The air hung thick with electric dread. From above, the ceiling groaned to life as lights flickered like blinking stars about to die. A beep echoed—a sterile sound, sharp as a scalpel. The masked manager emerged, the voice behind the mask steady and cold.

"Congratulations to all of you for making it through the second game," he said, pressing a button with clinical detachment.

The ceiling rumbled like a distant storm.

A chiptune melody began, lighthearted and grotesquely out of place. Then it intensified.

"In the second game, 110 players were eliminated. The prize money accumulated up to this point is 20.1 billion won. With 255 players remaining, each person's share is 78,823,530 won."

Gasps. Murmurs.

"What? It's still under 100 million? Not even 80?"

"Only 110 people died? Is that all?"

"You shot more than that!"

"I almost died twice! That's all I get?"

Y/N stood in the chaos, eyes trained not on the numbers, but on the people unraveling around them. A woman clutched her sleeves like they might carry her out of this place. A man wept through clenched teeth, laughter twisted by desperation.

The manager raised a hand. "I understand your disappointment. But we always keep the door open for new opportunities. You will now vote. Whether to continue... or not."

A silence bloomed—sacred, terrible.

Yongsik's voice broke through. "If we go home today, let's have kimchi stew. Aged kimchi. With pork."

Laughter like a sudden spring. Hope shimmered, fragile.

"I'll grill pork belly," said Geumja, her smile trembling like candlelight.

Y/N felt something shift—a tether pulling them toward people they barely knew but somehow needed. In Bongcheondong. In Sillimdong. In Gwangmyeong.

Neighbors. Souls tangled by fate's cruel weave.

Gihun raised his voice. "We have to end the games here. I'll help you when we get out. Please trust me."

"Victory at all costs!" Dae-ho shouted.

A slow hush fell over the chamber, thick with sweat, dread, and the unspoken prayers of the damned. Dim light traced shadows across the masked faces. The air was brittle, like it might snap with a single breath.

"This time, the vote will begin with Player 001."

The voice cut through like a scalpel. Cold. Final.

A red circle bloomed like blood on snow.

"Player 006."

A second mark. Another step toward whatever ending awaited them.

Player 007.

Then, a ripple. Yongsik stepped forward, hands trembling but voice just steady enough to sound like hope in disguise.

"Don't get any foolish ideas. If we put our money together, it'd be over 150 million. We'll pay off your debt with it... open a produce store or something. Okay?" Guemja added.

Player 007 blinked, heart aching. Yongsik's eyes shimmered—not with tears, but with a fragile vision of escape. Of oranges stacked under neon lights. Of life.

A gasp echoed.

In the back, Seonnyeo chanted under her breath, a low thread of sound like wind through broken glass.

"Are you doing a goddamn ritual?" a man snapped.

"Shut your mouth," she hissed, never looking up.

"Player 048."

The red circle grew like a wound that wouldn't close.

"We all agreed to play one more game, right?" someone asked—more prayer than promise.

"Player 125."

"Player 126."

From the crowd, a voice broke through.

"Excuse me. Everyone!" Gi-hun yelled.

And then—Inho. His voice frayed at the edges, but fierce.

"Are you all out of your minds? You still want to keep going after watching all those people die? Who's to say you won't die in the next game?"

He swept his gaze across the faces—haunted, pale, hollow.

"We have to stop. We'll all die if we keep going! Come to your senses, and leave with that money. You've got to survive first, or there won't be a next step"

" What do you think we can do with a mere 70 million?" someone retorted.

A murmur. Then more.

"Yes, he's right!" Player 043 yelled. "That's right!"

"It was 25 million after the first game. Now it's 78 million. After one game! If we play one more, it'll be 240 million!"

Then came Youngmi—a sob, a collapse.

"But I can't do this anymore. Please... let me out of here. I really... I really want to go home. I don't want to die."

An older man stepped forward, voice quiet like a funeral song.

"Young lady... You're young. You might get another chance. But I don't. My family and I... we have no future. I owe over 500 million. I've got to make at least half of that here if I want a real shot."

"What if you die? Then what? Your family won't even get your body" In-ho added.

A hush. Then another player harp and wild: "Don't get fucking scared! Ddakji, Red Light, Green Light, Spinning Top! It's not like the games are that difficult. We've made it this far!"

"You make such a good point, young man. One more game! We've all survived until now!" Player 100 yelled.

A rising chant, voices like thunder pounding toward a cliff:

"One more game! Just one more, and that's it!"
"One more game!"
"One more game!"

A strange hush lingered after the vote, like the echo of something heavy just dropped into deep water. The results were clear—139 for O, 116 for X. The third game would come.

Y/n turned to Se-mi, her voice soft but trembling. "Aren't you scared?"

Se-mi didn't answer right away. Her eyes stayed forward, wide and glossy under the cold fluorescent lights.

"Scared of what?"

"Playing more games." Y/n said staring at the blue O across Se-mi's chest.

"I am scared."

"Then why do you want to continue?" Y/n asked, harsher than she meant.

Se-mi's voice cracked—not from emotion, but exhaustion. "Because if I go out now... I'll have to face even scarier things."

Y/n didn't know what to say. Some truths were too jagged to touch.

Nearby, tension unraveled into something more fragile.

"Don't call me 'Mom,' you damn fool."

Yongsik sniffled, head lowered.

"Mom, I'm sorry. I can't go home with just that. I still owe about 100 million... to loan sharks, the gambling den."

He exhaled shakily.

"They said they'd sell my eyes, liver, kidneys. And they mean it. That's why I didn't come home. Just one more game... I swear, next time I'll vote to leave. We'll make a fresh start."

She looked at him, eyes swimming with anger and pain.

"Next time?"

"Yeah... fresh start."

"What if one of us doesn't make it?" she whispered.

"If something happens to you... I wouldn't have a reason to live, even if I made it out."

"We'll get through this together." he whispered back.

As Y/n and Se-mi returned, Dae-ho's voice broke the silence like a firecracker.
"Brother! Jungbae!"

"No, I'm good here."

"Then sit farther away. It's pathetic seeing you sulking so close," Dae-ho snapped.

The group stiffened, tension thick. In-ho and Gi-hun exchanged a quiet glance as Y/n and Se-mi returned.

Jung-bae looked up.

"I'm sorry... Junhee, Youngil, Gihun... I took emergency money. The creditors are threatening my ex-wife and kid. One more game and I might be able to settle it."

In-ho's voice was low.
"You shouldn't have done it... especially not you."

Y/n gave Se-mi a glance, then sighed. "Even if you voted the other way... the outcome wouldn't have changed."

Jung-bae pleaded. "So it's not entirely my fault, right?"

In-ho nodded. "I get why you did it."

Y/n turned, surprised."You do?"

"The money isn't enough for me either. I thought about it too."

Jung-bae perked up. "We worked well as a team. If we stick together, we'll survive the next one. Right, Junhee?"

Gi-hun interjected. "The next game might force us to kill each other."

In-ho sighed. "There's nothing we can do now. Let's just eat and prepare."

He held out his milk to Junhee. "Here. Take mine. I don't drink plain milk."

She hesitated. "No, it's okay."

"Take it," he insisted.

She took it. "Thank you."

Y/n watched. In that moment, a tiny light flickered inside her—maybe In-ho was starting to see. Starting to care.

Jung-bae stood, a bit straighter.

"Have my bread too... I don't deserve to eat."

Without missing a beat, Dae-ho piped up, "Can I have your milk then?"

There was a pause. Then, laughter. First a chuckle, then a few stifled giggles, and then full-throated laughter from a group that had forgotten they were capable of such sound. Even in a room shadowed by death, their shared humanity cracked through like sunlight through boarded windows.

They laughed—not because anything was funny, but because for a moment, they remembered they were still alive.

______________

The ship creaked softly beneath Jun-ho's boots as it slipped through the waves, slicing the ocean like a knife through silence. Around him, laughter buzzed—nervous, brash, laced with bravado. But he heard none of it.

His eyes stayed locked on the horizon, a jagged line between sky and water where the sun bled gold into blue. Somewhere out there—hidden, waiting—was the island. And somewhere on that island was her. Y/n.

His anchor. His undoing.

Every second without her was a slow suffocation. He couldn't eat properly—every meal tasted like ash. He couldn't sleep—his dreams kept dragging him back to the one of the many mornings they spent together.

He remembered how she'd dance barefoot in the kitchen, humming softly, wearing that oversized sweatshirt he always teased her about. She usually had flour smudged across her cheek and was pretending not to cry as she made his favorite breakfast. He had held her then, pressing his lips to her temple.

And now she was somewhere on that cursed island, alone—or worse.

He clenched the edge of the rail so tightly his knuckles turned white. Salt spray kissed his cheeks, but it wasn't enough to wash away the ache. Every wave was a question. Every gust of wind, a memory.

"How could the world still turn when she was somewhere in danger?" he thought.

He tried to stay sharp, focused. He was a cop. A soldier in this sea of ghosts. But every corner of this mission led back to her. The map. The chatter. The tension in his chest.

Y/n, Y/n, Y/n.

He remembered how she'd fall asleep pressed against his side, the way she curled into him like she belonged there, like she always had. And how, just before she drifted off, she'd whisper, "If you're ever far away, just talk. I'll be listening."

Now, he spoke to the waves every night.

His team moved around him—loading gear, joking, barking orders. He nodded when necessary, issued commands with a steady voice, but it was all distant. Hollow.

As the sun dipped low and stars began to blink into the velvet dark, he stepped to the edge of the deck, the world behind him fading.

"Hold on a little longer, Y/n," he whispered, voice barely carried by the wind. "I'm coming. I swear it."

And somewhere beneath the hush of the waves and the low thrum of the engine, he imagined he heard her—laughing softly, like she used to when she caught him staring.

____________

The third game will begin momentarily. All players, please get out of bed and get ready.

Let me repeat. The third game will begin momentarily. All players, please get out of bed and get ready.

The announcement echoed through the cold, steel walls of the dormitory like a bell tolling for the doomed.

Y/n stirred under her thin blanket, her eyes opening slowly, lashes heavy with sweat and fear. Her body ached—every muscle, every bruise a silent echo of survival—but it was her heart that hurt the most.

She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest for a fleeting second of stillness. The others were already moving, the shuffling of feet, the sharp whisper of nervous breaths filling the room. But her mind was elsewhere.

She thought of Jun-ho—of his voice, low and steady, saying her name the way no one else ever had. She could still picture the way his eyes creased at the corners when he smiled, the way his fingers brushed hers like a promise. He would be looking for her. He wouldn't stop.

And that thought alone kept her breathing.

She rose, unsteady but determined, falling into the slow current of players making their way toward the platform.

Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle.

Y/n's eyes flicked instinctively to In-ho.

There he stood—stoic as always, arms folded, jaw tense—but different. Just slightly.

There had been cracks lately. Little ones. Moments where his mask slipped.It wasn't much. But it was enough.

Maybe Jun-ho had been right all along... maybe his brother wasn't lost. Not entirely.

Y/n bit her lip. If she could just make it through this game, if she could keep him alive—bring him back—maybe Jun-ho would finally see In-ho the way she had begun to: not as a monster, but as a man pulled too far into the dark.

She had to make it through. For them both. For all three of them.

That was the prayer burning in her chest—not survival for herself, but reunion for the brothers who had both, in their own broken ways, loved her.

"Hey, we'll be mingling together. Doesn't that sound like so much fun?" sang Thanos.

All players, please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds.

"Oh, this game? We used to play something similar on school trips. We formed groups by hugging" Jung-bae said.

"Yeah. Instead of hugging, we go into those rooms" Dae-ho added.

"I know this game. How should we play this? Is there a strategy? If the number is four, we can stay together. If it's two, you and me pair up. If the number is bigger than five, we'll get the additional people we need. But what if it's smaller than five? Like three or four..." Guemja rambled.

"We'll figure it out as we go. No matter what happens, don't panic. Let's stay calm. Let's trust each other. We'll all make it out together. Here" Player 120 added,

Y/n nodded with determination, eyes flicking between the group. She didn't respond—there was no need. Her heart was already ahead of her, racing toward the moment this game would begin.

She would do whatever it took.

To survive.
To make the broken things whole again.
Let the game begin.

And Y/n stepped onto the platform—eyes sharp, spirit steady.
Not just to survive—
But to save.