⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Eventually, Mirae pulled away stiffly, her body language guarded again, retreating like a blade sliding back into its sheath. Her expression was controlled, but not enough to mask the way her lips trembled, or how her shoulders hunched ever so slightly inward, like she was trying to fold herself smaller.

Junho reached for her anyway, his fingers brushing her face and cupping it gently, his thumbs smoothing over the tracks her tears had carved. His cool, steady hands were a soothing contrast to her feverish skin. 

When she flinched instinctively and started to jerk back, he held on, refusing to let go. 

"Don't do that," she snapped, her gaze darting anywhere but him. "You don't have to do that. Pretend."

"Pretend what?"

"To be nice to me. I said I'd help you. I will. You don't need to go out of your way to act like you care. I know you don't."

"Not every act of kindness is a game of pretend. I'm not pretending to care."

Mirae made a cruel sound. "Oh, so I'm supposed to believe that you actually do?"

Junho didn't say anything at first, just brushed his thumb along the curve of her cheekbone, tracing over one of the still-healing cuts. The ones near her temple had almost faded. He hated that he might've been part of the reason for some.

"I am sorry, you know," he murmured finally. "For going through your stuff. For taking your gun. For everything."

"Don't do that either. Stop it."

"Stop what?" he asked, half-laughing now, though his voice was still achingly tender. "What do you want from me? Do you want me to hurt you some more?"

She went very still.

"Is that it?" he continued. "Do you honestly think I'm the kind of person who sees someone drowning and pushes them deeper?"

Mirae didn't answer, but she didn't need to. It was all over her face, her expression that of someone who didn't believe in lifeboats. Who had learned the hard way that kindness was usually a tether with a noose on the end. She was staring at him like she was trying to decipher a language she'd never learned.

Of course, she expected him to hurt her, to kick her when she was already down. That was what she was used to. 

Junho sighed, his hands falling away from her face. "I'm not here to deceive you. You're the only one I trust here. You're all I have, so naturally, I have a vested interest in making sure you're okay."

He watched her warily, wondering if she'd walk away again. Wondering if she'd shove him, snap at him, curse and claw her way back to the sharp edges she wore like armour.

But she didn't. Instead, she marched over to one of the shelves, her fingertips brushing over the files until she pulled one from its place. She flipped through it until she found what she was looking for, thrusting the page in Junho's direction. 

"What? What are you—"

Mirae tapped on the page impatiently. "List of previous winners," she stated. "There's your brother. Hwang In-ho, wasn't it? He won. He made it out alive. Which means he's not here, and you have to get out before this place kills you, too."

Her tone was clipped, but her eyes were beseeching. She had to make sure he escaped with his life, even if it meant lying to him. 

While he gaped at his brother's name, she pulled out another file, one containing the player inventory for the 2015 games. 

"Your brother is somewhere out there, probably living a life of luxury and excess thanks to his prize money. You're in the wrong place, officer. You need to fucking leave. Please."

And then she was gone, leaving him to ponder the implication of her words and decide whether or not he believed her. 

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

The fourth game was set in what looked like a lovingly crafted replica of a small Korean neighbourhood from decades past, the kind Mirae had only ever seen in grainy family photographs or the dusty corners of her grandfather's stories.

Faux sunlight filtered through an artificial sky, casting shadows across the cobbled paths. Rows of squat houses formed a maze, each door painted in bright, cheerful colours that felt mocking in the bleak context. There were wooden benches carved with delicate latticework, a rusting seesaw in the corner, and even a shallow stone well placed in the middle like the beating heart of the town. Some of the houses had planters beneath the windows, stuffed with fake carnations and daffodils, the silk petals slightly faded from use.

A disembodied voice crackled to life overhead. "Players, take one bag each from the staff member before you. There should be a set of ten marbles in each bag. Please check to confirm the number."

Mirae held up two cloth drawstring pouches, her movements robotic. They felt heavy in her hand, almost nostalgic, if not for the circumstances. She handed them to the team she'd been assigned to watch over. 

Seong Gi-hun, with his mop of unkempt hair and worried brow, reached for one bag, and standing beside him, smiling with childlike eagerness, was her grandfather. He looked delighted, as if they'd just walked into a fairground rather than the next stage of a death game.

Mirae swallowed the bitter taste rising in her throat. If the gods had a sense of humour, it was a cruel one. At least, if she was lucky, she wouldn't have to kill anyone today.

Well. Unless Gi-hun lost. But something told her he wouldn't.

She watched the middle-aged man lean toward her grandfather, whispering gently. "Have you played marbles before?"

Il-nam grinned, cradling his pouch like treasure. "I used to play a lot as a kid. I was pretty good."

He wasn't wrong.

Mirae remembered lazy summer afternoons in their polished garden, where their grandfather explained the rules of the game with exaggerated hand gestures. She had always fumbled through the game, while her brother had taken to it like he was born knowing the odds. She still remembered how smug he looked, guessing odd or even with eerie accuracy, winning every round. He'd once tried to explain his strategy, something about statistical probability and reading hand weight. It had flown straight over her head.

Her gaze softened slightly before hardening again, watching as her grandfather and Gi-hun linked pinkies like schoolchildren.

"We'll be good partners," Gi-hun promised, far too trusting for what was coming.

Just then, the overhead voice continued. "Using your set of ten marbles, you will play the game of your choice with your partner. The player who manages to take all ten marbles from their partner wins."

Player 456 went stiff, the bag clutched loosely in his hand. His expression faltered as he processed the implications, eyes darting toward Il-nam, whose grin didn't fade. He continued to marvel at his marbles, rolling them between his fingers with wonder.

Mirae wondered if it was real. Was it truly his dementia creeping in and stealing his consciousness, or was it just another act, put on just as easily as the numbered green tracksuit?

She couldn't quite tell, and that made it all the more unbearable. Regardless, her only job today was making sure her grandfather was safe.

Mirae spent the rest of the game watching Gi-hun spiral.

The man was practically tripping over himself as he chased his elderly partner around the pastel labyrinthine neighbourhood.

"Please," he called out, over and over. "We have to play a game. Just one game."

But Oh Il-nam wandered aimlessly, fingers trailing along doorframes and picket fences like he was in a memory. 

"It's around here somewhere. My old house... I lived here, didn't I? With my wife and my son," he mumbled to himself.

He shuffled along, pausing now and then with a delighted sigh, pointing at a drainpipe, a chalked-up wall, a planter full of silk violets, as if these fragments were real anchors in a life long gone.

Gi-hun, breathless and exasperated, stormed up to Mirae where she stood, his face a mess of sweat and frustration. 

"That man has dementia," he spat, gesturing wildly. "He's not in his right mind. He doesn't even understand what's happening. Doesn't that mean he's forfeited? Doesn't that mean I win? He can't play if he doesn't even know he's playing, right?"

Mirae shrugged. 

"Right," Gi-hun muttered bitterly. "Of course. No answers from you people."

Then, he stormed across the courtyard and seized Il-nam by the shoulders. 

"You have to play!" he shouted, shaking him hard enough to rattle the pouch of marbles in his hands. "We're going to die if we don't! Do you understand? You can't just wander around like it's a goddamn picnic—this is life or death!"

Il-nam stared at him with wide, confused eyes. For a moment, it looked like he might start crying, but then, he gave a little nod and offered Gi-hun a tremulous smile.

"Don't yell at me," he rebuked. "I'll play, but stop yelling at me." 

They sat down in the shade of a mock house with peach-colored shutters and started sorting through their marbles.

Mirae slumped down nearby, letting her body slide against the cool plaster wall until she was sitting with her knees drawn up. Her whole body ached from exhaustion and grief. Her limbs felt like they were underwater, and her mind was somewhere else entirely.

She wondered what Eun-kyung would have done if she'd made it to this game. Would she have been gentle and kind as always? Would she have tried to play a fair game, only to be killed for her goodness?

Who would she have been paired with? Would Mirae have had to kill her? Would that have been worse than cradling her corpse, still warm, as her blood soaked into her sleeves? 

Maybe she should've joined the Games with Eun-kyung. Would that have helped? Would it have made a difference if she'd stood beside her friend in that hellish dormitory? If she'd held her hand through each nightmare round? Maybe she could've protected her. Or maybe they would have died together, and at least then Eun-kyung wouldn't have been alone at the end.

Minhyuk wouldn't have hesitated. If it were for someone he loved, he would've thrown himself into the arena without a second thought. That was who he was. Always so stupidly brave. Always running headfirst into fire if it meant saving someone else.

That was how they were different.

She was a coward. And no matter how much she told herself it was survival instinct or strategy or the simple, selfish will to live, she couldn't keep pretending it wasn't also fear. It was fear that had her cowering in her father's shadow, saying yes when she wanted to scream no. Obeying, even when it meant damning everyone she loved.

This time, she should have defied him, even if it meant losing more than a finger this time. But she hadn't, and now her only friend was gone, while Mirae was still here.

Still breathing, and curdling from the inside out.

She couldn't bear the shame of being herself. The festering cowardice that clung to her skin like rot. It made her sick. It made her want to crawl out of her body and into someone else's—someone good and brave.

She wished she were Minhyuk. God, she just wished she were anyone but herself.

Tears slipped from her eyes before she even felt them, carving silent tracks down her cheeks. She was grateful for the mask that shielded her from view. It hid her trembling jaw, her reddened eyes, the grief that still hadn't found a place to live inside her without hollowing her out. 

Mirae forced herself to watch the game between her grandfather and Gi-hun play out. They crouched in the dust with their knees nearly touching, and for a time, her grandfather was brilliant.

With practiced hands, he guessed right again and again, his grin boyish. He laughed when he won, teasing his partner and clutching his marbles with glee. But then the shimmer of clarity in his gaze would fog over, as if someone flipped a switch inside his mind. The dementia slipped back into place. Whether real or a performance, Mirae still couldn't say, but in those moments, Gi-hun would seize his chance.

Every time he guessed wrong, Il-nam would pause, look at him with a vague, questioning smile, and slowly open his palms to reveal the marbles.

Then Gi-hun would change his answer.

This was a man who wanted to live. That much was obvious. Meanwhile, her grandfather played like a man untouched by consequence, drifting through the game as though death itself was a distant concept.

But Gi-hun's face twisted more with every victory. He couldn't hide the guilt, and the way it gnawed at him, even as he cheated. Especially as he cheated.

When Il-nam was down to his last marble, he wandered off again, eyes caught by something invisible down the road. His partner sprang after him, breath ragged, voice cracking as he pleaded. 

"Please! Just one more round. You only have one left. One last game, okay? Please."

Mirae sighed and followed. They trailed past another faded house, this one painted lilac with chipping shutters. She hung back, leaning against the wall, only half-listening as Gi-hun tried repeatedly to reason with the old man.

Il-nam, for his part, began to rave about his son.

"He used to play around here with his friends. I would hide just behind the utility pole there and take a peek at all of them playing. They would always have so much fun. We'd all get red bean buns afterward...Feels like just yesterday."

Mirae let out a choked scoff. Her father, playing in the streets? The thought was laughable. She couldn't picture him doing something as innocent as playing. 

And then came the end.

Eventually, Il-nam pressed his last marble into his partner's trembling palm, his expression sombre. Gi-hun sobbed, as if the guilt had finally crushed his lungs, and Il-nam pulled him into a hug. Mirae watched in surprise as her grandfather comforted him.

As if this were just another game between old friends and not the twisted conclusion to a blood-soaked charade.

But then again, the stakes weren't nearly as high for the old man. 

Gi-hun staggered away moments later, barely holding himself together, the sound of his shuddering sobs trailing behind him as he stumbled through the pastel-colored door. When the inevitable gunshot came, followed by a thud of a dropping body, he flinched, the guilt eating away at him even faster. 

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Hours later, Minhyuk paced the length of his grandfather's room, his hands flexing uselessly at his sides. The walls, lined with expensive bookshelves and warm-toned paintings, had never felt so suffocating. He cast furtive glances toward the bed where the old man lay, propped up by pillows, draped in soft robes the colour of rich earth, no longer in that cursed scratchy green jumpsuit.

He was still too pale and gaunt, the shadows under his eyes bruised, but he was beaming like he'd just come back from a picnic.

Minhyuk couldn't take it anymore.

He threw his hands in the air. "Why would you even think about doing this to yourself? And in your condition, too! The doctors said you need to avoid all stressors, and you go and throw yourself into that—that thing! Are you trying to kill yourself?!"

Il-nam's laugh was indulgent. "Don't nag. You sound like your sister."

"She's right to nag. You need to take better care of yourself."

"Oh-ho...now you sound like you're on the verge of tears. That scared of your old man croaking, are you, my boy?"

Minhyuk glowered at him, but it crumpled before it could harden, and his eyes watered against his will.

"You have to live," he pleaded. "You have to live for a very, very long time."

Il-nam's grin softened fondly, but he didn't apologize. He knew what the boy truly meant to say. That if he died, both his grandchildren would be left alone without a buffer to temper their father's rages. 

"Everyone must die eventually," he stated with infuriating calm. "I've lived a full life, haven't I. And this game? It was part of the fun. Oh, I've had such fun. Reminds me of my childhood days." He waved a hand toward the corner of the room. "Come now. Bring the chessboard. I've missed playing with my favourite opponent."

Minhyuk blinked. "You're supposed to be resting."

"I am resting. By playing with my favourite grandson."

"I'm your only grandson."

"All the more reason for you to be my favourite."

Minhyuk rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the ghost of a smile from touching his lips. He crossed the room with a heavy sigh, pulling the chessboard from its place on the shelf and setting it between them on the small table. 

"You're not allowed to die," he murmured under his breath.

Il-nam chuckled again. "Then I'll try to hold off for another few months. Just for you."

It wasn't enough. But for now, Minhyuk would take it.

"So..." Il-nam moved a rook lazily across the board. "Still seeing that pretty girl from the café? What was her name... Seon-mi?"

Minhyuk ducked his head bashfully. "S-Se-mi. It's Se-mi."

"Ah, yes. The one with the sharp tongue and the clever eyes. She still giving you a hard time?"

"Only when I deserve it."

"So every day, then."

"You don't have to sound so pleased about it," Minhyuk grumbled. 

"You always were a little soft-hearted. You need someone to knock you around a bit."

"My sister does it enough."

His grandfather frowned. "Speaking of your sister, how is she doing?"

Minhyuk's fingers froze over a pawn. The question was casual, but it felt like a needle under the skin.

"She's... not coping well, I think."

Il-nam nodded. "She's always been a storm. That kind of heart doesn't mend easily."

"It's more than that. She barely speaks anymore. Doesn't sleep either. She looks terrible."

"Have you been looking after her?"

"I try. But I don't think she wants to be looked after. I think... I think she wants to suffer. Like she thinks she deserves it."

The old man didn't respond right away. His eyes dropped to the board, but he wasn't seeing it anymore.

"Some ghosts cling tighter than others. And some things we do..." he trailed off, "...feel like they can never be undone."

"I wish she'd let me carry some of it. Just a little. I'd take it all if I could."

"You're a good brother."

Minhyuk's shoulders slumped. "It's not enough."

"No. But it's something."

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

A/N: when you're in a touch starved competition and your opponent is Mirae lmao...
Anyways, whoops, time got away from me again, so sorry for the delay, but we are back. I promise this fic is never getting abandoned, and with the new season trailer I'm feeling a little more motivated to grind through lol. 

This is a bit of a short chapter because episode 6 isn't really that relevant to Mirae. As usual, don't be a ghost reader. I live for yalls comments/questions/concerns/reactions, even a keyboard smash is highly appreciated and encouraged!