𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

While the VIP guests eagerly watched and wondered who would be the first to step forward, the players continued to whisper among themselves, delaying the inevitable, unable to accept the horror that awaited them ahead. Gi-Hun stood next to In-Ho, repeatedly shifting his gaze from the crowd to the timer, tracking the countdown. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. — I'll go first, — he sighed, glancing at In-Ho. — We can't just stand here and wait. He confidently stepped forward, but his gaze unconsciously lingered on Jun-Hee. She sat a little apart, her eyes cast downward, as if trying to escape into herself, unwilling to see what was happening around her. Her face revealed no emotion, her entire focus on her swollen ankle. Approaching her, Gi-Hun looked at her with concern, trying to find the right words. — Jun-Hee... — he said, his voice trembling as he gazed at her pale face. — We need to go... She slowly lifted her head, looking at player 456 with sadness. Gi-Hun felt his chest tighten. — You won't be able to make it alone, — Gi-Hun continued. — Let me help you... Yeong-Il will help too. We sure will make it, I promise... She turned away again and looked at the bridge. With each passing moment, her realization of her own helplessness grew more apparent. Her ankle was so badly damaged that her chances of success were practically nonexistent. Jun-Hee knew that if they all went together, the chance of survival for each of them would be minimal. And if she couldn't go, maybe that would be the best choice for everyone else. But it wasn't about weakness. It was about salvation. It was a choice that required Jun-Hee to have the strength to admit: if she went with them, knowing the others wouldn’t survive, she wouldn’t be able to live with it. — Mr. Gi-Hun... — she whispered, barely moving her lips. — Please, don't... I’ll be alright... — But your leg, Jun-Hee... you can't! She paused, gathering her strength before replying. Her voice grew a little firmer, but still carried pain. — If we all go together... — she looked up at Gi-Hun. — We'll die... and then the newborn baby won't even have a chance... She fell silent, and his heart ached at her resolve. The words were simple and logical, yet Gi-Hun felt their weight pressing on his chest. He didn't know what to do. Reach out and try to help her, knowing it would lead to tragedy, or leave her behind, risking losing yet another person in this brutal, inhumane game? — But Jun-Hee, we can't just... — tears welled in his eyes. — Please, Mr... if you move on, take care of the baby... Gi-Hun felt a lump rise in his throat. Jun-Hee’s words pierced him to the core, and he desperately struggled within himself, unwilling to leave her behind. But one thought spun through his mind: despite the heaviness of these words, she was right. He knew he couldn’t help her, no matter how much he wanted to. It was a choice that required sacrifice. And despite the tears blurring his vision, Gi-Hun knew: he would have to go on. Alone. In-Ho stood nearby, never taking his eyes off him. He saw how deeply player 456 was affected by this moment, how hard it was for him to accept the inevitable tragedy. Stepping closer, In-Ho placed a hand on Gi-Hun’s shoulder. His fingers trembled as if he wanted to do more but couldn’t. — Yeong-Il... — Gi-Hun breathed, locking eyes with him. — But... how... In-Ho opened his mouth, as if to say something important — comfort, support, to say, "You did all you could." The Frontman felt his heart breaking, but instead of words, he only tightened his grip on Gi-Hun's shoulder. That was all he could do. The words stuck in his throat. Gi-Hun. I hate it when you look at me like this. I can't do anything. I can't comfort you, knowing they're watching us... Because right now, I’m a player. Just like you. Just like everyone here. I have to play, fight for my life for the amusement of these people in golden masks. And above all—I have to be the one you want to see by your side, the one you can trust... — Gi-Hun... — his voice cracked. — Jun-Hee... she is right. Feeling tears well up in his own eyes, the Frontman took a deep breath and continued: — If we hold onto each other during the jump... we'll all fall. We... will fall. Gi-Hun froze, his gaze shifting between In-Ho and the bridge, as though he was still searching for a way out. But there was no way out. Every move, every glance at the mechanism reminded him that he stood on the edge. He thought about Jun-Hee, her suffering, her child who would be doomed if they didn’t survive. Gi-Hun felt the heavy weight of responsibility for their lives pressing on him. He, more than anyone, understood that each step he took could be the one that determined their fate. This was no longer just a game — this was a chance for survival or death for everyone left behind. He thought about how, at the start of the game, they had all been full of hope — laughter, jokes, talking about how they would make it out alive and gather together. Everything seemed so simple and bright then. And now, looking back, he couldn't believe it no longer mattered. Where were the people he had shared dreams and promises with? Player 456 slowly approached the bridge, feeling the tension seep into every cell of his body. One last time, he turned around, his gaze lingering on Jun-Hee and the others. In their eyes, he saw the same fear and despair that he felt in his own. The beam swayed menacingly, gleaming with metallic shine. It's time to go. Step. Gi-Hun jumped forward sharply, keeping his eye on the movements of the mechanism. As he almost reached the bridge, Gi-Hun leaped upward, landing on the spot. One more step. He couldn’t afford any mistakes. Gi-Hun carefully timed every moment when the mechanical beam lifted, jumping to avoid falling. Another step. His heart pounded wildly, his pulse thundering in his temples, growing louder and more deafening with each step. It felt like player 456 could no longer hear the screams behind him, couldn’t hear the ticking timer — only his own heartbeat and the mechanical sounds growing louder with every movement. Another step. With each jump, his legs grew more fatigued, but he kept going, even though it seemed like his strength was fading. And then Gi-Hun noticed the bridge split in the middle. When the beam returned to the bridge, he jumped again, then swiftly leaped to the other side, maintaining his rhythm and coordination. Step by step, Gi-Hun moved forward, his breath growing more labored, each jump more painful. But he knew he couldn’t stop now. Finally, with one last effort, Player 456 leaped onto the final section of the bridge, reaching the other side. His legs buckled from exhaustion, but he stood. He had done it. — "Player 456 has passed!" — came the loud voice of the announcer. Turning back, Gi-Hun saw the other players clapping, celebrating his successful crossing. And then… his gaze landed on In-Ho. The Frontman stood on the other side of the bridge, his eyes locked on Gi-Hun. In-Ho had watched every one of his jumps, his tension so palpable it felt as though he himself were on the bridge. Player 456 noticed how In-Ho’s gaze shifted, how he finally relaxed his shoulders, how his breathing grew less strained. A faint smile appeared on his face — a slight, almost imperceptible smile, unnoticed by the others but clearly visible to Gi-Hun. Player 456 froze, taking a breath, and for a moment, his heart fluttered. He felt as though In-Ho had forgotten everything around him and was simply looking at him, as if only one person in the room mattered right now. And something about that gaze from In-Ho felt so personal, so genuine, that words couldn’t fully explain it. — Gi-Hun... — the Frontman almost silently whispered his name, unable to tear his eyes away. Gi-Hun. You made it. You survived. The Black Square watched the scene closely, his interest clear as he listened to the conversations of the VIP guests, feeling the tension in the air rise with each passing second. — Well, well, well … just look at him, — said the third guest with a light chuckle, raising his glass. — It’s as if the Frontman’s life depends on every step this player takes. I wonder if he’s really that concerned, or is he just playing his part well? — Oh, such a drama! — exclaimed the first VIP guest, admiring the scene. — Look at that greedy gaze… It’s not just a game anymore, this is something far more interesting! — I knew my bet on 456 would pay off, — replied the second guest, sipping his champagne. — He didn’t just cross the bridge, he seems to have found a way to awaken something far more valuable in the Frontman than just respect. Hmm, looks like he’s finding all the weak spots. The Black Square thoughtfully glanced at Gi-Hun, now standing alone on the other side of the bridge, before his gaze returned to In-Ho. Mr. Frontman. He tilted his head slightly, studying this strange, vulnerable side of In-Ho, who, despite all his power, was now on the edge. What will you do when your secret... comes true? •••TO BE CONTINUED•••