someone must get hurt

by DistantVin6e

Summary:

In-ho finds himself chained in a bathroom, a bloody corpse before him, and standing across is someone who painfully reminds him of his past.

Playlist here.

Notes:

English isn’t my first language so yeah… probs making a bunch of mistakes lol.

Muffled sounds pressed against her ears- close, yet strangely distant, as though the world itself had retreated behind layers of glass. The echo burrowed into her skull until it ached, vibrating in the hollows of her head. She felt her body give way, surrendering to a pull she could neither fight nor understand. Slowly, her back touched something soft, almost tender. The sensation was startlingly gentle, a whisper of comfort against the storm raging in her chest.

Her palms followed, brushing the fragile grains that clung to her skin like hundreds of tiny hands. Then her heels, sinking, grounding her into the earth’s fragile bed. The sand welcomed her carefully, as though afraid she might shatter if held too tightly. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to dissolve into it, vanish completely. In the terrifying weight of the moment, under the crushing tide of fear and the hollow, gnawing ache that devoured her inside, she had abandoned herself, let go of resistance, craving escape from everything.

Her eyelids pressed together with desperate force, as if the darkness behind them could protect her. If she didn’t look, perhaps it wasn’t happening. If she didn’t breathe, perhaps she wasn’t drowning.

But the sea had other intentions.

A bitter sting flooded her mouth, burning her throat. The taste of salt was overwhelming, metallic and raw. It spilled from her lips and surged into her nostrils, searing every fragile part of her. Panic wrapped itself around her chest like iron bands. Her body convulsed, thrashing against the very sand that had moments before cradled her with such tenderness. Her fists struck it, scattering the grains into frantic bursts, while her legs kicked, clumsy and heavy, against the pull of the tide.

Her lungs screamed. Tears burst from her eyes- not from sadness, not yet, but from the sting of salt and the primal terror of suffocation. They rolled down her cheeks and slipped into the sea, becoming indistinguishable from the endless, briny water. The ocean’s sound swelled around her, bubbling, roaring, as though mocking her fragility.

And then, through the haze, through the blur of saltwater and tears, she opened her eyes. The world was distorted, shifting in liquid light, yet she saw him.

A familiar shape, cutting through the water with powerful strokes. Her father. He was swimming toward her, his form illuminated by the fractured sun above, his face set with an urgency she had never seen before. The sight struck through the chaos like a spear of clarity- hope, fragile and piercing, in the heart of her panic.

At first, all she saw was nothingness, pure darkness. But the real terror hit immediately, the scorching sensation of that rusty, murky water filling her throat as soon as she opened her eyes. In a panic, she began coughing, thrusting her trapped body upright in the bathtub as her chest heaved. Her back struck the porcelain, slick with soap residue. Flailing, she shook the water off herself, but the burning in her throat intensified. Every breath reminded her lungs of that bitter, painful taste.

With trembling arms, she grabbed the edge of the tub and pushed herself out. The cold tiles cut sharply into the soles of her feet as she stumbled, trying to stand. Yet the darkness… that abyss-like darkness engulfed the entire room. She tried to see, rubbed her eyes, flailing to check if she was blind.

Her back hit a wall, and when she recoiled, she collided with another. It was like a confined, narrow space. She could feel the invisible prison walls surrounding her. Her breathing quickened, the ringing in her ears deepened.

She touched the weight she felt on her foot, she was chained and quickly, she followed the chain with her hands as far as she could see.

“Shit- Am..Am I dead?"

At that moment, her eyes were blinded by the crackle of fluorescent lights bursting on. As the light shattered the darkness, the girl squinted at the scene before her and what she saw was too horrifying to be real.

On the floor, in the middle of the tiles, lay someone in a red jumpsuit, a mask with a square shape covering their face. The body was motionless, surrounded by a pool of blood. On the white tiles of the bathroom, that red stain blurred the line between reality and hallucination. For a moment, she thought she was seeing a hallucination. Perhaps a dream, or a sick trick played by her mind… But the sharp, metallic scent invading her nose proved it was real.

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed. She leaned against the toilet, rubbing her eyes with trembling hands. Her vision gradually cleared. As her breathing steadied, the fire in her throat subsided.

But then… at that moment, she noticed. Across from the corpse, a man...was sitting, his eyes fixed on her.

His gaze was ice. More than surprise, it carried a cold acceptance. At first, he seemed to pay her no mind, bending his head toward his leg to understand the source of the weight he felt. A chain… thick, rusted, clasping his wrist with an iron shackle. Its end disappeared into a dark corner of the room. As the man traced the chain’s path, his eyes suddenly widened. Shock spread across his face, and he held his breath as he quickly turned to the red-suited figure on the floor. No- no,no,no. His eyes had noticed something else, someone else. He turned to the girl standing before him.

This girl-

Oh.

Years ago, in the shadow of that great tragedy, he thought he had left behind the face stained with blood and screams, buried in his past. Life had gone on; the games had continued. As if nothing had ever happened. As if that day had never existed. But now, here it was..laid before him like a bloody echo of the past. It seemed to say-

Remember.

Face what you’ve done.

The man’s breathing quickened. The sound of his heartbeat merged with the ringing in his ears. His vision blurred again, and dizziness set in. The girl’s lips moved, but the sounds that reached his brain were nothing but muffled hums. Noise, whispers, meaningless echoe..

Gi-hun’s daughter.

The words flashed in his mind like a sharp knife.

What was Gi-hun’s daughter doing here?

Oh, He hadn’t even acknowledged his own presence in this place.

In-ho rubbed his eyes, trying to gather himself. He drew a deep breath into his lungs, then another. Slowly, swallowing hard, he regained his composure. That old, ice-cold mask returned to his face. A few words slipped from his mouth, but they came out blurred.

Ga-yeong tilted her head, a look of disdain appearing in her eyes. Her voice was slow but sharp.

“What did… you just say?”

Ga-yeong couldn’t hold herself back and suddenly began to cry. Tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping from her jaw to form tiny pools on the tiles below. Her thin, trembling shoulders shook with sobs that defied the silence.

In-ho looked at himself. His clothes were already covered in dirt and dust, as if dragged from another life. The fabric had absorbed the smell of moisture and rust, growing heavy. The marks of the chain on his feet were etched into his flesh like a merciless seal; his wrists were bright red.

“Do you remember how you got here?” In-ho asked.

The girl paused, looked around, then shook her shoulders, answering no.

In-ho closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. There was unease within him, yet also a strange sense of relief. Years ago, he must have dismissed the faint memory of the man who had brought his father’s belongings; even though she had looked at him, she hadn’t recognized him.

She had forgotten him, lost him on the dusty shelves of time.

“What are you doing here?” In-ho asked, a hint of contempt threading his words. “Did you do something to get you into trouble?"

Ga-yeong’s face crumpled instantly. She sniffled, then wiped her tears quickly with trembling fingers. Her eyes brimmed, threatening to overflow again. She shook her head decisively, as if to say no.

“No… No, I- no! I didn’t do anything!” she cried, tears streaming like floods once more. Her scream bounced off the walls, echoing. “I didn’t do anything!”

Her outcry was so loud it seemed to shake even the stifling air of the room. In-ho began to look around. He lunged toward the nearby door- a massive yellow door without a handle. He pushed and pulled it with his hands, back and forth, side to side, but the door didn’t budge even an inch.

Then his eyes caught the clock hanging on the wall. The hands moved with a monotonous tick, mercilessly counting time. In this scene, time was made particularly visible. They want us to watch it unfold, he thought.

“Are we going to...die?” the girl asked, trying to turn her gaze toward In-ho. Her lips trembled, her eyes were wary, yet she didn’t want to let go of hope. Still, her eyes occasionally scanned the surroundings; she was looking for an exit, searching for a way out.

In-ho averted his gaze. He didn’t want to look at her face. If he did, it would feel familiar, and the shadow of the past would seep into her eyes. And he didn’t want that. When he looked down, he was met with the dead body of the soldier in the jumpsuit, a figure bridging both past and future. Either way, no span of time ever left him at ease and it never would.

“If they wanted us dead, they would have done it by now,” In-ho explained. His eyes suddenly drifted to the hands of the lifeless body on the floor. Something was clenched between the cold fingers: an old player and, beside it, a heavy, dark weapon. Ga-yeong followed In-ho’s gaze.

“They want… something from us.”

Ga-yeong, in despair, took off the cardigan she was wearing. Despite her trembling hands, this was the only solution she could think of. She extended the cardigan, trying to pull the player toward herself. After a few failed attempts, she finally grasped it and held it in her lap. Her breath caught.

She opened the player. When she realized it was empty, her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes widened, her hand trembled.

“Fucking empty…” she whispered. Her voice, hoarse and desperate, echoed in the room like a muted chime. “What do they want us to do with an empty player?”

Tears threatened to overflow again. She bit her lip, trying to stifle a sob. “What… what are they forcing us to do with an empty player!? What do they expect us to do?”

“There must be something somewhere,” In-ho muttered, his expression grim.

Ga-yeong was about to sit on the floor, but a sudden sensation stopped her just before her knees touched the tiles. She felt a foreign, angular weight in her pocket. Without hesitation, she reached into her pocket and her fingertips brushed against a wrapped piece of paper. She pulled it out and trembling, held a white envelope with her name written on it- almost illegible. Her eyes widened. Her breath caught, as if whatever was inside could change the course of her life.

She didn’t waste a moment and opened the envelope. When she saw the cassette inside, a faint smile spread across her tear-streaked face for the first time. It was a strange kind of hope; a delicate branch connecting a person to life even in the shadow of death.

In-ho, watching her closely, remained ice-cold. Silent, he slowly began to search his own pockets while the girl’s attention was on the cassette. When his fingertips brushed against a hard edge, his heart skipped a beat. He pulled it out and, in his hand, he too held an envelope. The weight of the paper seemed ordinary, but shadows flickered in In-ho’s eyes.

His gaze fell on the envelope, and when he read the name written on it, the muscles in his face tensed subtly.

Young-il.

Without overthinking, He quickly opened the envelope. Inside was a cassette, identical to hers. The only difference was a single bullet hidden within the envelope.

In-ho left the bullet inside the envelope. He crumpled it slightly and shoved it back into his pocket, his eyes returning to the girl. He understood what this detail meant but he wasn’t ready to admit it even to himself.

Ga-yeong took a deep breath and carefully inserted the cassette into the player. Her fingers trembled as she pressed the button, and the air in the room grew heavier. Suddenly, a distorted voice filled the walls with a warped, metallic hum.

“Wake up, young lady.”

Ga-yeong held her breath. In-ho lowered his head, his eyes fixed on the player.

“You’re probably wondering where you are. Let me tell you: perhaps you’re in the room where your life might end.” The voice was like a ghost emerging from the darkness. “You let someone else’s life slip away before your eyes.”

The girl’s pupils dilated. She thought she alone understood the meaning of those words. But in In-ho’s mind, lightning flashed. He already knew what this voice implied. Every word struck his brain like a fragment of the past.

“So, someone who watches another’s life end, what do they see when they look in the mirror?” The voice paused for a moment, then grew even colder. “I see you… carrying both anger and indifference… but above all, I see you as pitiful.”

The girl’s chest tightened. The voice seemed to leave her soul bare. But In-ho… As the words echoed in his mind from the player, he nodded faintly. In his eyes, the girl truly was pitiful.

“So, will you watch your own end today, or will you do something about it?”

The player went silent. The silence fell over the room like a black shroud.

She covered her face with her hands, her body trembling. She leaned back, leaving the player on the floor, her tear-streaked face chalk-white. The heavy stench emanating from the lifeless body before her reached her stomach, and she forced herself not to vomit. Her stomach churned, the burn in her throat intensified. Breathing itself had become torture.

Finally, In-ho broke the silence. His voice was sharp and icy. “Throw me the player.”

Ga-yeong leaned over the edge of the bathtub, on the verge of vomiting. Her back was turned, her hiccups echoing muffledly through the room. She sniffled, then slowly turned around. She looked at the player on the floor, and then at In-ho… She measured the distance; in this narrow space surrounded by chains, it felt like an abyss.

“Throw the cassette here.”

"Player-"

"Cassette."

“Look, if we want to get out of here, we have to cooperate,” In-ho responded, his tone short and decisive.

The girl took a deep breath. The knot in her throat, the sharp air in her lungs, everything suddenly felt heavy. This situation was ruthless and absurd, leaving no room for meaningless arguments.

She bit her lip, her voice trembling as she responded. “If I throw the player from here, it’ll break. Throw the cassette.”

In-ho frowned. Everything inside the cassette was a secret he needed to control. What she said made sense but could logic always be trusted? What if the information on the cassette was a truth that shouldn’t be heard?

A moment of silence passed. The ticking of the clock became the room’s only melody.

Tick-tock… tick-tock…

Finally, In-ho made his decision. He grasped the cassette firmly and threw it toward Ga-yeong. The cassette hung in the air for a brief moment before landing in her lap.

Ga-yeong quickly leaned over the player. She first set aside the cassette addressed to her, then inserted the one In-ho had thrown. Her trembling fingers pressed the button.

The player crackled to life once more. In-ho, in the meantime, fixed his gaze on the clock’s hands. Time was moving, each second bringing them closer to death. But he refused to look at the girl. He didn’t want to meet her eyes. Because if he did, everything beneath his mask could be revealed.

“Young-il."

The muffled hum from the player scratched at In-ho’s eardrums like a rusty knife. His heart skipped in his chest; his throat tightened, his lips parted, but no words came out. That false name he hadn’t heard in years- perhaps long buried and forgotten- this fake identity… it was meant to remain a secret, for now buried. Yet here it was, echoing from the player.

In-ho swallowed hard. The voice was an echo that reached the darkest corners of his mind. Whoever spoke these words was clearly familiar with the depths of the game. Every word carried hidden meaning. This was personal, deliberate, meticulously crafted revenge.

“This is your wake-up call,” the voice continued, vibrating through the room with crackling interference. “Every day, in your duty, you gave people hope that they would get what they wanted… but in reality, you used them for your own plans.”

Ga-yeong fixed her gaze on In-ho. She watched him, hoping to catch the tiniest flicker at the corner of his lips, a furrow of his brow, some secret hidden in his eyes. But In-ho did not react. His eyes were only on the clock above.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

The voice from the player sharpened further. “Your goal in this game is to eliminate the person in front of you. You have until six o’clock to do it.”

Ga-yeong swallowed in fear. She didn’t take her eyes off In-ho, wanting to understand what he would do. A sign, a movement, a scrap of thought…

“There’s someone in this room with you.” The tone was almost mocking. “With so much poison in your blood, there are only two options left… end your own life, or take the life of the other. The ways to win are hidden. Remember, X marks the treasure. If you don’t kill them by six… the person you value most will die...your brother."

Ga-yeong didn’t know what these words meant for In-ho, but his usually stoic face cracked for the first time. His jaw tightened, teeth clenched. His pupils trembled slightly.

“And I will leave you to rot in this room.”

A moment of silence. Then a single word, a name, shattered In-ho’s mind.

Jun-ho.

In-ho’s head snapped toward the player, almost involuntarily. His deepest wound, long hidden, had been exposed. His jaw muscles tensed further, breathing quickened. Memories of bloody events from the past surged behind his eyelids.

If the person orchestrating this game had reached his brother, this was no longer a game, it was an execution. And for In-ho, the battle was already lost.

The voice from the player delivered its cold finale. “As you said before… let the game begin. Rain is coming, prepare your umbrella.”

Then the voice cut off. Only the mechanical ticking of the clock remained in the room.

In-ho felt his own breath pressing against his chest. The screams echoing in every corner were etched in his memory like engravings; they could not be erased. He had wanted to ignore his own voice, but the silence within had turned into noise- sharper, more painful.

Every choice was a test, but the only one being examined was himself. And now, as even the rust on his chains began to eat at him, he understood: the scent of justice was a rot blended from the blood of victims and the agony of his own guilt. No matter how much he struggled or denied it, that decayed secret was growing within him, leaving no escape.

In-ho’s fingers trembled; the hands that once held power were now helpless under the weight of guilt. The mask he had donned for his conscience began to crack. And the light seeping through those cracks whispered only one thing: true freedom lay in admitting that everything he had thought of as choice was really captivity.

In-ho slowly reached out his hand. With deep, uncontrolled breaths breaking the silence, he signaled that he wanted the player. Without hesitation, the girl threw it to him. He grasped it, pulled back, and sank into the corner of the room. His expression returned to the mask: cold, emotionless, stone-like. All he did was watch the clock.

Tick-tock… tick-tock…

Ga-yeong leaned against the edge of the bathtub in desperation. The screams inside her were knotted in her throat. They didn’t know what to do. They didn’t want to speak. Speaking would make it all too real.

Hours passed. Time, with each tick, was an executioner drawing closer. In-ho occasionally rewound the tape, playing it over and over. He wasn’t listening, he only needed the rhythm of that metallic voice to think. Each repetition echoed through the labyrinth in his mind.

But for the girl, it was torture. Chained in the same spot for hours, thirsty, hungry and scared, this mechanical repetition gnawed at her patience like an invisible insect.

“Ugh, can you stop playing with it now?” she said, exhaling deeply. Her voice was tired, worn, and irritated.

In-ho listened until the player stopped, then threw the player across the room. The plastic hit the tile with a resonant clang. He lifted his head and looked at the girl.

She had no idea. She didn’t know that the man chained before her was involved in her father’s death; she didn’t know that the justice she had sought for years was in his hands. Nor did she realize that her existence was just a stage designed for In-ho in this bloody game. Every look of pain and shock distorted her feelings further, dragging her step by step into a trap she didn’t yet perceive.

She was unaware. The shadows of the past hadn’t yet fallen upon her; the pain of the future was a faint whisper in her ears. In the heart of tragedy, she remained a teenager tossed by uncontrolled emotions; her fear, anger, and curiosity blended into an internal storm. Every breath, every trembling movement, echoed through this room woven with uncertainty.

And In-ho, between the ticking of the clock, at the intersection of patience and pain, believed in one thing: there was no winner in this game. Every move, every blink, only added another link to the chain.

In-ho’s gaze fell on the toilet cistern beside Ga-yeong. It was the faded scratch forming the umbrella mark. He froze for a moment; the words from the tape rang in his mind.

Umbrella.

His pupils widened as he leaned toward the girl, gesturing firmly.

“The tape mentioned the umbrella,” he said hastily. “Check inside the toilet.”

At first, Ga-yeong looked blank, not understanding what he meant. Then she turned toward the toilet and her eyes widened as she saw the sign. Her breath quickened, she swallowed, and immediately moved. She approached the toilet and saw the water’s murkiness; it was thick, muddy brown. Her stomach churned instantly. She recoiled, covering her mouth with her hand, and retched outward. After wrinkling her face in disgust, she looked at In-ho.

“I-"

“Please,” In-ho cut her off. His voice tried to remain cold, but a subtle tremor of panic was there. “We have to get out of here. You have to do it.”

Ga-yeong froze. She swallowed. In-ho was right. If they wanted to escape this room, they had to try everything. She slowly nodded and turned her gaze elsewhere, pretending to focus on something that wasn’t there. Carefully, she slipped one trembling hand into the toilet. The water was icy, its murkiness making it difficult to sense anything. She groped left and right.

“Oh god-"

Her face contorted. Her lips twisted, guttural sounds escaped her throat; she felt like she might vomit at any moment. Desperately, she moved faster, trying to grasp something in the water, but all she felt was a slimy, slippery texture. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts. After a while, she gave up entirely and yanked her hand out of the water.

“There’s nothing in the damn toilet!” she shouted, her voice cracking. Then she grabbed her cardigan, thrown to the floor in frustration, and angrily wiped her hand. She squinted to avoid looking at the brown stains on her fingers. “Disgusting, disgusting."

In-ho silently watched her panic for a while. The corners of her lips twitched faintly. Seeing her like this made him uneasy. Her posture and movements were almost identical to Gi-hun’s, the same impatience, the same helpless anger.

She was surrounded by the past. Not wanting to immerse himself further in it, In-ho turned his gaze to the toilet cistern and words slipped from his lips.

“Check inside the toilet cistern too.”

Ga-yeong slowly stopped wiping her hands. She lifted her head and looked at In-ho. Her jaw clenched, and the sound of her teeth grinding together was audible.

“Shit, you should’ve said that first.”

She quickly, angrily lifted the cistern lid and set the heavy piece aside. Inside was a black plastic bag. She rolled her eyes and exhaled.

“What the hell was an umbrella clue doing in the toilet anyway?” she muttered.

She pulled the bag out and opened it. Inside were two small, rusting saws and a green… uniform. Ga-yeong glared at In-ho from under her brows, her lips curling into a contemptuous smile. Without a word, she tossed one of the saws in front of him. She picked up the other, threw the bag containing the uniform into the bathtub, and quickly sat down.

The uniform felt like something that should remain hidden. She didn’t want to show it, didn’t want to speak of it. So without saying a word, she gritted her teeth and began scraping the saw against the metal to free her chains.

Why was her father’s bloody uniform here? As countless disaster scenarios ran through her mind, she clung to one absurd hope. Perhaps this was some sort of game her father had set up. Even though what was happening now was terrifying, the thought that her father might still be alive thrilled her.

The friction of the small metal made a sharp, grating sound in the room, fraying her nerves even further.

In-ho picked up the saw in front of him. He stared at the girl for a long moment, watching her hurried, panic-driven efforts. Then, without changing his expression, he threw the saw aside. The clang of metal hitting the floor echoed through the room.

“How are you planning to explain this to her?”

The voice resonated within the room. Only one person could hear it. It was a muffled, deep hum, as if the words were imprinted directly into In-ho’s mind rather than entering through his ears.

In-ho stared at the girl without blinking. The panic, despair, and anger mixed on her face as she struggled to cut her chains occasionally became unbearable reminders. That face- just years ago, it resembled the faces ruined by his own choices. He tried to suppress the thought, but then he heard the voice again.

Gihun stood nearby, seemingly watching the whole scene with pleasure. His bloody head tilted slightly, lips curved into a false smile. In-ho tried to avoid looking at him. He wouldn’t deal with him. Not now.

He wanted to check the time. How many minutes left? How many seconds? Looking at the clock on the ceiling, his heart skipped. Quite a bit of time had passed. Almost two hours remained. Two hours but they still had nothing in their hands.

“You don’t have to hold yourself back this much to avoid killing her,” Gihun said, as if speaking in a tone the girl couldn’t hear. His words were slow, each syllable poisonous. “You already killed his father.”

In-ho gritted his teeth. He looked at the saw on the floor. The rusty piece of metal stood before him as if it were the only option. Then, his gaze involuntarily slid down to his leg. This was the escape route, wasn’t it? Cutting his foot. But leaving a part of his body behind to survive wasn’t salvation; it was only dragging along a crippled life.

“Young-il.”

The name echoed through the room. Thin, almost melodic. Yet the melody was frightening. In-ho’s shoulders jerked at the sound of it.

“Shut up.” There was no anger in his voice, only desperation.

Ga-yeong stopped sawing and lifted her head. Question marks in her eyes. She saw In-ho hitting himself. With eyes closed, he was seemingly pounding his fists into his head to suppress the pain.

“Did you say something?” Ga-yeong asked, her voice timid but curious.

“No.” Storms raged inside him. As he tried to steady his breathing, the voice ringing in his mind suppressed reality. His hands were striking the chains, his fists ached, but the pain was easier to bear than the hum in his head.

The saw Ga-yeong was using to cut suddenly let out a high-pitched screech and broke. The steel shattered like thin shards bouncing off the floor. She froze. Her face went pale. Her breathing accelerated. Her pupils dilated. Then, in an uncontrollable reflex, she hurled the broken saw at the mirror. The glass shattered. Pieces flew everywhere as she screamed at the top of her lungs.

They didn’t even notice the barely visible camera behind the mirror.

In-ho closed his eyes. He had already accepted death. Long ago. He had walked bracing for death- not just chained in this room, but before, when he had stepped into the game under the identity of Young-il. He had long since lost the gamble within himself. Death was merely the final station. But standing on the platform of that station… had become an addiction. Standing on the edge of death, breathing at the cliff’s edge… it was a drug.

“Have you ever gone drinking soju?”

The question came suddenly. In-ho opened his eyes and looked at Gihun beside Ga-yeong. He was there again. Shoulders straight, as if truly alive.

In-ho turned his head, wanting to ignore him. But Gihun continued.

“I would have bought you one.” His voice held that old, familiar mockery, like a casual chat between friends. “But… you know…”

He turned his back. The back of his head was bloody. “I’m dead.”

In-ho’s throat tightened. Breathing became difficult. He shook his head.

He hadn’t taken his medication last night. That was the problem. If he had, perhaps he wouldn’t be seeing all this. His wife’s dead face, the lifeless body of his unborn child, were already nightmare enough. And now Gihun had joined them. Who was next? Gi-hun’s child?

Crying baby sounds filled the room, high-pitched and muffled, echoing against the walls like nails scraping bone. In-ho’s face drained of color, his lips parting in a silent gasp. The sound gnawed at him, twisting in his chest, clawing at something he hadn’t realized was already broken.

He stumbled backward, then sprung forward, eyes wide and unblinking, fixated on the bathtub. The water was murky, swirling with a darkness that seemed alive, pulsing as if it were breathing. For a fleeting, horrifying instant, he saw it-a small, shivering silhouette, curled and silent, its limbs unnaturally stiff. His unborn child, the shape of hope and love, now seemed a mockery, floating like a corpse that hadn’t yet known life.

A choking sob threatened to escape his throat, but the sounds of the baby grew sharper, more insistent, as if the walls themselves were crying. The figure lifted its head, just a fraction and for one second, In-ho could swear it stared at him, accusing, mourning, pleading. Every nerve in his body screamed, a storm of guilt and terror, and he recoiled as though the figure could reach out through the water and tear his soul apart.

In-ho took a deep breath, blinked. It was a hallucination. All of it was a hallucination. He returned to his spot on the floor. He opened his mouth, but no words came. His throat was dry, as if his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed but even that didn’t work.

He remembered that day, standing in front of the fishbowl. The water inside, illuminated by refracted light, and two goldfish swimming gently. His heart tightened as he watched them; it was as if these small creatures carried his wife and unborn child silently before him. Each turn reminded him once again of the weight of his loss and helplessness.

The room was silent. Only the slight ripple of water in the bowl, in harmony with the fish’s swimming. In-ho’s eyes were locked on the glass; the slow, circular movements mirrored the broken rhythm of his life. His hands rested on the edge of the bowl; the cold glass seeped into his fingers, but even this chill could not soothe the emptiness in his heart.

The fish… watching them, In-ho was acutely aware of everything. The silence was heavy, like the void after death. The presence of the fish symbolized the two beings he had always wanted by his side; their absence was felt in every turn. Their red scales recalled the vitality of life, while simultaneously carrying the pain of loss like blood.

In-ho held his breath. It was as if touching the water in the bowl might bring back everything he had lost but the hope vanished instantly. The fish kept swimming; nothing had changed. Every turn, every ripple, was a silent accusation etched into his conscience and soul. He pressed his hands tightly to the edge of the glass; his fingertips ached but the pain wasn’t enough to quell the weight.

“Because of you…” he whispered, words confessing to his reflection in the bowl.

The clarity of the water reminded him that life had once been clear and orderly; now it was only void and loss.

A silent scream rose from within. But it could not escape. The fish simply watched, swam, and existed quietly. In-ho closed his eyes; what he had to face was the weight of losing them. Every time he saw them, his hands were empty, he could not stop time. The water and fish in the bowl stood before him like a silent grave.

His mind, heart, and breath… all seemed to swim inside the bowl. The fish carried his loss and guilt, and In-ho silently shouldered the weight. No words, no actions, no mask remained. These two small creatures in the bowl symbolized life, mistakes, loss and helplessness.

With every glance, every breath, his conscience swirled with the fish’s movements. In-ho remained motionless before the bowl, eyes unblinking, feeling that time and the world revolved solely around these two small beings. The fish had become symbols for him: his loss, his regret and the void he had to learn to live without.

Though the cold glass stung his hands, In-ho did not want to leave because this was his greatest mistake. To vanish silently, to leave.

But like these fish, which could not adapt after two repetitions, he and his symbolic family had become victims of the same fate.

Gihun slowly leaned against the wall. He had sat down beside him. The two silently watched Ga-yeong. She struggled, trying to break the chain another way. She looked at the shards of glass, her hands bleeding, yet she did not give up.

In-ho instinctively slipped his hand into his pocket. His fingertips touched the corner of the crumpled envelope. Inside was still the single bullet. It was cold, the folds of the paper pressing against his fingers along with the metal. It was a last resort. Heavy with helplessness, sharp with inevitability- a final desperate measure. The lifeless body on the floor still clutched the weapon loosely, as if even in death it refused to let go.

In-ho’s gaze fixed on the gun. The thought crossing his mind drained his blood: to kill the girl. There was no other way, no other chance of salvation seemed left. If he didn’t, the past- his wife, his unborn child, and the ghosts of all his sins, would never leave him in peace until he died.

Ga-yeong had been staring blankly into the bathtub for a long time, as if searching for something in the void. Then suddenly, she leaned back against the tub and fixed her eyes on In-ho. Silently. With a judgmental, wounded, yet curious gaze. No longer a small child, those eyes belonged to someone who had seen her father’s shadow and learned the weight of loss.

Her father… she still couldn’t understand how his blood-stained uniform had ended up here. That fabric, that blood...there was no other way it could be here. So her father’s death was part of this game. The strings that trapped her here reached all the way to his lifeless body.

“How am I supposed to know you didn’t cooperate with those who trapped us here?”

Gihun turned to In-ho, tilting his head with a mocking smile.

“That’s a valid point,”

“I could say the same for you,” In-ho replied, without taking his eyes off Ga-yeong. Then he quickly looked at the clock. As the hands drew closer together, the weight of time pressed down on his shoulders. The clock was almost five. Less than two hours remained. He stood and walked toward the player beside him. He picked up the saw from the floor, testing it with his hands.

“But thinking about this is a waste of time,” he said through clenched teeth. “We need to go over the clues in our hands-"

“Who the fuck are you?” the girl’s voice cut him sharply. She held a shard of mirror in her small hands, pointing it at him. Though childish in appearance, the anger in her eyes made it real. Her lips trembled, her breathing irregular; her chest rose and fell rapidly, her heart nearly suffocating. She clenched her hands tightly, her fingers digging into the glass. “What do you want from me?”

In-ho turned to her. First, he studied her with a heavy, threatening gaze. Then he rolled his eyes and turned his head to the side. He did not miss her trembling and rapid breathing; anger and panic danced together. There was tension ready to flee or attack, but her tiny body was unprepared. He took a step back, bending his knees slightly.

“I asked you a question!”

Her panicked breath fractured her anger; her eyes locked on In-ho’s face, but simultaneously sought an escape. She trembled, both angry and fearful; the anger inflated like a balloon, then deflated with the wind of panic.

“Who are you!?”

Ga-yeong shook the mirror in her hands, the trembling spreading to her arms. The fury of a child had transformed into uncontrolled energy, mixed with panic. With every breath, her face flushed, showing how anger and fear intertwined. In-ho noticed but made no harsh comment; he merely watched in silence.

“Once I bought her a toy gun… by accident,” Gihun said, squinting at the shard in the girl’s hands. “I guess that’s where she learned the move.” He grinned.

“Young-il,” In-ho whispered quietly, slowly leaning back against the bathroom wall. Tired, broken, exhausted. “I had a stepmother and a sibling.”

The threat in the girl’s eyes began to melt with a tiny trace of trust. The glass in her hand trembled, slowly descending to the floor. Her finger may have been cut, but she didn’t notice.

In-ho’s voice grew even softer. “I had a pregnant wife. She died along with our unborn child.”

Ga-yeong’s breath caught in her throat. The glass shard fell to the floor with a faint clink. She staggered, leaning against the bathtub, then slowly slid down onto her knees. She pressed her hands to her stomach, tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said in a trembling voice. “I-"

“It’s...okay,” In-ho said, a sorrowful smile at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know how I got here, or why I was trapped.” Even as he spoke, his eyes trembled. Yes, he knew far too well. He knew why he had been confined here, what sins had chained him.

“I don’t know either- Actually i just don't remember" the girl said, hugging her knees, burying herself in the helplessness of her small frame. “I have a stepfather and a mother.”

“What about your real father?” It was sudden, personal. Was he trying to torture himself or see the hurt within her? Either way, it was a painful question.

The girl looked away, staring at the floor. “He… died some time ago.” The fragility in her voice could have cracked the walls of the entire room.

“Why did he die?” In-ho asked, his throat dry, though he already knew the answer.

Ga-yeong turned her eyes to him again. Thousands of words were in her silence, yet none came from her lips.

In-ho’s heart tightened. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately, with a remorseful voice. “I shouldn’t have asked. That was rude.” Whether he truly felt this or was merely acting, he didn’t even know himself. But he had asked, and he had chosen to touch the wound. As if his own pain weren’t enough, he had tried to wound the other.

And then he realized he had messed up. While drowning in the swamp of his own past, he had begun dragging the other into the same darkness.

“His name is Gi-hun…” the girl suddenly said, her voice almost swallowed beneath her own heartbeat. Among the dozens of questions swirling in her mind, this was the clearest, sharpest one. She wanted to know if their shared link was a father. Because she was certain the bloody uniform left beside the tub was not placed there solely for her. Whoever had set up this game must have connected the threads of their stories. So she picked the first connection that came to mind.

“Seong Gi-hun. Does it ring a bell?”

A slight twitch appeared on In-ho’s face. But his answer came instantly, almost reflexively.

“It means nothing.”

His voice echoed through the room, empty, soulless. But his fingers in his pocket had found something entirely different. Something hard, covered in thin leather. Pulling it out, he realized it was a wallet. For a moment, he glanced at it, a mocking smile curling on his lips. Then, as if nothing had happened, he raised his arm and tossed the wallet in front of the girl.

“There are photos of my family. Maybe it’ll seem familiar, have a look.”

The wallet hit the tiles with a heavy thud and slid to rest at the girl’s feet. Ga-yeong bent down slowly, hands trembling but curious, and grasped the wallet. In-ho noticed her fingers shaking as she opened it, her breath quickening.

A woman, pale smile on her face, a quiet peace in her eyes… it was his deceased wife. Ga-yeong stared for a long moment, searching her memory. Nothing looked familiar. Only a greater emptiness remained inside her.

Then she saw something else. A small card. Stained with dried blood, marked with triangle, square, circle symbols. Her throat constricted. This card shouldn’t have been here, inside this wallet. She glanced at In-ho, but she didn’t believe he had placed it. Whoever trapped them here had arranged these pieces like a puzzle.

Ga-yeong turned the card, noticing the prominent red writing. She leaned in, squinting to read

“X marks the treasure. Sometimes, you see more with your eyes closed.”

Her heart began to race. This was a clue, seemingly written directly for her. She quickly slid the card into her pocket, hiding it between her fingers. Then, as if uninterested, she tossed the wallet back to In-ho.

“No, none of this looks familiar.”

Her voice was firm, yet something else lingered within it. A lie.

In-ho turned his head, staring into the void. He tried not to let his rising anger show. Of course you don’t know, he shouted in his mind, echoing in his head. Because the problem was never you. The real ghost, the bloody past, was sitting right beside you.

“How did the lights turn on?” she asked. The question seemed simple, yet his expression hinted at hidden knowledge.

In-ho nonchalantly pointed to a button further in the room.

Ga-yeong nodded slowly. Then she took a deep breath and added in a low voice, “Can you turn them off? I might have found something.”

In that moment, In-ho could clearly see the shadow, the curiosity she tried to conceal. Ga-yeong had discovered something, quietly and secretly.

And even though In-ho noticed, he chose to act the same way. He ignored it. Because he, too, was hiding something and in this room, the three of them continued to exist, ignoring each other’s secrets.

He stood up and quietly moved away from Gi-hun. With every step, the chain dragging along the floor made a faint rustling sound. He walked toward the button and when he pressed it, the lights went out; darkness fell suddenly over him, and he could not make out his surroundings until his eyes adjusted. The room felt like a silent, alien void, every corner filled with shadows, like a labyrinth inviting the unknown. As he searched for what he was looking for in the dark, every movement was slow and cautious; a moment’s carelessness could change everything.

“Hey, look over here!” Ga-yeong called, her excitement barely contained. She pointed at a spot in the darkness with her finger and even the echo of her voice seemed to stick to the room. The glowing “X” mark had been painted with a phosphorescent substance, shining in the darkness.

In-ho quickly turned the lights back on and headed toward the marked spot. Details hidden in the dark began to take shape in the light. The floor was dusty and damp, the walls cracked; everything looked old, decayed, and forgotten.

He picked up the handle of the saw he had left on the floor and pressed it against the wall. The decayed stone wall broke more easily than he expected; each strike released a puff of dust and a small sigh. He took a deep breath, lifted the saw, and started striking again. Suddenly, he hit a metal object. The saw stuck, and In-ho reflexively threw it to the floor. The metal box trapped inside the wall was pulled toward him, and he staggered back a few steps before stopping.

“What was in there? Did something come out?” Ga-yeong asked, approaching with curiosity and excitement. The trembling in her voice carried both fear and hope.

In-ho wiped his face with his arm, rubbing the dirt and dust off his hands and face. He crouched down, preparing to open the box. There was a brief hesitation in his eyes; he couldn’t predict what was inside. “I hope it’s something good,” he murmured to himself, trying to steady his breath. When he opened the box, his eyes slowly focused on its contents: two small glasses, a bottle of soju, a piece of paper under dust-covered plastic bags and obviously, a small phone.

In-ho picked up the paper and began reading, his eyes fixed on the lines, face expressionless but mind occupied with the meaning of each word. “Soju only poisons the blood if dust is added before drinking.” The message was clear. The rules were strict: pour the dust into the glass, add the soju, and make the girl drink it. This game was forcing In-ho to kill Ga-yeong.

He picked up the phone and began dialing the number. Ga-yeong saw the phone and her eyes lit up with excitement, holding her breath as she watched. In-ho pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear but the repeated “calling… unreachable” tones made the room’s silence even more suffocating. The girl took a step back, staring at the phone, trembling as she waited.

“What else is in there?” she asked, her voice slightly shaking, a mix of fear and curiosity.

“Two glasses and a bottle of soju,” In-ho swallowed, his hands still inside the box.

“So… they want us to drink soju?” Ga-yeong’s voice was a mix of confusion and anxiety.

In-ho paused for a moment, looking toward the broken mirror, at the camera. It would be strange if they weren’t being watched all this time, he thought. But right now, he had to ensure they weren’t observed. He had a plan. He quickly stood and turned off the light. The sudden silence in the room became heavier, more threatening.

“What are you doing?” the girl asked, her voice a mixture of fear and astonishment. “Did you find something? What’s happening?”

In-ho was urgent but silent. “Just...listen,” he said, his voice low, words like a whispered secret. “They want me to poison you with the soju. They want me to kill you.”

Ga-yeong’s eyes widened, but her mind drew a blank. She remained silent, listening blankly.

“I’ll pretend to poison you. You’ll play dead and-"

“How do I know you won’t really poison me?” the girl snapped sharply. Her voice blended doubt and fear into a single line. “This is your way of surviving, after all, killing me.”

The answer in In-ho’s mind was clear: if i wanted to kill you, I would have done it the first chance i got. Instead of saying that, he took a deep breath, pressed his trembling hands together and sank into silence.

“Just…Fuck- please, trust me, okay?” In-ho said, almost in a whisper. Then he slowly turned the lamp back on, illuminating the room’s corners again. The girl’s eyes shone in the light, but now fear and curiosity danced on her face together.

The room was bright again, yet the tension, the weight of their breathing, and the silence still lingered in every corner. Both of them looked at each other, as if silently agreeing, though their words still hung in the air.

In-ho took a deep breath and forced a slight smile. “So..How old are you?” he asked, voice calmer than before, though his eyes retained their usual determination.

Ga-yeong shrugged slightly, replying with a shaky but brave voice.

“I’ll be turning twenty this year.”

In-ho slowly opened the box and took out the bottle of soju. He held it up lightly, watching the liquid inside glint. “Congratulations, you may drink the soju,” he said, adding a careful seriousness to his tone, but with a hint of playfulness.

Ga-yeong looked around, scanning the shadows in the room with suspicion. “So they want our brains to fry or what?” she asked, suppressing a shaky smile in her throat. “I don’t understand anything.”

In-ho took his own glass and carefully poured the soju into it. Then he pretended to secretly add the powder from the packet. For a moment, he considered the camera might notice but he timed it carefully; he rolled the bottle along the bathroom floor slowly, pushing it toward the girl.

“We have to follow the rules,” In-ho said, looking at the glass. “If they want our brains messed up, we’ll do it.” He lifted the glass toward his head, a silent agreement, and the girl took her glass, doing the same.

Gihun, in the corner, chuckled softly. “At least you’re drinking with my daughter,” he said. “Not exactly doing a good thing, though.”

In-ho remained silent, watching the bottle and Ga-yeong’s reactions with his eyes. He knew every movement, every glance, was a trap orchestrated by the game. The girl’s trembling hands and careful movements revealed how intense the tension was.

“First time drinking soju?” In-ho asked, with a hint of curiosity and a desire to clarify.

She nodded. “Yes, it’s not available in America,” she said. Her eyes were slightly distant, a hint of longing in her voice. “My father wouldn’t have wanted me to drink it anyway.”

In-ho forced himself to open the topic. “You must have loved your father a lot,” he said. His voice sincere but measured, observing her mood and reactions.

Ga-yeong gave a faint smile in response but her expression quickly fell. “Yes, I did. But...lately, he was in a very bad state,” she said. The bitterness in her voice showed the wounds of the past. “Then I kept shouting at him that I was better off without him, that I never wanted to see him again,” she added.

Ga-yeong suddenly faltered. “Then… I got the news of his death… and…” she stammered, eyes on the verge of tears. “I couldn’t find out how he died, where his body was…Fuck!”

She coughed for a moment, pretending to choke; with this gesture she drew attention while trying to maintain control. “I shouldn’t have said those harsh words,” she said, catching her breath. “I miss him, i miss my dad."

Collapsing with her choking pretense, her head tilting slightly, she almost lost her balance. “What the- Oh- You! What was in that soju?!" she shouted, struggling to get up.

In-ho stared at her intently. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly and firmly. Inside him, guilt mixed with the need to keep the game on track. The girl’s eyes met his; in that silence, fear and trust were intertwined.

Every movement, every glance, every breath served the complex psychological web of the game. And both of them were aware of it; all that remained now were careful steps and the right decisions.

Ga-yeong stayed completely still. She held even her breaths, playing dead as if she had trapped the full weight of her body inside a stone. Her eyelids trembled slowly but she didn’t move an inch. In-ho, meanwhile, scanned his surroundings from within the darkness; he waited for the chains to somehow unravel, for that merciless voice announcing the end of the game to sound. Escaping on his own was already close to a miracle, but if he could get out with the girl, then- only then, would it be possible to breathe again after this nightmare.

“I did it! I killed her! Let me out!”

At that moment, Ga-yeong suddenly began to thrash. Her body tensed, a feral scream ripped from her throat, cutting through the air. As if invisible hands were torturing her, she sprang up, clutching her own arms and chest, panicking as she struck and touched herself.

“Fucking… fuck!” she yelled. Then her pupils refocused, she drew in a deep, painful breath, and collapsed back to the ground.

In-ho’s patience had snapped. The only plan, the single chance of escape he had, had shattered in an instant. He didn’t hide his anger; his voice reverberated against the walls of darkness.

“Why did you move!” he shouted, his tone shadowed with despair.

Rage flared in Ga-yeong’s eyes. She grabbed the empty soju bottle lying on the floor and hurled it at the wall; the glass shattered violently, echoing in her ears.

“I didn’t do it to ruin your dumbass plan!” she shouted. Then she pointed her trembling finger at the mirror on the opposite wall. “They shocked me! They want to make sure I’m dead or alive, understand?!”

The thought knotted in In-ho’s throat was clear: We will never get out of here. He had never considered the possibility of the plan failing. And now, time was running out. Less than twenty minutes remained before their allotted time expired.

At that tense moment, a sharp sound tore through the silence of the room. The stillness shattered as if pierced by a gunshot. The phone had started ringing. A small, crackling tone… neither a full melody nor a simple alert. There was a threat in that sound but also a strange promise of salvation that seeped into the bones. For a moment, it felt as if the very air of the room had been sucked out, every breath frozen in place.

The two froze instantly. Their lips halted mid-word, eyes locked onto each other. Even their breathing stopped; in the middle of the room, only the distorted, shrill ringtone echoed. In-ho’s heart pounded in his chest so forcefully it seemed to drown out his own voice. Without noticing his fingers trembling, he lunged forward and grabbed the phone.

“Hello?” he said, his voice harsher, more desperate than he expected.

A brief static hiss filled the line. Then the voice that followed seemed to drain all the blood from In-ho’s body.

“Brother?"

Time stopped. It was as if all the walls of the room had collapsed, leaving only that single word. In-ho froze. His lips parted but no words came out. All the sentences that had been circling in his mind for years- regretful explanations, broken apologies, self-defense- choked him at once. Everything he had prepared to say vanished at the exact moment he needed it. He had no words for his brother’s voice.

The voice on the other end continued, this time more hurried, with a suppressed warning.

“Ga-yeong, he…he- he knows you. Don’t trust him.”

And suddenly, the line went dead. Click. Silence returned, but it was no longer the same. A heavier, more suffocating, sharper silence had fallen over the room.

In-ho slowly turned his head. His eyes fell on the girl standing before him. At the same time, Gihun lifted his head to look as well; an invisible line had formed between the three of them. Ga-yeong’s gaze was fixed on In-ho. Silent, yet within her eyes was a scream, interrogation, a blazing courtroom. It was as if a judge sat in the center of the room, reading his sins one by one. Everything moved in silence, but In-ho felt the weight of judgment on his shoulders.

He wasn’t ready for what would happen if he confessed. That one word, that single explanation, would tear down all the walls he had built over the years.

The girl suddenly sprang to her feet. Her trembling voice mixed fear and anger.

“What the fuck? What does this mean, huh?” she shouted. “What does he mean you know me? Shit, Oh, I knew it! I fucking knew it! There was something about you all along!”

She reached into her pocket and quickly pulled out a small card. She waved it in the air, her fingers shaking with anger. Then, with a sharp motion, she hurled the card at In-ho. The card hit the floor and slid, making the air in the room feel even heavier.

“What is this? Tell me, you asshole- what is going on, huh?”

Ga-yeong’s face shifted between rage and helplessness. The laughs that escaped her lips were nervous releases resembling hysterical giggles but her eyes were brimming with tears. While laughing angrily, her throat tightened.

Then, suddenly, she changed direction. She walked to the bathtub; her steps were firm, almost echoing. When she reached in, the heavy smell of rust and dried blood mixed into the air. Pulling out the wet cloth, a green uniform emerged. Old, worn, and covered in blood stains… it was Gihun’s old uniform. Ga-yeong’s hands trembled as she lifted it, squinting at In-ho.

“What does this have to do with my father’s death?” she shouted. Her voice rose, on the verge of becoming a scream. “Shit I'm talking to you! Fucking speak! Answer me! DID YOU KILL HIM?”

Time seemed fractured in the room. Ticking echoed in In-ho’s mind, that sound, the nonexistent yet mentally resounding tick-tock of a clock, quickened. Time was almost up. No matter how much he wanted, there was no time to tell the whole story, no time to reveal all his secrets.

He took a deep, long breath. His expression froze, eyes became emotionless. The words from his lips were icy and sharp.

“Your father made his choice,”

Ga-yeong’s eyes widened, her hands weakened. The uniform slipped from her grasp to the floor. Her whole body collapsed in that instant. She sank to her knees, trembling, unable to stay upright.

“Oh my- What the? What the hell are you saying?”

“I gave him the chance to make a choice. But he chose to save someone else, not himself.”

Rage flared further on the girl’s face. Her lips twitched, sparks ignited in her eyes. She was on the edge of losing control; all her screams, all her protests were now locked onto a single point:

“Huh? What are you trying to say? What choice?”

In-ho’s voice now echoed like a cold sound rebounding off the walls of a cellar. There was no mercy, no anger, only frozen truth.

“He became a finalist in a competition for money. But then he didn’t like the rules, tried to stop the system. There were several stages in this competition…”

He spoke slowly, placing the weight of each word onto her shoulders. Every word fell on her like a dark stone.

“If you failed, you would have died. He… chose to die to save someone else.”

The words hung in the room. The air thickened, as if even breathing had become difficult.

Ga-yeong’s eyes blurred with tears that overflowed. Her lips trembled as she shook her head side to side. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her hair sticking to her face.

“What… what kind of competition is this?” she asked, her voice broken by both curiosity and deep fear.

In-ho did not avert his gaze from her eyes. His words stabbed her like a cold knife.

“Children’s game.”

When these two words echoed in the room, her breath caught. Her breathing shook, she sniffled. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if she could erase those words from her mind.

“How… how sick is this?” she whispered almost. Her words collided, her tongue struggled. “People make money from fucking children’s games… people die, so this is it?! This is the answer you gave me?"

“Yes.”

One word. Like a slap across her face.

Ga-yeong’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Anger and helplessness collided within her.

“Police! The police would have stopped this! It’s impossible that no one noticed this!” she shouted, her desperation breaking into ragged screams. “No one could have not heard… that’s impossible! You’re lying! Who knows what you did to him!”

Every word she spoke was like the desperate flails of a drowning person struggling in water. Her eyes shone with tears, her lips trembled. She clung to the thin thread of reason in her helplessness but the thread slipped through her fingers, vanishing faster the tighter she grasped it.

In-ho lowered his head. When his gaze fell to the floor, it drifted into the void. He spoke slowly, heavily, as if the words were coming not from his own mouth, but from far away, carried on a cold wind.

“The games were held on an island. Cut off from the world, out of sight. No one knew anything.”

His voice was so icy it sounded less like a human speaking and more like the echo of a shadow.

The girl fell silent. But the storm inside her did not. Questions collided in her mind, turning into screams. Finally, the sharpest one burst from her lips.

“So what part did you play in all this?”

A heavy silence fell over the room. The air didn’t move. In-ho’s face showed no regret, no pride. Only a dry acceptance, a blank mask-like expression.

“I was the one running them,” he said.

The words hit her ears like bullets. For a moment, she couldn’t even breathe.

Ga-yeong leapt to her feet. Her body trembled, and the sound from her lips was like a shattered scream. She pointed her finger at In-ho, her eyes ablaze with fury.

“So you’re the one who killed my father! The one responsible…l...I just- Oh my- I can’t believe it-" Her scream collided with the walls, bouncing back at her. “You’re the reason for my hatred of him, the reason for the emptiness that’s grown inside me all these years… it’s you! Fuck you, you’re sick! Disgusting!”

“I didn’t force him to do anything. He made the choice himself.”

But those words rang in Ga-yeong’s ears like a mocking, scornful echo. Her screams mingled with tears. She took a few steps back, her vision now blurred, her chest rising and falling unevenly as though the air itself was betraying her.

“Wait- You…” she said, her voice trembling and cracking. Her eyes darted over his face, searching, desperately trying to pin down the ghost of a memory. For a moment, time seemed to hold its breath. The sound of her heartbeat thundered in her ears, louder than her own ragged sobs.

And then it came rushing back- like a door flung open in her mind. A dim room, the smell of dust and dampness, the faint sound of footsteps dragging across a wooden floor. She remembered standing frozen by the doorway, watching him; handing her the box silently. The shape of his shoulders. A face she had forced herself to forget.

Her lips parted in shock, the memory searing into her like fire. “You… you were the one who brought his stuff, weren’t you?” Her voice broke, carrying both disbelief and dawning rage. She clutched at her chest, as though to steady herself, but her body trembled uncontrollably.

Her gaze sharpened, the blurred haze of grief giving way to anger, hot and sharp. “God...it really was you. Shit!” she spat, the word shaking with fury and despair.

Her knees buckled. Her eyes were wide, her hands clenched into fists. Her heart pounded so fast it felt like it would leap from her chest.

“Oh god. My father’s killer… was right in front of me.”

In-ho’s face remained unchanged. In the depths of his eyes, there was only a gray void.

“Believe me,” he said coldly, “I even killed my own soldiers for what he fought for.”

“Soldiers?!” The girl’s voice cracked, her throat tight. “What kind of cult are you?!”

Her breathing quickened. The anger lodged in her throat coiled around her body like a heavy chain.

In-ho raised his hand. Shadowlike, slow and deliberate. His words were like a half-finished whisper.

“Look… there’s not much time-"

But the girl cut him off. Her scream shattered the walls.

“Fuck the time! If you’re going to kill me, then kill me!” she said, her voice no longer a cry but a challenge. “If you’re not going to kill me, give me the fucking weapon… and I’ll show you what real pain feels like!”

In-ho’s eyes froze. It was as if his pupils had lost all light, becoming two pits opening into empty darkness. The words knotted in his throat; they tried to come out but found no path. Every word that left the girl’s mouth echoed in his mind. They pierced his soul like steel daggers, over and over, without pause. In that moment, the silence in the room was so heavy that it felt as if the walls themselves leaned in to silence them.

Finally, In-ho broke the silence; his voice sounded as if it echoed from the depths of a dark well.

“Your father… if he heard these words from your lips… he wouldn’t be proud.”

A strange sound escaped Ga-yeong’s lips. A bizarre mixture of laughter and crying… wheezing from her throat. She was both in pain and seeming to lose her mind.

“Don’t speak for my father, you bastard!” she shouted, fire spewing from her eyes. Her gaze seemed to pierce In-ho, as if it could tear him apart. “OH, AND… he’ll never hear this. Because of what? hmm? because you killed him!”

In-ho lowered his head. He felt the weight of time. He raised his arm and looked at the clock. Less than ten minutes remained. Every tick-tock hammered into his ears, echoing in his mind. The plan had collapsed; control had long since slipped from his hands. The girl’s mind was shattered, her heart a wreck. Yet a choice still had to be made. And that choice, in all its starkness, lay in his hands.

He took a deep breath, fixing his gaze on the dark corners of the room. Speaking as if confessing to the void inside himself, he admitted.

“I joined the games to save my wife.”

Ga-yeong froze for a moment. Her eyes widened in shock. That confession even silenced her anger. It was as if all the bells ringing in her mind had stopped for an instant.

In-ho continued with a blank face, as if repeating a story he had already told himself countless times.

“She had a terminal illness. I needed money to save her.”

With trembling hands, he reached into his pocket. His fingers pulled out an object that had once symbolized hope but now meant nothing but a curse. An old, worn envelope… its edges torn, yellowed, stained with the weight of years. He opened it slowly. The rustling of the papers echoed like a scream in the silence of a graveyard.

“I won the game. I returned with the money…” His voice cracked, a splinter stuck in his throat. “But my wife was already dead. I had lost all purpose in life. Nothing was left in my hands. Until… I was offered to run the games.”

The girl’s gaze hardened; anger began to circulate through her veins again. But for a moment, her expression softened, wavering between rage and compassion. A part of her heart still wanted to believe him, to understand.

In-ho’s voice gradually turned into a whisper, as if his words were fleeing from his own shadow.

“Nothing in that world made me feel I belonged anymore. The only place I belonged… was that island, those games.”

Ga-yeong’s eyes filled, her lips trembled. She screamed, her voice cracking the walls of the room:

“That doesn’t justify you!”

In-ho’s lips formed a thin, merciless line.

“In life, we all make choices. And we alone pay the price for the choices we make.”

Then he reached into the envelope. He pulled out a heavy, cold bullet. The metallic gleam of the bullet sparkled like a sharp blade in the dim light of the room. As In-ho held it between his fingers, a dull reflection appeared in his eyes.

“I’m here because of my choices. And I’m not even a second regretting them.”

Ga-yeong shouted in rage, her voice cracking. “You’re insane!”

A faint, unsettling smile spread across In-ho’s lips. It wasn’t a smile at all, more like mockery, contempt, a reflection of the void.

The girl held her breath. A knot formed in her throat. It felt as if her chest was being crushed, her lungs tightening. She felt like she was suffocating.

In-ho slowly leaned toward her. He reached for a rusted saw. The scrape of metal echoed through the room, cold, raw, ominous. He stepped closer to where she lay.

Ga-yeong’s voice trembled, almost pleading:

“What are you doing?”

In-ho said nothing. He simply lowered the saw toward the gun with a slow, suffocating deliberateness.

“Hey- Stop! What are you doing?!” the girl shouted.

The metallic scraping cut through the air like a scream. In-ho gritted his teeth, muscles taut. The saw slipped, his palms wet with a mix of blood and sweat. He tried again, forced it again. The tick-tock of time echoed in his mind, every second stretching like a lifetime. Finally… the gun shifted.

He held his breath, swallowing the air knotting in his throat. Then he pulled it toward himself.

The weapon was now in his hands. The weight of the cold metal filled his palms. And time continued to flow mercilessly.

In-ho lifted his head, his gaze sinking into the darkness. His voice came heavy and decisive, like a judge reading a verdict:

“I’m making a choice.”

He flung the rusted saw at the girl’s feet. The clatter of metal against the floor shattered the oppressive silence of the room. The ringing sound echoed in her ears like the toll of a death bell.

Ga-yeong sprang back, eyes wide. Her heart pounded so violently it felt as if it might burst from her chest, tearing through her flesh. Her breath came in short, burning gasps.

“What does this mean now?” she said, her voice fractured and jagged. “What are you going to do? Like you killed my father… are you going to kill me too?”

In-ho moved as if her words were irrelevant, with quiet, mechanical precision. He loaded the bullet into the gun. The sharp click of the mechanism closing echoed in the room. That click felt like all hope being sealed, like the door to the future was locked forever.

A thin, chilling smirk formed at the corner of his lips. It was not a smile; it resembled more a crack etched into a tombstone.

“Do you know?” he said, his gaze icy as it met hers. “You’re as stubborn as he was. And like him… you will never understand.”

He raised the gun. The cold barrel pointed at her. The frozen metal tip didn’t touch Ga-yeong’s forehead, but it froze her breath.

Ga-yeong began to move in panic. She slid backward, her back nearly against the wall. Her hands went up, shaking and uncontrolled, pleading. Tears streamed down her cheeks, running onto her neck and soaking the collar of her shirt.

Her voice was like the last string of a broken violin. “Please! I’m begging you, don’t kill me! Okay..okay, I- I believe you! I understand you… just, just please don’t point that gun at me!”

In-ho’s eyes did not blink. He stared, motionless, as if facing not a human but a shadow. Then he spoke in a calm, monotonous voice.

“Take the saw.”

Ga-yeong stopped crying for a moment. Her eyes widened, her brows knit together.

“What?”

“You heard me. Take the saw in your hand.”

Ga-yeong froze. Was this a game? A sadistic game designed to make her feel even more helpless? Her breathing quickened. She hesitated for a few seconds, her eyes wandering over the rusted, blood-stained saw on the floor. But under the weight of fear, she slowly bent down and gripped the cold metal. Her palms ached, the sharp edges cutting into her skin.

In-ho checked the time. The tick-tock hammered into his ears like nails. Time was running out fast. Then he turned his gaze back to her.

“Look,” he said, his voice both weary and sharp. “What I’m about to ask you may seem insane. But it’s the only way to get out of here.”

Hiccups escaped Ga-yeong's throat. Her voice mingled with her gasps.

“Please… I don’t want to die.”

Sweat dripped from In-ho’s face. It ran down to his chin, falling drop by drop to the floor. He held the gun firmly and stepped toward her. The barrel pointed to her feet.

“That saw…” he said in a hoarse voice. “It’s not for the chains. It’s for you.”

The girl froze. It was as if all her muscles were paralyzed. Her pupils dilated, her lips parted. Then, in a sudden reaction, she screamed and threw the saw to the ground.

“No! No, I won’t do this!”

In-ho’s voice suddenly exploded. It reverberated in the room like a thunderclap.

“Do you want to die?!” He pointed at the clock, swinging the metal barrel. “If you want to live, cut yourself!”

Ga-yeong's expression changed instantly. Amid her tears, anger flared. Her lips trembled, her voice hardened like stee.

“Don’t tell me what to do! Don’t act like you care if I live!”

At that moment, In-ho’s mind was in complete disarray. Memories, all the pain he had buried over the years, surged back like a flood. Like Gi-hun, this girl didn’t understand him. No one ever had. He had never enjoyed anything he had done in life. Killing had never given him pleasure. He had lost his wife. His child as well. He hadn’t been there in their final moments. He had left them alone while chasing money. He had been penniless. Helpless. And worst of all, he could not forgive himself.

Out of shame, he had even attempted suicide. But even death had refused him. He could not turn back and seek refuge with his brother or mother. He could not face their eyes. That was why he remained here. In the games. This had become his only home. The only place he could breathe was the blood-soaked soil of that island.

Yet nothing could be read on his face. No anger, no pain, no regret. Only an emotionless mask. Perhaps that was the real problem.

Finally, he parted his lips. His voice was icy, merciless.

“Your father didn’t care either.”

The girl’s eyes widened in momentary shock.

“He didn’t care what would happen to you,” In-ho continued. “He still joined the game.” He swung the gun in the air, his words hitting like the sharp strike of a judge’s gavel. “I am here trying to save your life.”

The girl’s face tensed. She narrowed her eyes and spoke in a firm, cold voice. “Then do it by killing yourself. Like my father. If you understand the sacrifice he made… do the same. Die to save someone else’s life.”

The words echoed in the room. Spoken with a proud, upright tone, but beneath it, a trembling, nearly shattered courage lingered.

For a split second, both glanced at the clock. The hands moved mercilessly. The remaining minutes melted away. Time slipped through their fingers like grains of sand, each one falling like a tombstone on their hearts.

Ga-yeong’s hands shook so violently that when she grasped the saw, she thought it would slip from her fingers. The cold metal bit into her fingertips, numbing her muscles. Her knees gave way, and she collapsed to the floor. She felt the pain of hitting the hard ground, but it was nothing compared to the terror swelling inside her. She tried to aim the saw at her chained foot, but her wrists trembled so uncontrollably that lining it up was impossible.

Each breath tightened her chest, as if tiny shards of ice were cracking inside her lungs. The air she exhaled was cold, short, and sharp. Her vision blurred; her mind seemed on the verge of leaving her body. Even thinking about what she was about to do was terrifying enough to make her faint. She brought the saw close, but every time, fear made her pull back.

She sniffled several times, pressing her lips so hard they nearly bled. She tried to suppress the scream rising inside her. She held her breath, tried to squeeze herself, but could not stop the hiccup-like bursts of air from escaping. When she brought the saw to her wrist, a muffled moan escaped her chest. She was not an enemy- she had to hurt herself. And that was the most unbearable part.

Finally, she froze in place. The saw swung heavily between her hands, and she could not move. She stared at the ceiling, tears slipping from her eyelids- not quietly, but uncontrolled, desperate drops that burned her throat. Though she tried to remain silent, she soon broke into sobs. Her shoulders shook, and even as she clenched her teeth, muffled whimpers escaped her lips.

“I… I can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice barely audible and trembling. “How… how can I cut myself?”

Cutting her foot… perhaps it was the only way to survive. But when Ga-yeong tried to press the saw’s rusty teeth against her wrist, the pounding of her heart slammed into her brain, and her vision darkened. She didn’t have the courage. She never would.

For a moment, she thought of her mother. The warm hands that had stroked her hair as a child, the reassuring voice, the smell of food filling the kitchen. Her home, her room, those safe moments… all played before her eyes like a film reel. She wanted to be there. She wanted to be with them. She didn’t want to die. But this chain, this saw, this pain… even living had become as terrifying as death.

She wasn’t as brave as her father. She could never be. Facing that truth felt heavier than cutting her foot.

In a heartbeat , In-ho’s eyes locked onto Ga-yeong. He held a gun aimed at her, unable to look away. He tried to focus completely, trying not to think of anything, as if nothing else existed: the clinking of the chain, the rusty glint of the saw, the heavy smell of the room- all had vanished. The only thing he saw was the fragile figure trembling on her knees; a little girl slipping through his fingers. The shadow that emerged within touched the most fragile part of his heart, a place where all the wounds he had hidden for years suddenly reopened.

He looked at her trembling fingers, her sobbing chest, her body writhing in pain. Ga-yeong’s breathing was uncontrolled, her chest tightening, every breath escaping like a plea. In-ho wanted to look away but couldn’t. The more he stared, the deeper it cut.

His lips trembled faintly, as if the very air around him had grown heavier, thicker, pressing down on his chest. A blurry veil seemed to pass before his eyes, a thin curtain that wavered and distorted the world, muting sounds and dimming light. For a fleeting, fragile moment, reality seemed to vanish entirely- swallowed by a silence so complete it roared in his ears.

He could still see Ga-yeong standing before him, but her expression, the fear etched so vividly on her face, the desperation swelling in her wide, pleading eyes, slowly began to dissolve. And in its place, another image, startling in its intimacy, began to form. A completely different face, yet achingly familiar.

His wife’s face.

The face he had kept locked away in the deepest corners of his mind, the one that haunted his dreams and stirred him awake in the dead of night, the face he had painted in every shadow, every reflection, every fragment of his imagination… It was there, alive, in front of him. Her eyes were wide and glistening, brimming with tears that mirrored his own unspilled grief. Her lips trembled with the same silent plea, and in that trembling, he felt a flood of memories, regrets, and unspoken words crashing over him.

In that instant, Ga-yeong’s thin lips blurred and melted into the soft curve of his wife’s. That small, delicate chin shifted beneath his gaze into the one he had memorized by heart. The trembling fingers, once foreign and uncertain, became her hands- hands he longed to hold, to feel, to protect. Every detail, every nuance, every infinitesimal movement was hers.

And then, the fracture struck. It was not just a pain, but a gaping rupture tearing through the very center of his heart, splitting it with a force that seemed to freeze his blood. It was as if a cold, merciless knife had been driven straight into his chest, twisting and sinking, leaving a hollow emptiness behind. His nose ached as if the air itself carried grief, and tears, stubborn and defiant, pooled behind his eyelids, threatening to spill over.

He wanted to cry out, to reach for her, to touch her, but the world had become a distorted, suffocating echo. His heart, fragile and exposed, ached for the impossible: for the return of what had been lost, for a second chance that would never come.

In the background, the cries of babies rose. Thin, sharp, piercing screams. They bounced off the corners of the room, shaking every wall. It wasn’t just one baby- hundreds of voices seemed to scream at once. The screams hollowed out In-ho’s mind, carving into his chest.

His heart was breaking.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the sounds didn’t fade. On the contrary, they multiplied. His throat tightened, and breathing became difficult. For a moment, he thought he felt a tiny body in his arms; warm, wriggling weight. He felt little fingers tugging at his shirt, clinging to him as if pleading to stop crying. But there was nothing in his arms. Only emptiness.

He bowed his head, unwilling to look at Ga-yeong. Because she was no longer what he saw. What he saw was his wife.

For a moment, his wife’s voice echoed in his mind. Thin, tired, fragile: “Don’t leave me." It rang in his ears, and he couldn’t tell if it was real or just a hallucination.

The screams grew so loud they nearly drowned out his heartbeat. Something inside him was breaking- irreversibly.

In-ho’s throat tightened. He wanted to swallow, but it felt like he had swallowed stone. Hundreds of words hovered on the tip of his tongue, but none could escape. He parted his lips; even breathing was painful.

When he spoke, his voice came out fragile, ready to crack. Even to his own ears, it sounded foreign. All the guilt, longing, and helplessness he had bottled up for years resonated in that single frail voice.

“Just…” he said. “Just… tell my brother it’s because I lost.”

Ga-yeong’s heart twisted in her throat. When she understood what he meant, her breath caught. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open, but no words came. She wanted to scream “What- Stop-" but the sound caught in her throat.

Because she had already understood.

Slowly… with terrifying slowness… In-ho placed the gun under his chin.

Ga-yeong’s mind went into chaos. No… no, this can’t be happening… she thought. But it was happening. Whether she wanted it or not, it was unfolding right before her eyes. Alongside her hatred for her father’s killer, something strange began to rise within her: empathy. She understood him. His loss, regret, pain… And this understanding frightened her even more. Because there was no difference between killing someone and watching someone kill themselves. The result was the same: death.

“Stop-” she whispered involuntarily. Then she covered her mouth with her hands. She wanted him to stop… but if he did, what would happen? Maybe she would die. Maybe both of them. If anyone were to survive this room, who would it be?

“Please…” she begged through her tears.

But In-ho didn’t hear her. His eyes were closed; he had retreated into the past. The sketches he had made with his wife… museum visits… tiny picnics. All of it now felt as though it belonged to someone else, memories from a distant dream. Life was made of ordinary days, and reclaiming it was impossible.

Ga-yeong’s voice trembled as it echoed.“We’ll think of something. We’ll find a way.”

But in In-ho’s eyes, the decision had already been made. A name slipped from his lips.“Hwang Jun-ho.”

Silence.

Gihun’s voice appeared in the room like a broken echo. “Are you really going to do it?”

In-ho opened his eyes, locking onto Gihun’s gaze. There was no pity, no mockery. Only the shadow of rigid hatred and irreversible decisions.

He moved his finger to the trigger. The cold metal stuck to his skin.

“Oh… you’re really going to do it,” Gihun said, holding his breath.

And time froze.

The ticking of the clock had stopped. The heavy scent in the air-blood, rust, and dampness-made each breath agony. The silence was as loud as the screams themselves.

Then he pressed the trigger.

The room shook with the gun’s blast. The noise ricocheted off the narrow concrete walls, amplifying into a roar that tore at eardrums. The screaming girl pulled at her chains frantically, but the iron bit cruelly into her wrists. The sharp smell of gunpowder choked the air; combined with the metallic tang of warm blood, the atmosphere of the room became a mist of death.

In-ho’s body fell backward as if in slow motion. Time seemed to slow with him. As his shoulders sank back, the gun slipped slightly from his hands; the metal glimmered for a brief moment before hitting the floor. The deep, hollow sound of his body striking the ground echoed like a bell. Blood streamed from his forehead, first as a thin line, then faster, turning the gray concrete dark red.

In that instant, even the clock seemed silent. The only thing filling the room was the heavy, silent breath of death.

The girl closed her eyes, her lungs burning as her breath caught in her throat. She thought she was dying-then… a click. From her chains. She pulled downward with trembling hands and realized the metal had loosened. The iron bracelets slowly slid off her wrists.

The feeling that surged inside her was a raw freedom born from the void of fear. Though her whole body trembled, the noise of the chains hitting the floor seemed to echo the beating of her own heart.

She staggered as she tried to stand. The blood on the floor made her feet slip. Her eyes fell on In-ho’s lifeless body. She didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t look away. The cruelest contradiction: the man who had killed her father had now ended his own life to give him salvation.

She moved slowly, almost crawling. Her gaze fell on her father’s jacket-lying on the floor, soaked with blood, riddled with holes. She sank to her knees and picked it up with trembling hands. Lifting it to her face, the metallic scent burned her nostrils. Tears filled her eyes involuntarily.

“Father…” she whispered, her voice broken and low. Her lips trembled. Sliding the jacket onto her shoulders, she felt the cold blood touch her back. A shiver ran through her, yet a strange sense of security enveloped her, as if her father were still there, existing inside the jacket.

She stood, wobbling, and walked toward the door. Each step was heavy, leaving red streaks across the blood-slicked floor. Her breathing grew harsh; her heart pounded as if it would break her ribs. She reached the door and pressed her palm against the cold metal, pausing for a moment. She turned her head, looking back one last time.

In-ho lay on the floor, in a pool of blood. The gun had slipped a few inches from his hand. His expression was frozen; no anger, no regret. Only a hollow, unreadable mask remained.

Without a word, she opened the door.

The room fell silent again. The clock resumed its ticking, as if denying the explosion that had just occurred. The smell of blood and gunpowder had seeped into the concrete, permanent and inescapable.

And then… in the dim corner of the room, on the floor soaked with blood and gunpowder, the red jumpsuit moved. Their first motion was so slight it seemed as if only a shadow had stirred. Their fingers twitched, then shoulders shook. Like someone who had held their breath for ages, cloaked in the darkness of death… finally, they straightened with a heavy groan. Their mask slid slightly to the side; cold sweat rolled down their forehead onto their chin.

They drew a deep, gasping breath. Their chest tightened with the metallic tang in the air, a raspy cough rose from their throat. The sound of the cough echoed through the empty room like a knife cutting through silence.

Then they froze. Motionless for a long time, only their irregular breathing marked presence. Their eyes locked on In-ho’s lifeless body. Over time, that gaze became fixed and hard, as if they wanted to peer into the emptiness of his soul.

Now only two remained in the room: one dead, the other still breathing. But in truth, it made no difference. Both were prisoners of the same darkness, the same silent hell.

They in red stepped forward, each heavy footstep pressing into the blood on the floor, leaving long red streaks. They reached In-ho, sank to their knees, and bowed their head slightly; the shadow of their mask fell across the dead face.

They looked into the dull eyes. They saw nothing now, only emptiness, void. Eyes that once blazed with anger, ambition, stubbornness… now nothing but stone-like hollows.

Silence deepened. Only the breathing of the they in red broke it—quick, choppy, almost impatient breaths. In that moment, it seemed as though time had frozen once more. Even the ticking clock, which had reminded them of everything, seemed to choose silence under the shadow of this death.

The one in red remained there for a long time. They didn’t move their hands, didn’t avert their eyes. Perhaps they were waiting for something. Perhaps they were trying to calm the storm inside themselves. Silence hung over this man, locked in an unblinking stare with In-ho’s lifeless face, like a heavy weight.

Finally, they slowly straightened. Shoulders back, mask adjusted. Their footsteps echoed again on the concrete floor. They walked toward the door. As their hand reached for the iron handle, they paused for a moment. They turned their head, looking back.

Their gaze lingered. They looked at In-ho’s body, the darkening stains of blood, the face sunk in silence. That gaze was a farewell. But to whom? To the dead? To their own past? To the anger they carried? Or to the regret itself? Perhaps all of them.

Then a cold whisper escaped their lips. So quiet, so sharp that even the walls seemed to engrave it into memory.

"Game over."

They slowly opened the door. The creak and scrape of metal echoed in the room. They stepped forward, then slammed the door shut with a loud noise. The sound struck the emptiness like cold thunder, reverberating.

And all that remained was In-ho’s lifeless body. The sharp scent of blood, the acrid traces of gunpowder, and the silent weight of death…

The clock began ticking again. But these ticks no longer echoed in the room- they sounded as if deep inside a grave.

Notes:

sooo many parts I still wanna add, cut or fix and I will but at some point this fic just had to leave my hands 😭 so I finally posted it thank god.(pls ignore the mistakes for now. I’ll try to fix them later,,,Sooo hope you enjoyed it!! can’t wait to read your comments <33

 

OH AND who do y’all think the square guard running the game could be?