𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

By order of the soldiers, the players quickly lined up and one by one headed into the game room. Descending the now familiar stairwells, they whispered among themselves. Each player was trying to guess what the next game would be. Yet only two of them thought about something else. Or rather — someone else. Gi-Hun walked at the front, like Danko from the famous parable, leading the crowd. His friend Jung-Bae walked behind him. — Hey, Gi-Hun... I know it's not really the time... — he began, — but what was the third game called? Player 456 paused for a moment, then sighed slightly tensely. — Tug of war. — A team game then, — Jung-Bae nodded. — What do you think? Will today's game be something like that? — I don't know, — Gi-Hun answered dryly, trying to push away intrusive thoughts about past games. — It's been three years since then. As you can see-he's not sleeping. He knew I'd come back. — But what if we have to team up in fives again? — Jung-Bae asked with confusion. — We'll find someone else, or we'll die as four of us. Jung-Bae grimaced slightly at that answer. Gi-Hun was clearly not in the mood, and didn't want any more questions. Yeong-Il and Gi-Hun. What's happening between you two?... The crowd continued descending. Their footsteps echoed hollowly. The closer they got to the game room, the more palpable the tension became. At the rear, closing the formation, was In-Ho. His movements were as measured as the others', but his gaze was alert. He never took his eyes off Gi-Hun. At one point, Player 456 looked up. Glancing at those still coming down, he briefly met In-Ho's gaze — just for a moment — but it was enough. In that split second, the Frontman slowed his step slightly, as if wanting to say something. But the soldier walking behind lightly jabbed him in the back with the barrel of his rifle. It was a gentle but unmistakable reminder: he had to behave "properly." Behave like a player. In-Ho was the first to look away, continuing to walk calmly behind the others. His face remained calm. The Frontman didn't want to raise any suspicions among the other players. He knew: if he allowed himself too much-someone would definitely notice. But... How much longer can I hold back? How much longer can I be someone else to you? Finally, the participants entered the game room. They expected anything but what they saw: a huge space with warm, even cozy lighting. The ceiling was painted in red-and-white stripes, resembling a circus tent. The walls were covered with countless identical, multicolored doors, and in the center of the hall was a rotating platform with painted horses. It was a carousel. Just like the ones always found at fairs. Only it was supposed to bring joy and children's laughter, creating a feeling of something magical and bright. But here it only caused fear and an anxious feeling, which slowly, almost lazily, but very unpleasantly squeezed everything inside. A slight nausea began to rise in the throat. It seemed someone had deliberately twisted reality — the colors were unnaturally bright, like a cheap filter, making you want to shut your eyes and get away. Approaching the platform, the players curiously examined the painted wooden horses. They looked like bright, pure-white steeds with thick red manes, frozen in motion. Their eyes sparkled, and their mouths were slightly open, as if smiling, inviting to join the fun. They looked as if they'd just stepped out of the finest illustrations in children's fairy tales, creating a mysterious, magical festival atmosphere. But if the players looked closer, held their gaze a little longer-everything around changed. The smile twisted and lost all warmth. The eyes became glassy, empty, almost lifeless. The fair gradually lost its cheerful, fairy-tale atmosphere, becoming gloomy and unnaturally cloying, like an overly sweet scent in a stuffy room. The game participants did not yet understand what awaited them. But the anxiety that settled inside was no accident. — All players, please proceed to the platform! — a female voice came over the loudspeaker. — The third game is called "Mingle"! The rules were simple but made the situation even scarier. On the big screen, a number would appear: that's how many players must hide in each room. Whoever stays outside is eliminated. Whoever doesn't meet the hiding requirement inside the room is also eliminated. Gi-Hun looked at the electronic scoreboard, where the numbers changed with alarming inevitability. He already understood: not everyone could be saved. There were too few rooms, even if packed to the max. Some simply wouldn't make it in time. Some would panic. And some would be pushed out like disposable material. The players positioned themselves across the spinning platform, nervously looking around and exchanging glances. Suddenly, a song started playing. Round and round we go Clap! Round and round we go Clap! Turning turning in a circle as we dance along! ~ Just hearing this overly cheerful children's song made everything inside tighten unpleasantly. Gi-Hun looked ahead, at the colorful doors. His heart ached painfully. The sudden halt of the entire mechanism caught the players off guard. — "10!" The thirty-second countdown began. The players panicked, rushing around the huge hall, trying to hide behind closed room doors. Many stuck together in groups, not wanting to separate, rushing into hiding as one. — There! Let's go! — Jeong Bae shouted loudly, pointing to a free room. At that moment, six more people ran up to them. — You're four, right? — one of the newcomers asked. — We're six exactly. Please take us! Gi-Hun frantically scanned the crowd for the familiar number 001. His anxiety grew. Time was running out. — But we... — player 456 began, but Dae-Ho interrupted. — Hurry up, we might not make it! — he grabbed Jun-Hee's hand and pulled her toward the door. The players quickly ran into the room. The door slammed shut behind them. "5" "4" "3" "2" "1" Time's up. The soldiers, ready at their posts, raised their weapons. Shots rang out. Those who didn't manage to hide fell dead on the cold, white floor. Gi-Hun pressed himself against the door crack, holding his breath, watching what was happening outside. Yeong-Il... I'm sure you managed to hide. A female voice announced the numbers of eliminated players. Gi-Hun covered his ears, afraid to hear the one phrase: "Player 001 eliminated." — Hey, buddy, how are you? — Jung-Bae approached, putting a hand on his shoulder. — Yeong-Il... I'm worried about him... — player 456 answered quietly, trembling with tension. Suddenly, the doors automatically opened. The participants slowly started leaving the rooms, heading back to the platform. The children's song played again. In every player's mind echoed one question: what number would come next? When the platform suddenly stopped and a new, lower number appeared on the screen, chaos began. Pushing and shoving, forcing their way through the crowd, people ran around in fear, trying to hide in time. When the timer ran out, the soldiers raised their weapons again, shooting those unfortunate enough to be left outside. This repeated several times until... — "2! " — the loud voice announced the number one last time. — Dae-Ho, please, help Jun-Hee! — Gi-Hun shouted, shifting his gaze from the timer to the young marine. Dae-Ho nodded and firmly grabbed the girl's hand. They rushed to the nearest door, burst inside, and slammed it shut behind them. — Jung-Bae, hurry up! — player 456 prepared to run but suddenly felt a sharp shove in the side. Losing his balance, he fell onto the concrete floor. The noise seemed to intensify, ringing unpleasantly in his ears. Jung-Bae vanished from sight, as if dissolved in the chaos. Gi-Hun jumped up, looking around frantically. I need to find a room. I need to make it. He ran forward. All rooms gradually filled with players. The clicks of door locks became less frequent. Only one remained open. In-Ho, completely alone, peeked into the corridor. His gaze caught Gi-Hun's — and his heart painfully tightened. No. Enough hiding. I won't let you die. In-Ho jerked the door open. His fingers dug painfully into Gu-Hun's wrist — a grip filled with a mixture of panic and determination. Pulling player 456 inside with force, the Frontman immediately shut the door behind them. Gi-Hun was breathing heavily, still gripping his forearm. In-Ho, unaware of it himself, held his gaze on Gi-Hun's face, catching every sign that he was alive. Thoughts buzzed in his head like a swarm of bees. Silence hung between them. Outside, shots rang out again-the soldiers were shooting those left outside. — Gi-Hun... — In-Ho broke the silence first, meeting his gaze. — Are you...feeling okay? He silently nodded, squinting slightly at the sound of gunfire. — I was afraid, — the Frontman continued quietly, —... so afraid that the organizers would do something not only to me but to you... For protecting you. For daring to argue with them. He paused, as if carefully weighing his words. — I wanted to keep you safe from all this. That's why I stayed away. — But... — Gi-Hun sighed heavily with a slight smile. — Yeong-Il, you saved me again. Thank you. I really owe you so much. Player 456, as if shedding some of the tension now, quietly pressed his forehead to the Frontman's shoulder, allowing himself a moment to relax. — Huh, you know, we would've both been killed if we hadn't made it in time... In-Ho was silent. He really wanted to say: "No, they wouldn't have killed you. Nor me." Because I am the Frontman. But every breath you take, every word, every smile is like a dull blow to my chest, and my heart tries to break free. Together with you. And you... You are the light in my endless darkness. You are the one who gave me hope and taught me how to live again. You are Seong Gi-Hun from Ssangmun-dong. And every time I think I might lose you here, my chest tightens, like I'm suffocating. I'm afraid that if you're not here tomorrow, I'll lose myself forever. Without you, I even stop believe in myself. Without you... Without you, I simply don't exist. •••TO BE CONTINUED•••