Chapter Text
The first thing Hyun-ju registered was the rough kiss of asphalt against her cheek. The second was the acrid smell of exhaust fumes characteristic of the city. Contrast to the sterile, recycled air she’d been breathing for what felt like a lifetime. Her hands, clumsy and trembling, fumbled at her face, tearing away the blindfold as she had done many times during her time in the military.
The city lights of Seoul seemed to blur around to her tired sight. She’d been unconscious for most of the ride, only to be tossed onto the pavement. For a terrifying, sinking moment, she believed she hadn’t survived. That this was some final, cruel trick of a dying mind.
But the pain in her leg, her bruises, the deep, throbbing ache was real. So was the slick, rectangular object stuck in her mouth. She spat it onto the ground, a golden card. Shining under the glow of the streetlights. With a shaking hand, she snatched it up and shoved it deep into her pocket, the sharp corner a painful reminder of what had just happened.
Her gaze swept through the grim alley, finally landing on a shape that didn’t belong to it. A moses basket, of all things, sitting pristine on the filthy ground. And inside… a gentle rise and fall. A tiny body, wrapped in the familiar, numbered green of her mother’s game jacket.
Oh.
The breath hitched in her throat.
Fuck!
Adrenaline surged, hot and sharp. Ignoring the screaming protest from her leg, Hyun-ju scrambled over, scooping the infant from the basket.
The baby was a light weight against her chest, a warm, living presence. A small squirm, an innocent sight after all she had seen… and the frantic beating of Hyun-ju’s heart began to slow down into a steady rhythm.
She 's okay. She thought. She 's real.
For a moment, after she’d lost consciousness after winning the final game, she was sure they had killed the child. A loose end. A price too small to matter in the bloody spectacle. For the sake of a bigger price, for the sake of mere entertainment…
But they hadn’t. They’d adhered to their own twisted logic, the insane rules that declared a baby born within the game a player— one who could vote, one who could even win. It was a loophole, a ridiculous, humane cruelty that had, against all odds, saved this tiny life.
Gently, so as to not wake her up, Hyun-ju settled the baby back into the basket. As she adjusted the small pillow beneath the infant’s head, her fingers brushed against another card. Identical to her own. Tucked away like a hidden blessing, or a final, cruel joke.
With the basket in one arm, she hauled herself to her feet. Every step was agony, but she limped towards the distant, impersonal glow of an ATM.
She slid her own card into the slot. The machine beeped, demanding a PIN. Her fingers hesitated only for a second before keying in the number that would forever be seared into her memory.
0120.
She didn’t know if she wanted it to work or not. If it did, it would be an eternal reminder of death. Of her pain, of the pain of all the other players. If it. It didn’t, it would all be in pain and she would have to take care of a newborn with no support at all.
The screen flickered, processing. Then, the number appeared, stark and unreal against the blue light.
₩ 22,800,000,000
Hyun-ju stared, the world falling away until there was only the number, the quiet hum of the machine, and the soft breathing of the infant who had won the game alongside her.
She requested two million won from her own account, Enough to spend the night in a nice hotel, food, diapers, formula and clothes for the child now in her charge. The machine whirred and spat out a thick stack of crisp bills.
As Hyun-ju counted them, the unreality of the past few weeks shattered. It was real.
Every sacrifice, every tear, every bruise— it was all monetized and sitting in her hand. This money wasn’t just survival; it was a future. Her future. Her transition, a new life in Thailand, the one she’d only ever dreamed of.
As she tucked the money away, her fingers brushed against the second golden card. The one from the basket. The baby 's card. A ridiculous thought, sharp and sudden, pierced through her exhaustion. There 's no way….
With her heart skipping a couple beats, she slid the baby’s card into the ATM. When the screen prompted for a PIN, her first instinct was to enter her own number again, 0120.
INCORRECT PIN.
Of course. It wasn’t her card. Then a memory surfaced. Another green tracksuit, another number announced in the speakers. Jun-hee’s number. Her fingers trembled as she keyed it in, a prayer on her lips. She only had two attempts left.
0222.
The machine processed. And then, the same impossible number flooded the screen.
₩ 22,800,000,000
Both of them were the winners.They had split the money evenly. The game had recognized two survivors. Hyun-ju stared, vertigo washing over her. This wasn’t her money. This belonged to Jun-hee, and now, to the tiny, sleeping girl who was her legacy.
This time, she requested only ten thousand won. Just enough to be certain the funds were real and accessible. The machine obliged without complaint.
She tucked the bill away and carefully lifted rhe basket. “You might be the richest baby in all of Korea…” Hyun-ju whispered, her features softening as she gazed at the peacefully sleeping child. “And you don’t even have a name yet.”
Sorrow struck her like lightning. In the games, giving her a name felt like a death sentence, a cruel attachment to a life that could be extinguished at any moment. Jun-hee didn’t even get to name her own daughter before she died, and her father… It was better not to mention him at all. But now? This child wasn’t a temporary burden. She was a survivor. A winner. She was real, and she deserved the dignity of a name.
“I know exactly what to call you,” she whispered, the decision settling into her soul not as a choice, but as a duty. “Jun-hee.”
A promise. As she had fulfilled the promise she made to Jun-hee before she jumped into the void. Take care of her.
A memorial. A heavy name for such a small human being, but Hyun-ju hoped she would grow into it, carrying all the kindness and bravery her mother once had. Little Jun-hee.
As if hearing the weight of her new name, the baby began to squirm. A soft whimper escaped her lips, her tiny face scrunching in discomfort. The sound cut through Hyun-ju’s pain and exhaustion. It was a clear, undeniable need that had to be met. Now.
Hyun-ju rushed from the ATM alcove back into the anonymity of the night. The city, even if it’s late hours, was a river of hurried footsteps and downcast eyes. She was just another ghost in the flow of the city. A limping woman carrying a precious burden. No one gave her a second glance, and for that, she was grateful.
The neon lights of a 24-hour pharmacy felt painfully bright. On pure instinct, Hyun-ju used the fresh cash to buy formula and diapers first. The baby’s needs were a clear checklist in her subconscious. Only as an afterthought, as she was about to pay, did she remember her own screaming leg, adding bandages and antiseptics into the pile.
A few blocks later, she found a motel and paid for a nice, expensive room in cash. No questions asked.
The room was small, but it thankfully didn’t smell like cigarette smoke and the sheets look pristine, it was a perfect sanctuary for now. After locking the door, she finally allowed herself to lay down. Exhaustion was a physical weight threatening to pull her under. But the baby began to fuss again.
She looked up for a tutorial on the room’s TV, (as her phone remained now a missing belonging) , her hands clumsy as she mixed the formula for the first time. The little girl latched onto the bottle with a hunger that made Hyun-ju’s heart ache. She drank until she was milk-drunk and content, her tiny body relaxing against Hyun-ju’s arms.
Her arms gently rocked the child, as she used to do it back in the games once her mother was gone. Whenever Gi-hun felt tired, it became her turn to care for her. The games were traumatizing enough, and she now carried with this absolute responsibility.
It was terrifying. But, she didn’t mind. If Hyun-ju was keeping her promise, she didn’t mind.
“Don’t worry, little Jun-hee.” She whispered, as she gently caressed the baby’s head. Her voice thick with emotion. “Your mother isn’t here…but I am. I’ll always be here for you.”