C H A P T E R F  O  U  R  T Y  -  O  N  E :
"I should've saved you."
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It didn't feel like survival.

It felt like punishment.

Sang-Woo stared at the ceiling of the sterile white room he'd been placed in—another hideaway built by the organization, another place they stashed broken souls like collectibles once they'd been used up. The silence clawed at him. No nurses unless called. No visitors. Just him, his thoughts, and the smell of disinfectant that did nothing to wash the stench of blood off his memory.

The worst part was how quiet it was.

He hated the quiet now.

It was in the quiet that he remembered the games.

It was in the quiet that he remembered her.

Yi-Seo.

Her name alone stirred something violent in his chest.

He had spent nights picturing her body on the arena floor, unmoving, eyes closed. Pale skin bruised by impact, stained by rain and sand and blood. She had fallen too hard, too fast.

And he hadn't been able to do a damn thing.

He remembered the sound of thunder overhead. The arena had been soaked in rain, every drop echoing like a countdown to destruction. The sand beneath his feet had turned to sludge. His clothes clung to his skin, but the cold didn't register. Not over the pressure in his chest.

But somewhere in that arena, amidst the thunder and the betrayal and the ache in his lungs, his eyes had flickered—just once—to the sidelines.

He saw her body lurching forward, fighting to stay alive, trying to do something.

The world around him spun. The rain blurred into streaks of silver. The air around him felt impossibly cold as he saw her collapse.

Sang-woo was screaming her name.

"Yi-Seo!"

He 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—"

Sang-Woo wanted to run. He didn't care about the game anymore. He didn't care about pride or rules or money. He needed to get to her.

But the guards formed a wall, black masks blank and cold.

"Yi-Seo!" He shouted once again.

She didn't respond.

Her body had gone limp.

He watched them drag her away like discarded trash.

Like she was nothing.

He pressed a shaking palm to his chest.

His heart still beat.

And it felt wrong.

There were nights when he wished it would just stop. That he would fall asleep and never wake up. That he would drift into the same void he had left her in.

But even death, he thought bitterly, would be too merciful.

Sometimes, his thoughts would wander to Gi-hun.

Gi-hun, who had fought against him. With him.

Gi-hun, who had stood in that final game with fists soaked in rain and eyes burning with something Sang-Woo didn't have anymore—hope.

They had fought like animals against player 17.

Player 17 died.

Sang-woo should've died.

And Gi-hun had won.

Sang-woo couldn't wrap his head around the fact he was still living. The rule of the games was that only one player would make it out alive and win the prize money.

He shook his thoughts way, and tilted his head back against the wall, letting his eyes close, but rest never came.

His mind wandered again—to his mother. Her smile, her hands always busy with something, her voice calling him home.

He had wanted to give her a better life.

That's what he told himself.

But at some point, it stopped being about her and started being about him.

And now?

She probably thought he was dead. Or worse, she was still waiting. Still believing he would come home through that front door.

He swallowed hard, forcing the thoughts out of his mind.

But Yi-Seo kept wandering back.

God, Yi-Seo.

Her name wasn't just a name—it was a wound.

He remembered the first time they spoke in the dormitories. She hadn't trusted him. She saw right through his polished exterior. The way she challenged him, the way she stood by Gi-hun despite all the danger—it had infuriated him.

She had been a fire in that place. The only warmth that was left between them.

And now that fire was gone.

Snuffed out.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands.

"You deserved better," he whispered. "I should've helped you. I should've saved you."

But he hadn't.

And the guilt—
The guilt was a prison no guard could open.

Not even death could grant release from the weight of watching someone die and knowing you could have done more.

Could have been better.

He didn't know it yet—
Didn't know she had survived.
Didn't know she was home now, trying to rebuild from the same ruins he carried.

All he knew was the silence she left behind.

And how loud it had become.

Words from the author:

HEY GUYS!! I made this story longer than it should've been...

But I do hope you guys enjoyed it :) Also, so sorry about the delay. I will make it up 💔

Anywho... decided to write a chapter solely based on Sang-woo's POV so y'all could see how each character impacted his life. 🤗

If there were any errors, ignore them (please. Or just lmk) I did write this chapter at 2am 😭