●▲■

Dae-Ho and Yeon-Jin might have crossed the finish line, but the nightmare wasn't over for everyone else. Gunshots rang out behind her, each one sending a jolt through Yeon-Jin's body. The sound of collapsing bodies followed—thud, thud, thud—drowning the field in deathly finality.

She flinched at every shot, her hands trembling at her sides. The screams of despair echoing across the field reminded her of childhood nights, the ones she tried so hard to bury—the begging, the helplessness, the way nobody ever came to save anyone.

Yeon-Jin turned her head slightly, wanting to look, but her gaze stopped when Dae-Ho's hand squeezed hers tighter. She snapped her eyes to his face. He wasn't looking back at the carnage, though his jaw was tight, and a muscle twitched near his temple. His dark, sharp eyes were fixed solely on her. There was something heavy in his expression—pity, maybe? Or was it just exhaustion? She couldn't tell, and she didn't care.

Dae-Ho stood releasing her hand, his chest heaving with labored breaths. Without a word, he held out his hand once more.

Yeon-Jin hesitated, staring at it. Her instincts screamed not to trust him—or any man. She'd been there before: kind gestures that turned into demands, offers of help that came with invisible chains. But this...this was different. He had saved her there was no denying that, She grabbed his hand, and he pulled her to her feet in one smooth motion.

A loud voice broke through the chaos. "It's not my fault!" a man cried out, his tone frantic and panicked. "Hold on, that's not fair! She just fell onto me! Wait—don't shoot!"

Bang.

Yeon-Jin winced, her head jerking toward the sound. Her legs wobbled like they might give out again, but Dae-Ho's hand gave hers another squeeze, grounding her. "Don't look," he said quietly, his voice steady but firm.

She swallowed hard and nodded.

"That's it! Keep it together!" The unmistakable voice of Player 456 cut through the noise, barking orders like he was born to lead.

Yeon-Jin instinctively let go of Dae-Ho's hand, her fingers trembling as they fell to her side. Her mouth opened, but no words came out—just a soft, breathless sound, more exhale than voice. She felt the urge to thank him, but the words felt heavy and awkward on her tongue.

Dae-Ho didn't seem to notice. His attention was drawn to something beyond her, his brow furrowing.

"You're near the end! You're almost done!" Player 456 shouted, his voice carrying over the field.

"Green light!"

Feet scrambled against the dirt as the remaining players bolted for the finish line. Yeon-Jin watched them, her chest tight. Every movement seemed desperate, erratic. Her legs felt like lead again, refusing to move, even though the finish line was right there.

"Red light!"

She froze, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air—metallic, suffocating. It turned her stomach, making bile rise in her throat.

"Are you...Yeon-Jin, are you okay?" Dae-Ho's voice broke through her haze, softer than she'd expected.

She glanced up at him, meeting his gaze hesitantly. His eyes searched hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw genuine concern. It threw her off balance, and she quickly shook her head, unable to trust herself to speak.

Dae-Ho nodded once, his expression unreadable. His focus shifted past her again, confusion flickering across his face.

"What the hell is he doing?" Dae-Ho muttered, his voice shaky.

She turned toward the field and immediately regretted it. Blood streaked the ground in pools and smears, the bodies lying limp and grotesque. But amidst the chaos, one figure stood out: Player 456, moving backward.

"Red light!"

He froze in front of an injured player crumpled on the ground, their leg with a visible gunshot wound.

"Green light!"

Without hesitation, 456 bent down and hauled the injured players arm onto his shoulder. His movements were swift but precise, and Yeon-Jin couldn't help but blink in shock.

"Is he insane?" she whispered.

"Red light!"

The doll's mechanical voice rang out, and for a moment, 456 swayed, his legs trembling under the weight of the injured man. Yeon-Jin thought he was done for. But then another player—120—rushed to his side, steadying them both just in time.

"Green light!"

Yeon-Jin's heart pounded as the trio stumbled forward, their movements uncoordinated but determined. Around her, voices rose in encouragement, including Dae-Ho's.

"Hurry! Move!" he shouted, his voice sharp but urgent.

Each step felt like an eternity, but they were getting closer, inch by inch.

And just when Yeon-Jin thought it might be too late, the timer hit zero, and the trio crossed the finish line.

The doll's head stilled, her glowing eyes dimming as the mechanical whirring came to a halt.

Yeon-Jin let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, her knees weak with relief.

"Are you okay?" 465 asked the injured man, patting him on the shoulder as he crouched to let him down.

The man nodded, his face pale but alive. "Thank you," he croaked, his voice thick with gratitude. He turned to 120, his eyes brimming with tears. "Thank you both so mu—"

Bang.

Blood splattered across 120's face. The injured man crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his gratitude silenced in an instant.

Yeon-Jin's breath caught in her throat, her heart racing. The air around her felt heavier, suffocating. She staggered back a step, her legs shaking.

She didn't even realize Dae-Ho had stepped closer until his hand brushed her arm. "Don't," he said softly, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Her head snapped toward him, her expression a mix of confusion and anger. "Don't what?"

"Don't let this break you," he replied, his tone steady but heavy with meaning.

She didn't respond, but her hands clenched at her sides. Her world might already be broken.

There focus shifted as the sound of something heavy above them began moving, looking up Yeon-jin's brows furrowed—the sky was being shut out a roof above them shifting in replacement.

●▲■

The walk down the stairs was heavy with silence, but the trek to reach the stairs had been far worse. The players had been forced to cross the field again, stepping past the bodies of those who hadn't made it. Yeon-Jin had kept her gaze forward, not daring to look at the lifeless figures sprawled on the ground.

Several guards in pink suits moved among the bodies with chilling efficiency, carrying ornate black coffins tied with dainty pink bows. The sight was surreal, grotesque in its mockery of humanity, but Yeon-Jin refused to look. Even when a body near her was hoisted and thrown into a coffin with careless thuds, she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. Her jaw clenched tightly, her nails digging into her palms to ground herself.

When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs and were herded back into the cavernous room filled with metal bunk beds, the remaining players moved like ghosts. Silent, hollow, dragging their feet as they chose places to sit or collapse.

Yeon-Jin broke off from the group, walking to the right and settling onto the edge of a lower bunk. Her feet planted firmly on the ground, her body stiff and unmoving. She didn't dare lean back. There was something fragile about the way she sat, like if she let herself relax, even for a moment, everything inside her would shatter.

Faint conversations began to spark around the room—whispers of fear, disbelief, and muted relief from the survivors. Yeon-Jin paid no mind to any of it. Her focus was on the pounding in her ears, the memory of the gunshots still echoing in her skull.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. She didn't look up, but she felt the weight of the bed shift as someone sat down beside her.

"You alright?"

She knew the voice without looking—Dae-Ho. His tone was gentle, but there was an edge of hesitation, like he wasn't sure if she'd bite his head off for asking.

Yeon-Jin didn't respond immediately. She kept her gaze on the floor, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"Yeon-Jin?" he tried again, softer this time.

"What do you want?" she asked flatly, her voice devoid of emotion. She wasn't in the mood for pleasantries.

Dae-Ho let out a quiet sigh, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Nothing. I just..." He hesitated, his eyes fixed on the ground. "You seemed like you might need someone to talk to."

She let out a bitter laugh, sharp and humorless. "Talk to you? Why? So you can tell me it's all going to be okay?"

"No," he said quickly, his voice calm. "I won't insult you like that. It's not going to be okay. Not in here..."

His honesty caught her off guard, and for a moment, she glanced at him. His expression wasn't pitying—there was something raw in his eyes, something that matched the weight in his voice.

He shifted slightly, running a hand through his hair. "This isn't my first time dealing with...death," he admitted, his tone quieter now. "During my conscripted service I saw more than my share of bodies. But this..." He gestured vaguely to the room, to the memory of the field outside. "This is different. You're not supposed to get used to it. And if you do—" He broke off, shaking his head. "You lose yourself."

Yeon-Jin's lips pressed into a thin line. She wanted to say something—anything—but the words refused to come. Instead, her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard, willing the rising lump back down.

Dae-Ho looked at her, his expression softening. "I'm not saying I understand exactly what you're feeling, but...if you need to get it out, I'm here."

She scoffed, shaking her head. "You're wasting your time."

"I don't think I am," he said simply, leaning back against the bunk.

Yeon-Jin felt the tension in her chest tighten further. She hated how calm he sounded, how patient. It made her feel exposed, like he could see straight through her tough exterior.

Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms again. "Why are you even bothering with me?"

"Because I see it," he said quietly.

"See what?"

"The way you're holding it all in." His voice was steady, but his eyes were piercing, unwavering. "You think if you just keep it locked up, it'll go away. But it doesn't. It eats you alive."

His words struck a nerve, and Yeon-Jin's breath hitched. She looked away, her jaw tightening as her eyes began to burn.

"Yeon-Jin," he said gently, his voice almost a whisper.

"Stop," she snapped, her voice breaking. "Just stop talking, please."

But it was too late. The dam had cracked.

The first tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. She wiped at it furiously, but more followed, spilling over in hot, angry streams. Her shoulders shook, and her breaths came in short, ragged gasps.

Dae-Ho didn't say anything. He didn't move closer or try to touch her. He just stayed where he was, his presence solid and steady.

Finally, the sobs broke free. Yeon-Jin buried her face in her hands, the weight of everything crashing down on her all at once. The bodies on the field, the blood, the gunshots, the surreal horror of it all—it was too much.

"I didn't sign up for this," she choked out between sobs, her voice muffled. "I didn't... I just wanted to survive, but not like this. Not like this."

Dae-Ho nodded silently, giving her the space to release everything she'd been holding in.

When her cries began to subside, leaving her exhausted and trembling, Dae-Ho finally spoke. "None of us did," he said softly. "But if we're going to get through this, we can't do it alone."

Yeon-Jin didn't respond, but she didn't push him away either. For now, that was enough.