shouldn’t– It’s a–”
Player 001 didn’t blink.
“I said that’s enough.”
It was the last thing he said. The last thing he needed to say.
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.
Player 100 took the hint this time. He backed off, swallowing his pride like it had spikes on it. His little posse followed suit, mumbling under their breaths and retreating.
Jin-ah peered around Player 001’s side, eyebrows raised, visibly impressed and taken aback.
That was the coolest thing she’d ever seen.
And maybe she didn’t mind standing behind him for a bit.
Someone had defended her. Actually stepped in and shut that fossil up before he could say another misogynistic syllable. And not just anyone.
A man.
That part left her weirdly off-kilter.
She was used to men like Player 100. Loud. Entitled. Ready to swing their dick-shaped egos around the second they felt challenged.
And she’d always assumed the others were just quieter versions of the same brand of rot. Even Gi-hun, who smiled like a sad dad and spoke gently–she didn’t trust him.
Trusting men had never gone well for her.
So when Player 001. Calm and composed, scary in a "I-will-strangle-you-using-a-fishing-line-and-leave-no-evidence" kind of way, stood in front of her and told that guy to back the hell off?
She didn’t really have a mental script for that.
She stared at the back of his head like it might open up and explain itself. When it didn’t, she just quietly stepped back to her spot and hugged her arms, eyes dropping to the ground.
She wasn’t gonna say “thank you.”
But her silence wasn’t cold this time.
Gi-hun let out a small sigh. Guilt was written all over his tired face.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, mostly to Jung-bae, player 001 and Dae-ho, but also to her. “I really thought the second game would be the same. I didn’t mean to mislead anyone.”
His eyes looked particularly haunted now. Like he’d just realized how many people might’ve put their lives in his hands, only for him to drop them.
He probably thinks he’s useless now.
“Gi-hun,” Jung-bae said, scratching his chin awkwardly, “it’s not your fault. You’re not a fortune teller.”
“Yeah!” Dae-ho piped in, trying to smile. “I still trust you, Mr. 456!”
Then Player 001 turned to Gi-hun. Calm, as always. There was no judgment in his eyes, only that unreadable depth that always seemed to be measuring something.
“I still trust you too, 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?”
Gi-hun blinked, startled. He wasn’t expecting for none of them to criticize him for something he was obviously at fault for.
Neither was Jin-ah.
And, for reasons that made her want to punch herself in the throat, she nodded too. Hesitantly.
“…Same,” she muttered, barely audible.
But it was the truth.
She wasn’t stupid. Gi-hun wanted to help. She could tell that much. The poor man looked like he was carrying an entire graveyard on his back and trying to prevent it from growing. He probably felt like he failed already, even though they were barely in the second game yet.
It was kind of pathetic. But in a good way. A human way.
What a shame.
He was just as lost as the rest of them now.
“That’s right. Let’s be real men and give it a shot,” Jung-bae said with a grin that was way too big for a man likely about to die violently. He then glanced sideways at Jin-ah like he just remembered X chromosomes existed and added, “And also be a brave girl. It’s a children’s game, right? We used to play games all the time.”
Jin-ah made a face. Brave girl. Real patronizing of him. But whatever. He meant well. Probably.
Dae-ho nodded profusely. “That’s right! I’ll join you. I feel like I can do anything with you all.”
Jung-bae, absolutely loving this boy’s band-level loyalty, clapped him on the back. “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 barked with his chest puffed out. “I will certainly risk my life to win, sir.”
It was one of those rare moments where everyone almost forgot they were cattle in a death circus. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.
And then a voice joined the circle. Cheerful, light and clearly practiced.
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” the man said as he stepped forward. “You all sound like great men. May I join your team?”
Jin-ah froze. Her blood turned to ice.
No. No, no, no, no–
Her gaze dropped to the ground immediately. If she doesn't look up, maybe the voice would belong to someone else.
But she recognized it. She always recognized it. That voice was etched into her nervous system like a hot brand.
Mr. Kwon.
Smiling all casually. Like he was just any other player. Like they were strangers. Like nothing had ever happened.
He didn’t even look at her. He didn’t need to. That was the power he had, always making her feel exposed without him even making eye contact.
And he still walked up?
Even after seeing she was with people? After she thought the others would act like a shield?
Why? Why now? Why why why why WHY?
To charm her team? To win them over? To make them think he was just a “good guy in a bad situation,” and she was the weird one for tensing up? Was that it?
She didn’t wait to find out.
“I’ll leave,” she blurted, fast and sharp. “He can take my spot.”
“What–?” Jung-bae turned, confused.
“Wait, Jin-ah, where are you–” Dae-ho called after her.
Both Gi-hun and player 001 turned to her in confusion as well, one reaching out.
But she was already walking. Speedwalking actually. Eyes down, hands shoved in her pockets like she could hold herself together by brute force alone. The air felt thick, her throat felt thinner, and she refused to look back. Not even once.
They could call her name all they wanted.
She wasn’t going to stand next to him.
She’d rather play with strangers than breathe the same air.
She kept walking, fists clenched, breathing tight and fast. She was dizzy from the panic, from the disgust, from the fact she could still feel Mr. Kwon’s fake-sweet voice curling around her like it owned her.
He followed her.
He found her again.
And what was worse–he acted like he had every right.
She hated that more than anything.
Her throat burned, but she didn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of hundreds of strangers and predators and desperate losers sniffing around. She walked with her head down, blending into the sea of tracksuits. Just another player.
Just another goddamn number.
The timer loomed overhead, 06:00. The voice over the speaker reminded them: “Please form your team of five before time runs out. All players without a team will be eliminated.”
Right. Eliminated.
Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.
She tried a group of young men. One looked like he could be an athlete. She opened her mouth and said, "Can I–"
“No,” he cut her off, barely sparing her a glance.
Another group of middle-aged women, huddled together like they’d all known each other from the outside.
“I can–"
“No...”
“Sorry, sweetie”
“Go find your parents.”
She bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood. Oh right. She forgot she had parents. Thanks for the reminder.
Every rejection thudded into her chest like a slow, cruel heartbeat. She didn’t even feel angry anymore.
Of course they didn’t want her. Look at her. Scrawny. Teenage girl. No muscles. No manly-man honor-codes or big brother roles to play.
What did she even expect?
The timer ticked to 04:21.
She stopped walking. Somewhere near the back of the crowd, up against the cold wall, where the cameras probably wouldn’t even see her. She could just sit. Wait, and let the clock run down.
And then she'd be gone.
She slid down to sit on the floor, back against the wall. Her limbs felt heavy. Head foggy.
Her stomach turned.
It wasn’t just her who would die if she joined a team and failed on purpose. They’d die too. Jung-bae. Dae-ho. Gi-hun. Even Player 001, whoever the hell he really was.
They were all weird. But they’d been kind.
And kindness was rare. So rare it felt fake. But what if it wasn’t?
What if they actually wanted her alive?
Jin-ah put her head in her hands.
“Shit,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “Shit shit shit.”
She wanted to die.
But not like this. Not if it meant dragging others with her. That wasn’t fair.
That was his kind of move.
She wasn’t like him.
She looked up.
03:46.
Someone stepped in front of her.
Jin-ah flinched and scrambled to her feet, bracing for a guard or worse– for him.
But it wasn’t him.
It was Player 001.
That strange man with his too-calm face and quiet, calculating eyes. He looked down at her like she'd just dropped something important.
Like she was something important.
He didn’t say anything at first. He just held out a hand. “Come back,” he said gently. “Join our team.”
Jin-ah stared at his hand like it might be rigged to explode on her face.
“I thought–” Her voice cracked. “That he would–”
“We didn’t take him,” he said, still calm. “We already had you.”
Jin-ah blinked. She stared.
“You... what?”
“You’re already on the team,” he said, with a shrug that somehow felt more comforting than casual. “You just walked away for a minute.”
Her throat squeezed. The back of her eyes burned again and god, she hated that. She sniffed and looked down, trying to make her face do something normal. Something not stupid and messy.
Why was he being nice? Why was anyone being nice?
She wanted to argue. To tell him he was making a mistake. That she wasn’t strong or smart or useful. That they were going to lose if they kept her.
But something in his expression made her pause.
It wasn’t pity.
It was certainty.
It was as if he'd already seen the worst parts of life and decided to bet on her anyway, just to see what would happen.
He still had his hand out.
The timer ticked to 03:09.
Jin-ah’s hand shook as she reached up and took his. Not because she trusted him, she didn’t trust anyone. But because at this moment, it was the only thing grounding her.
His fingers were warm.
She hated how that made her feel safe.
“Okay,” she mumbled, eyes on the floor. “I’ll..come back.”
001 smiled. It wasn’t smug or condescending or weirdly wise. Why did he do it as if she was someone worth smiling at? She didn't understand him at all.
They walked back to the team together.
Jung-bae lit up the second he saw her. Dae-ho let out a breath like he’d been holding it the whole time. Gi-hun looked quietly relieved, and a little guilty, like he thought he might’ve failed her somehow.
She didn’t say anything. But she stood a little closer to them now.
The tense silence full of questions cracked when a timid voice cut through.
"Excuse me…"
All heads turned.
A petite woman–Player 222–stood before them, hands clasped, eyes darting nervously between them. Early twenties, maybe. Her voice made her seem younger.
"Can I join your team?" she asked softly. “Please.”
Jin-ah blinked at her. Eyed her from head to toe. She looked suspiciously fragile.
But before Jin-ah could say anything, Jung-bae jumped in, voice firm but apologetic. "Sorry. We’ve already got five."
The girl didn’t back off. Instead, she swallowed hard, one hand slipping to rest on her stomach.
"I'm pregnant."
Oh. Okay. Plot twist.
Jin-ah’s brain stalled for a second. She caught the shape now, subtle but there, just a bump beneath the oversized jacket. Her mother had one just like that. Before the miscarriage. Before everything fell apart even more than usual.
The words hung in the air.
Everyone’s gaze dropped to her stomach. Jin-ah felt herself staring too. Not even trying to be polite about it.
She finally made a decision, and took a step forward. “You can take my–”
“Not a chance."
“Sit down.”
“Please no.”
Everyone in her team shut her down instantly, pushing her back so she wouldn't try to commit to the bit again.
Gi-hun’s voice cut through as well. Calm but firm. “One of us will go instead.”
Player 001 nodded in agreement firmly.
Jin-ah sagged, but couldn't help feeling a fuzzy feeling in her chest.
Then–
“I’ll go!!” Dae-ho’s hand shot into the air. His eyes were wide, his mouth trembling into a brave little line. “I’ll do it!”
Of course he would. This dumbass was gonna die doing something noble, and Jin-ah was gonna have to cry about it later. But hopefully it doesn't have to come down to that.
"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.
Jin-ah slipped next to Player 222, offering her a small smile, which she returned.
Finally, a woman at last.
☆
“Time for team selection is up. The game you will be playing is Six-Legged pentathlon.”
The announcement rang out sharp and final, cutting through the tense murmurs in the yard. One by one, teams solidified, shuffling into lines.
Gi-hun took the far right position, followed by Player 001, then Jin-ah wedged in the middle, Jung-bae beside her, and finally Player 222 – the pregnant woman they had just decided to take in.
Letting her join had been the obvious choice, though it meant Dae-ho had to scramble for a new team.
He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he’d insisted on it, citing “moral duty” and “ladies first” like he was some kind of tragic, underpaid knight.
Naturally, that gave him and Jung-bae an excuse to kickstart another round of loud Marine Brotherhood™ energy in the background.
The PA system crackled again, detailing the rules. “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 list came next, bizarrely nostalgic. “Your mini-games are as follows: 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..”
A pause.
“Please decide the players for each event.”
Jin-ah swallowed hard. The names of the games meant nothing to her as it must've to the people around her. I never really…
“It’s a good thing we’ve got two girls,” Jung-bae piped up suddenly, flashing Player 222 a hopeful grin. “You can play Gonggi, right?”
Player 222 slowly shook her head, her face crumpling with quiet shame. Her hands instinctively folded over her stomach.
Jung-bae sighed with visible confusion, turning to Gi-hun. "Don't girls play Gonggi anymore?”
“I’ve never played it,” Player 222 said softly, barely audible. Her voice was thin with shame.
His gaze pivoted instantly to Jin-ah.
She didn’t meet his eyes.
“Jin-ah, you’ve gotta know it,” he said, perking up. “You’re a kid. You’ve probably crushed all of these before. You’re our secret weapon, right?”
There was a beat. Jin-ah stared ahead, face blank.
Funny how they assumed she had a childhood at all.
Unfortunately for them, she was one of the few traumatized kids who never got to play for shit–except maybe survival.
And she’d never won that either.
“I… I never really played anything,” she mumbled.
But even mumbling couldn’t save her. Every single head turned toward her like she’d screamed it through a megaphone. The attention made her want to evaporate on the spot.
No one said anything.
The pause scraped against her skin like sandpaper. So she scrambled to fix it.
“But I-I can try Gonggi,” she blurted, way too fast. “I played it a couple times. At school. For a tournament. I won...second place.”
Her voice cracked slightly on “second.” The memory was awkward and blurry. It was probably rigged by a teacher who felt bad for her. But it was all she had for show.
Still, it was enough to shift the mood slightly.
Jung-bae nodded thoughtfully, processing that like a soldier assigning duties. “Second place. That’s good too! You’ll take Gonggi, then.”
Player 001 gave her the softest reassuring smile, just for a second. Gi-hun looked at her like he wanted to pat her head but didn’t dare. Player 222 offered her a small smile as well.
Jin-ah didn’t smile. But she didn’t curl in on herself either.
These people are so strange.
Gi-hun leaned in a little, trying to steer the focus back on what actually mattered. “Everyone, what game are you confident playing?”
Player 222 spoke softly, drawing the group’s attention. “Ddakji for me. At the train station, I won more times than the guy.”
“Okay, then. Miss 222, you play Ddakji,” Jung-bae said, nodding. “I’ll play Flying Stone. I was a pitcher for my baseball team, so I’m good at throwing.”
Gi-hun turned to Player 001 next. “Jegi and Spinning Top. Which one are you good at?”
Player 001 smiled softly, voice calm. “Well, I’ll play whatever you pick for me, Gi-hun.”
Something in Gi-hun’s expression shifted, his eyebrows pulling in with a flicker of suspicion. “You know my name?”
Player 001 blinked as if caught off guard, then gestured vaguely toward Jung-bae. “Oh, your friend was calling you by your name, so I thought I’d try it.”
Nice save, Jin-ah’s eyes narrowed. Your pants are on fire though.
Gi-hun didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the other man, weighing the moment. Player 001 tilted his head, tone light. “Does it bother you?”
Gi-hun blinked a few times. Then shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”
“So, Gi-hun,” Player 001 said, all too naturally, “which one are you good at?”
Gi-hun paused before answering. “I guess I’m better at Jegi.”
“Then I’ll take Spinning Top,” Player 001 said with a nod, his tone calm and agreeable.
“Alright,” Gi-hun replied, his earlier suspicion melting way now that their plan was taking shape.
Jung-bae straightened, taking charge. “Okay, guys, hands in.”
Jin-ah blinked. Hands where?
She watched as the others reached forward, stacking their hands in the center. Gi-hun even scooted over to join in, his hand landing on top.
Was this… a team cheer? People actually did this outside of sports movies?
Before she could decide whether or not she was participating, Player 001 gently took her hand and placed it on the pile. She almost pulled away–instinct–but forced herself to hold still.
Don’t ruin the moment. Don’t be that person.
“Okay. One, two, three,” Jung-bae said, eyes lit. “We say ‘Victory at all costs.’ Got it? One, two, three–”
“Victory at all costs!” they all shouted in varying levels of enthusiasm.
Jin-ah was left staring at her hand in wonder a few seconds after.
It didn't burn.
☆
The game kicked off with a buzz of tension as Team 1 and Team 2 were on their assigned rainbow-colored circles, legs strapped together in fives. Every step was a battle for balance, and every stumble earned gasps from the crowd.
The first challenge in the Six-Legged Pentathlon: Ddakji. Classic tile-flip. Simple in theory – slam one paper tile down hard enough to flip another – but harder when you're in a fucking death game with a timer.
No pressure though.
Team 1 nailed it on the first try. Their tile flipped with a satisfying smack, and their teammates burst into applause. Team 2 followed suit, managing to clear it after only a few tries, though the tension was already tightening.
Then came Flying Stone. The aim-has-to-be-perfect game. One person throws a stone at a tiny target without crossing a line. You cross it? Again. You miss? You have to fetch it. Then again.
Team 1’s thrower flung the stone. It missed. Badly.
Now they had to do the walk of shame, shuffling clumsily in their leg trap to retrieve it.
Leaning just enough to be heard, Player 001 muttered to Jung-bae, “A miss in Flying Stone costs you a lot of time.”
His voice was dry as he casually gave the starter of an anxiety attack.
Jung-bae swallowed hard and glanced at him, searching for some trace of nerves or sympathy. He found none. Player 001 was already turned back to the game, unbothered and blank-faced.
He HATES jung-bae's guts, Jin-ah thought, squinting suspiciously. I just don’t have any proof yet..
Team 2 finally cleared the Flying Stone challenge with an awkward shuffle of victory and limped ahead to the third event – Gonggi, the Korean version of jacks, but with significantly higher stakes and significantly fewer functioning kneecaps.
Meanwhile, Team 1 was still floundering on their line, struggling with the pinpoint accuracy needed to nail the throw.
Jung-bae flicked his gaze between the two teams nervously before leaning slightly toward Jin-ah. “You should practice the flip with pebbles for Gonggi,” he murmured, voice low.
Jin-ah clenched her jaw.
The whisper felt too close. Her spine wanted to twitch away from him. But she smothered the instinct, knowing he meant no harm, and gave a tight nod instead, crouching down to scoop up a handful of pebbles from the dirt.
She sat cross-legged, flipping the pebbles one by one into the air with little focus. Catch. Toss. Catch. Toss. She didn’t even realize when her mind started spiraling.
“Back to the mines, girl,” some foreman barked in her head, grizzled and probably missing a few teeth. “One pebble missed and it’s no suppa' for you tonight!”
Yes. She was now pretending to be a minimum wage mine slave for absolutely no fucking reason. It was either this, slamming her head on the ground or eating the pebbles.
She threw a pebble a little too high and caught it dramatically, mentally whispering to her little British orphan coworkers, “This one’s for little Timmy. They took his fingers last week..”
She blinked slowly, deadpan. I desperately need a lobotomy.
She didn’t notice the figure crouching beside her until she sensed the shift in air and shadow.
“Practicing for a revolution with that energy?” came a dry, bemused voice.
Jin-ah snapped her head up, startled. Player 001 was crouched beside her, watching her with a look that was somewhere between curiosity and quiet calculation. His usual distant calm was still there, but something about his gaze now felt personal.
She didn't answer immediately.
He glanced down at the pebbles, then back at her. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Jin-ah narrowed her eyes warily.
“Earlier, when that man tried to join the team.” He paused, tilting his head. “You looked like you were going to be sick before leaving. Why?”
His tone wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t even accusatory. It was careful. He really wanted to find out, huh.
And for some reason, that made her want to hurl the pebbles at his face and also spill it all.
Her fingers tightened around the stones, a cold pressure forming behind her ribs.
She looked away. “Why does it matter?”
Player 001 didn’t push. He just stayed crouched beside her, watching the way her hands clenched.
And waited.
Jin-ah stared at the dirt.
Her thumb absently ran over the surface of a pebble, rough and grainy. She didn’t want to answer. She didn’t owe him an answer.
But for some reason, maybe the way he asked, not like he was digging, but like he was offering her an exit if she needed one, her mouth moved anyway.
“He's…my math teacher,” she muttered.
A pause. Then, quieter, as it physically hurts to say anything at all. “I just don’t like him very much.”
That was it. That was all she gave.
And mercifully, that was all he took.
Player 001’s eyes stayed on her for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering behind them. But he didn’t ask for more. He didn’t give her that awful, pitying oh honey face people usually tried when they thought she was some broken little thing just waiting to trauma-dump.
He just nodded once. Subtle. Almost like a thank-you. And then, nothing. He just stood, brushing off the dust from his knees.
Jin-ah let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
She hated that kind of question. Hated when people assumed there must be some tragic backstory if she looked a little too angry or flinched a little too hard. As if her whole personality existed just to be torn open for their entertainment.
What a load of bullshit.
Maybe this guy wasn’t like that. At least, not right now.
She went back to flipping her pebbles, this time quieter. The mine was gone. So was poor, fingerless little Timmy. It was just her now. Her and the cold weight in her chest refusing to ever leave.
A burst of shouting jolted Jin-ah from her thoughts – Team 2 had cleared the Gonggi round. Loud and proud.
The circle-masked guard raised both arms over his head in an O, and the overhead PA crackled to life: “Pass.”
Team 2 screamed in joys, hobbling forward with their legs still bound together. The guard snatched the playing table out of their way, and just like that, the next challenge loomed: Spinning Top.
It did not go well.
On their first attempt, the toy flopped. Not just flopped– it embarrassed itself. It spun once, maybe half, then toppled over, fainting from stage fright. In their scramble to pick it back up, the players tripped over each other and went down in a heap, triggering a symphony of oofs and ohhh shits from the peanut gallery of players watching nearby.
Jung-bae leaned toward Player 001, voice low. “Spinning Top’s gonna take forever if they keep screwing it up.”
Jin-ah peeked over just in time to see Player 001’s eyes cut sharp and cold toward Jung-bae. His expression unreadable but clearly unimpressed. Jung-bae, wisely, dropped his gaze and did the whole who, me? routine like he wasn’t just talking out the side of his mouth two seconds ago.
This shit funnier than it has any right to be. Jin-ah closed her eyes. Why they beefing right now.
Team 2 finally nailed the damn Spinning Top challenge on their second try, a lopsided cheer bursting out of them as the toy spun cleanly. At the same time, Team 1’s Flying Stone finally made it. Their gasps of relief were audible.
But their victory sprint was very short-lived.
Both teams made it only a few steps forward before skidding to a halt – triangle-masked guards now stood in their way, unmoving, guns in hand.
The begging had started.
It started with a few frantic voices. Then it bloomed until it was louder, more desperate. Pleas spilling out. Promises, apologies, prayers to anyone and anything.
The timer hit zero.
And Jin-ah knew what came next.
How lucky they are, she thought, lips pressed together. They don’t have to see the rest of it.
The PA crackled to life: “Your time is up.”
The guards didn’t hesitate. They never did, it seems.
Gunfire exploded through the space like fireworks. Loud, sharp, and endless. The players jerked around before dropping like flies. Screams cut short mid-breath. The colourful floor darkened with fresh blood.
Jin-ah stared.
She shouldn’t have. She didn’t even mean to. But her body had numbed out, her brain flicking some kind of emergency switch that dulled the noise, the light, the color, until it was all just TV static.
Still, she watched.
Too intently.
Something inside her was watching for her. Maybe she just wanted to prove she could handle it. Is this how it'll look when she loses as well? Desperate? She doubts it.
She didn’t move when the last body fell.
But Gi-hun did.
And so did Player 001.
They both moved at the same time, one stepping to her left, the other to her right. Not touching her. Not saying a word. Just blocking her view.
A small, quiet shield made of two strangers. Two strangers who somehow knew she’d seen enough.
What exactly were they trying to shield her from? The corpses? The blood? The inevitable?
It was pointless.
She was going to see it all anyway, whether now or later. Whether she wanted to or not.
Maybe Gi-hun and Player 001 thought they were preserving something in her. Some scrap of delusional innocence.
Maybe they were planning to vote “X” next time. Pretend this hadn’t happened. Pretend she could still be spared.
How optimistic of them to think they'll surely win. But it's the thought that counts.
All around them, chaos bloomed, players shrieked, stumbled, cried, clawing at each other, as if any of that would protect them. They weren't even in danger. The bullets weren’t aimed at them. But that didn’t matter. Panic didn’t care about logic.
The smell hit next. A thick, noxious cocktail of gunpowder and fresh blood.
The PA crackled again, droning out a list of eliminated player numbers. Just numbers. Like cattle tags. But even that got drowned out.
A voice rose over the silence, not from grief, not even from shock, but sheer hysteria.
“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 words sliced clean through the room.
Jin-ah stared down at the ground, her hand still clenched around her pebbles.
A ripple of murmurs, guilt, and quiet whimpers rolled through the other players. No one dared answer. Because, deep down, some of them agreed.
But then– Crack crack!
Two deafening gunshots ripped through the heavy silence.
A triangle-masked guard had just put two bullets into a player already lying inside an open coffin. Without missing a beat, the guard then turned and strode away.
Well, that’s totally normal and not suspicious behavior.
Why shoot someone already dead and boxed up? Maybe they weren’t quite dead yet?
These pink people sure love their rules.
Or maybe there’s something else behind it all that she has no business dissecting.
Jin-ah shrugged internally. Not her circus. Not her monkeys. She had a mental breakdown or two on no-thank-you o'clock later. That’s when she’d spiral about it amongst other things.
"The next teams, please get ready," the announcer stated.
The next batch of players rose from the floor. Among them was Team 3 – a group with a few familiar faces. Jin-ah spotted player 120 from yesterday, the elderly mother and her gambling addict son, and that absolute lunatic shaman. The fourth member was someone new, a girl with short hair, practically swallowed up by her uniform.
Though not as pitifully as poor little Jin-ah.
A team made up mostly of women. Jin-ah couldn't wait to watch them win and prove these sexist fuckass men wrong.
At the Ddakji event, things started rough for Team 3. They failed multiple attempts, the tension between them climbing with each miss.
Player 120 leaned in toward player 095, who was handling the game, and murmured something under her breath. Whatever it was, it seemed to land – on the next try, the Ddakji finally flipped. The team let out a chorus of relief and moved on.
Next up was the Flying Stone event. This time, the son stepped forward.
His first throw missed the target completely, forcing the team to retrieve the stone. But they were ready for that apparently.
Without missing a beat, they moved as one, legs tied together, but their coordination flawless, as they hobbled forward to collect the stone. Then, impressively, they reversed direction in sync and sped back to the starting line.
"We could save some time walking backward like that," Player 001 pointed out.
"They're actually faster going backward," Jung-bae added, a bit surprised.
Jin-ah nodded absently. Smart strategy. The first few teams were practically guinea pigs, sacrifices for everyone else to learn what hell they were walking into.
Back at the starting line, player 007 nailed the tombstone on his next throw. The team's scream of relief and joy rang across the field, loud enough to jolt even the most zoned-out players to attention.
Gasps turned to cheers. Even players from other teams started clapping and hollering like they'd won too.
Jin-ah stiffened, glancing around. Why the hell was everyone cheering with them???
Next up was the Gonggi game, which Jin-ah payed close attention to. It seemed to be the mother’s turn – player 149. She stepped crouched with a calm that didn’t quite match the anxiety in the air. Her first two throws flopped. Hard. The crowd quieted, holding their collective breath.
On her third try, she made it.
The entire place erupted.
The team cheered, sure, but so did half the spectators. Including Jung-bae, who had gotten up from the floor and was now loudly shouting, “One, two!” along with the rest.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
Jin-ah hated crowds. But what did she hate even more? Loud ones.
She's about to implode.
Team 3 advanced to the fourth event: Spinning Top. This time, it was player 044, the shaman’s turn. A strange silence fell as she picked up the top and began wrapping the string.
It didn’t take long to realize she had no idea what she was doing.
Skill issue I fear, Jin-ah thought, tilting her head in boredom.
The string kept slipping as the shaman mumbled prayers, her chants growing louder, more panicked, until she was practically yelling to the gods. Then she froze, eyes glazed, voice dropping into some creepy, incoherent ramble about divine abandonment.
And then–
SMACK! SMACK!
Out of nowhere, player 120 turned and smacked her right across the face. Hard. Twice.
Gasps erupted all over the room. Blood trickled from the shaman’s nose, proof those hits were no joke.
HELL YEAHHH!!!
Jin-ah was on her feet before she realized it, fists pumped up. All thoughts of crowd anxiety were gone with the wind.
Who even cared? Seriously. Who? That bastard Mr. Kwon had ruined her “I-don’t-give-a-fuck” mood earlier, she needed this shot of serotonin.
Player 044’s eyes cleared like a fog had been smacked out of her skull. The shaman blinked hard, focused now, snapped back to earth by player 120’s aggressive but very satisfying intervention.
On her next try, the top spun perfectly, whirling across the ground smoothly.
The crowd exploded. Cheers roared louder than ever. Players 222 and even Gi-hun shot up from the floor, joining the chant with wild, feverish energy.
Even player 001 was shouting now, his voice part of the rising wave of “One, two!” echoing across the arena as Team 3 clawed their way toward the final event.
Jin-ah also found herself joining in too. Bouncing up and down, cheering with everyone else, completely swept up in the moment.
Which made her fail notice the pair of eyes locked on her, burning with something far too intense to be directed at a 15 year old girl.
The team made it to the fifth and final event: Jegi.
The arena felt like it was holding its breath as the announcer’s voice sliced through the silence:
“You must kick the Jegi five times.”
Player 120 stepped forward. Then, calmly, she asked that everyone turn around. She wanted privacy.
A weird request, sure, but no one questioned it. Jin-ah and the others turned their backs without protest, players and spectators alike redirecting their eyes to the walls, the floor – anywhere but her.
Why’d she ask that, though? Jin-ah wondered vaguely. Maybe she performed better without pressure? Real tbh.
The hush that followed was almost sacred.
Then–tap.
The soft, papery sound of a Jegi being kicked.
One...
Two...
Three…
Four…
...Five.
That final thud felt louder than it really was.
Everyone whipped around instantly, all eyes snapping to Player 120. The silence held for one more heartbeat, then a circle-masked guard lifted both arms, fingers touching above their head.
An ‘O.’
“Pass,” the announcer declared.
And just like that, Team 3 survived– or they will. Once they pass the finish line.
A tidal wave of cheers burst through the arena, raw joy sweeping over the crowd like a storm. Jin-ah stood frozen in place, gripping her sleeves, eyes wide as she watched Team 3 hobble toward victory, legs still bound, bodies swaying forward in sync.
“One, two! One, two!”
The whole yard was chanting now, voices rising in unison, pulsing with desperation and hope. Only six seconds left on the timer. Six. Each one a knife pressed closer to the throat.
Team 3 surged forward.
The final stretch blurred in motion, feet slamming the ground, lungs heaving, hearts slamming in chests. Then·
Ding.
The timer hit zero the exact moment they crossed the finish line. Some luck that was.
And somehow, miraculously, Team 4 had made it too.
Not a single elimination.
The arena exploded. Roars of triumph, laughter, screaming, sobbing, like a stadium full of people who forgot they were all here to maybe die.
Jin-ah was laughing, smiling so hard it ached. Her cheeks were cramping. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m happy. In a fucking death game.
Then, suddenly, her feet weren’t on the ground anymore.
She yelped as Jung-bae hoisted her onto his shoulders, hands flying to his head in panic until she realized, it wasn’t a threat. Just a stupid, celebratory thing. An unnaturally Innocent act she was awfully not used to.
She let herself relax a little, still holding on, back to smiling like an idiot.
With Teams 3 and 4 pulling through, something shifted in the arena. The mood turned electric, focused. Poisonous hope had been injected straight into everyone’s veins.
One by one, more teams pushed forward, adrenaline and borrowed courage carrying them through the brutal gauntlet of the Pentathlon. Some actually made it. Their cheers joined the lingering echo of victory. Near-miracles.
But not everyone got their happy ending. Though it was an ending nonetheless.
For every team that crossed the finish line, there was one that didn’t. One whose legs buckled just a second too late. Who stayed too long at a mini-game. Whose final steps were drowned out by the cold, mechanical tick of the clock hitting zero.
Every time a team ran out of time, the yard seemed to flinch as one – players ducking, arms over heads, instinctively bracing for the echo of gunfire that followed.
Weirdly, Jin-ah kept getting shielded. Again. Her teammates would throw arms in front of her, lean in like they could body-block a bullet. It was stupid. Totally impractical.
She didn’t hate it. She didn’t say anything, either.
She could be selfish and naive for once and take this, right?
✧
Notes:
I'm finally done. This has been in my docs for so fucking long it is RI-GODDAMN-DICULOUS. But it's fine now. Jin-ah is thoroughly traumatized and built back up over and over.
And it will continue to happen. And Mr. Kwon will continue to have that power over her... but just for how long? I wonder. Will Jin-ah really be able to keep up her silent girl act in this hellhole?
FIND OUT NEXT MONTH BECAUSE THIS IS NOT SEEING THE LIGHT OF DAY AGAIN 💔💔 joking. I'll try to make it, maybe a week or so while I'm working on other fics.
Hope you enjoyed 🫶 please comment, for my sanity PLEASE.
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