𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

The players slowly descended the numerous pink stairs, paying no attention to their surroundings. After five days, the colorful walls and childlike decorations had become so familiar that, in the state of exhaustion, stress, lack of sleep, and undernourishment, they blended into one bright, irritating blur. Some of the participants could barely drag their feet, falling asleep as they walked, slowing down the overall pace. Occasionally, angry shouts echoed down the hallway: "Move faster!" Gi-Hun walked just behind, lost in thoughts about what the fifth game might be. Dozens of possible children’s games spun in his mind, but each one seemed wrong. How could he know what awaited them? What should they prepare for? How brutal would the game be? Player 456 slowed his pace slightly, noticing how In-Ho was falling further behind, trailing him while purposefully avoiding eye contact. Gi-Hun couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Yeong-Il. Sometimes I find it so hard to understand what’s going on in your head. You always hide your emotions behind a mask of calm. Even in the most tense moments, you never lose your composure or confidence. When Gi-Hun turned around, hoping to catch his gaze, In-Ho still didn’t lift his head. His steps had become less certain, his body tense. It was as though something inside him was breaking. Something he couldn’t and didn’t want to show. And Gi-Hun could feel it. Why... why aren’t you looking at me now? But Gi-Hun wasn’t the only one noticing the obvious changes in the Frontman. In a spacious, luxuriously decorated room, five people sat wearing golden animal masks — the VIP-guests. Seated on soft couches like kings on thrones, they patiently awaited the start of the game, their eyes fixed on the black theater curtain opposite. Behind it was a large glass panel that was a Gesell mirror — transparent on one side and mirrored on the other. This allowed those inside to clearly see what was happening outside. — This game is definitely getting more interesting, — one of the guests said, taking a sip of expensive champagne. — I can’t wait to see what you’ve prepared for us today, Mr. Temporary Frontman. Black Square, standing slightly away from the control panel, simply nodded. — We hope the fifth game won’t disappoint you, dear guests. — May I know the name of the game? — asked the second guest, turning toward the host. — The fifth game is called Jump Rope, — Black Square answered calmly. He pressed a button, and the theatrical curtain opened to reveal the game participants stepping into the playing area. They looked around, confused. The space was dominated by a large bridge, on either side of which stood two giant dolls. Their arms were connected by an iron bar, bent into the shape of a "jump rope." — "Welcome to the fifth game!" — a woman’s voice from the loudspeaker broke the silence again. — "The fifth game is called Jump Rope!" The players evenly distributed themselves across a small platform, approaching the edge of the bridge. — Damn, this is high... — someone from the crowd muttered, nervously glancing down. — "Players must make it to the other side, jumping over the rotating metal rope. You have 20 minutes to do this!" — the voice from the loudspeaker continued. — "All players may choose the order in which they will cross the bridge!" Gi-Hun swallowed nervously, staring at the bridge. Memories of the fifth game three years ago flooded his mind, when participants had to cross a bridge, jumping on glass panels. The loud, desperate screams and the brutal falls were something he would never forget. He glanced at In-Ho, standing to the side. The Frontman had his arms crossed over his chest and was staring at the floor, doing his best to appear calm. But Gi-Hun noticed the barely noticeable tremor in his fingers, the nervous twitch of his left eye. When their gazes met, Gi-Hun stepped back slightly, as if something inside his chest had frozen, squeezing his breath. In-Ho stared at him with a serene expression, but there was a wild, almost animal-like fear in his eyes. The faces of the observers were reflected in the glass, their eyes burning with interest, like beasts ready to pounce, prepared to catch their prey at any moment. — Well, this game is definitely going to be interesting, — the second guest said with a grin. — Especially considering that Mr. Frontman is now at the center of it all. — I am so curious to see how he’ll act when he has to choose between saving himself or the others, — the third guest nodded, taking a sip of champagne. — He’ll easily choose himself over the others... — the first guest nodded. — But when it comes to Player 456... huh, that’s his weak spot. Black Square silently observed what was happening outside. Listening to the VIP-guests’ conversation, he, too, was curious just how far In-Ho would go for a mere player. He’d seen how, after the phone call before the fourth game, In-Ho had started to slowly lose control, his usual resilience beginning to crack. Mr. Frontman. When it comes to Player 456, you become an open book, full of anxiety, doubts, and weakness that you desperately try to hide. Your feelings are so intriguing. And it seems you can no longer keep them inside. They’re breaking out, tearing you apart from the inside. This player affects you so much. He’s effortlessly destroyed your composure and indifference to these pathetic, insignificant losers. Please, continue playing. We’re eagerly awaiting the finale of this gripping tragicomedy you’re so desperately trying to play out. The loudspeaker announced the start of the game. Black Square pressed the button, and the silence was instantly broken by the loud screeching of mechanisms. The players froze in horror, their eyes locked on the iron bar, which swung with an ominous screech, describing a circle in the air. Each cycle became more deadly, with every swing becoming more dangerous. It seemed impossible to get through. This wasn’t just a dangerous challenge — it was a nightmare, and every player was sure that if they stumbled for even a second or miscalculated the timing of their jump — it would be over. — Are you out of your minds? — Player 100 shouted, his voice trembling with fear as he looked at the bridge. — How are we supposed to jump over this? There was no reply. The soldiers standing at the entrance remained emotionless, watching the panicking players through their black masks. The players argued and shouted, but none of them dared to take the first step. They stood at the edge, nervously eyeing the rotating bar. Each one was thinking: "I’m not ready, I’ll wait for someone else to go first." The loud countdown of the timer reminded the players that time wasn’t standing still. With each passing minute, the moment of decision drew closer, a moment that would determine their fate: move forward or stay in place. — I wonder who will be the first to risk it? — the second VIP said with a smile, watching the participants. — Or will they all stand like statues until the time runs out? — In that case, they’ll all die, — the first guest replied dryly, thinking. — But someone has to take that step... and then the real fun will begin. So who will be the hero? Black Square silently stood in his place, carefully watching the unfolding scene. I sure know who will be first. It’s way too obvious. •••TO BE CONTINUED•••