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Nam-gyu plucked a pill from ‘ his’ cross, the one he’d yanked off Thanos’ corpse. He rolled it between his fingers, then held it out casually toward Myung-gi.
“Want one?” he asked, lips curled in that half-mocking grin.
Myung-gi shot him a look of pure disgust. “I’m not touching that.”
Nam-gyu chuckled and popped the pill himself, letting it dissolve bitter and fast. “Don’t ask me for one later.”
He hadn’t expected much from Myung-gi. He was just the useless, failed YouTube crypto scammer who owed both Thanos and him. So, when the guy agreed to partner with him during Keys and Knives, it actually caught him off guard.
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Later into the game, high off his ass and floating on whatever the pill had done to his blood, Nam-gyu jumped on Myung-gi’s shoulders out of nowhere, laughing and singing off-key.
“We were in love~ We met and became a memory that can’t be erased~ It was a commendable melodrama~ ” he slurred, belting out iKON, horribly.
Myung-gi grunted under the weight, half-stumbling forward. “Get off me, you lunatic!”
He still hated him, even though he was playing around, singing about how in love Myung-gi was. He hated how smug he looked every time he glanced Jun-hee’s way. Hated how he ever thought he deserved her. But in that moment? Nam-gyu couldn’t bring himself to care. He was flying.
Nam-gyu might be a junkie, yeah. But even at his worst, even lit out of his mind, he’d never treat the woman carrying his child like that. He wasn’t that kind of monster.
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Keys and Knives had ended. Blood had been spilled, and both Nam-gyu and Myung-gi had killed more than enough to earn another breath in this hellhole.
But Nam-gyu wasn’t interested in survival points right now. This was the perfect moment. Jun-hee was already furious at Myung-gi, first for abandoning her, and now, for the death of Hyun-ju.
Nam-gyu hadn’t cared about the girl. She had been background noise to him, just another desperate player trying to survive. But to Jun-hee? She had been more. A protector. A friend. Maybe the only one left she trusted. Well, her and that old lady.
Now she was dead. Killed by the same man who claimed he was trying to keep Jun-hee safe. How fucking stupid do you have to be? Nam-gyu thought, the question burning hot behind his eyes, killing the woman who stood between Jun-hee and every threat out there, who shielded her, even when Myung-gi couldn’t be bothered.
Nam-gyu clenched his jaw, watching Jun-hee from across the dim corridor. Her eyes were red, but she wasn’t crying. Not anymore. She looked empty. Wrung out. Like she didn’t even have grief left to give, just anger. Just cold, bitter rage.
He could work with that. He didn’t need her love. He didn’t need her trust. He just needed her close.
Let Myung-gi see what he destroyed. Let him see her slip further away, toward the very man he couldn’t stand. That was the best part.
Revenge didn’t always come in blades. Sometimes, it came in the form of the person you lost, choosing someone else.
Nam-gyu spotted her across the room. Jun-hee sat on the edge of her bed, one hand resting protectively over her stomach, the other gently rubbing slow, thoughtful circles. Her head was bowed, eyes distant. Beside her, the old woman patted her shoulder with a tenderness that made the moment feel even heavier.
It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. The man was gone. The old woman’s son, whoever he’d been, wasn’t coming back. Nam-gyu hadn’t seen him since the last game, and now the old woman looked like she’d aged a decade in a day.
He didn’t ask. He didn’t need the details, and he wouldn’t bother.
Nam-gyu walked toward them, his usual swagger toned down but not entirely gone. He wasn’t good at solemn moments. Never had been.
“Hey,” he said, stopping just in front of her. “You’re too beautiful to be crying like this.”
He gave a small smirk, not full-on flirtation, just enough to test the waters.
The old woman stiffened. She turned to him like she was about to hit him.
“Young man,” she snapped. “Can’t you see this isn’t the time? You greasy little junkie!”
Nam-gyu raised his eyebrows but didn’t argue. He’d heard worse.
Before the old woman could storm off, Jun-hee placed a hand gently on her arm. “It’s okay, Ms. Jang,” she said, her voice low, steady despite her heavy eyes. “Really.”
Ms. Jang pursed her lips. “Okay, honey. But you let me know if this man bothers you, alright?” She leaned down, whispering the last part like it was a secret, then gave Nam-gyu one last disapproving glare before slowly walking away.
Nam-Gyu stood there, hands in his pockets, pretending he didn’t feel the back of his head burning. He could feel Myung-gi’s stare. Sharp. Silent. Furious. Good.
He didn’t turn to look, didn’t acknowledge him. He only focused on Jun-hee, who was watching him with guarded eyes.
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” he said quietly, his voice stripped of sarcasm for once. “I just figured... maybe you didn’t want to be alone. Maybe I could stay with you.”
He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t sit. He just stood there, waiting to see if she’d let him stay.
“Stay?” she repeated, confused. “Why? What do you want from me?”
Nam-gyu shrugged. “Nothing.”
Then, without asking, he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Jun-hee instinctively shifted back, her body tensing like she didn’t trust his nearness, and with good reason.
He held up both hands. “Hey. You don’t gotta be scared of me.”
He reached into his shirt and pulled out the thin silver cross that hung around his neck, Thanos’ old relic, now his. He clicked it open, revealing a small pill nestled inside.
“You want one?” he offered, holding it out to her like a peace treaty.
Jun-hee’s eyes widened, and not in a good way. “I-I’m pregnant,” she said, the words sharp with disbelief. “I can’t.”
Her hand instinctively went to her stomach. Her eyes snapped up to him, insulted.
Nam-gyu blinked, realizing too late what he’d just done.
“Oh. Shit. Right.” He rubbed the back of his head, suddenly sheepish. “Sorry. That was... that was dumb.”
He closed the cross and let it drop back against his chest with a soft clink.
“Let me start over,” he said, exhaling. “I’m not exactly... good at this.”
Jun-hee raised an eyebrow. “At what? Offering drugs to pregnant women?”
Nam-gyu laughed, short and dry. “No. I meant talking. Connecting. Flirting. Whatever the hell this is.”
She crossed her arms. “And what is this, exactly?”
He shrugged again, but this time it wasn’t casual. It was defensive and vulnerable.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I saw you sitting here. And it just... felt wrong not to say something.”
He looked at her, taking in her features. Just tired eyes and too many regrets.
“I’ve seen how alone you are now. And I guess I figured... maybe it’s not the worst thing if you had someone sitting beside you for once, even if it’s me.”
For a long moment, Jun-hee said nothing. Just stared at him, trying to figure out if he was being real, or if this was just another angle.
Nam-gyu didn’t squirm under her gaze. He just sat there, letting her study him.
She looked like she was on the verge of saying no. Her lips parted slightly, breath caught halfway between refusal and silence. She didn’t owe him anything. Hell, she barely even liked him. And there was still that part of her, loud, logical, protective, that screamed this was a terrible idea.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Myung-gi. Standing across the room, frozen mid-step. His face was tight with something ugly, but underneath that, jealousy. The kind that twisted in a man’s chest when he realized too late what he’d thrown away.
Their eyes met briefly, and in that split second, Jun-hee saw the flinch behind his glare. The possessiveness, the regret.
She turned back to Nam-gyu. “Yes,” she said, clearly and calmly, with just enough edge to cut.
Nam-gyu blinked. “Yeah?”
Jun-hee nodded. “I said yes. You can stay.”
He didn’t grin, didn’t gloat. He just exhaled, slow, like the tension had drained from his shoulders.
A few moments later, Nam-gyu hesitated, just a second, then gently reached out and placed his hand on her stomach.
Jun-hee flinched at the contact, her muscles tensing on instinct. Her eyes darted to his hand, unsure whether to pull away or freeze.
“Hey,” he said softly, his voice steadier than she’d ever heard it. “I’ve got you. I’m gonna protect you.”
The words were simple, nothing poetic or rehearsed. Jun-hee had just been staring across the room again, eyes locked on Myung-gi, lost in the mess of everything they'd once been. But Nam-gyu’s words yanked her out of that trance. She blinked and looked at him.
There was something strangely comforting about him in that moment. He wasn’t saying it to manipulate her. He meant it. Or, at least, he wanted to.
The weight of his hand was warm, grounding. He wasn’t afraid of the life growing inside her. A faint blush crept up her cheeks before she could stop it, and she quickly dropped her gaze to her lap.
“…Thanks,” she muttered, barely above a whisper.
Nam-gyu didn’t push for more. He just sat there beside her, quietly keeping watch.
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It was dinner time, and the players were already lining up in front of the guards like cattle waiting to be fed. No one spoke unless they had to.
Nam-gyu didn’t wait for the line to form around them. Instead, he guided Jun-hee toward it himself, throwing an arm around her shoulders, not possessive, but supportive. Her steps were slow, careful, one hand resting under her belly for balance.
Ms. Jang, the same old woman from earlier, watched them from a short distance away. She didn’t say anything this time, but her expression said plenty. Mistrust radiated from her wrinkled face.
Nam-Gyu caught the look and almost smirked.. She didn’t trust him. Most people didn’t. He didn’t expect her to.
This was all supposed to be about screwing with Myung-gi anyway. Getting under his skin. Making him watch Jun-hee lean on someone else. It felt like payback for Thanos, for being mocked, for being written off as some twitchy background character.
But now? It wasn’t just about revenge anymore. Jun-hee surprised him. Maybe he was being dramatic. But if he was, he’d stay ignorant.
She was kind in a way that didn’t feel fake. Tough, but not hardened. Still carrying hope in a place designed to beat it out of you. And even though she was wary of him at first, she had started to lower her guard.
They'd spent hours talking earlier, quietly tucked into a corner of her bed while chaos buzzed around them. Stories about their lives before all of this. The small, stupid things. Her favorite brand of tteokbokki. His old bike, now probably rusted somewhere near the Han River. Her dream of being a teacher. His dream of getting out of Seoul altogether. Maybe finally quitting the drugs. Maybe.
He hadn’t talked like that with anyone in a long time. And now, here she was, leaning into his side, not flinching, not pulling away.
Nam-Gyu looked down at her for a second. The way she squinted a little when she was tired. The way she kept one hand on her stomach like a silent promise to the life growing inside. Yeah. He was starting to like her. For real.
Nam-gyu glanced down at his tray, then at hers. Same rations. Same sad excuse for food. But when his eyes landed on the sweet potato, something made him pause.
He picked it up and handed it over without hesitation. “Here,” he said, placing it on her tray. “You need it more than I do.”
Jun-hee blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
He shrugged. “You’re eating for two. I’m just eating out of boredom.”
A flicker of something crossed her face, confusion, maybe gratitude, maybe suspicion. She looked at the sweet potato like it was some kind of trick.
“Seriously,” he added. “Just take it.”
Jun-hee hesitated, then finally picked it up.
“...Thanks,” she muttered, eyes dropping to her tray.
Nam-gyu didn’t say anything else. He just went back to poking at his rice cake, like giving up his best bite of food wasn’t a big deal.
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Lights out came with the usual finality, the hum of the overhead bulbs cutting out, the metal doors clanging shut, and the uneasy silence that always followed. The kind of silence where even breathing felt loud.
Jun-hee lay curled on her side, eyes open in the dark. She expected Nam-gyu to get up. To stretch, maybe say something smug, and return to his own bed like nothing had changed, but he didn’t move.
Instead, he lay down beside her without a word. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight. She stiffened, surprised, but didn’t pull away.
Then his arm slid around her waist. Her heart jumped, nerves and instinct flaring, but the way he held her wasn’t threatening. It was steady. Solid. Like he meant it.
He moved closer, spooning her from behind, his breath brushing the back of her neck. Slowly, he reached up, unclasped the cross from his neck, and slipped it down over her front. The cool metal settled against the curve of her belly.
He kept his hand there, palm warm against the small life growing inside her, the cross resting gently beneath it. Neither of them said anything.
Eventually, her breathing evened out, steady and soft. A moment later, his followed. Sleep came quietly, and Jun-hee finally slept peacefully, knowing she was safe within his arms.