C  H  A  P  T  E  R   F O U R T Y :
"You did it because you enjoyed watching me suffer."
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A sharp, rhythmic beeping was the first thing Yi-Seo heard. The sound echoed in her ears, steady and relentless, pulling her out of the darkness that had swallowed her whole.

She gasped, her eyes snapping open to a harsh, sterile white ceiling. The air smelled of antiseptic, the kind found only in hospitals. Her body ached, a deep, dull pain throbbing in her bones, and when she tried to move, something cold and restricting bit into her wrist.

Her gaze darted to the side. Handcuffs.

She was restrained to the hospital bed, her right wrist locked to the metal rail. Her chest tightened, and her breathing quickened. Wires were attached to her body—IV drips, heart monitors, and who knew what else. The monitor beside her beeped steadily, confirming that she was alive. But how?

The last thing she remembered was blood—her own, soaking into the cold ground. She remembered the game, the terror, the betrayal, the desperate fight to survive. And yet... she was here. Alive.

A miracle. Or a curse.

Her mind raced. Sang-woo. Was he alive? What about Gi-hun? Had they made it out, or had they—

And then, the door creaked open.

Yi-Seo's breath hitched as an all-too-familiar figure stepped inside, his presence freezing the air around her.

Oh Il-Nam.

The old man walked in slowly, hands neatly clasped behind his back, his ever-present gentle smile tugging at his lips. The same old man who had seemed so frail, so weak. The same old man she had watched collapse in fear. The same old man who had died.

Her body stiffened, shock and fury colliding in her chest. "You—" The word was barely a whisper, but the venom in it was unmistakable.

Il-Nam tilted his head, studying her with amused curiosity. "You're awake. Good. You were always strong."

"Strong?" Yi-Seo's voice cracked, disbelief morphing into pure, raw rage. "You should be dead. I watched you die! I— I thought you were my friend!" Her voice broke, but she pushed through it, the fury in her veins giving her strength. "All this time, you—"

"You thought I was just another player," Il-Nam finished for her, nodding slightly. "That was the point."

The casualness of his words sent a shiver of disgust down her spine. She yanked at the handcuff, the metal digging into her skin. "What the hell is this? Why am I here? Why am I alive?"

Il-Nam took a step closer, his expression unreadable. "Because I allowed you to be."

Yi-Seo stilled, her mind struggling to process his words. "Allowed?" She let out a short, humorless laugh. "So what, you're some kind of god now? You decide who lives and who dies?"

"In a way," he admitted. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Her breathing was ragged, fury bubbling to the surface like an uncontrollable storm. "You let all those people die. You sat there, watching, playing your twisted little game while people begged for their lives!"

"They had a choice," he said simply.

Yi-Seo's vision blurred with rage. "A CHOICE?" she spat. "You call that a choice? You put desperate people in a nightmare and forced them to fight like animals! You made them kill each other! Do you even feel anything? Or is all of this just entertainment to you?"

Il-Nam sighed, as if she was the one being unreasonable. "It's easy to judge when you've never had power. But tell me, Yi-Seo, did you ever hesitate to fight? To survive?"

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. "I fought because I had no choice! I fought because I wanted to live!"

"And that," he said, smiling, "is why you're still here."

Yi-Seo's breath caught in her throat.

"You were different," Il-Nam continued, walking toward the window, hands still behind his back. "I watched you, Yi-Seo. You intrigued me. The way you calculated, the way you adapted. You never begged, never cowered. Even when you thought you'd lost everything, you still fought."

Her stomach churned. "And what? That made me your favorite toy?"

"It made you worth saving," he corrected, turning back to face her. "I wanted to see how far you could go. What you would become."

She shook her head, horror creeping into her chest. "You're insane."

Il-Nam chuckled. "Perhaps. But tell me, if I hadn't saved you... would you be thanking me right now? Or would you still be cursing me?"

Yi-Seo didn't answer. She couldn't. Because deep down, despite the hatred coursing through her veins, she knew—if given the choice, she would have fought to live again. Even if it meant playing his sick game.

"You should be grateful," Il-Nam mused, his voice light, almost teasing. "After all, I didn't let you share your father's fate."

Yi-Seo's breath hitched. The name she had buried deep within her memories clawed its way back to the surface. Her father.

Her head snapped toward him, her fury sharpened into something colder. "What did you just say?"

Il-Nam sighed, shaking his head as if she was a stubborn child. "You really don't remember, do you? Or maybe you just don't want to."

Yi-Seo's grip on the bedsheet tightened until her knuckles turned white. She had known. She had always known that her father played the games, that he had been desperate enough to risk his life for a chance at survival. But there was something in Il-Nam's voice—something dangerous.

The old man chuckled, watching her like a wolf who had found new prey. "You think you know everything about your father, don't you?"

She swallowed hard, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I know enough."

Il-Nam hummed, amused. "No, you only know the version of him your mother wanted you to remember. The man who worked hard, who sacrificed for his family. But the man I knew?" He smirked. "Now, that is a different story."

Yi-Seo's stomach twisted. "Shut up."

"Oh? Are you afraid?" Il-Nam taunted. "Afraid that the truth will ruin the perfect little image of him you've kept in your head?"

Her nails dug into her palm. "I said shut up."

But Il-Nam ignored her, stepping closer. "Did your mother ever tell you how much debt he was really in? Or that the loan sharks weren't the only ones he owed?" He let out a breath, almost like he was reminiscing. "Your father wasn't just desperate. He was reckless. He gambled, he begged, he stole—he even cheated."

Yi-Seo's breath caught in her throat. "Liar."

Il-Nam smiled, slow and knowing. "Oh, my dear girl. He had a mistress—no, multiple, actually. But there was one in particular. A woman with money. He played the part of a loving, desperate man, made her feel sorry for him. And she did. She gave him everything—money, gifts, a place to hide when things got bad. And in return?" He scoffed. "Well, I'm sure you can figure that out."

Yi-Seo shook her head violently. "You're lying."

"I have no reason to lie," Il-Nam said, tilting his head. "What would I gain from it?"

Yi-Seo felt her throat tighten. "You're just trying to mess with me. Trying to turn me against him. But it won't work."

Il-Nam raised an eyebrow. "Won't it?"

She glared at him, but the doubt had already started to creep in.

Because deep down, she knew her father had secrets.

She just never thought they were this dark.

"You want to know the best part?" Il-Nam continued, his voice dripping with amusement. "Even after everything, after all the lies, all the betrayal—he still failed. That woman? She left him the moment she realized he was using her. And when he had nothing left, when the debt swallowed him whole... he came to us."

Yi-Seo's body went cold.

"No," she whispered.

Il-Nam smiled. "Oh, yes. He didn't just end up in the games, Yi-Seo. He chose them. He walked in knowing exactly what it was. Because to him, dying in the game was better than facing what he had done outside of it."

Her hands trembled, her breathing uneven. This couldn't be true. Her father—her father—would never do something like that. He loved her. He loved their family. He—

"Do you want to know his final words?" Il-Nam asked suddenly, his voice quieter now. Almost mocking. "Do you want to know what a man like that says when he's staring death in the face?"

Yi-Seo didn't answer.

Il-Nam leaned in. "He said, 'I should've taken the money and run.'"

A sharp gasp escaped her lips.

"Not 'I should've gone home to my family.' Not 'I regret what I did.' No, his last thought was that he should've cheated harder."

Yi-Seo's entire world tilted.

"No," she said again, her voice barely above a whisper.

Il-Nam sighed, standing back up straight. "It's funny, isn't it? How people are willing to believe in ghosts, in fate, in anything but the truth."

Her breathing was ragged, her chest heaving with the force of her anger. "You expect me to believe you?" she spat. "A man who treats human lives like a goddamn game?"

Il-Nam only smiled. "Believe what you want. But deep down, you already know I'm right."

Yi-Seo yanked at the handcuff again, her wrist burning from the force. "You think this changes anything?" she hissed. "You think this makes you better than him? You're worse. You're a monster."

Il-Nam's expression didn't change. "Perhaps. But I'm a monster who survived."

Yi-Seo glared at him, her entire body shaking.

"I will never be like you," she growled.

Il-Nam chuckled. "Oh, Yi-Seo." He turned toward the door, his voice soft but taunting. "That's exactly what your father said."

Yi-Seo sat there, the steady beeping of the heart monitor the only sound in the room.

Her father. The games. The truth.

Everything she thought she knew—shattered.

Her vision blurred with tears, but she refused to let them fall.

The air between them was thick—suffocating. Yi-Seo sat there, her heart pounding in her chest, her wrist aching from the handcuffs, but the pain in her body was nothing compared to the storm raging inside her.

Il-Nam stood still, watching her carefully. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he let out a long sigh.

"...I'm sorry."

Yi-Seo scoffed. "Oh, now you're apologizing?" Her voice dripped with venom. "You spent the last ten minutes dragging my father's name through the mud, and now you're sorry?"

Il-Nam nodded, surprisingly solemn. "Yes. Because you needed to know the truth."

She let out a bitter laugh. "You didn't tell me out of some twisted kindness. You did it because you enjoyed watching me suffer."

Il-Nam studied her, his face unreadable. "Believe what you will. But I never lied to you."

Yi-Seo clenched her jaw, swallowing the lump in her throat. She wanted to scream, to hit him, to make him feel even an ounce of the pain he had inflicted. But she refused to let him see her break.

Then, just as she was about to tell him to leave, he spoke again.

"I want to offer you something."

Yi-Seo narrowed her eyes. "I don't want anything from you."

Il-Nam smiled faintly. "Even if it's more money than what the game offered?"

She froze.

"The prize money," Il-Nam continued. "You weren't the one who won it. But that doesn't matter to me. I have far more than I could ever spend in my lifetime. And so, I'm giving you more than what was promised to the winner."

Yi-Seo's stomach churned. She glared at him. "I don't want your dirty money."

Il-Nam's smile widened just slightly, his eyes glinting with something knowing. "That's a noble answer." He paused, tilting his head. "But it's already in your account."

Yi-Seo's breath hitched. "What?"

"I transferred it before you even woke up," Il-Nam said casually, as if he were discussing the weather. "It's yours, whether you like it or not."

Yi-Seo's hands trembled as she clenched them into fists. "You think you can just buy me?"

Il-Nam shook his head. "No. But I can make sure that when you return to your life, you have something left."

She was about to argue, to tell him to take his damn money back, when his next words stopped her cold.

"Your mother and Hwa-Young... they're safe."

Her entire body stiffened. "What?"

Il-Nam's expression softened, just slightly. "I've had people watching over them since the moment you entered the games. Your mother is receiving the best medical care. Your sister is being looked after. They were never in any danger."

Yi-Seo felt her breath leave her lungs.

She thought about them every day in the games. Worried about whether they were okay, whether they were suffering without her. And now...

Now she realized they had never been alone.

"You—" she swallowed hard, shaking her head. "Why would you do that?"

Il-Nam shrugged. "Because despite everything, I respect you. And because I knew that if you survived, you would need them to still be there when you returned."

Yi-Seo's vision blurred. She hated him. Hated everything he had done. But this? This one thing—she didn't know how to process it.

"They're waiting for you," Il-Nam said gently. "When you leave this hospital, you'll have a home to return to. A family."

Yi-Seo bit her lip, forcing herself to breathe. She had no words.

Then, after a long silence, she finally asked the question that had been clawing at her mind since she woke up.

"...What about Gi-hun?" Her voice was quiet, hesitant. "And Sang-woo?"

Il-Nam's expression didn't change, but she noticed the way he hesitated. The way he carefully chose his next words.

"Sang-woo survived."

Yi-Seo's eyes widened. "What?"

Il-Nam exhaled slowly. "He should have died. By all accounts, he did die."

Yi-Seo's blood ran cold as she remembered it. The final game. The way Sang-woo had collapsed, overwhelmed, and tired.

"But the Front Man and me intervened," Il-Nam continued. "He was taken before he could bleed out. They saved him—barely."

Yi-Seo's heart pounded. "Front Man? Why?"

Il-Nam smiled slightly. "Because I was curious. I wanted to see what he would do if given a second chance."

Yi-Seo shook her head in disbelief. "And Gi-hun?"

Il-Nam's smile faded. This time, he didn't speak right away.

A sick feeling settled in her gut. "Tell me," she demanded.

"...He won," Il-Nam finally admitted.

Yi-Seo felt as though the ground beneath her had disappeared.

"Gi-Hun won?" she whispered.

Il-Nam nodded. "He was the final winner. He walked away with the prize money. But Sang-Woo..." He tilted his head. "Sang-Woo is still alive. And I imagine, once you leave this hospital, you'll cross paths with him again."

Yi-Seo's mind raced. It didn't make sense. Sang-Woo lost. Gi-Hun won. How could they both—

And then she realized it.

A loophole.

Gi-Hun won because Sang-Woo was assumed to be dead. But since he had been saved in secret, he never truly died. Which meant—

She didn't know what it meant.

But she knew one thing.

This wasn't over.

Not even close.

——

    Time blurred into something unrecognizable.

Yi-Seo lost count of the days, lost track of when it was morning or night. The artificial lights in the room never changed, leaving her in an endless, colorless limbo. The only way she knew time was passing was the beeping of the heart monitor beside her, a reminder that she was still alive when everything inside her felt dead.

The nightmares came the moment she shut her eyes.

She saw the blood-streaked floors. The glass shattering beneath her feet. The bodies piling up, one by one, faces she knew, faces she would never forget.

She heard the gunshots. The desperate screams. The awful, wet sound of someone's last breath leaving their lungs.

She woke up gasping. Again. And again. And again.

The past refused to let her go.

Some nights, she saw Sang-Woo—his face twisted in agony, his blood pooling beneath him, the way he had looked at her before he fell.

Other nights, she saw Gi-Hun standing alone, shaking, drenched in rain and grief, holding onto something that had already been lost.

Then there were the nights where she saw herself.

She saw her own hands, trembling, drenched in red.

Her own reflection in the glass before it shattered beneath her feet.

Her own empty eyes staring back at her.

She woke up breathless, the walls of the room suffocating her, pressing in like a tomb. The air was thick, sterile, devoid of life. The bed beneath her was too clean, the sheets too white, as if they were trying to erase the filth of what she had been through. But no matter how clean the room was, she still felt dirty.

She didn't belong here.

She didn't belong anywhere.

At first, she thought she was in a real hospital. But then she realized—this wasn't a place for healing.

There were no city noises outside the walls. No faint hum of cars, no distant chatter of people walking by.

Only silence.

She wasn't in Seoul. She wasn't even on the mainland.

She was on an island.

A private hospital, somewhere hidden, controlled by the very people who had thrown her into the games.

And she was trapped.

She wasn't allowed to leave the bed unless it was absolutely necessary. If she tried to stand without permission, an alarm would blare, and within seconds, a nurse—always masked, always silent—would appear to force her back down.

They brought her food, but she could barely eat. Every bite felt like swallowing ash. Every sip of water felt like she was forcing herself to keep going when she didn't know why she was even still alive.

The more she stayed in that room, the more she felt like she was losing herself.

She needed to get out.

She needed to breathe.

——

    On the fourteenth day, the door opened, but this time, it wasn't a nurse.

A guard stepped inside.

The sight of the black mask, the cold, lifeless uniform made something in her stomach twist. It brought back memories she didn't want. But she didn't flinch. She refused to.

The guard stepped closer and, without a word, reached for the cuff around her wrist. With a soft click, she was unchained.

Her skin burned where the metal had been.

Then, he handed her clothes. A simple outfit—black pants, a long-sleeved shirt, a coat. Nothing special, but it was hers. Something normal, something real.

She stared at them for a moment, before realizing what this meant.

She was leaving.

Slowly, she stood.

Her legs felt weak beneath her. The world swayed for a second, her vision darkening at the edges. She hadn't moved in two weeks. She had barely eaten. She was running on fumes.

But she forced herself to stay upright.

With slow, careful movements, she dressed herself. Each motion felt foreign, like she wasn't even in her own body.

Once she was ready, the guard motioned for her to follow.

Yi-Seo took a deep breath and stepped forward.

The moment she left the room, the air felt different. Colder. Heavier.

She walked through the empty white halls, her footsteps barely making a sound against the polished floors. There were no windows. No signs of life beyond the walls.

She didn't know where they were taking her.

Then—

Suddenly, she felt light-headed.

Her vision blurred.

The world tilted, her legs giving out beneath her.

She barely registered the guard catching her before she hit the floor.

——

    The cold pavement pressed against Yi-Seo's knees as she hit the ground, her breath visible in the frigid air. The guards had dumped her here—just like they had taken her. No words, no explanations. Just a blindfold ripped from her face and the sound of an engine fading into the night.

Her side ached, the old wound flaring as if to remind her that she should be dead.

She cursed under her breath, pushing herself up. The city lights were too bright, too harsh, making her eyes sting. She squinted, adjusting to the world she had once known, but now—now it felt foreign. She felt like a stranger on Earth.

For a moment, she just stood there, breathing.

The air smelled different. Cleaner. Free of blood, of sweat, of death.

She was alive.

The realization hit her all at once.

She was alive.

And she needed to go home.

Her feet moved before she could think. Slowly at first, then faster, faster—until she was running. Running through streets she once walked daily, past stores she used to visit, past people who didn't even glance at her. It all felt unreal, like she was stuck in a dream, or maybe still in a nightmare she couldn't wake from.

Her lungs burned, her legs screamed for her to stop, but she couldn't.

She had to see them.

She had to know this was real.

She reached the familiar building, panting, her fingers shaking as she typed in the passcode. For a split second, she feared it wouldn't work—that she had been gone too long, that she no longer belonged here.

But then, the lock clicked.

She threw open the door.

Home.

The smell of warm food filled the apartment, the sound of soft chatter and clinking utensils drifting from the dining table.

Her mother and Hwa-Young sat there, eating dinner.

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

They turned to the door, their eyes wide with shock.

Hwa-Young was the first to move.

"Unnie?"

Yi-Seo barely had time to react before her sister ran to her, arms wrapping tightly around her waist, her small frame trembling.

"Unnie, unnie—oh my God—you're real, you're real," Hwa-Young sobbed, her voice breaking as she clung onto her. "I thought—I thought you—"

Yi-Seo held her just as tightly, feeling the warmth of her little sister's body against her own.

She was here.

She was home.

Tears burned her eyes as Hwa-Young pulled back just enough to look at her, scanning her face as if making sure she wasn't a ghost. "Where—where were you? You were gone for so long, I thought—"

"I know," Yi-Seo whispered, her voice raw. "I know. I'm sorry."

She reached out, brushing Hwa-Young's hair back, memorizing her little sister's face. She had grown in the time she was gone. There was something different about her—more tired, more mature, like she had been carrying the weight of missing her for far too long.

Hwa-Young sniffled, wiping her tears. "You look—you look sick."

Yi-Seo didn't answer.

Instead, she turned to her mother.

Her mother hadn't moved from her chair, her hands trembling where they rested on the table. There was something in her expression—something unreadable, something that broke Yi-Seo's heart.

Yi-Seo slowly walked over.

"Mom," she choked out.

Her mother finally stood.

She reached out, hesitantly, as if she was afraid Yi-Seo would disappear the moment she touched her. Then, after a breathless second, she pulled her into her arms.

And Yi-Seo broke.

The sobs she had been holding in for weeks came crashing out, shaking her entire body as she buried her face into her mother's shoulder.

"I'm here," she whispered, stroking Yi-Seo's hair. "My daughter is home."

Yi-Seo could barely speak, her throat closing with emotion. "I—I thought—I didn't know if I'd ever—"

Her mother held her tighter. "You don't have to say anything, sweetheart. You're home now. That's all that matters."

But it wasn't all that mattered.

Because she was here, but so many others weren't.

Her mother pulled back slightly, holding Yi-Seo's face between her hands. Her gaze was soft but sharp, scanning every inch of her daughter's face—taking in the hollow cheeks, the dark circles, the way her skin had lost its glow.

"Yi-Seo," she murmured, concern flooding her expression. "You look... you look like you've been through hell."

Yi-Seo let out a broken laugh, wiping at her tears. "Because I have."

Her mother frowned, but before she could ask, Yi-Seo whispered, "Please don't ask me where I was. Not yet."

Her mother studied her for a long moment, then sighed, brushing Yi-Seo's hair back gently. "Alright," she said softly. "Alright, my love."

Hwa-Young sniffled beside them, gripping Yi-Seo's hand tightly. "You're really home?"

Yi-Seo squeezed her sister's fingers. "I'm really home."

And yet, deep inside, she knew—

She would never be the same again.

——

    The warmth of home felt unreal. The scent of their dinner still lingered in the air—stir-fried vegetables, rice, something simmering on the stove. The quiet hum of the heater. The faint creak of the wooden floor beneath their feet.

For weeks, Yi-Seo had been surrounded by the stench of death, the cold sterility of the hospital, the suffocating silence of her nightmares. This should feel comforting. It should feel safe.

But it didn't.

She sat at the table, her hands curled into fists against her lap. She barely felt the warmth of her mother's palm as it rubbed slow, soothing circles on her back. Across from her, Hwa-Young stared, still gripping onto Yi-Seo's arm like she was afraid she'd vanish.

They wanted to ask her questions. She could see it in their eyes. Where were you? Why did you disappear? What happened to you?

But they didn't.

Not yet.

Her mother finally spoke, voice soft. "Are you hungry, sweetheart?"

Hungry?

The thought of food made Yi-Seo's stomach twist. She had barely eaten for two weeks, yet when she looked at the steaming bowl of rice her mother placed in front of her, she felt nauseous.

Still, she forced a small nod.

Her mother smiled gently. "Eat, then. Slowly."

Yi-Seo picked up her chopsticks with stiff fingers, scooping up a small bite of rice. The moment it touched her tongue, she nearly gagged. It wasn't that it tasted bad—it was warm, soft, familiar. Too familiar. It reminded her of before. Before the games. Before the nightmare.

Her chest tightened, but she swallowed.

Hwa-Young watched her closely. "Are you okay?"

Yi-Seo nodded again, forcing another bite down.

Her sister's brows furrowed. "You're lying."

She let out a shaky breath, lowering her chopsticks. "I just... I need time."

Hwa-Young pursed her lips but didn't push. Instead, she scooted closer, leaning her head against Yi-Seo's shoulder. "I missed you," she whispered.

Yi-Seo exhaled slowly, tilting her head against her sister's. "I missed you too."

More than words could ever explain.

Her mother sighed, resting her chin against her hand as she studied her daughter's face. "You've changed."

Yi-Seo stiffened.

Her mother didn't say it accusingly. It was just an observation. But the weight of those words settled deep inside her.

She had changed.

She wasn't the same woman who left. The woman who had fought every day for her career, for her pride, for a better future. That woman had been torn apart and rebuilt into someone else—someone who had stared death in the face too many times to count.

"I know," she murmured.

Her mother hesitated, then slowly reached out, brushing her fingers against Yi-Seo's cheek. "I don't know what happened to you," she said softly. "And I won't force you to tell me. But, my love... you look so tired."

Yi-Seo closed her eyes, swallowing down the lump in her throat.

Tired wasn't the right word.

She was exhausted.

Her mother squeezed her hand. "You should rest."

Yi-Seo wanted to argue—to say that sleep only brought nightmares, that she couldn't close her eyes without hearing the echoes of the past—but her body ached, her head throbbed, and God, she just wanted a moment where she wasn't thinking, wasn't feeling, wasn't reliving everything over and over again.

She gave a small nod.

Her mother stood, placing a gentle kiss against her forehead. "Come."

Yi-Seo let herself be led down the familiar hall to her bedroom. Nothing had changed. Her books were still on the shelves. Her desk was still covered in old case files, unfinished notes. Her bed—her bed—was still neatly made, as if waiting for her to come back.

Hwa-Young followed, hesitating in the doorway. "Can I stay with you?"

Yi-Seo didn't hesitate. "Yes."

They climbed into bed together, just like they used to when they were younger—when thunderstorms scared Hwa-Young, when Yi-Seo had studied too late and needed an excuse to rest.

Her sister curled into her side, warm and solid and real.

And for the first time in weeks, Yi-Seo let herself close her eyes.

She didn't know if she would dream.

But at least, for now, she wasn't alone.

words from the author:
WOAH WOAH WOAHHHH. Had to add some hope. Told you guys not to worry! 😌

This chapter was longer than expected but I hoped you enjoyed it! Don't forget to vote! :)