𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

The Frontman sat motionless, not daring to move. Tears clouded his eyes with a hazy veil, and the only thing he could still make out was the pale light of the electronic scoreboard, painfully harsh to the eyes. The last time he had allowed himself to cry had been in the past — sitting on his knees before Gi-Hun’s lifeless body, whose half-closed, glassy eyes stared upward into the void, becoming mute witnesses to the inevitable end. In-Ho let out a quiet, suppressed groan, sniffing. Today, he cried only for the second time in all these long, endlessly stretched years. He could feel his own fingers starting to tremble, his chest tightening with an unbearable pain that could not be compared to beatings, wounds, or the excruciating death on the cold floor. If only he had the gun he always carried during the games… he would have pulled the trigger without hesitation, ending all this suffering at once. Gi-Hun… Still feeling the weight of the sleeping Player 456’s head on his shoulder, he listened to his quiet, even breathing. You don’t even know who I really am. Yet you still trust me. And now you sleep on my shoulder, as if I’m not a monster. In-Ho sighed heavily, feeling as if each new tear burned him from the inside. Sometimes he wanted to push that head off his shoulder, to rid himself of this burden of trust — but he couldn’t. One thought kept spinning in his mind: Gi-Hun. Gi-Hun… — Gi-Hun… — The name barely escaped his lips, breaking the silence between them. But there was no answer. In-Ho only heard the quiet, even breathing, as if the world could still be calm on this anxious night. I promised myself that I must protect you at any cost — from death, from pain, from anything that could take you from me again… to use the second chance that fate gave me. That thought burned inside him like a glowing ember. And the longer he listened to the breathing beside him, the clearer it became: everything was different. No… no… In-Ho clenched his lips, feeling his heart ache. All this time… it was you who saved me, Gi-Hun. You saved me… from myself. From the life in which I had long ceased to be human. You are my second chance, Gi-Hun. And in that moment, through the haze of tears, he seemed to see Player 456 not as he was here and now, but as he had been three years ago — with an innocent, kind smile and eyes full of warmth and hope, as if the world itself said to him: “You are no longer alone.” Please… I beg you. Save me. In-Ho slowly stretched out his trembling hand, and it seemed as if his fingers touched Gi-Hun’s cheek. For a moment, his heart fluttered at the illusion — so vivid, so real. You really… are smiling at me? The Frontman didn’t even notice when he lightly smiled back, feeling a slow warmth settle in his chest, even a sense of calm. His gaze gradually lost focus, and the image before his eyes blurred further and dissolved, like morning fog. In-Ho’s hand fell onto his knee, his breathing evened out, and he slowly sank into a deep sleep. When he woke, the electronic scoreboard read three a.m. Still feeling the weight on his shoulder, In-Ho slowly opened his eyes and looked: Gi-Hun slept peacefully nearby, and in the dim light his face seemed warmer than in any vision. He listened to his calm, measured breathing. And suddenly, the Frontman was seized by fear: what if this moment, too, vanished? In-Ho gently touched Gi-Hun’s wrist with a trembling hand, as if checking that he was really here, that this wasn’t another illusion. You’re real. You’re alive. You’re here. His fingers lingered longer than necessary and, sliding to the palm, covered it with his own—as if afraid to lose this warmth. For a moment, it seemed to In-Ho that their fingers intertwined, and his heart fluttered at the illusion. If only I could say… how precious you are to me. He wanted to whisper it aloud, but his lips remained sealed. The Frontman closed his eyes, realizing he could no longer hide the truth from himself. Gi-Hun… I think I can still feel something inside... And the harder my heart beats with this feeling, the more painful the thought became: what if you find out the truth and reject me? The silence in the room created a special intimacy. In-Ho realized that now he was alone with his thoughts, listening to the beat of his own heart pounding in his temples. Perhaps this silence, for the first time in many years, seemed not tormenting but alive. He desperately wanted this moment to never end. Now it was a rare, almost priceless chance — to simply enjoy the quiet and… each other’s presence, even if one of them slept. That was enough. After all, no one knew how today’s game would end: who between them would be stronger, whose life would be cruelly cut short… and whether there would ever be another chance to just sit together in silence like this? If one of us fails today, let it be me. Because I could accept my own death. My life no longer has value. But I could never bear your death, Gi-Hun. Their foreheads touched again, like during the third game, in the tight room. In-Ho didn’t take his eyes off the electronic scoreboard, nervously awaiting that same irritating melody that cheerfully woke the participants, as if mocking their situation. And in my bedroom… a completely different alarm. Strict and short. For a second, the Frontman allowed himself a ridiculous thought: what if he could escape with Gi-Hun to his black-themed private room, if not for these cursed VIP-guests? He would lay Player 456 in a soft bed, let him sleep without worry, take a shower… then feed him hot food, offer expensive whiskey. He could truly take care of him. I would do everything you ask… if only it could atone for my immense guilt toward you. But it remained just a fantasy, as unattainable as his own freedom. And the brighter the picture of a peaceful, cozy world rose before his eyes, the more agonizing it was to realize it would never become reality. After all, such dreams aren’t for a monster in a black mask. Gi-Hun let out a quiet breath in his sleep, stirring slightly. In-Ho’s heart skipped a beat — it seemed for a moment that he had woken. Not now, please. Don’t wake up. And it was as if someone heard his plea: Gi-Hun didn’t wake, only made himself more comfortable on the Frontman’s shoulder, continuing to sleep soundly. In-Ho exhaled, as if shedding an invisible burden. He still softly touched Gi-Hun’s fragile hand, mentally rejoicing in his small victory. For a moment, In-Ho raised his eyes, glancing from under lowered brows at the black camera lens, where a red dot blinked. For someone, it was just a sign of the system working; for him, it was like a living, all-seeing eye that wouldn’t miss a single detail. The Frontman knew perfectly well: on the other side, people could be sitting, ready to seize upon his slightest gesture, his glance, his trembling fingers — and turn it all into yet another spectacle for their own gain. Watch as much as you want. But he is not your toy. You can do whatever you want with me. You made me play these damn games… and I will continue to play until the end. But not to amuse your boredom. Player 456 slept peacefully nearby, unaware of how heavy this night had been. In-Ho swallowed nervously, closing his eyes, unable to distract himself from his thoughts. Seong Gi-Hun. I will reach the end… for you. Even if I have to destroy everything I’ve built over these years. Even if I have to give my life. I will prove that I am worthy of being human. That I am worthy of the right to feel. I will prove that I am worthy of being by your side. •••TO BE CONTINUED•••