Chapter Text
Tinny orchestral music filtered through the air.
Jun-ho stirred, his head lolling to the side as he fought the weight dragging him down. His body felt impossibly heavy, his limbs sluggish as if submerged in water. His mind lagged behind, sluggish and disoriented, struggling to piece together the last thing he remembered.
The limousine. The gas.
In-ho.
His breath hitched.
Panic surged through him like ice water, sending a violent shudder down his spine. His stomach twisted, nausea rising as the realization settled in.
With a sharp breath, he forced himself upright, his muscles groaning in protest.
The room around him swam in and out of focus.
Stark white walls. Towering metal bunks. A sea of green tracksuits, each one stamped with a bold white number. Confused murmurs rippled through the space as more players stirred awake, groggy and uncertain. Some rubbed their eyes, others clutched their heads, their expressions a mix of confusion and rising dread.
Jun-ho’s pulse roared in his ears.
He was back.
His breath came faster, shallower, chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. He twisted around, scanning the endless rows of beds, searching.
Where was he?
Without thinking, Jun-ho scrambled up, climbing higher onto the top bunk of his row, ignoring the protests of the dazed player he nearly trampled. His eyes darted through the crowd, wild and desperate.
Where was In-ho?
The memory of their conversation in the limousine hit him in fragments. The anger, the challenge, the gas clouding his vision—
He’d needed to show In-ho just how wrong he was.
Had In-ho done it? Was he here?
His gaze swept over the other players. Faces filled with confusion, fear, and dread. Murmuring filled the air as more people woke up, shaking off the effects of the gas, climbing down from their bunks and moving to the center of the room.
Jun-ho turned, looking for ‘him’.
But his brother was nowhere in sight.
A sick feeling curled in his gut.
The blaring sirens cut through the air, sending an eerie hush over the players.
Jun-ho barely registered the pink guards marching in, their faceless masks making them look more like machines than people.
The line of guards parted, and from their center, a square-masked figure stepped forward.
Jun-ho froze.
His breath caught in his throat.
For one agonizing second, hope flared inside him.
Not In-ho.
Not him.
Just another guard. Another cog in this horrific machine.
"I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you," the guard intoned, voice flat. "Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days."
Jun-ho’s mind was still catching up.
He’d been duped.
He was back. Back in the nightmare.
His brother had put him back in the games to die.
His breath came in short, shallow bursts. His body felt sluggish, still weighed down by whatever gas they had used on him. But his heart pounded with vicious clarity, the horror of his reality sinking in with every second.
He forced himself to focus, scanning the sea of players, desperate to catch a glimpse of him. To be proven wrong.
But his brother was nowhere in sight.
A sick feeling settled in his stomach.
Had In-ho sent Jun-ho here just to watch him suffer?
Was he lurking somewhere, hidden behind a mask,sending all the players off to their deaths, like animals to the slaughter?
Jun-ho’s gaze snapped up, darting across the high walls until he found it—
A camera.
It hung just above one of the bunk beds closest to him, small and unassuming, but its black, glassy lens bore into him, unblinking. Recording.
His chest tightened.
Jun-ho knew who was behind that screen.
He felt it in his bones.
In-ho was watching.
His pulse pounded as he stared the camera down, jaw clenching, muscles tensing. His hands curled into fists at his sides. He didn’t blink, didn’t waver.
He wanted his brother to see him.
He wanted In-ho to know—
He wouldn’t break.
Not here.
For a moment, everything else faded. The voices of the other players, the sterile white lights, the distant sound of the guard droning on. None of it mattered.
Just him and the camera.
Just him and In-ho.
Jun-ho lifted his chin, letting his glare burn through the lens, through the screen, through whatever distance separated them. His breath was steady now, controlled. He wanted his brother to feel it, to feel him through the screen.
His fury.
His defiance.
You did this to me.
The camera remained still, its cold, lifeless gaze unflinching.
Jun-ho’s lip curled.
Coward.
Jun-ho felt his throat tighten. His chest ached with something raw, something he couldn’t quite name.
The speech continued. The usual spiel about following orders, winning the prize.
Jun-ho heard none of it.
-
The field stretched before them, vast and open, with a single white line marking the start and finish. The sun glared down from a cloudless sky, making the golden grass seem almost too bright, too peaceful. A cruel illusion.
At the far end, the giant mechanical doll stood motionless, its plastic pigtails gleaming under the light. Its head was tilted slightly downward, eyes closed, as if waiting.
Jun-ho’s throat tightened.
He’d seen this game before. He knew what was about to happen.
A hollow, sinking feeling settled in his gut, an awful weight pressing against his ribs. He forced himself to breathe through it, but it didn’t help.
The anger wasn’t enough to smother the other feeling creeping in now—the one he had been pushing down, burying beneath his rage.
A horrible, crushing realization settled over him, sharp as a blade.
He wasn’t getting out.
Not this time.
In-ho hadn’t fulfilled his end of the dare. The deal.
Jun-ho would die here.
And he would never see them again.
Sae-byeok.
Cheol.
Their faces flashed in his mind, so vivid it hurt.
Sae-byeok, sharp-eyed and serious, always standing just close enough to remind him he wasn’t alone. Cheol, grinning, warm and wide-eyed, full of a kind of hope Jun-ho had never understood.
They were his family. The only real one he had left.
And now—
He would never tell Sae-byeok thank you for all the times she had his back. Would never be able to roll his eyes at her tough exterior, knowing full well that she cared more than she let on.
He would never see Cheol’s ridiculous smile again. Would never get to tell him to stop being so damn reckless, would never hear him laugh, would never—
His eyes burned.
Jun-ho shut them.
Breathed in.
Pushed it all down.
He couldn’t think about that now.
Couldn’t afford to.
If he did, he might never be able to stand back up.
A movement caught his attention. The front of a sniper rifle sticking out of the wall.
It twitched slightly, as if already tracking the movement of the final players entering the game hall.
A metallic click echoed across the field.
Jun-ho’s body snapped to attention, his muscles coiling tight.
The doll’s head jerked.
"Red light… green light!"
The game had already begun.
Jun-ho surged forward, his steps measured, his body tense. The air in the field grew thick with anticipation, the heavy silence pressing against his ears.
Bang.
The first shot.
A player crumpled to the ground.
A heartbeat of silence—
Then screaming.
Panic exploded through the crowd like wildfire. People ran. People shoved.
People died.
Jun-ho’s breath came fast. His head whipped around, watching the chaos unfold with an awful sense of déjà vu.
He had seen this before.
He knew what would happen next.
People would move.
People would fall.
People would die.
He had to stop it.
"DON’T MOVE!" Jun-ho shouted, his voice cutting through the hysteria. As he fought to both shout, and stay as still as possible.
Several players froze, their heads snapping toward him.
"You’ll be shot if you move! Stay still—"
A man beside him jerked back, stumbling over his own feet.
Gunfire.
Blood sprayed across Jun-ho’s sleeve. The man collapsed, his body twitching once before going still.
An old woman sobbed. A man next to her whimpered his hands clutching his chest as if he could keep his heart from pounding out of his ribs.
"LISTEN TO ME!" Jun-ho tried again, his voice desperate. "Stop running—"
More shots. More bodies.
He was too late.
He wasn’t enough.
The screaming didn’t stop. The gunfire didn’t stop.
It never did.
Jun-ho swallowed the bile rising in his throat, forcing himself to move again.
The game continued.
The bodies piled up.
By the time the doll called its final red light, the field was littered with corpses.
Jun-ho stood in the thinning crowd of survivors, his hands trembling at his sides.
The sun overhead was still bright, still warm.
Like nothing had happened.
Like the world hadn’t just stolen dozens of lives.
His pulse pounded so hard it felt like his veins would burst.
His vision swam.
Rage burned in his chest, searing and relentless.
This place had to be destroyed.
Not just for himself.
Not just for revenge.
But for them.
For Sae-byeok.
For Cheol.
For every single person who had died here, believing there was a way out.
-
Silence hung over the surviving players as they filed into the dormitory.
The quiet felt so loud.
Jun-ho exhaled sharply, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Less players had died than he remembered from his first time playing.
But too many had died.
A sharp, suffocating ache wrapped around his chest as he glanced at the others. Some players sat on their bunks, their eyes blank, their bodies still as if moving would shatter them. Others stood frozen in place, shoulders hunched, silent tears streaming down their faces. A few sobbed outright, hands clamped over their mouths to stifle the sounds.
Jun-ho clenched his jaw.
They needed to stop this. Now.
"There’s a way out," Jun-ho said, his voice cutting through the uneasy quiet.
Some heads turned toward him.
Jun-ho took a step forward. Louder. Stronger.
"We can vote. If the majority decides, we can leave. We don’t have to play anymore."
Murmurs rose. Confusion. Hope.
The Guards entered the room, and any sense of unity the players had had at Jun-ho’s words shattered.
A heavy weight settled in Jun-ho’s stomach as the players shrank back. The air shifted, thickening with fear.
A guard stepped forward.
"Congratulations for making it through the first game," the masked manager said.
Jun-ho’s teeth clenched.
The manager gestured upward, and the massive screen flickered to life.
"Here are the results of the first game."
Jun-ho’s fists tightened as the tally of players on the screen ticked down.
456.
305.
"Out of 456 players, 151 players have been eliminated."
Jun-ho could hear the smile in the masked manager’s voice.
"Congratulations again for making it through the first game!"
A strangled sob tore through the room.
Jun-ho turned just in time to see an older woman collapse to her knees, her body shaking. She clung desperately to the man beside her, dragging him down with her.
"Sir! Please don’t kill us! Please don’t kill us. I beg you!"
Her voice cracked, raw with terror.
Jun-ho’s stomach twisted.
He stepped forward. "If the majority votes, we can leave, correct?"
The manager said nothing.
The older woman’s sobs grew louder and others started to join her in mumbled desperate begging.
All eyes turned toward Jun-ho.
"Clause Three of the consent form," he pressed.
A tense silence stretched between him and the square-masked Guard.
A single nod.
"That is correct."
Relief crashed through Jun-ho—only to be shattered by the mechanical whir above them.
The piggy bank descended.
A deafening clunk echoed as it locked into place, glistening like a cruel deity above them all.
"However," the manager continued smoothly, "before voting, let us announce the prize money that has been accumulated."
Jun-ho’s gut twisted.
He already knew what would happen next.
And as the first stacks of money tumbled into the glass dome, filling it with crisp, blood money–
He moved to the back of the room.
Greed would win out.
It always did.
A hush fell over the players as the first bundle of cash landed with a muted thud.
More bills rained down, piling higher.
Eyes locked onto it, transfixed.
Breath hitched.
Hands clenched.
Some players who had been crying moments before now watched with something else in their gaze.
A different kind of desperation.
Jun-ho forced himself to look away.
That’s when he saw him.
His breath caught in his throat.
Player 001.
His brother.
Jun-ho froze.
For a moment, everything else disappeared.
The guards. The piggy bank. The players whispering about the vote.
All of it faded into meaningless noise.
All he could see was In-ho.
Dressed just like everyone else. Wearing the same numbered tracksuit.
Blending in.
But those eyes.
Cold. Unreadable.
Jun-ho swallowed hard, his stomach twisting into a painful knot.
He felt sick.
Why?
Why was he here?
Why was he pretending to be one of them?
In-ho didn’t react. Didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t so much as flinch.
As if he were just another player.
As if they weren’t brothers.
The vote commenced.
One by one, players stepped forward, pressing the button that sealed their fate.
Jun-ho barely paid attention.
His mind was consumed by the man standing across the room.
The man who had orchestrated this.
When the final vote was cast, the red light above them flickered—
Green.
They had chosen to stay.
Something inside Jun-ho snapped.
Before he could think, before he could stop himself—
He moved.
Surging forward, he grabbed In-ho’s arm.
Felt the familiar shape of him beneath his fingers, the solid weight of the brother he had once trusted more than anything.
"You."
His voice was raw, nearly unrecognizable.
He yanked In-ho away from the crowd, dragging him toward the bunks.
Shoving him against the cold metal.
Grabbing his collar.
Rage thrumming beneath his skin like wildfire.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
In-ho barely blinked.
"Let go of me, Jun-ho."
Jun-ho didn’t move.
"Why are you here? Why—"
"You challenged me," In-ho said simply. "I accepted."
Jun-ho’s stomach churned.
He shook his head. "This isn’t a game."
In-ho met his gaze, unwavering. "You wanted me to be here. You wanted to be here. Don’t forget that."
Jun-ho’s grip tightened.
"You’re sick," he spat. "You’re going to let them all die, aren’t you?"
In-ho exhaled, long and slow.
Then, his voice dropped to a deadly whisper.
"If you break my cover, I will have every player killed. And I will make you watch."
Jun-ho stilled.
The weight of the words crashed into him, sharp as glass.
He searched his brother’s face, desperate for a lie. A bluff.
But there was nothing.
Nothing but cold, unwavering certainty.
Jun-ho’s breath came shakily. His hands trembled.
He let go.
In-ho straightened his collar, adjusting himself like nothing had happened.
Jun-ho’s hands curled into fists. His heart pounded so hard it hurt.
"I should have killed you in that limousine."
The words came out hoarse.
More pain than anger.
In-ho looked at him for a long, quiet moment.
Then, without another word—
He turned.
And walked away.
