𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

I want to be near you. That’s why I keep my distance. These words from the host stuck deep in Gi-Hun's mind and wouldn’t let him rest. He had long returned to his bed and now lay with his eyes closed, vainly trying to fall asleep. Yeong-Il... But why? Do we really have to stay apart to get out of here together? We will stop the leader. And we will put an end to these games. We sure will escape from here. Together. His thoughts grew hazy, spinning wildly in his head like a furious waltz — he could no longer control them. Player 456 didn’t notice when he fell asleep. He was met by a dark, endlessly long corridor. The pink walls were dimly lit. In the distance, a silhouette slowly walked, slightly blurred but painfully familiar. It was him. — Yeong-Il?… — Gi-Hun called out to the departing figure, but his voice sounded very muffled, as if through glass. — Hey, wait...stop! Yet the walking silhouette didn’t stop. It just kept moving forward — calmly, without turning, into some endless, “pink” void. Gi-Hun rushed after him. At first, he quickened his pace, then broke into a run — his heart pounding wildly. It felt like it would definitely burst through his chest and escape. But with every step, his legs grew noticeably heavier. He tried to run with all his might, but the distance only grew, as if the corridor stretched longer. Endlessly longer. The atmosphere began to press unpleasantly, making Player 456 breathe heavily. — Yeong...Yeong-Il! — he shouted loudly, desperately, straining his voice so the fading silhouette might hear him. Tears welled in his eyes. And Yeong-Il sure did hear him. The figure stopped but didn’t turn. Gi-Hun just clenched his teeth, continuing to run as fast as he could. He stretched out his hand to grab Yeong-Il’s shoulder, but suddenly there was a loud crack. The floor suddenly started to collapse. — No!… — a desperate scream broke free. The solid ground instantly vanished beneath his feet. Gi-Hun began to fall down — into the void. Everything around blurred into a solid black spot, ringing filled his ears. He screamed, but his voice seemed to be cut off, put on “mute.” And suddenly — a sharp breath. He woke up. His forehead was covered in sweat, his breathing quickened. Player 456 slowly opened his eyes. He was met again by white walls, the annoying morning melody soldiers played every time to announce the start of a new game day. Everything seemed normal — the same living quarters, the same people. But inside him, everything had turned upside down. — Sir... — a quiet female voice sounded — Are you alright? It was Jun-Hee. She sat on the neighboring bed, looking at Gi-Hun with concern. Player 456 turned his head toward her and clenched the bedsheet in his fist. — Yes, I’m fine, Jun-Hee... — he whispered. — Just... a bad dream. The girl just nodded, exhaling with noticeable relief. Nearby, Jung-Bae and Dae-Ho were talking about something. Gi-Hun slightly sat up on the bed, putting his feet on the cold floor. His gaze nervously darted around the room, frantically searching for just one person. Yeong-Il. Where are you?... And he was here. He still sat on the edge of his bed. His shoulders were slumped, and his gaze was fixed on the floor. And his face was as calm as ever. The Frontman chose not to meet Gi-Hun's or the other team members’ eyes anymore. Even if he seemed thoughtful from the outside, In-Ho knew — Gi-Hun was burning a hole through him with his stare. He sure felt it with his whole body. And the longer he felt that gaze on him, the tighter everything clenched inside. You know why I don’t look in your direction. And why I ignore you. But Gi-Hun couldn’t tear his eyes away from him. For him, In-Ho was both near, within reach, and yet far, as if not in this room. — Hey, man! How long are you going to keep playing staring contests? — Jung-Bae smirked, nudging his friend’s shoulder. That voice snapped Gi-Hun out of his thoughts. He jumped as if waking up. — Ah, well... — he looked away, scratching the back of his head. — I was just thinking. — Gi-Hun, I’m telling you: Yeong-Il just needs time to get over yesterday! — Jung-Bae nodded. — He was really shaken, like everyone else. Hey, remember yourself after your very first game! Gi-Hun frowned slightly. — You know... — his voice trembled. — I’m afraid Yeong-Il might have problems with the game organizers after yesterday. Player 456 looked back at the Frontman. — Moreover...he argued with the people in pink yesterday. He took a risk. — But hey, just admit it: if it weren’t for our quiet guy, we’d sure have been killed on the spot! — Jung-Bae nodded. — And none of us would want a bullet to the head since we completed all the five tasks! — And you’re right, — Gi-Hun whispered almost inaudibly. At that moment, a voice from the loudspeaker announced the start of breakfast. Like yesterday, the soldiers brought the food again. The players hurriedly lined up, one after another receiving their portions — again the same buns, sealed in transparent packaging, and a bottle of water. — Hm... — Jung-Bae exclaimed surprised, looking at his breakfast. — They gave us milk yesterday morning. Are they cutting corners on us now? Gi-Hun silently took his portion, but after Jung-Bae’s words, he suddenly froze. Something pricked inside. It looked like just a plastic bottle of water. For any other player, it meant nothing. But Player 456 noticed — it was a small detail, a trifle, almost nothing. But it’s exactly these small things that often stand out from the whole and clearly show — someone changed something. He remembered clearly: in previous games, they always served milk for breakfast. And even after three years, when Player 456 returned to this island to stop these crazy games, this small detail remained unchanged. But today, for the first time in all this time, players recieved a bottle of water. Gi-Hun frowned slightly. — I don’t know, — he finally answered Jung-Bae. His chest tightened. He glanced at the surveillance camera as if trying to catch someone’s gaze. — ...But someone sure knows... — Player 456 quietly muttered under his breath. — And that someone still remembers. Well, you see everything, don’t you? You’re sitting there watching all this like it’s a theatrical show. You don’t care about our lives — so what’s the point of this gesture? And In-Ho really did see everything. He sat aside, with a calm expression on his face. But behind this “mask” of serenity was great tension — with the corner of his eye, he watched Gi-Hun without moving. Gi-Hun. You noticed. Of course, you would notice. When everyone finished breakfast, the Frontman slowly got up from his bed. With the same detached expression, he approached the soldiers, took the last portion — and without raising his eyes, passed by Player 456 and the others. This time, Jung-Bae followed him with his gaze. — Looks like he’s really avoiding us, — he whispered quietly. Gi-Hun didn’t answer. They silently returned to their beds, where Dae-Ho and Jun-Hee were already waiting. Everyone ate breakfast in silence. Even Jung-Bae, who never missed a chance to joke around, now sat quietly, slowly chewing his bun. Jun-Hee sat next to Gi-Hun. She noticed how he was thinking about something all the time, how he looked at In-Ho with worry. — Sir... Is something bothering you? — she whispered softly. Player 456 nodded slightly, not looking at her. — Don’t worry, everything is fine. He didn’t tell her about his worries or about what he dreamed last night. His gaze was fixed on the bottle of water. The inner tension didn’t disappear — on the contrary, it only grew. After a few minutes, the usual female voice from the loudspeaker sounded. — “All players, please proceed to the game zone! The game will begin soon!” Gi-Hun raised his head. He glanced briefly at In-Ho, who was having breakfast with the same expressionless face, as if he didn’t care at all. Yeong-Il. What’s on your mind? •••TO BE CONTINUED•••