Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Did you have fun playing the hero? Now, look at the consequences of your actions.

Gi-hun?

“Mr. Seong?” said Geum-ja, gently.

Consciousness returned to him like a murky, slow tide, hitting him mercilessly.

The mattress beneath his body was rough, almost hostile, as if the place itself rejected him for being alive. The air smelled of stale blood and dry sweat, a nauseating mix he could not ignore. The throbbing pain in his temple wasn’t punishment but irrefutable proof: he was live.

He opened his eyes. The light was suffocating, almost reverent. Familiar figures surrounded him, static like statues, holding their breath. A silent unease gripped the room. Gi-hun tried to sit up awkwardly, like someone washed ashore after a shipwreck.

And then, the memories. At first, hesitant, as if doubting whether to approach. Then, ruthless. The rebellion. The chaos. The crossfire. Young-il. Jung-bae. The Leader. Death. Jung-bae’s death came to him with cruel clarity, as if the scene played on the inside of his eyelids. He fought back tears, but his traitorous eyes were already beginning to water.

He looked around the room, now revealed to him as a battleground without glory. Beds overturned, bodies missing, dry blood on the floor. The survivors huddled on the side of the Xs, murmuring. His acquaintances maintained a waiting silence: lives waiting for him, Gi-hun, to do something. As if they still expected leadership from him. As if he still had any to give.

He turned to Hyun-ju with a voice made of broken glass:

“And the others?”

The girl’s gaze shifted. Her eyes landed on the bed beside him. Gi-hun followed them, with a mixture of fear and longing. There lay a body. Sturdy. Recognizable.

I’m sorry, Gi-hun... 

Young-il.

The name burned in his throat. Gi-hun lunged toward him as if he had seen a ghost. He touched him with trembling hands, feeling his face, his shoulders, his chest. He searched for a wound, a hole, something. But there was nothing fatal. He was whole. He was alive. For a moment, the world regained its color.

“And... Jung-bae?” Hyun-ju asked hesitantly.

Silence was the only answer. In Gi-hun’s eyes, Hyun-ju found the confirmation she had feared.

A slight movement pulled them from their thoughts. Young-il was waking. He turned his head with effort, still dulled by pain and sedation. His eyes fell on Gi-hun, and when he spoke his name, he did so with a devotion capable of disarming even the hardest of hearts.

“Gi-hun?”

The way he said his name, filled with affection and relief, was a direct stab to Gi-hun’s heart. He said it as if Gi-hun hadn’t been responsible for the deaths of their companions. As if he still considered him worthy of affection.

And then, as if mocking them, the door opened. The captain entered, as stiff as ever, accompanied by his escorts. His voice was cold, calculated, detached from the tragedy still clinging to the walls.

“Last night, another 35 players were eliminated, bringing the current number of remaining players to 60. The total prize now stands at 39.6 billion won, and the share for each player is 660 million won. We will now begin another voting round to determine if you wish to proceed to the next game.”

After his words, the money began to fall. Bills like golden rain, jingling indifferently, as if death could be measured in money. With each wad of bills falling into the giant pig, it was another dagger to Gi-hun’s heart.

Gi-hun stepped forward decisively toward the guards before Young-il could protest or stop him.

“Why did you let me live, and him? Why didn’t you kill me? Answer me!” he shouted, louder and louder. “What’s the point? Why? Go on.”

Gi-hun took the tip of a guard’s gun:

“Shoot! Go on, pull the trigger! Come on, do it! Kill me! Shoot!” he screamed desperately, pressing the trigger himself, only to hear a dull click and nothing more. The Leader had already anticipated his reaction. His punishment would be to live.

Some guards threw Gi-hun to the ground and held him down as he struggled to break free:

“Why did you let me live? Why? What more do you bastards want from me? Why didn’t you kill me like all the others?” he cried in utter silence as his face twisted with pain. “You won, right? Go ahead, shoot! You were right! You won! So please, I beg you... kill me!”

Young-il felt his tears spill over in torrents down his cheeks.

Gi-hun was handcuffed to the bed. His sadness was painful to witness. He didn’t speak, didn’t respond. He seemed far away, locked in a mental prison built by guilt.

Young-il sat beside him, his silent presence a constant in the emotional storm Gi-hun was enduring. He said nothing, did nothing, simply stayed there. His gaze fixed on Gi-hun, full of concern and empathy, as if absorbing his pain and offering him a safe refuge.

“We will begin another voting round to determine if you wish to proceed to the next game. Again, it will be held in reverse order by player number.”

“Player 456, please come vote.”

The number echoed like a cruel joke. Silence reigned. Gi-hun didn’t move. He spoke no words. Young-il felt that mockery deserved a punch, but he held back for both their safety. He simply moved a little closer to Gi-hun, almost like a human shield.

“If you do not state your intent to vote by the count of three, it will be considered an abstention. One, two, three. Player 456 has forfeited their vote and will not be added to either tally.”

“Next, player 448. Please come vote.”

The voting continued. Many players changed their decisions out of fear of being left isolated. Most seemed resigned to move forward, dragged by their insatiable greed.

“Player 001, please come forward.”

Young-il leaned in and whispered softly to Gi-hun:

“I’ll vote and come back to you. Wait for me.”

He didn’t know if Gi-hun could hear him, but he needed to say it. Needed to believe his words had some effect, however small.

With Young-il’s vote, the voting ended, the Os winning by double over the Xs.

“The voting has concluded. The fourth game will be held tomorrow. Until then, rest well.”

“Gi-hun, you have to eat, really,” Young-il tried reasoning again. “You haven’t eaten anything for three days. What are you going to do if you faint during the game? Your stubbornness is going to get you killed. Do it for me, I’m begging you.”

Gi-hun hadn’t abandoned his melancholic expression, but at least he wasn’t as dissociated as he had been an hour ago. The relief that brought to Young-il was heavenly.

“They won’t let you take another ration, Young-il,” Gi-hun replied dully. “You’ll go hungry.”

“I don’t care,” said Young-il, and Gi-hun’s resignation toward the offered food increased. Then, Young-il bargained: “Half and half? Does that sound okay?”

Practically begging, Young-il truly believed that without that food, Gi-hun would die.

Gi-hun shook his head slowly. He was certain the food would lodge in his throat like thorns, as if he knew he wasn’t worthy of consuming it. As if the food itself knew the horror he had caused. Young-il placed the sweet potatoes and water in front of them both and declared, clearly annoyed:

“Fine. If you don’t eat, I won’t either.”

Gi-hun, after a loud inhale and exhale, resigned himself to eating a piece of sweet potato from the tray. Young-il followed his example. Gi-hun took tiny bites. Indeed, he hadn’t been wrong: the sensation of the food in his throat was unbearable. But the smile that had formed on Young-il’s face made it worth it.

When he was halfway through his sweet potato, player 100 and his gang of idiots passed by. They stopped when they reached Gi-hun’s spot.

“Hey, 456. Tell me something,” said 100 with a mocking grin. “Was this part of your plan from the start? Ah, that’s it, isn’t it? You got everyone to join your little rebellion so you could get rid of them all at once.”

His friend followed up with a snap of his fingers:

“Oh, so that performance earlier... ‘Why didn’t you kill me?!’” he imitated him, and his friends burst out laughing.

Young-il, without thinking, stood up abruptly, ready to kill all ten of them. The room fell into complete silence, just as it had earlier with the late Thanos and his lackey Namgyu.

“You’re all cowards,” Young-il shouted. “Attacking someone already down... Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?”

Even with the numbers on their side, the Os trembled at his steady steps and murderous glare as he approached them. Young-il was heading straight for the leader of the group, player 100, with whom he had already stood up to before for Gi-hun’s sake. Just as he was about to land a blow, he heard a call from behind.

“Young-il! Stop, please,” said Gi-hun, more ashamed than before.

Young-il hesitated for a moment before shooting a warning glare at 100 and returning to Gi-hun. The Os slowly retreated, fearful that a wrong move might lead even player 456 to be unable to stop a murder — or several.

“They have no right to say those things to you. Don’t pay them any attention, Gi-hun,” he comforted him as he sat back down at his side.

Gi-hun gave him a faint, tired smile of acceptance. Young-il was stunned for a minute at this fact and then energetically patted his friend’s shoulder.

After finishing eating, Young-il started telling Gi-hun trivial topics. He wanted to avoid, at all costs, his friend sinking into the abyss of his mind. While recounting anecdotes and silly jokes, he gently wiped the blood from Gi-hun’s face using the sleeve of his jacket. Even with all his efforts to improve Gi-hun’s state, his expression didn’t change from a small but empty smile, made only so Young-il wouldn’t worry so much.

“Players, the lights will turn off in 30 minutes” informed the female voice from the loudspeaker.

“Gi-hun, we should prepare something for you, hang on.”

Young-il brought over all the components from both of their beds. He took his mattress and placed it horizontally, allowing enough room for both himself and Gi-hun to sit on a surface softer than the floor. After that, he placed a pillow between Gi-hun’s head and the bed frame and finished by laying both Gi-hun’s blanket and his own over their bodies, pressed together elbow to elbow.

“Young-il, you don’t have to sleep on the floor with me,” he said gently. “The guards in the middle of the barrier won’t allow any attack from one team to another. I’ll be fine.”

“I know. I just want to be with you,” Young-il concluded as he rested his head on Gi-hun’s shoulder.

Young-il fell asleep instantly. Gi-hun adjusted the blankets over his friend’s body, who had given up three-quarters of them exclusively to Gi-hun.

Young-il’s breathing was steady and calm. The peaceful sleep of a lamb, so unlike Gi-hun’s, burdened with the deaths of all those players. The irony nearly brought him to tears.

Gi-hun tortured himself trying to understand how, after everything, Young-il trusted him. And not just trusted: he cared for him as if he were a treasure. As if he weren’t the trash who got everyone killed. As if he hadn’t warned him hours ago how naive the plan was. That it had almost gotten him killed. That it had killed Jung-bae.

Young-il hadn’t hesitated to stand up against those blaming him for what had happened. Gi-hun didn’t know if his friend was foolish or if he had developed some psychological condition preventing him from seeing reality. He hadn’t stopped Young-il to avoid another conflict; he had done it because they were simply telling the truth.

Even so, Gi-hun had — just for a moment — allowed himself a shred of self-pity with the senseless words of reassurance Young-il had said so sincerely. He wished he could believe him.

While Gi-hun mulled it over, Young-il’s head slowly but inevitably slid down onto Gi-hun’s lap until it finally settled there. This act snapped Gi-hun out of his thoughts like cold water. Something inside him told him he should wake Young-il so he could settle in a less intimate position, but a large part of him was comforted by the closeness of his last friend alive. He gently, briefly adjusted Young-il’s head so it rested sideways, turning its back to him. The warmth of his breath spread across Gi-hun’s covered thighs, calming his agitated and severe thoughts.

Gi-hun sat blankly watching the slight rise and fall of the body resting on his lap.

Tomorrow the games would continue, and Young-il could die. He had a wife and unborn child who needed him to survive. Even if he made it through the fourth game alive, thanks to Gi-hun, the chances of the games being stopped were nil. Therefore, Young-il would have to, by a miracle, be among the few finalists to have any small chance of surviving.

Small wet spots appeared on Young-il’s clothes, growing more intense. Gi-hun realized he was crying. He couldn’t let him die, under any circumstances. He would give his life if necessary. But Young-il would get out of this hell, no matter the cost.

Unconsciously, Gi-hun began to carefully stroke Young-il’s hair. It was as soft as it looked. In that moment, everything boiled down to just the two of them, without sorrows or worries, just him and Young-il. Gi-hun didn’t know, nor did he want to know, what that day would have been without his friend’s comfort and attention.

Young-il’s presence calmed Gi-hun’s nerves, and he found himself gently caressing his head in rhythm with his breathing. His body gradually began to relax. Ten minutes later, Gi-hun let himself drift into sleep, joining Young-il’s tranquility.

 That damned Haydn’s music played in the air, breaking the silence. Gi-hun woke up, and with him, Young-il. The music pulled him from his sleep, and his head shifted slightly, moving away from Gi-hun’s warmth. Young-il took a moment to notice the intimate position he was in with Gi-hun, which made him sit up quickly and stammer an apology as his cheeks turned pink. Gi-hun, with a slight tilt of his lips, assured him it was no problem.

After a while, the guards arrived and escorted them to the next game. Gi-hun and Young-il did not separate for a single moment. As they climbed the stairs, Young-il went ahead, followed by Gi-hun, but they encountered an abhorrent surprise.

“Players,” said the female voice through the speaker, “what you see here is the fate of those who refused to accept the results of our free and democratic voting process by attempting to end the games through violent means. Let us be clear: we will no longer tolerate irrational behavior or attempts to violate the fair and clear rules of these games. Such actions will be punished according to our strict regulations. We thank you all for your understanding and cooperation.”

Young-il pulled Gi-hun to his left side, keeping him from looking. Gi-hun understood and simply shut his eyes tightly, wishing it was all a dream.

They continued in gloomy silence until they reached some doors leading to a room with a garish yellow floor. In the center of it, there was a gumball machine with blue and red balls.

“Players, welcome to the fourth game. For this game, you will be divided into two teams. Before we begin, all players must receive their team assignments. Please advance one at a time and take a ball from the machine in front of you.”

Young-il slowly turned to Gi-hun with evident concern, asking with his eyes if this was what Gi-hun had meant by: In the next game, they’ll… they’ll make us kill each other. Gi-hun just held his gaze.

Young-il stood in front of Gi-hun and, fearfully, turned the key. Blue ball.

It was Gi-hun’s turn. Both stood anxiously before the gumball machine. Gi-hun turned the key. Red ball.

Young-il’s face shifted into an expression of horror, as if they were already commanding him to kill Gi-hun.

“Calm down. We don’t even know what the game is yet,” he said, patting his shoulder.

Each went to their side slowly, not taking their eyes off the other.

Once the groups were assigned, the guard explained:

“The game you will play today is hide and seek. The blue team players must find the exit and escape within thirty minutes or remain hidden to avoid being caught by the red team members before the game ends.”

“The red team players must find and kill the blue team players hidden throughout the arena within thirty minutes.”

Cold sweat began to run down Gi-hun’s forehead and neck, too afraid to look at his friend’s face.

The whispers of horror from the blue team were noticeable.

“Each red team player must find and kill a blue team player. If you fail to kill at least one, you will be eliminated.”

The guards passed with carts, distributing boxes to the blue team.

“The item you’ve been given is a key that opens doors in the arena. Using these keys, you may access new zones during the game. However, once a door is opened, it cannot be closed again.”

“Wait a minute,” complained a red team player. “So those guys can hide and wait or use their keys to escape?”

“That’s not all,” another red team player continued. “You’re saying each of us has to kill one, right? And without tools? I don’t think any of them will just stand there and let us do it. Are you really expecting us to do it barehanded?”

“These points are valid, and we completely understand your concerns,” said the guard. “That’s why we’ve prepared a small gift for the red team as well. Please open your boxes and inspect the contents.”

The circles began distributing boxes similar to those given to the blue team. From the front came the triumphant sound of young 124.

A knife.

Gi-hun’s trembling hands grasped the knife and remained staring at it. Meanwhile, he looked at Young-il, expressing with every fiber of his being how sorry he was.

The blade gleamed with a sinister light, but it wasn’t the knife that truly weighed on his mind.

“You may use these knives to attack blue team players,” the guard continued. “But remember, red team members cannot attack each other.”

“Well, shouldn’t we at least get a shield or something? After all, they have knives too.”

“What are we supposed to do? Just wander around defenseless? Look, we only have these keys. It’s not fair, is it?!”

“Those keys open doors, remember?” replied a red team player. “You can leave through them. Or you can just find a place to hide. It’s easy!”

“Before starting today’s game, we would like to give you the opportunity to change your fate. If any of you are dissatisfied with your current role, you may choose to switch sides with someone from the opposing team before the game begins.”

“What? We can switch sides?” asked a player.

“Correct. As long as both parties agree, you may exchange your vests and items with another player. However, once the game begins, it is strictly forbidden to remove your vest or attempt to exchange it with any player. So, please think carefully before making a decision.”

Gi-hun felt a lump in his throat thinking about what he was about to do. He would give up his place in the game. He would sacrifice himself for Young-il if that’s what it took for him to survive. It was madness, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. Young-il was his everything, and he couldn’t allow anything to harm him.

Young-il’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and Gi-hun realized the boy was calling him.

“Gi-hun,” said Young-il, his voice slightly tense.

“Young-il, let’s trade,” said Gi-hun, with a firm, resolute voice. “Take my place. I can’t allow—”

But Young-il interrupted him, a slight smile on his lips.

“No way, Gi-hun. You need this more than I do. You’ve already seen me in hand-to-hand fights, I don’t need a weapon to defend myself,” he teased, his voice full of confidence. “You go with the weapons, skinny.”

Gi-hun frowned, his expression reflecting concern.

“Are you absolutely sure?” he asked, his voice a little softer.

Young-il nodded, his smile still present.

“Yes. Relax. Don’t worry about me.”

Gi-hun clenched his teeth, his gaze intense.

“Fine. In that case, I’ll protect you,” he said, his voice full of determination. “We’ll enter the game, and I’ll help you get out of here. Don’t worry, I’ll be with you the whole time.”

As he spoke, Gi-hun placed his hands on Young-il’s shoulders, his grip firm but gentle. The tension between them was palpable, and the air seemed charged with unspoken emotions.

“Attention. The game will begin shortly. All blue team players, please line up to enter the game zone.”

Before Young-il completely disappeared from his sight and descended into hell, he gave Gi-hun a radiant smile, reminiscent of the ones he used to offer in the past, guaranteeing a safety he couldn’t promise.

Gi-hun, in that ineffable moment, smiled sincerely.

Chapter Text

The members of the blue team were led into a vast maze. The doors shut behind them with a crash that seemed to seal their fate.

The main chamber was surrounded by cold brick walls; the ceiling, an artificial night sky, filled with lifeless stars under a dim light. From that space, multiple corridors extended—dark and narrow, like veins snaking toward the unknown.

“You have two minutes,” announced the voice over the loudspeaker. “I repeat, two minutes until the Red Team enters the arena.”

“Hey, everyone, listen! We should split up. And don’t try to hide. We need to look for the exit,” said one of the blues. “If someone finds a way out, shout. That way we can all survive.”

“Right, yeah. That’s a good plan. If we work together, we can get out of here,” agreed another blue, voicing what many thought.

Hide, hide, it’s time to play.

Don’t let your hair give you away...

The players scattered like frightened prey, each one searching for their own path to salvation.

Hide, hide, it’s time to play.

Don’t let your clothes give you away...

Young-il had no choice. He had to leave, whether he liked it or not. He couldn’t stay and wait for Gi-hun to fight the entire red team alone because of him. If Gi-hun wanted to find him, he’d have to manage inside that damn maze.

Hide, hide, it’s time to play.

Don’t let your toe give you away...

He looked in all directions, hesitant, feeling the cold floor creep up through his feet like a warning. He took a deep breath. Finally, he chose the second hallway to the left.

His steps grew faster as he moved. The corridors seemed to twist upon themselves, tangling like old roots sinking deep into the earth. With each stretch, the air grew denser, as if the oxygen were trapped behind those brick walls.

Now and then, he spotted the silhouettes of his teammates, crossing in the distance like desperate ghosts.

A green door appeared along his path. He tried to insert his key, but it didn’t fit. He crouched down, examined the lock patiently: the triangular shape didn’t match his circular key. He moved on without wasting more time and resumed his march, increasingly cautious, increasingly alert. The slightest sound, the faintest shadow dragging along the corners, kept him on edge.

Suddenly, the speakers in the maze began to announce names. One after another, like an indifferent requiem, the names of the eliminated players echoed, filtering through the walls.

Finally, he found a door whose lock matched his key. He paused for a few seconds, listened to his ragged breathing, closed his eyes, and pushed the door open.

The inside surprised him. A small room, its walls covered in flower wallpaper, like a kindergarten. A smell of dust and confinement filled his nose. His eyes rose toward a white timer suspended on the wall:

20:15

He backed away slowly, and as he turned, his eyes met the figure waiting for him just a few meters away. Player number 203. A seeker.

For a moment, time stood still.

Young-il’s heart restarted first. He ran without looking back, knowing he had no other choice. The echo of footsteps behind him stabbed into his neck like invisible needles. He turned left, desperately searching for a route, but the hallway ended abruptly. A wall blocked all escape.

Calmly, he turned on his heels, straightened his posture, readied his hands. The red charged at him, knife in hand. Young-il barely dodged, felt the blade graze his skin and cut into his right arm. The sting came immediately, but he ignored it.

He reacted quickly: landed a sharp blow to the side of the torso, hard enough to draw a grunt. He took the chance to grab his wrist, twist it, try to disarm him. But 203 was strong and broke free with a swift kick, stepping back.

The fight resumed. The knife drew arcs in the air, fast slashes that Young-il dodged by inches. His reflexes were good, but not perfect. A stumble threw him against the wall. He barely had time to see the seeker closing in, blade aimed at his chest. He turned at the last second, avoiding the killing blow, but the knife tore the skin on his neck. It wasn’t deep, but enough for warm blood to start flowing.

The weapon hit the wall with such force that the blade detached, leaving only the handle. It fell to the floor with a hollow sound.

Young-il didn’t waste time. He struck the chest, then the gut. The red fell, and Young-il pounced on him. His hands grabbed the discarded blade.

They struggled, their screams forming an infernal chorus. Their breathing was harsh, ragged. Muscles tense, veins bulging, their bodies trying to overpower one another. Little by little, the red lost strength.

Young-il didn’t hesitate. He plunged the blade into his neck. Blood poured out, hot, soaking his clothes, his hands.

The body tensed. Then gave in.

For a moment, everything was still. Silence.

Young-il stood up with difficulty. His pulse pounded in his temples, his breathing hurt in his ribs. He wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve, unhurried.

When he stepped out of the corridor, hurried footsteps pulled him from his thoughts.

“Young-il!” Gi-hun’s voice cut through the air, drenched in desperation. “My God, are you okay?” he murmured as he checked his wounds.

“Calm down… they’re just surface cuts,” Young-il assured him, offering a smile.

Gi-hun hugged him tightly, burying his face in the crook of his neck, leaving a faint kiss on the wound, his lips trembling slightly.

“I heard your screams… I ran as fast as I could… I felt my soul leave my body, Young-il…”

The unspoken words hung between them: "I can’t lose you. You’re all I have left."

Young-il felt a burning behind his eyes. He returned the embrace, holding just as tightly. He knew this wasn’t the time or place, but what did it matter? It was all Gi-hun needed now. More than oxygen. More than the promise of tomorrow.

Young-il would protect him to the end. That was the certainty etched into him like a scar. From the start, he had seen in Gi-hun something impossible to explain: a goodness that survived beneath layers of defeat. He had returned to this hell for a reason. He had the chance to be happy, but he was too stubborn to leave everything behind, just like his late wife had been. He came back… for strangers who despised him and yet still mattered to him.

From the beginning, Gi-hun had treated him with a care that words couldn’t express. But his eyes could.

Young-il remembered that night, when he spoke of his lost wife. In his gaze was a compassion so pure that Young-il couldn’t help falling a little deeper.

He wanted to leave this place with him. Start a new life. Get to know each other better. And maybe, let time take them as far as they dared.

Gi-hun slowly pulled away. His lashes were heavy, his face vulnerable. He seemed to want to stay there forever, melted into his arms. Young-il saw no reason to deny him. Not yet. Maybe, when all this was over.

“Come on,” Gi-hun whispered softly. “We have to keep going.”

They resumed their march, Gi-hun keeping Young-il covered with a protective arm. His expression was tight, lips pressed together. Each step he took as if he feared the ground might vanish beneath his feet.

The labyrinth seemed endless.

Turning a corner, they stumbled upon the body of another blue. He lay on the ground, savagely stabbed, his eyes still open in a gesture of terror frozen in time.

Young-il pulled away from Gi-hun’s embrace, knelt beside the corpse, and began inspecting the chest and pockets with careful hands.

“What are you doing, Young-il?” Gi-hun asked, glancing over his shoulder, unable to hide his unease.

“Members of the blue team have different keys… From what I’ve noticed, they match the shapes on the cards: circle, triangle, and square. Each opens different doors,” he showed him his own. “This one had a triangle key. It’s wise to gather as many as we can. It’ll save us time.”

He pulled the small triangular key with precision, as though extracting something far more precious than a simple piece of plastic and metal. He tucked it into his pocket.

They moved on. The corridors seemed to repeat themselves: old bricks, unmarked doors, low ceilings. They also found a third shape, the square, confirming his theory.

Shadows wandered among them, always distant, always lurking.

The echo of foreign footsteps broke the silence. They were heading toward them.

Young-il signaled Gi-hun to move ahead. They hid inside a small, empty room. They remained still, listening to the rhythm of the steps drawing closer.

Gi-hun peeked through the vent in the door. Though holding his breath, his tension betrayed him.

The footsteps passed. Faded away.

Gi-hun cautiously opened the door. Checked both sides, then with a gesture told Young-il it was safe to proceed.

But something had changed this time. Gi-hun’s pace slowed, almost to an exasperating degree. He stopped at every shadow, at every slight rustle of his clothes against the walls. His tense shoulders betrayed a fear that gnawed at his bones.

“Gi-hun… calm down,” Young-il pleaded, placing his hands on his shoulders. Gi-hun took a deep breath. His body betrayed that faint faltering, as if he’d been holding his breath too long. His shoulders relaxed a little.

They kept moving.

Soon enough, they found another blue corpse. This time Gi-hun crouched, searched the pockets. Nothing.

“They’ve noticed it too… Reds and blues are stealing each other’s keys,” he muttered, standing up.

He caught a fleeting movement in the corridor from the corner of his eye. Turning, he spotted someone. A red. A red who was staring directly at Young-il.

“Run!” Gi-hun shouted, stepping in front of him, knife raised.

“Don’t come any closer,” he growled, each syllable marked with restrained fury. He gripped the knife so tightly his knuckles turned white. His opponent was broader, almost twice his size. He didn’t care.

“You’re such a cheater… but remember this well: you can’t attack your own team,” spat 336 with a mocking grin.

“And do you want to see if I’m not willing to break the rules?” Gi-hun smiled, with the deranged glint of someone who had been through this hell twice.

The red lunged, furious. Gi-hun intercepted him, blocking the path where Young-il had fled. The red grabbed him by the jacket, threw him to the ground as if he weighed nothing. But Gi-hun, swift, drove the blade into his waist. It wasn’t a clean strike, but it was precise.

The red grunted but didn’t stop. Ignoring Gi-hun and his own wound, he continued the chase.

Young-il hurriedly opened a door. The room led to another door. He moved forward, without pause. Each second weighed on him like lead.

The speed with which Young-il acted was inhuman. Put them in a life-or-death situation, and they will survive —he recalled Sun Tzu’s words, contrary to all reason.

Young-il pressed on in his flight with such reckless abandon it seemed miraculous no other red had intercepted him yet.

The pursuer’s steps grew closer. Young-il didn’t think too hard. He turned the handle of the first door he found and slipped inside.

A sealed room. No exits.

Before he could even turn to escape, strong arms slammed him against the door. 336 gripped his jacket, with a cruel smile. Both fell as the door gave way under their combined weight.

The red drew his knife. The struggle was immediate, brutal. Both fought for control of the blade’s direction. Young-il felt his strength draining with each passing second, his muscles giving out, the steel inching closer and closer to his chest.

Then, Gi-hun’s shout cut through the air like an arrow.

“Young-il!”

A flash of steel flew past. Gi-hun’s knife landed near Young-il’s left side. He understood the plan instantly.

He shoved his adversary’s knife aside, gaining space. Reached out, grabbed Gi-hun’s knife. A precise blow, clean, straight to the red’s chest. At last, it pierced through completely.

The body collapsed onto him, lifeless.

Young-il lay breathless, feeling the dead weight crushing his ribs. His fingers trembled, not from fear, but sheer exhaustion.

Gi-hun quickly pushed the body aside. He offered his hand to lift him up.

“Come… let’s go.”

Gently, Gi-hun took him by the wrist. Their steps were slow, almost clumsy. They no longer wanted to run. Just walk. Their strength was dwindling.

They found a door somewhat apart. Gi-hun pointed to it.

“Your key… the circle one.”

Young-il handed it to him in silence. The door gave way with a faint creak. On the other side, a sign above a door read:

“EXIT”

They looked at each other. Without thinking, they rushed toward the door. Yet Young-il, however, lowered his gaze to the handle.

A groan escaped his lips.

“We need all three keys… circle, triangle, and square.”

They had been so blinded by the moment that only then did they hear the sharp beep of the countdown.

In unison, they raised their heads toward the dreaded timer: 10 minutes.

Young-il, still holding Gi-hun’s knife, returned it by the handle, accompanied by a weary smile. He kept the red’s knife for himself. One last card, perhaps.

“Gi-hun, you must leave,” he ordered softly, not lifting his gaze from the floor. The air thickened around them, turned unbreathable, dense as tar. “You haven’t killed anyone.”

“I’ll take care of myself later!” Gi-hun barked, shaking his head.

“Later when, Gi-hun?! There are barely ten minutes left,” Young-il retorted, looking him straight in the eye, with that spark of fury born only when fear tries to disguise itself as courage.

Their gazes clashed. This wasn’t like before. This wasn’t a strategic disagreement, nor a trivial dispute. It was a fight for what they loved most.

“Gi-hun, listen… There are ten minutes left. The longer we wait, the fewer blues will remain. Killed, abandoned. All I need to do is stay out of the way. Get the keys. That’s all I need to survive.”

Young-il took his hands between his own, whispering with a plea barely audible:

“Come on, Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun stared at him for a long moment.

“You’ll survive. Promise me.”

“Yes… I will, Gi-hun.”

None of those words truly needed to be spoken. They had already understood. So instead, Gi-hun said:

“Until we meet again, Young-il.”

Gi-hun walked on alone. Each step he took through those corridors felt heavier than the last. The walls, the ceilings, the doors... Everything was the same, an endless repetition. Still, he couldn’t stop. Young-il had trusted him. That was enough.

He opened door after door, inspecting the empty rooms. No useful items. No blues. No reds. Only the echo of his own footsteps.

The air smelled of dust, of blood, of ancient fear.

In the fourth hallway, as he turned a handle, he felt resistance. Something was blocking the door. He pushed harder until it gave way. He stepped in slowly, closing it carefully behind him.

In the dim room, someone was huddled against the wall behind the door. A man, another blue player, curled up like a child. His face was covered in dry and fresh tears, his eyes swollen from crying. When he saw Gi-hun, he barely lifted his gaze. His hands were clasped together, as if in prayer.

“No… no… please…” he mumbled.

Gi-hun didn’t respond. He simply drew his knife. Held it firm, high, ready.

The blue dropped to his knees.

“I… I have a wife… and a child waiting for me at home…” his voice cracked like glass. “We’re in so much debt. The lenders threatened to… kill them if I don’t pay next week… Please, sir! Have mercy! Please…”

Tears fell heavy, humiliating, wetting the floor beneath his knees. The man sobbed with his body folded in on itself, as if he might shatter if Gi-hun looked at him too long.

Gi-hun slowly lowered the knife.

He stood motionless for a moment, watching him. Without a word, Gi-hun turned and left.

Behind him, he heard the man’s tearful gratitude burst forth.

“Thank you! Thank you! God bless you, sir! Thank you…!”

If Sang-woo had been there, he would’ve told him he was still the same sentimental fool. “You never change.”

Maybe it was true.

The door closed, muffling those voices. The hallway welcomed him again, just as gray, just as cold.

The timer.

He didn’t need to look to know there were fewer than five minutes left.

Time would not stop. Not for him. Not for Young-il. Not for that poor bastard curled up, praying to any god who’d listen.

Gi-hun kept walking. And though his steps were slow, something inside him was running. Running, without pause.

Young-il, with a fragile but honest smile, stumbled forward toward the longed-for door.

He already had all three keys.

It hadn’t been hard, nor too late, to find that lifeless body guarding the last piece of his salvation.

When he stepped through that threshold, he exhaled all the breath he had been holding since that cursed game began. His muscles, once pulled tight like drawn strings, loosened to the point he nearly fell to his knees. For a moment, he feared he might faint under the weight of the sudden relief that flooded him.

He was taking his first steps toward the exit door when something, like a thunderclap tearing through his mind, froze him in place.

Gi-hun. His name had not been mentioned by the loudspeakers.

Slowly, he turned his head toward the clock.

Four minutes.

His eyes sharpened like needles, caught in a terror so dense it clouded his senses. He launched into a run, like a wounded animal that knows only the name it shouts.

“Gi-hun! Gi-hun, for God’s sake!” he screamed without restraint, shredding his throat with each cry, not caring if a red heard him or tried to stop him. Every part of him —every cell, every fiber, every strand of hair— screamed the same thing:

Gi-hun. Gi-hun. Gi-hun.

When his vocal cords were about to tear, when he thought his lungs couldn’t bear another cry, that’s when he found him.

There was Gi-hun.

Drenched in sweat, the knife dangling limply from his hand, as if it weighed more than his body could bear. On his face, a terrible stillness, a resigned acceptance that made him look like a man already dead.

Without either of them realizing it, the setting was the same: the place where Gi-hun had once stood against 336 to protect him.

Young-il collapsed, overcome by sobs that burst from him like a spring held back too long.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Seong?!” he roared, voice hoarse from anguish. “You want to play the martyr?! Kill someone! Do it, please!”

But Gi-hun walked toward him with that same slow, heavy solemnity of someone who had already given up fighting fate. His smile didn’t waver; it wasn’t bitter or cynical — it was wholly sweet and infinitely sad.

“Young-il… that’s enough…” he whispered, his voice barely a brittle breath, more devastating than any scream.

“Young-il…” he repeated, taking his hands with reverent gentleness, as if they were fragile relics. “I’m going to die here… when the timer reaches zero.”

“Young-il, please, don’t cry for me anymore. Okay? You’ve made me so happy… I don’t want you to carry this pain.”

He lifted Young-il’s gaze; his eyes glowed, vulnerable. “Thank you. Thank you, Young-il. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for not leaving me.”

“No…” Young-il stammered, his voice made of glass, trembling beyond control.

“No,” he repeated, with a strength that seemed to come from the deepest part of him, with that kind of resolve that could stop even time.

Then, after a few seconds where he seemed to wrestle with himself, he said with soft melancholy:

“Gi-hun… I’m sorry.”

With steady hands, he took the one that still held Gi-hun’s knife and guided it, without hesitation, to his own chest.

For Gi-hun, everything happened in a flash, unreal, like a brief spark that never imprints on memory. He didn’t fully understand what had happened until he saw Young-il’s body collapse.

Gi-hun threw the knife away as if it burned. He threw himself over his friend.

“Young-il!” he cried, desperate, trying in vain to stop the bleeding with his hands. “Young-il, please, stop! Are you insane?! Think of your wife, your child! You have to get out, damn it! If you die, I have no reason to go on! Please… please…”

The blood didn’t obey; it kept spilling with cruelty, seeping through his fingers like water from a shattered jar. And, by fate’s cruel twist, their roles had now reversed: it was Gi-hun who drowned in his own ocean of tears, while Young-il smiled at him with compassion.

Gi-hun buried his face in his chest, unable to watch the life slipping, step by step, from the body he had fought so hard to save.

Young-il, as if cradling a small child, gently ran his fingers through his hair, murmuring soft “shhh”s to calm him.

Gi-hun couldn’t form words, only horrible sobs of grief, muffled against the blood-soaked fabric of Young-il’s jacket.

Knowing he didn’t have much time left, Young-il tenderly raised Gi-hun’s shattered face, forcing him to meet his eyes one last time.

“Gi-hun… look at me…” he pleaded, with infinite sweetness. “You’re a such good person… I love you, Gi-hun.”

And with the last breath he could summon, he pressed a warm kiss to Gi-hun’s forehead. A small gesture, yet sacred as any blessing.

When he pulled away, his eyes went dim. Like candles blown out by the wind.

At the same time, the timer delivered its final sentence.

—Player 001, eliminated. Player 456, pass.

—The game is over.

Gi-hun didn’t move. He remained still, as if his soul had left with Young-il’s. His eyes fixed on that face that showed no hatred, no resentment — only a boundless tenderness, as if he had found the peace he never had in life.

His trembling hands caressed those cheeks, still warm, as if afraid the heat might vanish too soon.

The tears returned, burning, tearing through his eyes.

Barely conscious, Gi-hun dragged himself, shaking, toward the knife left on the floor. He collapsed against the wall, panting, pressing the blade to his throat. Everything seemed so easy.

And so, like a wheel turning its final loop, just before sinking the blade completely: He felt a pounding pain in his temple, followed by darkness.