𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

With every passing minute, there was less and less time left to find the exit, and the tension grew stronger with every second. The narrow corridors began to feel identical, giving the impression that Dae-Ho and Jun-Hee were walking in circles. Only the echo of distant footsteps and the occasional cries reminded them they weren’t alone. Sometimes, in the silence, came a dull thud — as if someone had fallen somewhere behind the wall. — Where are we even supposed to go… — the young marine whispered, careful not to make a sound. — What if we run into one of the red players…? — I went right… — Jun-Hee whispered back, her trembling hand pointing toward the next hall. — I remember you and Mr. Jung-Bae went left, and Mr. Gi-Hun went right… — We were supposed to meet up and find the exit together… — his voice cracked. — If we head that way, we might reach Mr. Gi-Hun, — she added, as if trying to convince herself. — He’s still alive, they haven’t called his number yet… If Mr. Yeong-Il is with him… then we’re safe. Dae-Ho didn’t answer, only nodded. There was logic in her words, but it didn’t make him feel any safer. What mattered most now was simple: to reach the end alive. And, of course, fate’s cruel irony — the only one of their team who had been given a red vest was Yeong-Il. And somehow, it fit him too well: the cold, emotionless stare, the calculated strategy, the calmness in every situation. A man you could truly entrust your team to… And at the same time — the kind who would cut off the weakest link without hesitation. — Yeong-Il… — Dae-Ho muttered as he led Jung-Hee down the corridor. — You know, he might look scary, but he can be trusted… Mr. Gi-Hun is lucky to have him at his side right now. Jung-Hee nodded, though her eyes betrayed doubt. Memories of Yeong-Il’s distant, calculating gaze were still too fresh — the way he seemed to study people, predict their actions, and pinpoint their weaknesses. Dae-Ho noticed, and squeezed her hand tighter. — Hey, don’t worry, — he said with a reassuring smile. — We’ll get through this. They kept moving, slowly, cautiously, every step heavy. Dae-Ho knew: one mistake — and there would be no tomorrow. Jung-Bae’s last glance before his death haunted him, distorted by panic, as if silently urging: "You must survive at all costs — and protect the girl!" And then — footsteps. At first faint and far away, but growing clearer with each moment. The Reds were close. The young marine froze, straining to listen. Jun-Hee clutched his arm, her whole body trembling, her breathing ragged. Her other hand pressed against her stomach. — Dae-Ho… — her lips barely moved. The footsteps drew nearer. Dae-Ho clenched his teeth, strangely calm now, and pushed Jun-Hee gently toward a wall recess. Jun-Hee… It’s so hard for you to run, being this far along… And yet, even now, you seem stronger than me. — Jung-Hee… — he whispered. — I’m… not really a marine. She stared at him in shock, confused, as a shadow appeared around the corner. — But… why? — Because I’m just a coward who wanted to join a strong team, — he admitted bitterly. — But I want to prove I can be brave too. If I don’t hold them off, she won’t survive. The killer will catch us both. But if I die… at least she and her child will have a chance. At least I’ll have done something that mattered. — So… run, — Dae-Ho said firmly. — As much as you can, in your condition. He smiled faintly. — I promise, we’ll meet again. Just… please, run. Jun-Hee… run. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She turned and, despite her state, ran from the oncoming danger. Each step echoed through the empty corridor, her heart pounding, breath caught in her throat. At one fork, a staircase appeared. Maybe someone was waiting for her there. Maybe it led to an exit. Clinging to that hope, she started down. Her legs felt weak as if made of lead, and she stumbled — but forced herself onward, holding her stomach. At the bottom, her foot slipped. Pain shot through her ankle as she crashed to the floor. Somehow she got back up and hobbled down the narrow corridor, every step searing her with fire. Just don’t fall again… just keep moving… Then, from above, came a cold female voice over the loudspeakers: — "Player 388 has been eliminated." Jun-Hee froze, eyes wide. Tears flooded instantly. Dae-Ho…? Her body gave out; she pressed against the wall, feeling everything inside her collapse. Suddenly — footsteps ahead. She held her breath, certain a Red was nearby. But instead, a familiar voice rang out: — Mrs. Jang, it’s Jun-Hee! Around the corner came player 120 — Hyun-Ju, with an older woman close behind. Spotting her, they rushed over, and for the first time Jun-Hee let herself breathe. — Dear sweetheart, are you all right? — Mrs. Jang grabbed her hands, searching her eyes. — I… I thought it was the end… — Jun-Hee sobbed. — Dae-Ho… his number… — No, no… that must be a mistake, — Hyun-Ju interrupted quickly, taking her by the arm. — He’ll be back, you’ll see. With Mrs. Jang supporting her on the other side, they half-carried her down the hall. Jun-Hee could barely step on her injured leg. — Quickly, we need to hide! They spotted a small room without a door and hurried inside. Sitting Jun-Hee on the floor, Mrs. Jang knelt to examine her ankle. Jun-Hee sat, gasping for breath — when suddenly, a warm liquid spread beneath her. — N-No… — she whispered, clutching Mrs. Jang’s hand. — It’s… starting… The older woman understood immediately. She looked at Hyun-Ju, voice tight with urgency. — Her water just broke. — What?! — Hyun-Ju snapped her head around from the doorway. — Right now?! Jun-Hee bent over, covering her mouth to muffle her cries, but a strangled scream still escaped. — Shhh, darling, shhh, — Mrs. Jang leaned closer, taking her hands. — Listen to me — breathe. In… out… That’s it. You can do this! Hyun-Ju bit her lip and glanced nervously into the corridor. One wrong sound, and they were done for. — I’ll stand watch at the door! — she said firmly. — Jun-Hee, please, try to stay calm! At that very moment, the surveillance cameras captured everything. The Black Square stood in the control room before a giant interactive display showing the numbers of the remaining players. On one monitor: the girl writhing in pain, others desperately trying to help her give birth under impossible conditions. On others: blue-vested players running in panic, cut down one by one by the reds. The Black Square tilted his head slightly, watching as the players' numbers blinked out one after another. The screen was emptying. And then, another monitor caught his eye: a figure in a red vest sprinting down the corridor. He ran fast, barely looking around, yet his gaze darted wildly at every corner, every turn. He wasn’t just looking for a blue-vested victim. No. He was hunting for someone specific. The figure stopped, lifted his head, and stared directly into the camera. The Black Square froze. That hard, desperate gaze was unmistakable. The Frontman. But this was no longer the same man. Now, on screen, was someone unraveling — losing control. Mr. Frontman. You don’t look like yourself anymore. The Black Square leaned closer, studying the monitor as if to be sure. Has Player 456… gone to your head so bad? •••TO BE CONTINUED•••