𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

After the exhausting vote, which ended in an unexpected tie, the hall fell into a heavy, viscous silence for a moment. No one dared to move. The players waited anxiously to see what would happen next. — Um, hey, Mr. Triangle! — someone from the crowd suddenly shouted, piercing the silence. — We have a tie! What's next? The soldier in the pink uniform and triangle mask froze for a moment, then spoke in a cold, almost lifeless voice: — According to the rules of the game, if the result of a vote is a tie, you are granted time to reconsider. A re-vote will take place tomorrow. A murmur of muffled curses and nervous whispers rolled through the hall, but no one dared to ask another question. One by one, the players slowly returned to their places. Each was lost in grim thoughts: for the "crosses," it was the bitter taste of defeat; for the "circles," fear that their plans might crumble tomorrow, when the re-vote began. Soon, it was time for lunch. The players, still trying to process the outcome of the vote, slowly made their way to the serving line, forming an uneven queue for their meager portions. Gi-Hun sat at the edge of the bed, surrounded by his friends, holding a white boiled egg and a plastic bottle of water, turning them over as if trying to distract himself from his thoughts. — Damn it, are they really out of ideas? — Jung-Bae grumbled, carefully peeling his egg. — Our energy isn't infinite, and at this rate, we won't even last until the next game! — Just stop complaining, — Gi-Hun said dryly, nudging his friend. — Be thankful they're giving us something at all. In-Ho sat across from his friends, calmly eating. Today, kimpab was supposed to be served. Last time, on this very day, the aluminum fork provided with the food became the first weapon. The conflict in the bathroom between the two sides began with several deaths, and then escalated into a nighttime revolt. Now, each participant received only a single boiled egg and a bottle of water. To outsiders, it seemed like another menu change, but in reality, it was the host's personal decision to eliminate a potential threat. A calm atmosphere and the absence of reasons for conflict between players were more important now than the usual course of the games. Even if the number of "circles" and "crosses" was equal. Even if everything else was still proceeding according to plan. In-Ho remembered all too well how things had ended last time. He could not allow the one sitting across from him to be in danger again. Gi-Hun. We will get out of here alive, no matter how twisted the path. I believe we are heading toward a happy ending. Catching himself as his gaze unconsciously drifted to Gi-Hun's hands, the host realized he was not just looking — he was admiring. Admiring how player 456 animatedly told something to his friends, gesturing widely. Admiring Gi-Hun's slender, graceful fingers holding the water bottle, as if there were a hidden elegance in such a simple motion. Admiring his thin wrists, which he could easily encircle with his thumb and forefinger. In all of it, he saw something truly beautiful. When player 456 laughed at Jung-Bae's playful comment, In-Ho's gaze involuntarily rose higher. There was no longer any trace of anxiety or fatigue on his face — only that soft, warm smile In-Ho remembered from the first day of the games three years ago. The one that could lull someone with its mere presence. Gi-Hun. Am I really allowed to admire you so openly now? He caught himself again. This time, he seemed to memorize the contours of Gi-Hun's face as he smiled-the gentle curve of his lips, the tiny wrinkles gathering at the corners of his eyes, the way player 456 slightly tilted his head when laughing. Gi-Hun. At last, you're smiling like before. And I cherish this moment too much. I will do everything to make sure it never disappears from your face again. Then, suddenly, player 456 met his gaze. His heart skipped a beat. Something had changed in his smile — barely noticeable, but enough to make In Ho's chest tighten. The ever-calm, emotion-concealing Yeong-Il now looked at him differently. As if time had folded back to that cramped room during the third game, when only a couple of steps separated them and far too much was left unsaid. Yeong-Il. What are you thinking, looking at me like that?.. — Hey, you two, now's not the time for staring contests! — Jung-Bae lightly nudged Gi-Hun in the shoulder. — We still don't know what to do with them! He pointed to the group of "blue circles," casually eating at the far end of the room. None of their company seemed worried about the upcoming games — their only concern was increasing the prize money. They didn't care if people died, maybe even someone from their own team. Each thought only of their own gain. — Just look at that insatiable look... — Dae-Ho whispered, casting a sidelong glance at those behind the blue line. — They still believe they can get out of here with that money... — Gi-Hun sighed. — I told them it's dangerous... — Damn it, — Jeong Bae waved him off. — Well, I don't think anything will stop them now. Dae-Ho paused for a moment. — Hey, maybe we can try to convince someone? — he suddenly suggested. — Surely there are some among them who were just scared to vote against the game. — Do you think they'll listen to you? — Gi-Hun said dryly. — They don't care about anything except the money in the pot. He shifted his gaze to the blues. Nervously jerking his head, Nam-Gyu caught his gaze and gave a crooked grin. He slowly raised his middle finger, silently saying: "It won't work, you freaks. You're all pathetic failures." — Well, clearly we can't convince them... — Jung-Bae sighed. — That leaves only one option - strike first if we want to defend our right to live. Player 456 looked at him in surprise. Such a statement from his best friend sounded a bit strange, as if spoken by a completely different person. — And how? - asked Gi-Hun. — Do you have a plan? If we want to stop the games and get home, we need to hit those controlling them, not the "circles". But without weapons and a clear scheme, we won't achieve anything. — No, we will not attack first under any circumstances, - In-Ho said quietly but firmly. — Think about it: they're too confident in their own rightness to strike first. And if we break the peace, the cameras will record everything. Then the controllers may take severe measures. The group fell silent. Jung-Bae and Dae-Ho exchanged glances; arguing was pointless. There was only one option left — act quietly, unnoticed, and wait for the right moment. But they weren't the only ones waiting. In a completely dark room, a large monitor flickered on the wall, displaying footage from the surveillance cameras. Every movement, every word of the players was meticulously tracked. In a chair with expensive leather upholstery sat a man dressed in black. On his face was a mask depicting a square. He zoomed in on a camera feed, and his gaze lingered on In-Ho longer than on the others, as if trying to read what the host kept to himself. The camera above the players' beds captured every movement, every pause in conversation, every glance. The Black Square barely smiled as he removed his mask — the game continued, and some participants were clearly beginning to change. — That's kinda interesting... — he murmured, pouring whiskey from a decanter into a faceted glass. When In-Ho's gaze returned to player 456, the Black Square leaned forward slightly, scrutinizing the screen more intently. He understood that this was not just a game unfolding. And someone had clearly decided to play by their own rules. — Oh, Mr. Frontman... — taking a sip of whiskey, he squinted slightly. — How far are you willing to go for the sake of the player? What game are you playing right now? •••TO BE CONTINUED•••