The voting room buzzed with a suffocating tension that threatened to crush everyone under its weight. Rows of players stood with their backs to the wall, their expressions ranging from resolute to panic-stricken. Some paced, muttering to themselves; others were frozen, eyes wide as if the walls were closing in. Each heartbeat was loud in the cavernous room, each breath shallow.

The masked men, silent sentinels, loomed like harbingers of judgment.

Y/n stood among the players, her sharp gaze scanning the room. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. This was not where her story ended. She would find a way out, and if she could stop the carnage, she would. The games didn't deserve another year of bloodshed. Her determination burned bright, outshining the fear in the room.

"The vote will be held in reverse order of your player numbers," one of the masked men announced, his monotone voice cutting through the tension. "Player 456."

All eyes turned to Gi-hun as he stepped forward. His movements were deliberate, purposeful, as though he carried the weight of every life in the room. His eyes flickered with a grim certainty—he knew this was his chance to end the madness, and he wasn't going to falter. Without hesitation, he pressed the X button.

"It's all pointless!" Player 044's voice erupted from the crowd, a venomous cry that reverberated in the silence. "You didn't decide when to come into this world, and you can't decide when you leave it either! Your death was written the day you were born!"

Gi-hun didn't even glance at her, his resolve unshaken. He took the patch bearing the X and affixed it to his chest before stepping to the side.

The manager's voice rang out again, cold and procedural. "Player 454."

One by one, the players were called, their choices reflected in the escalating tension of the room. The beeps from the voting machine echoed ominously. With every press of X or O, the room grew more divided.

When Y/n's number was called, her stride was measured but confident.

The murmur of the room hushed as she passed through the crowd, her expression a blend of defiance and purpose. This was not a woman consumed by fear—this was someone who had resolved to fight. The shadows of her past played at the edges of her thoughts, but she focused on the future.

Her finger hovered for only a fraction of a second before pressing the X with firm finality. Her mind raced with images of Jun-ho, of stopping these twisted games once and for all. If she left now, she could regroup, plan, and expose the horrors of this place. She wouldn't let more innocent lives be snuffed out—not this year.

Patch in place, she joined the X side, her posture radiating defiance. Her presence alone felt like a rallying cry.

As the votes piled up, the room grew louder. Some players shifted nervously on their feet, others clutched at their patches as if willing their decisions to be right.

Player 230 pressed O, breaking the tense rhythm of beeps with a sound of finality.

Gi-hun suddenly stepped forward, his voice rising above the chaos. "Wait a minute, everyone! Look at the numbers! The O's are winning!" His desperation bled through his words. "You can't do this! Don't you see what these games are? They're not just games—we'll all die if we keep playing. We have to stop this now!"

The room erupted.

"Who do you think you are?" Player 100 sneered. "Why do you keep egging people on? Are you trying to scare us into quitting?"

"He's one of them!" another player shouted. "How else did he know about the shooting before the first game?"

Murmurs of suspicion rippled through the crowd.

Y/n stepped forward, her voice sharp and unwavering. "That's uncalled for!" she shot back. "Without him, half of us wouldn't have made it past the first game! He warned us because he wanted us to survive!"

"And you," Jung-bae chimed in, pointing at Player 254, "I saw how terrified you were back there. Your legs were shaking so much you could barely stand. If it weren't for Gi-hun, you'd be dead already."

The accusations and defenses flew back and forth, the room descending into chaos.

Y/n's voice cut through the noise. "Stop it!" Her fierce tone brought a momentary hush. "This isn't about greed or blame—it's about survival. If we keep playing, more of us will die. Is that what you want? Are you really willing to gamble your lives?"

The older woman who stood with her son nodded, her voice trembling but firm. "She's right. None of us would be here without him. Let's end this now. Let's go home."

For a moment, the tide seemed to shift. Cries of "Let's get out of here!" began to build on the X side.

But Player 100 wasn't done.

"Bullshit!" he roared. "If you really won, why are you back here? Are you telling us you came back willingly? That makes no sense!"

Gi-hun's jaw tightened. "I did win," he said, his voice heavy with guilt. "I was the sole survivor. And you know what? It didn't mean anything. All I could think about were the people who died to get me there. If we keep playing, the same thing will happen again. Everyone here will die."

His confession sent shockwaves through the room, players exchanging nervous glances.

"He's lying!" Player 100 yelled. "If he won, he can tell us how to win, too! We have a previous winner—what do we have to be afraid of?"

A chorus of cheers erupted from the O side, emboldened by the prospect of fortune.

"Let's do this!" they shouted. "We can win!"

Gi-hun's pleas were drowned in the uproar, his warnings falling on deaf ears. Even Y/n, despite her fierce resolve, felt the weight of futility settle over her. The masked manager's voice cut through the chaos.

"From here on, we will not tolerate actions that disrupt the voting process. Player 228."

One by one, the votes continued. Beep after beep. Decision after decision.

Each step toward the final player was a step closer to fate.

The masked manager's voice rang out cold and final. "Player 001."

The room fell silent, and all eyes turned toward the frail figure stepping forward. Y/n's breath hitched as her gaze locked on him. His steps were deliberate but unsteady, his shoulders hunched beneath the weight of the room's tension.

She tilted her head slightly, a flicker of recognition sparking deep within her mind. She had seen that face before—many years ago, in a time untouched by this nightmare. Back then, it had been younger, lighter, free from the strain that now etched deep grooves into his features.

But his eyes—his eyes were wrong. They weren't the same eyes she remembered.

The warmth that used to reside in them was gone, replaced by a cold detachment that made her stomach churn. Was this really him? The man she thought she knew?

Y/n squinted, trying to reconcile the figure before her with the image of the man who had once been her brother's closest friend. Her fiancé's brother.

As Player 001 approached the voting station, Y/n's thoughts churned violently. In-ho. The name echoed in her mind, a sharp blade dredging up memories she had tried to bury.

Her gaze tracked his side profile, her heart pounding harder with every step he took. She felt an overwhelming urge to stand, to scream, to demand answers, but her body was frozen, her fists clenched tightly in her lap.

Around her, the room erupted into chants.

"O! O!" Thanos' booming voice rallied the O-side supporters.

"X! X!" The dissenters on her side retaliated with equal fervor.

Y/n chanted along with them, her voice weak and strained, her focus entirely elsewhere. She craned her neck to catch every possible glimpse of him. If this was In-ho—if it really was him—then she already knew what he would vote.

At the voting station, In-ho paused, his hand hovering over the buttons. His hesitation was fleeting, but to Y/n, it stretched into an eternity.

She stared hard at him, silently willing him to press X, to do something unexpected, something that would prove she had misjudged him all these years. But he didn't.

With a measured press, he selected O.

The cheers erupted from the O-side, a cacophony that grated against Y/n's ears. She barely heard them. Her attention was on him as he turned, stepping away from the voting station. For the first time, she saw his face in full.

Her heart stopped. There was no doubt now. It was him. In-ho.

The memories flooded back, drowning her in a tide of emotions. She saw him as she had years ago, standing beside her Jun-ho, his eyes alight with mischief, his smile quick and genuine. He had been like a brother to her, someone she had trusted implicitly, someone who had been part of her family.

But that was before everything had shattered. Before the games. Before the betrayal. Before Jun-ho's blood had stained the ground, spilled by the very man she now stared at.

Her stomach twisted violently as the memory resurfaced. Jun-ho's body in the depths of the ocean, the look of stunned betrayal in his eyes.

Y/n's jaw clenched, the room around her blurring as her vision narrowed on him.

This is the man I have to bring back to Jun-ho? The thought burned like acid in her chest. How could she bring him back when every fiber of her being screamed to make him pay? How could she even look at him without seeing Jun-ho's blood on his hands?

And yet, a part of her—small, stubborn, infuriating—remembered what he had once been.

There had been a time when In-ho had been kind, protective even. He had been a brother not only to Jun-ho but to her as well. That memory, faint but insistent, warred against the hatred that had taken root in her heart.

Her hands trembled slightly as she balled them into fists. She had come into these games to stop them, to bring In-ho back, to find justice for Jun-ho. But now, standing on opposite sides of the room, she wondered if she had the strength to face him, to bring him back from the abyss—or if he would simply drag her down with him.

___________

Jun-ho's apartment was bathed in darkness, save for the pale glow of the moonlight filtering through the thin, tattered curtains.

The room was a mess—laundry strewn across the couch, and the faint smell of saltwater clinging to his clothes from another fruitless day at sea.

He slumped into the worn chair by the window, staring out at the empty street below. He hadn't heard from Y/n in almost three days. Three agonizing days since he'd realized she might've gone back to those cursed games.

His fingers curled into a fist as he thought about the black boxes—the ones with the bows. A lump rose in his throat. What if she was already inside one of them?

The thought was unbearable, but he shook his head fiercely.

No, he told himself. She wasn't. She couldn't be. Y/n was too strong, too smart. She'd find a way out, wouldn't she?

But doubt clung to him like a shadow, and the silence of his empty apartment only amplified his fears.

The ache in his chest felt endless, a dull throb that pulsed with every beat of his heart. He missed her. He missed her in ways he couldn't even put into words.

The sound of her laugh, the way her eyes would light up when she teased him, the way she'd fuss over him when he worked too hard or stayed out too late. He missed her presence, the warmth she brought to his otherwise gray existence.

The last time he'd seen her replayed over and over in his mind, like a cruel loop he couldn't escape. It wasn't a tender goodbye, not the kind he now wished for with every aching part of his soul. It had been a fight. A stupid, fiery argument that left words unsaid and wounds unhealed.

He should've reached out, taken her hand, pulled her into his arms. But he didn't.

If he had known it would be the last time, he would've held her longer. He would've memorized the feeling of her arms around him, the smell of her hair, the way her voice softened when she said his name.

Now, sitting alone in the suffocating silence of his apartment, Jun-ho would've given anything to take it all back. To go back to that moment and tell her the truth—that he needed her more than anything in the world.

That she was his anchor, his light, the only person who ever made him feel like he wasn't drowning.

He ran his fingers through his hair, gripping it tightly as tears burned his eyes. The weight of his regret was crushing. He should've hugged her. He should've told her he loved her. He should've done so many things differently.

But now, it was too late.

Jun-ho dragged himself to the desk by the window, his fingers brushing against a leather-bound notebook he'd pulled from a drawer earlier.

He flipped it open, the blank pages staring back at him like an accusation.

He didn't know why he'd decided to start this journal—maybe it was because the words were clawing at his throat, desperate to be said, even if maybe she'd never hear them.

He picked up a pen and began to write.

Y/n,

I don't know if this will ever reach you, but I have to believe it will. I don't know where you are right now, or if you're safe. God, I hope you're safe. I've been thinking about the last time I saw you, about what I said—what I didn't say. I should've hugged you tighter, longer. I should've told you how much you mean to me. How much I need you. I thought I had time. But I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for letting you walk away that night without saying everything I should've said.

Missing you comes in waves, but tonight... tonight I'm drowning, Y/n. Every corner of this apartment feels empty without you in it. I can't sleep. I can't eat. All I can do is think about you and hope you'll come back to me. Please, come back to me.

His hand trembled as he set the pen down, his breath hitching in his throat. He pressed his palms against his face, his fingers digging into his temples as he tried to hold himself together. But the memories of her—her laugh, her touch, her smile—threatened to shatter him.

Finally, exhaustion overcame him, and he slumped forward, his head resting against the edge of the desk. The faint hum of the city outside became a lullaby of sorts, dragging him into an uneasy sleep.

It wasn't long before the nightmare came.

He was back in the games, the suffocating heat of the arena pressing down on him. Y/n was there, her face pale and streaked with blood. She was screaming, her voice raw and desperate as she called his name. Her hands reached out for him, but no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't reach her.

He watched, helpless, as she disappeared into the blackness, her screams echoing in his ears.

"Jun-ho!"

He jolted awake, his heart pounding, his breath ragged. For a moment, he thought he could still hear her voice, but the apartment was silent. Too silent. He blinked, disoriented, and then the realization hit him like a freight train.

She wasn't here.

The emptiness of the room felt suffocating, and Jun-ho buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking as he let the tears fall. The journal sat open in front of him, the ink still wet on the page. He reached for it, his fingers brushing against the words he'd written.

"Please, come back to me."

It was all he had left now—his words, his memories, and a hope he wasn't sure he could hold onto much longer.