𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

In-Ho nervously listened to the announcements over the loudspeaker. Every time the female voice called out the number of a fallen player, his chest tightened with fear at the thought of hearing just one number — the one assigned to Gi-Hun. Hurrying through the corridors, he paid no attention to the frightened blue players crossing his path. Nor did he hear their grateful shouts: — Thank you, sir! Thank you! Screams of terror, cries of gratitude — they all merged into a dull roar. He could barely make out anyone’s words, as if running through water. Only one sound could cut through the haze: the female voice announcing number 456. But, fortunately, it hadn’t come yet. The further he ran, the more worry about Gi-Hun washed over him — especially when the numbers of Jung-Bae and Dae-Ho echoed through the speakers. He froze for a brief moment, catching his breath. Gi-Hun… You definitely heard that. In-Ho knew that Player 456 was out there alone, entirely by himself, risking everything. The Frontman clenched his teeth and moved forward. His steps grew sharper, his breathing uneven. He gripped his dagger so tightly that his knuckles turned white. When he reached a fork in the corridors, his attention was drawn to a soldier in a circle-marked mask. The soldier was using a device to scan the numbers of fallen blue team participants. Noticing In-Ho nearby, the soldier straightened slowly, as if instinctively sensing danger. In-Ho stared at him in such a way that it seemed he could burn through the mask with his gaze, and the soldier flinched slightly. — Where is he? It was already clear to everyone that the only question the host could ask concerned a single person — Gi-Hun. Without hesitation, the soldier raised his hand, pointing to the left side of the fork, where Player 456 had headed earlier. In-Ho moved in that direction without a word, not looking back. Gi-Hun… I hope I can protect you. Glancing periodically into the camera lenses, he felt the piercing gaze of those watching the game on the other side of the monitors. His presence as a player added intrigue, especially for the VIP-guests. The Black Square carefully monitored every movement of the players on the screens. He briefly noticed a girl clutching a newborn baby to her chest, while an elderly woman held her hand and whispered something. Then his eyes caught one of the camera feeds: a player in a red vest was rushing straight toward Gi-Hun. For a moment, the Black Square froze — interest in the unfolding events spiked. The game was reaching another peak of tension. He watched as the dagger-wielding attacker shouted something, making Player 456 flinch in fear and press his back to the wall. — Hey, the winner! — the red player said with a smirk. — Do you lost your way? I thought you’d already found the exit. Gi-Hun swallowed, furrowed his brow, and raised his fists, trying to defend himself. — You’re the smartest here, went through all six games… — the red player continued, voice threatening. — Thought you were a hero, and now you’re cowering in fear like a cowardly bastard? — They… changed the games, — Player 456 replied dryly, eyes alert on the enemy. — That's not my fault. — Really changed? — the attacker feigned a sad expression, inspecting the dagger. — Did anyone consult with you?… Do you even know the law in my district? He suddenly stepped forward, gripping the dagger tightly. — Here’s the law: lie — and be ready to pay with your life! Gi-Hun gritted his teeth and darted to the side, managing to enter another corridor before the enemy could grab the edge of his vest. His heart pounded, and the corridor seemed narrow and endless. The red player chased him as if predicting every move. — Don't try to escape, you idiot! — the red player shouted, continuing the chase. Gi-Hun ran with all his might, skillfully turning into passages, but at the next corner, he became the victim of a random collision with another player, who shoved him sharply aside. Player 456 fell and struggled to get back onto his knees. Everything around him seemed blurred, as if he had plunged once more into one of his endless nightmarish visions. The red player grabbed his shoulders, pressing Gi-Hun to the floor with his full weight. A slap landed like a bolt of lightning, sharp pain radiating across his cheek. — And we trusted you! Bastard! — the enemy shouted, laughing, but there was malicious mockery in his tone. Another slap. Gi-Hun squeezed his eyes shut, shaking, trying to escape the grasp. Fear, pain, and rage fused into one, but he continued to fight, kicking, desperately clinging to life. When he managed to kick the player in the knee, making him groan in pain, Gi-Hun seized the chance. He broke free from the weakening grip, but was caught again and slammed against the wall. Then the red player grabbed his neck. Gi-Hun felt the fingers tighten, the air leaving his lungs. His chest constricted, and he started to suffocate. Darkness crept into his vision, but his fingers clutched the enemy’s hand, trying to loosen the grip. Gi-Hun could not allow himself to die here. Is this the end…? Am I really going to die like this now? But suddenly — a sharp shove. The red player groaned hoarsely and froze, his grip loosening. Gi-Hun felt his body release from this nightmare and gasped, coughing and trembling from the lingering fear. Behind him, just half a meter away, stood In-Ho. The Frontman's eyes were wide, shoulders tense, breath uneven. In his hand, he tightly held the bloodied dagger, yet his gaze conveyed relief and care at the same time. Gi-Hun lay on the cold floor, breathing heavily, and stared at In-Ho, feeling his body finally relax. As if everything that had happened receded into shadow. And there you are again… saving me once more, when I’m on the edge. Slowly reaching out his hand, In-Ho smiled faintly. Only one word escaped his lips: — Yeong-Il… Yeong-Il. In-Ho swallowed and sank to his knees, sitting slowly beside Gi-Hun. His gaze fixed on the ceiling, where stars were painted in bright colors. Strength drained from him, and he felt his entire body, with only his will remaining, settle into the dimness of the room. The Frontman no longer wished to run anywhere or pretend to frantically search for an exit he already knew. It was comfortable to sit beside Gi-Hun, feel his breathing, and realize that he was alive, able to smile even in such a tense moment. The silence spoke more than any words. — Yeong-Il… — Player 456 said quietly, slowly rising and carefully sitting beside him. His voice was barely audible, carrying gratitude and hesitation. — Why… do you always save me at the right moment? In-Ho thought for a moment. He knew he should say something very important, very personal, but the words simply wouldn’t come. In the silence was all his pain, all his hesitation, as if something inside him had finally cracked, but he could not speak it aloud. — Because you are Gi-Hun, who always gets caught up in every kind of trouble, so I just… can’t leave you alone, — he murmured, not raising his gaze. All this time, the host had wondered: how had this loser from Ssangmundong survived all six games three years ago and walked away with the big prize money? Tell me… Gi-Hun. How did you survive without me? Gi-Hun gave a faint smile, nodded, and his hand lightly rested on In-Ho’s shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine. — Perhaps you’re right… but thank you, — his voice was soft but sincere. — You’re like my superhero… always there in difficult moments. In these words was everything: gratitude, recognition, and something more than mere rescue. In-Ho turned his gaze to Gi-Hun, admiring the person he had just saved. In that look was not only relief but pride — quiet, almost imperceptible, yet all the more meaningful to him. They sat in silence for a few more minutes, savoring the intimacy of the moment. Player 456 still felt the Frontman’s attentive gaze on him, tension and an unfamiliar feeling tightening inside. Gi-Hun bashfully glanced upward, focusing on the childlike drawings on the ceiling, as if there, among the naive lines and endless starry sky, he could hide from what was slowly but inevitably forming between them. Yeong-Il… And yet… what do you feel for me right now? Am I just a player to you… or something more? Please, I beg you, Yeong-Il… tell me the truth… •••TO BE CONTINUED•••