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Two years after Cho Hyunju exited the game, she moved to Thailand.
She cut ties with all family and friends. Booked an appointment at a hospital for her transition surgery all by herself. Her tall frame made her stand out in the crowd, drawing stares wherever she went. Hyunju usually just clenched her fists, kept her gaze on the ground, and avoided eye contact at all costs.
Her emergency contact for the surgery was Kim Junhee. There weren’t that many options. Only three of them—Hyunju, Junhee, and Jang Geumja—survived the game. Each walked away with over 10 billion won in cash, enough to live comfortably anywhere, in any way they want. But Hyunju saved it all in a bank. She traveled cautiously and stayed under the radar.
After her surgery in Bangkok, the doctor advised her to recover somewhere serene, where her body could adjust to its shifting hormone levels. Chiang Mai seemed perfect. She found a long-term rental, moved in, and settled into the warm, dry air just after the burning season. She lived alone, rarely went out, and didn’t attempt to make any friends. Most days, she locked herself in her bedroom, sleeping through one long nightmare after another. The dreams came in fragments: gunshots, kindergarten songs, metallic scent of blood, flickering lights, and a pair of haunting, lifeless black eyes, staring at her from a door away. She would wake up screaming, her face wet with tears.
One day, on impulse, she visited an animal shelter. A black cat caught her attention, crying out sharply from behind its cage. She crouched, slipping her fingers through the bars. The cat immediately started rubbing against her hand, purring softly.
The staff used a translator to warn her. “It hasn’t been dewormed yet. Best not to touch it.”
Hyunju took the cat home anyway. That first night, it meowed outside her bedroom door. She let it in. The cat jumped onto her bed, found a spot beside her, and curled up, purring loudly.
For the first time in a long while, Hyunju slept peacefully until dawn.
The last Chuseok before she left for Thailand, Hyunju joined Junhee at Geumja’s house for dinner. Geumja prepared a feast: Gamja-tang, grilled mackerel, pancakes, mixed vegetables, and Makgeolli. A long table by the wall held offerings and a photo of Geumja’s late son, Park Yongsik.
Junhee handed her baby to Geumja, and the two of them knelt before the altar, heads bowed in silent prayer. Junhee had gone into labor the moment she exited the Game. She delivered her daughter in the ambulance en route to the hospital—a true miracle. Hyunju and Geumja stayed by her side the entire time.
Hyunju could see MG Coin in the baby’s face. She learned later that Player 333 was the father. Junhee never spoke of him.
“She carries my last name,” Junhee said, her tone edged with bitterness. “I named her Jihye (Wisdom). Let's hope it protects her from liars and frauds for the rest of her life.”
They sat down to eat, showering Geumja with compliments on her cooking. She flushed with a mix of shyness and joy, bustling about to make sure their plates stayed full.
Geumja, small and weathered, had endured more than most—a war-torn youth, a faithless husband, and the crushing loss of her son to gamble and then to murder. Yet, none of it ever broke her. Time and time again, she rediscovered her purpose, this time in Junhee and her child.
Shortly after their return, Geumja convinced Junhee to buy an apartment nearby so she could help raise the baby. The two became neighbors, or almost a family. Hyunju visited often, finding solace in their company. They rarely spoke of their past, let alone the game, especially the game. When they talked, they talked more about the future, the world they wanted to live in, how they wanted Jihye to grow up.
“Have you found a hospital willing to take you?” Junhee asked.
“Yes,” Hyunju replied. “Bangkok. With the best doctor.”
“When are you leaving?” Geumja stared at her.
“Next month.”
“Will you ever come back?”
Hyunju lowered her eyes, hesitating before answering honestly, “I don’t know.”
Geumja let out a soft sigh. “Don’t stay away forever, Hyunju. It’s lonely out there. If you don’t come back, I’ll buy you a plane ticket—first class, okay? What’s the point of an old lady like me holding on to so much money anyway?”
Hyunju nodded, unable to find the right words. She focused on her meal instead.
Chiang Mai unfolded in long, quiet days. Her body healed slowly, adjusting to its new form. Her cat was young and playful, which lifted her spirits. Gradually, she began noticing the laughter of neighbors through thin walls, the distant hum of a market bustling with life, and the chatter of tourists on the streets.
One day, after grocery shopping, Hyunju spotted an ad pinned to a community board: a day trip to the mountains. The photo showed a winding trail lined with wildflowers, sunlight streaming through the trees. She stared at it longer than she intended. On a whim, she signed up.
The group was mostly couples and families. Hyunju kept to the back, her silence blending with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant birdsong. The early summer air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and the damp earth of the forest.
Midway up the trail, the group came upon a shallow stream, its rocks slick with moss. A rope had been set up to guide them across, but as they took turns, a young boy lost his grip. He slipped, tumbling into the pool below.
Before she could think, Hyunju dove in after him.
The boy thrashed in panic, sending cold water splashing into her face. “It’s okay now, I’ve got you!” she shouted, locking her grip around his wrist. Slowly, she fought against his frantic movements, pulling him toward the shore.
He kicked her several times in his panic, nearly throwing her off balance, but she held firm and never let go. When they reached solid ground, the boy collapsed, coughing out water. His mother rushed to him, cradling him in her arms as she sobbed with relief. Then, turning to Hyunju, she bowed deeply, her voice trembling.
“Thank you! Thank you so much, miss!”
Hyunju, soaked and shivering, waved her off with a tired smile. But the woman removed her own coat and draping it over Hyunju’s shoulders. “My boy survived all because of you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.
Hyunju felt something stir deep within her chest, an ache long buried rising steadily until it grew into a tsunami. Back home, she sat down and stared at the kitchen knife on the table for an hour. The cat appeared out of nowhere, steps soft and unhurried, and then nudged its head against her hand, tail curling close to her. A pair of dark, unblinking eyes met hers, as if to say, Stay.
After the game, Hyunju hired a private detective to piece together Youngmi’s life. Player 095 Kim Youngmi was born in Busan in 1999. An abusive, alcoholic stepfather. A mother with a chronic illness that required costly medication. Youngmi didn’t finish high school because she had to start working to support her family and was barely making ends meet. Compared to most players in the game, the debt she carried was actually modest.
Hyunju remembered the day they first met. Youngmi, too nervous to even look at her, eventually revealed a shy gentleness and a quiet kindness that lingered in Hyunju's mind. For someone abandoned like Hyunju, Youngmi felt like a silver lining.
Hyunju visited Busan. She set up a grave for Youngmi, left some money for her mother, and cleared the debts in Youngmi’s name for her reputation. Yet even as she did this, a hollowness remained.
Hyunju knew almost nothing of Youngmi’s hopes and dreams. Her death had been so sudden, leaving nothing behind—not even a hint of what she might have wanted from life.
All she knew was, the girl had a face as delicate as a snowflake, eyes like a child and a smile like an angel. But in her final moments, those eyes were so desperate and fearful. She was looking into Hyunju, calling her “unnie” as she left the world. A life so precious, yet forever out of reach—a life Hyunju, despite all her training as a special forces sergeant, could never save.
Youngmi had fought to live, but the votes of people like Hyunju trapped her there forever. Because of it, Hyunju had wanted to die. And yet, through some strange twist of fate, she survived.
She gave the cat some food and then made a voice call on KakaoTalk. Seoul was two hours ahead of Chiang Mai—they should have already finished dinner by now. The phone rang a few times before it was answered.
“Geumja halmeoni...” Hyunju’s voice cracked as she spoke. She clutched the phone, trying to find the words, but her voice caught in her throat. Finally, she broke down, unable to speak. On the other end, somehow, Geumja just understood immediately why Hyunju was bawling over the phone.
“Hyunju, my darling…” she paused, letting the words settle. Her voice grew gentle. “Do you remember the first time we met?”
Hyunju nodded silently. Geumja’s continued slowly, “Five people, six legs. That crazy pentathlon. I was terrified, and I thought there was absolutely no way out… ” she chuckled faintly, and a silent pause as if she were gathering herself. “But it was you, Hyunju, leading us. You were the reason we made it through.”
Geumja paused, her voice trembling. “When my son died, I wanted to go with him. I really did. But… how could I? How could I throw away the chance he gave me? The chance all of them gave us?” She took a shaky breath. “ If we give up… all they did for us would mean nothing. I know it’s just us now, Hyunju—me, you, and Junhee. Three of us, yes, but together, we still have six legs. And we have to keep going. I know we can because we have each other. Come home, come back to us... we'll make it through.”
After the call ended, Hyunju sat motionless, tears drying on her face. A few minutes later, her phone buzzed with a message from Junhee.
Junhee had always been reserved. These days, she was especially busy raising her daughter and figuring out a life forever changed by the game. They don't usually text each other, at least not on a daily basis. Yet, Hyunju knew she was also Junhee's emergency contact, just as Junhee was hers. The unspeakable had forged something unbreakable between them—a bond that, in moments like this, reached across the sea and pulled her back to life.
The message was quite brief. “Unnie,” Junhee wrote, “Summer’s coming. Let’s go shopping for some dresses.”