C  H  A  P  T  E  R   T  H  I  R  T  Y - N  I  N  E :
"Yi-Seo!"
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    Yi-Seo stood still, gripping her knife so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Across from her, Player 17 did the same, his stance rigid, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Neither of them moved.

Not yet.

From the other side of the field, Gi-hun and Sang-woo were in the same standoff, but their attention kept drifting back toward her.

Yi-Seo could feel their eyes on her, especially Sang-woo's.

There was a tightness in her chest that had nothing to do with fear.

She had spent her entire life fighting. For her career. For her family. For survival.

But now, she was fighting against one of the only remaining players—someone who was just as desperate, just as unwilling to die.

Neither of them wanted to be here.

But there was no way out.

"This is cruel," Yi-Seo muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Player 17 to hear.

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Everything about this has been cruel. Don't act like you're surprised now."

Yi-Seo swallowed hard. "We don't have to do this right away."

He gave a bitter laugh, shifting his stance. "Then what? Do we just wait? Until what—until one of us starves? Until the guards step in and kill us both?"

Silence.

"I don't want to fight you," Yi-Seo admitted, her voice quieter now.

Player 17 exhaled, running a hand down his face. "Neither do I."

And yet, they both knew the truth.

They had no choice.

The moment of hesitation ended the second the sky rumbled.

A roll of thunder echoed through the air, growing louder by the second. Then, the rain started.

At first, it was light, barely noticeable—just soft patters against the ground. But within moments, the downpour became heavier, drenching the field.

The game had just become even harder.

Player 17 wasted no time.

He lunged at Yi-Seo with a speed she barely had time to react to. She ducked, narrowly avoiding his first attack, but he was relentless, swinging at her again. She stumbled back, her foot slipping on the damp rock beneath her.

His knife sliced through the air, grazing her arm. A sharp, searing pain shot through her, but she bit down on her lip, forcing herself to push forward.

She retaliated with a quick slash of her own. He dodged, but not fast enough—her blade nicked his shoulder, drawing blood.

For a moment, they both paused, panting.

Player 17's face twisted into something almost regretful. "I don't want to do this," he muttered, voice hoarse. "But if I don't... I die."

Yi-Seo gripped her knife tighter, her throat dry. "Then neither of us has a choice."

They lunged at each other again.

"You didn't even hesitate," Yi-Seo panted.

"Because I know what happens if I do."

His next attack came even quicker. Yi-Seo deflected it with her own blade.

She shoved him back, trying to gain some distance, but the rain made it impossible to find steady ground.

He lunged again, and this time—she wasn't fast enough.

His knife sliced across her arm.

Yi-Seo let out a sharp hiss, stumbling back. Blood seeped through the fabric, warm against the cold rain.

Player 17 paused for only a second, his breathing heavy. "Give up!."

She clenched her teeth. "No."

Then she attacked.

They moved in a deadly dance, dodging, striking, countering. They forgot to play the game.

The rain made every movement harder. Their feet slipped against the slick stone, their clothes weighed them down, and their knives glinted under the dim light.

Yi-Seo was fast—but she was getting weaker.

Every slash she blocked sent a jolt of pain up her arms. Her grip on the knife was tightening, her fingers numb from both the cold and the exhaustion.

Player 17 was relentless.

He struck again—this time, knocking her off balance completely.

Yi-Seo gasped as she hit the ground hard, her knife skidding across the floor. Before she could reach for it, he was on top of her, his blade pressing dangerously close to her throat.

"It's over," he breathed.

Her chest heaved. Her mind raced.

Then—she grabbed a handful of the slick, muddy ground beneath her and flung it into his face.

He cursed, jerking back, wiping at his eyes.

That was all she needed.

Yi-Seo kicked him off, rolling away. She scrambled to her feet, grabbing her knife just as he recovered.

His face twisted in frustration. "You just won't quit."

She wiped the rain from her eyes, gripping her knife tighter. "I can't."

Sang-woo had stopped moving.

His match with Gi-hun was all but forgotten as he stared at Yi-Seo, his entire body tense with something deeper than fear.

He had seen her fight before. He knew she was strong.

But she was losing.

And for the first time in a long time—he felt utterly powerless.

Gi-hun saw it too. His heart pounded as he watched Yi-Seo struggle, his fingers twitching around his weapon.

"We have to do something," he muttered.

Sang-woo didn't respond.

Because he already knew—there was nothing they could do.

⸻

The next strike was the last.

Yi-Seo had barely managed to stand upright again when Player 17 moved faster than she expected.

A blur of motion—

A flash of steel—

A sharp, searing pain.

The knife buried itself deep in her side.

Her breath hitched.

A strangled gasp escaped her lips as her knees gave out.

The world around her spun. The rain blurred into streaks of silver. The ground felt impossibly cold as she collapsed onto it.

Somewhere—someone was screaming her name.

"Yi-Seo!"

Sang-woo lurched forward, but a guard shoved him back. "Get out of my way!" he yelled, his voice raw, desperate.

He fought against them, but it was useless.

His entire body was shaking.

Gi-hun's hands trembled, his heart slamming against his ribs. "She's still moving," he whispered, like he was trying to convince himself. "She's still—"

Yi-Seo coughed, tasting copper.

Her vision was darkening. The voices around her were growing distant.

Somewhere, Player 17 was still standing over her, his knife dripping with her blood.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

She barely heard him.

She barely heard anything anymore.

Her fingers twitched. She tried to move—to fight—to do anything.

But her body wouldn't listen.

Yi-Seo's body felt impossibly heavy. The world around her was slipping away, the rain softening into nothing but a distant hum.

Somewhere, she could still hear Sang-woo yelling her name, his voice hoarse, raw with something she had never heard before—pure desperation.

Gi-hun was shouting too, but his voice was muffled, fading like an echo lost in the wind.

She couldn't focus on them anymore.

Because something else was pulling her under.

Memories.

Faint at first, like flickering candlelight—then vivid, bursting through the darkness in flashes of color, of laughter, of pain.

She saw herself at six years old, running through the park, her little hands grasping at the air as she tried to catch the fireflies glowing in the twilight.

Her mother's laughter rang behind her, warm and full.

"Careful, Yi-Seo, don't trip!"

She didn't listen. She was too full of energy, too full of life.

Her younger sister, Hwa-Young, giggled beside her, waving her arms to catch the tiny glowing insects. Their mother sat on the picnic blanket, smiling at them both.

It was one of the few times they had all been happy. Truly happy.

Then—

A shift.

She was older now, in her university classroom, flipping through pages of a law textbook with fierce determination.

Sang-woo sat beside her, teasing her about how she studied too much.

"You're going to burn yourself out."

Yi-Seo had rolled her eyes, smirking. "And you aren't? You barely sleep."

He had chuckled, shaking his head. "At least I know when to stop."

That was a lie. Neither of them had ever known when to stop.

Then—

Another shift.

She was in the courtroom, standing tall, confident, unshaken.

Winning cases. Making a name for herself. Proving to the world that she was worth something.

She had felt unstoppable.

Then—

Her mother in a hospital bed, her face pale, her body weak.

The sound of the heart monitor beeping, steady but fragile.

"Don't worry about me, Yi-Seo. Just focus on your career."

But how could she not worry?

Then—

The loss.

The trial that had shattered everything.

The moment she realized that no matter how hard she fought, no matter how much justice she believed in—money would always win.

Being cast aside, labeled a failure.

Struggling to find work. Struggling to take care of her family.

Feeling like she had nothing left.

Then—

She saw herself six years ago.

Sang-woo was standing in front of her, his expression unreadable.

They had just parted ways, their lives splitting into two completely different paths.

She had wanted him to say something—anything.

But he didn't.

And so, she had walked away.

She had told herself she was fine.

But now, lying here, bleeding out on the cold ground, she wished she had turned back.

Yi-Seo's body twitched as she sucked in a shallow, ragged breath.

The pain was unbearable.

The rain poured over her face, washing away the blood, but it couldn't wash away the reality—

She was dying.

And yet, in this moment, she wasn't thinking about herself.

She thought of Hwa-Young. Her little sister. Her mother. The one's she had fought so hard to protect.

Would they ever know what happened to her?

Would they think Yi-Seo had abandoned them?

A sharp pang of sorrow cut through her chest, worse than the blade that had struck her down.

Then—

A voice.

Faint.

"Yi-Seo! Stay awake!"

Sang-woo.

His voice was shaking.

He never let his voice shake.

Yi-Seo forced her eyelids to flutter open, just barely. Through the blur of rain and pain, she saw him struggling against the guards, his face contorted with something beyond fear—something deeper.

Regret.

Despair.

Maybe even something close to love.

She wanted to say something.

She wanted to tell him that it was okay.

That she didn't blame him for anything.

That she had never stopped—

The rain grew quieter.

The last thing she felt was the warmth of a single tear sliding down her cheek.

Her vision darkened.

words from the author:
Well ... 😢🧍