NOTHING MATTERS
Squid Game Season 2
© aztrcncmy / January 1st, 2025

Han Soomin hated being alone. She despised the stillness of her small apartment, where the faint sound of wind whistling through a cracked window felt deafening, amplifying the chaos in her mind. When she was alone, there was no escaping her thoughts—the cruel whispers of self-doubt and painful memories that clawed at her relentlessly, reminding her of her failures, her shortcomings, her loneliness. It was suffocating, an unrelenting echo of everything she wished she could forget.

From a young age, Soomin had learned that she was destined to face the world alone. Her parents were distant and cold, making it painfully clear that she was more of a burden than a blessing. Their words were sharp, their criticism unyielding, until she too began to believe she was truly unworthy of anything good happening in her life.

Day after day, they chipped away at her confidence, leaving behind a damaged child who grew into a woman carrying the weight of her baggage everywhere she went.

She often fantasized about what life might have been like if she'd been born into a different family—a warm, loving household where laughter echoed through the halls and where she wasn't constantly walking on eggshells. In these daydreams, she imagined herself as carefree, loved, and secure. But those fantasies always shattered, leaving her to wallow in the reality of her grief and bitterness.

She spent most of her life in an endless loop. Soomin would go to work and come back home and just sit in her room, her mind and body slowly decaying. She didn't have many friends, and never tried to pursue any relationships. She was too afraid that she'd only disappoint them.

It was an endless cycle she couldn't escape, that is until her parents passed away. Then suddenly everything just stopped. The death of her parents caused her to feel stuck. It's odd how grief works. At first, there was nothing—just an empty void inside her chest. Their absence didn't feel like a loss, but rather an uncomfortable shift in her life.

It's not like they were kind to her, and all they left her with nothing but an unmanageable pile of debt and the bitter taste of their disapproval. So why, months later, did she find herself crying in the middle of the night, unable to explain the sadness that had taken root in her chest?

Maybe it wasn't their death she mourned, but the hope that someday they might have changed. That someday, they would've told her they were proud of her, or that they loved her in a way that didn't feel conditional. With their death, that faint hope died too, and Soomin was left to reckon with the truth: she was truly alone.

She had tried to fill the void of loneliness once before. For a fleeting moment, she thought she'd found someone who truly understood her. Someone who saw her as more than the broken, guarded version of herself she tried so hard to hide. But her insecurities had gotten the better of her. The fear of not being enough, of being abandoned first, caused her to sabotage it all. She left him behind before he could leave her. It was pathetic, really—the one person who might have actually cared for her had slipped through her fingers because she couldn't silence the voices in her head. 

Now, three years later, Han Soomin was drowning—not just in loneliness but in the mountain of debt her parents had left her with. She worked herself to the bone at her dead-end job, but no matter how many extra shifts she took, it was never enough. The debt collectors were relentless, pounding on her door, leaving notes, calling at all hours. She stopped answering her phone and kept her curtains closed. It was hopeless. She was running out of options.

One evening, on her way home from yet another exhausting day at work, Soomin sat on a bench at the train station, waiting for the next train. She watched the world move around her, observing people in the way she always did, inventing stories for their lives to distract herself from her own. Couples laughing, commuters rushing, a mother carrying a sleepy child. Then her eyes caught on someone different. 

A man. Tall, sharp, and composed. He walked with purpose, his suit impeccable, his face calm but unreadable. Soomin's gaze lingered too long. She wasn't even sure why, but something about him felt... off. Her chest tightened when he glanced in her direction and, to her horror, locked eyes with her. 

Her instinct was to look away. Down at the floor, at her shoes, at the scuffed bench she sat on. Anywhere but at him. But the sound of his footsteps grew louder, each one making her stomach twist tighter. Then, suddenly, he was in front of her. 

Soomin's throat went dry, but she forced herself to speak. "I—I wasn't staring at you," she stammered. "I'm sorry if it seemed that way." 

The man said nothing. His dark eyes studied her as though he could see past the mask she wore, straight into the raw, fragile pieces of her soul. The intensity made her squirm. She tried to stand, brushing off the encounter. 

"Move," she said, her tone firmer now. 

Instead of stepping aside, the man reached into his pocket and handed her something. A small business card. He turned and walked away without a word. 

"Hey! What is this?" she called after him, her voice echoing through the station. But he was already gone, disappearing into the sea of people. 

Frowning, Soomin examined the card. It wasn't like any business card she'd ever seen. On the front, there were three simple symbols: a circle, a triangle, and a square. No name, no title, no company. When she flipped it over, she found only a phone number printed in bold. 

Her first instinct was to toss it, to brush off the strange encounter as another weird moment in her weird life. But curiosity itched at her. What did she have to lose? Her life was already at rock bottom. What was the worst that could happen? 

Taking a deep breath, she typed in the number and let it ring. With each passing second, she regretted the decision more, nervously biting her nails until, finally, someone picked up. 

"Hello," a calm, almost mechanical male voice said. "Please state your name and birthdate." 

Soomin hesitated, her throat suddenly dry. She glanced around, as though someone might overhear this bizarre exchange. Finally, she spoke, "Han Soomin. April 17th, 1999." 

There was silence on the other end, long enough to make her stomach churn. Then the voice returned, cold and professional. "Thank you, Han Soomin. If you wish to participate, please arrive at the following location on October 31st at 6:00 PM. Don't be late." 

"Participate in what?" she blurted, but the line had already gone dead. 

Soomin stared at her phone, the screen flashing the call's end. Her instincts screamed at her to forget it, to throw the card away and pretend the interaction never happened. But something inside her—something desperate and reckless—made her reconsider. She had nothing to lose. No family, no friends, and no future. What could be worse than her current life? 

Whatever this was—whatever awaited her—had to be better than the emptiness she was already drowning in. Or so she hoped.

HAN SOOMIN
—— portrayed by kim hyung-seo .

nik speaks !
look at me publishing another fic...i watched season two the other day and needed to make a fic because i have no self control once so ever!

tbh guys i couldn't decide if i should make this a play 388 fic (kang dae-ho) or player 380 (se-mi) like they're both so fine i want both! but i think im leaning towards kang dae-ho idk im indecisive so stay tuned

im going to try to update this as fast as possible but im lowkey a liar so ! okay thanks all now, love nik!!

tags !
-DSCOWING mqybankk divinerot sqattorodicos