Jun-ho was a man broken, his spirit crushed under the weight of Y/n's disappearance. He moved through the days like a ghost, hollow and unmoored, consumed by the agony of not knowing. Every tick of the clock mocked him—too slow when he craved answers, too fast when he needed time to think.

Sleep was a torment he couldn't afford; when he closed his eyes, he saw her—bloodied, fading, her voice a faint cry drowned by the pounding of his own helpless heart. The haunting image burned into his mind, refusing him peace.

His body betrayed him.

Hunger was a foreign concept; the mere thought of food made his stomach churn. He existed in a perpetual haze, unable to focus on anything except the growing chasm where Y/n used to be. Her absence was suffocating, a weight on his chest that no breath could lift.

When he had tracked her phone to the car, hope had flared for the briefest moment, a cruel flicker before it was extinguished.

The empty vehicle mocked him, confirming what he had feared. She was gone—dragged back to that wretched island where survival was a game, and the cost of losing was unthinkable. The thought of her there, alone, bleeding, and terrified, tore at him until he felt he might shatter.

He had clung to the faintest hope that In-ho would step in, that somewhere beneath the mask, his brother might remember his humanity. But deep down, Jun-ho knew better. In-ho's betrayal had already proven the depths to which he had fallen.

Jun-ho had tried to ground himself by visiting Chan-yeol and Ha-kun, but even their kindness only deepened the pit in his stomach. Their concern was a mirror, reflecting just how far he had unraveled. He saw the way they looked at him—the worry in their eyes, the hesitation in their voices. Their home, once a place of camaraderie, now felt like a tomb, filled with heavy silences and unanswered questions.

With nowhere else to turn, Jun-ho took to the sea.

The salt-laden breeze stung his skin, a cruel echo of the tears he refused to shed. The ocean stretched endlessly before him, vast and unyielding, much like the despair that gripped him.

On this particular outing, the boat was crowded with others—Woo-seok, Kim, and Seong Gi-hun's loyal allies. They were united in purpose but divided by the depth of Jun-ho's grief.

The boat's rhythmic sway contrasted violently with the tempest in his soul. He gripped the railing so tightly his knuckles turned bone-white, the pain a meager distraction from the torment in his mind. Woo-seok's voice shattered the fragile quiet.

"Do you think Mr. Seong and Y/n will be okay?"

Y/n's name cut through Jun-ho like a blade. His jaw tightened, his lips pressed into a thin line. The question echoed in his mind, cruel in its simplicity, mocking in its naivety.

"What if they've already done something to them?" Woo-seok added, his words a hammer to Jun-ho's crumbling resolve.

Kim, sensing the tension, intervened. "They wouldn't have brought him this far just to kill him. It doesn't add up."

But Woo-seok wasn't done. "Do you think they've taken him to the island where they play the games?"

The words hit Jun-ho like waves, relentless and battering. He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but clutch the railing as though it were the only thing tethering him to this world.

Kim tried again, his voice steady but soft. "It's likely. That's their stronghold."

Woo-seok, oblivious to Jun-ho's unraveling, pressed on. "If we fail to capture the Front Man, we infiltrate the island. That's Plan B. Everything's proceeding as Seong laid out."

Jun-ho finally spoke, his voice raw and trembling, barely louder than a whisper. "Once the games begin, their lives will be in danger. We must find them before it's too late."

He turned away, his shoulders hunched under the weight of his grief. The wind carried his quiet, desperate vow, words meant only for her. "Y/n, hold on. I'm coming for you. No matter what. I promise."

Images of her filled his mind—her laughter, her stubborn resolve, the warmth of her hand in his. Each memory was a dagger, sharp and piercing, but he clung to them as if they were lifelines. He imagined her face, her voice, her touch, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed bearable.

But then reality crashed back, and he was left with nothing but the cold sea and the unyielding ache in his heart. Jun-ho was a man on the edge, driven by love, consumed by loss, and held together by a thread of hope that was fraying far too quickly.

Without Y/n, he wasn't sure how much longer he could endure.

____________

Waking up on one of the higher bunks, Y/n's first sensation was a gnawing ache in her abdomen. Her body felt sore and sluggish, and as she pushed herself upright, the stark, fluorescent-lit room spun around her.

Her heart sank like a stone as she took in the rows of identical beds, the sea of bewildered faces, and the hauntingly familiar uniforms.

She knew exactly where she was.

Her gaze dropped to the numbered patch on her chest—256. Fear gripped her as her hand instinctively moved to her bandaged abdomen, fingers grazing the thick, sterile material.

Whatever had happened before, it was clear she'd been patched up. But the question lingered—how and why was she here? She had never been a player before, only a witness to the horrors that unfolded in this twisted game.

Before she could process, a strange voice rang out, jarring her from her thoughts.

"Player 456," it called, its tone unnervingly eerie.

Y/n peered down, spotting the figure responsible—a wiry, hollow-eyed woman, Player 044, addressing a weary-looking Gi-hun. The woman leaned in close to Gi-hun, her expression almost feverish.

"I sense you're holding on to many things," she intoned. "You can't leave or stay. You can't fight it—it's your destiny. The souls of the dead hover over you, lingering, vengeful. If we get out of here, let me perform a ritual. I'll cleanse your karma."

Gi-hun barely spared her a glance, visibly exhausted, but his attention sharpened when Y/n began carefully climbing down the metal rungs of the bed frame. She stumbled slightly as she landed, still lightheaded. His relief was evident as he stepped toward her, his eyes softening.

Before either could speak, the blaring sound of an alarm cut through the room, and the buzz of voices quieted into tense murmurs.

The guards entered in formation, their presence a chilling reminder of where they were. At the head of the room, the masked manager stepped forward, his voice cold and commanding.

"I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you," he began. "Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize."

A woman near the front raised her voice, her tone sharp. "Excuse me, but you practically kidnapped me! How can I believe anything you say?"

The manager replied with an almost robotic calm. "I apologize. Please understand that it was necessary to maintain the game's security."

Another player interjected, emboldened. "What's with the mask? Is your face also a secret?"

Similar complaints erupted from the crowd—grievances about their clothing, missing belongings, and the bizarre circumstances of their arrival.

Y/n and Gi-hun remained silent, standing side by side, their gazes locked on the masked figure.

"To ensure fair gameplay and confidentiality," the manager interrupted, his voice rising slightly to regain control, "it is our policy not to reveal the faces and identities of staff. Please understand."

Still, the players pressed on, their frustrations boiling over.

Player 333 shouted about his phone and crypto investments, his desperation spilling out in angry pleas. The manager silenced him with the press of a remote, displaying a detailed list of names and debts on a massive screen.

As the numbers and crimes scrolled by, the murmurs grew uneasy. Each player's sordid history was laid bare—a public shaming that stripped away their bravado.

"All of you in this room have crippling debts and are now on a cliff edge," the manager declared, his tone growing colder.

Y/n's chest tightened as she glanced at Gi-hun. Their eyes met briefly, unspoken understanding passing between them. Both knew they had been brought here for entirely different reasons.

Her own presence—unwilling and inexplicable—felt like a cruel twist of fate.

"When we first came to you, you did not trust us," the manager continued. "But as you know, we played a game and gave you money as promised. And so you trusted us and volunteered to participate according to your own free will."

The room fell into a tense silence, players weighing their impossible choices.

"You have one last chance to decide," the manager said, his tone heavy with finality. "Do you want to live like a piece of trash, running from creditors? Or will you seize the last opportunity we are offering?"

Y/n's mind raced. Her thoughts weren't on the cash prize or the impossible odds—it was on surviving and escape. For the first time since waking, she felt the smallest flicker of resolve ignite within her.

____________

The salty breeze stung Jun-ho's face as the small boat cut through the choppy waves. His eyes were glued to the tracker in his hand, the beeping growing steadily faster, a sound that made his pulse quicken with a mixture of hope and tension.

Every blip on the screen felt like a step closer to the truth.

"Getting closer," Jun-ho called out, his voice firm but laced with an undercurrent of excitement. He pointed toward the jagged silhouette of an island emerging on the horizon. "I think it's one of those islands ahead, Captain. Let's pick up the speed."

The boat's engine roared as the captain nodded. "Sure, as you wish," he replied, steering the vessel toward the distant landmass.

Jun-ho tightened his grip on the railing, his knuckles white as he leaned forward, scanning the dark waters. The faint hum of the tracker was drowned out by the engine's growl, but he could still hear it in his mind, growing louder, faster—a drumbeat of urgency.

__________

The room was charged with tension as the masked manager continued his introduction, every player hanging on his words. The piggy bank, suspended dramatically from the ceiling, gleamed under the harsh lights.

"What you see now is the piggy bank where your valuable prize money will be stored," the manager announced, his voice impassive but commanding. "After each of the six games, the prize money will accumulate in this piggy bank."

A player raised their hand hesitantly. "How much is the prize money?"

The manager's response was deliberate, each word calculated to stir excitement. "The total prize money for the games is 45.6 billion won."

The collective gasp from the players was immediate, filling the room like an electric current.

"Forty-five-point-six billion won?" Player 100 repeated, his voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and hope. "And one of us will get it?"

The manager's tone remained unchanged. "Details about the distribution of the prize money will be shared after the first game. For now, I will share something new about these games."

The players leaned in closer, their curiosity piqued.

"After each game, you will have the opportunity to vote on whether to continue the games or not," the manager explained. "If the majority votes to stop, the games will end, and you will leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Are you saying we can still get the money if we leave after just one game?" Gi-hun stepped forward, his voice filled with suspicion.

"That's correct," the manager replied.

The room fell silent, every player grappling with the implications. Gi-hun exchanged a wary glance with Y/n, their mutual unease about the new rule evident.

Suddenly, a commotion broke the silence.

"Good heavens, excuse me!" Player 149 called out, storming toward Player 007. Without warning, she slapped him across the face.

"You idiot!" she shouted.

"Mom?" Player 007 stammered, clutching his cheek in shock. "What... What are you doing here?"

"That's what I want to ask you!" Player 149 fumed. "What are you doing here?"

"You're embarrassing me," he muttered, glancing around nervously.

"Embarrassing?" she roared. "If you understood embarrassment, you wouldn't be here in the first place!"

"Stop it, Mom," Player 007 whispered urgently. "We'll talk about this later."

"No, we won't. You're leaving. Now!" She grabbed his arm, trying to drag him away.

"Mom, why did you come here?" he demanded, pulling free. "Do you even realize where you are? This is no place for an old lady!"

"Why did I come here?" she laughed bitterly. "To pay off your debt, of course! You fool."

The exchange drew murmurs from the other players, some watching in amusement, others in discomfort.

"Why would you bring a naive old woman here?" Player 007 snapped at one of the guards. "Will you take responsibility if my mom collapses?"

"Yongsik," Player 149 said firmly, "I'll stay and do this. You go home."

"Stop it, Mom. I'm already here," he replied, his voice rising. "I can't just leave!"

"But you promised me," she countered, her voice breaking. "You swore you'd never gamble again!"

"This isn't gambling!" he argued. "We're just playing games. I'll play one game and leave."

"You idiot," she hissed, "it's the same thing!"

"Enough!" Player 100 yelled, cutting through the argument. "They're just games, right?" He turned to the others for support.

The manager's voice boomed over the din. "If you wish to participate, please sign the player consent form. Those who do not wish to participate, speak up now. This is your final chance to leave the games."

A heavy silence fell over the room as every player weighed their options, the enormity of their decision pressing down like an invisible weight.

"Wait, you'll really pay us even if we play just one game?" Player 149 asked skeptically, her eyes narrowing at the masked manager.

"Mom, you can't play any games!" Player 007 interrupted, exasperation lacing his voice. "Just go home already!"

Player 149 folded her arms defiantly. "If you're not leaving, neither am I. I'm not going anywhere without you."

Nearby, tensions flared as impatience grew.

"Will you hurry up?" Player 43 barked at Player 333, who stood nervously in the corner.

Suddenly, Player 230's eyes lit up with recognition. "The Amazing Myunggi from MG Coin? Is that you?"

Player 333 stiffened, glancing around nervously. "Who are you?"

"You may not know me, but I know you," Player 230 said, stepping closer. "MG Coin—I was subscribed to your channel. And I lost a shitload of money, you bastard."

"Same here," another player chimed in bitterly.

"You've got the wrong person," Player 333 muttered, his voice shaking.

Player 230's grin widened, his tone mocking. "Wrong person? I watched your content all day, every day. Now I even see you in my dreams, motherfucker. Was your name Namsu?"

"It's Namgyu. From Club Pentagon," Pthe one player corrected through gritted teeth.

"Right," Player 230 sneered. "Thanks to you, I bonded quickly with Namgyu over here—we shared the same pain." He laughed darkly and ruffled his purple-dyed hair. "I thought the bastards behind MG Coin fled to the Philippines with our money. So, why are you here? Did they cut you loose?"

"What do you want from me?" Player 333 snapped, trying to maintain his composure.

Player 230 grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward. "What do I want? Give me my damn money!"

"Did I force you to buy that coin?" Player 333 shot back, his voice rising.

"You told us to bet it all, you lying bastard!" Player 230 growled. "You swore it'd skyrocket. You said we'd be idiots if we didn't buy it!"

"I also said you're responsible for your final investment decisions. Didn't you hear me say that at the end?" Player 333 countered.

"You're lucky I watched every day," Player 230 retorted, shoving him hard.

"Hey, calm down!" Gi-hun interjected, stepping forward to defuse the situation.

"You asshole," Player 333 spat, pushing himself to his feet.

"All right, that's enough!" Gi-hun said firmly, placing himself between the two men.

Player 230 glared at Player 333, pointing a finger in warning. "You'd better do well in these games because I'm coming to get my money back."

With a final shove, he walked away, leaving Player 333 to seethe in silence.

__________

Y/n stood before the table, her gaze locked on the sheet of paper marked PLAYER CONSENT FORM.

The room buzzed faintly with murmurs, but to her, it felt like a deafening silence had descended.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she read the rules over and over, as if one more glance might yield a loophole, an escape, a safer path.

If I don't sign this, will they let me go home? she thought desperately.

Her fingers hovered above the pen, trembling slightly. Maybe I could convince them I'm not worth keeping here. Just a mistake—a random name in the wrong place.

But then, like a jolt, Jun-ho's face flickered in her mind. The way his jaw clenched when he spoke of In-ho, the pain etched into his features whenever he let his guard down. He rarely did—he carried his grief like armor—but Y/n had seen it. She had felt it. He might not have said it outright, but she knew he needed answers. He needed closure.

She closed her eyes, biting her lip

. How could I leave this place without knowing why? Why In-ho became what he did? Why he abandoned Jun-ho like that?

Her chest tightened at the thought.

If Jun-ho were here, he'd tell her to leave, wouldn't he? To stay safe. To go home.

But going home empty-handed wasn't an option.

What if I die here?

The fear crept up her spine, cold and unrelenting.

What good would I be to Jun-ho if I'm gone?

She opened her eyes, staring harder at the form as if sheer willpower could force it to give her clarity. The rules were stark, absolute.

1. A PLAYER IS NOT ALLOWED TO VOLUNTARILY QUIT.
2. A PLAYER WHO REFUSES TO PLAY WILL BE ELIMINATED.
3. THE GAMES MAY BE TERMINATED UPON A MAJORITY VOTE.
4. IF THE GAMES ARE TERMINATED, PLAYERS WILL DIVIDE THE PRIZE EQUALLY.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She didn't care about the money. She didn't care about the so-called "prize." This wasn't about her. It was about Jun-ho—and In-ho.

Her throat tightened as she reached for the pen, her fingers brushing against the cold metal. She hesitated again, fear gnawing at her resolve.

I have to make it back to him. I will make it back to him.

"Those who do not wish to participate, please speak up now," the masked manager's voice rang out, calm yet unnerving.

Y/n stood frozen, the words echoing in her head.

Do I speak up? Do I run?

She felt the weight of Jun-ho's sorrow like a hand pressing on her chest. Her love for him burned fiercely, refusing to let her walk away.

I have to do this. For him. For both of them. And I'll survive. I'll survive because I have to.

She inhaled deeply, the pen feeling heavier than it should as she finally gripped it. Her hand moved with purpose now, though her heart still quivered in her chest. She signed her name on the dotted line, sealing her fate.

As she stepped back, her resolve solidified like steel.

I'll find out the truth, Jun-ho. I'll find out what made In-ho turn into... this. And I'll come back to you. I promise.

Y/n straightened, her eyes hard with determination. Whatever awaited her in these games, she'd face it head-on—for Jun-ho, and for the answers they both deserved.

___________

Jun-ho raised the binoculars to his tired eyes, scanning the endless expanse of ocean as the salty wind bit against his face. His movements were frantic but calculated, his every glance heavy with desperation.

Even a blind man could have seen the sheer determination radiating from him. Dark circles beneath his eyes betrayed countless sleepless nights, his jaw clenched tightly in quiet frustration. He looked like a man clinging to the last thread of hope.

The captain leaned against the railing, arms crossed as he studied Jun-ho with suspicion.

"A man shouldn't go back on his word. You said you were giving up," he remarked, his voice gruff and probing.

Jun-ho lowered the binoculars momentarily, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm sorry," he replied, his voice raw but steady. "It was urgent, and you were the only person I could call."

The captain squinted, tilting his head toward Jun-ho. "

You showed up out of the blue with those men in black. What the hell is going on?" He gestured toward Gi-hun's men in the distance. "In case you've forgotten, I'm the captain of this boat. Tell me what the situation is."

Jun-ho stiffened, his eyes narrowing slightly at the captain's tone. He didn't like it.

Y/n's suspicions about the man crept into his mind like a shadow, but he shoved them aside. This man is my only chance to get back to her. I don't have the luxury of doubt—not now.

"I got a lead on where the island is," Jun-ho admitted finally, his voice quiet but resolute.

"And what is it?" the captain pressed, his eyebrows raising slightly.

Jun-ho hesitated, but only for a moment. "I found someone who played the games."

"Really?" The captain's surprise was evident.

"Yes," Jun-ho said, his grip tightening on the binoculars. "But it looks like he's been taken back there."

"And where is Y/n?"

The mention of her name hit him like a wave, stealing the breath from his lungs. He swallowed hard, fighting the lump forming in his throat. I can't let myself break now. I have to stay focused. For her.

His hands trembled slightly as he gripped the binoculars. "I—"

"Detective Hwang!" Woo-seok's voice interrupted, saving Jun-ho from the agony of answering. The man came running toward him, clutching his device like it held the answers to all of Jun-ho's prayers. "My device is telling me it's that island over there!"

Jun-ho turned, his sharp gaze following the direction Woo-seok indicated.

"Are you familiar with it?" he asked the captain, avoiding eye contact but keeping his tone neutral.

"Yeah," the captain replied, nodding toward the distant landmass. "People used to live there. Nowadays, they just go there to fish from time to time. It seems like it might be the right place."

"If it is," Jun-ho added, his mind racing, "there should be roads for vehicles and facilities like a helicopter pad. I'll fly the drone over and see."

"You should go ashore and follow the tracker," the captain suggested with a curt nod.

Jun-ho returned the nod. "Agreed."

"Okay, listen up!" Kim's voice boomed as he rallied the crew. "Get ready to disembark!"

As the boat closed in on the island, Jun-ho allowed himself the smallest flicker of hope.

I'm coming, Y/n. Hold on just a little longer. His heart clenched at the thought of her.

I don't care how long it takes or what I have to do. I'll find you, and I'll bring you home. I promise.

The shoreline loomed closer, and Jun-ho tightened his grip on his binoculars. His body was tense, ready for whatever came next. But in his heart, there was only one thought: Just a little longer, Y/n. I'm on my way.

A/N

ha! you guys didn't think y/n would die did u?

back to back long updates?

 im really spoiling y'all....